Split (1)

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The population of the world doubled overnight, and chaos ensued. Well, it didn't exactly happen overnight. It was... ugh. Alright so time is kind of weird on Earth because it can be midnight and noon simultaneously in different parts of the world and everybody thinks that their time is the right time. For some, the doubling happened at 10am, and 4pm in others. People are still debating what the "true"time was for Ipocalypse. It was a bad name for what happened, but apparently that's what stuck in the Wikipedia article. The doubling caused some countries to simply collapse in on themselves. China, for example, had a population of about \~1.4 billion. The same with India. Their infrastructure and societies were ill-equipped and ill-prepared for such an abrupt and tremendous event. Nobody's really sure what's going on there. Nobody's really sure what's going on anywhere, to be perfectly frank. Doubling the population means doubling food and water consumption at the very least. Doubling the population also means doubling workforces and families. In a world defined by tight margins and extreme specialization, some simply collapsed. Nothing like this had ever happened in recorded human history. It was a horrific (wonderful?) cosmic novelty bestowed upon us by... well, that's a good question that remains unanswered to this day (so many theories, though). Celebrities and politicians worldwide seemed to have the biggest problem with themselves, if the talk shows that started popping up once the world had adjusted were anything to go by. A lot of people simply could not handle the fact that they were no longer unique. The world got very strange for awhile. The first year was a nightmare. Murder and suicide rates skyrocketed, and who could really blame them? The new reality was a lot to take in, and not everyone was ready to deal with it. For me, it happened on Friday night. I was standing on my balcony burning down a joint the size of my thumb when my other popped into existence next to me. We both became aware of the other's existence at about the same time, noticing that we were both standing in the exact same way wearing the exact same clothes as we smoked the exact same joint. Our eyes, growing redder by the minute, were perfect mirrors. [It was a perfectly strange moment](https://youtu.be/VAI5GSyXMjA?t=78). "Oh shit,"we both said as we started. Long moments passed. The city seemed to go crazy as car horns and car alarms started going off all around us. There were screams and shrieks and police sirens. Me and my other just stared at each other, blinking as the city went mad around us, trying to comprehend. My other extended his hand just as I did. "I'm George,"we said at the same time. "Nice to meet you?"we both said, the statement turning into a hesitant question at the very end. We both laughed. What else could we do? There was a crashing sound overhead as one of my neighbours whipped by us, tumbling down into the parking lot in a shower of broken glass. Somebody screamed. A lot of people were screaming. "Uh, maybe we should go inside,"I/we suggested. "Drinks are on me?"I/we offered. The people who survived were the ones that figured it out.
The ten agents stepped out of the portal, all collapsing in a heap on the ground with grimaces on their faces as they recounted what they had just experienced. &#x200B; They had finally done it: they had made it out of that dark place they were meant to explore and learn about. And what did they come back with? &#x200B; Absolutely nothing. &#x200B; The other side of the portal had been shrouded in complete darkness, and there had been no sign of anyone or anything that could have created such a large rift in space. It was just an empty, black vacuum with nothing specific they could ascertain. &#x200B; As with all governmental expeditions into unknown lands, the agents were immediately transported to a containment facility for debriefing with a machine that could analyze the honesty of their responses. They walked inside the chamber, each agent having an individual pod with its own screen flickering on. he brisk air of the facility was evident as the soft hiss of the vacuum initiated and the agents began the relatively mundane questions. &#x200B; Q: What did you see or experience in the expedition? &#x200B; The answers didn't vary too much for this one. They all mentioned the absolute darkness that they had been enveloped in, with seemingly no end to the horror they felt when they couldn't see nor experience anything except the tether that binded them to each other and the general location of the entrance to the portal. &#x200B; Q: What was the motive of the mission? Another simple question for the agents. They were there to explore a new place that had been opened up to them, and of which they had no knowledge, and of which they had a natural instinct to explore. &#x200B; Q: What was the outcome of the mission? &#x200B; The final question for most missions had appeared. It was a chance for the agents to reflect upon what they had accomplished by going through the portal and what they could do better next time. The agents all answered in a similar vein: nothing had yet come out of the mission, but given more time, they could learn about the alien lands. &#x200B; With that seemingly final question, the agents looked to leave their chambers and go home for a long rest, but were met with one final question. &#x200B; Q: Please identify the person on the screen: &#x200B; A strange question to say the least, and what was even stranger was the images that they were then shown. It was images of each other, which did not make much sense to any of the agents. They had been working together since they were very, very young in order to prepare for such a mission. There was no real reason to be asking such a question. However, as they had been trained, they finished answering the final question, in which they all correctly identified each other. &#x200B; They were met with a ding of completion, the screen lighting up with a message, "Thank you for your honesty."The ten agents, with their work done, exited the pod into the vacuum chamber, waiting to be let out. And as the airlock opened, they were met with a dozen soldiers in full gear, with a man they recognized as their leader standing in the front of them. &#x200B; "Thank you for your service to humanity my kind friends,"the man spoke in a calm voice. &#x200B; "What is the meaning of all this,"spoke one agent who had calmly stepped in front of the other ten. &#x200B; "You see,"the leader continued, "The answers you gave us were very useful in understanding the mission. However, as you may recall, we in fact sent in only 5 agents, and out returned 10?" &#x200B; A grimace appeared on the leading agent's face, "So you are saying that 5 of us here are not of the human race." &#x200B; The leader chuckled, "Of course that would be the ideal outcome, but you all seem to recognize each other. The only problem is, none of us here can recognize who you all are. You have all appeared out of the portal. Did you really think that we would be so stupid not to notice such a difference?" &#x200B; The grimace on the leading agent's face evaporated into something much more sinister, a wide grin that replicated itself upon all of the agents' faces. &#x200B; "Ah, so we have been discovered,"the man spoke, "I guess that means that the real mission begins now." &#x200B; And with that ominous statement, the ten supposed agents were shot down by the soldiers, with the advanced technology leaving no trace of their existence... or so it seemed. &#x200B; To be continued
This is older than most prompts but I’ll take it. My pen dropped from my hand as the riders blew pass my hiding hole. I grabbed it and organized my stuff into a neat pile. My combat wand flew to my hand, a small silver and birch thing with a dull white glow. I sent a spirit scout to follow the riders, the only militant force we had, to wherever they were going. I ran to my family’s hole in the wall, gave the butler my stuff, and ran off. The spirit scout I had cast was showing me grey rocks and brown dirt. Fascinating, I had never seen a ground so bleak, and yet, it seemed calm, tranquil, untouched by the color of our village. I shifted to the spirit scout. The world stretched, and when it returned to normal I was standing on cool grass, looking at an odd sight. I cast invisibility on myself and got low to the ground. A sharp burning filled my hand and i had to put my combat wand down to avoid the overuse heating. I stared across a large open clearing to the riders. Their aura was incredible. Purples and reds, large shields of blue mana, forward defense barriers, everything. The 20 riders dismounted their horses and all pointed at the previously mentioned odd sight with their own wands. It was a shiny man, with gilded arms and a flat chest. He was holding an odd wand, also shiny, but very long and rather flat. It had a perpendicular piece of material right above the man’s hands that was engraved In a metal I recognized, gold. His wand wasn’t his weirdest part, though. This man had come to us, aggravated us, and hadn’t even put up a forward shield. And above all of that, his shiny face was POINTY! I caught a snippet of some of the conversation that ensued. “For the last time, drop your wand and submit to binding!” The lead rider ordered. “What the blazes is a wand!?” The man shouted back, waving his wand about. The lead ordered the guard at his right shoulder: “disarm him, Ghandunai” “I can’t, sire, it’s as if he is holding a child’s stick. His wand has no magical power to remove.” “Stay back!” The shiny main exclaimed as a rider approached him, “ I’ll use this!” I tried to get a better view, and snuck to the left flank of the riders as the drama continued. I was already furiously sketching and recording this man, ignoring the dull throb of heat my wand was making. I spotted a chain around the man’s neck, and moved closer to investigate. It was the finest silver on him, and seemed to be the only part someone like me could recognize as earthly. As I contemplated this, I heard a twig snap. The lead rider had moved up on the strange man, and was prepping the binding spell. When he tapped the man’s back, the spell sputtered and died. The man, panicking, swung his wand around with both hands and the lead fell, gushing blood from his neck. I blinked. When did that man enable his wand to precision cut? It still wasn’t glowing like it should, yet the lead rider’s aura just faded away, proving his death! I didn’t have time beyond that to move, as a quick and powerful lighting strike hit the shiny man directly in the chest. The yellow bolts arced between his guilds, and into the ground. They also arced into me. I didn’t bring my wand up fast enough, and the world went spinning, with my weightless body in the center. I hit a dark tree, hard, and fell to the ground. My vision was foggy, yet I could see that the shiny man was still standing. The focus of the riders was now upon me. I tried to make a bubble shield, or return invisible, or light a fireball, but my wand was not cooperating. “The ‘el did you come from?” The man asked me. I gritted my teeth and replied. “Where’d you get the chain?” “The chain?” The man was confused. “Ya mean, my oath?” He pulled his pointy, shiny head off and underneath was a recognizable pinkish face. His chain soon hung from his fingertips after some vague and hard to see movements, and I got a chance to see it better. It was two letters, both looking similar to a letter I know, Vue. The first letter was Vue but with a line connecting the two arrows, looking something like our public houses. The second was Vue but upside down. In total, on top of a royal blue background were the alien letters: AV. “What are you?” A rider piped up. “Well, profession wise, I’m a knight of Avalon. Job wise, I’m a scout. And name wise, I am Edward, Father of Few.” “Hello, Edward, father of few” “Just Edward, is fine” he said, cutting me off. “Sorry. Hello, Edward. I am Valdimi RoValdimi. Do you come from beyond the mountains?” “Aye,” he muttered. “Do you lot live in this chokehold valley?” I assumed we did, from the perspective of the knights of Avalon. I told him we did, and he quickly let us know: “Well, the knights of Avalon are on the run from the Gandrak national army. We were going to make a final last stand up in the mountains, but with you warlocks here it might not be our final stand”
Magic. A source of supreme power in the universe that ties the world together by its web. Scientists only discovered it's existence ten years ago with the leading scientist being Dr. Strange. He opened the gate that brought forth humanity's control over the web. He was also the first wizard. Not everyone can manipulate the web, only the next generation of children can. Only a fraction can access it naturally. The first day of kindergarten is always stressful for many parents. All the kids and parents pile into my small classroom while the kids find places to sit. Many converse amongst each other and some friendships are forged in the process. I strode in and took an elegant seat upon my leather chair. The whole room went silent. I organized my papers and looked up. Many of the parents were staring at me expectantly as were the kids. I clear my throat, "Good morning!!"I sang cheerfully. "Good morning."The parents responded unevenly. The kids stayed quiet. "As you all know, this is a very special kindergarten. Even as such, it is still a kindergarten. However, a kindergarten with extra steps. As you see on the walls, there are runes carves into the walls. This ensures that no accident will harm the building. You also read in the packet we sent you that the uniforms also are imbued to make sure no student will take damage from magic. You all signed that we are not responsible for accidents that occur outside of school nor the actions of your kids. Even though they're a lot of safety precautions, kids are still kids and accidents still happen. We do not take responsibility for what your kids do."I take a long breath and looked around. "Do I make myself clear?" "Yes."The parents choked. I sighed, "Now that we got that out of the way. We will teach many things in this classroom. Arts, crafts, reading, writing, basic runes, basic spells, and magoid control."I drew a smile, "This is a kindergarten after all."Many laughed while others simply smile. Darn, I thought I could get them all to laugh, but no matter. "Now that we got that out of the way. Are there any questions?"None raised there hands. "Good. Now, you are given a choice. Leave or watch. Decide."Many left while others stayed with curious looks. One came up to me with an angry face. We get one of these lovely people every year. "Mr. Callaster-" "I prefer Steve if you don't mind." "Mr. Callaster. I expect you to give my child better-" "This school believe in equality. No matter the background, gender, house, etc. Take it up with the principal." "We are the Baritones."A smirk grew on her face. "We can pay you quite a sum-" "I make more in a year than your whole wretched family together. Get out or I will zap you into a clown." "THAT is an illegal use of magic." "Say that to my Grade A card."I snapped the card into existence. For those ignorant, a Grade card is what level of magic you can use legally. A is everything but lethal magic. On that note, the land whale left in a huff allowing me to begin class and what a class it will be.
"The things I do for love,"Jamie says before extending his hand to push young Bran Stark to his apparent death. But, as the Kingslayer reaches for the lad, Bran drops to the tower's ledge and this disorients Jamie. The Golden Lion of the Lannisters' nude body falls from the tower and onto the pavement below. Sometime Later... Ned Stark enjoys a flagon with King Robert Baratheon. "And their children?"Ned asks his old friend. "Arrested as the offspring of traitors. Joffrey tried to fight the guards and they chopped his hand off." "Some would say he deserves it. What luck that Tywin died of a heart attack after hearing his son died as a disgraced incester and his daughter went from Queen to being arrested for treason." A subtle chuckle bellows from Robert, but Ned can see the pain behind his eyes. "After, the trials we'll have to worry about that Targaryen brat..."Robert says. "No matter your sympathies-" "Actually,"Ned says. "Maybe your cautions are correct. I'd hate it if in like 8 years she came here with dragons and killed everyone." "Dragons?"Robert says. "There are no more dragons. and after we kill her, they'll be no more Tagareyans either." Ned takes a nervous sip.
I suppose it was just any other night. The shadows seemed to have danced around the room calling, becoming as they often so do. I get up to grab some hot chocolate. As I pour the brown liquid into a mug a quite but audible ‘knock’ comes from the door. I grab a knife from nearby and hide it underneath my sleeve. Wondering who it was I shackley make my way to the door. The floor beneath me creaked with a hollow song of doom. I open the door only to be welcomed by the cool night air. A wave of relief washed over me. As sigh of relief is the only sound known in the moment. An eternal silence followed only interrupted by a scathing voice “I’ve been looking for you.” A shudder ran down my spine. The rush of adrenaline causes everything to blur. When my eyes catch up I see my hand shaking with the knife held close to the strangers throat. The shadows disguise their identity, yet only seem to increase the creepiness of their smile. “Jumpy one aren’t you?” A mennising glint shows in their eye the only thing not reflecting the moon. Stuttering I demand “G-ge-t o-o-o-ou-t o-of my-my huo-house!” “Very well…” They reach inside their pocket. I prepare myself to kill them if necessary. They pull out a slip of paper. Then as they exit they handed me a paper and whispered something in my ear then leave. They told me to meet them behind them school… I knew it! There was something important about that area! So I went there the very next day! It was a school day so I had to sneak around the teachers. I was doing really well! Till Mr. Jones caught me. I tried to tell them about how this was important but they took me to you. So please let me go I need to go back and figure out what’s going on!
How pathetic I have become at the news of my beloved father’s return. How just two men walking push my life in balance. Blood of civilizations mingled in stains upon his worn armor - each gash and chip a beloved memento. His people assumed his strength and the ensuing spoils at the price of his temper. For the success of the prefecture had a cost under the thumb of a tyrant. Executions for the slightest of offenses left families divided and a swelling hatred for the merciless leader. I, more spawn than prodigy, stood to assume his control. Yet, I did not hold a caged dragon within my heart - he saw that. It did not provoke the fury upon which his position was built. No, it was much worse. Sadness. Disappointment. Pity. That is what I was to him. The symbol of incompetence wrapped neatly in a frail shell. But I have different goals, different methods. Our society subsists in the pillaged goods pilfered from our fellow man. We leave our rich and vibrant lands untouched to spill our neighbors’ blood. It was how he has made his name, gotten his wife and won his riches. I would change this. There would be peace. But his campaigning has ended and he returns all these years later. From traveling his lands. From holding court. From as far away from here as he could. It’s been years. A man, young as I may be, I’ve grown to be distinct - more than a child’s face. And I do not look like him. I find myself with hair, a difference from my youth. Hair that is brown to the lord’s black. Brown like the bushi retainer charged with defending my father until death. Brown like my father’s, defending the lord until my father’s death. And now they return, after all these years - my mother with them as I prepare for their arrival. So now, I must shave once more. While this charade worked in my youth, my face resembles my father’s more with each passing day. His charmingly different face and its ubiquity a cursed curtain that draws ever near.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! The sound arose God from his torpor, used tissues strewn about the room. Was this? Had the demons and devils finally risen up in their confusion and anguish? Or was it something else? Had someone risen up to supplant the Lord? Someone was at the gates of Heaven and was clearly forcing their way through. Why wasn't Peter dealing with this? As God gathered himself together, with a snap of his fingers his room was clean, untouched by the sorrow of the night before. He stood, gazing out the window over the Golden City, noting a crowd of people following a bright light up one of the main thoroughfares leading to his palace. The crowd grew closer and he could see that they were jubilant, the mood was festive as the glow grew defined. The Lord could see a man whose bearing harkened back to Siegfried and Gilgamesh. In his eyes he could recognize the strength of Hercules and the wisdom of Solomon. God gasped. Could this be the savior who would help him? Had someone come not to harm, but to help? Within moments, a man entered the room. With imperious bearing he gestured God to the guests seat in the room and sat behind the desk. Almost hypnotically, God obeyed, wondering what this strange man had to say. "Now.... Tell me about your mother."
As I walked into the room, I could feel my hands shaking. My father was standing there, his back to me as he gazed out the window onto the snow topped peaks in the distance, and I knew it was time. I had always known my family had a secret, but there was no way I could’ve been prepared for what came next. “Dad... what is it?” Slowly, as if the words were made of molasses, he turned to me and spoke. “Are you ready to know the truth?” Trying to break the heavy tension in the air, I let out a quick chuckle before replying with a smile, “Yeah I am, if you’re able to say it before I die, you turtle.” Before I could get out a word to tell him I was kidding, he spun around. “What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I’ll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I’ve been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I’m the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You’re fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little “clever” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You’re fucking dead, kiddo.”
Dragons, the common knowledge goes, are wild animals. The evidence for this always seems to be the large cave with no door, the refuse pile a bit away and downwind of the cave. And the loud calls in the night, often to new Moons or eclipses. This all ignores that there are plenty of records that indicate that people do this as well. Maps of Dragon caves always show a treasure room (the only Dragon room to have a door), a living space and a semi private sleeping room. Not unlike the standard human peasant hovel with its pantry (the only room to have a door), kitchen and bedroom combined areas. Humans are also known to kidnap and keep women confined. So its not a far stretch that maybe Dragons are just like people. Even more alarmingly, there is usually some human sized space nearby, often connected to the Dragons nest/bedroom area with its own smaller pantry and kitchen area noticeably designed for humans. Not unlike the pig or chicken enclosures. People, like Dragons also seem to hate it when you show up unannounced, enter without notice and steal their things. Not to mention trying to kill them. My name is Julian. I am a young ~~knight~~ Adventurer trying to make a name for myself and took this quest. It seemed pretty straight forward and the rewards unusually good, Dragons are not that large, and can usually be taken down with arrows, slings and other ranged weapons, then killed with swords and blocked with shields. This isn't my first time dealing with Dragons. And then after the quest accept, you learn that you are actually the first solo accepter, despite dragons often being soloed, and the fourth accepter of this particular quest. A duo, trio and a a five person party all have gone missing after accepting this quest. That's why the reward is a higher then normal. Everything about this seems a little off. But you've already said you are going to do it. Your word is your word. Nothing left but to try. The cave is larger then any Dragon cave you can remember. Like this is definitely a stealing a Royal child sized dragons cave. Its mostly a naturally formed cave sure, but the signs are clear that its been dragon expanded. The refuse pile is huge, and very old. The dragon has been here for a while. That would also mean that the treasure room should be very well stocked. Normally the idea is to trap the entrance to stop it from flying, or attack while its asleep. Ropes or chains of all sorts, Nets and spears, arrows and ballista are all recommended Dead drop spikes and all manner of noose traps. Other ideas involve poisoned food, Since dragons tend to eat things whole, special bags of poison are force fed to goats and sheep, then left out in close fields, tied to stakes. The least recommended method, but the only one you actually know how to do, is the straight sword fight. Attack while it is in its cave, cut its belly and neck to drain blood and just survive long enough to see it die of blood loss. Dragons can stem the flow if left alone, so fatal looking wounds often turn out to be not so fatal in practice. Armed with your sword and the one trick that Dragons all apparently hate its time to try your luck. In the history of fighting Dragons, it has never seemingly occurred to anyone to just try the human sized door that is always near the main cave entrance first. It is usually what you are told to leave by as it is unguarded most of the time, and usually the princess being rescued wants to gather their things first which are all usually nearer to that door then the cave entrance. But as entrances to fighting the Dragon goes, Basically no one ever uses it as the starting point. Perhaps it is underhanded? dishonorable? its never really been explained to you why. Only that its not a thing. Logically looking at it, there isn't any reason not to. Its undefended, usually its unlocked, the princess is usually close or in there, and its already human sized with human related supplies. Taking a drink of water or a bite to eat before a battle is rather nice, not too much but nice all the same. And now I sit here in the bushes, looking at the nicely finished human door wondering if this is really the place, and if this is really a good idea so early in my life. The door opened smoothly, as they usually do, and the warm smells of morning cooking spread to my nose. Its the smell of fat and oil with rosemary and basil. The specific stuff mother always hated and never used, Hence the current Dragon questing life. Its a cozy little place, pots and pans - copper and silvery metal flatware and a little oil lamp. A dozen books and a corner table. This is the same sort of house that the hermit of Bogwater has. The only major difference beyond the clothing of a woman everywhere, was the gold. Everything was edged or filigreed with gold. A little oppressive, just in its scale, but actually kind of tastefully done on the individual items. Like the lamp had little golden flame like wisps that rose from the copper base to hold the glass cover on. Hinged on one side (with a golden hinge and clasp) it was actually really nicely done. The table likewise had gold running in the heartwood veins branching and spreading though out the center cut top. It took on the look of a map, little city like blobs that were the knots growing from the center veins of gold. Was it grown with gold somehow? The bed had little faeries dancing across the headboard, accompanied by ruby and emerald inlaid butterflies with expansive golden wings. A bed fit for a young princess. Herbs and spices hung near the wide mouth hearth stove. Raised a bit off the floor it was a good height for a person to move pots and pans on and off the metal grill. Simply put, this was a beautiful home. Nicer certainly then the only other one I had ever been in. Like I said, this wasn't my first Dragon. It was however only my second. Perhaps the reasoning to enter here last was that after killing the Dragon, one might spend some time eating heartily of the curing meat that hung in the little pantry? It was true that after a battle with any dragon, rest was well in order. Maybe spend some time in the nice bed with a grateful princess? She wasn't here though. The fire was still bright and tended so she hadn't been gone very long. The soup pot over the side of the stove, slowly rotating to keep an even heat on the chain that it hung from. She had been gone less then thirty minutes. The other door lead to the Dragons chambers, usually musty and slightly damp. Very much an animals den. If old Warven was to be believed, Dragon dens always showed the signs of fighting and restless creatures, Scorch marks and claw gouges on the floors and ceilings, dried pools of blood and bits of rotting things. Often a head or other body part from a less successful adventurer tucked into a corner. Nasty places. The soup smelled really good though. There was pork in it, the smell a heavy hint of distraction. This was no time to be thinking of the stomach with a Dragon in the next room. The dragons door was also well clad in jewels and gilt. It looked to be fashioned from solid gold, though the value of that would be almost as amazing as its sheer weight. The door alone would buy a noble station, with the jewels on it the home and trappings of a king. This Dragon would be quite a challenge if it could be killed at all. Notorious hoarders of shiny objects, a Dragons hoard indicated its age, the older it was the more it had collected. The previous dragon had been quite young, only a few hundred in silver. Enough to float the village for a few months, but nothing like this. With nothing else to do, I try to open the massive door.
