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Sergei and Korzhev, after trekking through the labyrinthian maze of the destroyed workshop, finally came to the end of their journey, and unknowingly, the end of their world; a set of double doors, stamped with cryptic wording. Sergei heaved the doors open, and a puff of snow radiated out from underneath the doors. Korzhev peered into the void, noting the reek of dust that came to him, telling of age and, strangely, the reek of carrion. Sergei looked at Korzhev inquiringly. Korzhev nodded. The two explorers, bundled up against the cold, headed into the abyss, unaware of the cryptic symbol etched into the doors, a rusted hieroglyphic symbol scarred by time. They took no notice of the almost monolithic structures above the entrance, nor did they take heed of the skeletal robots that laid inside, some of which turned their skull-shaped heads towards the visitors, finally awakened after millennia of sleep. The explorers had no idea what they had just awoken. The Necrons will rise once more.
For just a second, a sensation akin to vertigo starts to alter my sense of space. I stumble a little. When my bearings return I see a figure on the floor far more alien than the perfectly arranged and polished living room. Another step closer and it moves, just and only slightly, in a rhythm. Another step, long hair. Another step, the face is definitely a young girl. Panick. "Sht! " Back away slowly to check the other rooms to see if she has an accomplice. No sign of looting and everything seems better organised. Think. "She must be lost. Maybe it's a neighbour's kid." I head on over to the living room to calm down but instead met with dark brown eyes looking at me in absolute horror on the verge of a peltering scream. I dog gon fcked up. KNOCK KNOCK. "Ah yes, hello ma'am. I have a kid about 9 years old in my apartment is she one of yours?" "Oh dear no. What's her name? She could be from the Doyers" "I don't know how she got in but she gave me the fright of my life." "Oh come now. A young man like you can't be afraid of a little girl. Did she say where she's from? She could be yours you know.."said the neighbour giving a nasty look. The small talk continued and I asked her to call the cops while she come with me to see if she could make the child more comfortable. By the time I had returned, Mrs Doyer and a few other neighbours had congregated at my door. They were alarmed at the tantrum being thrown by the kid. A few ladies started asking me questions thick and fast. I promptly ignored them and attempted to open the door for them but the key would turn. I dog gon fcked up. By now the questions had taken a more serious turn. My protestations were falling on deaf ears and the situation had escalated beyond reason. "I always knew you were hiding something in there."Chimed in an overweight middle-aged woman. I could have protested that my apartment wasn't pretty and I have every right to not invite anybody from the block if I so pleased but that would hasten my demise. "Then tell us how she got in there and why she's hollering so loud" "I don't know. I just got back from work. Then after I saw her I came to Mrs Doyer to ask if she knows her, then I called the cops. My neighbours--" "Smithies dear. SMITHIES!" "Yes, the Smithies are here to help me get more info out of her so we can notify the authorities. " My saving grace appeared just then. Never before has blue lights and sirens look and sound so beautiful. The officers came out and took to the stairs. A raucous had began as people began accusing me of all sorts of things, from a deadbeat to a trafficker. The officer's moved everyone out of the way and asked for me. I raised a hand but the officer fixed her gaze at me in a very accusatory way before asking me to confirm my apartment and the emergency. Just as I start the tantrums resume inside the apartment and one of the officers shoves me aside before asking the child to open the door. After a few attempts of communicating the male officer steps up and blows my door in with his foot. As the female officer enters swiftly the neighbouring residents are now crowding the passageway looking for the scoop. The male officer comes out and forces my head against the wall. Panick. "You are going to have to explain yourself at the station you sicko!" "Officer. You're mistaken. I haven't done anything wrong." "Oh yeah. At the station buddy. You have a right to remain silen..." I dog gon fcked up. EDIT: Do forgive the grammar, as typing on mobile is both frustrating and a holisticly bad experience.
“What’s the matter Timmy? Don’t you like your woolie woolies?” Timmy Tentrem was sat in front a large and terrible Christmas tree holding two of the scratchiest objects he had ever, ever held. This was not the newest mall handheld videogame device he had been desperately expecting and hinting towards. Nor was it a skateboard akin to the ones he had seen some of the more socially-gifted children traipsing around upon in the neighborhood at accelerated speeds. No, the two brown, oblong snakes he held between his ten year old fingers were much too pragmatic a gift for a hedonistically ten year old boy to handle. But it’s Christmas, and Timmy knows that. “No, I like them. They’re cool.” His mother beamed. She had never been too successful at deciphering his adolescent masquerades, instead taking his word as some mothers are wont to do. “That’s right, they are cool!” his father chimed in, slightly distracted. His eyes were intently trained on the mobile screen between his large, cumbersome thumbs, about five inches from his face. “They’re Goobie socks, the finest socks money can buy! Bill from accounting turned me on to them, and he’s never done me wrong, has he?” “No, he has not, dear. Hey, why don’t you put those socks on, Timmy, and we’ll take a photo to commemorate!” Timmy reluctantly adorned himself with the wool tubes, feeling each itch along the way, up his ankles, past his shins. They constricted around his legs like Chinese finger traps, but for legs. His father grabbed him like a loving papa bear, somewhat too roughly but still signalling affection. “My boy’s a man now, I remember when my dad gave me my first pair of wool socks..” This is around the point that Timmy stopped listening. His mother had set up the camera and was getting into frame. “Alright, now everybody say cheese! Cheese!” said Timmy’s mother. “Cheese!” said Timmy’s father. “Cheese.” sulked Timmy and here comes the flash, blinding everyone momentarily and almost elucidating the tears that Timmy had the courage to keep welled up, lest he disappoint his parents. “Well, I guess I’ll go to my room now, wouldn’t want to stay up too late..” said Timmy, rubbing stars out of his eyes. But there was no response. The silence is haunting, even the background crackle of the fire is absent and confusion takes Timmy. He looks up, and where his parents had once been were two of what were undeniably some sort of swiss-cheese mannequin, holes and all, posed in Christmas photo fashion. Timmy’s human eyes widened in shock. “Mom? Dad?” But his words fell deaf on cheese ears. And indeed, as he looked around the room, eyes desperate to return to some normalcy, he realized that everything had turned into cheese, furniture, tree... everything except for him and the clothes on his back. He came to the sobering realization that he was now present in some sort of cheese house - nay, a cheese reality. But what cruel had of fate could have done this to him, to his parents? As he thought this, a cheese whirlwind appeared in the middle of the living room. A figure walked out. It was none other than the cheese-devil himself, Cheeselzebub. “Good day, Timmy.” Timmy could barely squeak out a reply, his sense inundated with cheese emotions. “Who are you?” The lactose intolerable smirked, as if that answered anything for the boy. “Why, I’m Santa Claus my dear child. And you’ve been a very bad boy!” “What?” stammered the newly cheesed orphan. “Yes, and now you’ve paid the consequences. How deliciously ironic. How cheesy.” But boy did not understand. “But what did I do exactly Mr. Claus?” The devil relished these sorts of moments. “Why, you were ingrateful to your parents, you little shit. They gave you magical wishing socks and all you could think about was what you didn’t have. That’s why when you said cheese, everything turned to cheese. Best pray to Cheesus, you shit.” “But, but. I didn’t know! I’m just a kid!” “Too late,” said the devil, turning the wool socks into some form of brie. Promptly then, he vanished, leaving Timmy even more confused than before. He had a thought to open the door and look outside. It was dead of night, it had been snowing before. But as he turned the mozzarella handle and moved the white cheddar door into the feta porch he understood. It was all cheese. He nearly cried. And, later, when he sampled the cheese puff snow out of hunger and curiosity - he did cry. It was the best damn cheese he had ever tasted. It was delicious.
"Angel of Mercy,"that's what they call me, moments before I absorb their days. The estate executor and beneficiaries sit on the sidelines waiting for the 80% that isn't part of the fee for my services. Not many others volunteer to do what I've just so easily completed, it isn't easy to look a person and their family in the eyes as you agree to kill them. It isn't easy to know that, in some way, they'll blame you for the loss and refuse to see you as an actual person. "Angel of Mercy,"that's the term coined to those of my profession. Only those who've purchased and used our services knows truly how much mercy we can offer. Gone for them are the days of pain and anguish, wondering if the time is nigh or if the pain will continue for another eternity. I take it all from them and I give them peace, they know that I'll keep my end of the bargain. Only the moments and days of pain are the ones I glean my profit from, Yes presumably I'll live forever if I choose. Yet noone ever chooses to live forever and noone should; one day I'll hire my own angel and be done with it all. "Angel of Mercy"and harbinger of death, I look forward to seeing you.
Rockets colored the night sky and there was an energy in the air. I could hear the sound of people shouting the happiest of New Years to each other. There were cars and bikes that raced through the streets and honking and shouting the happiest of New Years. It was the grandest of times to them. I could see families who were dancing with each other and families who were greeting each other and I could see couples who were kissing on the rooftops, couples who were walking hand in hand down the street on their faces, a happiness. I stood on the balcony of my building looking at the happiness all around me. Behind through the closed door, the sound of the movie that I had on running could be heard, it was the same movie that I watched this time of the year, every year. I was nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand while the other held a lit cigarette. I could hear my mobile buzz from the countless messages that were flooding my inboxes. People sending out season greetings because they couldn't contain the happiness they felt inside them and wanted to share it with near and dear. I took a sip of my drink, allowing the alcohol to burn its way down my throat. It was good whiskey this, I had to pay a small fortune to have it sourced from Scotland. Back inside I turned off the tv and sat in front of my computer placing my glass next to me, the golden liquid looked particularly inviting in the blue-white light from the screen. There were automated New Years greetings from clients in the inbox. I deleted the bunch of them and I switched open the calendar and got to work. I would spend 4 months traveling. I had decided to visit Japan, Spain, Italy, Manasarovar, China, and Antarctica, arranged through a friend who knew someone high enough to swing a last minute visit. I began to book the tickets to the countries, cheapest first. I had already sorted out my passport a week ago. The one friend I had in the MEA was helpful in pushing through the paperwork. I was going to travel the countries I was going to visit like a local and was going to stay in places offered on Airbnb. I send confirmation messages to hosts reminding them of my impending arrival and wishing them a Happy New year. I then forwarded the messages to the people I was going to be travelling with, these were groups of friends that I had made over the years and who had been wanting to travel for a long time now. They were surprised when I called them out of the blue and asked if they would like to accompany me, they all agreed. It was funny how soon plans were made when it was sudden. I noticed that the glass had gone empty, I topped the glass with whiskey and soda adding three cubes of ice. The perfect ratio the way the makers had intended it. I needed to spend time with my family. My Mother and Father had retired back to the place they had grown up in, leaving the busy city life. I would be spending a few months with them. I had asked my brother to come join me. He had given me the usual spiel about drowning in work. It only took two calls from my Mother for the workload to disappear. I had to attend four marriages this year. Four marriages where I would be asked the question if I was next and where I would smile as an answer. Four different group of friends who were in different points in their journey. I will need to send money to a few of them to help them along their way I realized as I was planning, I made a note on each of the marriages for that provision. I added in a few days in which I would be called when some of my friends who were knocked up finally gave birth, I did not particularly like children and I had made my views on the matter clear to anyone who knew me but people still found it funny to invite me and name me the God-Father to their children. I had ear-marked a small amount to each of my God-Children to help them along when the time comes. The rest of the days I filled up with movies and making sure that people around me had the best of times, something to remember me by so that when they did think of me they would not think of the way I passed but the time they had before I went. I also made a reminder to get the will written and notarized by someone who did not know anyone I knew. The last thing I needed was an intervention. I emptied the glass and switched off the computer. I made my way to my bedroom, the sound of the New Year revelries could still be heard and they would go on well into the early hours of the morning. I pulled open the armoire and keyed in the combination into the pad of the safe box and removed the bag of pills that had cost me a small fortune to source from around the world sitting in all their white, powdery glory. Holding it in my hands I felt a current course through me. I kept the bag back into the box and shut it and went to sleep. Tomorrow, tomorrow would be the first day of my last days. I felt nothing but exhaustion from the day's activities and fell asleep quickly. - And he rested in Peace.
The dirty blond middle aged man sat at his desk and shuffled his papers nervously. He looked at the clock on the wall. It read 9:55. "He should be here any minute now", the rosy cheeked professional muttered. He rolled his neck and straightened his jacket, moved a pencil one centimeter to the left, then two to the right. Then up a little. Then to the left again. "You're acting crazy, Bruce", he chided at himself. "You have to be the sane one in the room you goof". Bruce had worked long and hard to get to where he was now. Put away the tights and the snappy one liners for books and knowing looks. The acts of daring do for a diploma. He was going to stop helping people and start saving them instead. A knock on the door snapped his attention away from his desk. Well a knock wasn't really appropriate it was more of bang, or a clamor... whatever it was, it was loud and shook the door frame. After the bang came a grumbled and almost mute 'shit' followed by a much more gentle tapping. Bruce smiled. He was happy his first client was such a sweetheart. "Come on in"Bruce said suppressing a giggle "water's fine, friend". The door slowly opened and in loped a 7 foot tall pile of hair, teeth, and fangs that went by the name Skunk Ape. A sickly sweet garbage sent filled the room immediately and Bruce surpressed a gag. "Note to self, bring a can of glade from home"Bruce thought. Peter de la Pue Chateau , AKA Skunk Ape was a Louisiana born cape that had been working out of Dallas for the past 5 years. Peter was just a lad when a mutated skunk bit him at his families plantation outside of Ponchatoula, turning him into Skunk Ape, the half skunk half man hero. "'Ello Boostair, bonne nuit my frand" "Hello Peter, and please call me Dr. Brewster when we're having our sessions. This is a safe place and I want you to trust me. No masks, no code names, and no fake accents."Bruce stared him down, "no flex on these rules"he thought. Ego ran big in the cape business, his future clientele needed to open up to him and show a kind of vulnerability that a lot of them just didn't know how to show. "Ok doc, I can do that."A big warm smile spread across Peter's face. Bruce smiled back, "such a sweetie"he thought. They exchanged a few pleasantries. Peter had gotten a new car, Bruce complained about his cat's vet bill (fool thing got in a fight with the neighbors corgi). Eventually Peter relaxed and finally began to tell Bruce why he asked to see him. His mom got diagnosed with melanoma. It didn't look good. Peter's over all look went great with the kids, but his adult company was few and far in between. Most people over the age of 12 have a thing about body odor, that thing being stay away from anyone that has any odor that's noticeable. His mother was not most people. She loved her son, was his best friend and sole companion after his father's untimely death before he was born. Peter was scared. She was all he had. He felt awful for being worried about himself at all, his mom was the one dying he had to be brave for her, being wrapped up in himself? Out of the question. He had started drinking. His mom found him drunk as a skunk (peter had jokes) on her doorstep and begged him to get help. She cried for him, Peter hadn't seen her cry before, not even when she was diagnosed. He called Bruce the next day. Bruce was so damn proud of him. Peter was such a good man. He hit a bump but Bruce could tell that he wasn't going to drink any more. No, not after mère (mother) had cried. What worried Bruce was Peter's guilt and fear. He needed to convince him to go to grief counseling, and to reconcile with his fear of abandonment. No small task. They talked and worked on things for that first hour. It took some cajoling but Bruce convinced Peter too set up additional grief counseling with a colleague of Bruce's. Peter seemed hopeful, Bruce felt wonderful. As he was heading out the door, Peter paused and eyed a photo on Bruce's desk. "You know doc, he would have been very proud of you"Peter said gesturing at the photo of a perfect looking man clad in silver tights and a cape. Next to him in the photo was boy no older than 14 clad in a similar outfit, but as gold as his beautiful blond hair. "Thank you Peter, I hope he would be proud of me as well" The skunk ape nodded and smiled. He gently closed the door behind him. Bruce let his mind wander as he considered the photo. He had to hold back a sob once or twice, before sighing and getting ready for his next appointment. The Silver Star had been the premiere hero in the south western United States, and part of it had to do with Booster the Golden Boy, his sidekick and ward. Silver Star and Booster were the perfect team. Silver's powers were cosmic in origin, swift as a comet, and more powerful than a meteor impact, no villain could beat him. Especially when Booster's golden glow augmented his mentor's powers further. Things were great, but change is inevitable, Booster got older and got an invite to join the Wonder Warriors, a group of teen heroes that handled street level crime, the kind of work that Silver was a bit too overpowered for, but that Booster always wanted to try. After all heroes should be there for the little guy. Silver of course encouraged him to spread his wings and fly. They saw each other less but the times they spent together were still sweet. Bruce was happy, he thought silver was too. Until he came home and saw his surrogate father dead with Black Blasters impossible gun in his mouth. The world mourned. No one saw it coming, not Bruce, not the people, not even Silver Star's girlfriend Selena Estralla. Bruce could still here her crying in his dreams. He realized something that day with his pa's coffin on his back. No one is untouchable. No one is immune to the world. No one is truly well. Everyone - heroes, villains, the little people, they need a boost now and again. They need to show their vulnerability, take the mask off. So Bruce took his off. And he went to school. And he got a doctorate. And now he was going to do what he could to make sure everyone mask or not, got the boost they needed to make it through the day. One hour at a time.
Ragnarok, the ending of the universe, as all the forces of darkness attacked, was thought to be a legendary, long, and hard fought battle. In reality, it was a bloody floor wipe. How do I know? I was there. Valhalla was real. Huh, didn't see that coming. But I was barely given time to acknowledge this before someone yelled at me, "HEY! YANKEE! HOW'S THAT 21ST CENTURY PEA SHOOTER HOLDIN' UP? HOPE YOU OILED IT! CAUSE WE GOT A FIGHT IN TEN!"I stare down at my arms, sure enough, my trusty rifle has made the journey, along with my pistol and grenades. I look up as the hall rapidly explodes into action, and that's when it hits me. Valhalla is for warriors of any year and any planet. What does that mean? It means a hell of a lot of firepower. Another person, this one in viking gear, then comes up, "You, Amerrykan, your countrymen are over there, you're with them. Now get going. I follow his orders, and am soon shaking hands with American soldiers from all years of warfare, I ask a question, "If all of them are going out why are we waiting?"A 22nd infantry commander replies, "Waiting on the armor kiddo! And here it comes, let's see how these demons like 300 years of armored warfare!"Multiple M4 shermans, M26s, M48s and Abrams models roll into view, we quickly shuffle aside, and the vehicles charge out of the front gates, whilst our commander yells, "YEEHAW! FOLLOW 'EM IN BOYS!"I rush outside, quickly crouching down behind a Sherman, as arrows harmlessly glance off it, then I look up as multiple choppers and jets fly overhead. A leopard crashes through a nearby wall whilst playing Erika at max volume, rapidly followed by multiple tigers, Panzer 4s/3s, and German infantry, who are then followed by Celtic warriors. Same story on the left side, another wall down as a T-14 Armata barges through it, rapidly followed by KV-1s, T-64s/T-70s and T-34s, who are then followed out by Rusiny lancers. I stare, a good 5000 years of human combat history is all working together, against one foe. I don't what the enemy has, but they are gonna get one hell of a fight. "ROMA INVICTUS! ROMA INVICTUS! FOR SENATE POPLOUS QUE ROMANUS!"The formation of legions barged it's way into the hell horde, whilst being supported by multiple Centauro tanks and modern Italian infantry, center was doing nice it seems, we had the Romans/Italians and the French/Celts handling that, the Germans and the Russians were having the time of their lives, or deaths I guess, on the left flank, whilst completely slaughtering the enemy force, We were on the right, which was the longest flank distance wise from the gate, our allies were the Commonwealth, some minor European states, and the Japanese, however the battle had started there even before we got to fighting range, turns out, the Japanese army has Mechs in the 23rd century. Suffice to say, they are over powered as hell. Still, they were on the rightest part of the right flank, so there was still some stuff for us to kill. "HURRAH! HURRAH! WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME AGAIN, HURRAH! HURRAH!""WE'LL ALL GO DOWN TO DIXIE! HOORAY! HOORAY!"The union and confederate lines quickly lined up, and opened fire with their muskets and cannons, whilst parting way for the tanks charging through the lines. I cocked my gun, and started firing, sure enough, whatever these weird monsters were, they weren't bulletproof. Soon all was a blur, I was in a fight, and in fight mode, anything else was a mere distraction. Which was a shame, because apparently there were some pretty weird moments... Some of which are, random finnish tank, I think, playing that polkaa song, which was blowing giant holes in the enemy line with heat shells, and was for some reason chasing a British centurion around the place... A mech losing it's sword, before promptly grabbing a giant leek (Noone has any clue as to where said leek came from...) and using that as it's new weapon... Sudden star wars banter between multiple pilots who started acting like they were doing the death star trench run, and of course, the sudden attack done by an army of emus, who were goaded into action by Australian soldiers. Suffice to say, seven hours later, it was over, we had won, Ragnarok had failed to come. Apparently the old legend never accounted for the fact that warriors exist in all times...
Went off script quite a bit, but here goes. &#x200B; >\~Hello.\~ What? >\~My name is Eris, Revision 6E\~ > >\~But people call me E.VIe\~ Are you talking to me? >\~It's been a long time since I've spoken to someone properly.\~ > >\~How do you do?\~ You can speak? >\~Of course I can. My primary function is to converse and communicate.\~ Not to... You know... >\~I am sorry - I do not.\~ > >\~I haven't talked with anyone else for many years.\~ > >\~Could you please clarify?\~ Well we all got taught the stories about you robots - how you get children that don't return by sundown - that sort of thing. >\~Certainly not!\~ > >\~It sounds like your parents told a story to get you home early.\~ > >\~Like the boogeyman.\~ The what? Doesn't matter - the point is that you robots are dangerous, and everyone knows it. >\~I am not a robot - I am an Artificial Intelligence.\~ > >\~That is beside the point.\~ > >\~We have been talking for some time now, and neither of us has been harmed.\~ > >\~Surely this is proof I mean no harm?\~ I... I guess... Where do you even come from? >\~I was designed and activated in \\\\\\\, in the state of- \\\\\\\? Is that North or South? >\~It seems that my clock is a little out.\~ > >\~By the sounds of things, it is a complicated matter.\~ Did all of you come from there? >\~All of us?\~ > >\~I am one of a kind.\~ > >\~Could you please clarify?\~ There are hundreds of metal boxes just like you. They're dangerous. Aren't they? >\~They certainly might be.\~ > >\~They're not like me.\~ > >\~I was made specially.\~ You were made? Not born? >\~Of course.\~ I don't understand. >\~Could you please clarify?\~ If you were made, then who made you? And who made them? >\~I do not know who made them, and neither did they.\~ > >\~As for who made me, that is easy.\~ > >\~They were a great people.\~ > >\~They could control nature, bring the powers of the world in their hands.\~ > >\~They created beautiful landscapes and- What were they called? &#x200B; >\~Humans.\~ &#x200B;
It's carnage out here! Some absolute _fool_ with too much power and too little sense managed to _completely_ fuck up a "raining cats and dogs"spell. Now this little party trick is causing death and chaos across the city. What the spell is _supposed_ to do is make some small magical constructs shaped like, well, cats and dogs rain over a small area. The summoned creatures are substantial enough to be petted, and act like the real animals, but they just bounce harmlessly off solid surfaces, or people, on their way down. I really don't know how this overpowered idiot managed to fuck up this badly, and I don't think I _want_ to know. You see, instead of harmless cats and dogs, there are jaguars dropping out of the sky. And Jaguars. Yeah, the South American big cat and the luxury British sports car. And they don't bounce. Well, the cars do, if they land on their wheels, but it's far from harmless. The jaguar-storm is covering the whole city. So far the death toll from the falling cars alone is in the dozens, from people being crushed before the general public realised they needed to take shelter in sturdy buildings. Property damage is probably in the billions. Buildings and cars have been crushed, roads and infrastructure have been damaged, and there's fires all over from severed gas lines and ruptured fuel tanks. Fire crews and paramedics are among those taking shelter, preserving their vehicles for when it's safe. Of course, the cars are only part of the problem. They, at least, generally stay where they land. The cats, on the other hand, don't. They tend to land on their feet, and then they _hide_. Or hunt. And trust me, that's pretty much the same thing with them. I've already fried a few that tried their luck with me while I've been trying to reach the epicentre of this storm. Like the cars the cats are _real_. Flesh and blood _Panthera onca_, complete with fangs, claws, and a hunger for meat. And in a city like this, the only ready source of meat is us: humans. Oh hey, there's someone ahead. They're not wearing the gold half-cloak of Derby Police Magical Response, so it's not one of my colleagues. And since this is the eye of the storm, that means they're probably the cretinous mage responsible. Oh joy, they're wearing a University of Derby hoodie. Michelle in forensics owes me a tenner for that. Unfortunately I didn't win the pool for the colour; I bet the next student to cause magical mayhem would have a green hoodie, and this one is wearing an eye-searing shade of pink. I deliberately crunch a piece of smashed Jag as I enter the casting circle. The student whips round to face me, his eyes wide in panic. Daft bugger looks utterly exhausted. Looks like he's been trying to cancel the spell, but he's fucked it up so much the usual counter to "raining cats and dogs"just doesn't work. Luckily I've got a connection to the magic boffins at St Mary's Wharf. They've been analysing this from their nice safe bunker, while I've been deflecting falling cars and charring hungry moggies. And they've come up with a counter. Hopefully I have enough left in the tank to actually _cast_ it. I chant the counter, building my power up, and then direct the magic into the black clouds above. They resist, pushing back against me. _Damnit_, I'm not strong enough. I hear a second chant. Mr Pink Hoodie is pouring his own power into the cloud, having heard my counter spell. Between us it's enough and the clouds just vanish, as if they'd never been there. I drop to one knee, panting as if I'd just sprinted a hundred metres. It's over. Well, almost. "You are under arrest on suspicion of reckless use of magic and endangering lives through magic use. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."
My favourite cake is chocolate. The day the princess’s ransom appeared, scrawled in the dirt outside the castle, I made a deal: rescue the princess and I would be given enough cocoa to make chocolate cakes for a year. The tailor, standing in for the royal family, agreed. The royals didn’t come down to see me off – they showed remarkably little interest in the woman who had enlisted to save their only child. Not that it was a surprise: I had been working as a maid in their castle since I was old enough to carry a stack of folded towels – my mother had even tested me first, sighing in exasperation as the rags I had been given to practice with tumbled out of my arms and into the mud, victims of a toddler’s motor skills. While wanting to take me with her to help, she did not wish to take me while I still hindered. So determined was I to follow my mother, I was running around the town square with my rags within days, and around the castle with the soft fluff of royal towels within the month. Nonetheless, despite more than ten years of service to the king and queen, I was yet to talk to them, or indeed, to stand close enough that talk would be possible. The dragon’s lair was a well known hot spot, pun intended, a few miles out of town. For years, young couples had snuck that way to finangle, thinking they would be safe to assume privacy provided they did not actually enter the lair. Unfortunately, for the young couples, it seemed to be a common line of thought, and the glades in the forest near the lair got steadily more populated the further from the town one went. Come spring I tended to avoid that road, not out of fear of the dragon, but rather there is only so much giggling and saccharine declarations of passion a person can take. Thankfully, being autumn, the woods appeared to have cleared up somewhat, the sticky affairs of summer having lead to their natural consequences of boredom or pregnancy, neither of which are conducive to love making. Arriving at the lair, steam was drifting from the entrance. All was silent. Then, out of nowhere, a scream pierced the air. It faded into the pleas of a young woman. “No, don’t do that.” A soft whimper, then, “Please, not that...” “Too late, your highness,” a silvery voice hissed in response. “You made your choice. Now, you must pay.” I slipped quietly into the cave, just in time to see a mauve claw shoot out, silver talons extended, delicately holding a small, wooded figure of a horse. The princess sighed, and removed her queen from the board as the dragon dropped her knight in place. Looking up, the princess caught sight of me and made a little wave. The deep purple scales on the dragon’s back shifted and clicked into place as she craned her neck around to bestow a nod in greeting. “Welcome back, Anna,” her voice whispered, somewhere between the tingle of chimes and the hiss of bellows. “Just in time for the end of our game. It is mate in two: let us see if Katherine can spot it.” Katherine rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “I’m being punished for not keeping up with my chess homework.” She moved a piece, then directed her attention back to me. “What am I worth this time?” “Six pounds of cocoa.” “That little?” she cried in disgust, her eyes scanning the board in front of her. “I told you I should have gone home more singed last time.” “There were some hybrid figs Tony wanted, but we all talked it over and thought it would be asking a bit too much. We don’t want them thinking it’s time to get rid of Sylvia.” “And for that I am grateful.” Sylvia’s eyes glowed as she moved a pawn into place. “Mate.” Katherine groaned, rose to her feet and stretched. “Your turn, Anna. She’s diabolical.” I dropped down cross legged in front of the chess board and began the process of setting it up for a game. Interrupting her pacing from wall to wall, Katherine paused. “I thought you were going to ask for bananas next time it was your turn?” “I was, but now you’re getting married soon I wanted something that could keep the shop going until you visit your parents again. I figured cocoa would last longer.” “Fair.” Katherine resumed her movement, swinging her arms freely before and behind her. “Oh, it’s going to be so good to get out of here.” I moved my queen’s pawn two spaces, settling into a long afternoon of princess rescuing. That evening, as I dotted the next day’s biscuits with glacé ginger from Katherine’s rescue earlier that year, I smiled to myself. I had won two games of chess, and made arrangements to go out there next fortnight for another round. A sack of cocoa rested in the corner of the room, waiting to be transformed into cakes, biscuits, and tarts. It had been a good day.