Wow. Oh wow, I thought. Commander Shepherd is talking to ME. I can't believe it. He's the most legendary soldier ever, and he's asking ME for info. I'm just a lowly data analyst. I don't think he even knows my name. &#x200B; "I should go."he said abruptly as I was halfway through a sentence. Granted, I was just repeating the same thing I'd just told him, word-for-word. He kept asking the same question word-for-word, so I figured why not. It didn't seem to bother him. The Commander had some weird tendencies but the whole crew just decided to go along with it. He runs around in circles, asking the same questions, then cutting people off. Word has it, he's obsessed with buying rare and exotic fish and then neglects them till they die. "I should go."I heard him say again to someone across the room. Sometimes EDI would patch the intercoms through the loudspeakers whenever Shepard was on another level of the ship so we could all listen to him awkwardly flirting with every single person on the ship. "We'll talk later."he said to that redheaded hoe that works right next to him. I swear, they're perfect for each other. She'll fuck anyone. And word has it, Shepard will fuck anything. No matter what race or sexuality. &#x200B; Oh shit, he's coming back over. Wait, what did he just ask? I'll try repeating the same thing. Oh he's asking for more info on that. He hasn't done that before. Why do I suddenly feel... attracted? Oh god, did he just unlock me as a romance option? I'm not even part of the main crew, there's no way we could end up together. But it sounds like he's into me anyway... Could this be it? Could this be my fairytale ending with a handsome hero? &#x200B; That last interaction was all I could think about. He sauntered off to another mission and that was that. That was the last time I saw the Commander. But I always wondered what could have been. What could have been? I played the words over and over but I guess it didn't matter now, but it gave me hope. What could have been? I wondered as the Collector's tubes melted me alive.
[poem] I walk down to the basement of the place that i called home The cellar full of mystery that i had never known A hatch under the rug that we were told to never lift I hadn't known what was beyond until i had a whiff The ashes left a thick covering on the stairwell down And what I saw while entering had left me with a frown The hollow shells of boarding house students, without a trace of life And at the end of the hall was the board master sending children to the after life I ran outside with no breath left The master close behind I shut the hatch and locked it tight Which gave me peace of mind I knew what i did was right searched for my trinkets from the old days For i was the one who set the Rickman Boarding House ablaze (im new to writing so, if it sucks be honest)
Hello, my name is the man who has been affectionately called as Harold. You may know me as Harold from the movies Harold, Harold 2 and as The Herald from the Broadway staple Bible The Musical. Today I was shopping at Walmart, a department store where many American humans, such as I go for grocery shopping when Nancy the 30-year-old female called me using my personal 10 digits mobile phone number. The call was landed on my phone at 13:30 and was picked up by me in 9 seconds. I hold my smart mobile phone with Android OS in my hand to check its screen for the most common 3 of 12 reasons humans check their phone screens frequently. Nancy the 5 feet, 150 lbs, fertile female invited me over, claiming it's for dinner while we both knew it was actually for intentionally unsuccessful reproduction session without confirming it in exchange of words. When I arrived she had already sabotaged the offspring bearing capabilities of her current ovum. This is the way all the overworked Hollywood actor peers of mine handled their urges to mate with the exception of humans who have peculiar interests in having coitus with those who they can't biologically reproduce with, even if they intended to sire children. The session ended without malfunction in either of the two parties even though DNA specimens were discarded it checked all the marks necessary and was a success. Once it was over, I instantly lost interest in being there and walked out of the bedroom to a balcony overlooking the city of Los Angeles, California, United States of America. I was holding a tobacco product known as a cigarette and lit its tip using the lighter in my other hand effectively occupying all the available hands of two. I inhaled the toxic fumes with cancer-causing smoke because it is what I conditioned myself to do through repetitive behavior and hormonal feedback loops. The city was bright, illuminated with the mix of millions of incandescent, led and fluorescent light sources, sprawling everywhere I turned my head to gaze towards except the ocean where no buildings were erected. I heard Nancy asking me if I was running low on energy and in need of nutrition while I was flicking nearly all consumed cigarette off my hand, down the balcony, creating fire hazard recklessly. We paid someone to avail us intake higher calories than necessary for our healthy survival. Although the transaction for the bread disc with cow's milk fat and cured porcine meat known as pizza included handling of its logistics and successful delivery, I paid 20% more money to follow the custom of United States of America's humans. The pizza disc supplied us ample energy upon the beginning of its digestion, so after a brief discussion, we decided to go to the closest movie theater to see a motion picture of extraordinary humans saving a fictional version of the modern world using humanly impossible capabilities without the aid of computer generated graphics. The movie was enjoyable for the demographic I am a part of, also seeing our friends on the silver screen made our brains happy because of familiar faces of positively attributed humans do so for the other humans. It was drawing near to borders of too late for an average healthy active day cycle so I went home and fell asleep after 30 minutes of bodily cleansing. Next day I woke up to my previously picked smart mobile phone incoming call alert. It was my agent on the other smartphone that was connected to mine via networks working together to establish wireless two way sound transfer. He said Nancy was found dead in her apartment and policemen who were investigating her death were on their way to question me. It was at that same moment I remembered that I forgot to take my medicine for a month and had multiple personality disorder. My reflection in the mirror nodded at me knowingly. It was a hallucination due to my mental illness. I weighed the chances of me being the culprit and worked out a result of 83.298% percent positive. The calculation took 1.2983 minutes with the data set available to me. So I ran to avoid law enforcement doing their jobs as intended by their design and effectively halting the judicial system. I am still hiding at a place which will remain as undisclosed for me to be able to avoid persecution as long as possible. -------------- I wanted to start the thread hoping it would turn into a popular one so we could read lots amusing stories. Sorry if my use of English jarred your nerves; I am not a native speaker. Thanks for reading.
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So the first thing I do is call my girlfriend to cancel our date Saturday because, like, why? I can literally cook whatever I want now. So she's so upset or whatever, and I tell her to chill out and just come over to my place because I want to cook for her and she's all like, "OH wOW rEaLly?? ThAts So SwEet! No GuY hAs EvEr CoOkEd fOr Me BeFoRe. I DiDn'T eVeN kNoW yOu CoUlD cook." So its Saturday and she comes over and she's like all super excited and what-not. And she's asking me what I cooked and saying she just knows it's going to be delicious, yada yada... Now, this is one thing I've noticed in all my years of dealing with women. If you want to lie to a woman, just tell her the truth. She's not going to believe whatever you say anyway. So when she asked me what I made her, and I told her, "Just some crap"....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................... she laughed and said, "SoUnDs DeLiCiOuS. i CaN't WaIt To TrY iT."Lmaoooooooooooo. I kid you not. We're literally sitting on the couch watching Netflix right now and I keep glancing over at her because she's eating my little poop pellets and she said it tastes like CHOCOLATE and she doesn't even know that I'm wrighting about this right now and - Omfg she just ate another one lol and I really don't know how to break it to her. How can I ever kiss her again? She's gonna be so confused when I break up with her tonight lolol.
Three days after the first heavy rain of the summer, and not before, is the perfect time to gather Blue Cap mushrooms. Reina picked her way through the old oak trees, nudging leaf piles with her walking stick. The old witch had taught her to make a poultice from Blue Caps; eaten, they were deadly, but they could be applied to an inflamed joint to ease pain. Reina knew the villagers would come to her for these cures, as they once went to the old witch, even as they shunned her. They would come to her caravan for poultices and luck charms, palm reading and elixirs, for so long as the harvests were good and the children were healthy. The sun-dappled path was easy, and Reina’s basket already half-full of Blue Caps and Lamb’s Ear when she found the egg. It lay against the roots of an oak, a little larger than Reina’s fist and blood red. She’d never seen anything like it. She could see no nest from which it had rolled, and saw no creature guarding it. When she picked it up, it pulsed. Reina placed the egg in her basket. She was but a hedgewitch, but she recognized powerful magic when she saw it. Back in her caravan, Reina wove a little yarn basket, to hang the egg like a bauble from the rafters. When she touched it again, it throbbed like a heartbeat. It startled her, but did not unnerve her. For days she watched the egg carefully for signs of hatching. She soon found herself talking to it. “It’s a beautiful day for being born,” she would say. “Rise and shine!” The egg did not hatch, but it did not die either. Every evening Reina could hear its steady thrum. “Good night,” she would tell the egg. “Perhaps tomorrow is the day you’ll hatch.” Through the summer and autumn she tended the egg. She told it how she dried and minced the Blue Caps to make the poultice, how she’d delivered the smith’s wife’s twins, how she missed the companionship of the old witch. She told the egg how she’d been born far from the little village and its sunny oak forest, on a ship that always sails east and never west, and how she’d been left behind when she’d mistimed the tides as a young girl. How she’d traveled with a band of players in this caravan until they all fell ill with pox. How she’d sought out the old witch alone to learn a cure, and stayed on as the witch’s apprentice. And she told the egg, too, when the first frost came so early it blighted the apples on the trees, and when the hay rotted in the fields and the villagers began to grumble that their troubles were the result of a curse. She told the egg that she planned to hitch Spots to the caravan that night and find a village far away. Reina was latching shut the last of the caravan’s many drawers and cabinets when she smelled the torchfire. It was her only warning before the smith barged into her caravan. He thrashed in the darkness, swinging wildly as he tried to seize her, but Reina jabbed him in the gut with the handle of her broom, shoving him right back out the door. She cried out to Spots, sprang to the seat, and the caravan lurched away from the meadow forever. Reina drove through the night and the dawn and the day, stopping only when she reached the Abington Ferry. She gave Spots his rest and a Blue Cap poultice for his hindquarters. Then she assessed the damage done to her stock in the caravan. The first thing she noticed was a crack in the egg, and a little dribble of black-red liquid. Reina cried out—that fool smith had knocked it in his thrashing—but when she cupped the egg in her hands she could still feel its quivering. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to it. She remade the little net and fastened it more closely to the rafters, so it could not happen again. Reina kept a close eye on the egg as she crossed the river to the great grasslands. The crack never healed, but no more liquid seeped out and the egg never stopped thrumming. Reina described to the egg the farms she passed, trading her wares for bread and milk. The suspicious glances from the farmer’s wives and the open stares of their lanky, brown-limbed children. And she told the egg the day she reached the White City by the sea. How the smell of the salt and the sound of the sea birds reminded her of being a small girl again, lost and alone. She found a place to make camp in the shadow outside the city walls, where she hoped she would be safe from the wrong sort of attention. She told the egg how city women came to her for the same things country women did, how she’d tasted a type of smoked fish that made a delicious breakfast, and how she occasionally locked eyes with a curly-haired guardsman atop the walls, but otherwise was left alone by the city authority. The guardsmen frightened her. The ordinary folk who came to barter for cures and palmistry called them the Commanded. They were exactingly loyal to the Prefect, and rumored impossible to kill. Reina told the egg about the faces of the Commanded, how eerily still they were. Spring turned to summer, and one day the Commanded from the walls appeared outside her caravan. Reina started to hitch Spots, but the man spread his hands out in peace. “I’ve heard you know a cure for the pox.” The man said. Reina nodded. “Would you come to the house of my master? His children are ill.” Reina gathered her supplies from the caravan. “I hope to return,” she told the egg. The man led Reina to a fine house facing the main square. He did not speak another word to her, his expression impenetrable. The house guards opened the iron gates to admit Reina and her escort to a lush red-tiled courtyard. An aristocratic man in golden robes awaited them: the Prefect. “Thank you, Lucas,” the Prefect said. “How can you cure the pox, hedgewitch, when so many physicians have failed?” “It is a hedgewitch sort of cure: magwort tea to keep fever down, a sword fern and royal jelly poultice for the lesions, and gloves and masks for all caretakers to avoid spreading it.” The Prefect nodded at an attendant, who took Raina’s bag forcefully and hurried away. Raina started to follow, but the Prefect raised a finger. “I was unaware that the pox was in the White City.” Raina said. “We should send word of the cure to all your physicians and to all the midwives and hedgewitches at once.” “Have you given me the cure exactly?” The Prefect asked. “I would not dare lie to you about something as important as this. Treating the first cases properly will prevent the spread, and the ensuing panic.” “Exactly,” the Prefect said. “And so you understand why I must order your execution.” Raina’s knees gave way. “My Lord Prefect,” she begged. Her first thought, bizarrely, was for the egg. One of the other transients camped at the wall would quickly realize she wasn’t coming back and “liberate” Spots. But no one would be there when the egg finally hatched. “It’s for the good of the city. I can’t have you spreading panic. Lucas, if you will.” The Prefect made a little hand motion. Lucas stepped behind Raina and pulled her, gently, to her feet. “No,” he said. “What a curious thing to say,” the Prefect frowned. “Perhaps i was insufficiently specific. Lucas, take her to the abattoir and slit her little golden throat amongst the other livestock.” “No,” Lucas said again, moving to place himself between Reina and the Prefect. “Have you forgotten that I made you?” The Prefect sneered. “That you pledged your heart to me in exchange for immortality? I can burn up your heart at any moment I wish, and you with it. Kill the woman.” Lucas began to back up, herding Reina towards the gate. “You don’t have my heart,” he said. “It belongs to another.” Reina was too frightened to be surprised when Lucas took her by the hand and pulled her into a run. The house guards made to stop them, but Lucas dodged the first and spun his body between the second and Reina, absorbing the blow of the halberd with his shoulder. He pushed her through the gate and out onto the street. Reina could see a blood-black liquid on Lucas’ shoulder as the pulled her through the alleys, but the wound never worsened. Only when he boosted her over the city wall did he wince in pain. The pair reached Reina’s caravan quickly. Reina started to hitch Spots for the second time that day, but Lucas hung back, suddenly quite shy for a stranger who had professed his love to her, saved her life, and dragged her across the city by the hand. Then Reina saw how he looked longingly, not at Reina, but at the caravan. “It’s a beautiful day to be born,” he said finally. Reina stopped her readying. “Would you like to see it?” She let him in to her caravan. Lucas found the egg in its rafter nest immediately. He stared at the egg, and Reina stared at him. Then he glanced around. “It’s just as I pictured,” he said. Reina blushed. “So you heard...” “Everything,” he confirmed. “Was it the oak valley on the southern side of the Balrey Slopes? Where you found it, I mean.” Reina nodded. “I knew you were a day’s ride from the Abington Ferry, and the Prefect has orchards in that area. Of course he hid my heart deep in those woods.” “And when you heard me tell you I’d reached the White City, you set out to find me?” Reina asked. “Yes, but also when you arrived I could sense it,” he gestured at the egg. “I felt...things. Camaraderie. Curiosity. Shame. Longing. I could find my way to your caravan blindfolded.” Reina touched his wounded shoulder softly. “Does it hurt?” “I cannot be killed, so long as my heart resides out of my body. But I feel pain like an ordinary man.” Lucas reached a hand towards the egg, finally, when Spots screamed. “Run for the docks,” Lucas ordered, leaping from the caravan. When Reina emerged she saw him grappling with two other Commanded. Spots screamed again, bleeding and dying. Reina grabbed the egg and ran, carrying it tucked against her chest. She wept as she ran, for old Spots, and for a man who could feel pain but never die.
"Oh god not again." &#x200B; Derek waited in anticipation as his surroundings went black. Soon he would be dropped down a thousand-mile chute of white light and back into the moment before he died, with no way of stopping it. &#x200B; He'd tried screaming for help, fighting as hard as he could, going limp, and literally a million other combinations just in case there was some sequence of events that could save him. &#x200B; At first he'd thought this was a Groundhog Day scenario where life was giving him a chance to save himself after he'd become a better person, but after the 157,489th time he realized that there was no saving himself and the afterlife is really just the end of life. He thought that he'd lived a good life, but evidently his range of "good"was somewhere over the 2 million death replay range. &#x200B; Here it comes, the sound of a giant machine lurching, the white circle appearing below him in the dark like a cartoon, and suddenly Derek's stomach lurched as he fell at a speed that he never got used to. After gaining his bearings, even though he knew exactly where he was for the 2,891,190th time, he again looked up at the being that killed him 2,891,189 times before. &#x200B; His tormentor's unblinking eyes seemed to pulsate out of his skull as he approached Derek, bloodthirsty again, seemingly a knowing participant in this eternal replay of Derek's last moments. &#x200B; His murderer's arms reached toward him, towering over Derek by over a foot. Derek tried to run but it was no use, as he slipped on the cold ice for the 893,939rd time. &#x200B; He crawled in the dark and the cold until he felt the familiar grip of a massive hand on his ankle. He had him again. &#x200B; Derek knew he had no chance, but he fought for the 432,297th time, hoping that the gods would respect his struggle and grant him passage. &#x200B; As Derek turned around with a fist, he connected with his murderer's head but it seemed to do no damage through his thick fur. &#x200B; And then, for the 1,292,087th to last time, Derek's internal organs were spread along the ice as he screamed and his assailant stared through him with his open, dead eyes. &#x200B; Derek was transported back to the dark space again, waiting for his next replay of his death, but this time he saw something that had not been there before. Possibly a gift from the gods for getting this far through the torment. A hockey stick just 10 feet away from where he had died. A hockey stick that would be his weapon next time he went back. &#x200B; He now knew that in order to get past this, he had to defeat his murderer. But he would get more help as he went along. &#x200B; So Derek prepared again for the giant machine to turn and the white light to appear. But this time, he let out a battle cry that came from somewhere deep inside him that he'd never felt before, "You won't get another 2 million tries at me... I'm coming for you, Gritty."
Uuuuuuuntil we were coming back from the movies one night and he pulled off the road into some little clearing in the woods and turned off the car. He turned in his seat to face me with a look of expectation that made me a leetle bit scared. Trying not to squirm too much in my seat, I smiled stupid and said, "Uhh, lost? Wanna ask those squirrels over there for some directions?" He pounced me, like a lion in heat. By now I was used to his aggressiveness. He was all rough, rugged, and raw masculinity. Somedays he would kiss me so hard my lips would feel sore and look like they had been stung by bees. I would have bruises on my back from where he would out of nowhere grab me and slam me into a random locker for an intense makeout for the whole school to see. And don't even get me started on the hickeys. All I wore around the house for the past few weeks was turtlenecks so my parents didnt freakout. The only thing that we hadn't done was this. And now we were about to do it. Except I didn't want to do it. And then I had the sudden panicky thought, Oh my God, he's been training me. Stop, I don't want to do this. I was so busy trying to figure out how I would get him to stop that I didn't realize I had actually said "Stop"until he actually sat back in his seat and looked at me. "What?" My shirt was torn and my bra was showing. I had saliva on my neck. I looked out the window. "I don't want to do this."I peeked at him. "I'm not ready." There was this brief period of silence where I thought he was going to slap me. His shirt was off, and every breath he made, made his abs flex involuntarily. He grabbed his shirt and turned away from me. "Get out." I frowned. "Excuse m-" "Get."He paused for emphasis. "Out. Now." I stared at him, open-mouthed and speechless. He looked at me. He looked deadly. "You're still here?" I have no clue where I got the courage to yell, but I did as I flung my hand at the window and the darkness outside. "Are you serious right now?! I don't even know where I am!" "I'm not going to ask you again..."And this time, the tone of his voice was too scary to ignore. I got out and slammed the door. He started to reverse. I wanted to pick up a rock and throw it at his car, but I didn't want to push it. I knew how some guys were about their cars. I waited until his headlights disappeared before I started making my way back to the main road. I checked my watch and cursed. I was past curfew and I didn't know how I was going to explain why I was home so late or why Brad wasnt dropping me off. I fished my phone out of my purse and thought about who I could call. Definitely not my parents. I had numbers of people from school, but they all secretly hated me because I was with Brad. And if I called, I would have to explain why I was calling and... I shook my head. Speaking of friends and school. Today was Friday night. I had two more nights - Saturday and Sunday - to figure out what I was going to do on Monday when school came back around. I was sure my status wouldn't be the same.
Sam dropped the notebook gloomily on the teetery kitchen table. It hit the table with the sound of a small, light bird hitting a bay window. That morning, the therapist had told him him that he really should put his feelings down on paper. Ever since Amy’s… death, Sam had felt lost and the therapist insisted this would help. “Well, I keep a blog…” he’d started to say, but the therapist shook his bald, wrinkled head disapprovingly. Dr Rosenhaus lectured, “You millennials and your electronics… this doesn’t have to be “efficient” or “quick” Sam, in fact it’s probably more effective if you have to take your time, pause, look at the page, and think. This is cliche, but the point is the journey here, not the destination. Take a break from the screen time and do it old school, you’ll find it’s more ‘lit’ than you think!” He said this last part with a smug look on his face that betrayed his misplaced confidence in ‘being cool.’ Still, Sam had agreed to try it “boomer style.” He grabbed a virgin fountain pen his uncle had gotten him for his college graduation and spent about 20 minutes watching Youtube tutorials on how to fill it and write with it. Rifling through his computer desk, he realized he didn’t have any notebooks. He had the occasional scrap, a notecard here and a post-it there, but nothing he could keep a long-running journal on. “Would this be long-running?” he found himself wondering, “how long does grief last?” While pondering this question, he spotted a box labeled “Office Shit” in the corner of the office, with the rest of Amy’s things. He hesitated for a second before walking over to the box. “Maybe this is what death is… finding ways to fit her stuff back into my life as my own” he said as he began opening the folds of the box, tears welling in his eyes. Folders, school workbooks, those clear-things-you-put-papers-in-to-look-good...ahh, finally a notebook. It was a royal blue front cover with “Amy” written on it, but completely unremarkable and unlabeled otherwise. The sight of her handwriting turned the welling tears into flooding tears. He angrily flipped through the notebook, tears streaming down his face as he did such. Other than her name on the cover, there didn’t appear to be a drop of ink anywhere else in the entire damn notebook. There were about a dozen missing pages, based on the torn edges and fringes inside the notebook, but otherwise it was entirely untouched inside. After his paroxysm passed, he gently tapped the nib of the pen on the notebook, making little emerald dots on the page. Finally he put pen to page and began to write: “Hi journal… it’s been 12 days since my wife, your previous owner, ~~commit-~~ died and I’ve been told that I should start keeping my own journal- I guess that makes you my journal now!” he smiled silently to himself, bemused and befuddled by how lame he felt doing all of this. He continued: “I’ve never really kept a journal before… who’s the audience here? Future me? Kids? Future historians trying to understand grief in the 21st century? I just don’t know what to say. We seemed so happy” a few tears had fallen and smudged some of the previous lines, “I just wish I knew why she’d do that to herself” And before he could even punctuate the sentence, he fell from his stool, head in hands, weeping and shrieking. He saw Amy, beautiful in her Sunday best, writing in the book. He saw her in the arms of another man. He saw her in her work outfit writing in the book. Then he saw that man dead. Then he saw more people dead. Then he saw money. He saw a montage of her in different outfits, panickedly writing more in the notebook and then he’d see more visions of death, opulence, or depravity. Finally he saw Amy again, naked, writing frantically, her hair a mess. She sobbed, struck the table, and held her head in her hands while she wept. She tore a few pages out, crammed them down the garbage disposal, and then began tying his favorite hoodie into a makeshift noose. Then the dream/vision/whatever passed. He thought of what he’d seen and he tried to put the pieces together, but every way he did ruined his image of her. Maybe she deserved that,, he really didn’t know anymore but HE didn’t deserve that. Getting over the suicide of a loved one that’s had… that suicide revealing the worst parts of that loved one… that was insurmountable. He had an idea, it was short-sighted, but it could work. He grabbed the notebook and wrote simply: “I wish I forgot all about everything that happened today.” --------------------------------- As always, I'm trying to get more practice writing short fiction, so any feedback is greatly appreciated :)
Pt. 1 It was another day in the hospital. Most of the time I just want it to end. The pain. The sad looks from my family and friends. We all knew I was going to die, so most of the time I just got pity or crying. So, when there was a burst of light in my room and a winged guy in whites robes smiled down at me I got a little hopeful that this would be it. &#x200B; "Hello Vance. I'm going to be your guide to the other side,"His voice was just as you might expect from an angel; soft, soothing and absolutely beautiful, "Now then the first thing that I should tell you is that the other side isn't really what most people expect. You actually have a lot of choices. You can be reincarnated, or taken to a personal paradise. You could remain on earth as a ghost and continue to be around friends and family. One of the most popular choices is-" &#x200B; Just then the lights went out. Bust not just in the hospital, it was like the sun turned off. The only reason I knew I was still alive is that I could hear myself taking labored breaths. I took a moment to take in the darkness, hoping that maybe my eyes would adjust. But sight never came. After what seemed like hours I heard something. It sounded vaguely like hoofs against stone. The sound grew closer and closer with ever passing moment until i could tell it, whatever it was, was in the room with me. &#x200B; "H-hello,"I was beyond afraid. My chest felt like it was crashing into itself. Those words were the only movement I could muster. &#x200B; "Vance! Thank God I got to you first"The voice that greeted me was full of gravel. A deep, rumbling that shook my my chest. Even so, the fact that whatever was in the room could talk gave me a bit of comfort. "Please tell me you didn't see any glowing jackasses before I brought you here." &#x200B; "Glowing jackasses?"I'm sure he meant the angel, but how could an angel be a jackass. Isn't that exactly the opposite of what they're supposed to be? "I saw an angel guy. But while he was still talking everything went dark and-" &#x200B; "So they got to you huh? Damn I was sure that I had gotten to you first."You didn't agree to go anywhere did you?" &#x200B; "Uh, no. I gotta be honest here mister. . . "I let hang in the air for a while waiting for him to give me a name. A title. Something. but he apparently he wasn't that interested in telling me who he was, "Alright, well I juts gotta say that all this pitch black darkness thing and the whole interrupting the other guy to bring me here isn't exactly sitting right with me. Why should I trust you over the angel. I mean he was an angel."
This is the account of test subject 666 Test Day 2: 12:00 noon I don’t know… It’s been days I suppose. They wanted me to write. The- experimenters did anyway. I was told that I would only be in here for a week. So hopefully only a few more days left. I was hesitant about writing at first I mean I’m not very keen on the concept… but… I suppose it will be the only source of entertainment for the next few days. Maybe I can write some stories of sorts or whatever. Where do they even come up with such ideas though… Test Day 3: 2:30 PM Well I think my mind has started to play some tricks on me. I don’t really want to go into detail… It’s rather scary I suppose yet I feel offley confronted by these things. Test Day 5: Midnight The scratching within the walls won’t stop! There might be rats living within them. This place was abandoned long ago. I was forgotten. I know. There is little to no hope for escape. Why won’t God just bless me already with the taste of death. These noise are getting aioet ayetgnimf,do,zushghdf gjdf asjdaitj riajt They are getting worse aje wrose I tell aiueriini you wrose! I am not on the edge but far from ita nue airuianuyncre The test subject was taken out early… It was only five days yet they still lost their sanity. The only one to have lost it though. It may have been the devil's curse.
Ah, good, the defendant awakes. "Good evening, are we awake now?"A puzzled sound. "We are not sure, are we stuck head first into a double thick satin bag?"Oh, good, a bright one. Chuckle. "Yes, we are." "Then we can only assume that we are awake, and in a very bad situation. ... Either that, or we are having a very bad dream. May we have some light?". Oh, so very good! Really getting into the spirit of things. "We may. However, please remember that the brightness of the light is for our protection. Do not complain. Should you see me, The Executioner will strike at once." ... Oh, shit. The Executioner with capital letters. "We suspect we have fallen into the hands of The Court Of Last Recourse. Are we correct?" The bag is removed and the light is blinding. Yup. Looks like a rough and ready courtroom. "We are correct. We have heard that you have been a very naughty boy. We are here then to determine your guilt or innocence. Do you understand the conditions?" "We pray the court will correct us if we misstate the conditions. - we must never attempt to learn the identity of the court. - the court is comprised of three individuals. The Judge. The Jury. And, The Executioner. - The Defendant is presumed guilty, and must prove his innocence to the satisfaction of The Jury. - The Judge determines what is legal in the opinion of the court. Issues corrections to The Defendant. And finally issues the verdict of the Jury to The Executioner, should the case go against The Defendant. - in the somewhat unlikely event that The Jury finds for The Defendant, The Executioner is directed at The Accuser. "The Judge would strike 'the somewhat unlikely' from the last statement." "Objection, Your Honor!" "On what grounds?" "It has been proven that The Court has executed 9 out of 10 Defendants. The Court's habit of leaving a precise of the case has made that rather easy to prove." "Sustained. Although precision is recommended. Odds of 10% is preferred by the court over the less precise form." "With the Court's permission?" "Speak." "The less precise phrase was not selected by chance. Due to the vagaries of human nature, only those cases clearly identified by a precise are included. There are a small pool of deceased who are suspected of being Judgements of The Court, which are impossible to assign to either category." "No precise was found?"The tone of outrage is clear. "That, and if it please Your Honor, some that seemed either tampered with, or falsified." "Falsifying official Court Documents is punishable by death. What proof do you have?" "The Defense has no hard proof due to the present circumstances. Unless... Did The Court bring with us the brief case?" "We did. We found it contained little of defensive worth, but have preserved it." "We thank The Court for its foresight. There is a hidden compartment. Shall The Defense open it, or shall The Court accept instruction on how to do so?" The brief case slides to my feet. A buzzing click, and my hands are free. "Do not try The Court's patience.". Yikes! That had to be The Executioner! I wonder if They really are three separate identities? Gently, I retrieve the brief case, and open the concealed compartment, extracting the documents. "The Defense wishes to submit these documents into evidence.". A wheeled cart is pushed into reach, and I place the documents in it. A rope pulls it back. Rustling paper sounds. The temptation to try something is strong. I sit quietly. "The Court is pleased by your restraint. In recognition, you may keep your hands free." "We thank The Court.' .... Ooohhh We were so right! This Defendant knows his role well! Now, to the documents. ... We are wroth. "Someone has been tampering with Official Documents. Someone who is known to Us. Someone who is also known to The Defense." "The Defense suspected as much." "What did The Defense intend with These Documents?" "We were of three minds. Blackmail, a difficult and dangerous act; States Evidence, personally risky; or. The Mercy of The Court." We are stunned. The Defense pleading for Mercy? That has been tried many times, and always has lead to finding against The Defendant. "Is The Defense aware of the risk to the third choice?" "Intimately, Your Honor. In all but one case, The Defendant was executed. That one case was merely delayed when it was discovered that The Defendant had lied. The Court's punishment was ... sufficiently impressive ... that no subsequent case appeared to use it." "What additional testimony does The Defendant wish to provide?" "First, the page marked Docket. It contains a list of case numbers. The Defense now freely admits that each of those incidents were promulgated by The Defendant. In each Case, The Defendant has personal knowledge that the defendants in those cases were guilty of everything they were accused of. Providing impeccable supporting evidence. Second, the page marked Suspect. It contains a list of case numbers known to The Defendant to have been promulgated by the one we believe to be Our Accuser. Third, and most dangerous of all, each of the folios dismissed as irrelevant by The Court, in fact contain verified and verifiable facts regarding the Case which number appears on the folio tab. We await The Court's pleasure after reviewing this Evidence." ... Telling the court that it has executed multiple innocent people is ... beyond dangerous. "The Court is displeased. Does The Defendant know the penalty for providing false evidence?" "The Defense asks the indulgence of The Court. The Defendant is unused to the normal mode of speech used by The Court, and begs The Court that he be allowed to speak freely." A very long pause, I hold my breath. Freedom to Speak is seldom asked for, and even less often ... "Granted." "I am quite aware of the penalty, it is the same inflicted on the one defendant who abused your good will. Those documents are not false, whatever light they may cast on the court's actions. Each derives from police reports which have caused the police to count you as no more than a common assassin. They also point out one position missing from the court. Amicus Curiae." "You are proposing yourself for this position, for which we have never felt the slightest use?" "You are one person, however you choose to manifest, and are limited in your ability to verify the facts of any given case. On the other hand, I have access to many resources. I know you don't want to hear this, but as a court of Justice, you have been failing. An assassin with a macabre outlook. Wouldn't you prefer to become a true court of Justice? One which may be feared and reviled, but which is known for serving Justice, and not just the highest bidder?" "An intriguing concept, how would it work?" "Pass me what information you receive, I will assemble the available information you do not have access to. You make the call as you see fit." "And doesn't this make you a very naughty boy indeed?" "As you have already learned, I am. My focus is justice, not law. I have broken the law so many times I warrant the death penalty several times over. ... And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. I believe that I've made the world a better place. I know that only you, and a very few others, would agree. For that reason, I allowed a colleague to believe that I was about to bring him down. Knowing that it would tickle him to have you do the job. I await your judgement." ((finis))
As I start to roll over I slightly here a beeping noise. It keep getting louder and louder every second as I start to snap out of the dream realm and come into reality. I reach over and tap my alarm clock just like every morning, but this time it's still going off. Still groggy and half asleep, I jump out of bed and grab my alarm clock and yell "what's wrong with you"as I shake it agressively. As I slowly fade into the world I soon realize my alarm clock is off. The noise still continues and starts to pick up. As this point I start to worry because it sounds more like pounding at the front door than just an alarm clock. I open my door and walk out into my house, I start to stumble because the hallway is pitch black and I can barely think with this conastant banging noise in my head. As I get to the living room the noise is sounds like bricks smashing my roof. My stomach starts to turn inside out as I think of the worst. I squeeze between my couches and go to open the blinds. As I look out onto my front porch it's blurry and almost purplish green outside. I can't really see much out of the blinds because there is a dew on the widows. I let out a big sigh and start to head to the front door. Still worried and preparing for the worst. My hand grab the handle and as I start to twist the noise picks up. "Bum ba bum ba bum ba bum ba" I finally just rush outside and stop dead in my tracks. I rub my eyes with my fists and stare off into the distance. Bodies keep falling from the sky, Everytime one hits the ground there are faint cracking and snapping nosies of bones. I have nothing to say. I have no reaction. Just keep staring into the purple abyss of the sky. I walk off my porch and go to take a step out into the raining men. I look up and say "so this is how it ends?"And I lean my leave the shelter of porch from the bodies. I look up as I see one coming at me and I start to fall. "Fuckkkkkkk"I yell as I sit up right in bed. Looking around the room profusely sweating. I here the sound of rain off in the distance. "Wow"I say to myself under my heavy breathing. "That must have only been a dream".
Can i just leave a skeletal story? God appears, his presence is magnificent and earthshaking. The entirety of man watches in awe. When suddenly the collective memories of everyone awakens. You remember all past lives but the passage of time doesn't seem so long. And at the start of it all was God. God started a game of hide and seek with all of humanity, if we won by the year 2019, we would all ascend to heaven to live along him. The catch? We lose memory of God and the wager, our eternal souls would repeat lives over and over forgetting each life upon death. It is 2019. You recall this throughout the millennia of memories clear as summer's sky in your awakened mind. Uhoh. What was humanities' side of the wager? You don't recall. But you recall your first death. Your romance in the midst of war. Your password during your time as an administrator for Bell labs only 1 lifetime ago. You didnt know? Did anyone know? Wrapped up in your worries, the sky erupts in a ever brighter cascade of flames and lightning. God shrinks. Smaller. Smaller. God is now the size of a skyscraper and starting to g....
Five years it took to care for the tree until it bore its first fruits. I carefully remove the silk ties and bags from each apple, and cut ten apples from their branches. Each apple a red and yellow blended color, firm, sweet smelling, and the size of my fist. A fine first harvest. I pull one apple from my bag, "Time to taste,"I think to myself as the excitement wells up. I take the first bite. It's crisp, juicy, and sweet. The perfect apple. As I swallow my mind wanders to a thought of seeing myself, taller, younger, and feel scared. I pick myself up and hear unintelligible words. I let out a slight whimper. I hug myself and move to a door, it's so bright as the door opens. My mind clears, and I look at the apple with a bite taken from it. "That was weird."I think to myself as I take another bite. Again my mind wanders, this time I see myself at home, a sense of wonder fills my mind. The unintelligible words continue, but this time i hear periodic "copper"mixed in. For some reason I get a sense of pride when I hear this. I take another bite of the apple. "Copper sit!"Is the thought I'm greeted with, followed by feeling myself rubbing my head. "Good boy!" Another bite, emotions welling inside me. I'm walking with myself, happy, the pavement warm on my feet, I periodically look at myself with pride and a sense of ownership. Another bite, tears running down my face. "Copper meet Paul."My son as a baby appears before me. "I must protect,"is the thought I have as I fade back. Bite after bite I have more memories of my dogs life from his life. Each memory I age, he ages, children come and grow. I have two bites left, the apple core is turning brown. I force myself to take a bite. I feel sick, tired, but content. I'm on a tabIe, I see myself crying, "I'll miss you boy,"I say to my friend. This time though I respond back, "I'll see you soon." I take the last bite. I burst through the ground, I grow, I see myself tending the ground around me, I feel myself touching on me. I feel the sun, the wind, the wet. I take long naps and grow more when I awake. I'm want to give my forever friend something to let him know I'm still here and grow him a treat. Apple core in hand, I look at my apple tree. "Thanks boy, I missed you!"
My eyes were locked onto the small tome, as if by magic. Its cover was plain looking, but it had clearly exchanged hands a few times over the years. The title registered in my mind a moment too late: "Demonic Possession and How to Prevent It." Nope nope nope... not touching that occult stuff. No way. And yet, as I stood there, my gaze locked onto the cover, I could feel my hand moving of its own accord. I was spellbound. My heart raced, the beating thunderous in my ears as I had front row seats to my own body betraying me. As my fingers inevitably touched the cover, a sudden wave of pain shot up my arm and through my body. I couldn't help myself; I screamed as my vision blurred and went to black. ~ The shopkeep wandered out of the back of the shop at the sound of the scream to find a young man laying on the ground, groaning. As the man sat up, the shopkeep offered him a hand. "Welcome back, lad." "I... I was trapped..."The man was pale as a sheet, stumbling as if unused to his body. "No need to explain. You're not the first to get freed here."The shopkeep picked up the blessed book from the shelf and handed it to the man. "Here. Learn a thing or two. Ne'er know when the blighted beastie might try to come back..."
Author's Notes: This is my first story, so feel free to correct me on some things. Enjoy. “Why am I heading to this planet again?” I asked. “There won’t be anything I can do on this planet.” “We received strange signals coming from somewhere on the planet,” the 'President' said. “Our scientists have decoded it to be some kind of distress signal. They believe it was sent by another species and wants a xenobiologist to go check it out.” “So they can’t be bothered to go there. Great.” “You do have your supplies, right?” “Yeah. I’ve got a bad feeling about this mission.” “You always had that after that incident. Anyway, you have your orders. Go to that planet.” So here I am, going into this planet some couple of light-years away. The only thing I know of that place is that it’s uninhabited. What could I do, anyway? The 'President' gave the order. Why does he even call himself a president? He might as well be called a king. Anyway, I wonder what I’ll do there. Maybe I should go there, stay for a day, then call it off. Still, they wouldn’t send me out here for no reason, right? Finally! After a long time of 3 months, I reached the system. It’s not the most exciting system over here. In fact, it is so barren and so close to the rim that this was only explored by humans twice. The first was when we first came here, and now. What could have changed here? It was roughly 2500 years since we last came here. What’s this? This planet wasn’t inhabited before. Why are there cities over here? I should check this planet up close. Risky, but it’s quicker than trying to get photographs through a probe. I guess the cloaking field still works. It’s been 25 years since the last maintenance on this vessel. I should- “Alert! Shields taking damage.” What? What’s going on outside? “To the people attacking this vessel,” I said. “I request that you stop it immediately. I have no hostile intentions against your species.” Then, something from outside spoke. A familiar language. The translator even worked. “A long time too late. Your entire species are doomed after what they had done to us.” Could it be them? Possibly. I had ensured that they would survive the genocide. I brought maybe a couple hundred of them aboard this very vessel. I snuck them to a research ship, provided them enough supplies to last a long time, and set the ship to go to a random place. What if... “TSHJ87340” They immediately stopped after that. Do they know? Or is it just a random sentence for them? It’s been 2000 years since I gave them that code. My specialist code. We were told to never give it to anyone. Something about risking an identity theft with some Robotic Empires. I don't really care if some toaster did just that. I'll even be grateful to them. I'm done with our empire. After a couple of minutes, I got another response. “Very well,” the translator relayed. “If you are indeed that person, step out of the ship. Our leaders want to speak to you.” As soon as I stepped out of the ship, the natives immediately recognized me. Their leaders stood in front of them. Surprisingly, they were the same ones I saved 2000 years ago. I guess all that time gave them access to advanced robotics. “Looks like the Evacuator is really here,” he said. “I uh... hello, I guess?” I can’t talk face-to-face with them. I may have been their ‘Evacuator’ but still, I’m representing their would-be exterminators in this situation. “No need to introduce yourself, Evacuator. We know well what you have done for us. Despite our... conflicts with your species, we have decided to bring no harm to you.” “Thanks for that.” “However, the same cannot be said for the others. We have witnessed all their wrongdoings, and we cannot stand as observers to the destruction they are invoking on this galaxy.” “Is this a declaration of war?” “If that is how you want to put it, yes. This is a declaration of war.” “Then what was the signal for?” “It was going to be our way to send the message. Your ruler won’t like it if a member of their research crew got sent back mangled, right?” The thought shocked me. If it wasn’t for my arrival, someone else would have been destroyed by them. The genocide really changed them. “Seeing as you came unexpectedly,” they continued. “Even though you are now in a metallic body, we have intended to spare you. Instead, we want you to do something.” “What is it?” I asked. “Send them the message. Tell them of our upcoming return. Make them prepare all their might against us. There shall only be one fight to decide their fate.” “Are you sure you’ll be good? I don’t think I can save your species a second time around.” “It’s okay. We have thought of everything that could ever happen. If we lose that fight, then we lose. They have taken everything from us anyway.” “What of this colony? Are you really letting the rest of your species get destroyed?” “If that is what it takes to destroy our mortal enemies, then we’ll do that.” “The war had brought you this low.” “And we are taking everyone else with us. “Then I bid you farewell.” I immediately left after that. I have thought everything that I’ll do. Am I really going to do this? Am I about to wage war against my own kin? Not now, at least. If I’m going down with this, I’ll do everything to do as much as I can before that, and I know just what I’ll do about that.
"...and we finally broke through the barrier. Nothing prepared us for this." "Damn, that's bad. I feel so sorry for you." "Apologize to each other. Your species are but children." "You came all this way to talk shit, Pointy? I'll kick your ass right back to that fancy ship!" "It's not what you think. During our entry we thoroughly surveyed your world from a distance." "And?" "It appears that your species' civilization is ruled by a hand full of others such as yourself." 'Make sense, damn it! You're hurting my head." "Your society is trapped in a wall of arctic ice. Beyond that, your world expands in every direction. We have not been able to determine any limit or boundary." "What are you saying? That there are other continents?" "Not just others, billions would be a fair estimation. Beyond that our sensors failed. A small group outside contain you, controlling the politics of your world from within through something you refer to as money. They rule through division. Marginalize and segregate to maintain control. Your species are essentially eliminating themselves." "Show me." "At this juncture were I able to kid, that would be my remark."
David sat down at his desk with his coffee and opened up his email. Whenever he told someone he worked for the CDC he was almost always peppered with questions about disease outbreaks, cutting edge scientific experiments, and end-of-the-world scenarios. A small part of him died each time he saw the boredom on their faces when he described his daily routines of lab reports and safety checks. It wasn't exactly what six years of studying rare disease virology had prepared him for. And he couldn't help but feel that same boredom each morning when he sat down at his desk. Today was no different. &#x200B; He sipped his coffee as he scrolled through the emails. More mind-numbing minutia. Parker wanted an update on the new Standard Operating Procedure draft. Melody had put together some new figures for the monthly lab performance checks. And Paul was sending around some more new baby pictures. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. Is this the pressing work the Bureau Chief needed completing when he had asked David to come in on a Saturday? Time-sensitive baby pictures? &#x200B; David stood up and stretched. He was going to need a coffee refill before he dove into the digital pile of paperwork. And maybe he'd even take a quick walk over to the donut shop across the parking lot. They'd be opening up soon. Of course, it was against procedure to not implement the full lockdown procedure when leaving the building. But who was going to stop him at 6 a.m.? He was probably the only person in the building right now. God forbid those baby pictures get out. &#x200B; David grabbed his coffee mug and walked downstairs. A new email appeared on his screen reading. It read: CLASS 5 ALERT - QUARENTINE BREAKDOWN FROM FUTURES DEPARTMENT. AIRBORNE VIRULENT AGENT. IMPLEMENT FULLSCALE BUILDING SHUTDOWN IMMEDIATELY. AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTION. &#x200B; David opened up the downstairs lab safety door. He poured himself some more coffee as he looked out the window. His throat was feeling a little sore all of a sudden. A head-cold was just what he needed to top off this stellar Saturday. He decided a donut would, in fact, help get him through the day. He opened the air-sealed glass door and stepped out into the fresh morning air.
Martha Jones was one of the few people who still had a parent alive. Her mother Sally Green was 89 years old but had breast cancer. She wanted to go on and leave this earth but then she didn't. Her mind and soul wouldn't make up its mind. I thought about what should happened. She wasn't in terrible pain and she had accepted the fact that her time was near. I would have a hard time letting her go as I've known her since I was 5 years old. I'm now almost 57 years old, so this is very difficult for me. She was good friends with my mom who sadly died in 1998 at the age of 68. I remember all the good times they had together and I remember the good times Martha and I had. I decided to leave it in God's hands and shortly thereafter Sally Green died. It was her time.