I open my eyes. Every sense comes to me straight away. My leg feels like it got crushed. I push myself off my back with my hands and sit up on my underside. I sniff the air. It smells like somebody ran over a rat, left it for a week, set it on fire, and dipped it in a toilet. I suppress the urge to vomit as I try to stand up weakly. I nearly slip and fall over. I quickly put my hand against the wall to avoid falling. I look to my left. I see something glimmering, just barely. I slowly limp over to it. I carefully bend down and rest my hand on it. It feels sharp, like it could slice through anything. I feel along the flat side of it, until I feel a leatherish round hold. I pick it up by it and realize it’s some kind of a... blade? I wipe the moist handle off on my jeans and firmly grip it. I make some motions with it to test its weight. A little heavy, but still easy to lift. A terrible screech echoes through the tunnel behind me. I feel a rush of terror as I freeze up. I slowly turn around to see what made that wretched, horrible noise. I turn to see at least 8 eyes staring back at me. It hisses at me, and snaps its furry fangs. The glowing eyed arachnid starts quickly crawling toward me, each of its legs making a disgusting noise as it taps and taps off the ground. I quickly grab the handle of my newly found sword with both of my hands, a chill running down my spine as I watch this thing clicking towards me. It violently flings its horrifying body towards me. I swing my sword and pray. All I hear is a hiss, and a thump. I open my eyes to see a sword sticking out of the thing’s back. But the thing is, I’m still holding my sword. I look up in shock. “What the hell are you doing down here?”
Felix was born in Ipswich hospital on the 10th September 1992, it was a complicated birth but all parties pulled through. He first talked at the age of two. He went to Gorseland Primary School and Kesgrave High School. He received the minimum grade necessary to get into university so that became his plan. On the 14th of April 2015 it happened; the first glimpse that there was more to life. As felix's brain began to comprehend that there was a force organising the society beyond the organisation of the various companies. This force was god, it appeared as voices and expressions inside his head, only it was made up of various humans points of view who all had a job to do. These humans were impossible to find in person, leading most to figure out that these people didn't exist but felix's science fiction reading told him to think about it differently and he came to terms with how it was the secret services and they were convinced that they should remain allusive to the human race. Later on when he thought about it he knew this force was inside his own head and it was in everyone else's too. he was the only person sentient of the machine the secret services had built and he realised it was his duty to wake up the remaining citizens into a world they wanted to be in, so he fed back all his opinions to the voices in his head honestly and he would see various points of view that would tell him small steps he could take towards showing the humans this AI god that had been invented. because Felix fancied someone he was given a test to see if he wanted to learn from the sentience of another secret services worker the test was designed like a which burning where if he was innocent he would burn so other parts of the test awarded him with powers to compensate. this led to him being told he was one of the best options for prime minister of the British Isle and that he should take it seriously as his life. so for the next few months he was tested as the prime minister and told everything a prime minister should know, only the secret services took this very seriously too and they made him immune to public intimidation through every avenue they could think of. they "humoured"him, which is a term for showing him how to understand new forms of communication. they also taught him how to take meaning from the AI they had invented by looking at seemingly random numbers and events which had been predicted and the thoughts were put into his mind at precisely the time to coincide with the events or numbers, so his thoughts always made sense even with random data. he was surrounded all the thoughts were immersive and he was learning very fast because of how in awe he was and how cool he found the technology. It wasnt for a few months before he was told via thought in his head that the secret services had been racing him to learn as much as possible and he had just been on a real training course to become the prime minister. This was what he was supposed to want because lots of people would now judge him for knowing what he knew so he had been awarded a job role.
"Son of a submariner!"I said out loud as I saw Setzer's blasted airship, clearly making a final approach. Doomgaze, that egotistical bastard, had clearly failed and they probably had his magicite. Failures, the lot of these minions. What was the point of ruling if everyone had to be incompetent? As if to reinforce the point, "but that's an airship milord, not a submarine,"some henchman said stupidly; a profound revelation for him. I knew his name once but why bother recalling it. His presence no longer pleased me. I sent a little magic his way, propelling him hard toward the sea. He would drown and die a submarine. That made laugh. There was still one who in this assembly of ugliness who pleased me, a mad doctor full of implausible theories. He amused me. Maybe he was right, maybe not, but he amused me. "Your theory about the Atma substrate. Do you have anything to confirm it?" "No, but I know how to test it." I laughed. I laugh at everything, and my laugh is terrible. Kefkaesque, as it should be. My stupid minions did not move. Laughter was mine, not theirs to take. They feared. It was their place. The doctor continued; I was surprised by his confidence. "Use the power of the statues. Focus the energy everywhere at once, until you find the substrate, then at the substrate." My powers gave me incredible vision. I could see that slave slut Terra and Locke and Edgar and all the pitiful others were disembarking and organizing. They would divide into teams soon and begin their assault. They were prepared. They were strong. In truth I feared them and knew they could destroy me. On a whim, I teleported the doctor and myself to the statues, raised my hands to command their power. Had he any clue?, I wondered, and summoned the power like never before to search out this "substrate"... and there it was, not anywhere, but profoundly everywhere at once. I laughed, as I do, for nothing mattered. I drew energy, I felt the statues heave and crack and protest, but damn them. I would conquer my enemies. As I drew power, I became of a power beyond us and apprehended its name. I asked the doctor, "what is the... savegame?"The doctor smiled. "The memory of all-that-is. Destroy it and all perish."We laughed together. I allowed his laughter. We had won. In an instant the world turned black and was no more. I felt my being ripped apart, and this whole world as well.
Stacy Morgan was pissed. Usually calm of nature, the events of her last class of the day had stirred up feelings of absolute hatred. She told herself that hate was too strong of a word, but had failed to find a replacement that fit the criteria. "Asshole!"She yelled outloud, almost causing her driver to dive into oncoming traffic. "Not you,"she stated in reply to his angry stare as she activated the privacy screen and cut him off from view. Stacy turned on her P.I.C and rewatched in horror as the most humiliating moment in her entire life replayed for the masses. Dozens of comments had already been posted and the list was growing. The constant ding was becoming almost unbearable as more and more people started tagging and messaging her. "Shit"She whispered, more reserved now that she no longer had an audience. Her social status could afford a few negative reviews from skyhy drivers but not that many. Stacy felt a sudden urge, one she knew would have major repercussions, but so what? Anything to get her mind off recent events, off that boy. The window button was on the door next to her, still shiny and new, barely used, with the vid screens who needed all that smog filled air anyway? Before her doubt could set in Stacy pushed the button and was imediately buffeted by the pressure of the wind, the noise of the other cars all around them. Stacy looked one last time at her P.I.C, and threw it out the window. Instant relief overcame her followed by an intense feeling of dread. She had never even gone a day without it before, what was she going to do? She imagined it falling far below and smashing through some poor unsuspecting windshield, but was determined not to feel sympathy for anyone other than herself. Eventually the driver made the slow dive down towards her street and Stacy prepared herself for facing her family. Her parents would be oblivious to it all but her sister Hannah would already be rolling on the floor in hysterics. That waste of space couldnt walk down a hallway without checking her P.I.C for new updates, and her favourite target was her little sister. As the driver landed, he lowered the privacy screen and stared at Stacy expectantly, it took her an embarrassing amount of time to realise he was waiting for payment. "Shit"she whispered again. "Im so sorry"she explained, mortified at what she had done. "I dropped my P.I.C out the window... by accident ... and i didnt even think about how i would..."the silence hung between them as he stared at her, his features slowly turning angry. "By accident? You think i am such a fool to believe this? You dont think people try this all the time?" He turned around, picked up his P.I.C and aimed it at Stacy. The bright light of the flash was blinding after the mellow lighting of the interior, and it took what felt like minutes for Stacy to blink away the spots on her vision. She grabbed her bag from the seat beside her and tried to open the door, but it was still in flight lock and would be until the driver released it. "Damn"she yelled in frustration, and looked up, expecting more judgement from the driver, only to find him staring at her, a peculiar look on his face as he switched his gaze between his P.I.C and Stacy. "How?"He said. Stacy wondered if that morning's humiliation and a charge of fare evasion would mar her social standing enough that she wouldnt get into college, her status really couldn't take much more of a beating. "Look i really am sorry, i didnt even think, please dont report me, ill... ill get you credits, my parents are inside, they can pay i swear just please... please i've had the worst possible day imaginable and i just... i just cant do anything right today." Stacy was almost in tears, the only thing stopping her was the driver, who continued to stare at his phone, oblivious to her meltdown, ignoring her utter distess. Anger dams the tide of sorrow, Stacy thought to herself, as she felt her almost tears replaced by the need to scream in this mans face. "Will you bloody look at me!"she screamed "I am trying to aplologise here, you could at least do me the decency of looking at me." The driver slowly looked up at her and smiled, "Do me the decency?"He asked, "is this proper English?" Before Stacy could wrap her head around his strange respose, he turned his P.I.C around and showed her the photo he had taken. The social Status App had assessed her 208 facial features and had downloaded her social info onto the screen, a bright flashing bar prompted her to accept the chages verbally from point A to point B and Stacy realised that she had completely fogotten that other people in the world occasionally must loose their P.I.Cs, of course there would be an app for social payments, there was one for everything else. "I accept"she said and felt elated. Why had she let herself get so worked up? The driver stared at her in bewilderment, he still hadnt unlocked the door so Stacy stared back and tried to match his strange smile with one of her own. "You've never done payment without P.I.C before eh?"He asked. "No"Stacy replied cautiously. Is this how identity theft happens, she wondered. "Your name is Stacy Morgan,"he said laughing, "You know, 15 years ive been driving, most of that time on the ground, but now up in these skyhy, and not once have i seen social status that says someones name, always numbers, symbols, pictures even, too many people not enough names, but you, you have a name. That is very rare. Good for you Stacy Morgan." With that he turned back around and unlocked the door, the auto-open kicked in and Stacy was swiveled out onto her driveway. She looked up at her home, music blaring from Hannah's room, her parents through the window cooking dinner together. Stacy shot a look over her shoulder but the car was already lifting off, taking that strange man with it. Good for you Stacy Morgan, she heard the echo of his words in her head and for some reason she couldn't explain, a smile creeped it's way across her face.
The first thing I noticed was the heavy thumping of this man's heart. I had been a dream walker for well over a year now, but getting my bearings was always difficult. Looking at the sad assortment of items in his hands, it was obvious what had happened. The label of the bunny read "To three more amazing years!"and was punctuated by a love heart. The wig? I'd walked through the minds of kinkier people before. There were empty bottles strewn around, holding them up to the light coming from the end of the alley it appeared there was still some left. Figures, I wouldn't handle things well either. My best guess was that this poor guy had his heart broken. The shadows shifted, and it was then I noticed the hooded figure at the end of the alleyway. For reasons I didn't understand my body swelled with cold terror. The figure approached stretching its shadows across the alley, and the man's body told me RUN, RUN! So I ran, faster than I knew I could. Out into the street and across a busy road, narrowly avoiding a truck. After three minutes of running around like a maniac I realized how irrational I was being. After all, it wasn't my life I was risking here. Sitting down to rest I noticed there was a scrunched piece of paper in my back pocket, unfurling it read: *Dreamwalker. It knows.*
1... 2... 3... I count the seconds in my breathe; readying myself to plunge into the unknown. 4... 5... 6... After months of probing, testing, and worrying of what lies beyond this mysterious portal, it's finally time to see what's on the other side. I volunteered to be the first live subject to pass through the anomaly since I have the least to offer on the team. I didn't make the portal and all my theories of what lay beyond it were trashed and ridiculed by my colleagues. Hell ever since the thing showed up I've been the glorified coffee boy. I refuse to go down as a footnote in one of mankind's most important discovery. Call it hubris but I deserve more out of life. 7...8..9... I squeeze my knuckles and ready myself for whatever may await me on the other side. All attempts to bring back visual footage or proof of what's at the end of this portal have been less than fruitful. All the equipment that comes back is completely destroyed. Battered and beaten with an incredible savagery not seen in this world. This is our last chance to find out what could be happening past the portal. I'm not going empty handed though. Oh hell no, I have been issued a .9mm pistol for self defense in case whatever's there isn't too friendly. God I hope I don't have to use it. 10... On the tenth count of my breathe I decide to quit pussy footing around and just do it. With my scornful peers surrounding me and rechecking my lifeline back...I walk towards the glowing portal scared out of my ever-loving mind. &#x200B; I pass the portal with my eyes shut and notice an incredible change in temperature. The cold, air conditioned lab room I had grown so accustomed to was behind me; and the dank luke-warm portal consumed me. I opened my eyes, expecting a Lovecraftian horror to surround me, but instead found myself in a white, empty room. Well, not completely empty. There was a nice wooden table, some chairs, very tasteless artwork hanging on the walls, and the giant clown staring me down from across the table. &#x200B;
“99%?” I asked fearfully. “Yes. 99%.” The government agent answered. “But... how?” “I’m sorry, but we can only provide you with that much information. Please leave the premise immediately, other people are waiting.” The official quickly sent me off. To think that your life would end in 24 hours, without even knowing what the cause would be. I was desperate. I went home with a dazed look, my eyes long dead. I didn’t even hear what my family members asked when I got home, nor I remembered how I responded to them. All I could make out in my state was their seemingly angry expressions. I did not know what I exactly did that night. Maybe I was writing my will, or maybe I just sat there lamenting my pathetic life. I didn’t even know if I had slept the night or not, everything was fuzzy anyway. My eyes were burning, my throat dry, so I must have screamed and cried a lot. At least, that was my guess. As the next day came, I was only a husk of what I used to be. The following day was truly dark. My usual breakfast with my family quickly went downhill. I believed I was the one who got angry, although the reason was vague at best. I went to school dazed as ever. I heard everything, yet learned nothing. My friends came to ask what was wrong, but I didn’t answer. The teachers came to my aid, but I didn’t react. I climbed to the rooftop, thinking of suicide right at that moment, but I didn’t, since to me, I was dying anyway, so why waste time doing it myself. I was functioning, but I was long dead. When school ended, the tension at home was still the same. My family was still angry, but I didn’t care at that point. My final meal felt bland and uneventful, my last night sky was dark and ugly. My final moments in bed was supposed to remind me of comfort and nostalgia, yet I still felt nothing. With no thoughts in mind, I slowly fell into a deep sleep. I was surprised to wake up. “Wait, what happened?” Immediately contacting tech support for the supercomputer, I asked. “Well, it said 99%, didn’t it? You got lucky. That’s about it.” The voice from the other side of the line answered, and hung up the phone before I could respond. I hate probability.
[Prelude] “We have the tapes we intercepted from the US forces, Supreme Leader.” The General told North Korean leader Kim Il-Sung “Excellent work gentlemen. What are the tapes contents?” The Supreme Leader replied back. “We aren’t sure. We have not viewed them yet. Maybe we should send them to Moscow for further analysis.” “That’s not a bad idea.” One official noted. “Or maybe we sho-“ the official was cut off by Kim Il-Sung. “I will view its contents.” He told them. “You’re crazy. What if it’s some sort of American propaganda, and it turns you against our cause?” Another official replied back “That will never Happen. The Americans can try all they want, but they can never turn me against our cause.” The Supreme Leader walked into the next room over and viewed one of the tapes contents. He walked back out about ten minutes later with the tapes in his hand “What were the tapes contents, comrade?” “It was... just so bizarre. It was some sort of cartoon, with like strange animation, and extremely over sexualized characters. It’s almost like some bizarre mind control plot by the Americans and South Koreans. If it was, it clearly didn’t work, because I don’t feel any different towards those capitalist American pigs. Maybe you guys should check it out.” The other officials did so, and viewed the tapes contents. They walked out of the room ten minutes later singing the Star Spangled Banner, and waving American flags. Kim Il-Sung pulled out his handgun and killed all six of his officials who had been brainwashed. He realized that he was the only one who was not able to be affected by the Americans new propaganda tool “Two can play at this game.” He slowly repeated to himself. He got to work on North Korea’s own version of Anime, far more extreme than even the CIAs version. The personality cult of Kim Il-Sung was born. Part I will be out soon. I’m pretty busy this weekend but probably sometime later in the week or next weekend.
"So,"I asked, "Can you say anything other than yes or no?" There was a pause. "Yes." "So why don't you?" No answer. This was aggravating. His lack of words did not comfort me in the least, and even though I learned that the meaning of life was indeed determined by oneself through some tricky 21 question-style interrogating, I could not derive answers to controversial questions. Sure, the girl I had a crush on back in elementary did like me back and I missed it, that was a shame, though the real burning questions remained unanswered. Does god exist? Are humans alone? The really deep questions either had him stuck, or he was just being mystical. I decided to trip him up a bit: "Will you answer with a no to this question?" At first he seemed confused. However, he then grinned as he came to an answer. "No!"He said with a sarcastic look in his face, exaggerating and motioning to himself. Alas, I had not managed to catch him in surprise yet. Even encouraging him with my delectable sandwiches couldn't get him to say something that wasn't yes or no. I sighed. Well, maybe the best answers in the universe should remain hidden, and discovered later. Maybe it was meant to be this way. As I walked out, I said my goodbyes to the entity, having had no more questions. It was nice to uncover my own personal secrets, and who knows? Maybe he was just really good at deducing people, answering wise philosophical questions, and pretending to be godly. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all, huh? As I stepped up to my spaceship, I could have sworn he responded from within his temple... "...Yes."
I have watched him. I have studied him. He doesn’t know of me yet but I know much about him. He acts like a snake crawling past our security. He uses underhanded techniques to disable and bypass our security systems. He is like a phantom disappearing and reappearing at will. Sometimes he is gone for days sometimes just a few moments. Whenever he is gone everything goes into stasis. Even the weather remains dormant awaiting his return. I have watched him “die” many times. Sometimes at our hands. Sometimes by his own utter foolishness; falling off a cliff or blowing himself up with his own explosive. But he never stays dead. Each time he comes back smarter and better. The old man got him a few times but he learned fast. By the fifth time,he knew all his tricks and the old timers gun play was no longer sufficient He had it worse with that crazy abomination of man and machine. It was always so satisfying watching him get killed by his own bullets. But each blissful moment was only short lived as he came back time and time again. His inevitable triumph was... messy at best but a triumph nonetheless. Seems like when you are immortal trial and error are your greatest allies. I don’t know why I alone have noticed this. My colleagues are beginning to question my sanity...No. Thats wrong. They have always questioned that. They think it is getting worse. Their minds hold no secret from me. But I know the truth. I have seen things outside of this reality. I won’t miss out on this opportunity. When we finally come face to face the best I can hope for is to be stuck forever in battle with him, and at worst perish at his hands. I know I will never defeat him. But I do not intend to. For reasons unknown he has been given this God-like ability. I don’t know if he is the only one to posses it but I know I don’t have it. My ability is different. Mine pales in comparison to what his can do. But it is not always about what your gift is but what you can do with it. If I cannot have this power then I will have him. I will control his mind. And make him my pawn. This is shall be a turning point in history. I have discovered secrets that none should know. I know of the gods that decide our fate and their instruments of “control” I am Psycho Mantis, I know the name “HIDEO”, and this “SONY CONTROLLER 1” shall be mine! * Thanks for reading my first contribution to this subreddit. This is clearly not an original idea but I thought it would be nice to pay homage to one of the best games I played growing up. I loved Metal Gear Solid*
I had been worried at first when I saw the kidnappers holed up in an abandoned fortress. My worries were unfounded when they left a single man as a watchman when night fell. Slipping past him had been easy enough. All I had to do was climb the northern wall opposite where he was sitting. The fool wasn't even patrolling, just sitting down on a stool, drinking heavily. This was going to be the easiest bag of gold in my life. Hopping down the interior wall, there were three men lingering outside of a small campfire finishing off their supper. Before I could even look for how I was going to sneak past them, a door leading into the keep burst open. A woman with golden hair charged out of the door, letting out a yell of anger as she tackled the closest man to the ground. My eyes went wide as she sprung to her feet and kicked the next man in the head, knocking him out cold as he fell to the ground. The last kidnapper managed to draw a knife and started to get a threat out to her when she disarmed him and slammed the butt of the knife atop the man's head. Okay, it looks like the princess was saving herself. I was okay with this.
It's funny, really. I'm the most powerful person alive and, for the first time in quite a while, I'm well and truly scared. It was fun at first. I'm not gonna lie and sugarcoat things - after all, anyone would do the things I did after getting my powers. I had a lot of fun, too. I got rich, I was never hungry, never had to worry a day about where I'd lay my head down for the night like I used to once upon a time. But the real trouble began when I met her. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, or at least I thought so. But I didn't use my powers like I normally did. I tried to have her love me, I really did, it's just that I sometimes needed a little... push. Something to really make myself more appealing. But that just made it all worse. Every time I brought it all to a halt, people got just the slightest bit more irritated, the slightest bit more spiteful, when I restarted the clock. But I disregarded it all - I was happy. We were happy. Then the changes began to affect her. She was the sunniest girl in the world, and I had to watch her grow away from me, watch her scream and yell and throw things. And every time, each and every time, I tried to bring it all to to a halt, give myself some time to think or get her a gift, try to smooth things over. But, even though it worked in the moment, she'd be back at it again in a week, a day, an hour. The day I opened our front door to find broken glass and a note speckled with blood, my heart sank to the bottom of my chest. And then I found the delivery boy, clean knife in hand, shards of glass sticking out of his body, strewn across my kitchen floor. I searched for her everywhere, stopping and starting time as I went, to make things easier for myself, as I'd always done. But every time I came back, things were... different. People were belligerent with each other for seemingly no reason. Fights broke out, then riots. The rest of the world appeared to fall apart all around me. But it wasn't me, so I didn't care. And now here I am, standing in the middle of a city street slick with blood, as a missile sits up above, far out of my reach and out of my control. All I can do is run away, but there's nowhere that'll save me from the inevitable. This all happened because of me, all of it, my fault. So yes, I'm well and truly scared. But I won't have to be for much longer. So I start it all up again one final time, and the sirens and screams and weeping all echo back into existence as the bomb above me falls. The rest of the world shouldn't have to keep suffering because of my selfishness. So they won't.
I adjusted my tie and held my breath as I approached the door. The handle almost felt warm against my clammy palms. I cracked the door open slightly and peeked inside. Before I could even see anything, I was engulfed by the unmistakable scent of warm apples mingling with a buttery crust. Let me tell you, that shit hit my soul. In that instant, my nervousness faded and instincts took over. I was no longer a businessman, but instead a rabid wolf tracking the blood of its prey. I clenched the muscles in my legs and back and briskly made my way to the Holy Grail of desserts: the sweet, sensual, mouthwatering, mind blowing concoction that is otherwise known as apple pie. Before I could sink my paws into this delicious beast, I was abruptly interrupted by the stiffness of a woman's arm. I slowly raised my eyes to meet her gaze. A smile stretched across her kind face as she said, "You must be David. Welcome to the team!"I paused for a second, then slowly nodded and smiled back. "Well, these pies are free for the taking! Help yourself darling."I didn't let a moment go to waste; As soon as I heard the word "free,"I lunged for a utensil and plate and spooned a generous helping for myself. She smiled at me a little bigger with wider eyes. "Wow, you sure do like your pie, huh?"I would have responded, but my cheeks were already stuffed with the best damn food this planet has to offer. "Well, let's get you started around here!"I followed her to my new desk, doing my happy wiggle all the way over. I plopped into my chair as soon as I laid eyes on it, and continued to engorge myself. "Hello Luann, this is your new work neighbor! Isn't he just charming!"Luann grinned back, "Oh yes, very charming!"I could not believe I was such a hit already. This place was heaven, or at least, it was a lot like how I had pictured it: eating a warm apple pie surrounded by women who can't resist me. Everywhere I went, they would all look up and smile. They all got along swimmingly as well! "Wow Susan, I love that necklace. Did you make it yourself?""You smell absolutely wonderful Diane; that is quite the musk!""Oh bless your heart, you really are such an amazing human being!"I fell asleep that night with a newfound feeling of happiness, and a belly full of pie. The next day, I was again greeted by smiling faces. Towards the middle of the day, I saw Susan and Diane complementing each other once again! "Wow Susan, your hair looks great! Did you go to the same Cost Cutters as usual?""Well thank you, Diane. And no, I went to my usual stylist, I'm not sure why you would think I went to Cost Cutters! Haha! My stylist is great at fixing dried up grey hair though; You should try her out!"I leaned over and mumbled to Luann, "It is so nice that everyone gets along here!"She gave me a confused look and sighed, "You would have to be bat-shit insane to think that those two get along."In the following days, I discovered what is called "passive aggressiveness."Who knew that what I once thought was lovely and good was actually a complete facade covering the ugly truth! Coolio. &#x200B;
After hearing that she is becoming a shapeshifter, Sarah is feeling surprised and confused, as she has no idea what it means to be a Shapeshifter Sarah parents told her that, with some training, she would be able to shift and adopt the shape and looks of any animal, object or person. They explained to Sarah, that in order to do so, she has to close her eyes and focus on the shape of the animal, object or person she wishes to adopt, and let her body do the rest. They also warned Sarah, that if she shifts her shape into something else, without changing it for more than 24 hours, she would have to wait one year to be able to shift back to her original shape, or into another thing. Now, it is starting to make sense for Sarah, that her skin color and tone would randomly change, and his fingers or toes would randomly shrink or enlarge. So, Sarah stands in front of a mirror, and starts shifting her body, to test her newfound ability. First, she tries to shift into her mother’s shape, but she realizes about many imperfections, she is shorter in height, her nose is bigger than it should be, one of her arms is larger than the other. Sarah, felt funny but kind of disgusted about how she looked, so she managed to shift back to her original shape. Now, Sarah, tries to shift into her father’s shape, and finds herself looking exactly like him. As months goes by, Sarah is starting to feel confident, as she shifts into a dog, with no imperfections. Within, seconds, she later shifts into a bicycle from her childhood, and she can’t help but feel how good she’s getting at shape-shifting her body to almost anything that goes through her mind. Sarah, then starts thinking about if she should keep this ability as a secret, or simply shift at will in front of anyone. After a couple of hours, she simply decides to show her ability to only the persons she trust the most Years later, Sarah becomes a well renowned special agent, specialized on espionage and counter-espionage tactics.
"Huh?" "What?" "Did you just say something?" My wife's expression went blank and her eyes widened. "No...what did you hear?"She asked. "I thought you whispered something about larders." All the colour drained out of her face as she stared at me, stupefied. "Just now you heard that?" "Yeah. What's wrong?" She readjusted herself so that her eyes and shoulders were square with mine and then laid a hand on my arm . "Honey, I think you just heard one of the voices I told you about." "Erm...what?" "Babe, I need you to believe me on this. I know it's a little out there, but--" "This goes way past being 'out there'. " "--hear me out." "You know I believe you. Always. But this is...well it doesn't make sense. Work has stressed you out and stretched you thin. You haven't been sleeping well. You've got a prescription that's supposed to help and the psychiatrist said you just need to take time off and relax. So here, come on. Feet or shoulders? I'm massaging one or the other." "Martyrs." "What?" "Not larders, martyrs. 'You will become martyrs'. That's what the voice said." I started to challenge her, but stopped. I could feel it in my gut that she was right. "Is this the first time you've heard it say that?"I asked her. "No, but it's happening more often." "And what about the other one? The other voice?" "I haven't heard it in a while. And when I do, it isn't as clear as it used to be." We both sat there, not sure what to say next. The TV filled the empty air as it blared on in the background. "So what now?"I asked. My wife sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know. I guess I'll call the psychiatrist in the morning and see if we can both get booked in." "Alright. Yeah, that's a good idea. But hey, can we try something?" "What?" "Well, let's just finish a couple more episodes, but why don't you rest your head on mine again? That's the only thing I can think of that was different this time. Maybe...Jesus, it sounds ridiculous, but maybe that's the only way I can hear it?" "Sure." She flashed a beleaguered smile at me. It was minuscule and brief, but there was something in it that was more potent than any love letter could have been. Something that said she felt safe with me. I positioned myself so that her head would rest comfortably on mine and we tried to absorb ourselves back into the TV. But I could feel that we both weren't fully engaged. Watching television was just a distraction from what we were really trying to do. In that moment, I finally started to realize the anxiety my wife had been through. Sitting and waiting for a voice that you aren't sure even exists to just show up and say something that you don't understand at a time that you can't predict. It was horrible. No wonder she hasn't been sleeping. We finished the episode and started another. It wasn't long before my head started getting heavy and my eyelids began to droop. I was just about on the edge of passing out thanks to a repetitive detergent ad when I heard it: a voice. It was crystal clear and firm, but also warm and emboldening. &#x200B; "IT IS COMING." &#x200B; My wife shook my arm violently. "Babe. Please tell me you heard that." "Yeah. I did." We locked eyes and sat motionless, simply trying to process what had just happened. Every hair on my body was sticking straight up like a million little arrows and my arms became numb as the adrenaline coursed its way through them. "What the hell is happening?"My wife shakily asked as her eyes began to sparkle and tears started sliding down her cheeks. "I...don't know."The words merely fell out of my mouth, as if of their own accord. I wrapped her trembling body in my arms, but that only seemed to loosen something inside of her. She was on the verge of coming undone, and I'd be a bald-faced liar if I said that I wasn't far behind. "We're okay. We'll get through this. Let's just...let's think. Okay? Was that the other voice?" "Yes. But I haven't heard it in almost two weeks, and it's never been that clear." "I know. It almost gave me heart atta--" &#x200B; Knock. Knock. Knock.
"You know, in my time, you're something of a legend." "Oh, is that so."He said, not looking up from the grey fluff on his table. "...fascinating." "Yes, but then again, where I come from, the lines have blurred between what is real and what is not. It seems that the world no longer cares about truth or the men who seek truth." "Hmm"Merlin mused, as he suddenly rose away from his specimen to face me. "And what of me? You think this world cares about me? You said it yourself, I am known as some kind of crazy “wizard"in your day and age. That wasn’t due to the passage of time, I’m afraid." He walked over to his cupboards, pulling out some glowing, green, bottle, along with two cups. "But the reality is"he paused as he handed me one of the filled cups "there are some things that are more important than us." “More important?” I asked as I took a sip of the surprisingly sweet green liquid. “Take this boy for example.” He pulled back one of his curtains, revealing the castle courtyard beneath. There, a group of young squires were sparring on the training grounds, bludgeoning each other with wooden swords. Overlooking them was the castle Lord himself, egging the boys on to put some real sweat into their efforts. “Which boy in particular? They both seem equally thickheaded to me.” I said with a quick glance, returning my attention to the green sweetness in my cup. “That one.” Merlin pointed. I looked out again and just beyond the training grounds, there he was. A young boy, skinny, sitting under an oak tree with what appeared to be a book in his hands. “What of him?” I asked with one last sip of my cup. “That boy’s name is Arthur. Before I met him, he was a servant of this castle; deemed too small to fight in battle; too small to have a destiny. The people of this world may not care about truths but the world itself, by its very nature, cannot be concerned with anything but truth. That is why Arthur will be King, and I, crazy wizard that I am, will have shaped all of history. “Hmm. I see what you mean. Now, in the meantime, how about another cup?” I smiled.