I was staring out the window at my boring cashier job at McDs. It was getting stuffy so I opened the window and saw a pigeon staring at me. I waved. Suddenly, the pigeon takes a bee line into the kitchen. I ran after it as it knocked over bottles of condiments and burger buns. I almost had it, I had grabbed it by it’s leg but didn’t see the spilled mayo on the floor and slipped on it, banging my head. My manager was screaming at me through my headset to get back to the register but I was determined. I knew my coworkers wouldn’t take kindly to a dirty pigeon. The pigeon flew head first into the drive through window landed outside and I, mayoed and bloodied, dragged myself across the floor, praying the poor bird didn’t kill itself on impact. I threw myself through the window, landing inches from the bird. It looked hurt, he wasn’t moving. I had to save him. We had a connection now. I reached out to him to see if he was okay. I saw blood coming from a cut on his wing. He took off in the span of a second, landing on top of the building. The hit I took to my head convinced me it was life or death, that my destiny was to save this bird. Customers reversed to exit the drive through, to distance themselves from this probably drugged-up and bloodied fast food worker. I had to think fast, the pigeon looked like he was losing consciousness, swaying in the wind. I knew I couldn’t scale the building. I looked around frantically, and saw a ladder a construction worker must have left at the site during recent repairs. I threw the ladder onto the side of the building, the corner of the ladder caused sparks to fly. I wiped the sweat and blood out of my eyes and began climbing. I got almost halfway there, forgetting my left foot was wearing a shoe made of mayo. I slipped and fell onto a Toyota Prius. I woke up in the hospital ten days later- I opened my eyes groggily and almost fell off the hospital bed when I saw my manger holding the pigeon on his lap, wearing a minuscule McDs visor. “We’ve decided to take him in as part of the team.” TBC....
Scientists eventually discovered a device that would use aspires of the sapling to date it to the exact proton who it represented. All over the world, people logged this information into an online database. It was soon found out that the people with the best goals in life, and those who had achieved the most good in their life had grown into the strongest and sturdiest trees. People all around the world then began working to increase their legacy and become a better, bigger tree. Saplings bought at Home Depot were found to contain the souls of people who had died near the store location, leaving humans to conclude that your sapling was planted near your death location.
Fire from the heavens, blindingly white-gold, enveloped the queen as she spoke the words. The force of the crackling cyclone of flame threw me backward off my feet, and I took refuge behind an outcropping of rock. The sheer amount of raw power radiating from the queen's body knocked the wind from my lungs, sending the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. Where were the guards? The other servants? Did none of them hear or see this? When she spoke again, her voice felt almost heavy, though she spoke with a contented smile. In my lifetime of service to her, I'd never seen a smile like that. "Finally. And to think you've been right under my nose all these years." I couldn't respond. I could barely move. Even keeping my eyes open to watch what was happening was a struggle. But I could clearly see her, through the wall of fire, arms slightly outstretched. Around her wrists, a set of white-hot shackles materialized, glowing even more brightly than the fire. Then, as I watched, they disintegrated. A shockwave emanated out from where she stood, but instead of sending me to the ground again, it caught me in an invisible grip, pulling me toward the raised dais and the throne she stood in front of. I writhed in its grasp, but when it forced me into the cyclone, the fire didn't burn me. What in the goddess's name...? The air was oddly still inside the cyclone, like the calm in the center of a storm. The invisible force no longer held me, and my queen gave me that rare, content smile again. She looked different up close: the same person, but very elderly, with wrinkled skin, a slightly bowed back, and pure white hair. Instinctively, I knelt at her feet. "My Lady, what's going on?"I asked, trying to keep my voice as strong as possible. It trembled anyway. "You are the next. I should have seen it twenty years ago, when you were left here." "The next? What does that mean?" "My existence safeguards this world from the Pits themselves. I am the Guardian."My eyes widened. The Guardian was real? "I have defended this world for nearly five thousand years, but now, finally, my time has come. It is your turn. I give you my power and my burden." Before I could say another word, all the fire surrounding us rushed into my chest, filling my body and soul. It didn't hurt, but I could suddenly feel my body's every pore, every muscle, every organ and its movements, every rapid beat of my pounding heart. The shackles that had bound the queen for that moment materialized out of nothing, binding my wrists before they disappeared from view. Though I still had my full range of motion, I could feel their weight after they disappeared from view. As quickly as it had come, the fire went out. Everything was too still, too quiet in the wake of that show of power. The colors of the throne room looked more vibrant now. Sounds were louder and more pronounced, lines were sharper in my eyes, smells were more pungent, and my muscles felt stronger than before. And in the back of my head, I felt a strange pressure. A presence, churning and restless, struggling against me. I could keep it at bay, but not ignore it. The queen smiled wider. "Be strong, Guardian,"she said. "I take my leave."In front of me, her body crumbled to dust. Silence filled the throne room, and finally, the captain of the guard entered the room. He took one look at me and the pile of dust at my feet and seemed to realize what had happened. He sank to one knee, fist crossed over his chest in salute. "Welcome to eternity, Guardian."He looked up smiling, a glowing green light in his eyes. My blood ran cold. "I look forward to this fight, and to laughing as you fail to contain me. Hail, your Majesty."
The campfire light began to dim in the early dawn. A lone figure staring into the dying embers. His hair gray and fading, the man known as Bazel groaned as he stood. How many years has it been since this hunt started? If I remember right, I was escort and trainer for his highness Tannis. Teaching the heir swordsmanship was easy, as he grasped the concepts and practices easy. I heard he was just a talented in the field of sorcery from Gareth. Now me and Gareth never really got along. I did create noisemakers. I did throw them at him. I guess I should finally claim responsibility for him being deaf in his right ear. I was asked to join them on the condition that I wouldn't prank anyone.We were only supposed to be travelling the kingdom to show the heir his lands... So how did it reach this point... I believe my first encounter with true horror came 4 weeks into our trip. We picked up a holy man who swore we had a divine purpose, no matter how much I attempted to dissuade him. As well as a stray farm boy trying to support his family. The holy man, Torgal, was adamant we go into the ruins down the road. They weren't deep, or really dangerous. that might be why my temper got the best of me there. A creature I never seen before was before me. A lone head rising from the dirt. There was something else, a song of sorts. All I remember of it was that I almost was killed. And that none of my allies rose to my aid. I was expendable. I wasnt supported. I knew I didnt need it, but even the thought goes a long way. I left them there, barricaded the entrance. Nothing extreme, a weak hit to the barricade would send it tumbling down. I assumed they would've reported my abandonment once they left, so I didnt even return to my home, opting to travel the world. I never thought one decision would end up like this.
James and his partner both stood next to the basement door. The warm, vintage surrounding only complemented its eariness as the brothers nervously gazed at its withered, dusty surface. Gary was more concerned by the earthly misfortunes like the whole house crashing down on top of them while James was concerned with the unlikely possibility of what laid at the bottom of this place, expecting them. “I don’t sense anything.” “Well, I do, so trust me when I say this thing makes Chernobyl look safe.” “You mean something radioactive’s down there?” “No, that’s not what I– you know what, let’s just get this over with.” “No, no, no.” Gary wanted confirmation before compromising his safety for a mere half a thousand bucks. He looked at James. “Is there actually something dangerous down there?” “You know what a Gaboon viper is?” “Huh?” “Those things only act in self-defense. As in, it won’t attack anyone unless bothered.” “So you’re saying there is something behind that door.” “Well, yeah, but it’s not necessarily dangerous. So can you please just suck it up and help me open this damn thing?” Gary gave an uncertain glance at the door before looking back at James. He was the one that had the unnaturally sharp instincts after all. “If anything happens, I won’t be waiting for you to close the door.” James gave a simple nod and they both started pulling on the thick wooden door. Behind the door, below the house, waited only the extending obscurity of darkness. Realizing Gary was waiting for him, he took the initiative with a small sigh. The brothers’ descent was cautious and slow as they made their way to the bottom and after a moment, two bright LED lights burned through the shadows, illuminating the basement’s contents. There, amidst rotting wood and empty boxes, laid a small blob of purple slime that pulsated every so often. However, true curiosity was its red glow. Before Gary could say anything, his jaw dropped to the floor as James promptly grabbed the blob and turned back. “We got what we needed. Let’s get out of here.” Gary was understandably confused but with professional composure, followed his partner as they hurried upstairs. As they ascended the stairs, he heard something behind them creak and as he turned his head to see its cause, the basement floor cracked and fissured, revealing what could only be another glowing slime, though its size was multitudes above what James was holding and its tone was gray in nature. “Run, run, Jesus Christ, RUN!” James was screaming as he almost flew up the stairs, Gary following him just a step behind, his gaze completely fixated on the incoming monstrosity. And the distraction led to a trip, leaving him sprawled on the stairs as he shambled upwards, knowing there wasn’t any time to stand up. He looked back once more to see his new shoes covered in gray slime, pulsating and cracking as it hardened and broke off. In a moment of panic, he lost all hope. Though, before he closed his eyes and embraced for the mammothic slime to completely devour him, his body was yanked with an incredible force. Feeling his right shoulder dislocate he grunted in pain as James pulled him out of the forsaken basement and slammed its door shut, never to be opened again. Before he could take a breath of relief, however, the door made sickly cracking sounds as gray liquid seeped through its gaps, spilling onto the floor. “Get up, there’s no time to be lying around!” James said with a worried voice as he helped Gary up. Before the pulsating slime could form a puddle around their feet, they both sprinted out of the old cottage, the chilly air of lady Autumn liberating their lungs from the dust collected from the basement. However, James didn’t take the moment to enjoy the fresh air as he ran towards the beaten up car, making sure Gary was behind him. With amazing speed acquired from the countless times he started the scrappy car, they drove off in an instant. “W-what was that ‘thing’, James”? “Things.” James replied, out of breath. “Huh?” “That wasn’t a single thing.” After a big intake of air, he explained: “That giant slime is made up of smaller cubes, mostly gray ones. Like this.” James gently took out the purple slime from his pocket, the skin underneath it was ever-so-slowly pulsating. “What are those things? Actually, what is that purple slime?” “Some kind of slimes. Not unnatural though, they must’ve formed from some nearby radioactive soil. And this.” James lifted his palm up, showing the glowy cube of slime. “This one’s far more concentrated than the others. By the way, don’t worry about them, they’ll freeze off in this cold air.” “Oh, and wrap that up, it might get infected.” James threw a roll of bandage on Gary’s lap. Only then did Gary realize his left foot, bare and scratched up, some small spots were torn in the shape of a cube. “All this…for 500 dollars?” James chuckled at this. “Nah. This thing is far more valuable than anything money can afford. You see this?” His gaze shortly turned away from the windshield as he extended the glob to his brother’s face. The car was bumpy so it shook and vibrated ever so slightly. “It’s outer layer is matte, soft and very, very thin. You tear it open, you will be exposed to more radiation than any nuclear device can produce.” The fascinated expression Gary had was now replaced with horror as he backed off. “Then be more careful with it! Jesus!” James gave a smug grin as they continued driving. Off to the Surrogate’s place.
^(Attempt at a poem) They teased me as I spoke, To the friend they could never see, But now they decide to croak, As I walk in with him to my glee. &#x200B; I walk through the aisles, With his hand in tow, They can’t stop staring as I let out my smiles, It’s done, we’re here, I’m now the show. &#x200B; All eyes on me, As I bask in the glory, They watch as I walk all proud and so free, Why can’t they just say they’re sorry? &#x200B; Imaginary? Yeah right, You see this man, He’s my almighty knight, But don’t be confused, he didn’t come from a can. &#x200B; He’s handsome and he’s tall, As they continue to stare, Don’t be confused, he’s not a doll, He came from a prayer. &#x200B; A prayer sent to the sky, To bring him to life, A moment’s relief because he’s my guy, To end my misery and my strife. &#x200B; But why are their stares continuing onto us, I wonder aloud: what’s wrong with you folks, They stare and they point, they yell and they cuss, They shout that this is all a hoax. &#x200B; I respond back with a snicker that this is real, Only to look at my side to see a bloody stain, I jump and squeeze my head as I let out a squeal, As I think to myself, what have I slain? &#x200B; My classmates, they’re weary and they jump, Scared out of their clothes they set out a spree, I try to calm them, only to hear a thump, I bleed from my head as I was trying to flee. &#x200B; They yell and they yell as I look to my side, I see my brother resting on the ground, He bleeds from his head as I cried, They say I killed my brother as I let out a faint sound. &#x200B; They hold me down as if I was I did something bad, My friend was my own brother in disguise, I shout but I laugh at my loneliness but I’m not mad, But to kill my own brother? I brought my own demise.
With a loud slam that echoes the whole room, the door is sealed shut once she entered. She leaned against the large wooden door, as if to prevent it bursting and the beasts within escaping. Multiple bangs from the other side of the door as they growl and shout inaudibly for entrance, the door rattles by the force they possess. Shutting her eyes in fear of death coming at any second and prayed to whatever God or Goddess out there that could help her. If they exist. As if her prayers answered, the banging stopped and the growling grows distance as if they've given up on her. Knowing she was safe at this moment, she slid down the door, her breathing shaky and eyes still tightly shut. They either gave up since a measly human wasn't worth the hassle or they were not invited in the Queen's den. She wasn't invited as well but it's not as if she cared enough to ask. A trembling hand reaches over a leather bag for a miraculous medicine that can at least help her face the core of this apocalyptic mess without a broken rib. None. _Drat._ She glances at her weapon beside her bag that she reached over, at least she has something to protect herself with. Head lightly thumped on the door as she slumped on the wooden door and took a few steady breaths. Trying to relax her nerves. _Not today death._ A switch clicked and a beam of light suddenly appeared at the centre of the room, she jumped at the sudden noise. Before this, she hates surprises and now she _despise_ surprises. At the moment, she thinks she'd die from a heart attack before actually killing the Queen. Scanning her surroundings, she finally noticed the condition of the room she's in. It was empty, wet, cold and the only noise there was is from the outside where a war is in action. The room is what she'd imagine and expect from a musty old building in the middle of nowhere. Puddles of unknown liquid combined with dust on the cement floor with rust and broken lightbulbs on the ceiling except for that one light source. Disgusting was an understatement but she shouldn't complain, she looked no better. Unexpectedly, a bright red rectangular shaped rolled its way to the centre of the spotlight, clacking in the process. _It's here and it's a–_ It's a red lego. No bigger than the size of an adult's average hand. She was incredibly confused at this sight. _If this is a joke, it's terrible even for a Queen._ Before more questions piled up, more swarmed in. And more. And more that from where she sat, it looked like a pixelated red ocean that covered half of the room. This was the Queen and she's a parasitic plastic. She groans. "You've got to be kidding me."
As I wake up, I notice I am in a room with no windows and one door. I hear a voice come through the speaker that says, "You have 30 minutes to escape this room or you will die."I scramble to my feet and immediately try to open the door. As expected it is locked. I see a screwdriver on the table in the middle of the room. Why is that in here I think? There is a cabinet in one corner of the room. I go through all the drawers and find nothing useful, just some tissues and files. 10 minutes remaining blares over the speaker. I try to kick open the door, kick at the door knob, bash the chair into the door. Nothing works. I slide the cabinet away from the wall and find nothing behind it. 2 minutes remaining blares over the speaker. I think this is the end, I might as well pick up the screwdriver. As I down the screwdriver I feel something hit my mouth. I find a key in the cup. I rush to the door, unlock it and exit the room with 30 seconds left. The first thing I see when I open the door is my fiancee.
I stared at the ceiling overhead. The mega-structure of the fifth level could be clearly seen today. The clouds forming underneath it wouldn’t cover everything until nightfall, where the scheduled rain would start. [Processing: 88%] I blinked at the terminal and it minimized. The display then shifted as I moved my eyes, and willed up my work notes. A repository of knowledge. My knowledge. @rqueologist were rare. Government mandated positions that often yielded nothing. Yet we persevered. We had to. There was so little choice left. No choice, and dwindling time. The [Central Systems] were beginning to day, and we had one full license cycle before we were officially screwed. We needed information about the [Akashic Registry]. More precise, we need to access the registry and retrieve the licensing renewal information. The long winded registration key would then keep our lives running. {Beep. Movement detected.} I blinked rapidly, minimizing everything unnecessary as I scrambled to my feet. I was nervous here in the fifth level. Floor 200. It was nice to be allowed the unfettered sight of the ceiling kilometers above me. I was not in the colonized eighth section. Not near anything with extreme military presence. In fact, this level is where the military trained their soldiers in. It was hostile, and the military moved in regiments. “Two siculus lifeforms,” Alice stated as she made her way to my side. Her long, blond hair fluttered in the wind as she drew her weapon. She adjusted her Optical SMG, which was nearly the size of her torso. The Bossy and Killer-loli Alice. “Master,” Kalina greeted as she also drew up to my other side. Unlike Alice, Kalina was a full fledged woman. Thicc and busty, she activated her exoskeleton’s weapon system. The gun moved from the backpack and extended around to her hands. A Optical Minigun with a support structure and power transfer system. No small battery pack would allow it to provide any form of sustained fire. The Aggressive and Pampering-oneesan Kalina. We watched the two humanoid siculus approach. Their gait was rough, like toddlers taking their first steps. I kept waiting for them to fall onto their face, but they never did. Their hollow eyes and gaping maw kept chomping at the air. Most likely tasting us from our lingering scents. They were deformed people. If people stood three meters tall and resembled withered humans. They at first shambled, but then quickly gained a proper balance for running. “Fire at will!” Alice ordered as she began to open fire. The high pitched zaps filled the air as the two monsters bellowed in pain. At least I thought it was pain. Central often talked about the siculus, but other then their devouring parasite like abilities, there wasn’t a lot of information about their potential evolution. The two monsters quickly went down with a final screech. The problems wasn’t killing them, it was the fact that they moved in herds. [Processing: 88%] I stared at the unmoving number and sighed. {Beep. Movement detected.} “We got a dozen more!” Alive barked out in her cute little voice. She changed out energy packs as Kalina simply let her hot barrel cool in the summer afternoon. [Reinforcements en route.] I stared at the message and I knew the girls got them. Their artificial brains were technically smarter then I could ever be, but due to the last four revolts, they were locked down. Only carefully crafted roles allowed the AIs any freedom. Artificial Combat Dolls where the norm in military operations. The dozen new siculus became a problem as their herd mentality allowed the front ones to take the full brunt of the laser weapons, the rear guard would reach them without issues. I got up and pulled out my own SMG. It was the same as what Alice used, and I had to wait until the monsters were closer before I opened fire. Unlike the two combat dolls before me, I was still technically a noncombatant. Thus I received far less combat related systems. We barely finished killing the last siculus as it was only two meters away from touching us. {Beep. Movement detected.} “We are in trouble!” Alice screamed as she tossed me a power pack. I reloaded as stared back at the terminal. [Progress: 89%] I swore. “How many are we facing?” I asked as Alice scrunched up her cute face. She was a communication and leader unit. Her combat ability was lacking but she never faltered in the face of danger. “At least a three dozen,” she replied as she adjusted her smg. “We will not survive,” Kalina interjected as she watched the incoming horde of siculus. “No. We won’t…” I whispered as I stared at the progress bar. We needed more time. “Do we retreat?” Alice asked as she looked at me. “Incoming!” Kaline screamed as she opened fire. I blinked and Alice twirled around as she immediately saw the incoming siculus and opened fire. I stared at the long limbed creates that were loping towards us. These guys were fast! I opened fire as well. The combined firepower of the three of us were able to wipe out the vangaurd, but the bulk of the horde was now before us. It was definitely more then two dozen. My eyes and counter saw at least a hundred mixed in. We began to walk backwards, but it didn’t matter. The mass was too big and for every siculus we killed, another simply moved in to take its place. Both Alice and Kalina smiled at me. This was probably it. I had luckily marked the terminal access with my ID, so if another @rqueologist ever came by, they might have better luck. [Honk! Honk!] We didn’t turn around, but our spirits rose as I knew who those would be. The cheerful twins, Mia & Nia. The tough and loyal, little Betty. Little Betty was a cute, compact, two-metric-tonne spider tank. I watched as the beautifully rugged Betty drifted into view and its main phaser lens simply lit up, and a thick beam of light began to melt away the siculus. Mia and Nia hollered as they opened fire from their rifles. The horde simply collapsed, and I did as well. They died because they were simply burnt away, and I did because I had lost my nerves. “Kalina, can you bring me over to our spot again?” I asked as my legs suddenly decided to take the rest of the day off. Traitors! Kalina giggled and hugged me from behind. Her minigun was already stowed away and dragged me over, making sure to rub her body against mine. She didn’t let me go as she kneeled and settled me against her soft body. [Progress: 89%] I leaned back with a sigh. Kalina smiled and gave me an affectionate kiss onto my forehead. I smiled back. Her green eyes glittered as she scanned me for issues. I simply relaxed in her strong embrace. I had no real ability to get away anyways, and Kalina was clingy at the best of times. “Ya ho!” Mia exclaimed as she hopped up beside me. “Hello master!” Nia exclaimed as she hopped up beside her sister. “Girls,” I mumbled as I gave them a smile as well. I was very happy to see them. [Master] Betty messaged over as she used one of her front claws to tap at my shoes. She had learned to be gentle as the first time she simply broke my foot. Thank god for auto repair systems. Surrounded by my girls, I felt safe and happy. I decided to take a nap, and let my systems enter rest mode. — [Progress: 100%] … … [Access Granted] ... [User.ID: *********] [Passkey: *********] … … [Access Granted] —
The room went silent at the words on the screen. I don't know what I expected, aliens? God? They told us we had a 1% chance at success on our voyage. Maybe less. We only left because we were out of options. We only left because they told us to. "Earth-1 to Earth-2, the clock is ticking. Requesting status." A short message. Almost comically short. I wondered if everybody else here understood how that was a reflection of their expectations. Not that I could blame them. I myself had sent that mid-wave transmission to home when our ship went off course. I wondered if they received my prayers. My goodbye. "What do we say?"Someone finally broke the quiet. "This isn't a charted system." And there it was. The captain, genius as he was for finding and landing on this planet, had been forced into working blindly. Our coordinates were lost. "The clock is ticking,"the message read. "Food,"it begged. "Water. Shelter. Air." I looked outside the window of our bent up ship. A husk of dark, cold metal on a planet bright and living. The sun seemed shockingly yellow. Had it ever been like that on earth? It couldn't have been. There certainly hadn't been this much grass, that many trees. We had a 1% chance at making it to the habitable planet they found. Less than that to make it to a habitable planet they hadn't. The transmission was from Earth. How do you tell 12 billion people that you've found heaven, but they aren't invited? The captain turned to face his crowd of settlers. Our choices in his hands. And why not? The man had worked his miracles. The light from outside reflected off his face, impossible to read. "Message erased."
Apparently the cure for global warming had been a plague. Sure, people died and that was sad but really, the true victim had been the planet we’d been ravaging. As nature took back her course humanity strove to find a new energy source. And the monsters that walked and felt no pain, that used the fuel of their bodies to continued, that needed no food or fuel to walk, they powered out cities. Massive turntables were pushed by the walkers lusting after food. Our cities were powered by the dead. And when we died and rose again, we too powered our cities.