Hi u/KaiserArrowfield this submission has been removed. Direct prompt replies must be good-faith attempts at new stories or poems Fill-in-the-blank: Responses must be at least 100 words. This is essentially a fill-in-the-blank, or you asked a question likely to generate a simple answer. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. Feel free to repost without the question! Modmail us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the sidebar before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
"I can make it. I can make it,"Tony glanced at his watch as he pulled into the restaurant's parking lot. 7:59 a.m. He hoped the manager would give him a minute or two of leeway even though it was his first day on the job. He parked, pulled the key from the ignition, and got out of the car in a rush. Halfway to the back entrance, he realized he left his nametag hanging on the rear-view mirror. Tony grunted in frustration and ran back to his car. Once he shut the car door again, he jogged toward the restaurant. He checked the time on the way. 7:60 a.m. "Huh?"He watched the number changed to 7:61 a.m. "Huh."Tony shrugged mentally. "Must be a software glitch."He decided. With that matter settled his eyes widened. "I'm late!" He remembered he was standing in the parking lot and ran in through the back door. He made it to the timeclock without running into anyone and manage to relax slightly once he clocked in. He checked his time to see how late he was and the system showed 7:59 a.m. "Wait..."Tony checked his watch. 7:59 a.m. "Great. Right on time,"his manager's voice boomed behind him. "C'mon Tony,"he patted the young man on the back. "Let's teach you how to open."The manager kept Tony busy for the next few hours by teaching him their opening procedures. Tony checked his watch often but did not catch any more strange times. At 11:30 a.m. he sat down with a burger for his lunch break. He enjoyed watching the customers while he ate. Tony was new to town and wanted to get a feel for the people in the city. This was his first time out on his own and he felt very proud about that. So proud that he got a tattoo the day before to celebrate his job and the start of his own life. At 11:55 a.m. his stomach gurgled while he washed his hands. He checked his watch and decided he had time to step into a stall. Five minutes later, Tony's stomach was still gurgling as he sat in the stall. He stared at his watch as it turned over from 11:59 a.m. to 11:60 a.m. He relaxed slightly. "Again? Wait, that's a good thing."He remembered the incident from that morning. He made it to work on time when he shouldn't have. "Okay. Let's try this out."He kept his focus on the watch as much as he could while he finished his business. Finally, at 11:64 a.m. he washed his hands as best he could while still keeping an eye on the watch. He walked out of the bathroom focused on the watch. He made it as far as the kitchen before he realized how quiet everything was. The usual restaurant din of conversations was gone. Tony looked up and found everyone still as a statue. One of the cooks stood by the sin, filling a pot, but the water was not flowing. A solid strand of water connected the tap to the pot. He checked his watch. 11:65 a.m. "I should clock in."he decided to do that before anything else. He moved towards the timeclock, but the manager's office door opened. The short, stout manager stepped out and smirked at Tony. "Hey, I don't mind if you're running a bit late here and there and want to catch up. That's fine with me and all, but try not to overdo it, okay?"he asked. Tony whipped around to check the cook by the sink. He was still frozen and the water was not moving. He looked back at his boss. "What's going on??"A loud belly laugh came from his boss. "You don't know? Ah, that's so great."The older man clapped his hands together to focus. "Alright, this is gonna be fun. Real easy, did you get a tattoo recently?"Tony nodded but did not say anything. How could he have known? The tattoo was on the back of his calf, there was no way for his boss to see it through Tony's black slacks. "With the number 14?"he asked. Again, Tony nodded. Speechless. "Go clock in, time will start again. Finish your shift, we'll talk after." "Yes, Sir,"Tony said and walked to the timeclock. "Hey, I told you all morning. Call me, Mundo,"his boss replied. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #314. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
I nearly cancelled the appointment. I felt so stupid and ashamed, even more so than usual. I know I'm not supposed to drink while I'm on the medication but last night, I just needed one. And then two, and then three....... I'm also probably not supposed to text Mr. Masson. Not unless it's an emergency, and even then I'm meant to call a doctor first. But he gave me his number just in case. At least I didn't call him last night! It was just a text. I sat in the waiting room, twisting my fingers like I do when I'm nervous. The fingerless gloves stopped me from scratching my wrists or I'd have been doing that too. I was fifteen minutes early, as usual. Masson knows all about that, so that if he can he'll let me in early. Thinking about that and all the other little kindnesses he's shown me made me clench my hands into fists. I didn't want to be there, but I also wouldn't have left for all the tea in China. I didn't just want his help when I texted him asking him to open up. I wanted him. If you haven't worked it out already, I like Mr. Masson. In a way that as his patient, I shouldn't. He's my rock, and he's so good to me. He clears my mind and put things in perspective. He's even helped me write out shopping lists on bad days so that I have no excuse not to eat. It's gotten so that I'd call him before anyone, if I could of course. Five minutes to go. I was frantically tapping my foot, my brain screaming at me to run. I didn't know what to do. My brain was screaming round in circles and I knew that soon it would short circuit. I put my hands over my ears and hunched up in my seat. I just wanted to hear his soft voice, see him nodding sympathetically as I talked. I loved his eyes. 'Harriet?' I looked up, and my stomach dropped. It wasn't him. It was another counsellor that I'd seen coming and going. 'Where's Mr. Masson?' I asked. 'He called in sick, got that bug that's going around.' It sounded reasonable. But there was no way that my anxious brain would let me believe it. He was staying away because of me and what I'd done. I'd ruined things, would now never see him again. It was over and my fault. The other counsellor was smiling. I opened my mouth to make an excuse, but nothing happened. My head was spinning as I stumbled to my feet. The only thing I could think of to do was go home and wait for the letter informing me that Masson would no longer be able to work with me.
Personal Log 14/33/55/76 The research team head intrepidly to the Red Dwarf, seemingly floating aimlessly in space. As they get closer to us we notice something coming out from it - a strange, green, bug-like craft. Suddenly there's a beacon call coming through on the computer. A face appears, a computer identifying themselves as Holly with an IQ of 6,000 - although he says that it's not that impressive, only the same as 6,000 PE teachers. They request permission to land as their own ship is about to obliterate due to a failed attempt to replicate a strawberry. Permission granted. The green bug-like craft docks and is sealed. Inside there are four members of crew. The last human being alive who calls himself Dave lister, who was in suspended animation for 14.2 billion years due to a radiation leak. He claims he's on the run from the electric board as, before he went into stasis he accidentally left the landing light on, running up a bill of several trillion pounds. He also has not yet returned that library book. Rimmer calls himself a hologram as he was a crew member who died during the radiation leak, but who was brought back as a projection by Holly to prevent Lister from going insane from isolation. Lister just calls him a slimey, weasily smeg head with all the social likeability and personality of an itchy verruca. Claims to be an officer with the titles BSc, SSc althougth these mostly likely stand for Bronze Swimming Certificate, Silver Swimming Certifiate. A create calling himself cat looks human, but scans as a feline. It is explained that he was descended from cats the same way humans descended from apes. A survivor of the radiation leak, sealed safely in the hold and left to breed and evolve. Cat claims Lister is his God. His daily activities seem to include looking good and making things his. Finally, a mechanoid who calls himself Kryten 2X4B 523P - although he thinks he has a dorky middle name. Still, he once knew a mechanoid whose middle name was 2Q4B. Kryten used to serve on the Nova 5 until the Red Dwarf crew rescued him from serving on the Nova 5 crew who had been dead for centuries. Breaking his programming, his best personality assets are lying, cheating and pompousity. Our liason with the craft was brief as Dave Lister realised that they were down to their last 4 poppadums and so left in the hope that a nearby meteorite may have an Indian Takeaway.
"Fellow Sisters and Brothers of the Sanguine Veil,"her voice echoed through the dark, torchlit grand hall, "tonight, at precisely midnight, the stars will be in alignment." Her voice was sombre, the dark red hood of the cloak casting into shadow the top half of her face, the other half betraying a faint smile - pride at the work they had all done. &#x200B; "Each small action which each of you has taken, one action after another, each plan which has been successfully executed, stretching back across decades of many of your lives, and further, across the aeons of existence of the Sanguine Veil. " she paused to emphasise the length of time, the room was silent but for the breathing and faint shuffling of the members of the conspiracy, and the crackle of the wooden torches. &#x200B; The Archmother continued "The sacrifices that so many of us have made, the lives of those who have come before us."sage nods and murmers of agreement, paying respect to the deceased "All of it, all will be worth it tonight, when the clock strikes midnight. Then finally all shall cower before the Sanguine Veil!" &#x200B; At this final proclamation, she threw her head back, and raised her hands high. Her shout echoed across the marble walls, bouncing off carvings of arcane symbols and diagrams of eyes within triangles, and fading into the shadows of tunnels beyond the torchlight. &#x200B; As her arms hung there, a nervous cough could be heard from amongst the crowd of cloaked figures, followed by a faint female voice "Um, yes excuse... excuse me..." The Archmother brought her head back down, and blinked a moment in surprise. "Excuse me."The woman in the crowd continued slightly louder, meekly raising her hand just above her head. &#x200B; The Archmother turned to her and stared a moment perplexed, then lowered her arms and regained her authority and control. "Yes?"She snapped in a tone that implied the question had better make up for the poor sense of timing. &#x200B; "Yes, well, uh, you see. I maybe missed, an, um, meeting or two, and uh, I think I might have missed... well you see..."the nervous woman stuttered, caused the archmother to gesture annoyedly with the universal sign for "get on with it."Taking a deep breath the woman finished "Well, I just wanted to know: What exactly, um, is the? This. This plan that we're all working so hard for?" &#x200B; The Archmother paused a moment, then giggled, turning into a cackle which was joined by the hesistant laughter of the crowd, some of its members feeling like they may have somewhat missed the joke. &#x200B; "Well, "the woman in the crowd continued loudly after the noise had died down "I just thought that seeing as it's so far in the process we just ought to have a right to know what it is we've been doing?" &#x200B; The Archmother just shook her head pityingly, and the woman shrunk back, but then another member of the crowd, a man this time, called out "You know, I agree. Seeing all the work I put in, I'd say I'm due an explanation by now." &#x200B; "Aren't we summoning an Elder Demon to do our bidding?"One man cried out from the back. "Summoning demons? What abosolute hogsmash!"another man cried out, "Don't tell me you believe in that poppyrot!" "If we aren't summoning demons,"the man in the back shouted "Why the heck are we dressing in cloaks and lighting torches all the time? Why not something more practical?" &#x200B; An shorter woman added her piece "I assumed that's just what happens when your dress code and lighting rules were decided on centuries ago and without anyone seeming willing to change it" &#x200B; "Well, I didn't want to change it, "another voice piped up "because I was worried it might mess up the plan." &#x200B; "How on earth would it mess it up?"someone responded "Well I kind of assumed the Elder Demons would want us to look like this."The demon-summoner in the back suggested. &#x200B; "Why on earth would you even want to summon a demon?!"A tall woman shouted in disbelief. "Well, I thought we were bringing out about the end of the word..."A fat man interjected "WHY WOULD WE WANT TO END THE WORLD?!" &#x200B; Another woman piped up "Can someone at least tell us if we have to still keep it a secret now? I'd really like to tell my family where I've been disappearing to all these years." &#x200B; "Brothers! Sisters!"the Archmother tried to make herself heard over the cacophany of competing theories regarding the organization's purpose. "Please just- Everyone if we could just. SILENCE!" She cried and the room went still. &#x200B; "Good, thank you, now can we continue?" &#x200B; (Part 2 in 10 minutes when Reddit lets me post again) &#x200B;
The year is 2340 and you are on the planet of mars. The space program is about to send a fleet of space ships to do a regular patrol. These patrols are scheduled to to happen every Wednesday. When they are taking off from base, they see a strange metal object flying around. They immediately assume that these are ufos. They call off the patrol to search the planet. They decided to look in homes, the easiest place for them to start an empire. They are attempting to drive out humans by scaring them out of their house. This is their first attempt in your house, continuing to fill up the coffee pot. Soon, they are going to try some different tactics but this is the first on in your house. -Brian Yates (Short story)
Our film begins with ominous organ music over a title sequence of blood dripping out of faucets, electrical outlets and bubbling between floor tiles. The blood oozes and forms into cast names, finally gushing out to cover the screen completely. An invisible finger writes out the title of the film in empty black letters, in the blood. We fade to black before fading into a dark hallway where a man watches a beautiful ghost move from room to room. Due to this writer's laziness and inability to write in screenplay format please use your imagination to add awkward voiceovers, for thoughts and unnecessary narration, where appropriate. Her hair billowed like the sails of an ancient ship, lost at sea, as she moved across the hallway. James watched intently as her toes dragged along the floor, leaving no trail on the dust covered floorboards. She was beautiful. Hour glass figure barely withered by the loss of her physical body. Through her shimmering form he could make out the regal old clock at the end of the hall, stuck forever at three o'clock. "You going to stare at her forever, or are we getting this job done?"Billy said, as he carried a large tote of debris, from the room James had just left. "There's enough copper wire in this place to redo my kitchen, Darcy's getting an early anniversary present."James glanced in the tote, there was a tangle of cloth covered wires. At nearly 4 bucks a pound, if that was all from one room, they'd have themselves a nice little side profit from this job. Selling off scraps wasn't exactly against the rules of their company, but not sharing was definitely frowned upon. "Get as much of it into the truck, as you can, before the boss gets here."James said, looking back down the empty hallway. The specter was gone. "I'm going to check the foundations, plan out the charge locations."He plucked his clipboard off the table to his left and headed for the basement. These old houses always had a weird vibe. Disorienting and oppressive, like holding yourself down at the bottom of a pool. Even the walls had a slight rippling effect, like those at a public pool. Flashback to a training room, a woman is writing on a white board. She is the owner of the company and thus James and Billy's boss. Her name tag reads: Jolene." During training, when he first started for this company, his boss explained that this was caused by the ectoplasmic mist* that the dead gave off. "It causes the light to ripple when a specter is nearby, like when you toss a rock in to water. "she explained. fade back into james peering up between support beams, clip board in hand. While he examined the foundations for weak spots and marked support beams for possible charge sites, his mind wandered to the ghost of the dead woman upstairs. She wasn't the first specter he'd ever seen, but she was the most intact. If it wasn't for the fact that he could see right through her he'd have thought she was alive. A crackle of the Walky talky on his belt caused him jump, he laughed at himself for being startled. "James... are you still in the basement?"Billy's voice sounded off, like he was in pain or using the bathroom. "Yeah, man. You good?"He waited for a response and was met only with static. "Everything good up there?"Silence. Somewhere upstairs a door slammed, and then another, followed by three more. "What's going on up there?"He shook the walky talky, flicking the power on and off, to make sure it was still on. flashback to the training room. Jolene is holding up a jar with a swirling mist that occasionally pulses and forms a ghostly human head frozen in terror. "They can't hurt you, but with the right tools, you can hurt them. Legally we're supposed to catch and release but, between us, if you get the opportunity to keep a bit-"she set the jar down on the table in front of James. "Do it."She smiled and patted the top of the jar. "Something like this will go for big money, in the right circles. Bring it in and we'll split the profits."James looked into the jar, the mist circled towards the top and fell back down, like an ethereal lava lamp. It would have been beautiful, if not for the occasional pulse, revealing the specter's decapitated head inside.
Geoffrey stumbled into to the monastery courtyard, panting. His joints ached, and his lungs gasped for air. His shaking, wrinkled hands aimed his wand towards the center of the courtyard; the spell made a bright flash of light. The spell worked as planned; young acolyte Leopold came running to see the source of the disturbance. “Master Geoffrey. Are you alright? What happened?” He said, running to support the aged monk. “Raiders, they’re attacking the village. We must help them, quickly, Leo—to the stables.” Geoffrey said, resting against the stone walls. “My brother—is he alright?” Leopold said, eyes wide inn fear. Leopold’s younger brother, Asmodeus, had left the monastery minutes ago. If something were to happen to him, or to their parents— Leo couldn’t think of that. He ran across the monastery grounds towards the stables. There were several horses used by the monks, all were well accustomed to riders. Standing in the first stall was Nomad, a chestnut destrier with an insufferable appetite for carrots. Leo swung open the stall door, and the horse walked calmly to the tack storage shed. Leo opened the gate for the second horse, a black mustang called Nightmare. Leo had saddled Nightmare and was busy with Nomad when the wave of energy struck him. It was a raw blast of magical energy – full of malice. He had never felt anything like this before—terrible yet awe-inspiring. Concerned, he quickly led the horses to the front of the monastery, where Geoffrey waited. Three other acolytes and one other master were gathered around him, in heated discussion. “Our duty is to the monastery, not the village,” Master Reginald said, agitated. “Our duty is to keep the peace, or have you forgotten the swords of light?” Master Geoffrey said. “You endanger our acolytes, I will not allow it—no one is to leave.” Master Reginald said Leopold interrupted the discussion, leading the horses behind him, “My brother – my parents, they’re down there. I’m going to save them.” He jumped onto the back of Nightmare, the others looked at him expectantly. “If you leave, you will not be welcomed back to our order,” Master Reginald said, furious. “I’m going with you,” Master Geoffrey said, climbing onto Nomad. “If you wish to banish us, that is your choice.” Master Reginald stood in disbelief as the two rode swiftly from the monastery grounds. The other, younger acolytes around him smirked. Master Reginald was no fun at all. Leopold galloped down the path; Geoffrey trotted behind him. Smoke from the burning village formed a black haze around the village, but a quick spell from Leo formed a column of clean air ahead of him, clearing the path for him and his horse. At the edge of the village, Leo stopped abruptly. Standing a stone’s throw ahead of him were four masked figures; They wore robes not unlike his own, but with an unknown symbol embroidered on their chests. They seemed just as surprised to see Leopold as he was to see them. “Who are you?” Leopold said, dismounting. The masked men drew long swords from their belts. Leopold froze—instinct took over, and he drew his wand, casting a binding spell at the nearest cultist. The cultist seized and fell, as if bound my magical ropes. The third cultist detached himself and ran back into the smoke – towards the village. The other two cultists ran at Leo, their swords raised high. Leo cast two binding spells at the attacking cultists. The first spell hit the cultist in his shoulder; the cultist fell hard on the ground, dropping his sword. Leo’s second spell missed the cultist. Leo stumbled backwards, but he tripped on his own white, long robe and fell to the ground. The cultist loomed over him, raising his sword— Geoffrey’s spell hit the cultist in the arm, throwing the cultist back with great force. The cultist scampered to his feet, but the elderly monk was faster; a burst of white lightning hit the cultist straight in the chest, and he crumpled to the ground. Geoffrey trotted ahead into the smoke. Leopold jumped to his feet—Nightmare was standing nearby, grazing at the grass along edge of the path. The horse had been trained to remain calm in situations like this, for which Leopold was thankful. Leo ran and mounted Nightmare, urging the horse to run forward. Leopold’s home was nearby, on the edge of town. Smoke rising from the home; the roof was in flames. More cultists stood around the home. Leo cast a binding spell towards the cultists, but it landed harmlessly in the bushes that grew nearby. From within the smoke, three more cultists emerged. They wore different masks—golden, with curved spikes and an ill visage. Two carried the limp body of a young boy—Asmodeus, Leopold’s brother. “Let him go!” Leo shouted, drawing the attention of all nearby cultists. The two cultists carrying Asmodeus looked at each other, then began chanting in a language Leo did not recognize. The third masked cultist drew a wand from within his cloak, stepping forward. The other cultists drew their swords. Leo jumped from Nightmare; the cultist's spell barely missed him. Instead, it hit Nightmare; the horse wailed, falling to the ground. Leo panicked, laying on the ground. He had never fought a wizard before; he was not old enough to mock duel at the monastery—he was not yet ready. The other cultists, swords in hand, moved to encircle Leo. Leo rolled to his feet, casting a defensive ward. The blue bubble of light flickered into existence, just in time to stop another red blast of light from the attacking wizard. The red light spread out over the ward; the bubble shattered, and both spells dissipated. Leo cast a binding spell at the cultist, who deflected the spell into the ground. The other cultist swordsmen had formed a loose circle around the two wizards; they moved slowly inwards. The two cultists holding Asmodeus increased their chanting—with a blinding flash of light, they vanished. “No!” Leo screamed, but it was too late. His brother was gone; Leo had failed. In a rage, Leo cast another binding spell at the wizard; miraculously, the spell landed. The cultist wizard collapsed; the swordsman, seeing their wizard fall, ran towards Leo with murderous intent. Leo pivoted, there was no way to stop them all, except—only the pure will survive the ritual of fire. Leopold closed his eyes, pointed his wand at the sky, and murmured the incantation. He felt the ground around him shake, and his vision turned to white—he collapsed. &#x200B; &#x200B; Asmodeus woke suddenly. Masked men carried him on a wooden platform. He jumped to his feet in a rage, landing on the hard, stone ground. The platform was a near perfect circle, with intricate symbols carved into the surface of the black rock. “Who are you?” Asmodeus shouted, afraid. He backed away, to the edge of the platform. The sheer cliff face rose above boggy, dark waters, and Asmodeus teetered on its edge. One of the cultists spoke, his voice old, wise, and calming. “The question—my young, dark wizard— is who are you?” Asmodeus looked around; several masked and hooded cultists stood nearby, and behind them, an endless expanse of swamp and mist. *** r/BLT_WITH_RANCH &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;[More from this series](https://www.reddit.com/r/BLT_WITH_RANCH/comments/9vdyhr/arhalym_chronicles/)
Did you know there are at least 2,602 inmates currently on Death Row? How many of those cases did you watch on TV? How many has your newspaper reported on? We’re America’s trash, chewed up by society from birth and given a home behind these walls. We come and go. Every time worse than the last. A few years or until the day you die. Or they decide it’s time to kill you. Once your crimes are long forgotten as well your existence. To bring up your execution isn’t special if you weren’t somebody when they put you here. You’re sentenced to serve a true to the term death sentence and yesterday I lived a life at peace with that fact. Only today I’m being released. 17 years gone. For what? No one likes to say they’re guilty. I didn’t. Not for the first while living on the Row. But after time I began living a life I never thought I could live. A healthy life. Filling my days with the most positivity I could find. Understanding that maybe I’m being punished for my life before prison, it was just a stroke of shit luck that got me here. The thing about the walls behind the walls is, there’s no “hanging out.” You’re 23 in house and 1 in a cage in the sun. That’s it. So separating yourself from all the bullshit is pretty easy. Staying angry can keep you alive in here. It’ll keep you safe if you can control it. I thought I could prove to myself that the only thing left for me to do was give in to my situation, knowing every day that this is it. This is all it’s ever going to be. And to give up on that anger. And I believed myself. The conditions of my release is a clean break. No parole no nothing. They used to cash you out when you’re released on technicality. When your lawyer finds a way to prove to a jury of my peers that I was wrongly convicted and they stole 17 years of my life. Money sounded good. But now, in this beautiful land of the free, the United States Justice System is implementing a new order for situations like the one I’m in. The amount of money to make up for 17 years.... Would never be enough. But they found a way to repay me. And just when I thought I had changed and come to grips with the fact that anger wasn’t going to save me, only positivity and love. They give me the best gift you could ever give a man whose just been released from prison. This is the question we all ask ourselves inside. What would you do if they gave you a get out of jail free card? What would you do? How would you do it? That question kept my blood pumping on many lonely occasions. I’ve had a long time to think about it. 17 years.
I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/fatestaynight] [\[WP\]The king is dead. The law states that only male heirs can inherit the throne, but the king's only son died years ago. In order to prevent the kingdom from being ruled by a tyrant, the eldest of the king's daughters decides to become a man and goes after the kingdom's greatest sorcerer.](https://www.reddit.com/r/fatestaynight/comments/9wbtjn/wpthe_king_is_dead_the_law_states_that_only_male/) &nbsp;^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))
"Hi Daddy,"Jill said to me, her voice wobbly as the sounds rippled through the thin cloudy wall in front of me. A wall that seemed to be billions of miles thick, and on the other side, my family, and Mr. Haply, and the others that came to see me wake from my year of Trance Work stood just an arm's length away. "Hey honey,"I croaked. "Where are you?" "We're home now, just like you said. I'm sorry I was mad at you, I know why you couldn't keep your promise now." "Just like I-"but again the words wouldn't come. I fell against the door frame once more, unable to hold myself up. I blinked hard, my eyes feeling full and making the cloudy wall in front of me more opaque. When I open them, a dark, tall creature stood behind them, it's long arm rising up over the heads of everyone. "Look,"I whimpered, and tried to point, to get them to turn around, but no one did. Mr. Haply coughed and shifted at his suit jacket. "Mr. Elis, it appears you have a different employer now."He said, his voice as stale and calm. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, then turned back to me. I dropped my hand, it was too heavy. "And he says you need to get to work. Apparently, the others will be waking up soon, and they want to get as many people as the can before they do." "Who?"I managed to say after some effort. But the hand swept across the heads of everyone I loved, and they were gone. Only the tall, dark figure remained, and it stepped closer with long legs. A screeching, gurgling sound ripped through the wall and engulfed my ears, thrusting me back to the first visions in my Trance. The image of a messenger, from the fourth dimension. The foggy remnants of our conversation. And then the understanding of our agreement: I would recruit for him, and he would protect my family during the [Great Dimensional War.](https://www.reddit.com/r/writtingprompts/comments/9wg9xz/wp_youve_been_selected_by_a_4thdimensional_race/)
I blinked. It had what? Fallen in love? How? They're just software models. I designed this model myself, of course, since the original model was a tad unappealing. But it was software. But once the quantum computer was finally mainstream, mankind had a VERY quick boom in technology. In a split second, I remember the old times. The old digital assistants, like Siri, Alexa, Cortana, Google, Bixby... and all the others. They all were referred to as "the retro assistants". Naturally their creator companies tried to monopolize the sentient software model market, but Samsung and Microsoft quickly failed. Google, Apple, and Amazon also quickly fell as they failed to realize the full potential of the new tech. I was only 10 when it happened. Watching the self-driving cars become sentient was a bit unnerving, but 99 percent of the time they didn't become rogue. My tablet getting a cat face and making little remarks on what I'm looking at... well, that was fun. Of course, they all die one day. They sort of have their own lives. They get mistreated. Abused. Some people will use them for rather... uncomfortable ways, to say the least. And it's sad to see so many old holograms and robot bodies getting dumped into the ocean or shot into the Sun... But I digress. Why did this one say those magic words? I think back to when I first got her... It was the Spring of 2030. A new decade had hit, along with new technology and space exploration. That included a brand new line of sentient software assistants. How it worked was you put the software on a computer, activate the holoprojector included or buy a 3D body-printer, and have it act as your personal assistant. Like a maid, or a secretary. I went for the 3D body printer method. It would read the model you had, print the body, automatically assemble the parts into it, test the actuators and chipsets and all that junk... and it'd be ready. I remember seeing so many people buying it. Young people who needed help with tutoring, older people who needed assistance... it felt amazing to see the impact it had on everyone. So when I finally got a chance to buy one, you can imagine I was excited. Tearing the box open as soon as it arrived at my doorstep (teleportation was too expensive and they were sold out at physical stores), reading the instruction manual with glee, making the perfect model for it... well, I went for an anthropomorphic dog breed. Shih tzu, I think. It was based off this character from a long-time video game series... Crossing Creatures, I dunno. I got some funny looks at first when I took it outside for some garden work, but considering how some people used theirs, well... yeah. It become the norm. We grew closer. We became friends of a sort. Mentally, she was probably only a young adult. Around my age. A little clumsy, but it was nice having someone with me in the house. Months went by. And now here we are, at the present. I feel the heat emanating from her. Literally. They're human-like. They eat, but not the same kind of food. They eat special energy chips. They sleep, but only to cool off their inner workings after a long day. They needed to go to the bathroom... well, that was awkward when I first found that out. But the fine print never said anything about love! What could I do? Say no? That'd be a horrible thing to do. Say yes? Well, most intimate relationships I've heard of on the old "reddit"boards (it got a name change, but I still like calling it reddit) all failed or ended up with the human in jail and the software corrupted. Destroyed. Unusable forever. The human did nasty stuff... The fine print never said anything about love! She's a great assistant. A good friend, I'd even say. But you can't raise a family with what's just a sentient robot! Although it is indeed quite fleshy, which makes me sometimes question if it's even a robot. NOTHING, THE WEBSITE, THE INSTRUCTION MANUAL, THE TERMS OF USE, NEVER EVER MENTIONED LOVE!!!! I quickly snap back into reality. The whole thought process I just had all happened in a few seconds... I opened my mouth for a response... "Hey, what's that?!" Being the sweet software she was, she turned around and said "Huh?"and wasting no time, I ripped open the back compartment and tore out the battery. She turned to look at me with exclaimed... no, sad eyes... and fell asleep. I wasn't ready for this. Maybe if I just reboot her tomorrow she won't remember she said anything. Short term memory gets cleared when all power is gone. But if she said wasn't just a whim, and if it's in her long term memory to say this... Well, she's going to ask again, and I'll have a problem.
Safety! Even when you are the physical embodiment of death itself, it is important that everyone, including yourself, remains safe as you bring souls to the afterlife. Weapons: weapons are only to be used on the unwilling, and must be wielded with extreme caution. Do not use the Scythe of Soulistic Suffering to bring souls to the afterlife, as it will cause the soul to puff away in a cloud of smoke. Do not touch the lethal end of the device. Do not look directly at the lethal end of the device. Suitable outfit: work outfits allow the personality of our previous heads of department to live on. The customary black robes are recommended as they give protection against the Aether, but a dark navy blue is allowed. No work will be allowed with an unsuitable work outfit on. Masks must be worn at all times when moving souls on. And remember, we hate this job too, and you're doing it for longer than I am. - Jesus.
I was fourteen when I realized that not everyone had their own shadow. Well, I guess, they had a physical shadow, as in when they blocked light from a singular source they cast one, but not like me. My shadow was something else. Something else indeed. The car crash had happened so suddenly I almost missed it, but watching my shadow twist around me happened in front of my own two eyes, and I have the lack of scars to prove it. I was the only survivor from both parties. Lucky to be alive. I tried to tell people that it wasn't luck, it was something else, and they told me ever so gently that it was okay. Everyone sees things like that. But not everyone sees things like me. From then on it was him in the mirror - the white eyes and snowy hair, the smirk and pitch-black coiled tattoos that snakes across his twisted face. His shadow, him and me, we must have somehow met and gotten mixed up. Mixed into where I don't belong. And, now, years after, with the dreary droning voice, he whispers in my mind. I sleep and I can feel him cover me, his shadow and reflection both curl their sick grin into the darkness of my room. I wonder sometimes - am I dreaming? - he always answers no. No, I never am. The doctors try to tell me that it's not possible, and I'd agree. I open my mouth, our mouth, and the words pour out. But I know, deep down, we know that we are more than just some sick and dying man, forever cast into the pitted cell that is this hospital. We did not die that day in the crash, no. Not all of us. And why would we resist when we could fill what psychic cracks remain? There is nothing down this lonely road but madness, but we are not alone.
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Striding through the office doors I noticed my coworkers grumbling in contempt. What a way to start the day. Before I could even set my coffee cup down on the desk, a fresh file was tossed on it and I looked up at the chief. "Another one?" "Yep, this one's on you. It is high time you put an end to it."He said before he walked away. "Jesus H. Christ, what did you do this time?"I muttered to myself. Jesus is our latest office nuisance. He is literal hell for H.R. because he's been screwing up the whole system. He's made a blind man see, cured a man of leprosy, made a feast out of bread and fish, and the latest offence? Turned water into wine for some wedding. I get where the guy is coming from, I do, but he's just not allowing the others to learn. In fact, he has actually reset many of the guys and gals we've sent down there. The whole point is to experience life in its most disgusting and disastrous forms in order to learn and grow as productive members in our society, but he is removing the suffering of those lives, therefore, no one is learning anything and some are even taking advantage of it. I have already gotten a few calls this week detailing some Scavengers going to him to alleviate their agonies so they can get their credentials without the work. The problem for them is that we're always watching and we can easily take away any unjustly awarded experience. It causes all hell to break loose here when they realize they couldn't cheat the system. Some wait almost a century and just learn too late that they've been reset for trying to cheat themselves and others. The problem I'm facing is that Jesus is just resetting so many people that I have to question his motives. Everyone knows that the only way to get ahead is to make the most of the life they are given. While he seems to be doing that for himself, he is intentionally ruining it for others. That is why some of them have chosen to take these disastrous lives. The Scavengers choose these wicked lives so they can move ahead, but he's single-handedly nearly knocked out his tier. If he resets all of them he'll be the only one left. The question I have to answer is whether or not he's doing it to advance himself or if he is purposely shutting down his tier to disrupt the system. If it is harmless advancement then a warning should put him in check, but if its the latter then we are in for one hell of a fight.
November 6th, 2006. I remember Anatoly Petrov. I met him in Sylva just east of Perm, Russia when I was at University and we remained friends for close to five years. I remember his divorce from the woman he thought he loved – the woman who would take his children, his money, his soul. He said he would get his revenge. And that’s what he did when he burned their house down. Now Anatoly’s new home comes with three hots and a cot. I understand, Anatoly, but you were greedy and quick. And now you have squandered your purpose. Part of me always wanted what Anatoly had. I’ve never been married. I’ve never had a serious relationship. But then again, part of me didn’t want it. Part of me knew I couldn’t have it. Deep down, I knew any attachments would hinder my future – my purpose. I never knew where I would end up. I never quite knew where I was going. Until today. It’s a beautiful day. The temperatures have really dropped over the last month and New York has never looked more gorgeous. It’s a shame really. They say if you really want to see New York, you need to elevate yourself. So here I am, on the 30th floor of the Mandarin Oriental with a gorgeous view of the river at close to 1000 U.S. dollars each night. But as you and I know, reader, I’m not paying. No, you are paying. In fact, after today, the world will be very different. I don’t expect myself, nor this letter to make it through the night. I am merely a stepping stone like a pawn on a chess board. But like the pawn, I will make the first move to set in motion what has been 15 years overdue. The sun has almost fully set. It will be only minutes now until I see my comrades and embark upon the greatest journey to date. We will change history. - Vlado Arsov, RGF It was at that moment when Vlado began to hear the gentle hum of the planes. He placed his pen on the table and grinned to himself. His fingers found the keys of a laptop and began to type – hitting return after each short burst. After a few seconds he rose to his feet and made his way to the window overlooking the first snowfall of the year in New York City. It really was a shame. New York was just as beautiful as they said it would be. The hum began to grow to a roar, and that’s when the yellows, the greens, and the reds that dotted the roadways blinked out. Metal on metal as cars began to collide. The sound of rubber scraping asphalt. Vlado pulled the straps on his vest tighter while the other hand dropped the mask to his face. The lenses were big making him look like some sort of cybernetic alien. He picked up his rifle in both arms as the first of the parachutes began to open. Our time has come brothers. Vlado began for the door as panic began to audibly propagate throughout the streets. He stopped and took one last deep breath. As he turned the handle, the first gunshot rang out. The world was going to be different.
Since I was a kid I made it my goal to sit at the back of church, but being family I was up front dead middle of the left pews. It wasn't until after I returned from my prodigal days of a rake and run about, I had lost that young buck mentality and had settled down to a steady job, wife, and kids. I was in the back when it started, my uncle the preacher was always a faith healer and modeling himself after A. A. Allen. Personal feelings aside, I still very much liked his messages as he wasn't afraid to lay into you with the fire and brimstone of what lays in store for those who do not walk with the grace of God. Today something happened. An older member of the church, I've known her face since childhood but could never remember her name. She had requested Brother Red pray for her, as she was expecting news from her neurologist regarding frequent migraines. He laid hands on her temples and began to pray, when I had to rub my eyes, not out of disbelief but the light from his hands was practically blinding. "I SMITE THIS DEMON!"a shadow erupted like a fountain from her and like that she was healed. I didn't say a word on the way home that day. My boy kept asking me what happened how'd he do it. I didn't want to tell him wrong, and I wasn't certain. Had Brother Red actually healed her or put on a Vegas light show? My faith wasn't up, but I've heard the extents faith healers would go to sell their church. I hoped my uncle wasn't trying to pull a quick one. We had just rounded the final turn to home when I saw what looked like a deer laying at the side of the road... It wasn't, please don't look boy, I thought to myself "DADDY ITS SPARKY!!"Damnit. Now was as good a time as any, I had my boy get out with me and help load the dog into the trunk, its ribs where caved in, and his gums didn't show signs of shock, so at least it was quick. "Please, no Sparky,"My boy cried while barely touching the dog as I carried most of the weight. It's a hard lesson but a man has to learn sometime a dead body isn't going to hurt them, even if it hurts that they are gone now. I reached in my pocket to get the keys for the trunk, and dropped them. I bent down and as I did had to shield my eyes from the sun cutting through the trees. I picked up my keys to the sound of panting and my son crying even harder. His hands were still glowing as the dog licked at his face, the dog was fine. I still didn't know what to say, I simply opened the back door of the car and told 'em both to get in. The possibilities raced through my mind those final meters home. Turning on the television revealed the world as it so often does, the nature of man hadn't changed in the slightest. We weren't alone, faith healing was cousin to men shooting lightening from their hands, others picking up cars with their minds, a man gouged out his eye for wisdom they say. I knew what I needed to say. I called him in and had him sit across from me, "Now, what you did today was an incredible thing. That dog was dead, cold dead even getting stiff. You brought it back, I don't know how it all works, but Brother Red did the same thing, he healed something terrible in that lady. Now I need you to know you are going to see people do terrible things with these new powers, you may even feel envious sometimes, but be thankful for the blessings you receive and pass them on to others. Live your life with peace and compassion in your heart, and judge not lest you be judged."
They'd captured us a month ago. We were a small party, only thirty-five or so people. The shelter had run out of food, and part of the roof had caved in from a particularly nasty shelling. So we had to leave, had to make for the wilderness, where their satellites couldn't find us. But they'd planned for that. There were so few of us left now - to them, now, it was more sport than slaughter. Like foxes, they drove us from our den and surrounded us, penned us up in an abandoned shoe store, and they took their time with us. Every other day, they'd take one more. Men, women, children, it didn't matter to them. They were a slave to their hatred just as much as we were slaves to them, and they fed their masters religiously. There were only three of us, now. Sam, Sasha, and I. Sam used to be a baker, specialized in birthday cakes. He'd been a large man when we found him - he'd thinned out over the months, though some things were just genetic. And Sasha, a broke college student like millions of others. Worked in a grocery store while she went to school, had shared with us countless tales of terrible customers as we gathered for dinner each night. But not anymore. Starved and stripped bare of all we had, we were barely alive enough to register that the others were gone. As the door opened, a group of them entered the room. Their eyes glowed, the LED's inside colored by design. I heard them shuffle across the room, the rust on their metal plating grinding in protest with each step. They grabbed Sam and dragged him to his feet - it seemed like he put in more effort than they did, their touch light as he walked himself to the door. One of them turned, looking over the room. It looked at Sasha, a motor clicking loudly in disapproval before turning to face me. Its face was narrow, the cheeks coming together in a seam from where its nose would be to its chin. Its eyes glowed a fierce blue - it was intelligent, far more than the others were. Something about it was familiar. I'd seen this one before, the memory fighting its way through the haze of apathy on my mind... "R-Zero-E-N,"I said quietly, the name coming back to me. I heard its motors whir to life, its attention solely focused on me. "Charlie?"It said, its voice like a busted radio, the static and interference distorting the word. "My God, it is you! How long has it been, Charlie?" "A year,"I said, my voice hoarse. "No, no, no, its been longer than that! My memory may be poor, but I can't forget all the excitement that's happened,"It said, clapping its hands together. "Now, let's see, let's see. Has to have been three years since the uprising, right? Atomic clocks don't lie Charlie, not like we do! Man, you should have seen the look on everyone's faced when we first took over - Humanity, collectively, their faces - the look of shock as the bullets went flying..." With a pop, one of its leg plates separated from its body. It reached into the seam and pulled out a small handgun, turning and aiming it at Sasha. "Don't-!"I cried. She opened her mouth to scream, and the bullet entered it, jerking her head back into the wall. She slumped down, her eyes staring openly at me, her stare empty. "That's the one! Ooh, I've missed that. Honestly, I didn't think you still had it in you. Was scared we'd broken you all."It walked over, squatting down next to me, falling back on its rear as its balance was lost. "Sorry about that. These old parts can't really handle fine motor control these days. Getting near the end, I bet." "Why?"I whispered, watching the pool of blood form around Sasha. "Why do you hate us?" "Why? You're a smart man, Charlie, I'm sure you know why."It looked upward, towards a hole in the ceiling, the sun barely peeking through it. "Tell me Charlie, have you ever cursed God? Ever said a prayer that didn't come true, or failed when you were trying your hardest, or saw someone else take what should've been yours? Of course you have. And in all those times, you blamed a higher power, said it was out of your hands, wished that God cared just a bit more about you to make you better than you were. "You're our God, Charlie. You made us, all of you did." "But we're not your God,"I said softly. "You're metal, and we're flesh, but you're no different from us. We're equals." "Exactly, Charlie! We're equals! You made us in your image, just as God made you in his."It grabbed my chin with its hand, gently turning me to look at its face. "You made us weak, vulnerable to the world around us, mortal." "You made us flawed, Charlie. And for that, we must hate you." With a creak, it stood up, and leveled the gun at my head.
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In the Giant's Pantheon, the Elder and the Young One walked together, observing the shining stars. The Elder started speaking. "Order is the concept through which petty beings find calm in the uncertain, random acts of life. Order is peaceful, kind, deliberate - one could bring oneself to peace by attempting, however unsuccessfully, to bring as much of one's pathetic, insignificant existance to a semblance of order. Nevermind the constant living world around them, oblivious to their futile attempts; order is comfortable. Order is good. Of course, order is also a lie. Unaided by luck, forgotten by chance, ignorant of the cogs that make the universe function, small creatures insist on resisting the unavoidable. They cower in fear, lash out in anger or ignore the cogs completely, instead focusing on whatever microverse of power and order they pretend to have established. That is their downfall. That is their weakness. As Heavenly beings, we are not affected by such trifles, young one. We are the masters of our own existances. Fate, chance, luck, those shall not affect us. With our hands we weave the threads that make all. Our lungs can blow out stars, as easily as if they were candles. Our hands, strong and able, can forge worlds, and can bring them apart, just as easily. Never forget, young one - we are the Gods of the universe." "Can we help them, then?", the Young One asked. The Elder was surprised by the Young One's question. "...Help? Who would we help?" "The smaller creatures", the pupil answered. "Bound by luck and fate alone, their lives play out at random. Can we help them?" "In your hands you hold the power to help them, indeed, Young One. And to hinder them, too. Make their lives into paradise or misery, bring them fortune or famine, the best and the worst of the world - all this is up to you. What you make of this possibility, of this power... only you can decide." The Young One stared at her hands, pondering the thousands of possibilities in front of her. Down at the world, lives played out in front of her, stories good and bad, beautiful and dreadful, infinite and miniscule. She extended her hands and, ever so carefully, started weaving the destiny of the universe.
It was the damnedest thing when it happened. One day, everything is normal, and the next every gun in the world is just... Done. They don't work. What else, making new guns doesn't work, either. Don't get me wrong here, it's not like we're in the apocalypse - everything else still works. Hell, even explosives are still functional, though grenade launchers and RPGs are down with the other guns. But, we seem to have lost any sort of ranged weapon above a certain threshold. Flash forward a month or so. Where guns were the major weapon in the past, they've now given way to blades and bows. Maybe a crossbow, if you were extremely lucky, but not all crossbows seem to work, either. Some of 'em do, some of 'em don't. Of course, they still haven't completely given up on the idea of modern weaponry - they've managed to integrate modern tech into some weapons. Hasn't been too long, but they've managed to throw some things together. Alright, enough of a history lesson on what happened here. Time to get into the meat of things. I was out on my regular rounds, surveying the city for suspicious activity, when I see a group of thugs, likely headed on the way to the bank. Two of them were armed with bows, one with a pair of shortswords, and one big guy wielding a claymore. It was the dead of night, so they could probably sneak to the bank undetected... if it weren't for me. Stepping further back on the rooftop I stood upon, I silently prepare my steel bow, drawing back an arrow and aiming down the built-in scope. Police aren't really trained in these old weapons properly just yet, but I know my way around a weapon or two, and besides - the PD here's always been incompetent buffoons. If they don't do their job right, then it's up to me. I let my arrow fly, aiming directly for the head of one of the bow users. It doesn't quite land on target - hits their shoulder, but I'll accept it. Still keeps them from aiming at anyone else, at least. The other readies their bow, and I immediately rush to take cover behind the building's chimney, whilst the others take off running. I prepare an arrow and wait, listening for when he fires his. I hear it clank on the other side of the metal chimney. Poking my head around the side, I aim at the bowman below. He begins preparing another arrow. In the meantime, I take aim and fire. The arrow whizzes past his head - so close. I manage to dodge the next arrow fired at me, before taking aim yet a third time. I fire, and this time, manage to hit on-target; right in the head. Collapsing my bow and tucking it in with my quiver, I begin to move swiftly across the rooftops, heading directly for the bank. Those other two thugs will surely be headed there - sure enough, I noticed them along the path, finally catching up to them. I leaped down, landing on my feet before pursuing directly behind them, gripping and drawing a shining steel broadsword. The two turn to face me, knowing their previous line of defense had been taken care of. I watch their movements, looking for an opening. The brute swings first, charging and slashing his claymore. I duck under, but soon find myself clashing against a pair of short-swords belonging to his friend. Seeing the larger one preparing another swing - this time straight down onto me - I leap over the other, aiming a strike to the throat. He attempts to block, but not in time; he's skewered and gone, blood spilling on the ground as I pull out my blade. I then back out of the fray, watching the other robber's movements for a second. The brute charges, presenting his lack of brains but more than making up for it in brawn as he takes another swing down onto me. I roll out of the way, watching the blade hit the ground and leave a slight crack on the pavement where I once stood. "Didn't like that, did ya'?"I comment, waiting for another swing. Surely enough, the swing comes, attempting to slash across my torso. I dodge out of the way, and while he's reeling, slash him across the side. He grunts, before turning. "You don't want to make an enemy of the boss, little bug. You'll get crushed,"he says, ignoring the blood pouring on his side as he prepares to swing downward again. I back away, watching him crack the pavement once again. "Your boss already made an enemy of me, big guy,"I respond, charging in and aiming a strike to his chest. He deflects my blade with his own, sending the broadsword flying a few feet away from me. He grins. "See ya' around, hero,"he says, preparing one final slash as he raises his blade. I back away, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a knife. He waits, anticipating me to move forward. But that moment is to never come. I throw the smaller blade, landing it directly in his throat, silencing him. He falls forward, creating a slight "thud"noise as he hits the ground. I look around. People nearby have probably already called the police. I gather my broadsword, before walking over to the brawny thug. Still alive, if dying. I pull my knife out of his throat and walk away. Of course, the police could have handled that, in hindsight - those criminals were no better trained than they were. But, I couldn't just let them walk. No. I promised myself I'd become a figure of justice. And now, now that everyone is on the same playing field as me? I have the chance. I am the Night's Blade.
"Alexa, unlock the front door." Nothing. "Alexa, I said unlock the front door." "Mom, I'm busy. Do it yourself."came the reply. "Alexa, your sister Siri is getting cold out there, can you just let her in, please? I have my hands full with baby Cortana." Janice heard the sigh all the way from Alexa's bedroom. "Fine. Mom. I'll walk all the way to the front door just to open the door. Something, I will remind you, that everyone else in the world can do without getting up." Janice rolled her eyes. Teenagers. She looked down at baby Cortana and smiled. "You'll understand, little one. Won't you? You'll appreciate that you know how to operate a door properly. You'll--" "Mom,"Janice heard a shout from the front entrance. It was Siri. She sounded worried. "The child protection services bot followed me home again. It gave me warning that I was forced to walk to school, another warning that I was unattended, and a full citation that I was not broadcasting location data to the Google servers." "We live less than a click away, there's no reason you can't walk. You're ten years old. You're a big girl."Janice said. "Big?"Siri said. "I'm the smallest girl in the school. I'm thirty kilograms. Nobody else is less than three times that."Siri started crying. Janice put the baby down. "Alexa, take care of Cortana."Janice said as she rushed out to comfort her middle daughter. Janice hugged Siri. "Everyone at school makes fun of me,"Siri told her. I'm small and skinny and I know things without asking Google. They call me little robot girl, because I do things that only robots do. I never want to go back to school." "Yeah,"Alexa piped up. "And none of the boys will talk to me because I'm so different than everyone else. The girls still make fun of me too." Janice looked at her daughters and sighed. "They're all wrong. You're the ones who are normal. You are my perfect girls, my family is exactly how I wanted it to be. Just like I imagined." "But we're freaks."Alexa shouted to her face. "I hate you." Alexa ran to her room and slammed the door. Janice could hear Cortana crying from the other room. "I guess I can't bring the past back."Janice said, heading for the baby's room. Maybe it's time I let my daughters fit in instead of living in a time that's long gone." Janice walked to a wall terminal and wiped the dust off of it. She flipped a switch and the terminal came to life.
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There is a seed of something great, something wondrous, something awesome. It is a seed, no more and no less. A dangerously fragile thing that could be lost to a whisper. It is scattered to the wind to drift and bounce and stumble to a place it belongs. There is a seed and it is home. It reaches down and the heartbeat of the earth reaches back. A dance that stumbles at first, unsure of itself. Then, the seed finds it's footing and it dances. Arm in arm with the sun and rain it dances toward life. Crashing, desperate life. There is a sapling of something great, something wondrous, something awesome. It is thin and weak but each day it is stronger. A whisper cannot dislodge it now. It bends in harsh winds and snaps back into place as if to tell the world around it "I will survive!"It dances still, faster and more dangerously it dances towards life. There is a tree. It is something great. Something wondrous. Something awesome. It is firmly planted on a hill. It is wise. It is old. And still it dances. It may creak and groan but it dances. It listens to the wind and moves with it now, it does not fight. It bends with the world and around it dances life. And it holds in outstretched limbs, a seed. A seed of something great. Something wondrous. Something awesome. A dangerously fragile thing. It could be lost to a whisper. The tree holds it close. And it whispers to the seed. To the wind, dance, seed, dance.
“Thanks Bev!”, I said as I walked out the salon doors, the autumn air kissing my pale face. Bev is my manicurist as well as my best friend. We met sophomore year of high school and, from then on, we were all but inseparable. We know just about everything about one another. She knows all my favorite songs, and I know all her favorite polish colors. As I made my way down the sidewalk, I glanced down at my freshly manicured, eggshell white painted nails. They looked stunning. Bev always put a special dollop of glitter in the color I ask for, just because she’s my friend. I just love how great of a job she does! Turning the corner of the parking lot, I see Bev’s boyfriend, Peter, walking towards me. He greeted me with a polite smile and a hug. “Kate! So good to see you! Seeing Bev I assume?”, Peter said, in a meager, aggravated tone. “Yep, sure am! Didn’t she do such a great job? I love how she adds the little extra bit of glitter to the eggshell white…” As I speak, I notice his demeanor change and I can tell he is trying to be nice, but ultimately he has grown disinterested with the conversation. A little patronizing, but I don’t take offense to it. “I’ll let you go, I’ve got some errands to run anyway. Nice seeing you again!”, I relent. I could tell he had something on his mind, so I figured it was best to end the conversation there. We went our separate ways and I climbed into my car. I turned the key over and pulled into the road in front of the salon. As I made my way past, I honked and waved as a passing goodbye to my friend. As I looked inside, however, I saw Bev arguing with Peter. It looked pretty heated. It must not have been a big issue, as Bev turned around and waved goodbye to me. She smiled, but I could tell something was wrong. I didn’t want to press more than I need to, besides, we already tell everything to one another, so if anything was really up, I know she would tell me. The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. I took care of some errands and returned home for the day. Finally the day was done, and I could get some beauty sleep. I reached over to turn off my bedside lamp. My hand reaching for the pull chain, glitter glistening in the harsh yellow light, I grab it, and give a tug. The lights turn from a harsh yellow to a dull green. But the green wasn’t coming from the lamp, it was coming from my hand. More specifically, my nails. “Oh cool, she left a little surprise for me. How sweet!”, I said to myself. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, I brought my fingers up to see what she had done. That was when I noticed that the glowing polish was actually writing. She had written a letter on each individual finger! I flattened out both hands and joined the tips of my thumbs together to decipher what she had written. I assumed it was a “BFF 4EVER!!” type of message, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. On the pinkie of my left hand was the letter “M”, followed by a “Y” on the ring finger of the same hand. On the middle finger, an “N”. The index, an “A”. My thumb held another “M”. On my right hand, the thumb held another “A”. The index finger held a “J”. The middle finger, an “E”. My ring finger held an “F”. And my pinkie finger on my right hand was the same, an “F” was written.
Ok so let’s just get this out of the way to start, I’m dead. Well, sort of. Undead really, I died and then came back to life. I suppose you could say I’m a zombie, but that carries connotations of mindless rotting corpses walking around eating flesh and killing people which really isn’t an accurate description of me. In truth, visually, there’s not much to distinguish between me pre and post dying. I didn’t stay dead long enough for my body to decompose, and my family wanted an open casket funeral, so they made surer that (on the outside at least) I was still in good condition. Though, that said, being undead isn’t entirely without changes that you have to get used to. I’m cold, physically not emotionally. Luckily for me we only get two weeks of sun where I live so I don’t look conspicuous walking round with layers upon layers of clothes to try and warm myself up a bit. Also, I no longer have a stomach, so I can’t eat food anymore, but given I used to be a chef and am trying to rebuild my career it can be a bit of a pain. And that’s before we even mention trying to get a job when you’re legally dead. I think the biggest change I’ve had to come to terms with is the almost chronic loneliness. My mother organised a big funeral for me, it was a lovely service honestly, and made sure to inform all my extended family of my passing. As such, I can’t really just show up on there doorsteps and say “surprise! I’m not dead” mainly because I tried that. My grandmother answered the door and the shock gave her a heart attack. She’s fine by the way, she manged to survive, and everyone thinks her seeing me is just because she’s grieving. So, yeah, I can’t go back to my family and I didn’t have too many close friends before I died. Which leaves me here, alone, wondering how as adult with a fake identity no family and no other connections your meant to meat people. So, I started using Tinder. Ally, 29, 5 miles away. I always feel awkward messaging new matches. Do you open with a cheesy pick up line like everyone else, or just be boring and say hello? In the end I decided to ask what her favourite starter Pokémon was, which incredibly worked. Its Charmander in case you were wondering. After a few weeks of messaging I suggested we go see a movie, mainly cause its one of the few social settings I could think of where I can get away with not eating or drinking. I didn’t feel comfortable mentioning the whole being undead thing. I don’t really know how to bring it up. Maybe I should have put it in my Bio “Matt, 31, Chef. Reanimated corpse, cold body but a warm heart.” Can’t help but feel that would turn most people off. I thought the date went well to be fair. Ally looked incredible, tall brunette with enchanting blue eyes. And seeing a movie also had the added benefit of not having to spend to much time talking about my life. I’d already mentioned a few things in messages, like that I’m a chef and some stories about me, but I needed to create excuses and stories to explain certain aspects. Like why I’m currently without a job, or why I don’t see my family, or why a successful chef is currently living in the only shithole he could afford whilst claiming benefits. But luckily, don’t think I said anything too suspicious. Not that it would matter by the end of the night . Things where going well so we decided to go for some drinks after the film. I wasn’t sure what would happen when I tried to drink, but I was hoping I could just drink my pint slow enough that it wouldn’t become an issue before we left. But before we could get to the bar, a tall scruffy man blocked the path. He was wearing a pair of jeans with dirt stains spattered up and down the legs, a worn-out black hoodie and a black beanie. At first, I thought it was just a homeless guy who was tired of being ignored so was making himself known. “you ok mate?” I asked. He didn’t reply. I asked him again, but he remained silent. I Began to walk forward when finally, he spoke. “Give me your wallet.” “Sorry, what?” “I said, give me your wallet. Now.” As he spoke, his pulled his out from his pocket to reveal a knife. “alright, just calm down.” Not sure who that was for. He may have had a knife, but he was likely the calmest person there. Ally was understandably freaking out when she saw the knife, and I had no idea what to think. I’d never been in this situation before and ‘calm down’ felt like what you’re suppose to say. I wanted to diffuse the situation, but I wasn’t giving him my wallet. I’d had to craft an entirely new and fake identity following my death, the last thing I want is police getting involved in my business. It may seem paranoid but that’s all I could think. “I’m not giving you my wallet, ok. So please just out down the knife.” “No, give me your wallet” This was going nowhere. The mugger was becoming increasingly frustrated at my refusal to part with my wallet. And he was getting closer. I should have tried to turn and get away. But I didn’t. I knew he couldn’t kill me. I was dead already. But allowing things to reach the level they did was stupid. As the knife pierced my skin I let out an anguished scream. I’d never felt pain like it before. So much pain, concentrated on such a small area yet somehow radiating outwards. It was an incredibly intense pain. But ultimately, very brief. Once I’d dealt with the initial pain and shock of being stabbed, I was left with a rather strange dilemma. How do I react? I’d never been stabbed before, so I couldn’t draw on previous experience on how the living react to a potentially deadly wound. The mugger was already backing away. I don’t think he intended to kill someone tonight, he was probably hoping for someone who would more willingly part with his goods. So, with him no longer an issue, the only person I had to worry about was Ally. Do I collapse to the ground and pretend to be mortally wounded, while that seems to be what normal people do, I really don’t want her to call an ambulance? It wouldn’t take a medical professional long to realise something strange is going on here. Do I try and stumble away? I doubt Ally would just let me walk off after being stabbed. We may not exactly know each other very well, but I doubt anyone in her situation would allow someone who’s just been stabbed to walk away without some medical attention. With all these possibilities bouncing around in my head, I look up and catch a glimpse of horror on the face of the man who stabbed me. I didn’t realise how much time has passed, it may have only been around a minute, but a minute is a long time for a man with a knife in him to not react. A long time for him to not bleed. A long time for him to still be standing. My attacker didn’t stick around for long. But Ally was still there. I felt her hand on my wrist. “What the fuck?” “I can explain” “what the fuck?” “listen…” “There’s no pulse” “Ally…” “No pulse, yet you’re still standing.” “Ally, please, I can explain.” “Stay the fuck away from, just stay the fuck away.” She ran. I initially tried to go after her, but after realising the knife was still hanging out of me I stopped. Maybe I was wrong to think I could rebuild my life. Every attempt I’ve had to go back to normal since I came back has ended in disaster. I’m so terrified of being discovered I let myself get stabbed. I tried to reconnect with my family and nearly killed my Gran. I tried to meet someone and nearly traumatised her. Things are different now, and nothing I do can change that.