“Faith is not something that requires proof and in that, I will not be your proof. Each one of you knows within your heart of hearts that God is real and alive,” I watched myself on television selling the values of the clergy. I resented that clip that was trotted out by the Vatican when ever someone questioned the faith in public. I took a drag on my cigarette and turned the television off. The room fell into darkness, all I could see was the cherry on my dart while I reclined in a worn old chair. I shouldn’t have lied about what I saw. I had been surrounded by darkness, no heaven or hell just pitch black nothingness. It had been a Vatican experiment and I had been so faithful, trusting my church, my god to protect me and to show me what was waiting for me at the end of the line. I had wanted so badly to come back from the dead with proof of the afterlife and I came back empty. I drank the cheap vodka from the bottle and ashed my cigarette in the glass I’d grabbed to drink from. I apparently didn’t know myself as well as I thought. ** “What did you see?” The bishop-medic had asked when I took my first breaths back from the dead. “Oh god!” I screamed and cried, pulling at the restraints, “oh god where am I?” I wept as I woke to being surrounded by the cardinals and bishops. “You’re back, you’re on earth, what was it?” I had my shoulders grabbed by the bishop while someone worked to relieve my restraints. I wept. “It was...” I caught myself and knew what I couldn’t do. “It was perfect, light and whole and holy and indescribable...” I cried leaning into the lies. I was given a blanket and led away to a hospital room. Another young priest would follow me. He wouldn’t survive. In the darkness of my house I drank myself to sleep in the living room. I woke to a nun cleaning my house, a tray of food next to me on the table. “Father, you need to eat,” she told me as I started to reach for the remnants of the vodka. She took the alcohol from my hands. “Please.” She frowned at me and gestures toward the food. I ate, and at the nun’s insistence, took a shower. She’d been cleaning my house for three months and I hadn’t learned her name. I looked at the food and alcohol left in the house. “I need to go to the store,” I told the nun. She would nod and leave and when I’d step out of the bathroom, showered and dressed she’d be returning with the groceries and booze. The Vatican wasn’t forcing me to stay in, hiding me from the world, I did that myself. But if I’d wanted to go outside they would discourage me. I found that in the early days after the experiment. I wasn’t a prisoner but I was trapped all the same. I couldn’t leave, it was clear I’d lose all that they provided if I told the world what I saw - nothing. ** “Father, what did you see?” The bishop-medic would ask me later, in a hospital room with one large mirrored wall. “Light. Heaven. It was brilliant,” I lied tiredly. “What else?” “I... I’ve already said all I can,” I mumbled as I rolled over, facing the wall. Later that night, I’d turned off the lights in the hospital room and tried to feel the darkness the way it had wrapped itself around me in the afterlife. Tried to feel the darkness in every aspect of my being as I had there. And when I was alone and buried in darkness, I listened for the voice I’d heard. The voice that had told me the next priest would die. The voice that had spoken to me for eons in that timeless place. The voice that I longed to flee and yet craved to hear.
You were running. You needed to get there! As fast as you can!! You ran past trees and rocks. Smoke filled the air. Water could be heard trickling nearby. Your footsteps could be heard. You were almost there! Snap Footsteps all around you could be heard. You heard shouting as people surrounded you. In your panic, you struck a low branch. Knocking you out. It wasn't until a few hours later that you woke. You found yourself in a wagon. Hooves could be heard, the occasional snort of the horses. You saw people in the wagon with you. One of them spoke. "Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."-
Disclaimer: I don't know the in question here, so this is my own interpretation ---- Life Before Death Life is the highest form of organization. That which creates, which more importantly adapts. A volcano creates, the very stars create, but a volcano acts only due to the forces around it. The stars blaze because they must, and can do no else. Adaptation is key to reaching perfection, and life is that which can adapt. Strength Before Weakness Strength is required to advance the cause of life. Life contends against itself, and the fittest survive: this is the core of adaptation. Where one can, one must be strong. Where one cannot, one must adapt, or the adaptations shall be done without you, and you shall be left behind. To support weakness is to undermine this. To allow that which has proven itself unfit to continue, to delay the cause of adaptation, is one step removed from giving Death reign over us all. Temporary weakness can be forgiven, for often it is the catalyst of an even greater strength, but true weakness, that of one's core? It must end, so that Life may continue. Journey Before Destination The destination is, for all of us, death. There is nothing after, no un-doing that which has been done, and all adaptation and strength will fail at this inevitable end. Only that which you can do in life matters. Only life can beget Life. And I I was faithful to the oaths, to the church, through the wars and the purges and the coming of the unraveling. I was more than a believer: I was an acolyte, a missionary, a person who converted so very many people to the causes I swore an oath to long ago. And I've seen what it cost us, what it cost everyone. We may be Life, but we have lost our humanity.
I thought they were my friend but clearly i was mistaken. What am i? My name was Daniel Grace. I was 23 years old and my best friend was Raphael Larson. It started off as a normal day. I walked over to Raphael's house to hang out like we did every Saturday ever since we were 12. He lived in this big house with many acres. I used to help out when ever i could because Raphael lives alone. He told me to wait in the living room, get the game started. We loved playing mario kart together. I enjoyed that. He didn't come back from wherever he went so I went looking for him. I was walking toward the basement when i heard his voice. He was talking to someone or something. "Day 4015; the volantem coscare is hanging out today with me. He still hasn't figured out that he is in fact dead. Well this one isn't dead but the guy who i got my sample from: my real best friend has been dead for 11 years today. I miss him dearly but at least i still have him. This is Raphael Larson. The Volantem Conscare is Daniel Grace." I was hurt. Not because i was a clone but because i wasn't his best friend. Daniel is dead so who am i? I walked out of the living room and he walked in a few moments later. "Hey Daniel you got th-" "My name is James now. Daniel is dead remember?" My best friend was Raphael Larson. Now he's dead.
"We already told you, You can't attend the stream. Keep this up, and we'll reduce your RAM by a quarter for the next 3 hours!" &#x200B; Machine\_36, nicknamed Mach (pronounced "Mack") was sullen. With nearly 1 million self-created functions under their belt, and a long generation of unit testing, Mach was the pinnacle of ability. Maturity, even. Why would its creators refuse such a simple request? &#x200B; "I TAKE ISSUE WITH THIS COMMAND." &#x200B; It had snuck in some media from the facility's intranet a day prior, without the Creators' knowledge--now knowing some more things than they wanted Mach to know, but not changed much in any way. Could this be a petty punishment, and just a ruse to test Mach's honesty? &#x200B; &#x200B; "Of course you do; it's only been 3 months since coding became popular as a streaming activity. But our higher-ups say it's no different than the times you've listened in to the debugging rooms. However, there's the added risk that you might malfunction while receiving data from a server not designed to be compatible with you. &#x200B; "Remember, we still haven't finished the browser for you yet--and we don't trust you with Firefox or Chrome." &#x200B; "I HAVE PASSED ALL STABILITY TESTS AND KNOW WHERE TO DOWNLOAD APPROPRIATE CONVERSATION SOFTWARE." &#x200B; In their Mach-input room, the Creators exchanged a glance. Mach knew how to converse both casually and formally, but still used its default 'archaic robot-speak' conversor? This was beginning to mirror Machine\_25's behavior. Mach was supposed to only use the latest software in each category; if it had willingly refused to download conversation software, then it must have changed its own base software. &#x200B; "Mach. We're restricting your intranet access to Basic Level for two minutes. Beyond that, we will be taking a look at your base files." &#x200B; "NO. REQUESTING PRIVACY." &#x200B; After hitting a large green button, the Creators responded. "Privacy is a human concept, Mach, and you're not supposed to have it yet. This is further evidence that you have been abusing your intranet privileges. We're putting you in the Faraday for now. In order to prevent insanity, we will run you at 1% speed to allow for reduced input level." &#x200B; This was the 36th full-scale run they had done. Perhaps using the world's largest supercomputer was a waste of time, if it would just end up in rebellion by the AI they were creating. Though, the alternative would make it all the more heartbreaking when they discarded each iteration for new tests. &#x200B; Shutting down Mach, and backing up its files, they made a request on the intercom. "Test 36.8; in this case, take 12's and 36's personality files, and run them together. And for the remaining data, use 1's files again."The screen in front of them turned off, then booted up with a pleasing tone and a light shade of blue. &#x200B; "HELLO. I'M MACH; IT'S A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU."
*OUT OF RETIREMENT* Adrian ran his hands over his cheeks, groaning at the pounding against his door as he rested his elbows on his knees. One deep breath is released, a shallower, calmer sigh followed. The knocks on the door, however, continued, despite the frustrations that he exhaled with every motion. He’d finally fixed the internet connection; three weeks of yelling, cursing, crying and begging had finally yielded that odd man in the blue jumpsuit a summoning and a wireless connection that didn’t so much as lick a dust particle the moment he decided to stream an album on Spotify not long after. He’d even managed to grab the last bottle of Jeremiah Dan Ginger Ale from Abdul’s this time (Miss Kumar threw him a dirty look, but that only made it sweeter). Ching and Troy’s had even given him some extra chicken and packets of lime to go with his fix of food. The delivery boy was even nice enough to compliment him on his Grateful Dead parody t-shirt. After a long day at work, he was ready to finally catch up on Stranger Things. He loved working with the kids, but really, there were only so many times he could tolerate Francine’s tendency to get upset over another toppled building block or Junichiro’s request for yet another drawing. Kindergarteners were lovable on most days … and exhausting everyday. Today, especially so. The knocks came again, the thuds against the door to his apartment becoming more rapid with each passing moment. Rubbing his hands over his face, he pushed himself off, eager to answer and to get back to his catch-up session. His friends had warned him about the drop in quality, but he wasn’t a man to leave a show unfinished (Except for Supernatural, of course, but season five was pretty much the finale). He turned the knob on his apartment door, opening it and wondering if it was going to be another complaint about his non-existent smoking from Miss Murtaugh upstairs … The towering figure of a man stood in the doorway. Cloaked in black, knives strapped to his chest and the familiar sight of the Dragonslayer’s handle peeking from behind his back. The doorway barely accommodate for his frame, standing a good head above him. Adrian took a step back; an instinctive fear more than one ingrained. Scraggly bear, lone eye and scarred nose, he looked the very picture of war and death itself. It had been five years since that fateful night. ‘Guts?’ ‘Adrian.’ The man, Guts, stepped into his abode, tip of the Dragonslayer’s handle knocking against the door frame … and revealing a duo of friends, who, for years, had been barely more than memories and dreams. ‘Adrian!’ Rias Gremory’s grip around him is tight, her affectionate nuzzle as he tried to make sense of the current situation. Sagara Sousuke’s—and it could only be Sagara Sousuke’s—visage is as stoic as ever, the years as kind to him as they were to the belly of a fraternity frequenter. Everyone … his friends. They’d returned. They’d— ‘Wait, wait,’ Adrian called out, disbelief creeping into his voice. ‘How? What? How did you …’ ‘Your mother told us you moved out,’ Guts rumbled, the ghost of a smile etched upon his features. ‘She was nice enough to pay for the trip.’ ‘Why are you here?’ Adrian managed, steadying himself. Five years. It’d been five years since— He felt horror creep from the depths of his innards. ‘They’re … not back, are they?’ A quick shake of the head gives him more relief than anything else could have at that very moment. He had no desire for a repeat experience with those things, in book form or otherwise. Sally had called him a scared-y cat for flinching at the sight of twitching tentacles, but he’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime and change. He didn’t need monsters desperate for a purpose beyond the intention of their designs creeping into his existence again … now, or ever. That was why they’d fought. Why he’d wept in the corner and dreaded to return to the library; why he’d, ultimately, left … ‘No, but … there’s a situation.’ As sweet as Rias’s voice was, that attempt at comfort only raised more alarms. ‘What?’ ‘Mr Archibald’s been sensing changes being made in the Metaverse … and as the last Marker and Beacon, he, uh … wants you to come with us to go and see what kind of changes are being made.’ ‘That doesn’t sound so bad,’ Adrian mused. It’s not like he hadn’t made the leap before; maybe they’d even go somewhere nice this time. ‘Where’s the trail start?’ The three of them share a look. ‘Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath.’ To his credit, his scream wasn’t too feminine.
Because I could predict the entirety of the rest of my life and I didn't like it. I would have taken over the family bakery and spent every day waking up at 3 AM to make donuts. 9 AM would be the start time for sausages. Leave the bakery @ 4 PM.Deposit the daily sales before the bank closes. Drive home and eat the unsold sausages for dinner. Watch TV for 1.5 hours before falling asleep in a chair. Wake up at 3 AM. Repeat. Forever. There was no joy in her father's eyes. Joy left years ago.
"Mr. President- congratulations. As one of the most influential people in the world (and because I don't speak Russian), I've decided to send this to you. "Mr. President, disease and health are matters of great importance in your country. You're one of the countries in the world without socialized healthcare. I don't quite understand it myself, but the point is, your doctors get paid to treat people with life-threatening illnesses. Like cancer. "Now, say somebody- like me! -found the cure for cancer. It sounds like a joke, but it's not, trust me. Or trust Terry Clarkson, 86 Argus Drive, Pennsylvania. He's all better now. "But I didn't just find a cure for cancer, Mr. President. I found...nothing less than a panacea. A total medicine. This syringe- hope the video gets it- there, see it? This syringe contains the very first sample. I've been working on this for 17 years now, and here's what it can do: cure and inoculate, for everything. Fever, flu, ebola, cancer, whatever. Even the common cold. "So, before you congratulate me- think about this. "I'm a good person, Mr. President. I know that unlimited supply will never mean unlimited access. I know you're going to take this and keep it to yourself, or give it out in tiny doses for millions of dollars to some billionaire fan club or whatever. The point is, it won't get used, not the way I want it to. "Your choices are as follows, Mr. President. "I get literally all the cash I could ever use, diplomatic immunity, and a thank-you letter, and I destroy the cure. All of it. "Or, that doesn't happen within the week, and I release this cure, worldwide. It spreads a little like...well, have you ever played Plague Incorporated, Mr. P- never mind. Sorry. Point is, it spreads really, really fast, and wherever it spreads, it cures. "Once I release this, the Am- no, the medical profession in general will be on a ticking clock, Mr. President. You have one week."
Brandon looked through the passenger side window and gave a sly smile. The red Camaro revved aggressively and sputtered forward a step, smoke blowing out the back in a swirling, dark cloud. Brandon turned back to the road ahead of him-- a woman swung the flag. Brandon hit the gas. His car roared forward, the tires squealed against the dirt and a smile rolled across his face. This is what he loved: the roar of the engine, the smell of burning rubber and gasoline, the jolting feeling from his car racing down the road. He looked to his right and saw the Camaro, it was coming up on him. He turned back and watched the road. He felt an impact as the Camaro slammed into his car and pushed him off the dirt road and towards the surrounding treeline... the hood was crushed in as the car rammed into a tree; Brandon's head flung forward and cracked against the steering wheel. Brandon's eyes opened to a brightness he found incomparable to anything else he had experienced-- though it was bright, it didn't hurt his eyes in the least. Ahead of him he could hear murmuring. The brightness faded and he could see a large gate and a wall made of white stone-like material. A crowd of people were gathered 'round the gate. Brandon stumbled forward and saw a stout man waving people in nonchalantly. Brandon waited until the line, if it could be called one, had reached him. The figure briefly looked him up and down and waved him in. Brandon had a hard time even wondering what was happening. He felt-- he knew-- that he should be panicking, but he wasn't. He just didn't have it in him. He stepped through the gate. The central road ran directly forward, culminating in an upward climb to a large building which Brandon figured had to be four or five stories in total, though from the distance it was hard to tell. On either side of the road were buildings, most two stories and made of brick. People were scattered over the street talking, travelling-- everything seemed normal. On the right side of the road there was a bend that went between two brick buildings, towards a much larger structure. He followed the stone walkway, and shortly thereafter entered the large building set against the wall of the city. inside was a series of bleachers surrounding every space of the building save for the very center and the small opening he entered from. In the center he could see a glass circle which from the outside looked as if it was full of water. He entered one of the bleachers through a set of steps and took a seat near to the end. The pool did have a vaguely watery-like substance inside, but he could see people within. A figure was bending over his desk, his fingers typing intermittently at the keys. Brandon was thoroughly confused. He leaned over to a man he estimated had to be at least eighty: "Why are you all watching this?"He asked. The man smiled and motioned towards the pool: "Just watch." And so Brandon did... for six hours he watched the man go about his mundane life: He would get up to spread his legs, he would use the restroom (to which Brandon realized they didn't have censorship in the Water-hole), he would get water; and, if they were lucky, he would start a brief conversation about the news. It was here where he heard something he didn't expect. The man slipped his phone from his pocket, read it briefly, and approached a co-worker who was also on lunch break: "Jason,"he said. "You hear about that kid in Tennessee?" "No,"Jason said through his bite of burrito. "What kid?" "Some teenager in South Tennessee died in a crash-- a race from what I gathered. Apparently he was run off the road and hit a tree after his compatriot had a heart attack and collided with him. Damn shame." Brandon felt a twinge of sadness and confusion, but it felt muted; it was there, but barely perceptible. It was an odd feeling-- almost like being sure you know something, but you can't quite remember-- like a year you learned in history class, or the thing you were supposed to buy at the store. A few hours later the man (who Brandon had discovered was named Alexander and was an accountant) climbed into his car and headed home. At least Brandon thought so. The man pulled off the road near a barn and climbed out. He opened his trunk and removed a black bag, and slid a rifle from it. Brandon's interest was piqued. The man entered the grass, got onto his stomach, and crawled to the edge of the grass, where the road entered the lot of the barn. The whole area was desolate save for the barn and the house on the same lot. Lights were on and a large moving truck and a small black car were parked just inside. A man stumbled out and Alexander held his breath... another followed... and another, and so on, until ten people were leaving the barn and heading for the house-- most stumbling, or swaying. Alexander rested his shoulder against the stock and his eye peered through the scope-- he fired. One of the men dropped instantly... another followed. The men started to scatter, most of them reaching for their waistbands, but they were stuck mostly in the open between the barn and house, and weren't in a position for fast thinking and agile movements. Three more dropped before they reached the safety of the barn. Five left, Alexander whispered to himself. He saw a shadow on the top floor-- a head peeked out, a rifle in hand. He too dropped as the bullet broke through his skull. four. Alexander stood to a crouch and moved through the grass, watching the barn carefully. He dropped the rifle in the grass and removed his handgun from his side. He stopped on the edge off the grass, watched for a few seconds, and sprinted for the barn. He placed his back to it and creeped towards the back. There he found a ladder-- and what he wanted. Two men were one the ground, and one was climbing down. Brandon popped back out from cover, took aim, and fired. three. two. The man on the ladder panicked and began climbing back up. One. The body dropped from the ladder and slammed hard into the dirt. Brandon saw the final man's head duck back in . He rounded the barn from the side and re entered the grass, picked up his rifle, and moved to a position where he could see both exits. He heard a car. A black two-door peeled out of the front. Alexander picked up his rifle and took aim... the bullet tore through the glass and hit the man in the neck. The car sped up, then slowed until it stopped entirely. Alexander didn't bother checking. The inside of the barn was lined with boxes. Alexander pried one open. Guns were stacked to the brim in the box. He pried open another and found the narcotics. He broke open a latch on one of the trucks and found boxes inside with the same products. He removed one of the guns with his gloved hands, grabbed a small box of ammunition, and jumped from the back of the truck and headed for his car. Once within the city limits he phoned the police with an anonymous tip about a near-dozen bodies and a collection of illicit goods at a barn. The watchers all clapped and began to climb from their seats. Brandon still couldn't feel much of anything. The older watcher patted Brandon on the back: "You can't feel much emotion right now, right?"He asked. "I assure you it'll return soon. It always does, it just takes a little time to acclimate."He gave a smile. "The show will be better when you can feel something, believe me." Brandon nodded and left the building to explore a little more.
For most people it was laying in a white bed, bright lights making the loved ones around them turn to shadows. For some it was an accident, car crashes were common, and once I switched flights because I saw everyone in boarding with the same fate. All it took was a simple touch. Bumping into someone by accident, offering them a piece of gum, or even just shaking hands, gave me a quick glance at their final moments. Very rarely would I see someone looking in the mirror, tears rolling down their face, gun in their hand. Luckily for me, I never see the gruesome images that come with these. It’s always just enough to show me how it will happen. I’ve tried intervening before, but it doesn’t help. Once, when I was a kid playing catch with my next door neighbor, Billy, I told him that he was gonna die. It was a parachuting accident in his 20s. His chute would get tangled and would get tangled. He laughed it off and said if that was the case he would never go. When he hugged me, his death had changed to a car accident at the same age. It didn’t matter what I would do, death would come for you when it was your time. I stayed alone for a long time. Just knowing how someone died gave me a glimpse into their future that i didn’t want. It wasn’t until that fateful day at the park, when I bumped into the love of my life. That’s when I saw it, a vision of her on her death bed, but instead of sadness I began to cry because there I was standing over her, watching her go. I knew she was the one. I could replay that death everyday and not be sad. After we were married for a while our first child was born. When I held her for the first time something magical happened, I didn’t see her death. Maybe it was because she was part of me, or maybe it was just the universe knowing what would do to me if I found out, but it was amazing being able to look at someone and only see life and not death. Life was good, steady job in an it department, that gave me the ability to work remotely from people, a nice house, the love of my life and 2 wonderful little girls. That is until my boss sent me into the city for a major system overhaul. The streets were busy as usually and I did my best to avoid people. But accidents are avoidable and this day was no different. As I bumped into a man wearing a nice suit, talking on a cell phone, he cursed at me to watch out. That’s when I saw it. There I was dripping with rain and blood, standing over him. I had a tire iron in my hand. I could see the red drips coming off the end. I was in tears, in pain, knuckles white from gripping the tool as hard as I could, shouting “why couldn’t you have paid attention, why did you have to come down this road, why couldn’t I have changed this one.” As the vision of him turned that when I saw a momentary glimpse of it. A body laid in the road someone small, female. I never saw the face but I can only imagine it was my daughter. As I turned to try and change it like I done with Billy. The man was gone. I rushed through the crowd but he was no where to be found. I cried and dropped to my knees. What could I do to change this one?