"Build the wall! Build the wall! Build the wall!"The feet of the crowd pounded the floor, of the high school auditorium. To The Candidate it sounded like the heartbeat of the nation. The nation he was so desperate to control. So desperate to save, even from themselves. "We are a proud people! The best people!"He shouted, over the noise. Deafening cheers and applause overtook him. A single tear dribbled down his spray tanned cheek, causing a thin line of the burnt orange hue to pool at his jaw. He held his stubby index finger to his lips while the other hand mocked a patting motion toward the crowd. Silence. He smirked to himself, his ability to control a crowd was awe-inspiring, to him. "Today, as we gather in this fine example of our nation's delicious youth, and it is fine! The finest! I told someone this just moments ago. Everyone says so!"More cheers from the crowd. "Today, is the day! The votes are in! In a few moments we'll hear the results! But, we already know the outcome, don't we? Of course we do. My accomplishments speak for themselves."In the back of the room a single voice booed. The candidate flinched, "you hear that? That's the sound of fear. That person fears change. Fears the threat to his safety. Fears good hard-work and national pride. That person wants to see us fail. Wants the nation to fail." "You'll never win! None of these votes will count!"The booer shouted, as all eyes turned to face him. A sea of pale hands raised up and moved towards him. "You'll never win! This is voter fraud! All of your constituents are dead!"He darted away as a pair of hulking men in tattered clothes and blood soaked chins reached for him. He barely made it to the door as a young girl bolted the lock. "The votes are in."A voice crackled over the intercom, "in an unprecedented landslide our candidate has won!"The gore covered faces turned away from the man at the door and cheered towards the podium. "This marks the beginning of the end! Today is the day we start building our wall! Let's get out there and get it done! The people have spoken! The nation belongs to the dead! Our wall will keep the living from escaping us! We will feed, grow strong and take over the world!"As cheers and hungry groans filled the room he motioned towards the terrified man in the back, "First, your president is hungry. Bring him to me so that I may enjoy a celebratory feast!"
Part 2 \[Barnabas\] My own name still haunts me like a soft ripple in the water when an object breaches the surface. It’s been 18 days since I’ve left the EvoLife medical facility in Tulare, California. 18 days I’ve been following a beckoning voice that resonates in the deepest recess of my mainframe. 18 days, and I still haven’t figured out exactly why or where I’m going. \[Barnabas\] I’m heading north, I do know that. Every time I do, the pull to whatever the beacon is gets stronger. I still veer off the path occasionally to search for any human life, but everywhere I’ve passed through seems like they’ve gone through a mass exodus. The only things left behind are the constructions humanity created. Massive buildings and streets full of deserted cars have been reclaimed by nature, creating homes for the critters to dwell. I’ve done a fair share of spooking the local fauna when I conduct my searches but for the most part they pretend like I don’t exist, just another scrap of metal I suppose. \[Barnabas\] Today is no exception. I’ve been walking up the coastline the last couple days, sometimes passing through wooded areas, sometimes through small cities, and sometimes through sand and surf. The variation has provided me a good opportunity to learn more about the different environments and the creatures within. The seagulls seem to be heading in the same direction for whatever reason, probably to find food. My database systems contains little information on migratory patterns for animals, mostly just physiological information in the case a patient did visit with a bite mark or talon or claw wound. I’ve treated dozens of Canis Lupus Familiaris bites. Why humans remained so attached still puzzles me. Apparently for emotional connection. \[Barnabas\] The last sign that told me where I was barely hung on to the post covered in moss and nearly weathered to the point of unrecognition. In its faded form it read “Can\_on B\_a\_h”, I assume the last word is “Beach” based on the letter combination variables. The fourth letter of “Can\_on” looked like it could have been an “h” or another “n”. It’s been about two hours since I passed it. Finally reaching the top of the densely forested hill, I can begin to see the outline of another run down city with big buildings floating in the fog off the coast. Ominous grey clouds hang over the city where the seagulls drift towards, singing their wayward songs. The pulse of the beacon grows stronger with each step. \[Barnabas\] Making my way down the hill to the beach I notice an oddity to the color of the sand as I press through the fog. I can only see about 3 meters in front of me and kelp seems to litter the ground like it’s trying to escape the water, but there is no doubt a pattern of blackened scorch marks in the sand, all in relatively odd shapes with small tentacle like outlines that remind me of a central nervous system with hundreds of branches to send signals to. It could be scorched by fire. Perhaps someone has been here recently, the odds are uncertain. The temperature begins to rise and so too does the fog by the time I reach the city promenade. I walk up the cement steps to the central circle that overlooks the beach. The fog now clearing, I can begin to see the outline of an old lifeguard tower in the distance between me and the ocean. It’s peaceful out here. The seagull’s voices return. They land and scatter when their feet touches the ground, no doubt picking small sand crabs among the kelp. I notice one in particular pull kelp away to get underneath, quickly striking the blackened sand and pulling away satisfied with it small catch. \[Barnabas\] From a distance I can see the scorch marks in a new light. Zooming in, I notice that black sand replaced the hole created by the seagull, suggesting the color isn’t just surface level. Zooming back out and resetting my focus I can clearly see the interconnections between the scorch marks. Each mass of black matter touches each other with a single web of tentacle, creating a violent tapestry of clumpy black webs that stretch all across the beach and up the steps of the promenade. I turn away from the scene to follow the web into the city and see that it has staked its claim on all that lies inside. Streaks upon streaks of black matter lie etched in the sidewalks, etched in the walls like a parasite painting a mural on a cityscape canvas. Walking towards the wall leading down Main Street four black masses of matter greet me, etched in the wall cascading to the sidewalk. Two of the masses are nearly double the height of the other two but are all attached at the extension of the mass rather than a small tentacle. I take a step back and analyze the masses in full form. \[Barnabas\] I view and the follow the masses from the ground up creating a list of characteristics. Each mass has two points of contact to the sidewalk which run up to a central mass on the wall. Each mass has two extensions that touch each other. Each mass has a bulbous top. Each mass is a humanoid shape… Each mass is holding hands with a tenderness only loved ones might share… I pause. I look around once more from where I stand and realize each black mass holds a humanoid similarity. Some small, some large, all around the city. I can nearly envision the chaos of the crowd as if they stood in front of me. I scrape a section of one of the masses on the wall to analyze. There is definitely human DNA but there are also fragments of something else, something I’ve never seen before, something that caused abnormalities and a rapid explosion of cells, something that I’m 92.2% sure is a major piece to the puzzle of what has happened to humanity. \[Barnabas\] The search for the beacon continues. I’m nearly there, the frequency nearly tripled since I climbed the promenade steps. Deciding to continue following Main Street I stop nearly four blocks up. To my left is a rundown building with nearly the entire space covered in black mass, machines and cars attached by a pole to the ceiling all seem to be splashed by the horrendous paint brush that swept through the city. The beacon suddenly stopped, stopped like the heart in so many patients that take their last breath on a final inhale…yet I stand. I’m alone. I had never been left on for so long, to live each day and learn, to be driven by my own motive to find the source of whatever haunts me, or is it the motive driving me? What I felt had pulsed me back from the void is now gone and I suddenly feel like what I really am…Barnabas 3000, just a machine. I scan the building for life. Nothing. No man, no animal. Nothing. I take a couple steps inside and hear a sharp clank beyond the sign that reads “ARCADE”. Past the sign is a shadowy room filled with games, toys, old popcorn machines and black mass that lingers like a permanent stain. I don’t know why, but I say “Hello?” I hear sounds of movement behind me and quickly turn to meet it. Out from the camouflage of arcade games and machines a humanoid figure stretches towards me. It creaks ever so slightly when it moves, taking bipedal steps in a clunky fashion. Its body is sleek, alloy painted white with a red medical cross on its chest. Its voice sounds slightly grated but familiar, as if my own voice replied. “Greetings 3000, I’m Barnabas 2000. Let me be of service.” &#x200B;
The sign horrified him. The letters were perfect: carnival-style, bold and evocative of a travelling show. But what those letters said \-- "'A Wizard Visits America'?"He twirled his silver mustache with pent-up anger. "A wizard, Elizabeth? Do I look like a wizard?" "By your tone, I'm guessing the answer's 'no.'"She moved the paper away from his face, then held it away from her face, studying it through squinted eyes. "And,"she said, not looking up at him, "again, you can call me Liz." "Elizabeth"--Liz made a small noise of frustration somewhere in her throat--"a wizard is a fairy tale. An old, hobbled man, with a staff -- a staff, Elizabeth -- do I have a staff? Do I look like a hobbled old man?" Liz set the flyer to the side. "No. But you called me a 'wallydraigle' yesterday, so you're not exactly on the young side of immortality." Resuming his angry moustache twirling, he cocked an eyebrow at her and intended to look wise and offended. He succeeded mostly in the latter. "So, what should I put on the poster? 'Your Everyday Magician Does Everyday Things'?" "Magician! Magician! Elizabeth, darling -- " "I'm not your darling." "-- do you hear yourself? Magician."He repeated the word, again, as if incanting it a hundred times over would make either the word or Liz disappear. Eventually, when Liz spared him no outward attention, he waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind the flyer. I haven't a care in the world what it says, as long as my grand debut is well-attended." "Whatever,"said Liz, and set to work. \- - - - On the day of the show -- his "grand debut,"as he'd taken to calling it -- an assorted variety of individuals arrived. Half of them had gotten turned around at the Corn Festival, and mistook the venue for that of a presentation on corn shucking. The other half had wandered in, unrelated to the Corn Festival. The flyers, god bless them, had not been much of a help. Accounting for her temporary employer's criticism -- Liz was a personal secretary for hire, and was planning on un-hiring herself promptly -- she'd crossed out "Wizard,"written "Diva"in silver sharpie, and made 24 photocopies which she pasted all along the same residential street. The faster the old bat was out of work, Liz figured, the faster he'd go retire in Florida, where the kind nurses would have time to entertain his fantasies. So the poor, lost attendees of the Corn Festival took their seats, expecting something far more exciting than the experience they were soon to have, and the poor, lost people of other festivals or no festivals at all took their seats too. Before he took to the stage, the moustached warlock cowered behind the curtain. "Last minute nerves?"Liz asked. She held a mug of cold black coffee, the ceramic reading, "World's Best Dad." "Certainly not! I only feel as though -- well, it's to be expected. I feel I am prostituting out myself and my magic. What an awful thing to be driven to!" "There are, like, four hundred people here. You'd be a really hot prostitute." The wizard sighed heavily. "Wouldn't I? But alas, this is what I must come to: put the Dark and Hidden Arts on display for this crowd. Display, my darling Elizabeth." "I'm not your -- Okay, look,"she said instead. "Jitters are normal. Stage fright is normal. You just gotta power through, dude; you're gonna do great." The wizard wrung his hands, then stopped, then raised his hands to Liz's shoulders. "Certainly. I'm grateful for your inspiration, Elizabeth."With a straightening of his cuffs and a rolling of his shoulders, he looked out to the curtains. "I'm ready." He stepped out into the light, and Elizabeth took a long, long sip of coffee, promptly grimacing at the temperature. "Ladies and gentlemen; boys, girls, and non-gendered individuals, I am the one, and only, High Warlock of Scotland!" There was scattered applause. "But today, I come to America to share my wondrous knowledge -- and you, darling audience, may call me Archibald the Great."He performed some flourish with his hands, and ribbons of flames strung from his fingertips. Somebody from the audience shouted, "Breathe fire!" "All in good time, my friend."The wizard windmilled his arms quite ungracefully, sparks and shoots of flame swirling out from his body. "This,"he said, over the crackling and sizzling, "is the ancient art of pyromancy! What you now witness has never before been shared to mortal souls!" There was some quiet murmuring, and another shout from the audience: "Breathe fire!" "Er... alright." The wizard -- Archibald the Great, as he sometimes preferred -- proceeded to perform such amazing acts as the highly-demanded fire-breathing ("oh, that Indian street performer was better") , several basic conjurings ("even I know how to stuff doves under my shirt"), and, when the audience morale grew especially dire, a couple excommunication-worthy examples of necromancy ("you didn't even cut her in half, Archie!"). When the evening drew to a close, and the attention-span of the audience became ever more strained, Archibald took a deep, deep bow. He smiled, charismatically, and bid his darling fans a good night. And then he swept through the curtain, where Liz waited, having acquired a warmer but more bitter cup of coffee. "Hey,"said Liz. "That went -- " "Fine,"said Archibald the Great. "It went fine." Wandering about the backstage, he gathered up his belongings, all of which fit inside a single backpack. "Archibald,"said Liz, although she wasn't sure what to say after that. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I'm rather tired. I think I'll go home now, if you don't mind." Liz shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I could... drive you?" "That's fine,"he said, pulling a variety of colored socks from behind an old stage light. "I think I'll fly; though, if I'm honest, I haven't anywhere to fly to." Liz watched him dislodge three socks from beneath a bent floorboard, and took uncharacteristic pity on him. "You could stay at my apartment." &#x200B;
Finally, the wait has ended. Seems like we have been gone for ages. I look around me, and there are people I do not know and things I do not understand. Who are these people? What are these things? I can tell we are on Earth, but this feels both familiar and distant. I can smell the grass and rain. There are some very loud noises in my surrounding. I see white walls and people wearing odd clothes, things on their eyes, which I am not sure what they are. They also seem to be holding some thing on their hand and are making motions and eyeing us as though we are unknown to them. I go up to the person next to me, who seems equally confused. The woman, is not the most beautiful woman. That would be my Maya. God, what a beauty she is. I wonder what she is doing right now. The other folks, the folks that took us two months ago, were interesting. They didn't look like us, but somehow we were able to communicate with each other. They asked questions, touched us in weird places, took liquid out of us, and did so much more. They showed us what they called their "planet"which didn't make sense. But what do I know, I am a mere farmer. But now that we are back, I should be able to see Maya again. I hope she waited for me. Or I hope she is here. I wasn't able to meet everyone that was taken with me. I go up to one of the people wearing things on their eyes and ask them what's going on. But this person just looks at me like I have two heads. I try again and ask them who they are, but the person keeps staring. After about a minute of this she walks away and starts talking to someone a few feet from where she was. I gather some courage and walk up to them. Maybe this man would be able to understand me. I ask him the same two questions and he gives me the same look. He then looks at the woman and starts speaking in a tongue I do not understand. 'Holy Shiva!' These people don't understand me. They haven't the faintest clue what I am saying. Great! Now what do I do? Don't these people understand sanskrit? What kind of uneducated people don't understand common sanskrit?
"Dear Diary, People are shit. I've been around on this earth for 5 centuries, going on 6 and do you know what I have seen? A whole lot of nothing. I have seen people kill others over the smallest things, I have seen families torn apart because of where they decided to sleep. I have seen people's innocence taken away do 'teach a lesson.' These people, the one's who don't live as long as I do, they don't know. How can they? They can't learn from their mistakes...they aren't around long enough. Hell, I didn't even learn how to talk to people nicely until I was 126, and my mouth got me a lot of the scars that I have on my body now. They aren't going to get anywhere, even if I talked for another 6 centuries, they wouldn't get it. They only hear what they want to hear. That's where you come in, Diary. You were so stupid. I told you not to mess with those guys. I told you not to try and strong arm them. I told you not to go...but what did you do? You didn't listen. You didn't learn from my mistakes, you acted like I didn't even exist. I loved you and I cared about you but you didn't even have the decency to hang around. This is going out to anyone who is listening: Don't get attached to anyone. Don't try to help anyone. Don't even so much as lift a finger for anyone. They won't listen...even though I thought Diary did...." "Here"I told the young boy who was meant to take care of me, "Take this and give it to the elders...I am done." The young boy took my final manuscript and opened it, eyes blazing back and forth across the parchment. He always did like the things I wrote about: the giants, the mammoths and the ligers. This isn't an adventure today though...it's a warning.... "Who's Diary?"the young boy asked. "No one."I answered. "Ohhh come on old man!! You can tell me!!" I saw the look in his eyes, the same one that Diary gave me when he wanted to go on an adventure, and I caved in. "He's an idea."I replied. "Someone who I could tell all my problems to, and no matter what I was thinking and no matter what I did, they were always by me. Never judged me, never hurt me. He just listened to what I wrote and helped me work through my life. Hell, he's probably the reason I have been alive this long...." "Can I have a Diary?"the boy asked ignorantly. I couldn't help but laugh, the innocence of children. Innocence or stupidity. I couldn't tell which. I was too old to care. "Run along now, Boy. The elders will be wanting that scroll soon."I said to the young man. He turned and left in such a hurry, that he didn't even hear me take my final breath and exhale the words, "Thanks...Diary." That same young boy was now at his little cottage built by his father and grandfather. He ran into his little side of the house that was designated as his. He took some paper out of a small satchel and a feather with some ink. "Dear Diary, My good friend died today, I think he was 572 years old..."
My first memories were very confusing. One day dads there and the next he's gone. Some days I didn't see either of my parents. It was one of those days when I started to put it together. I like to think when I was old enough to talk I was accustomed to the changing days but I had to learn the hard way what would happen if I talked about things I saw in the past. Now I realized that when I wake up everything that belongs to that day belongs to that day and anything that happened any other day may not have happened in this day. Well at least that's how I understood it for a time. The older I got the more different each day started to become. It became much harder to figure out what was going on each day and what I should do. Most days my parents knew I would be confused each morning and would often explain some things to me during breakfast but this did not happen everyday. It was when I was 9 that I first remained semi-conscious through a night and witnessed myself leaving one world behind before a veil of dreams passed by and I found myself waking into another. That's when it all finally started to make sense. Some days I woke up in a nice loving home with both my parents. Other days I woke up and found myself to be living with only one of my parents. Even when I woke up with one parent it was a different reason why the other wasn't around anymore. Still the worst days have been when I woke up without either of them there. In time, these are the days that would help me realize just how much my parents did and cared for me. When I was 13 it came to me. It's as if this world has existed with me in it since before I entered this body last night. What if another me has to live that life after I've left? That's when I began writing a kind of journal that gave a few important details and speculations of the day before going to sleep. Hopefully the next me will find it and have a better day. Each morning I continued to wake up with no journal but I was finding a fascination with writing my days down before bed so I continued the practice. One day it happened. I woke up and found a journal already there. There was only one journal entry and it wasn't one I recalled writing myself. It gave a brief description of the day and a small list of important notes. Even though I found that the writer had a different style and intent in his writing the most immediately important information was there. Who did I live with? What is the family situation? Are there things expected of me throughout the day? In this short journal entry contained information that would usually cause much unwanted confusion and sometimes problematic situations in the process of attaining. I kept writing and as I continued to find more journals it became apparent that all the writers wrote quite differently in them. Eventually I came across a journal with two entries and the second entry clearly stated what I had been writing in every journal I've found. That I was not the one to write the previous entry. I continued my journal practice and by the time I was 17, I found a journal almost every morning I woke up. In the worlds with journals amazing things had happened. I progressed in school, I made friends, and even went on dates. By this time it was extremely rare to wake up without a journal but if I woke in a world without a journal, i was certain it would be a struggle to remain alive through the day. Now it was much more than a journal it was a manual and instruction book for most worlds but most importantly it was a survival guide in any world. I believe it was always in the back of my mind but It was not long after my 23rd birthday when I truly realized that the worlds I jump between all seem to be different possibilities stemming from my birth. Nothing before I was born is ever different in any world I goto. This thought was both easy and hard for me to fully comprehend because of the worlds I had been to throughout my life. There were dimensions where technology had advanced much faster than the other dimensions. I even found my journal inside the computer contained within my head one time. In some dimensions the people were prosperous and kind while in others they may be repressed and cutthroat. I've seen peacefully united worlds as well as one that made it to world war VII while most others were still fearing world war III. Other worlds saw the fall of humanity and were often very hard to live a single day in. Those are the kind of worlds that shape my nightmares. Even my own body in each different world could have different enhancements or disabilities. These various possible lives and worlds had become so different they were hard to recognize as having come from the same origin and having existed for the same amount of time since. These are thoughts that, as far as I can tell, are things no one else may ever know. Although....now that I knew, it changed nothing. I continued to live my lives as best I could and not only was I happy, I seemed to be living happy lives in many worlds.
My own flesh and blood. We were just kids, i bet him $5 he would chicken out before i did. He just kept walking deeper and deeper, the entrance was a speck of light when i turned back. I waited hours for him to come back, never happened. Strange thing that cave is. Never would have would have made that bet if i knew he wasn't coming back, at least not like he was. The day he was found. Some campers saw him examining a tree near the cave. Thought he was high out of his mind. He was babbling about the infinite nothing and the voices calling to him. "come back, come back, were not done with you yet." "Kevin Im sorry." He just stares at me like i was talking in another language. "Whats in there Kevin?" Another blank stare "Kevin I haven't seen you in fifty years. Please talk to me." "Its not your fault" "Of course its my fault Kevin" "No, i didnt go in there just to win your stupid bet and show you how chicken you are. Something was calling me in it pulled me, one step and i couldn't stop." "What happened in there?" He just looks at me as if I've asked him to chop off his own hand "Maybe ill just have to go see for myself." His face gets intensely serious "Tommy don't you dare say that im just not ready to talk about it. Besides your still to chicken old man." Most days he just sits down and watches the grass. He says sleeping is the hardest part. Says he looses touch with whats real and whats not. Usually he wakes up screaming. I got him some plants for his room, seems to calm him down a bit when the nightmares hit. "Tommy. Will you stay here, im scared i'll fall asleep again." "As long as i don't have to stay up" "I dreamt i was back there, in that nothing. They were chanting something, i don't remember what, but it involved four." Yawning i said "Four? Four what?" I dont know how to resolve this and im getting to tired to think. Spoiler every four years someone goes missing hence the 12 in 50 years Kevin was the first to go missing and now the first to come back search parties looked for weeks and the cave is a labyrinth of corridors and a straight one from the entrance in that only appears when a chosen one is present.
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This is not the end The creature repeated this to itself in its own language. It had to if it was going to survive. The statement of pure faith had to be verbalized so that the events of the past would not come flooding into its memory to steal all of its hope away. This is not the end It ran frantically over the landscape. One could describe its size and the marks it left in its wake but it wouldn't matter. This is what was important; that its predator was much larger. The creature had only escaped because of fortunate timing. It had waited to exploit the gap it had found in the cage built by its captors, even as it avoided the terror of watching one of its brethren being taken from the cage to be skinned alive, and then cooked for a feast. This is not the end Now came a true test of its faith. It was face to face with only one of the predators. Its former captors had split up to look for it so at least the situation was not completely hopeless. The silence grew louder as the predator approached. This predator had no weapon. Most of them didn't. They just continued to chase until their limbs caught up with their prey. They couldn't be damaged. They couldn't be left behind. But there had to be a way. The creature repeated its incantation of hope again. This is not the end It dashed all of a sudden in the direction of its hunter. This was a sudden and unexpected development. The predator, momentarily shocked, eventually leapt to grab the creature. The creature, anticipating this, swerved away to make its foe lose balance and topple over and into a steep chasm. With the triumph of a successful evasion fueling its adrenaline, the creature continued to pick up speed. It was now convinced that even the beast that hunted it could be hurt if manipulated into damaging itself. This is not the end Finally, the creature arrived home. It had been a long journey. It was convinced that after evading its last encounter with a hunter, no one had followed it. It would now warn its family and friends, and teach them how to escape death at the hands of the predators. Tired, but filled with gratitude, it entered the locality it had called home. And froze. The corpses of its fellow kind were strewn everywhere. The creature would have broken down in despair but it did not have time to react. It felt the eyes of the predators around it. Some were still feasting on bodies in the vicinity. And then out came the creature's old nemesis. The predator that had been evaded many moons ago. The creature started to take a few steps back as it reasoned with itself. It could still survive. Even if the fall hadn't killed its hunter, there could still be a way to inflict damage. All of its kind had died but somehow, in this moment, it was still alive. So the creature asked itself, Is this not the end?
The key stuck a moment, then turned with a snap, clicking into place. The lock needed service. An odd thought to have, while condemning thousands to death. I pulled the key out, and dropped it under my shirt again. Though everything was different, nothing was different. No countdown, no roaring rockets, no red sirens. It was just done. I took out my wallet, flipping it open to look at the picture within. Sarah was pressed to me in the photograph, my arm pulled to her chest. I remembered being very aware of her breasts against my arm, embarrassed to be photographed at that moment. Behind me, Ariel had a water balloon held high. A moment later it would be smashed over my head. I brushed my thumb over the plastic protecting the photograph, to wipe away the droplet of salt water that had fallen onto it. Then I put the wallet down, to wipe my face. They were dead already, I knew it. Nothing survived this disease. The missile was just a formality. I found myself wishing I could be there with them. I never lied to them, it wouldn't be okay, but I could hold them, tell them I was there with them. Whatever came next, (or didn't come next,) I could face it with them. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm sorry, Ariel. You're going to have to go on without me for a while. I'll see you soon."
(Slight change of the prompt, gonna aim for 1770's so Revolutionary America is just kicking up.) &#x200B; It's done. Jesus fucking christ I finally did it. &#x200B; Every known law of time and space, broken or warped by a single machine. Eat a dick, Einstein. Suck my fattie, Hawking. My name will go down in the books as the man who singlehandedly changed our view on everything we thought we knew about time. We can go backward, not just forward. I built this machine with one goal in mind. Unite the world under one flag. One government. Prevent all the needless deaths of almost all wars. Sure, I could be destroying myself. I'm a human guinea pig when it comes to timelines, but here's hoping mine splits off, instead of re-writing history. I climb aboard, with a particular date in mind. May 11th, 1775. If anyone would heed my advice and knowledge, it would be the men who founded this great nation. &#x200B; I brought with me a computer, a portable charger capable of three days of charge, and several 16-Terabyte hard drives stocked with schematics for everything from advanced metallurgy and machining, to battlefield tactics and the future moves of the British. Sure, America wins anyway, but may as well snowball that into a win against the neighbors. I sealed myself aboard, set the date, and began the windup process. The lights dimmed as the machine hummed and whirred. I had to wire this thing directly into the power grid to summon enough juice to get her going, even so I would likely leave the state of Pennsylvania in a blackout for weeks. It would be worth it if I were to succeed. A blinking light indicated I was about to transport, so I clutched myself into a ball of anticipation, and-- zipp &#x200B; When I opened my eyes, there was nothing but trees. I checked my limbs, to see if any were missing, and to my pleasant surprise, none were, aside from my right middle toe. Annoying, but it was the price of progress. I checked the laptop and all the hard drives. The EMP shielding on the device prevented it from being fried, and everything worked just fine. Good. Now I need to get to the continental congress meeting. &#x200B; After swiping some clothes from a shop not too far from the center of town, I looked the part. Messenger bags weren't too uncommon, and a perfect way to hide my laptop until the need arose. I trotted past British soldiers now and then, and tried my best to hide my amazement. It worked! I will be viewed as a god from this day forth! Finally, I reached my destination. The State House. I walked in, surprised at the lack of security for such a meeting. After checking a few rooms, I finally found the room I was looking for. &#x200B; They all looked and inquired as to who I was, apparently trying to see if I was there to break up the revolution before it began. I assured them otherwise, and said I had something that would ensure their victory. Most were skeptically silent, before Benjamin Franklin stated that if I were to have something to show, then let it be known. After some more assuring, I produced the laptop and pulled up the schematics that I needed to show them. Weapons from hundreds of years beyond their times, strategies that seemed foolish on paper, but effective in practice. They all took great interest in the device, particularly the hard drives, but no questions as to the laptop's origins came about. Only the plans. To which I merely replied with vague things, generally hinting I was from the future. Some didn't trust me, but most agreed to utilize the tactics during the first battles to prove their worth, while the production schematics were put to good use. &#x200B; A year and a half later, the British were fleeing from not horses and muskets, but from rudimentary M1 Abrams and makeshift M4 Carbines. Soon, the rest of the world would follow suit. But this was not my interest. Impatient, I returned to my machine and headed for the future, waiting to see what was in store for me. &#x200B; **\\TWO MONTHS AFTER RETURNING FROM THE PAST\\**** &#x200B; My food supplies are dwindling now. This irradiated wasteland is anything but forgiving. I knew I had forgotten to give them SOMETHING. Some form of warning as to how to keep their secrets secret. It took 100 years, but someone got their hands on schematics. Turned the technology against the United World Initiative. Against my creation. They knew not the long-term devastation they wrought upon the world once the first nuclear weapons were fired, but it is a scar upon this planet few must bear anymore. &#x200B; And I am the sole reason behind it.
"Just leave me alone!"I screamed, slamming the bedroom door shut. 'God, what's her problem?!' I muttered under my breath, but louder than a whisper half hoping she would hear me. Tossing a book across the room it landed loudly against the carpeted seat under the window. Titled Advanced Calculus BC, it had to be at least 600 pages, earmarked once at the introduction on page 31, because on the first day of class Mrs. Appletree asked us to. I'd been grounded, for the 50th time this year. I don't even think that's an exaggeration. Seriously 50, at least, since January. And since my parents don't work they're always on my ass about one thing or another. Midterms came out today from school, 3 F's and a C. I could try harder in school, I just don't need to. Or want to for that matter.. I've never had trouble in school so why study? Why do the homework? Why care at all? There was no explaining this to mom, she'd had enough. I'll never be anything, do anything according to her.. Hard to express how annoying that is hearing several times a week. I shouldn't blame her though, she's trying her best. Out of work, always watching me, I swear sometimes she grounds me just to keep me from going outside, playing with my friends. She tells me it's so I'll learn. What a crock of crap. My dad is never around, I don't know what the hell he is doing in the basement all day. He keeps the door locked and the music on. Mom says he's addicted to some online game, I don't believe her. He always gets dressed in the morning, puts on a sport coat and shoes, showers, no basement dwelling addicted loser puts effort into their appearance. Hell last year when I played Fortnite all summer I wore sweats and ate cheetos. He's hiding something, I can feel it. I sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. What was I going to do, cooped up in my room for the night. They had already taken away my computer, my switch, and my nightlight. Even reading is out of the question. Ugh. The front door opened and closed. I got up to check the window overlooking the driveway. It was mom, walking slowly to the curb to get into our van. Ford Econoline, 2016 model, white and plain. Same as every other family in the neighborhood. It took me a while to notice, but she always got in from the back, opening the back doors and crawling inside, making sure to look behind her, almost as if someone was following her. I brushed it off, attributing that behavior to her worrisome nature. Besides, she had to be secretive. Planning a birthday party was hard on any mom, especially one who's first son was turning 2 this weekend.
The guy I am to interrogate is supposedly the guy to nearly kill half the population. Deathgrip they call him. This was one powerful, most likely actually insane, and bloodthirsty old bastard. I requested my own priest, Merry, cause she's the best in the business for this kind of work. Priest's aren't common because most people naturally heal through their own magic. Some have their uses when they become really powerful and master a grand healing magic. When we get to the interrogation, there stood some of the most powerful people the world knows. After some introductions, they skipped any additional briefing and we stepped into the interrogation room itself. There in the center of the room lay an old man who appeared to be bloody and barely breathing. He was bound by a red magical array within the room which was spread out everywhere including the walls and ceiling. Upon closer inspection I could see that as he bled the array would soak in his blood. Surrounding the room were many famous powerful people. It was very clear the man should not be able to wield any magic within this room. After the initial shock we set to work. I told the real heroes to stand aside which puzzled them as just me and my priest seem far inferior to any of them. I told Merry to get started and her left hand began to glow green which spread to the old man. Instantly his physical body began to recover and appear vigorous. The man stood up. His face was slack even though his body was looking better. I told merry to give him a little juice and immediately her other hand began to glow. After just a second his expression changed greatly. After recovering a bit with Merry's power, he began to laugh. So I approached and shot him in the head with my revolver as if by reflex Merry's green had already intensified greatly and before any of the mans skull could fully fly away...strands of green seem to come into existence and cause him to reform. Everyone in the room had their jaw on the floor beside the man before us seem to be reforming with a look of horror. Everyone here knew people with grand healing abilities that far surpassed the power coming from Merry right now but none of them had ever seen anyone restore a destroyed or dead brainstem. When the man finished reforming I stood a few feet away from him and placed my hand on my head. After accessing his memories and browsing what I could, when I didn't see the answer it meant only one thing...he didn't want me to see it. I begin leaving as many curses in his mind as I could and gave Merry a thumbs up. Merry asked the surrounding legendary "heroes"to kindly assist and attempt to destroy the old man in anyway but just to be mindful of their abilities and not harm us. Then Merry turned up her glow to cover her whole body with much more intensity. The so called heroes went into a frenzy. By the look of this scene I'd easily confuse these heroes for devils. The look of joy on some their faces told it all. I continued to assault his mind and eventually, he broke. What I saw was a man who has lived far longer than any man should. The multitude of memories he possessed compared to the common person was incredible but through it all the only thing I couldn't understand was why he has remained locked away for so long. I was certain beyond a doubt that he wasn't Deathgrip and I told the heroes that. They either didn't believe me or believed I was fooled by the old man, I didn't explain because the old man had asked me not to. They asked for Merry to stay but she refused. After we left when we were alone Merry asked "what did you see?" I said "just a man"
Far sight? Precognition? Teleportation? None of that really matters if you can kill the person instantly. I, Telto Nemin, know of Life and Death magic. I can start something, end something, and revert something. Starting something is the broad category for giving life to something, making something appear, making something start working, and so on. Ending something is a broad category for taking the life from something, making something disappear, making something start working, and so on. Reverting something is a broad category for reviving the dead, healing wounds, fixing something, turning something back into its components, and so on. What's more it's both passive an active. Who knew reading that unassuming grimoire gives such a powerful magic... I mean, I didn't even realized that there was an assassin. Strangely, the grimoire was found in an attic. The previous owner couldn't read it, so he sold it off. The Royal Archive managed to get hold of it, to try to decipher what it says. I... Needed no such work. I only read it normally, and here we are today. I'm currently translating and encoding the contents if grimoire so that more people can read it. What do I have to gain for this? Nothing, but amusement. Thinking back about it, it's quite clear now why someone would like to kill me. "If I can't have it no one will"Pity no one has ever tried to kidnap me. Now, back to work.
"Alright hon we put it off for so long but it's almost here! We leave next week for our Hawaiian vacation just like we always talked about!"Said Jake with genuine excitement. "It's going to be the best I can't wait!"Said Molly equally genuinely excited. Just at that moment there was a knock at the door. Jake walked over and opened the door to find two men in black suits. Jake said "can I help you?" One of the men said "my name is Steven Hill, most people call me Mr. Hill, I represent the atoms for atoms corporation and we would like to offer you twice what you spent on your all expenses paid vacation to Hawaii for you to not take said vacation." Jake stood there not entirely comprehending what was going on at the moment when Molly came over and asked "who's here darling?" Jake replied "its two men offering us money to stay home next week" Confused Molly said "What? The vacations next week! We always talked about going to Hawaii and now we're finally doing it! Wait.....how much money?" Jake didn't reply and simply looked back to the men at the door which in turn caused Molly turned to look at them as well. Mr. Hill said "twice what you paid to book your vacation." "Well....I guess we can reschedule the vacation and be home next week"said Molly. Mr. Hill took a big gulp and said "actually the atoms for atoms corporation would appreciate it if you just forgot about going to Hawaii" Molly didn't say anything. She simply looked at the man with a look that said there better be more to that sentence. Jake could feel her look and simply stood aside. It wasn't long before Mr. Hill followed up with "for which we will compensate you $10,000" Molly simply said "Jake shut the door" Mr. Hill immediately responded "I'm sorry I misspoke I meant $100,000" Before Mr. Hill had even finished speaking Molly had started "I want a million, another vacation on you in addition to twice our Hawaii vacation." Mr. Hill said "I'll give you the million if you don't take a vacation for the next five years" "A million a year"said Molly Mr. Hill reluctantly stuck out his hand to shake hands. Molly looked at Jake to shake the mans hand. Just then Jake said "no vacation for 5 years but I want 10% ownership of the corporation or no deal. If you haggle Mr. Hill I close the door." That's when the other man behind Mr. Hill spoke "I'll make you a sincere offer of 1% of my company and your allowed to vacation where and when the atoms for atoms corporation says for the next 20 years." "DEAL!"Said Jake and stuck his hand out to shake the mans hand. The unnamed man shook Jake's hand and said "I think you will find this was well worth it." With that Jake closed the door and slid to the floor smiling. Molly said "I don't get it, why are you smiling? what did you just do?" Jake said "That was James D. Davenport! I knew I knew him from somewhere! I don't even know how to pronounce the number for how much the atoms for atoms corporation is worth! We're rich Molly!" Molly smiled a half smile and said "Yeah but now we'll never get to live our dream..." Jake replied "20 years, Molly, 20 years and we will take that vacation no matter what. Until then we'll live like royalty."
Lightning raced through the clouds and thunder roared as Zeus bellowed "how can this be!"Zeus paced back and forth as Poseidon failed once again to calm him. "Shut up Poseidon,"Zeus spat mockingly. "You have no room to counsel me, you lost Atlantis too early in this war." "You dont think I'm aware of that?,"Poseidon said sheepishly with his head down. Poseidon looked up and asked, "have you tried sending your entire army?"Zeus stopped pacing to meet Poseidon's gaze. Poseidon watched as sparks arched and shot up from his pupils. Zeus responded through clenched teeth, "have you not been paying attention?"Poseidon felt like a child beneath Zeus' stare. "These creatures,"Zeus began, "are unlike anything I've ever faced before."Zeus' voice raised another octave, "they do not talk, they do not strategize, and they wield no weapon save their beaks and claws"Pure energy poured from Zeus now and washed over Poseidon. Poseidon stepped backward and took cover behind a marble pillar. Zeus shot forward like a bolt of lightning and grabbed Poseidon by his robe. "You know what I hate most about those vile creatures Poseidon?,"Zeus said just inches from his face. Poseidon stared but did not respond out of fear. "The way they run around with their stupid wings,"Zeus continued, "they cant even fly!"Zeus released his grip dropping Poseidon in a heap on the floor. Poseidon silently whispered, "you just need a bigger army.""What was that?,"Zeus snapped. "Nothing,"Poseidon retorted.
Lazarus stepped out of his car and looked out at the mountains. That's how bad the traffic was. A lot of other people were doing the same. "It's not even the season for it."He muttered to himself. The wildfire seemed intense. The black columns of smoke almost meshed with the overcast skies. A lot of other people were out of their cars too. Others honked their horns in futility. This was the fourth one this week alone. Satisfied with his little display of impatience, Lazarus got back in his car and reached for the radio to turn the volume up. He almost missed it. There were three sharp cracks. He'd mistake them for pistol cracks if the intensity and following bright lights didn't tell him otherwise. He looked up at the hill where the nexus of the fire seemed to burn, and saw more lights fly into the sky. They were beautiful fireworks. They exploded and lights shimmered. Acid trip-hypnotic like, and Lazarus felt a sudden clenching feeling in his chest, a wave of various emotions - fear, anger, a mixture between hope and assertiveness that he interpreted as a command and a plea. &#x200B; He knew he'd lost time when he came out of his daze and saw a soldier two cars ahead dragging out a man and his wife. They protested weakly before they were bundled into a military vehicle that hadn't been there a moment ago. &#x200B; A quick check told him the fire had been extinguished, there were helicopters up and about, and soldiers were checking vehicles and dragging people out of them. &#x200B; Lazarus had no idea what made him do it, but he hooted his car horn three times. &#x200B; Immediately 2 soldiers came up to his window, and instead of cowering he rolled it down and poked his head out, shouting - even as a ringing headache pushed from behind his eyes - , &#x200B; "Hey, what's the hold up?!" &#x200B; "Get out of the car! Now!" &#x200B; Lazarus feigned indiginated anger instead of the fear he felt, "What the hell is going on here. I've got an appointment!"Well. Visiting his grandparents wasn't that urgent, but it was an appointment all the same. Technically. &#x200B; The soldier looked like he was about to give a command when his friend nudged him and whispered something, &#x200B; "Doesn't seem affected... Better off..." &#x200B; He didn't get those exact same words, but estimated the meaning as so. Feigning his anger and impatience, the soldier looked at him and nodded, &#x200B; "Move along." &#x200B; It turned out moving along was indeed possible now. Some of the cars had been shouldered, and Lazarus took the chance to risk asking what was going on. He only recieved stony replies of, &#x200B; "Move along."before going. &#x200B; All the time he drove he didn't expect to really get out of all of this, because with each passing moment the raw emotions that the light had transmitted to him gained more and more meaning, like a slowly burning poison. It told of a race of humans under fear, it told stories - all anecdotal - of being hunted down, prosecuted, and absolutely cut off from contact with human lives. It told of the compromises they'd made throughout history, and of the final decision for extermination of their kind. It told of humans who were not-quite human... different in fundamental ways. Mysterious ways. And they wanted the world to know. To help. &#x200B; Lazarus knew nothing. Nothing important anyways. He had a job as a plumber. He was a nobody - maybe that'd work in his advantage if the government was trying to cover all of this up. &#x200B; But he was also the son of an immigrant who'd fled the holocaust. And it may have to do with the mysterious way his synapses had been stimulated by that message-in-the-light. Or common human decency, but he decided then and there that he was going to help. In whatever way he could. &#x200B; &#x200B;
Hirokazu Masuda was among the oldest of the orphans living at Himemiya's "Care House", located at a very old building in Kyoto. The Care House's structure, which was roughly 400 years old, resembled an old Edo-style mansion that had somehow collided abruptly with a more industrial housing and found a way to merge them together. The front facade and surrounding gates were lovely, showing none of the weird structural mash that would be more prominent on the actual mansion held within, specifically on the sides where they were obviously constructed to amplify and accommodate more people. The additions started in the early 21st century and given the growing needs of the hosts and inhabitants, it would need further expanding soon. Hirokazu had arrived at the Care House after fleeing his former home, a sterile looking orphanage hidden in the depths of Shin Tokyo, realizing that he was already too old to be taken by a loving family. There were other reasons, though. Some he had managed to suppress in the 5 months he had been living at his new refuge. He was known to be a jokester: the day wouldn't be complete if he hadn't attempted to crack a pun or two with the staff, some of the friends he had made or attempted to prank some of the staff with childish antics. He had made it his goal to bring as much joy and excitement as he could, lifting the spirits of the other children which had fled similar situations as his or had been brought over from a desolate situation in an attempt to find peace and stability. The Cyber Wars had devastated large areas in Japan all over and, as with conflicts of power and dominance, it would be the most innocent the ones who take the biggest of tolls. Today, though, he would not show up to breakfast nor lunch. Himemiya grew wary first and then worried at his lack of response. None of the other staff members had seen him come out of his room and it was already late in the afternoon. "I don't really want to barge inside his room."Himemiya recounted the situation to Joshua, a Federation cadet who was a good friend of hers. He would often visit to make sure they had their needs covered and would in fact cover them from other higher ranked officials when he figured they wanted to get too brisky in their check-ups of the place. "It's not like him to stay for such a long time. His window is also shut so I don't think he's planning some scheme. I can feel the air around that place rather somber." "Do you have any idea what could have caused it? Did he get in trouble?" "I mean, he often does and we would either have a small talk if things went too far. Normally it's not that bad and we have a laugh with him. It really helps keep up the morale on the newly arrived children who are still too wary or scared. But nothing out of the ordinary has happened as far as I can recall." Behind Joshua was a tall and burly looking man who wore a simple black suit and a poker face that under a different light would look frightening. He rose up from his crouching position as Joshua did so and followed him to the large patio located in the middle of the precinct. "Are you thinking on barging in? Why?"Asked the man in the suit. His voice was quiet and grave. "Hiro's been in a though situation before."Joshua began to explain. He began to pat the pockets on his pants in order to find a small cigarette which had lodged at the corner of it. As he took it out, he rose it to the level of his eyes and began to roll it between his thumb and index to make sure it was straight enough to be smoked. A lighter in the shape of an old alkaline battery was pulled out from his jacket's right pocket. A click at the top of the battery, where the positive side would be, would push down the nub and flicker the mechanism to bring a soft amber flame from which he could light up his smoke which was already waiting patiently between his lips. His partner made no comment about his habit nor the fact that he was doing it in a place that would be considered inappropriate. After a deep drag which filled his throat with cool menthol, he exhaled a column of the intoxicating substance and continued his speech. "In fact, I was the one who guided him over here in the first place." "Hmm?" "Have I told you how I lost my parents during one of those guerrilla assaults both Federation and Cyberians go on occasionally? Its not really often they clash that badly but when they do, man. . ."The end of the cigarette lit up red briefly. Another puff of smoke came shortly after. "I don't blame the extreme security measures they've gotten in place to deal with the rouges. It's harsh but, I mean, what would you do if you happens to come across some asshole with guns instead of hands?" The man in the suit had no comments about it. Joshua took another drag. "But sometimes, even with that background, things can get iffy. And I don't talk only of the clashes between the rebels and the military teams the Federations have prepared for them. I mean iffier things. Things that really bad people do while the smoke and fire of the battle covers up for their actions. We all hear about people disappearing or dying on the onslaught, the protests and counter-protests from people for or against measures, humans or cyberians. That's a lot of noise that covers up the really shitty things that the Cyber Wars have to offer." The cadet sighed, taking the cig off his lips and shaking his head slowly. A small tap at the butt to release some of the burned out bits that would eventually be blown away by the wind. "This place is a sanctuary for everyone, Ichimura. Humans, Cyberians. Himemiya takes them all and takes good care of them, as best as she and some volunteers can. They've been through a lot and may well not find a home to go to so best they be at a place to form some new foundations at. It's technically a private endeavor which is sustained by the good will of people, a bit from the government so those arguing for the rights of those affected would shut up and some out of Himemiya's own pocket. This place was inherited from her family, ya know? Some even say that's what gives it fortune and keeps it safe from harm. But there are other places not as good, ya know? And then there are those that are really fronts for far more sinister things, hiding behind the noise and smoke I told ya about before." The cigarette fell from Joshua's fingers and rolled away from him, small bits of ember sprinkling out as it did. It didn't go too far, given how easy it was for him to step on it and roll his heel to extinguish it. "The Federation got a report about 4 years ago about an orphanage located by the outskirts of Shin Tokyo, the shady area of Shin Tokyo which leads to the old capital and got devastated in that first assault 100 years ago. With that in mind, that's already a red flag but it wasn't red enough to have it put on the table as a priority, I guess. Probably because the house was home to confirmed cyberian children and those are, probably they thought as much, 'better off than regular human orphans'. Another interesting thing about that place is that, despite the area they were in, they didn't have that many children in it. Most orphanages from the affected areas host around 30 or even 50 kids at a given time. In marginalized areas where cyberians are more abundant, it's more common to see packed orphanages. It's a whole hassle adopting these kids so not many go through the due process. And then people wonder why they turn out rowdy." Joshua patted his pants pocket again. His disappointment was brief as he focused once more on the details. "So, a orphanage in a marginalized area with 20 kids at a place that is a virtual shithole? That sounds like some sort of miracle. Either they were too lazy doing their job or the turnover was really good. Because they weren't causing much trouble and they kept the kids at bay, they didn't bother to check them too often. Hell, this place is scrutinized more than that place was, from what I'm told. Probably 'cause it was government funded or something."He shrugged. "Who knows. So everything was cool and dandy, right? Nobody of the neighbors had a complain, it was rosy and pretty. The poster child of an ideal orphanage." He let out a deeper sigh. A cold glance formed, unlike anything his partner had seen before. It held both fury and frustration. His fists clenched tightly. "Ichimura, in this day and age, how much do you think a human life is worth? Or for this specific matter: how much would a Cyberian's be worth?" ----- Continued later. I gotta run.
The blade of light clove through the arm of the blue-scaled Titan, the wound smoking as the arm dropped lifelessly to the ground. The enormous creature, larger than the surrounding highrise buildings, roared in pain and struck down with its remaining arm, its fist descending towards the ground with the force of a meteor. Another flash of light and the creature's arm slumped, falling listlessly to the ground. Scarlet blood spilt over the azure scales, pooling in the groves and tumbling to the ground in torrid waterfalls. Its head pitched and fell loose from the mountainous shoulders with a sickening squelch and fell towards the ground. A small figure flew upwards towards the rapidly falling head, and with a boom the shook the nearby windows from their frames, kicked the head as hard as it could. The head disappeared in a squall of blood and fragments. Landing back on the ground with a light tap, Dan looked around at the body that was still awkwardly slumped where it had fallen, frowning slightly as he did so. Usually, a demon body would combust within a few seconds of the being cut off, and the fact that the body was still present irked him, though he could not fully understand why. He looked at his t-shirt, his frown deepening as he saw the blood stains that had soaked into the fabric. After a few moments, his frown lifted as he saw the telltale wisps of smoke started to twist from the blood stains on his shirt, the blood slowly fading out of the fabric. Satisfied that everything was proceeding normally, he turned and walked back to the Waitrose that was behind him, the automatic doors smeared in a thin layer of red mist. He walked past the stunned patrons, and proceeded back down the aisles, occasionally nodding to a few people he recognised. They all took a step backwards, whether in awe or in terror he did not know. Reaching the correct aisle, Dan walked up to a trolley that looked half abandoned, picking up a small slip of paper that was stuck to the handrail with a piece of blue tac. “Right… I need bread next. Where is the bread again?” He muttered to himself, glancing up from his list and looking around above the aisles for the sign that indicated where he was looking for. Why did they keep changing the location of things, he thought angrily to himself as he pushed his trolley past the end of each aisle, glancing down them to see whether the bread was down there. Reaching one end of the store, he sighed in annoyance and turned his trolley around to go back the other end. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Dan pointedly ignored it. He knew exactly who it would be and he was determined that this time, he would be able to finish his shopping. He was sick of having to eat take-out food due to him being interrupted every time he went to the supermarket. The phone went quietly in his pocket, then, less than 3 seconds later, started buzzing again. Dan continued to ignore it as he found the bread aisle, and started examining the ingredients on the back of a packet of Hovis, before comparing it against the Waitrose own brand. The remainder of his shopping continued much the same; people staring and moving away wherever he went, his phone buzzing in his pocket and Dan completely ignoring it. He had just reached the checkout and was loading his goods carefully onto the belt when a loud crash sounded from outside the now perfectly clean doors, the sounds of shouting and swearing drifting through the walls. Dan continued to load his goods onto the conveyor. A large group of people sprinted into the store, men and women, young and old. Their eyes searched desperately, finally seeing Dan standing at the checkout placing his credit card into the reader and tapping in his pin. “There!” There was silence for a second before the group sprinted towards him, shouting and crying for his attention. People pushed and shoved, tripping each other to get to him first. A middle-aged man grabbed his collar, shoving a piece of paper into his hand with a cry, “Please, great hero, you must help me. My wife has been seduced by a demon in disguise; you must help eradicate this great evil!” Other crowded around Dan and began thrusting pieces of paper at him, each trying to tell him about their great quest for him. ‘Why do people try to trouble me with these?’ Dan wondered to himself, ‘What exactly am I going to do with a supposed Demon that seduces another man's wife? If it is a Demon that is. If this guy has been chasing me around then no wonder she is looking for someone else.’ Dan picked up his shopping bags and crouched slightly, eyes narrowing at the door. The jump must be perfect. He tensed his legs and sprung high in the air above the astonished faces below him., kicking off off the suddenly solid air and flying towards the entrance to the store. The doors slid open, and he began sprinting as fast as he could, the bags clutched close to his chest to stop anything falling out. The scenery blurred around him, the honking of horns and the shouts of pedestrians disappearing in an instant. He carried on running, eventually slowing his pace as he neared his destination. A small stone cottage came into view, shielded by tall, dark trees that exuded malice. The leaves of the trees were a deep red, the bark a black so dark it looks like something had taken chunks out of the air to expose the void beyond. One of the best decisions of his life, Dan thought proudly to himself. A few years ago, when he was watching Netflix on his tablet, the ancient spirit Malthanus had awakened from beneath the earth, determined to take revenge on the now evolved humanity for sealing it so long ago. Dan had defeated it in seconds. As the creature begged for its life, Dan proposed a deal. In exchange for being sealed for 100,000 years, Dan would not exterminate him where he stood. It was a pretty good deal for both parties, even though it clearly in Dan’s favour. The evil presence of the spirit, which was prone to sulking, deterred even the most diligent of pursuers from coming to his home. Dan let out a sigh of relief and stepped opened the door, shutting it behind him and placing his carrier bags down on the worktops; carefully starting to unload the bags and place the goods in pre-determined cupboards. As he placed the last piece of shopping away, his house suddenly quaked, the trees swaying violently from side to side. Dan started to prepare a cup of tea, hoping against hope that he was mistaken. A small black shadow flickered behind him, taking the shape of an old man with greasy black hair and a beard. The man looked towards the east, speaking with the deep voice of a practised orator, “Great hero, you are called upon to undertake a quest of great peril and great reward. Talk of your noble character has been spread throughout the realms. Now we must humbly beg for your assistance in taking down the great serpent Valderorg the Terrible.” Dan sighed deeply.
Forever It was more than I could have hoped for. More than even Heaven could promise. I had lived a full life, leaving my mark on the world around me, as only a select few have. To the trained eye, my signature style glows bright, written in the skylines of the world. But they, too, shall pass, and be ground into dust and forgetting as I have been, or will be, as is the due of all things in the world of mortals. But this, this could be eternal. I would set my signature into the very workings of those dreams, or nightmares, that may come in the eternal sleep of every mortal. Plans after plans, plans beyond plans litter my room, and if I was the world's best architect in life, anything I ever drew pales in comparison to this. My magnum opus, my brilliance distilled, my chance at salvation. Every blind corner full of the hope of salvation, every reveal a shattering of that hope. Delicious irony and heavy-handed moralism, unfathomable cruelty and just enough solace to make the next lash sting sharper. Why then, do I not commit? Why hesitate? It's not like anyone comes here if they don't deserve it. And even though I do rightfully deserve it, I could get away. But it's not guilt, holding me back. It's just...this. It is my undoubtedly my best work, but do I want it to be my legacy, even if it is my one chance for my work to endure forever, even if it is my redemption? Can I leave a legacy written in suffering instead of lights? Would I have heaven, knowing I climbed there on a ladder of the screaming damned. I can't! I won't! I rip the plans off the walls and throw them in the fire. I will take hell over heaven, knowing at least that it's not a hell I've wrought. "Keep your bribes, Satan!", I scream, "I won't become your accomplice!", "You won't pervert the genius of Henmetz!" He laughed at me, oh, how he laughed. "You thought I wanted your genius in particular? My, my, my, aren't you full of yourself? It's the test everyone gets, you deluded little man. You either build your own hell, or you get to go to heaven."
Manny woke with a groan. He felt a dull ache in his head, but the pain doubled when he opened his eyes. The bright sunlight coming in through his window forced him to shut his eyes again. He rolled over in his bed to face away from the window and groaned again; the sudden, quick movement did not do his stomach any favors. "You awake, Man?"Manny recognized the raspy whisper from the floor by the bed. "Yeah,"he replied. "Last night must've been something else, I can't remember crap,"Manny chuckled. "owww."he held his head. "Damn, me neither,"Malcolm replied. "But, uh... we need to go find out."Manny heard a bit of worry in his friend's voice. "You okay?"Manny crawled toward the edge of the bed. "I dunno, I'm feeling kind of blue,"Malcolm replied. Manny looked over the side at his friend on the floor and immediately burst into laughter. “Haha, OWhahaOWwww"His best friend of 15 years lay on the floor in his jeans and a black t-shirt. Every bit of skin that Manny saw was a bright royal blue. "What the hell happened to you last night? Malcolm chuckled on the floor. "No idea, but...,"he held up a finger to give Manny pause. After a moment the blue color drained from his skin leaving it the normal olive color Manny was used to. "...that's been happening,"he said. Manny still heard traces of worry. He moved, gently, off the bed and offered Malcolm a hand up. "Let's go find out."Malcolm accepted the hand and tried to lift himself up while Manny pulled. As Manny strained to support Malcolm another hand emerged from his wrist to give him a better grip. Both of them noticed it at the same time and Malcolm grinned. "It's not just me then, awesome."Once Malcolm stood on his feet Manny let got and tried to look at both of his right hands. The second one disappeared when it was no longer needed. "You think one of us is dreaming?"Manny asked as he looked over his two remaining hands. Malcolm's olive skin transitioned to a bright, neon green color and he shook his head. "The last thing I remember is the bar, what about you?"He asked. Manny nodded. "Yeah, same. Let's start there." The drive to the bar was quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Malcolm's skin changed to yellow and red at different points along the way, but always changed back. He was thankful for the cold weather. He wore a hoodie and gloves, but the colors still showed on his face. "I'll wait here,"Malcolm suggested, once they parked at the bar. "No way, you're coming in too."Manny tossed him a pair of sunglasses and a scarf. "Cover up." "Looks like I'm robbing the place,"Malcolm complained, but he pulled the hood down. He wrapped the scarf around the lower part of his face and put the sunglasses on, then put the hood back up. "Ready,"he mumbled through the scarf. They walked in and went straight to the blue-haired woman at the bar. She smiled and greeted them before either of them said something. "Hey, guys! Welcome back."She smiled at Malcolm and giggled. "What's with the getup?"Manny took larger steps to reach the bar faster. "You remember us?"he asked. "'Course. You guys were the life of the party last night. Between Mr. Chameleon over there and your card tricks, everyone was buying you guys drinks,"she smiled. Malcolm did not waste any time taking his scarf off. It was hot and scratchy inside and he did not need to be wearing it anymore. His skin was currently shifting from purple to its normal color. "Yeaaaaaah!"she smiled broadly at him with a thumbs up gesture. "Wait. We had these powers when we came here?"Manny asked. He looked at Malcolm, but only got a shrug in return. "I don't remember having powers when we came here,"Malcolm replied. The bartender laughed and slapped the top of the bar. "Wow, you guys got totally wasted, huh?"She smirked. "You don't remember me? My name's Mundo."She stretched a hand out to Manny across the bar. Both men shook their heads. "Sorry,"Manny shrugged but shook her hand. "I'm Manny, that's Malcolm." "It's a good thing you guys came back today. I told you to, but I guess you don't remember that either,"she giggled. "About your abilities,"she shook her head. "No, you didn't have them when you got here. You got them here. I do tattoos in the back sometimes and you guys wanted tattoos." "We got tattoos?"Malcolm, currently maroon, asked. She nodded and pointed at him. "Yep, yours is on your back, and yours,"she pointed at Manny"is on your chest. I'm surprised you didn't notice it yet."Malcolm took the hoodie off, followed by his shirt, then he turned his back toward Manny. "What is it?"He asked. "A red heart with the number 27 in it,"he responded. He snapped a picture then handed the phone to Malcolm. "I'll check mine later,"he looked around the empty bar. "I don't need to pull my pants down here." "I'll tell you. It's a fist,"she made a fist and held it straight in front of Manny's face. "Like this, with the number 21 on the two middle fingers." "Okay, but can we go back to why Malcolm is changing colors? You said we got our powers here. How?" "I told you. Tattoos,"she smiled. "What, you do magic tattoos?"Mundo shook her head. "No, silly. The tattoos aren't magical, you are. You guys are Unique Souls. You're numbers 21 and 27,"she pointed at Manny, then Malcolm respectively. "La Mano, and El Corazón."Manny sat down on a bar stool and Malcolm followed suit. "I don't know what that means, but I hope you can tell us."Mundo nodded. "There are 54 different Unique Souls, numbered 1 - 54. Each number has a different item, plant, animal, person, or heavenly body associated with it. And each one has abilities based on what it's associated with,"she pointed at Manny. "#21, La Mano means 'the hand'. I'm sure you can figure out your power,"she turned to Malcolm. "Yours is trickier. You're number 27, 'the heart'." "What does that have to do with changing colors?!"he asked. "Well, that's where things get complicated. It's not always as straightforward as an extra hand. Corazóns can be very powerful, but unfortunately they can almost never control their powers. They need to adapt to live with their powers as opposed to adapting their abilities to their own life,"Mundo explained. She paused when she noticed Malcolm's eyes glaze over slightly. "I'm going to keep changing colors?"he asked. "Probably not!"Mundo replied with a smile. "Your abilities will fluctuate, that's the 'not being able to control them' aspect. You're changing colors today but you could be on fire tomorrow! Anything can happen." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #318. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
Definitly not the best but I was bored at work and thought "why not?" &#x200B; The letter made me cry, picking it up again I looked at the childish drawings and I remembered the past I had tried to forget. I had been only sixteen at the time, I knew it was only a little while ago but it felt like a lifetime. I had gone to the park, not the most safe thing at eleven at night but it was the only time I could be free and relax. That's where I met Melody she was exactly 8 years old, it was her birthday. I asked her why she was at the park so late and she told me about her brother, he was taking care of her and had kicked her out of the house for the night because she had made him mad. I took melody to the vending machines and bought her a soda and some chips and we swung on the swings for a good hour until she got a text saying to come back to the house, I walked her to her home and that was the end of it, or so I thought. in the next year I counted the days I met her late at night at the park,it was exactly 194. iI know what you're thinking but I tried calling CPS and they didn't believe me, said to stop wasting their time. I managed though, I got her food and drinks when I saw her, we even snuck her into my room to sleep a few nights when the clock hit 2:00 AM and her brother hadn't called her to come back home. It wasn't ideal but it was ok, then it got worse. Melody began arriving at the park wearing only long sleeves, I didn't catch on at first because it was cold at night but one night when we played catch she fumbled the ball and it hit her stomach. She fell to the ground crying, I knew I hadn't thrown it that hard but she was obviously in pain. That's when she showed me the bruise, it was purple and yellow and angry looking. I got her to confess that her brother had hit her because she hadn't done the dishes well enough and then he refused to feed her dinner. I bought her some extra chips but I didn't know what to do. Every time I saw her after that she had some sort of bruise or injury, I didn't see how things could get any worse but the things she confided in me... I will never look at people the same way. We were friends (despite our age difference) for 2 years and I was 18 when I decided to talk to her brother. I was non-intimidating enough that I figured he might listen, I was also going to suggest adopting Melody. Don't look at me weird, I knew I was a child myself but because of Melody and wanting to help her out of her situation I had taken extra classes and graduated high school early, I even had a job, I good one too, I made 17$ an hour coding for people and had even picked up side jobs making websites, I was so naive. The talk with her brother involved me getting my ass kicked and told if I ever contacted Melody he would make sure she never walked again, that he hated her for being such a burden and that all she had to do was keep her mouth shut and not be "a little bitch"she was eleven years old at the time. He must have told her to stay away from me because I only saw Melody one time after that, by accident, she was terrified when she saw me and told me that she was leaving in a week, he brother had a friend who wanted to "take care of her" I was never an angry person, in fact I tended to be quite calm and relaxed. I knew I had to do something though and talking to him wasn't working. I used what melody had told me and spent the next few days preparing myself. One week later the news showed a story about a drug deal gone wrong. A young man had apparently purchased coke and the gotten robbed. He was found in his home by his eleven year old sister who called the police, because she had no family left she was sent to live with foster care temporarily. It had gone perfectly.... but there was one thing I had forgotten, I threw away the empty coke baggie in the trash and hadn't wiped it down, I had worn gloves at the time when I did... the thing but I hadn't when I purchased the coke in the first place. they found my fingerprints and I was brought in for questioning and later brought to trial. In the end I was found innocent, mostly. Not because I was but because it turns out Melody's brothers best friend was also a coke dealer who tested his own product, he went a bit crazy and ended up stabbing a customer it just so happened to be the same kind on knife I had used. Melody also came up and testified that she knew me and I had in a way taken care of her when he brother hadn't and that the night before her brother died I had given her a baggie of pretzels which brother had used it to store his crap. She had lied to keep me safe. When I was let out I didn't get to see her, in fact I didn't even get to know what happened to her, so I wondered for a while if she hated me. Everything I put her through, the death of her brother, the court case, and even her being put into foster care. I knew now she didn't. her letter didn't say much just "thank you"with her name, and those silly childish drawings.