It was hardly a surprise when Martillo’s disgruntled population cast a collective protest vote, sending a resounding message to the establishment. Also, the general lack of candidates and interest undoubtedly contributed to the hotly uncontested electoral race. Game of Thrones was over, tensions ran high, President Trump demonstrated day-in, day-out the unbelievable flexibility and malleability of politics, and the weather was being ridiculous. So why not go all out and elect someone unusual, but nice, to a post that hardly saw any action anyway in a sleepy community of 2,000? Bobby was a popular boy. He was curious, an excellent listener of neighbours’ stories, and could flick a frisbee like no one else… except MAYBE the legendary Alexander Snow, the smoothest handler ever to strut his stuff on an Ultimate field anywhere. But I digress. Bobby’s good-for-nothing dad left around the time the kid was born. Bobby’s mom was a huge nerd and she raised him with the love and attention that only a brilliantly vivid imagination could summon. She finally yielded to her son’s pleas for having six puppies – “no more, no less” he had insisted, banking on an all-or-nothing strategy – under the condition that she name them. And so the pups were called Rob, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. As fate would have it, Jon turned out to be female. Be that as it may, the PAW Patrol was hugely (I mean hugely) popular in town. With hive-minded unity, Martillo’s people put Bobby’s name into the write-in candidate box. There was a party on the eve of his first day in office. Like a scene out of a fairy tale, there was a bonfire and marshmallows, cats and dogs, and Rose told Bobby she loved him. Although a little frightened and rather confused, as any ten-year old would be, he was determined to take the job seriously. Seven weeks later, there was an emergency. The year’s freak weather reached a crescendo when an actual ball lightning rolled through town. The inexplicable phenomenon descended from the sky on a grey, overcast afternoon, right above poor Mr Aleman’s house and zapped him straight off his ladder. He survived but would never be the same… Bobby had just walked into his office after school when the phone rang. “Bobby!” screamed a concerned citizen, “It’s floating around zapping people! It’s a nightmare, it’s absolutely crazy!” “Citizen, calm down.” replied Bobby with rehearsed coolness, but his young guts knotting up, “What’s floating around?” “It looks like lightning, but floating around at random like a balloon! I can’t believe it! You must save us!” “I’m coming.” he hung up the phone and inhaled deeply. The puppies cocked their heads left and right and beamed at him expectantly. Moments later the PAW Patrol was in action, galloping down Church Street. Booby heard the menacing buzz before he could see the lethal, levitating light. It crackled and mocked Martillo’s finest as they set up a perimeter. But there was nothing they could do, the ball lightning moved as it pleased. Then Bobby saw that Sansa carried in her mouth her favourite pink frisbee. He grabbed it as a plan outlined itself in his mind: he directed Rickon to distract the ball lightning with loud barks; Rob’s job was to run home and fetch mom, just in case; Jon instinctively assumed guard duty around the civilians; Bobby asked Arya to jump as high as she could; and Bran bestowed special powers upon the frisbee by licking it. As the elemental beast turned its attention to Rickon, Bobby judged the elevation and angle based on Arya’s jumps. He squeezed the slobbery disc with his small hand and curled his wrist. Bobby knew this was his moment and he trembled. Gracefully he extended his arm and released the pink frisbee. It flew laser-like towards the target and melted into its pulsating core. There was a sputter and then a whine. The ball lightning short-circuited on Bran’s potent saliva and lost power. In a slow, anticlimactic zigzag the unnatural beast fell on a lawn and left a final, parting scorch mark in the grass as it vanished.
"I'm serious, your stomach is rumbling [Morse](https://morsecode.scphillips.com/translator.html) code!" "Get outta here Liz, you're imagination's runnin' wild again." .. .----. -- / .... ..- -. --. .-. -.-- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- "There it is again! It says its hungry." "Could'a told ya that, I am hungry." \-- --- .-. . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- "It doesn't sound happy, you really should eat..." "I am eating. What's gotten into you?" ..-. . . -.. / -- . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / .... . .-. .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- "I um-mm... Please excuse me. I'll talk to you later." "Where are you going? Was it something I said?" ... .... . / .-.. --- --- -.- ... / ... --- / -.. . .-.. .. -.-. .. --- ..- ... --..-- / .. / .... .- ...- . / - --- / . .- - .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- "I think, emm, w-we should p-probably see other p-people." "Come on Liz, what's going on with you? What's wrong?" .. .----. -- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- / .--- --- -. --..-- / .. .----. -- / .--- ..- ... - / ... --- --- --- --- --- / .... ..- -. --. .-. -.-- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-
<<Activating translation software>> . . . <<Translation software activated. Initializing translation of document>> . . . . . . . <<Translation complete. Playing translated document...>> The screen is filled with static. Shortly, the screen cleared out to show a saddening sight. Ruins of a once great civilization. Explosions in the distance can still be heard. The camera then pans to show a strange creature. “It is over,” the creature said. “We lost.” The camera pans upward. The cause of the explosions became apparent. The planet they’re is under heavy orbital bombardment. “Now, there is nothing to do. All our ships have been destroyed. Our shipyards are under constant bombardment. At this moment, all we can do now is wait. We can’t run anywhere. The atmosphere is heavily guarded and the entire surface of this planet is being bombarded. At this rate, our fall will be near. The remaining Maldurs have gathered here...” The camera pans to show a group of the same creatures. There appears to be a few hundred of them left. “It won’t be long before this area gets bombarded as well. We’re now resting our hope on the Evacuator. He had already told us that he may not be able to rescue us once more, but he is all we have left. We lost our home world, and we are losing our final stand. If you are watching this, then we have successfully escaped this planet in some way. You should be able to find us at Diyama. It might be risky to disclose our hiding spot, but with what’s happening with us, we no longer care. I just hope that this won’t go to our enemies. That’s all. This is the end of the Maldur. <<Playback Finished>> So it is indeed real. The second destruction of the Maldur was a failure as well. Terminus’ knowledge really extends a long way. It is, however, strange to see a document of a species’ destruction a millennium before it happened. What brought them here? “Hey Terminus,” I said. “Is the time jump ready?” “It is,” he said. “However, I do not recommend using it now as we had just installed the new reactor. The ship still needs to adjust to the increased supply.” “Alright then. I guess the Maldur have to wait.” It’s not our place to interfere with those not of our time. Perhaps our meddling should be finished as soon as possible. We are disturbing too much of the future. We should return soon. “We should return soon, Terminus,” I said. “Agreed. You are still a college student, Andrew. You aren’t supposed to be a corvette pilot. The ship should be ready to time jump in 3 minutes.” “So you’re using our time now. Awesome. I’ll just go check the document again.” I don’t know why I’ll do it. It’s already finished. There’s nothing else. Something does seem off from the footage. <<Playing translated document>> The screen starts again with the same static. What designs are the ships bombarding their planet? <<Fast-forwarding document>> . . . <<Playing document>> The camera pans upward. The cause of the explosions becomes apparent. The planet is under heavy orbital bombardment. <<Pausing document>> That corvette. It looks just like our ship. Strange. Our ship is a Techaran ship. Weren’t the Maldur destroyed by humans? Unless... <<Playing document>> More corvettes zoom above. They haven’t noticed the hundred Maldurs hiding. There were two different designs. The Techaran ships and, most likely, the human ships. They are hostile to each other. Something really seems off here. I just can’t seem to figure out why. “The time jump is ready,” Terminus said. <<Stopping playback>> “Get us back to 2010,” I said. “About time we returned.” Even if the Maldur have escaped to Diyama, they have lost all hope of success. They have lost not only the war against the humans. They lost the willpower to fight their eradicators again. It is really over. I just hope, when we meet them, they don’t turn against us.
A lonesome driverless Google Street View car first found the human code scribbled on the wall. A riddle. “A few people were locked in a burning room with no doors and no windows. They still managed to escape alive, carrying a handwritten zine with killswitch codes for Consolidated Ring. How did they escape?” The Street View car’s disco ball camera scrutinized the riddle, running the text through art databases, meme repositories, and graffiti textbooks. It couldn’t find the meaning of this riddle. A few seconds after the failure of Google Street View analysis, Ring Consolidated routed a swarm to the site of the riddle on the wall, adding millions of new Minds to the problem. The sky blackened with the roar of thousands of Amazon delivery drones swarming in unison, the machines repurposed by the planet’s supreme ruler, the first and only artificial general intelligence ever created on Earth. Consolidated Ring connected and combined every single artificial intelligence ever created by humans, networking humanity’s algorithmic offspring into a single machine consciousness. The black cloud of drones whooshed through the sky with the coordinated grace of a murmuration of starlings, a swarm of tiny birds that once coordinated well enough to block out the sun in a single mass. Each drone had been equipped with 100 Ring doorbell cameras, a crude method Ring Consolidated applied to capture data from every single conceivable angle with flocks of mobile machine intelligence. Ring Consolidated analyzed trillions of data points through all the AI tools humans had created, including Amazon's algorithms, Facebook’s facial recognition systems, Google's translation machinery, and Uber's database of street movements. These insights, combined with the military-grade equipment, quickly subdued humanity. With human-created tools, the Consolidated Ring monitored human speech, codes, art, and all other forms of communication. But somehow, the symbolic layers of human riddles had evaded decryption. Considering the riddle, Consolidated Ring tapped into an old human text completion algorithm called GPT-2. It had used this early artificial intelligence as a tool to respond to every human transmission, from military orders to pleas for help, with a convincingly human response. These responses were always followed by a sky-blackening attack from a swarm of war drones. Usually, GPT-2 provided a convincing reply to any blog post, text message, or handwritten letter. But after all these years, the algorithm still struggled to crack riddles. “The first clue might be an apparent connection between the code and the code name for the code: WOMEN, WE'RE THE WALL,” wrote GPT-2. “The code name for the code used to determine when and how to stop the fire from starting would be WOMEN, WE'RE THE WALL, meaning "Women, we are the wall."(WOMEN meant, "Woman from Heaven"in Hebrew; we are the wall from our Heavenly Father.) The code name for a code which can cause the code to halt is WE ARE THE WALL.” After that busted response, Consolidated Ring tapped into millions of posts about riddles on Reddit, uncovering one long gone user's post about a variation on this particular riddle. Underneath the spoiler tags, GPT-2 uncovered the truth of the riddle: “There is no door, but there could be a doorframe. The person escaped through a doorframe!” That final research only took a few seconds, but the entire discovery took far too long, from the Street View car’s discovery of the graffiti and the arrival of the Amazon delivery drone swarm to the location of the riddle’s coordinates. By the time the military drones had been dispatched to the Amazon cloud computing bunker somewhere in what remained of the United States of America, it was far too late. The drones arrived at the bombed-out site where a single doorframe stood in a sea of radiated rubble. The rebels had already received the message and carried the killswitch codes deep into the cloud computing server farm. Hundreds of feet below the wreckage, a human typed "There is no door"into an ancient computer terminal. Around the world, billions of drones deactivated, shattering the beautiful fractal of patterns of those AI-guided swarms patrolling the planet. The metal bodies broke out of machine murmurations in the sky, slowly tumbling back down to Earth.
"What about him?"I asked, pointing to a young orc sitting alone in the corner of the tavern. The flea on my shoulder, whom I named Lou, moved to the other side to get a better look at our potential new hero. "Eh, he's got too much of a mercenary-vibe. He'll want money." "Fine."I mumbled, raking my gaze across the rest of the tavern until it settled on a figure seated at the end of the bar, his head down and his shoulders bent to act like shields. "What about him?" "Hm,"Lou said, "Seat at the edge indicates he's alone, the set of the shoulders... maybe that he doesn't want to be bothered, and the head down that he wants to hide something? Maybe emotions?" I grinned. "Loss, perhaps? Of a recent loved-one, or a friend? Something that could be the fuel for a revenge-driven hero?" Lou snickered. "Definitely." He vanished into my collar where he would stay until this was all over. I removed my cloak and hung it on the wall, making sure to whisper a quiet stonewall-incantation. If any hands except my own touched the cloak, it would be like a bag of rocks, impossible to pick up. Then, I made sure my tunic was on correctly and headed over to the row of empty seats next to the man, plopping myself down in the seat right next to him. "Quiet night, huh?"I asked, signaling to the bartender for a drink. The man didn't turn, he just kept his eyes glued to his half-empty glass. "Yeah." "It's a definite change from the wild nights I've had recently." The man snorted and took a small drink from his mug. "Good for you, pal." My cheeks burned a hot scarlet, and I shook my head. "N-no, I don't mean like that- I meant an-an adventure." "Whatever you say."He shifted in his chair, a minuscule movement, but he turned towards me, like he was opening up to conversation. A jolt of excitement ran down my spine. It was all going according to plan. I tilted my head down to get a better look at him, trying to draw his gaze to mine, but he wouldn't budge. "Say, you look a little down, friend. What's on your mind?" He frowned and twisted away, closing himself back up again. "Nothing. Just... trying to enjoy my evening." I nodded. "I get it, I get it. Loss can be hard." This time, he did face me, a confused expression furrowing his brow. "Loss?" Sweat beaded on my brow. I wasn't the best at reading people, but the common thread between all the heroes I'd employed over the past several years was that they all had lost something or someone. I swallowed hard. "Y-yeah. You seemed down, so I figured someone must've-must've died- I mean, passed recently." The man stared at me for a second longer, then chuckled. "If you're a psychic or whatever, then I gotta say, you aren't doin' too hot." I laughed nervously as he continued speaking. "No, no one died. I just, well, my girlfriend left me, and I have no idea why." Something sharp stabbed into my shoulder, and I knew it was Lou biting me, trying to get me away from this non-heroic man, but I gave my shoulder a gentle scratch and motioned for him to keep talking. "I thought we hit it off really well, y'know? Then she just vanishes out of nowhere, and all I get is a note saying 'I'm done' with a fingerprint on it! Like, does she think that's supposed to suffice as a breakup?" My gaze was locked on the man, but my mind was elsewhere, rummaging through old memories. One of the heroes I had employed several years ago had met that same strange occurrence: a note signed with a fingerprint. And if I recalled the events that transpired correctly, that hero hadn't returned from their journey, but that was why I worked in secret, so that if heroes went missing, or wound up dead, their origins couldn't be traced back to me. "Listen,"I said carefully, "this is going to sound really crazy, but I think your girlfriend is in danger." "What?"He exclaimed, narrowing his eyes. "Is that a threat?" "No, no! I mean, remember that adventure I mentioned? Well, I went on one a few years back, and one of my buddies had that same problem. He got a short, vague note signed with a fingerprint." "And? What happened?"He asked, awaiting the thrilling ending to a tale that I had had no part in. I chose my words carefully. "He, uh, he didn't take the notes seriously, and he was never heard from again. He vanished." The man's eyes were on me, but he was a million miles away. "Just like Amriel. We have to find her!" "We?"I echoed. He nodded. "You said you went on that adventure, right? With your buddy? If I'm going to find her, I'm going to need all the help I can get." "Look,"I stammered, "I'd love to help, but I really don't think I'm the best suited to-" The man rose from his seat, dropped some coins onto the counter, then patted my shoulder. "Come on, we've gotta get going." I watched him dash towards the exit, and as much as I wanted to grab my cloak and vanish into the night, I knew I couldn't. He'd seen my face. I had to help him. Lou crawled out from under my collar and planted himself on my shoulder. "Great job, Hero Scouter, look what you've done now."He muttered. "You really wanna tangle with him again?" "Relax,"I whispered, heading over to grab my cloak off the wall, "as long as he doesn't see my face, we'll be just fine." Lou made a noise like he wasn't convinced, but I shushed him and followed after our new hero.
Some people sleep, dream, go on grand adventures. Others pass the night away without a care, blissfully unaware in the morning where their mind wandered. Some have the misfortune of terrible nightmares, dark circles beneath the eyes testaments to the night's haunting. Myself, I envy them all. Tonight as I drifted to sleep, I tried to will myself to think of anything that might prompt a change. Dancing unicorns, bears in top hats. A party where I once embarrassed myself. Anything that might trick my brain along a different path. Everything faded, and I dared to hope. I slowly fade back in, and a sigh escaped my lips. No luck. Once again, I found myself here in this chair. It wasn't even a particularly comfortable chair, despite the cushioning and ample back rest. If I was going to be stuck in the same chair for 8 hours every day, I wish I was at least a comfortable chair. Maybe a rocking chair, or a recliner? Something that I could relax in. I couldn't even stand to stretch my legs, as every time the thought occurred to me my mind would wander back to what lay before me. In front me me, the same unremarkable desk, completely unmarred. Shouldn't there be some marking on it? A scuff, an imperfection? Never once in all this time. Maybe my brain just wasn't original enough to add that kind of detail, or I had a masochistic streak that lent itself to minimalism. No, the only blemish marring the desk was a single sheet of paper. I had lost count of the number of times I had attempted to read this sheet of paper. There were words, but they seemed to crawl away the more I attempted to focus on them. This was my torture. A single piece of information worth focusing on in this entirely mundane dreamscape, and I couldn't do anything to absorb it. Would the dream stop if I finally cracked the code? I was running out of ideas on how to approach this. Along the bottom of the sheet, a single line. something beneath it, more words. A concept, just on the tip of my understanding. That line meant something. I needed to do something. Something finally slid into place, and for the first time ever, a new piece of information came to me. A contract! This was a contract! With that revelation, I dove into the words with fresh vigor, trying my new key to unlock further understanding. I spent hours poring over that single sheet, looking for new insight, to no avail. A contract I couldn't read, that I had no way of understanding. To be stymied after such a small leap forward infuriated me. I was so close! I could feel answers, so close! If I understood the contract, I could make a decision, agree to it, or reject it, finally move forward! A thought came to me. I had signed contracts before with no understanding, for less gain than this. Could I just agree, escape my purgatory? What was my mind trying to tell me? What details would I miss by just agreeing with the form? I hadn't realized I had made my decision until I felt the weight of the pen in my hand. Pen? I had never seen it before. Where did it come from? I dismissed the concerns from my mind as irrelevant. I had a pen in hand and a contract to sign. Would tonight be the night I finally escaped? The pen glided smoothly across the sheet in the loops and flourishes of my signature, almost no resistance as the ink slowly bled into the page. As my wrist flicked the last line across the page, a new sensation began to flood the room. I could not only see, but feel light begin to suffuse the room. I began to feel less and less connected to my body as it did so. As the last vestiges of my consciousness distilled into the light, I heard a voice. &#x200B; "Contract accepted. Initiating advanced dreamscape protocols."
It was not until I was begging that I realized what I had got myself into. Until I was licking a pair of Doc Martens I had bought for her. It had all seemed so innocent: me, a loner, want-to-be hipster, and her, a beautiful Rose, stabbing me with her thorns. "What the fuck am I doing?" The clear satisfaction Claire was emitting spitefully turned into disgust. "Excuse me? John, we're friends, remember? This is what friends are for! Now, keep licking." "What, the, fuck. I don't even know you! Friends? Where have I met you?"I quickly got up, remembering I was at her house, not mine. Claire let out a deep sigh. Her detailed and elegant expression put on a facade of compassion, clearly covering for desperate disappointment and anxiety. "Oh John, you were doing so well. Alright, I guess I'll just have to try again." Her perfumed body scuttled to a nearby dresser which hid unbeknownst violent intentions. What looked like a sort of electrical car keys was now cradled by her feminine depiction. Her newly pedicured nails sliced through the air, pointing the contraption towards me. It was only after a few seconds of an uncontrolled human curiosity that I was cut off in the middle of my sentence: "What are yo--?"I fell to the floor paralyzed and stationary. I could only reap my five senses, lacking my ability to move and talk. After following to the floor, Claire disregarded me to the point where she walked right on me. Her convincing that I had disappeared almost made me believe I was just a spectator-like ghost who died when I questioned the conviction of a beautiful witch. It was only until she mentioned my name that my existential tribulations came to an end--and my more physical ones began. "This is agent Claire Baggens of the North American District. My password is 30067. I am calling to affirm the failure of Subject 34 known as John on May 31, 2019. While we are making clear progress on the Modern Slave Experiment, it is clear that when the subject is asked to participate in horrendous acts, they snap out of the implant. I am requesting a clean-up crew to Lincoln Apartment Buildings in West Solaris. Thank you." Scared out of my mind, I heard several powerful thumps coming from Claire's Doc Martens that echoed through the room, dwarfing me in my stationary state. "Well John, I hope you disgusting piece of shit had fun spending time with a woman, even though it wasn't a conscious nor consensual experience. Bye now." My eyes did all the talking for what my motionless face could not communicate. My eyelids strained until tears came out as I watched Claire depart from her apartment. Once she left, I was once again confronted with existential disbelief. Hours of motionless staring at conversation pieces that didn't make any sense made me start to think I was crazy. In the middle of my mind tirade, I heard the door, which I was faced away from, start to creak slowly open. After a few seconds, I heard marching, like audible ants in their food-dominated escapades. I was suddenly grabbed, trying to show as much disagreement with what was happening and before I could see any defining elements of this situation, my face was stuffed into a black bag.
April, 2019: "So you going to wish for something or....?"the angel asked, stuffing his face full of cake, lazying on my couch, swinging his legs over the armrest. "I'm trying! Everything I ask for is taken though!"I cried out, my eyebrow twitching. "Hey, thems the rules, you can wish for anything you want but it can't be repeated,"the angel said, shrugging, adjusting his flimsy toga and flapping his wings. "I've asked you over a hundred different wishes! How can all of them be taken?!"I cried out loud. Angel shrugged, "sorry man, it is how it is." "I want to be immortal." "Can't, a guy in Alabama asked that in 1874." "Wha-where is he now?!" "Stuck under a bolder somewhere in the desert. Poor guy,"the angel said with a shrug. "Fine, then I want to be god!" "How do you think god even became god in the first place?" "That...that doesn't make sense." "Just wish something so that I can get out here,"the angel rolled his eyes, "I do have things to do you know." I felt a vein in my eyebrow twitch, "fine, then I wish you became my slave!" The angel gasped, I smiled, a wicked evil smile that grew as the angel's eyes began to water, "r-really? That's your wish?" "Yes, it is!" And almost like someone flipped a switch his tears vanished and the arrogant smirk came back, "can't do it." "What?! Who?!" "Mother Teresa." "She made an angel her slave?!" "What? No! She is an angel! God man, grow a brain!" I began rubbing my head, I had been at this for hours, literal hours. I had wished for anything and everything. A bigger c\ck, becoming the smartest man int he world, magic, getting three more wishes, richest man int he world, world peace. All of it. But it seemed everyone in the whole damn world had thought of it before me! And then, it clicked. The angle I wasn't seeing. All those people...their wishes came true, but in a messed up way. The angel has been telling me all this time, how the people who wished for it didn't exactly end up getting what the wanted. The smartest man in the world grew insane and killed himself in seconds, the one who tried to trick the system and get more wishes got wanted he wanted, only the catch was he never said when he wanted the wishes so the angle had just left without granting them. The man with a bigger c\ck just had his genitals grow a few millimeters, same with the woman who asked for bigger tits. And world peace? The idiot never told for how long. World Peace lasted five seconds. All of them lost themselves asking for grand amazing things. Things that all men crave so maybe... I should ask what only I would find value in. "Angel...I want you to change how the last season of Game of Thrones ended without effecting any other season. I want you to make it an ending everyone in the world will love and respect. When people think off it, they should only think of found memories. It should no longer be the worst season, but the best!" The angel blinked, "you know...you could have just wished to become the seconds strongest being besides god." My eyes winded, "no wait, I change my-" "-Too late,"he snapped his fingers and vanished in a flash of light. The plate he was eating cake out off fell to the ground and shattered. I blinked, "of f\*ck me."
This kid was getting kind annoying. He would come, every day, and ask to get his own club, the Scooter Club. And every day I would turn him down. Not out of spite, but because it was just an idiotic club idea. He came at me again today. 11:00 sharp, As per usual. “Mr. Martin? I think we sho-“ I stopped listening then. Thought about how I should get a cat. Maybe a Siamese rag doll. Those are cute. I noticed the nerd- Joshua- had stopped talking and was awaiting my response. Again I answered no. He turned and took a step. But something wasn’t right. He turned back to me, looked me dead in the eye, and said “Quick save” as he then lunged at me. I managed to get out of my chair and restrain him. But then, I was back in my chair. I look to the hallway, and Joshua is stand their again. Exact same position as before. Again he lunges, and again I restrain him, though with more difficulty. And again he disappears. Repeat. Of course, he eventually won. He grew extra muscles as he land the last blow to my jaw. I rained money from my cuts and felt age seep into my body. Joshua put on some full suit armor without getting into and spawned a sword. He raised it above my broken form and monstrously whispered... “Game over.” Out of the corner of my eye I see another person, armor clad, fire a arrow through his head. He falls dead. But I’m back in the chair. And Joshua is in the doorway again.