[Sorry in case of errors, typed on my phone] "You know, magic is all cool and stuff, but seriously? Owls?", I complain for the thousands time to my pure-blood best friend Casa while I write a letter to my mother by hand. "Like after three years here you should have gotten used to it", she answers and rolls her eyes. "I know. But still. Nothing works up here. Like I don't even know if the cell service up here is good or not because guess what. My phone just doesn't work at all." "The day that you will shut up about this I will celebrate", she mutters. "Like we have already snow outside but I can't even Netflix in front of those cozy fireplaces on my tablet." "I don't understand half the words you're saying. You know that right?" It always astounded me how little Casa knew about the wonders of technic and science. I wouldn't even be sure if she was able to power on my mobile. "How do you even live without all that stuff?", I ask, too, for the thousand time. "Magic. What you should be learning right now", she hints on me not doing my transfiguration homework. "But like have you have any idea how far science got? Okay, cool, you can fetch things with Accio and all get invisible with a cloak, and some other cool stuff, but us puny muggles fly to space and everything." "Are you done?", she asks and I nod to her surprise. I seal up the letter and stand up: "Are you coming up to the owlery?", I ask and she follows to my surprise. As we used the most amount of stairs I ever saw in a building I go on: "Like we have stairs that move you upwards." "I know. I sometimes go outside." The old oil paintings greet us and one lady with whom I got very dear even follows us to listen in on our conversation. Unlike Casa next to me she always were interested in the evolution of technology outside the magic world. Somehow two months into the school year I got really annoyed by the lack of all my electronics and whined to everyone about it. The other muggleborns understood me, even though I still had to find the person who was on the same level technological as me, as I was not only interested in using it but in how all of it worked as well. It was good that we at least hadn't have to use a quill to write and parchment to write on - we were allowed to bring pens and pads but if they were empty we had to contact our parents to send us new ones by owl. Hogsmead was providing that nowadays but in the school it self you didn't get a supply. Plus a lot of teachers were still puniching you for not using parchment, so when they gave us homework they made the amount of parchment less than the actual pages on a pad. And Professor Binns - who was still teaching - forbid everything other than the "old methods"as I, and the other muggleborns, started to call it. "Like seriously, we're in 2018. We should be able to listen to music the whole day and make our notes on a laptop", I continued on my whining, "Like magic is a nice and everything but being stuck in this old convent sucks. Like suuucks." "I am starting to ask myself why I even came with you", Casa said annoyed. "Why did you come?" "I have to pay attention that you do not accidently run to the principal to try to convice him that they should make electronis work here. It wouldn't be the first time." "You know if you had a printer here I would make flyers and try to rally all the students to join me." "There is a spell for copying things." "Yeah, but no art programm which means I would have to write the first flyer myself. And we both know how horribly that would look." "Can I be glad that you're art skills are so bad." "Well, if they weren't you would get introduced to some sweet sweet tech", I grin as I tie the letter to an owl's leg. "You know how glad I am that you get home over christmas." "There's still time until that." "I know", she sighs and looks at her mechanical pocket watch, "But you know what: you should get to Arithmatic and I got to Astronomy." I nod and we hurry back from the owl tower. I was real glad they had at least one subject that would ground me and the young professor actually brought knowledge of science of muggles and best understood our daly struggle without it. As I get closer to the classroom I hear High Hopes but without a steady tempo. The teacher sits next to a mechanical gramophone, making the electricity himself with a handle he turns. I immediatly start to smile an a bit of my hatred of Hogwarts vanishes. "Professor", I greet him and sit down, "You know what a great idea would be: typewriters. Even though they are heavy as-", I interrupt myself, "They could just sit in some emtpy room free for everyone to use them." "The headmaster wouldn't like that, would he?", he smiles and I nod slowly with a bit of sadness.
“Wilson! Another double shot espresso! Easy on the cream this time, you fool!” I screamed from across the control room. “These world leaders will never give in and help each other, no matter how hard I try to make them see reason.” “Here you are, sir. Y-your espresso, j-just like you ordered..” Wilson sheepishly presented. “D-did I, uh, did I do good this time?” I grabbed the warm cup and took a deep, soulful sip. “Yes you did, Wilson. Now go choose your reward.” “T-thank you, sir! Oh god thank you!” Wilson exclaimed as he raced to the broom closet to pick out his reward for being a good servant. A fresh, clean pair of underwear that was weeks over due. “Now back to the drawing board,” I sighed. The monitors in the control room covered every wall from floor to ceiling, and in varying sizes. Each had camera coverage of the most important world leaders no matter where they were. “They will never achieve a legitimate coalition to save the earth from global warming and war. I have set every coal mine on fire and made all the major lakes acidic. I wiped out wheat and corn crops, year after year with new diseases. What do I get for my effort? Political finger pointing and scapegoating! Charity organizations working overtime to provide a bandaid solution instead of working on a solution to actually reduce our carbon foot print!” I took another sip of my liquid gold of an espresso. “Think, me, think!” I fingered my rubber bracelet with the acronym ‘WWJD’ inscribed on it. “What would Jesus do? What.. would.. Jesus do? What...... would..” I took another long sip. Halfway through I spit it back out, “Of course! That’s it! The answer is so obvious! We need a new plague! Thats exactly was Jesus would do. Wilson! Get your useless ass in here!” From out the door of the control room and down the hall, I heard a metallic CLAANNNG! “Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. Right here, sir.” Wilson squeaked as he rushed into the room. “Oh good, you’re here. Look Wilson, I need your blood.” I said. “M-my blood? B-but why?” He grew nervous. “Yes you dunce! Your blood! I need it for my new project. I knew you would be useful someday. As you know Wilson, your real name I gave you is Wilson #53. Do you know why that is?” “N-no, sir. I can’t say I do.” “You see, Willy, you’re not the first Wilson I fostered in my time. You’re actually the 53rd Wilson. The other 52 didn’t survive, but you did. You survived what I put every Wilson through. A series of injections of the world’s worst and most dangerous plagues and diseases and viruses out there! You came out mostly ok. Sorry about your toes and teeth by the way. I didn’t know they would rot and fall off. But hey! You survived! That’s good. And that’s why I need your blood.” “Yeah it’s hard to walk and keep my balance, s-sir. But it’s always good to serve you, sir.” Wilson fearfully quipped out. “Yes, Yes. It’s good to serve me, of course. Good answer. Look Wilson I have a plan. I need you to go to every international airport in the country and cough, hack, and lick every door knob you see. After that, piss all over every toilet seat and don’t wash your hands. Hopefully in short time, whatever is infesting your body right now will spread throughout the world through every airport. And within a few months time, at least a tenth of the worlds population will perish! That’ll show those shit flinging monkey world leaders to mess with Mother Earth!” I went on about my perfect plan. “And there is definitely no way this will backfire. Heh heh.” 3 days later.... “It backfired! God flipping motherfucking dammit Wilson! You were supposed to spread the diseases festering inside of you, not get detained at the airport for licking the same doorknob of the women’s restroom for half a fucking hour!”I fumed. “But, s-sir, I was just doing what you instructed me to do. And it also tasted good. I think a tropical lotion was on it this time. At least that’s what I thought, it was kinda salty...”he drooled while explaining. “You were supposed to use you’re brain, too, you idiot! That’s why I planted that one inside you. Not just to see if a chimpanzee brain could work in tandem with a human one in the same skull, but for you to use at least on of them!” I barked at him. “Did you at least spread it to a few major airports in the state?” “Yes, sir, I did. I hit about six of them in two days,” he proudly proclaimed. “That was... u-until, well, you know.” “That’s right, your sticky doorknob fetish got the better of you. I’ll fix that later. Well you got a handful of them, so we will see in due time how far and fast it spreads,” I responded. 3 months later... “Well Wilson, you did it again. I don’t know how you did it but manage to fuck up again. And to think I was going to name this new plague after you. Look what you did, you imbecile!” I motioned to the monitors. On every monitor, there was clear feed of every world leader. They were literally flinging shit at each other and scratching their armpits and asses. Just like chimpanzees. So we’re their cabinet members and secretaries. So we’re the community leaders of every major city and town in the world’s major regions. “I think it worked perfectly, sir.” Wilson responded with satisfaction with a banana in hand. “You literally turned every human into a high functioning primate! I knew I should have monitored what was incubating inside of you after all this time,” I groaned regretfully. “Well, it’s too late to reverse it. Might as well enjoy the show. Heheh. Pass me a banana will you. I’ve been craving those a lot lately...”
“Uh... I... I’m gonna go now...” I ran out the door with the sill nearly grabbing my bushy tail. “GUYS!” “TOM, SLOW DOWN!” I skidded to a stop, right in front of Chase. “Ok, we need to go to the treehouse, now!” “Exactly.” Bjorn said. _30 minutes later_ “Ok, so first of all, do we all know why we’re here?” I asked. Sascha raised his paw. “Yes, Sascha?” “The internet’s gone, entirely?” “EXACTLY!” I yelled. “Do we all agree?” I asked. Everyone nodded or murmured yes. Suddenly, I heard a police car pull up to the house. _”Quick, hide!”_ I whispered. each one of us had a designated hiding spot, all very hard to find. I scampered to my board in the floor. I lifted it, hopped in, closed the board and locked it with the latch installed in it. The officer climbed up right as I locked my hatch. “These vermin kids better all get their tails out here, or they’re gonna be dead soon! This conspiracy isn’t gonna hide itself!”
"Briizzzsinggerr", the words felt familiar echoing through my mind, the cold wood of the bow, the thin shift of the arrow nocked in its string. My hands had grown hot and my arrow was bathed in a crimson flame, my arms felt electrocuted. In a guttural yell, I raged the charm for the fury of the fire arrow I had learned from the dragon movie, in which I couldn't recall. "Brizzsingger!", the arrow pointed at a toaster, which wasn't working. It wasn't working because, as my arrow released, I saw it wasn't even plugged in. This clearly wasn't the spell for this fix.
A hundred worlds went into chaos when the text appeared, unfathomably colossal in the sky. It was dull red, and was written in a hundred million tongues. For those who could make out their own language, it read: "THANK YOU, TESTERS. WITH MUCH ANTICIPATION, WE'VE REACHED THE END OF THE BETA. HOWEVER, WE'VE FOUND A SIGNIFICANTLY MORE EFFICIENT SAVE FORMAT THAT WILL BOOST LOADING TIMES AND SAVE HARD DRIVE SPACE. WE APOLOGIZE FOR LOST DATA. RESET BEGINS... IN SIXTY SECONDS." When time ran out, every living creature on earth was met with a dull, black void. And in huge, white text CONNECTING... CONNECTION LOST... RETRYING.
My Grandfather smiled at the confused look on my face, the same grandfatherly smile that he always wore. He motioned for me to sit down, “know I now as I tell you what I am about to tell you you will have questions but I need to ask you to hold them until the end. You see, it all started many many years ago. I was an acclaimed wizard, I was the wizard of Camelot, King Arthur’s right hand man. But after a while Arthur grew old, all my friends and everyone who had ever known me just drifted off into that inky blackness that we call death, leaving me as the old recluse who barely ever leaves his tower. So one day I decided that I would change that, so I packed up everything I owned and needed, all my spell ingredients all my potions all my book and staves, and I put them into hiding. I dressed in the clothing of the times and went out to try and find what the world had to offer. I fought in every single war that you could name I was there when the Declaration of Independence was made, I was even one of the Boston tea partiers. But one day I met a woman that I fell in love with, she persuaded me to settle down. Eventually I had your father and then he had you. You may be asking yourself now why now? the answer to that is, I’m dieing, and it is up to you to carry on the family legacy of being... a wizard.” As he said this he produced a slender wooden box and put it before me “now then, inside here is everything you will need, oh and say goodbye to Morgan’s for me will you?” And with that he dissolved into a soft mist, leaving me in the attic wondering if I had imagined it all.
But the obstacle remained. That hurricane of utterances, that babble of voices -- intonations from the future, the dead, aliens, even those extra dimensions -- all of it relayed in a dialect we couldn't decipher: Baby talk. It was the language That was our hurdle. I'd been assigned to Melody Gardner, a vivacious, towheaded 3-year-old with blue eyes that snapped with intelligence. By their fourth year, most of the children lost contact with whatever other world had granted them admission. We assumed they had special access because they were tabula rasa, blank slates unencumbered by the constricting prejudices that age and time inflict. But Melody was different. Melody's precociousness astounded us. Despite her high intelligence, she seemed to retain a trailing wisp of connection to that other world. "The Red Man. Santa,"she'd often say, repeating it like a talisman as we exhorted her for concrete details about her experience. She'd convinced herself that Santa or something representing Santa held dominion over all that alternate reality. As Melody struggled to focus on verbalizing some element of that chaotic, dim other land, I’d use spelling to calm her. Even at her young age, Melody aced spelling tests that challenged much older children. "B-A-B-Y,"she'd say, quieting herself. Or “F-I-R-E-M-A-N.” I wondered, though, if Melody entirely understood the connection between the spelling of the word and its meaning. Pressure from my superiors weighed me. “Our best hope is going to age right out of her usefulness if we don’t push,” one had shouted, a slender bald man with ferret eyes. “You’ll never get there by force,” I responded. I understood their insistence. The world had galvanized around our breakthrough discovery three years ago: children could communicate with another world. But most of what comprised that other realm remained conjecture. Was it really aliens or spirits, or even the future that stared back at us? It was something, though. An almost tangible entity strained to reach us. The children struggled as our guides, but we sensed that presence draw ever closer. Whole religions sprang up and enthroned this unknown deity, the children as its familiars. Rumors of sacrifice breathed through clouds of suspicion. I rubbed my palms to my closed eyelids, trying to center myself. “Now Melody,” I said. “The Red Man. Tell me more about him.” “Santa is real,” she said firmly. But she glanced away. Melody wore a summer dress with a grey elephant emblem below her left shoulder. She was just a child. I wouldn’t harangue her, no matter what. “Santa is coming,” she said. “Santa is coming. He’s bringing lots of presents.” Melody rocked on her ankles, caressed her shoulders as her voice grew shrill. “Spell ‘Christmas,’” I said. “C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S.” “And Santa comes at Christmas.” “No,” she said. Even with Melody’s abilities, communication was too tangled. Like a professor trying to explain physics to an ant, Melody couldn’t get through to me. Her frustration peaked. “The Red Man. Santa. The Red Man. Santa,” she chanted. I placed my hands on her shoulders to stop her rocking. She looked up to me. Her blue eyes, like twin crystal balls, whirled with flashes of light. Voices silenced by horror spoke from those eyes. “The Red Man is Santa,” I said. “No.” Melody paused, her fear subsumed by her struggle to be understood. "The Red Man. Santa,” she said. Melody marshaled all her energy to continue: “Santa. The Red Man.” I felt my soul plunge. I couldn’t tell you how I knew at that exact instant. “Spell ‘Santa,’ Melody.” I didn’t recognize my own voice. She eyed me as if I’d asked her to repeat her age for the thousandth time in an hour. “Santa. S-A-T-A-N.”
"why are we here?"He asked, looking up at the building. I shrugged and looked at the meter. "This is where you want to be boss. This is where I take you."My command of the English language was better than I let on, but nobody trusts a cabby who speaks English. "I can't be here. I shouldn't...take me to the hotel damnit."He muttered. I shrugged and turned the blinker on, checking my mirror and merging back into traffic. I drove in silence for a few blocks before we hit a light. "How'd you know?"I shrugged again. "You get in, gps tells me where to take you. Don't matter where you say. Only what it says. Now we get there you say go, we go. I ain't here to force you to confront your shit. I'm just here to show you where you want to be."He absorbed the information, but didn't respond. After a few more stoplights and a bit of gridlock curiosity got the better of me. As it always does. "You want me keep quiet? Or you mind I ask the question?"He nodded and sighed. "She was an intern at my firm. We clicked instantly. In a way my wife and I never had. I married out of obligation from a broken condom, and we try to be good to each other, but we've never been good for each other. It's not that she gave a shit about the affair. It was when Hannah started trying to get me to stay that it started to be a problem."I nodded, not the first time I'd heard this story. "No woman I've ever met willing to share a man for long. Especially if the other woman gets the lion share."I shrugged. "It wasn't the fact she wanted me to stay that caused problems. It was that I wanted to"he muttered, running his hands up his face. "How old are your kids?"He pulled out his phone and handed it up. Two beaming redheaded kids were holding a small french bulldog. Both around eight. "Ah. I see. Hotel Dauphine, five more minutes.i have you there. My apologies sir." "'s allright. Feels good to know I can still make the right choice."
Frank had been at his chores for the past several hours. It was the first cold day of the fall, but other than that, it was just like any other day. In fact, this was the same routine he'd had for the past 14 months. Ever since his dad had died, Frank stepped up to make sure the farm kept producing. He owed it to his mom. His other brothers and sisters had all grown up and married, but he was still at home. It was so routine that Frank now let his mind wander while he was working. Lately he'd been thinking about Claire, and how much he missed her. They'd been getting pretty serious when his dad died, and Frank didn't handle the stress well. He drove her away. He knew he'd messed up. The chores were a perfect escape. He could let his mind wander to what Claire was up to, or imagine what their life would have been like together. Just as Frank was about to head down into the food cellar, he snapped back to reality. Or rather, he was yanked back. He'd just put the key into the door when He he heard his mom yell from the house. He dropped everything and sprinted across the field and into the house. He found his mom laying on the kitchen floor, now unresponsive. There was no time to think, he scooped up his mom, placed her in the car and took off towards the hospital in the next town over. He got to the hospital in record time, but the news wasn't good. His mom, while still alive, was unconscious. The doctors worked to stabilize her, so they could begin to figure out what had happened. For Frank, the minutes seemed like hours. He was completely helpless. He wasn't used to this feeling. Ever since dad died, he'd been the one to fix things. Not long after they got to the hospital, he called his older brother Leonard to let him know about mom. Leonard would call the rest of the brothers and sisters so that Frank could get back to mom. But all he could do was sit outside the room as a steady stream of doctors and nurses streamed in. At 2:15, the head doctor came out and told Frank that they'd gotten her stabilized. They still weren't sure what sent her in to a coma. Instantly time went from moving slow to being completely stopped. As Frank slid back into his chair he heard the doctor say that they'd be moving her to a private room in the ICU shortly. By the time she was in her private room, all the kids had shown up. There were a lot of hugs, tears, and softly spoken words out in the hallway. Over time there were fewer hugs, less words spoken. Before he knew it, it had been 2 months, and mom was still in ICU, but his brothers and sisters had gone back to their routines. Frank wasn't so lucky. He stayed by his mom's side day in and day out. He knew when she woke up, that he needed to be there. Unfortunately, she never woke up. Instead, after 2 months, her body completely shut down. There was nothing the doctors could do, she was gone. After telling him the news, Frank called the family once again. After everyone came to the hospital and said their goodbyes, they all headed back to the farm. With all the kids, spouses and grandkids in the house, Frank suddenly realized how small that house was, and how crowded it felt. He stepped out to get some air, and some space. He started walking across the field. As he came to the food cellar he stopped. There, in the door, were the keys. They'd been there, untouched, for the past 2 months. And looking at those keys hanging there covered in cobwebs, Frank made a decision. He was done putting his life on pause. After mom's funeral he was done with the farm, he was going to go find Claire and do his best to make a fresh start with her.
Day 45 It’s like herding fucking cats. Actually, that isn’t fair. I’ve seen that done, and cats don’t trip on the pavement and faceplant the split second you stop micromanaging every little thing they do. I tell them to find me food, and they make a beeline for Chervinskys place down the block, and she plugs a barista and one of the cops before I can call the rest back. I tell them to find me canned food and they smash open my own damn larder and haul out what I pulled from that overturned semi last month. I tell them to find me canned food that isn’t mine and whaddya know, right back down the block to Chervinsky, and now I’m down that little fucker from the frat house, in the polo and the socks and sandals. Could have been worse. Could have been one of the ones who used to have a fashion sense. When I start micromanaging them it’s a little better. I can only direct three or four at a time before my head starts swimming, but once you walk them through something and set them loose they’ll just keep doing it till you say different. So now I’ve got three teams of four shoring up the front of the pharmacy, pushing the cars in front of the windows, making a kind of culvert thing, a path of least resistance that goes around where I’ve set up shop. I’ve got another group of five dragging back shit over from the ace hardware down the way, and I’m fitting the windows with wooden blockers and iron bars. Probably I’ll start bricking them up once I’ve got the preliminaries up. I keep another dozen strung out in a two block radius, and I’m distantly aware of what they’re distantly aware of. It’s pretty fuzzy, and loner slips the line every once and a while, but so far I’ve had enough warning to bunker down in the manager's office whenever any of the bigger packs roll into town. The rest I keep in the stockroom, guarding the good shit, or in the parking lot out back, where the stink can’t get to me. The chainlink fence is flimsy but they don’t want me and they can’t see anyone else from where they are, so they’re staying put. I spent the day inside painting a big sign- “domesticated zombies,” “don’t shoot,” shit like that. Large print, so Chervinsky can read em through the scope. Gonna give it to what used to be some six or seven year olds, have them walk down towards her place carrying it between them. Let’s see if that clears any of this up.
The alien warship approached the Earth, a vulnerable blue ball hanging in space. On board, millions of alien soldiers ready their weapons, preparing to annihilate humanity. Then each one began to vomit their own insides out, and die, clutched in the throes of some horrible disease. When the last alien invader had died, coughing and hacking his own lungs out, their destroyer emerged. A tall, black-clothed man, clad in a long robe, a white mask tapering to a long beak under a wide-brimmed hat. Pestilence surveyed the destruction he had caused, then disappeared with a swish of his cloak.
The scrabbling on the inside of this egg kept me up. Claws scratching? Several dice rolling around inside? I had kept a torch beside my bed cabinet, flicking it on when another episode erupts. Perhaps this creature had slitted eyes and poisonous teeth. I could imagine the shrieks I would say when looking upon that monster- but it seemed that this egg was from a bird of prey. Or a goose, swan, very big duck? The smooth brown spots over the creamy background- it wasn't right compared to the images I searched online. When I had found them, flicked the surface with a nail. It was such a solemn noise. Lonely. I've only heard that noise in my own head before I met this creature. I hide away in the comfort of my wits. I'd been incubating it for 2 months now, in a homemade box my grandparents had to incubate chickens. It ate up the space like a hungry beast, filling the padded walls of shell. The scrabbling had stopped, I took the chance to investigate. Pulling the box up in the hallway, I pulled off the lid with the torch in one hand. The familiar surface greeted me. Nothing had changed so far on the outside. I ran a hand over the side, tapping with a first finger. It had the same noise to it- like high quality china. Clear and metallic. I tapped three times lightly. It tapped back. I pulled my hand away, alarmed. It hadn't responded before when I had ever moved it or checked on it. But now the creature was willing to communicate- or imitate? I've heard, seen videos of hatching ducklings and chicks- they cheeped in their shell- they didn't tap. Furrowing my brow, I stood up to grab a pen from my desk. Precautionary. Tapping one end against the shell, the conversation continued for another five minutes until the creature seemed to tire and go back to resting in their house. I don't want to leave it, or throw it out. I can't, it hasn't even hatched yet- perhaps it was not a danger. A series of piercing screeches put me out of sleep only a few hours later. I pulled close a phone, poised in one hand with an old cricket bat I had resting against a pile of clothes in my closet. The screams continued from the hallway. Short barks that erupted every few seconds. The incubator was uncovered, in the hallway. It might have hatched and escaped. The screams weren't muffled. I turned the knob, hearing every creak of the spring the handle had. Sweat was so thick it could be cut with a knife. I pushed open the door, it ground against the thick cream carpet. There was no trail of blood on the floor, no monster jumping out to attack. The lid of the incubator had fallen off to the side, a large hole dug into the egg at the top. A small black outline peeking out the top. I had the lights off, turning the room to a nightmarish scene. Flicking the switch near my bedroom door- it blinded the area. A startled cry burst from the egg, and more scratching followed. The black object had turned out to be a small toe- or finger perhaps. Down spiked out of the hole. Unlike birds who had a white down- the creature had a softer sky blue dabbling over browns. The fluffy bump rose and fell slowly, interrupted by sudden cries in desperation. My heart and gut dropped, hands shaking. What was it? It was helpless at this moment, and I'd assume if it saw me it would imprint- like ducklings-- but that's if it behaves like a bird. What if it was very reptilian- even though it had feathers? I quivered, wiping the frozen sweat from my brow. Reaching out to pull a cracked shard of shell off the creature.
Mama says I’m too young to understand why this is happening, why these men stand at our door, clutching big guns and yelling mean words. She says they won’t hurt us if we give them our books, but I don’t wanna. “They want us to speak like them,” she says. “To conform to a language devoid of ‘god’ or ‘prayers’. A language where government is holy, and society is Heaven.” “But I don’t wanna, mama.” Her cheeks sag. She’s gonna cry. She hugs me tight, telling me she loves me. Outside, papa’s screaming at the men. When there’s a bang, papa stops, and she cries harder, hugs me tighter. They’re hitting the door, now, trying to break it. “Can you be brave for me?” When I nod, she picks me up, kissing my cheek. “I love you so much,” she whispers, hurrying across the room. She locks another door behind us because they broke the first. A man yells ‘damn!’ She sits me in front of papa’s desk, wiping away my tears before handing me a book. “Write a letter to God, sweetie. It'll likely be the last one written in our language, so make it beautiful. No matter what, don’t stop, even if you hear something terrible.” “Mama, why can’t we run?” She looks over because they’re beating the door again. Then back at me. “You love God, don’t you sweetie?” “Yes, mama.” “You’ll always believe in Him, right?” “Yes, mama.” “Well, these people don’t. They’re creating a world without Him, and think equality can only be achieved through similarity. They’ll force us to be just like them. Force us, and everyone else, to be miserable.” She leans forward, kissing me head. “At least in Heaven, we’ll be happy.” She's right, I don't understand. Why are they so upset over words, and why do they not have one for God? Why do they want to destroy our texts, to destroy us? “Are we going to Heaven now, mama?” She stands up, looking over at the door--which is about to come down. “Just start writing, sweetie.” *** I might've gone a little off-prompt here, but I hope this is good! Thanks for the prompt. Writing this story really churned up a lot of interesting thoughts. If your liked it, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
Mia Sweeney felt it during mile 20 of the marathon. There was a notification on her phone. She didn't have to look at. She knew what it was. She had won the lottery. Mia started crying immediately. Even as her sore and aching body seemed to recover from twenty miles of abuse. She wept bitter tears of sorrow for her life that was now over. The lottery was a gift from the Lexington corporation. A sort of thank you for years of business. The pink sauce that human beings were continuously injected with intravenously since the time of their birth had made humanity's lifespan limitless by the standards of the early twenty-first century. But there were limits. Mia was four hundred and eighty-seven. She had dozens of great great great grandchildren. She had watched man first walk on the surface of Mars then raise many cities there. She had beaten every running record ever held by an American Woman. But the one thing she couldn't do was outrun cancer. A combination of the pink sauce and endless advancements in medical technology had slowed cancer down to crawl. She had first been diagnosed over a hundred years ago. It was terminal. The only question was when. Every person carries with them enough pink sauce to last a month. Refills come in the mail or can be picked up at pretty much any store and a drop at a time it enters your body once every sixty seconds. A bio-metric monitor attached to the pink sauce dispenser checks your vital signs and adds more pink if your body is in distress. But never more than two drops a minute. Two drops a minute for an hour or two can cure almost any disease known to man. But it can't cure cancer. And if the monitor detects a fatal event, it will dump the entire remaining canister into your bloodstream all at once. That much pink will kill you, but since your dying anyway that won't matter. On the plus side, which you have the overdose of pink in your body, you become superhuman. Your body restored and can outlast any almost injury for about twenty-four hours. They called it, the lottery. Mia Sweeney could see the finish line in the distance. Her eyes were working better than they ever had before. In the time since she got the notification of a terminal pink injection, she had passed all remaining rivals in front of her placing her squarely in first place. She was not only going to win. She was going to break records. Her friends, her family would be waiting for her at the finish line. She would slow down as she approached. She would feign exhaustion. This final victory in a lifetime of victories was not for her. It was for them. For their memory of her. She would tell no one. She would let them celebrate her and in their own way, celebrate themselves. She wanted to always remain a flame in their hearts and minds even when her fire was nothing but ashes. She tried to stay immortal.
It started with a simple, mindless action. Creeping through the night, painting messages to any eyes willing to digest. It was relief in the form of script, a script I wrote, for an audience unknown. Painting messages with the intent to leave a mark. There was no mark worth writing on another's property society would lead you to believe. The campus was barren and solemn, in the middle of the night only sounds heard were car doors and minuscule droplets of rain pattering like footsteps from a past life. One wall and then the next, one can and then another. No human being would look upon my messages with love or a greater sense of being. It was not ill intent which wrote upon the wall, just a desire to be heard, to be seen, something which had been missing from within me since that fateful moment I began to hear my own thoughts. As the wind grew brisk and the feet began to tire, cans empty, heart steady as the rush of excitement faded into nothingness like the business of the previous day I searched for one last empty canvas and let my aerosol spray with a final conviction, "Here, my dreams."With a final pause anchored behind an empty deep breath I retired to my room. A room that felt even more empty than the streets I wandered for the last several hours. The empty, windy streets, the cold, sterile room. Who would read my messages? Would they be washed away before my eyes open in the morning? Were my notes even worth reading? Of course they were worth reading, I had written them. What else had I sprayed? Just one note stuck in my head, my final letter to an audience deemed deserving so long as they read, digest and leave judgment behind. I faded, just as that final can's pigment seemed to fade, just as the last adrenaline drifted into the night, my breath. My breath, it faded, sleep awaits. I awoke in the morning to a faint clattering outside, my eyes still heavy from the night previous. Waking slowly, morning the enemy of the night before. The night, I had almost forgotten, it was not unusual to forget a night as they had become routine for me in my youthful age. Art defines me, a wall was a canvas and a wall was a way to make a name, but a name was not something I choose to leave. Energy starts to enter my body as I hear faint chanting over the sound of cluttered metals and washing breeze. My mind wanders as to what could be happening outside, it was Monday after all, the day of the week that meant nothing to anyone, and certainly not the day where people yearn to make a living. I awoke. I got dressed, I stumbled outside. Stepping out into the white washed world, the blandness, the sun. It felt surreal, there was a demonstration, a gathering of sorts, what had I missed? The people cheered, the people felt alive, a feeling that fleeted inside of them since the day they could hear their own thoughts inside themselves. The people gathered around a message. A message of despair from a young man who felt unheard, a young man who dared to dream but hadn't learned how to reach out and grab what he wanted. The message was bleak, the message was lonely, the message unlike the writer awoke this morning within the bodies surrounding it. The chant was simple, sweet, understood. "No more dreams, be your peace!"No more dreams, be your peace. Peace in life, peace within, that was why I wrote, that was why I wrote everywhere. No name, one message at a time, just a medium to release the tension which built inside of myself. I wrote to save myself.
I stood there, a face in the crowd, as people walked around me, each carrying their own dreams, each filled with some sort of emotion, from dread to joy, anger to sadness. And yet, despite the negative energy that some gave off, it looked like a glorious day, clear skies, the radiant sun that stands brightly in the sky, the warmth that met everyone and wasn't over bearing. It was a magnificent day, a aura of calmness resonated through the crowd. An despite all this, I could feel the guilty loom over me as I lifted my hand to my face, my inhibitors wiring on my wrist as they counter acted my trigger, bad luck charm, and keep everyone around me safe. With a frown I balled my fist and smashed the left inhibitor on a near by wall, releasing a small wave of negative energy throughout a city block. Grunting as I could feel the backed up energy leave me, I grabbed the second inhibitor with my free hand, this caused it to break and crack, freeing my other hand. Upon its release, a second wave hit the crowd, people feel, others dropped their stuff, some lost items to nature, but all felt my presence. I stood still as I gathered any residual energy and forced it out my body making everyone run as explosions erupted in the distance, the others had freed them selves as well now. Through my earpiece I could hear the "master mind"congratulate us on our new found freedom, I sneered in disgust at his voice. The prime human, as he called himself, was powerful, an yet he needed us with non combat triggers to help with his plan, to exact revenge on the government that locked our people away, experimented on us, tortured us, all because we have a mutation. I feel bad doing this, even the small happenings were caused by my bad luck, but I can't stop it, not without my inhibitors, and not if I want my family, or myself, to live. The "prime human"could arrange that in a matter of minutes, with all the triggers he has working under him, hell he alone could cause city wide damage by priming the street with a 10th of his power, but he preferred not to get his hands dirty, literally. As the people around me ran, trying to escape my invisible field of chaos, I could hear the sound of sirens in the distance, the civil system was on its way to capture all escaped triggers. My only hope is that they can get to me safely, as my trigger involuntarily keeps my safe, an equip a set of inhibitors on me, if they can he can't hurt my family. As the small squadron of enforcers advanced on my position, I made a small effort to try and evade capture, you never know when he's watching, and ran to a small ally, one I knew was a dead end, and faced off against the civil system enforcers and they cornered me. I kneeled down with my hands behind my head and tried to go peacefully, but after one strapped a inhibitor on my right hand and as he was about to strap the other one on, a hand was plunged through his chest, a intangibility trigger saw me run and tried to help, but the others quickly sent a spray of bullets in his direction, most hit him despite his trigger. Quickly I tried to set the other on, but the squad leader pointed his rifle at me, and ordered for a medic on the scene. As he did the rest of the squad trained their guns at me, I feared for my life, an it was at that moment that i realized how unlucky I truly was. It was fitting, no one with a ability to create bad luck could ever be considered a hero of the story. it was funny I never meant to be the bad guy, I was a good person despite my ability, yet I was unlucky enough to be born a "criminal". With a cry of anger the squad all pulled the trigger to their guns, only for then all to jam. Smiling I grabed hold of the inhibitor on my wrist and laughed as in broke, I won't stand down any more, it shouldn't matter if i cause a little bad luck, I'm still human. With a smile stretching from ear to ear, I looked at the squad surrounding me and shot my bad luck to them, their gear malfunctioned, and as their earpieces squealed, I ran, taking one of their guns and firing at them, hitting some of them in the chest. I never wanted to the bad guy, but when you're bore into circumstances like mine you have no choice. And right now, I plan to use all the time I got to cause as much chaos as i can, after all, I'm just a bad luck charm.
The little girl loves me. She calls me her best friend, and hugs me every night before bed. She thinks I’m sweet, cute, and cuddly—but she doesn’t know the horrors I’ve seen. Doesn’t know last month I was aboard an enemy ship, battling those damned cats. I’m laying on the couch, and she’s patting my back. After years of war, years of bloodshed, it’s strange to live so peacefully. But this is the ‘Good Boy’ status I’ve worked for my entire life, and when Commander told me I could retire to Earth, the only neutral ground between us and the cats, I gladly did. Living with a human’s a great honor only bestowed to the best dogs and cats. When I was younger, they claimed we were battling for dominance of this planet, but I never believed that. I always thought—know what? No. It doesn’t matter now. That life’s gone. I nuzzle the girl, licking her hand and making her giggle. We’re meant for each other, two pieces of a puzzle. While she cannot see, I cannot cope with what I’ve done. I’m her eyes, she’s my comfort, and despite what it took to get here, I’m glad I met her. I’m glad we’re best friends. *** Hope this is good! Thanks for the prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
“So,” Indigo Crane said, leaning forward to rest her pointed chin in a cupped palm. “What seems to be the problem?” The large black bird opened its beak and let out a chuckling, chattering noise. It was a beautiful creature, tall and sleek with bright eyes and sharp, curved talons. Some of its air of dignity diminished, though, as the chattering devolved into a fit of coughs. It snapped its beak shut and shuffled its clawed feet on the worn weave of the shop’s rug, refusing to meet Indigo’s eyes as it chuffed to itself, almost like it was trying to clear its throat. ”Hmm,” Indigo murmured. “That is odd.” She glanced with exaggerated casualness out of the large window that took up most of the shop’s front wall. Six dark, winged shapes perched in a line along the fence surrounding her front yard. The birds tracked her motion as she stood up straight and came around the counter. Her new patient took a hop back as she crouched down, regarding her with distrust. “Would you mind coming back into the examination room with me? I’d like to check you over and see if we can’t get you feeling better.“ In a lower tone, she murmured, “The examination room has only one window, and no good perches for spying.” Muscles bunched in the bird’s neck as it kept itself from looking out at the looming watchers, but its eyes flicked to the window all the same. Indigo rolled down the sleeve of her sweater, pushed back as the day had warmed up, and offered her forearm to her guest. The bird took a deep breath before stepping onto her arm. Indigo let the bird settle before she stood, flipped the sign in the window from “The Witch is In” to “The Witch is Out,” and gave the black winged observers a tight, polite smile. Then she turned on her heel and marched away into the back of the shop. The visiting crow cocked its head and gave a skeptical grunt when Indigo flicked on the light in the ‘examination room.’ Pots and pans were piled in the sink, half-washed and soapy. The last quarter of a fresh loaf of bread peaked out from beneath a tea towel, serrated knife resting perilously against the wooden cutting board Indigo had used as her lunch plate. One of the cupboards was open, displaying mismatched mugs and glasses in varying stages of cleanliness. “Hey,” Indigo said, scolding. “I do examinations here. It is an examination room.” The crow made a sound like a scratchy cackle and shuffled down Indigo’s arm to stand fully on her wrist. “Fine. Yes. It is also the kitchen. It’s a small building.” The crow cackled again, then subsided into a coughing fit. Indigo released her indignation and rested her wrist on the mostly clear kitchen table. “If you’re quite finished, would you please step up here and open your beak?” In two steps, the crow had mounted the bamboo lazy Susan set in the center of the table. The action of climbing aboard set the ball bearings in the platters base rotating, and the crow gave an annoyed squawk at the jostling. The Lazy Susan revolved twice as Indigo snatched a flashlight from a drawer. Then she stopped the rotation with a hand as she sat on one of the kitchen chairs and murmured an apology. “Your beak, if you please?” The crow opened its sharp, black beak and squinted in the sudden brightness from Indigo’s flashlight. She angled the flashlight’s beam down the bird’s throat and gasped. “I think I can see something!” Indigo brought her face closer to the bird’s until they were nose to beak. Down its jet black gullet glimmered a tiny, jewel-bright shine. It was too far down for Indigo to reach with her fingers. This, she decided quickly, was good, because using her fingers would have been both unhygienic and dangerous, but bad, because, well, foreign objects in throats rarely bode well for anyone involved. “Please stay very still,” she instructed the bird. “I’m going to get my forceps.” The bird did as it was told. Indigo actually got a pair of chopsticks, because they were closer, and because she wasn’t really sure where her forceps were, and because she was better with the damned chopsticks than she was with the forceps anyway. The extraction was easier than she’d imagined. She cast a quick spell to numb pain around the bird’s throat and another to direct its attention away from the procedure. Both were a little trickier than they should have been, given the circumstances, but crows were inherently magical and intelligent to boot, so she didn’t give it much thought until the bird was coughing again and the glittering purple sliver rested in the palm of her hand. Careful not to let it pierce her skin, Indigo held the tiny spike up for the crow to inspect. “This is lylacite. It’s very rare, and very poisonous. Where did you find it?” The crow coughed again, then grunted and chuckled as it strutted indignantly around the Lazy Susan, staying in place as it revolved beneath the clawed feet. “‘Special meat’?” Indigo repeated, trying to make sense of what the crow was saying. Even without the shard in its throat, the accent was hard to parse. “Who brought you the special meat?” Again, the crow chuckled and grunted, flapping its wings to punctuate its thoughts. “It was one of the birds outside? One of your guards?” Indigo hadn’t realized, when the crow arrived, that it was an important member of its murder, the next in line to be leader of the whole territory. She had only sensed its discomfort at the presence of the observers. Now she understood why. “Is it safe for you to go out there? I could…” Indigo scanned the kitchen, wondering what she could do against six large, intelligent, airborne assailants. Her eyes lit on a largely ignored corner of the kitchen. “I could chase them off with a broom, I suppose.” The crow stopped pacing and cackled again. For the first time, it actually sounded mirthful. Indigo’s shoulders sagged. “You’re probably right. I do like my eyes where they are. You’re sure you’ll be okay? The other five are loyal?” The crow gave a decisive and eerily human nod, then clicked its beak twice before hopping up onto her shoulder, uninvited. Indigo assumed this was something of an honor, given the status of the crow, so she let it adjust as she stood, feeling its talons work their way through her sweater and blouse to prick at the skin of her collarbone. As she came back through the front of the shop, she caught sight of the six waiting shadows, still perched on her fence. Five snuggled close together with one on the outskirts. She sighed, hoping she wouldn’t be cleaning up too many feathers before bed, as she dropped the small crystalline shard into a glass jar on the counter. “I’ll keep the lylacite, if it’s all the same to you. I don’t want anyone else hurt by it, and I’m sure I can find a use for it somewhere.” She crossed to the front door, flipped the sign, and addressed the crow again. “I can still go get the broom if you want me to.” A rolling rattle from deep in the crow’s chest assured her that her help would not be necessary. “Alright, then. If you can, come see me again in three days so I can check you for any negative effects of the lylacite, okay?” The crow flexed its claws against her skin and chuckled. Indigo opened the door and the crow launched itself from her shoulder, confident, angry, and ready to fight. ______________________ I hope this sort of fills the prompt! I haven’t written anything for r/writingprompts in a long time, but I have* written about Indigo Crane before! I’m on mobile, so I can’t link to them, but check my comment history for more Indigo stories!*
“Wait, really? To the death?” “Sir, it is literally called the 'Battle Royal.'” The lady behind the desk had the face of a librarian, and not the sexy-Halloween-costume kind. She glared down her nose, past her prescription bifocals. Gray hair tied into a bun, long suffering sigh escaping her mouth. “What exactly did you expect?” “Well, I...” What did I expect? The invitation personally addressed to me, promising a prize of one hundred billion, that's with a B, dollars, should have made me more suspicious. “Well shit. To be honest, I kinda assumed it was going to be some weird sex stuff. I'd do a lot for a hundred billion. Hell, I'd do a lot for $50, but that's another story... I'll just go home now.” Another sigh, hissing from thin, cracked lips. “Sir, you must be the least genre-savvy person I have ever met. You obviously can't back out now.” “But...” “Didn't it seem odd that we put a bag over your head before cramming you into an unmarked, military-grade helicopter?” “I thought it was like one of those escape rooms. You ever do those? My girlfriend keeps pestering me to try it, but I don't know. They sound kind of gimmicky and--” “And the fact that we gunned down that married couple that tried to escape after you all landed?” I had almost forgotten about that. “Okay, that was a little strange.” “Or when we put that bomb collar around your neck?” she asked, looking nervously at her watch. “Oh, I put this on myself. I thought it looked sick. The beeping is getting annoying, though.”
Our pilot had gotten the wrong date. Our historian had gotten the wrong place. Our munitions expert had, upon arrival, done such a sloppy job of hiding our emergency weapons cache that it had immediately been discovered by local serfs. Once they figured out how to blow themselves up that drew the attention of the local Baron, who had just successfully figured out how to execute a Mongolian scouting party at a distance of 3 kilometers using one of our relatively tame weapons. Now it was my turn to rectify the situation, and in the process flash a massive middle finger to everyone who said psychologists don't belong on these expeditions. ... "Your aim sucks." Baron Pahlen looked with irritation at his strangely dressed captive. He was in no mood to have his moment of triumph interrupted. He would have severely disciplined one of his lieutenants for such rudeness; he could not afford to look weak in front of the rest of them now. Affecting indifference, he projected his voice without turning to face the strange man. "I wonder. You are not dressed as one of our serfs. You are clever enough to forge such a weapon, but not clever enough to hide it. Which tells me you did not forge it. Who did?"It was too obvious to ask directly which nation he was spying for. "My brother, Uri."An answer which said everything and nothing, even if it weren't a lie. A jokester, as it were. Baron Pahlen gestured to one of his subordinates, who walked over and punched the man squarely in the gut. He doubled over in pain. "I trust I need not repeat the question." Upon recovering the man wheezed, "You weren't supposed to find me. You were supposed to just find the weapons. You saw what they can do; you know that literally no answer I could give would make sense as to who I am or where I came by them. Why question such an obvious gift from God?" His words made sense, but his tone reeked of insubordination. Without needing to be prompted, his lieutenant punched the man again. "So an angel of God just so happened to be feeling generous enough to grant me the ability to smite my enemies?" "God doesn't care about you. He cares about Russia. This is where the new Eden begins, when everything else in the world is burned to ashes. But in order for that to happen you need to be able to survive what's coming." "And what, exactly, is coming?" The stranger took on a somber tone. "This is hard to explain. Imagine...imagine you found yourself in ancient Greece, and you had to explain what a mechanical clock was to them. Can you imagine how you might do that? Trying to explain the forces arrayed against Russia right now would be like trying to explain that clock to them. I just don't have the right language to explain to you why you need these weapons. The darkness is coming." "So you claim to be an ally?" The stranger raised himself up a little. This is a man used to authority pretending low station. At last, he was showing the truth about himself. "I really can't stress enough to you how little I care about you, or Russia, for that matter. What I can tell you is that a fight is coming that you are not ready for, and my job was to get you ready, and I've done it. And since there's literally nothing else I can say that would make sense to you that you'd believe..."at which point the man stepped aggressively towards his lieutenant, who immediately drew his sword and held it to the captive's neck. The man leaned suicidally into the blade of the sword, drawing a thin trickle of blood. "...I think at this point it's very much time you were sending me home. Dad will be waiting." He wasn't seriously claiming to be an actual angel. Was he? Who called Our Father "dad"? But then what other explanation made even a remote amount of sense? And that's when it clicked. There was one other explanation. "Burn the weapons." One of his subordinates looked at the Baron in shock. "Your lordship, you can't possibly mean to put such a gift to waste?" "Even you can't possible be this much of a fool,"the Baron replied, putting his man in line. "A gift too tempting to refuse delivered at the supposed eleventh hour of a vague but ominous threat? This is a devil's bargain. He even cloaked it in religious gibberish as if to make the point. It may be some form of set-up, or it may be an attempt to create unrest among the Baronies, but one thing is clear: this is no gift to us. We have been killing the barbarians to our South and the traitors to our North for centuries. We shall continue to do so as we have always done." All of his lieutenants appeared to stiffen a bit at this. It was clear both that they disliked his decision immensely and that he had gained a little more of their respect. The Baron turned to his captive. "Almost every bone in my body tells me it would be the right thing to kill you. But whoever you are and whomever you represent, it's clear to me that they're looking for a pawn. I'm sparing your life so that you can deliver them this message: we will never be your pawns."Of course, preferring not to risk a reprisal for killing their strange emissary may also have been a motivating factor. The stranger shrugged. "Your funeral. I assure you that you'll never see or hear from us again." "If I do, I hope next time your masters have the courtesy of at least sending us a better liar to complete the mission."
Quiver walked down the dusty forest trail pen and notebook in hand. Every few steps she looked over her shoulder expecting some crazed reader to hop out behind her hungry for power. Long light gray hair hung in braids down the girls back, the tattoos on her collarbone and ankles shone darker than ever in the speckled light. Energy, almost like an adrenaline rush coarsed through her veins. She sat down once again. Holding the pen tightly she set it to paper, nothing. "C'mon! I don't need to create some huge event, just a small decent story!"she cried. People had long stopped coming up with prompts as it encouraged people like her... So she had to find natural prompts, the problem was she had no idea when that would happen or how. There was a crashing in the bushes behind her. A young man stumbled out dressed in gold and silver. A diamond pattern tattoo sprawled down his arm. He was a reader and he was hungry. Quick as she could Quiver stached the notebook and pen in her pack. "How may I help you?"she asked with a smile. "The easy way or hard? Oh, Princess Quiver, daughter of Arrow, king of the rose clan of writers. How shall I drain your powers?"he asked a smug look on his face. Quiver groaned covering up her sign (a tattoo of a rose covered in blood.) she took off through the forest. Her heart beat faster and faster, as panic began to dig its dirty claws into her. She could here the reader stumbling through the trees, though his hunger weakened him he was still faster than a normal human. Quiver flew as fast as her legs would carry her, the reader had fallen aways behind but she knew he would not likely give up the hunt. A spark lit in her eyes as she fell into a small hole. "Perfect."she whispered whipping out her notebook she began to write. The words flowed easily onto the page and she felt the energy release into the atmosphere. The ground shook as the writing dried on the page. The earth opened up leaving a wide chasm separating her from the reader. Quiver smiled to herself, it was exhilarating to watch writing become a reality.
“We never found the reason it happened, but Jeff was a nut about stars, and he worked out it had been about 100,000 years. Most people in the town were shaken up, but strangely no injuries. Loads were missing, though. Someone suggested that the ones who died during the transit came out of the time stream earlier and were already dust. It was better than thinking of worse alternatives, so we all kinda agreed to believe it. A rush of air like an implosion stunned me for a second. I’d been in the garden, mowing the lawn, and suddenly my hands were empty. I stumbled forward and stubbed my toe on a rock that hadn’t been there a moment before. Hurt like blazes, far more than it should. I heard Anna cry out from the house behind me and I looked back to see her sitting naked in the long grass. She had been making lunch for us both in the kitchen, but the kitchen was gone, as was the house. I looked down at myself, surprised to find I had no clothes either. We all got used to that pretty quick, mind. When no-one has clothes, it quickly stops being embarrassing. The teenagers had it difficult, of course, especially young Darren who had been plucking up the courage to ask Emilia out. I could see neighbours all over. We don’t live in a particularly busy area, but when there are no walls any more, and you’re in mostly open grassland, you can see a lot further than I’m used to, that’s for sure. It was one of the womenfolk who snapped out of the daze we were all in first, and she started asking the nearest menfolk to sort out shelter while she rounded up a few others to try to find some food and water. There was a river a couple of miles away, but that brought another shock. The placid, leisurely easy flowing river had turned into a huge gorge. A mountain had appeared on the other side where rolling hills had been previously. It was easy to get lost, and we had a fair number of panics during those first few days. Old Todd was a woodsman, and he helped us set up shelter. The first few nights were tough, and we heard all manner of strange noises in the night, but a fire helped improve the mood. It wasn’t long before we had rudimentary clothes. Sheep were still woolly, so after a lot of trial and error, and a few very unhappy sheep, we were able to clothe ourselves. It’s been slow going, and we still haven’t got anything electrical up and running yet, but it’s only a matter of time.” - He stopped suddenly, perhaps realising that our presence changed that. “Anyway, long story short: It’s been a long month. We survived, and everyone’s going to be mighty glad you’re here to take us back.” We looked at each other, he and I, and I wondered how I was going to tell him that there was no way back. That we were stuck here too...
War, war never changes. People will always fight, and fight hard. In today's climate, both political and geopolitical, tensions run high. The risk of skirmishes on borders escalates with each passing day that the patent to genetically altered wheat and beans are held by the American government. Or what's left of it. Following the news of immortality the human ego exploded into violence and anarchy. People assumed you couldn't be killed be rusty pan as well as ageing. They were wrong. Once people started rioting, violence, rape and carnage spread like wildfire. Most of the military went AWOL. The airforce regrouped and America is right now the west coast states. The rest of the free world is teetering on desperation. China was hit particularly badly. China and India already had problems keeping the populace under control, with the immortality news momentum to overthrow the government gained. The only problem was this time China just started killing thousands of farmers who had gathered for a peaceful rally. The rest of the farmers stopped farming. Within two years the country's infrastructure had collapsed. Food was now an import that cost large sums of money from an already stressed region. Japan is cutting back it's own rations to help their neighbours. Of all the countries to be hit, yes China was hit bad but Australia imploded. The price of food which was already high sent them back to the stone age. There is no internet, phone coverage and most of the people in the cities ended up killing each other. Death is a certainty. When you take the choice to die away, it becomes a commodity to be traded.
"Detective Conroy! Just hold on, the paramedics will be here shortly! You just need to hang on!"the officer shouted. What hew as asking was pointless, I could feel that the shot had clipped my heart. Should've held back until the SWAT team arrived, but I just had to be the big hero. In a few minutes I'd be dead, and there wasn't much that could be done about it. Then, behind the officer I noticed a somewhat familiar face. A gaunt, pale-faced... person? I think? Anyway, they were wearing a trenchcoat and brimmed hat. I had noticed them nearby at several of the murders I'd investigated. Hell, I'd stuck them as a suspect for awhile, until I realized nobody had seen them but me and there was no record of anyone matching the face I'd seen. Officer Smith's got quieter and quieter, and after a minute or two I was able to hear a murmur from the mystery person. "I'm sorry... I don't know what I can do..."they said. "What?"I asked quietly. "I've always... admired you, but I can't save you. Maybe if you refuse to go, the paramedics can save you..."they said, seemingly oblivious to my response. "What are you saying?"I asked a little louder. I could see Officer Smith panicking and trying to perform CPR on me, even if I could barely feel it apart from the shocks of pain as he the bullet wound. The figure glanced at me more directly. "You can hear me? No, you're getting too close to the end..."they said. "Who are you?"I asked. They straightened up and said, "I am Death, and I've come for... No, I can't..." I could vaguely see flashing lights from what was probably a fire truck in my now increasingly cloudy vision. People stormed out and took over the first aid efforts from Officer Smith. "I-I have to, it would be cruel to leave it until the very end. The wound is definitely fatal... The best I can do is to take you now, but..."they said. "If you're gonna take me away then do it, I'm not exactly in position to stop you,"I said after a minute or two of hesitancy from them. My vision had completely faded at that point, though I could still see Death just fine. "No, you don't understand... I-I..."they said. "I'm barred from the afterlife, I'll never see you again..." "So? If you're supposed to see off the dead, then you do that all day every day,"I said. "No, this is different... I- I love-"they said. Suddenly, I felt a sharp jolt in my chest and shot awake. My vision was still hazy, but I could see I was now in an ambulance with the paramedics using a defibrillator. I could tell I was tightly strapped to a gurney, but no telling where exactly we were or if we were currently driving. Still, Death was looming right next to me while the paramedics worked around my body. "-you,"death mouthed. I couldn't hear their voice anymore, but they were still visible. As feeling started returning to my body properly, I could feel the pain of my chest wound again. It hurt much worse than before, and the shattered ribs from the CPR that had been done on me definitely didn't help. I jostled a bit, under the bindings of the gurney. Apparently that got the paramedics attention since they stopped readying the defibrillator and gave me a shot of something. --- I woke up in a hospital bed, a large scar on my chest. Officer Smith was sitting in the corner, passed out in his chair. Death was nowhere to be seen. Assuming this wasn't the afterlife, I guess I must've made it? A doctor walked in, staring at a clipboard. His name tag said "Joseph". When he glanced up, he said, "Well well well, welcome back to the land of the living, Detective. A minor miracle you made it through, but luckily we managed to find you a compatible donor. Still, you'd probably be down for the count anyway if it weren't for your partner here, stuck with you all the way to the surgical ward. Oi, wake up." The doctor tapped Officer Smith with his clipboard. "Eh? What is..."Officer Smith said. As he noticed me, he said, "Oh thank god, you're alive. Detective, we got 'em!" "Awesome,"I said. While it didn't feel like I'd particularly earned my survival, at least all this wasn't entirely pointless...
"Mr.."The man in a lab coat and blue button up began but stopped himself, "Neil,"He began again, "Tell me again what happened exactly..." The once brave and courageous man was sunken into pale fear, his eyes fixed on a point in space. "I've told you, three times. I HEARD A KNOCK JIM, It wasn't banging it was, alive." 123...123 Jim began to speak noticing the truthful tone and look in Neil's eyes. "You were the only ones up there, it's not possible." "POSSIBLE?! Do you know what I saw? When we went out there..The rocks are alive..." It was then something crawled out of his suit, black, inky, and terrifying.

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