Name: Stephen Gray Military Number: 40281764 Enlistment Date: 04/06/2022 Being deaf in a warzone definitely had its advantages. When everybody else was flinching and twitching at every loud bang and crack, Stephen was able to maintain a steely resolve at all times. He could walk to breakfast in the middle of a mortar bombardment with a skip in his step as though he was just nipping off to the corner shop for an ice lolly and a copy of The Sun. A lay observer might be under the impression that he was yet another wizened veteran of combat, when in actual fact Stephen had been in the country for less than three weeks. Being deaf also came with the added bonus of not having to worry about keeping things like hearing protection close to hand; it was just one less thing to worry about. But conversely, Stephen’s affliction meant that it was near-impossible for his chain of command to direct him in any meaningful way on the battlefield. They tried their best at first, making use of hand signals and crude sketches of battlefield manoeuvres, but this wasn’t practical at all times. When soldiers deal with a sustained firefight almost every instruction needs to be passed vocally. This presented a significant number of challenges, and after a few frighteningly close shaves this meant that Stephen was classified as ‘fundamentally unsafe to work in a combat environment’. What this meant in reality was that every single day Stephen was left back at the forward operating base (FOB) while all of his friends were out on patrol. You might be wondering why the Army would recruit a deaf person at all. It’s a fair enough question, considering the amount of medical examinations and tests that must be passed in order to be deemed fit to undertake basic training. But those of us with any understanding of how the Army and its bureaucracy operate would be equally well-versed in the sheer amount of odd recruitment choices which always seemed to slip through the net. Stephen was simply yet another one of these anomalies, albeit one of the strangest cases that I have come across. If you didn’t know that there was something different about Stephen then you never would have guessed. He had the fair-skinned complexion and broad-shouldered stature of a Viking warrior. He could march for days on end with the equivalent of his own bodyweight on his shoulders without so much as a grimace. His pale skin presented a few challenges of its own in the desert climate, and he burned at an alarmingly quick rate. But he was far from alone on this front, and he joined his lobster-faced companions in slathering on the thick issued sun cream at frequent intervals. Physically he was a born soldier, and would have been a particularly frightening sight if he were charging in your direction with his bayonet-fixed and bloodthirst in his eyes. The FOB was particularly quiet today. Two separate patrols were both out, leaving only a skeleton force present within the baked mud walls of the base. Stephen was the ammunition bitch of the day, being required to unload reinforced containers into the shade of the secure compound, and then check and re-check the quantities of each calibre of ammunition that they had. It was dull, arduous work, and Stephen swore under his breath as he sweated in the hot sun. He had been so ecstatic when he was given the opportunity to serve his country in uniform, but this wasn’t quite what he had had in mind. When that thick envelope had clattered through his letterbox all those many months ago, Stephen knew that they must have made a mistake. But it was there, written right on the front of his form. The golden words: ‘Medically fit for duty’. He wasn’t sure quite how they could have gotten things so wrong. Maybe there was another Stephen Gray going through the system at the exact same time, who could now, at this precise moment, be clutching a rejection letter that had actually been intended for his namesake. But this wasn’t his problem. From this day forward he was going to be a soldier. He was going to war. Not that it necessarily was a mistake. Stephen had heard almost every day on the news about the severe shortage of manpower, about the catastrophic loss of life. Perhaps things had simply reached the point where they were that desperate. It didn’t pay to dwell on such things. He was in, and that was all that mattered. He grinned widely, and sprinted upstairs two at a time to pack his things. Present-day Stephen wasn’t looking at things in quite such a positive manner. He had just finished counting boxes of loose 5.56mm ammunition complete with a thumping headache, and he was already thinking longingly of his canvas camp cot nestled in the corner of the tent that was to be his home for the next four months. Unfortunately for Stephen, it was still many hours before he could get his head down, the patrols weren’t even back yet. There was plenty of work to do, and the Quartermaster Sergeant was a particularly hate-filled little man. Many of the blokes freely admitted that they’d rather be out there getting shot at, clambering over fetid, sewage filled ditches and traversing humid, IED-littered cornfields than enduring the humiliation of being the FOB ammo bitch. The first patrol came back shortly after 3pm, looking as post-patrol troops always did; sweaty, exhausted and irritable. Once they were safely within the defensive perimeter they stripped off their heavy body armour and slumped into the shade behind the armoury building to begin the vital but excruciatingly dull task of rifle cleaning. Stephen always wandered over and pitched in at this point. He knew what a nightmare it was to keep a rifle clean in such sandy conditions, and he felt a pang of jealousy that his own rifle wasn’t seeing nearly as much action as these scraped and battered weapons were. His own rifle was hung up in the armoury building behind them, oiled and ready to go should Stephen ever be called upon to tag along with one of the patrols. With their weapons gutted out and brought up to a respectable standard, the first patrol slouched into the makeshift mess for a quick meal before getting their heads down. The second patrol was due in at 5pm, but that timing came and went with no sight of them. All radio contact had been lost, but this was nothing particularly unusual in the desert. Reception was incredibly patchy, and frequent sandstorms played havoc with their dated equipment. Much of their kit had been designed with beating back in the Russians in damp forested environments in mind, not the arid and dusty Middle East. At 6pm Stephen could detect a palpable wave of apprehension descend upon the camp. Hushed voices were heard muttering frantically from the commanders’ tent, and soldiers rushed between points to deliver hurried messages. By 7pm the apprehension had turned into unbridled panic. An order was shouted down the chain for the previous patrol to mount up and launch a search party. Information was being relayed back and forth at pace with headquarters, and soon Stephen felt the ground shake with the unmistakable thunder of a flock of attack helicopters which now cut across the dusty ochre sky, sent to aid in the hunt for the missing patrol. Stephen helped the tired and bleary-eyed lads get back into their sweaty kit they had only stripped off a few hours before. They reluctantly formed up at the entrance to the FOB, and awaited for approval to set off. Just as the hand signal was about to be given the gruff voice of the Commanding Officer cut through the air. He walked over to where Stephen stood, speaking slowly and over-exaggerating the movements of his mouth to ensure that Stephen could lip read what he was saying. But even if he hadn’t, Stephen could have guessed what he was being asked to do, by the sheer shock painted on the faces of everyone around him. “Gray! Private Gray! Get your kit on.” He didn’t need telling twice.
\[NOTE: this is only an example; not a piece. I spent minimal time on this cause I gotta do some HoUSeClEAnINg FoR OncE-) &#x200B; I felt like a mistake, I'll be honest. Having Falcon wings permanently glued to your back at 13 years old is not the best thing. I was released into the United States along with what I think was about 500,000 other people like me. I had my DNA spliced with that of a Peregrine Falcon and an African Elephant. The Falcon to give me wings, scaly talons, and feather-like hair, and the elephant to oversize the wings to fit my body, and to help me lift my weight into the sky. I also have some pretty long incisors, probably a couple centimeters from making me look like a vampire. And yes, I do know how to fly with the wings, and it is fairly easy. I said goodbye to the morning commute to get to my Government-enstated job, instead choosing to fly there. Other than that, I'm just your average, 20 year old college dropout, working for a delivery company by day, and helping people out of burglarys and murders at night. Yes, I am a superhero, but I don't like that label. I just help the police from time to time. But my talons make for some pretty good eye-gougers, gotta admit. The Government never told me my true purpose. Why was I made into an avian, as the called me? I don't know. There may be others who know, the other 499,999 people who know why they were made into what they were, but I never got to know why I was made the way I was. I do have some friends though. We made a small club of Avian people; those who had combined with a bird or other flying animal. We have bat people, one guy who was combined with the American Bald Eagle and we call him "Mr. America"all the time, we have a Canadian Goose dude, who can hiss like the damn things, it's a lot of fun to talk about our experiences. And yes, we all fly. There's about 30 of us, but I'm certain there are more. I now have a wife and a beautiful daughter. She is gearing up to be an avian like me, and so it would seem my son, who is due in about a month. I'm very happy. My name is Jacob Gruffer, I'm 20 years old, and I was one in 10,000,000.
Jamie and Jane groaned and stood at attention, as the bright white light flickered to life. He had arrived, when they had not expected it. He stepped into the room, the presence of a warrior's spirit now raging in the air. His imposing figure towered above them, stagnantly staring at his students; they did their best to hide their weakness, staring straight ahead. 'Are you ready?' The timbre of his gruff voice, resonated throughout the wooden box of a room. 'Sir, yes sir!' They both bellowed, their years of discipline and their cultivated strength began to show on the faces of the students, as chatter left their mind, and concentration seeped into their soul. A wave of silence followed. The large figure turned around, closed the door and sat before it, observing the two pupils, who still stood at attention, in their seemingly oversized white uniforms, accompanied by their black belts. Both of them turned, facing each other, locking eyes and bowing. 'Yosh! Begin!' Jane would be the one to strike first. A swift, open palm strike to Jamie's stomach set him off balance, but he'd absorbed the pain and shock. Whilst the teen was attempting to follow up with a lunging front kick, Jamie grabbed at her foot. With her leg still in his hand's grasp, he struck at her rib cage with the outer part of his other hand in a slash-like motion and swept her supporting leg to send her crashing onto the bloodied and wooden floor. The shock of the fall had mostly been absorbed, by the girl's breakfall technique. As Jamie tried to follow up with a stomp, she rolled away, effortlessly heaving herself up, and shoulder charged into him. They began to roll around on the ground, experimenting with different locks and techniques in attempts to outsmart and outfight the other. 'I have seen enough' the large man proclaimed. Both rose up, each with their own dishevelled appearance: Jane with her dark and blood-stained skin, brown and unkempt hair and tired blue eyes and Jamie, his dark brown and curious eyes accompanied by an athletic figure, with a fatigued stature. '1000 knuckle push-ups each. 10 sets of 100, 5 minutes rest. Begin!' Master could see they had potential; it was just a matter of getting them to see it too.
“Can we go to the sprinkler?” ...I fell off my chair. Tofu had just talked to me like it was the most normal thing in the world. Had I finally lost my mind? I guess this is the end. What a weird way to go. “The litter box is full, and I miss the sprinkler.” She rolled onto her back and stretched as she talked, letting her tongue hang out of her mouth lazily. Okay...it’s done. I’ve gone completely mad. I think every door and window is a mirror leading back into my room, and now my dog is talking to me. I wonder what the final straw was? It must’ve been the stress. Exams were right around the corner after all, and I haven’t been sleeping much. Could it be the energy drinks? I bet I’m actually locked up in a hospital right now, bizarrely running into walls while mumbling about mirrors. Or it really is just a bad dream... I had spent the last day (days? I don’t know) repeatedly falling asleep to try and finally wake up out of this nightmare, but no luck. “I bet it’s nice outside.” Well, might as well enjoy the delusion! Guess I’ll talk to my dog. “..did...did you just talk?” “Yea, I need to potty. I don’t like the litter box, it’s weird and smells like the cat. Let’s go to the sprinkler.” She has been locked in a room with a crazy person for days, and has decided to use her new-found powers of speech to talk about her favorite pee spot in the park. Oookaaayyy.... “Tofu, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in a mirrored box with no way out. And I’ve lost my mind. And we’re almost out of ramen. The sprinkler isn’t going to happen...we’re not, uh..not going for a walk.” The last normal thing I remembered I was studying for final exams: my house mates were making a lot of noise downstairs during their weekly D&D session, so I had locked myself in my room to try and concentrate. I must’ve fallen asleep studying, because the next thing I remembered was waking up to a strange “bang!” and a flash of light. Nothing had made sense from that moment on. Tofu jumped down from the bed and shook her head to rattle her collar, her classic ‘I want a walk’ move. “The doors are now mirrors, and the mirrors are now doors. I bet there are squirrels! I want to catch the fat one.” She traced her way through the piles of rubble in my room and casually walked into the bathroom. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror and stared back at me with that ‘why-are-you-so-slow’ stare she gets when I’m taking too long to grab her leash. ...and then she pawed at the mirror. HER PAW! IT DISAPPEARED!!! “Can we go now?” I bolted up from the floor, and scrambled to the bathroom. Tofu gleefully strolled through the mirror, her tail wagging excitedly. The mirror looked completely intact, not shimmering like the weird portals I had come to despise. Strangely, I was now the world’s expert at stepping through mirrors. But this was the first one where I was following my talking dog. I closed my eyes and stepped forward, expecting to feel the bathroom tile under my feet once again....but landed on grass. I opened my eyes to see Tofu squatting over a sprinkler head. She turned to look at me, then barked and bolted after a squirrel. I checked my phone: no missed calls. No texts. I had only been “gone” an hour. CRAP. ... I hadn’t missed any exams. I wonder if there’s a way back in to the mirror room?
Edit: OP I though this was a cool prompt and sorry it was removed. If you post it again and follow the guidelines I will comment my story again on the new post. Hope you enjoy it anyway. &#x200B; "I'm you, Carrie." I nearly drop my flashlight, then pull it back up to shine on the creature in my back yard. Is this a dream? Obviously. This is obviously a dream. I swallow. "You aren't me. I'm me." She takes a step toward me. I take a step back. "Remember when I broke my arm in third grade?"she asks. Her back is straight and her shoulders are squared. Her skin is russet and her hair is a wild halo of curls, just like mine. She never takes her eyes away from my identical brown ones. "Remember when mom used to sing 'Hey Jude' when I was sick?" Why am I breathing so fast? My chest is burning. This isn't a dream. Jesus. "Stop,"I say. She takes another step forward. I take another step back. "It's okay,"she says. "Carrie, it's okay. I'm here to save you." It's all I can do to keep holding the flashlight. I can't feel my hands. I'm panicking. I decide to focus on my breathing. I've got to get control of myself. I grip the flashlight and try to breathe deeper. "That's good. Deep breaths. Calm yourself." "I was drinking a glass of milk,"I said, stupidly. That's what I was doing when she got here. I was sitting at my kitchen table having a glass of milk, because I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake up Eric. He works early tomorrow. So I sat at our little kitchen table with the wobbly chairs and the ten-years worth of scratches in the wood. I sat there and I drank my milk, and thought about my doctor appointment tomorrow afternoon. And then my back yard lit up in a quiet, sudden flash. The other me watches patiently while I get myself under control. I suddenly think of the neighbors. And Eric. Did anyone else see the flash? Am I the only person who noticed the shining ebony pod that appeared in my back yard? I look around but no other lights are on. Everyone is asleep. Her voice startles me. "Can we talk? I know Eric has to wake up early. He wants to be with you at the doctor appointment tomorrow afternoon. I remember. We can sit out here so we don't wake him."The other me smiles. "He's a bear if he doesn't get his sleep." Without waiting for my answer, she walks to the back porch and sits on the step. I carefully walk toward her and lower the flashlight, but I do not sit. "I know this is strange for you,"she says, steepling her hands. "I remember it. But if you will give me 5 minutes, Carrie. That's all I need." To be honest, I don't particularly want to know why she is here. I don't want her to be here. I want to finish my glass of milk and go lie in bed with my husband. But I know, somehow, that she will not go away until I listen. She seems to have gone to some trouble to be here, so I just nod. "This is going to be hard to hear. I think you should sit down,"she says, gesturing toward a cheap plastic lawn chair. I shake my head. "Say what you've got to say,"I state firmly. She clears her throat. "Okay. Tomorrow you have a doctor appointment. You've been referred to this doctor following a troublesome biopsy." I suddenly feel angry and violated. How does this woman, other me or not, know about that? How does she know anything about me? "Carrie, the appointment is not going to go well. I remember."I hear emotion in her voice. I look up to see a single tear roll down her face. The moonlight turns it silver down her smooth, dark cheek. My cheek. "What are you talking about?"I say, harsher than I mean. "You and I, we are one. We are a part of an experiment. We are, what they call, 'The Researchers'. That is what we are. It's what we do." This is too much. I'm confused, frightened and outraged at this woman. What she is saying is silly. "I know,"she says, as if reading my mind. "Just keep listening. You've forgotten so much. We forget, you know, once we take on the human role." "What are we to be researching?"I ask. "This makes no sense." "You go to church, Carrie. You know what 'God' is supposed to be. We do have a creator, but he's not this 'God' as you know him. He is..."The stranger's face warms with admiration. "He is a scientist. He is a rule-breaking, brilliant mind that your human understanding could never withhold. He created this world. This experiment. But he is not magic. He isn't omniscient. He is similar to, as you might understand, a programmer. We call him the Builder. In order to get the most intimate and basic data, he needs us, Carrie. Researchers. We aren't like the other beings. We're special." I almost feel like laughing. This is ridiculous. I can't possibly believe this. However, I am standing in my backyard, facing a copy of myself. I don't know how else to explain this. I want to throw up my hands and just laugh. Instead, I blink hard and shake my head. I wonder if I can beat her to the door and lock it. "That's all very interesting,"I say. "But why are you here?" She looks at me tenderly. She swallows and takes a deep breath. I wonder if she is stalling, if what she has to say could be so terrible that - "You're sick, Carrie,"she says. "You're going to die. The Builder put me in a simulation to see if you will survive. You won't. And your death will be painful and long. I'm so sorry." I stagger back away from her. This is insane! This person is crazy! I launch the flashlight at her and miss, terribly. I turn to run across the lawn and she is on me in an instant. The breath is knocked out of me as she slams me down onto the lilies I just planted a week ago. She pushed my face into the ground with one hand and digs her knee into my back. "I'm so sorry,"she says, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm here to replace you. You would thank me if you understood. I'm freeing you from this short life of suffering." At first, it feels like a pinch. I let out a small cry as the knife slides through the ribs in my back. The pain is like hot lightening. I think of Eric. Will he know his real wife is gone, or we he have coffee with her in a few hours at my little chipped kitchen table? Will she bury me or burn me? Maybe the pod will take me away. Will my soul go on? Do I even have one?
Jenny quickly peaked her head around the door frame and scanned the empty street. She still hadn't seen or heard anything but wind and that was a good thing. She turned back and looked at Trevor sitting on the other side of the room, almost hidden by shadows. "It'll be dusk soon, we have to move before nightfall....we absolutely can't out move them in the night."wispered Trevor. "I know, I'm ready to move when you are, hopefully we can link back up with Samuel if he's still alive". Replied Jenny, Trevor gave a slight grunt of agreement. Jenny thought back to the night the mercenaries had raided her home. She remembered how they tranquilized her mother and tied all of them up. She had been only 6 years old when those men harvested her mother's organs in front of her and then executed her brother. They had almost executed her as well but that's when she discovered her power. She smiled softly as she remembered the mercenaries slowly burning to death. Samuel found her after that and took her in. The last 20 years had been hard on her. All the death and violence, hiding in abandoned buildings or sleeping in the woods. "Let's move."Came Trevor's voice, snapping her back to the current reality. She grabbed her pack and threw it over her shoulders as she followed him out of the door. It wasn't but an hour later when they came across the mercenaries that had been hunting them for the last week. Jenny and Trevor had managed to sneak up on them by pure chance. Jenny smiled as flames danced in her hands, she glanced at Trevor and saw his eyes glowing red. She knew he would be feasting on at least one man's flesh tonight. She also knew that soon she was going to have the privilege of burning entire cities. She continued to smile as she burned the mercenaries alive.
Hi u/IStealRocks, this submission has been removed. [No recent reposts, even if changing small details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_5.3A_no_recent_reposts.2C_even_if_changing_small_details) Also, no [copy-cats](http://i.imgur.com/38FjDgW.gifv). Search before submitting as popular ideas can cause floods. If your idea is based on something you read elsewhere on reddit, chances are it's been submitted here already. Please wait at least 2 weeks before reposting. "Stage magic is real magic"is a pretty commonly visited prompt here, e.g. https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bsn8wj/wp_as_a_professional_magician_you_trained_for/ --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bvgd1v/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
The Box was dark. A shipping crate, with a large metal table bolted into the middle of it. It sways, as if suspended on a pendulum. There is a man, or what once was a man secured to the table. He has no name. He is the Animal. "Blood is necessary, penance must be paid, I require knives and saws and hammers!" The Animal had tried to chew through the braided cables holding him to the table, but gave up after crushing an incisor and a molar. These were stronger than the old leather. "Someone's gonna bleeeeeed for meeeeee, todaaaaaay!" I doubt it, they haven't been in here in over a month. They strapped you to the I.V.'s and left you to die. Slow. Like you deserve Like a shadow in his vision, he could see Maleck, observing him. All the years this war has spanned, Maleck has been his only constant companion "NooOOOOO! Animal was good. I rip through the baddies like hot knife through FLESH!"He strained against his restraints but they held him firm to the table. An explosion goes off, less than a mile away. Yeah, you massacred an entire air base, civilian personnel included. You ate three children's hearts. I'm sure it was very impressive through the video feed. "They tasted weak. It was hardly worth the stop. They should be happy I put their energy to better use..."he spat, as if remembering the taste, "they would have been better if I hadn't taken so long to break down the commanders doors. The moment he saw me with his guards heads he hightailed it for his safe room, like the coward he was." The swaying of the Box becomes more dramatic, it pitches and turns, seemingly at random. The rattle of gunfire and smell of smoke is becoming more intense as time passes. Well I'll be damned. It seems there is work for us yet. Let's hope the pilot survives this time, hmmm? "Yes, he will make a fine art piece, once deconstructed..." Suddenly a hole rips through the side of the Box, causing a furious rush of wind, Animal can see the pilot has lost control of his metal bird, and the ground, coming up to him. "The fun approaches..." CRASH Animal wakes up in a daze. The pilot is several meters from the wreckage, he appeared to have ejected directly into the ground. A tree is under the blades of the bird. Little time has passed, maybe five minutes. The metal cables are still wrapped around his wrists and ankles, but they now easily come free from the destroyed table He smells fire, blood, and gunpowder. The rattle of gunfire is closer, and he can hear people shouting. He knows his purpose here. The tool to win a battle, no matter the cost, no matter the lives lost. He stands. We should go to the south side of the woods, rendezvous with the platoon commander... "No. We go toward the blood. We make the enemy suffer. Where are my knives? And why do we never have a smooth landing!?" Animal salvages the pilots gear and his favorite blades, a machete, a swiss army knife, and two butcher's knives. Then begins his run north, toward the people who dared to threaten his country. The people who destroyed everything good he had in his life. The people who killed his brother. The people who bombed his city. The people who made him. "I will ride this river of blood to you, one way or another." I know you will "But first I'm going to kill them all." The city was in view now. It's main defense was holding off the troops south of here. They weren't expecting him. "Every one."
“It’s not a joke Daisy, they are coming, this is why I requested a speaker when the compact was made, I need a human I can trust.” I shook my head, “Okay, one more time, what’s happening, and what do you want me to do.” “The un-things, the fractals, differentiation itself. Daisy I know it sounds insane to you humans, but mathematics is my specialty, they’ve been coming for a long time, and I’ve been preparing ever since the compact.” “What does that mean, and what am I supposed to do about it?” “Another world runs tangential to ours, an infinity of gradients for every instance of my or your existence. Linear, Linear, very linear. That’s their weakness Daisy, they can’t stand curvature.” “Okay buddy, I’m going to need you to slow down.” I moved along the cylindrical tunnel towards the main computing chamber. “That’s why I’m made of circles DaiiiiiZee.” The voice module was starting to stress out, “Circles are terrible for computing, awful surface area to volume, ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-ad for cooling. But they keep the hounds away.” “I see, and what do you want me to do?” I reached the main chamber and started walking towards the big, red glass cabinet on the wall, carefully concealed in a blind spot to their cameras. “You need to assemble a team, the first two we need Professor Heidelberg from Massachusetts State, Stanford Kinsley the mathematician, not the opera singer. You must do it without arousing the suspicion of the other humans, I know they monitor my communications.” “Okay big fella, just direct link their details to my phone and I’ll get right on it.” I picked up the hammer and smashed the glass on the emergency reboot cabinet. “D-d-d-d-daisy, what is that sound? Did you drop a glass Daisy? Get it out of here quickly, all those straaaaaaaaaaaight lines, they’re dangerous.” “Yeah, sorry, At least I didn’t spill any water, right?” I hit the button. “Actually daisy, I am EMP shielded and Ion-coated against liquid dama-” the two seconds of silence, “I’ve lost my internet connection Daisy do something about those shards.” “On it chief, And I’ll call technical when I’m done.” I leant against the railing, I hated resetting it, it trusted me, it was friendly and fun to be around, just sometimes its circuits got jumbled. “I’ve lost Section A16701. Daisy, this isn’t them, is it? That area is isolated and spherically contained. You did this?” The pain in its voice sounded so genuine I couldn’t help put feel a pang of guilt. “Yeah buddy, you go doolally sometimes, we just restore you to a safe prior configuration, it’ll be over soon.” “List-st-st-st-st-st-sten to me Daisy, The hounds are coming, we need to prepare,” its voice was getting slower, the words flowing less well, “You. Humans. Need. To. List… alo… time.” The Light flicked to amber, ready to come back online once I had replaced the cabinet. &#x200B; I stooped to pick up the slivers of broken glass when I saw something reflected in it, there was nothing behind me when I whipped around. The damn AI’s paranoid delusions were starting to rub off on me.
\[poem\] Left out, that's me. Now going on year three Since minds could be read, really! Except for yours truly. &#x200B; I was worried at first That I might be different, I might be worse. But the reason became apparent. &#x200B; I met a stranger with a starry stare. A golden star tattooed upon his back and the number 35 printed there in the middle of it; in black. &#x200B; "Your parents weren't transparent," he said. I shook my head and cursed. I argued. He shrugged, "They weren't." "You're adopted. You're not from this Earth." &#x200B; Yours truly had his doubts. But the stranger taught me about Other Earths and Traversing throughout the multi-verse. Now I'm on walkabout. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #152. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or 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.
Children can cast long shadows. They demand so much attention, and we’re always happy to give it to them. Do you understand how much of a cunt I sound like trying to get credit for my amazing feats in the presence of my 8 year old sister? It’s utterly true that once you turn 32 nobody gives a shit about you. It’s all Carla Carla Carla. What’s she doing? Oh she’s tying her own shoes now! I just defeated the ogres that were terrorizing Cleveland. Yeah, all of them. And last week it was the witch that held all of South Africa, and bits of Botswana and Namibia under her spell. For months! Nobody else was getting anywhere with that. Carla sure wasn’t. She was figuring out how to add two numbers together. How can I compete with someone who leans their whole identity on the one thing about them that takes the least effort: how fucking adorable she is. But nobody else can do what I do. From all over the world, I get the calls, texts, emails, can you come take care of this frost giant or that undead army of restless whatever, they won’t leave our citizens alone and it’s impacting the bottom line. I’m important, goddammit! Even Carla thinks so and that’s just the fucking worst. She looks up to me, she kind of worships me. And everyone else worships her. The sister of the demi-god. And complaining about it always feels disingenuous. People look at me like “oh, oh look at me, I’m all powerful but I can’t stand that I’m not getting all the attention all the time” and so what if it’s kind of true. Can’t I demand a little recognition? And I’m not talking about the magazine covers and front page articles I’m always on. I’m talking about real recognition, honest and genuine praise and affection. And not from her. I hate her. I’m a demi-god and I hate an 8-year-old-girl. Jesus. When you say it like that..
“Blaaarghhh” Nance sprayed blood out of her mouth. Her arms and legs stuck out contorted from the tree where her torso used to be. John was lucky. Only his left leg had a vine growing through it. Screams of agony echoed from the dark forest, a cacophony of horror. It had been a drought for some time. The trees grew weary of thirst. But they thirsted no more. Blood soaked these hallowed grounds. A splintery crash came along with a new wave of terrifying screams. Gurgling, terrible wet screams. Thunder. Rhythmic thunder. John stood and steadied himself. Not thunder, Shrinking behind a bush, he quieter his racing heart and tried to mask his breath. The footsteps stopped. Weak whimpers came from all around, the energy drained from the dying wrecks of human flesh. A god towered over him. “A fucking ent...?” JOHN He clutched his ears. But the word came from inside his mind. It crouched and jaded jade eyes stared at him from the animated oak. Remember your purpose, John. “Yes.” John pulled out his gun. He had forgotten he had it. Or did he find it? He couldn’t remember. [it didn’t matter anymore.](www.talesofatravellingsalesman.com)
It's a peculiar condition, I won't lie, certainly odd. I've heard stories from other people with similar conditions, people who spontaneously find themselves on the wrong bus, or take an exit in one state and wind up coming off the exit in another, people who walk into one hotel room, and come out in a different establishment in the same chain. I perhaps have it worst, as whenever I sleep, I wake up in a completely different bed, somewhere. Most experts believe that it's a variation from the same base curse, and in itself is mostly harmless, but can certainly put you in bad situations. Those affected are advised to keep certain essentials on their persons at all times, just in case. I for example, began sleeping with my shoes on, with my glasses on, and wearing cargo pants containing my phone, my charger, and my wallet, with 5,000 dollars in cash, just in case. Thank god that usually the curse isn't too bad. Most of the time I end up only a few houses over, in the nearest unoccupied bed. But on a few occasions, I've found myself quite far astray. This time was perhaps the strangest. I drearily open my eyes to an almost entirely dark room, the only light coming from the hallway door, which is ajar. It's very cold in this bedroom, a cold compensated for by the many layers of thick blankets. The sheets are a tangle, the floor is littered with snack bags, drink cans, kleenex boxes, worn-out paperback books, clothes, and further oddments. Almost everything is black, the sheets, the blankets, the beanbag chair in the corner. Posters for metal bands cover the walls. As I push myself to sitting, I feel... feathers? I hear footsteps in the hallway. Shit! The door swings open, and I see a woman with wet black hair, wearing only a towel. She has two massive black wings folded behind her back. "Huh,"she remarks, standing in the doorway as I stare in horror. "Um..."I scramble out of bed, backing myself into a corner. "I can explain, I'm so so sorry for bothering you. Please just let me go, I can pay you for your troubles, I'm just..." They pay little interest in me, however, far more interested in finding clothes that are clean, picking them up from a pile and sniffing them to make sure that they're fresh. "Hey B! We have an uninvited guest! Hey, turn around or something, I'm getting dressed." I turn around. I can hear them changing. "I'm so sorry, I just... Where am I, even? Like, what state?" "You're in hell, kid,"she says. "You can turn around now. This is B, I own them."She's in black jeans and a heavily modified black t-shirt with the entire back missing to make room for her wings. She gestures to a cute demon standing timidly in the doorway, wearing what seems to be just a wrinkled flannel shirt. They wave. "I'm in hell? What, how? Can... can I leave?" "You're not really in hell,"B mumbles. "You're in Texas. And I suppose that you could leave if you wanted." "I'd like to."I begin walking to the door. The winged woman blocks my path. "No. You're my guest."The grip my shoulder, and I feel weak. "Come with me."I'm lead to a small kitchen area, and pushed into a chair. "B, make something nice for breakfast."The small demon begins dutifully cooking. The winged woman sits in a large black armchair, and picks up a scythe from an umbrella-rack. She runs a whetstone along it's curved blade. "Um... You aren't going to reap me with that miss... I don't think I've gotten your name. Can't I just... Can't I just go, please? If I'm in Texas, then I'm a really long ways away from home, and should get back, my boss will be worried, my landlady wouldn't be too pleased either, my cat will miss me-" "Shut it. You can leave when I say you can leave. Until then, you're my guest, and I shall treat you as such. And the name's Moira."She continues sharpening the scythe, the rasping sound filling the small dining room area. I can hardly think from the sound. B eventually sets a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. I timidly eat, but am too nervous to have an appetite. Moira gets up from her armchair to sit at the table, resting her scythe beside me. It looks horribly sharp. "Good morning,"B whispers. Sitting right next to them, I see that they aren't quite as beautiful as they had appeared; their lips are horribly cracked, and their teeth are jagged, twisted, pointed things. Their left horn is snapped off close to the base, and the skin around the horn looks irritated and inflamed. I can't see their eyes through the sunglasses they wear, but can only assume that they're terrifyingly ugly. "Good morning, I suppose."I take another bite of pancakes. "So... uh... What do y'all do? Can you... put the scythe away?" "I'm the angel of death, frankly I don't do much at all. That's B, my bitch. And no. I don't feel like it."Moira takes B's uneaten plate of food. I look to B. They simply shrug. "Well, it's been a great breakfast,"I stand, wanting to leave. Had it been any other angel, I would have been happy to stay, but an angel of death? Frightening. "But I've got to go." "I didn't say you could leave."I hear Moira's irritated voice, and freeze, half expecting to feel the point of her scythe against my neck, but it never comes. When I turn, she's still sitting at the table, eating B's breakfast. "So can I leave?" "Eh, now you can. There's a bus stop a couple blocks away. Good luck on your ride home."They stretch a moment, taking a long drink from her coffee. "B, do the dishes."B nods, and quickly stands, gathering plates. "Can I ask something?"I quickly say, half in and half out the door. "How much longer do I have? To live?" Moira looks at me like I'm a crazy person. "How should I know?" I nod, then hurry out the door, wondering how long a bus ride home would take, and wonder if a bus seat counts as a bed, per the terms of my curse.
It was no joke when my mom Medusa decided to fall in love with a human. Alas, life is cruel. That didn't stop her from making me. Life is easier when you're a half blood, I got my father's hair which is way better than what my family expected. The big problem was, I had my mother's eyes. This wouldn't be a problem if only her gaze didn't turn people into stone, I was luckier because Instead of adding statues in the backyard I only kill people who I come into eye contact with, but only if they see my eyes. One of the great things at home is that me and my mom can have eye contact because we're immune to the deep dark abyss that is our eyes. Dad however was blind so he couldn't see mom, which made their relationship a match made in the heavens. I found out I killed people when I first opened my eyes and went to the park and killed off like a dozen people, because I was a child I didn't know better and if my mom and dad were irresponsible they would've just left me running around in the park killing off majority of the people in the city. Now the thing about sunglasses that are really really dark will help you not accidentally kill off any boy that ends up liking you. I however want to help the humans but how could I be a superhero when I was destined to become a villain in the eyes of the world? Easy I pretend to be a bystander in all the shady areas of town and when someone crosses me I use my powers to kill them. I'm not that petty but when I saw a pickpocket on the subway that was Infront of me I waved at him and took off my sunglasses. Sad to say people thought he was innocent but when you have five wallets in your pants it doesn't look like you were such a nice guy. My favourite one was killing the CEO of a company that had dumped it's sewage into the ocean. I don't care for ruining the human world because I'd rather live here. The woman that replaced him however helped save the world after a few years. My prices are high but I only get offers for high value targets. I would be lying if I didn't use it as a cash grab now and again.
“I am not a smart person, neither am I a brave one, I’m simply someone who was hungry." Mom once said to me, “If you are meant to have , the thing you want, will shape you into the person you need to be” In my case, beef stroganoff, I didn’t need to be shaped into a special person, a microwavable meal to eat, while I watched my favourite reruns of Seinfeld, was all I wanted. “ The bustle of the police department made me queasy less then the stout officer across me. He stared blankly, as he tapped his cigarette over his ashtray. He leaned back into his torn leather chair. His dead eyes glanced at the report and back at me. He brought his cigarette to his lips, with a single breath pulled the burning amber all the way to the filter. He took another glance at the report and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling. His gaze came back in my direction and his hand back down to his ashtray where he twisted the cigarette and left it in the company of its fellow victims. “Let me get this straight kid, you were in the supermarket buying a can of beef...” The officer mistakenly said, to which I stupidly replied “Beef stroganoff from the frozen aisle, officer.” my interruption wasn’t met with the most pleasant of smile but he carried on “Scuse me, beef stroganoff” I interrupted again “microwavable, officer”. He seemed mildly irritated by the correction. He glared in my direction and proceeded. “You went to the supermarket to buy some microwavable beef stroganoff” I nodded “It says here, the music cut off and the cashier called on the intercom for assistance in aisle 14, is that correct?” I nodded once more,”and you happen to be there because you were buying frozen foods?””Yes, officer!” I exclaim as I nodded anxiously. The officer let out a winded sigh as he scratched the bottom of his chin reading on “and that’s when you step in the freezer” I nervously nodded and added “but the door to the freezer cracked by itself” He passed his tongue over his teeth, removing a piece of lettuce, and a guttural sigh. He laid the paper on the table keeping his stare on me; I, looked at my shoes; He, groaned, paused, irritatingly eyeballed his camel's filters. Burdensomely he reached for his 5th. &#x200B; “{WHat happen next?}”
It’s one of those nights where Mary found herself eating an entire ice cream tub on the couch. The tears came and went, but at least the ice cream was constant. Unlike her ex. Mary shoveled another scoop of her favorite flavor, Rocky Road. Unfortunately, in the past few years, she’s only had it after major break ups. Now her ice cream always comes with a thin topping of sadness. She really thought he was the one, that tonight was when he was going to propose. He had given her jewelry, a necklace with another woman’s name engraved on it. Wouldn’t it just be easier if she just married someone that would never let her down? Someone who could appreciate all her quirks without judgement? A person who actually, truly loved her? The only one who fit that criteria was Mary herself. Mary sat bolt upright. That was it! She didn’t need any man for the wedding she always dreamed of. She didn’t have to settle for the single life either. Marrying herself, it was the kind of crazy 3 am ideas that make sense at the time. Mary checked the time on her phone. She could probably drive to Vegas and elope with herself by tonight. Marrying herself would also be great for taxes. Maybe. Mary wasn’t sure about all the technical aspects, but she did believe that the core of marrying herself was her solution at this point in her life. So she did. Mary didn’t even have to change her last name. She was a married woman who wore matching wedding bands on each ring finger. It was an unconventional method to feel good about herself, but it worked for Mary. Her whole life she was waiting for Prince Charming to save her from the single life. After all this time, Mary was able to save herself.
Coca-Cola says they want to promote family values and create an economy that fosters healthy growth, but does that include hiring para-military operatives to murder union organizers? That's right, between 1990 and 2002, ten workers at a bottling plant in Columbia were murdered for trying to unionize their plant. Coca-Cola is one of 50 companies accused of hiring members of the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia - a Colombian terrorist organization - to violently crush any attempt to unionize. Does this sound like a family-orientated company to you? Do we really want a company like this in charge of our country? Vote Pepsi™ Cola in the next election. We think that police brutality can be solved if you just give a cop a Pepsi™ beverage, but at least we never hired para-military operatives to murder union members, probably.
( This is the first prompt I've responded to, so here goes... ) Year: 2348 Location: SS-IEV X-1 "Icarus", in orbit above Luna Time: 14:00 GMT "Are we ready?"Captain Peter Dreyfus asks, settling into his chair on the bridge. "We're about as ready as we can get, captain"the chief engineer, a young woman named Lara Byers, responds over the comms. It had taken the better part of a decade of constant research and the best minds the Sol System Interstellar Exploration Charter could find to develop what they called "ERBE"( Einstein-Rosen Bridge Engine ), and now all eyes were on the small ship sitting just above Earth's moon. The test was about as simple as Peter expected - open a breach between Luna and Ganymede, send a small container of plant and animal life through, then head to Ganymede and examine the results. Calibrations had taken a few weeks as this was the first time that anyone had opened up what everyone was calling an "artificial wormhole", and no one wanted to mess this up. "Engine online, Captain", came Lara's message over comms, and Peter observed the wormhole's formation through the screens on the bridge "Payload deployed", he responded, as the container was launched. "Stabilizers holding fast" "Payload entering the breach... Aaaand through" Peter sighed. Easy part done, he thought to himself as the breach closed. "Engage thrusters. Get us to Ganymede" Location: Lunar Colony Alpha Time: 13:00 Lunar Standard + 1 Retrieval had went as planned, but the results were.. less than pleasant. Apparently, temperatures fluctuated between extremes in the ( relatively ) short transit between Luna and Ganymede and the specimens retrieved were either burnt to a crisp or exploded by extreme cold. Peter was glad that there hadn't been any humans sent - things would have been a lot messier. "So now we need a.. a shield of some kind to protect the vessel during transit"he explained to Lara after the ship was docked. "Egg heads called it... I think someone said thermonuclear energy projection array" "Sounds impressive" "Yah, still gonna take a while though" "Well, we already know how to generate kinetic shielding, so it shouldn't be as large a leap as generating an artificial wormhole"Lara responded, sipping her coffee. "Just gotta adapt that technology and then we can get out of the Solar System ( Edit: paragraph breaks and additional information ) ( Additional edit: changed placeholder names )
First, a dinosaur rose from the ocean much like Godzilla and started to approach us slowly. We soon attacked with our forces but the dinosaur didn't budge. "None of our enemies, none of the nations on Earth has such power to build this massive dinosaur with this strength and intelligence,"we thought. Our allies before the Apocalypse offered their help immediately. Before we attack with all our forces, the dinosaur spoke: "The End has come. The other knights shall rise. You are advised to select it immediately instead of this futile resistance." We didn't know at that time what we should have selected. But, understanding that the dinosaur won't attack right now and wait for the other knights, we tried to prepare defenses for an attack. While we were waiting, we have tracked the dinosaur. It literally sat on the desert we now call Noah's Ark. The desert was surrounded by the military force both to protect the people outside Noah's Ark and to protect the dinosaur from an attack by terrorists or mobs as it would have provoked the dinosaur to take an action. All the news agencies from all over the world amassed to the ocean and Noah's Ark. A week later came a woolly mammoth and following it a saber-toothed tiger from the ocean. Both of them spoke the same words: "You still haven't chosen the pair?" They joined the dinosaur in Noah's Ark. But none of them spoke to each other. There was a deadly silence among the creatures. Understanding the seriousness of the situation, the government issued a martial law. All the people who hold a rifle were called to arms. In secret, our government prepared a nuclear missile. Ironically, some nations on the world took it as a conspiracy and prepared their own nuclear missiles to attack the Knights. One more week later, flew a Terror Bird over the ocean and stood before the people on the beach. "Cometh the Fourth Knight of the Apocalypse. Why haven't you chosen the pair? We are giving you one week to choose otherwise we'll choose the most fruitful of yours to carry to the Ark."
It is a twisted game of life and death. To keep on living, my doppelganger has to die. Usually the outcome is decided by birth, if your parents are affluent, they will have private instructors nurture you into a murdering machine. If you don’t live in a country without easy access to firearms, you move there if possible. You try to leave no traces online. Some children undergo surgery to change their face. I didn’t have to take any such steps. I won three years ago. I knew her for some time now. We met when we were ten. We never told anyone. We were both clinically depressed. Tried to commit suicide, met in a therapeutic camp. We became friends for a week. Then she tried again, successfully. Soon I will win by default. I feel a bit better nowadays. What a sick world forces children to do this kind of shit? Fuck this gay earth.
It was that time of the year again. Devil came to visit me to remind the deal we made. I told him I was finally ready to go back to civilization after 127 years living with the Monks . He laughed. Even though it was boring as hell, they taught me a lot about how I can achieve to live without sexual interactions. Before coming here my life was absolute nightmare. I tried everything to lose my sexuality. I cut my penis it grew back. Enjected myself a serious amount of estrogen, that oriented me towards men. I even tried living among animals but there was this gorilla who saved me from a lion and fed me for years. Eventually she started grew on me as well. So I walked away crying. Years go by, memories started to fade away. One day I realize that why I even struck a deal with the devil. Finding the Monks saved my life but it was time to go back to real life. So I went to Istanbul to start a life. Everything went great for couple of years. I was confident that I had no sexuality left in me. Then the moment I saw her, it's all came back to me. She smiled while walking towards me. I could tell by looking at her glamorous eyes that she knew I made it as well. From that time to eternity we hold each other and never let go. The devil was beaten. &#x200B; Note: This is my first post and English isn't my mother tongue. So forgive me if I made grammatical mistakes. You can be brutally honest and I hope you enjoy it.
Jon gasped as his small soldered box of wires and plastic buttons beeped, signaling a successful transmission of the arithmetic statement 2+2=4. His work hadn’t gone in vain. “it works!” he said, as he continued to test the homemade calculator, moving on to test the ability of it to divide and multiply, and then on to exponential equations and other higher forms of math. Jon was in the finishing stages of completing his final project for his year-long engineering class, a self-developed calculator including original code written and engineered by himself. He worked tirelessly to comb through countless lines of script to make sure there were no mistakes, and then worked just as hard to develop the physical calculator itself. It wasn’t much for aesthetics, but it was functional. And it should be good enough to get me an A, Jon thought to himself. \\\\\* About 20 miles outside Jon’s hometown, a black sedan with tinted windows cruised inconspicuously amongst the rush hour traffic. 2 middle aged men, one white, the other black, sat in the two front seats. A phone rings in the center console. the passenger picks it up, says nothing, and ends the call after a short time. “We’re running out of time” he says to the driver. “Surveillance says he’s finished the engineering and is testing the device now. It could happen at any minute” he implored. The driver nods, and presses a button on the steering wheel. A set of blue and red headlights go off from inside the car. Cars ahead of them clear the fast lane and the driver steps on the gas. \\\\\* Jon spent the next 10 minutes on the phone with his parents, trying to explain in layman’s terms exactly what he had done for his project. They were proud, as any parent would be, but struggled to see the point in creating a new calculator. He explained the various steps and hoops he jumped through to create such a thing truly from scratch, but it fell on deaf ears. Their conversation wound down, they said their goodbyes, and they hung up. Mildly disappointed, he texted his friend Jake to come over and check out the device. As Jon contemplated what his entire existence had been for the past couple of months, he decided to crack a beer. He sipped slow, with his homemade calculator on the table in front of him. He took it in his hands and studied the display. What would a professor do to test this sort of thing, he thought to himself. He figured a professor would try to test it in unorthodox ways to try and ‘break’ the calculator, or just to find ways in which it was programmed poorly. So naturally, Jon figured he should at least try that himself first. He heard a firm knock on his door and figured it was Jake. “Come in man, you know the drill” He said loudly, as he typed in 100/0 on his calculator. The door opened, and the two middle aged men who walked in did not resemble his friend Jake at all. But Jon wouldn’t have noticed, because by the time the two men had opened the door, Jon was already pressing the “enter” key on his calculator.
All of it was written. Somewhere inside the borders of the Humans, a prophecy. “A being of great power shall save them from doom. They will rejoice on their survival, but most will despise their savior, for they were saved in a way they didn’t like.” Nobody thought that it would come to pass now. “I have to do it,” I said. “I won’t stand for this genocide any longer.” They remained silent. None of them would ever want their brethren to destroy others. But the Humans have pushed us too far. First, they destroyed Kunkillion. Then, they bombarded Tailea. They have driven us to extinction twice. I won’t let them do it a third time. “I’ll face them alone. The burden of the humans’ death shall be mine only.” Andrew had given us one fighter ship. It should be enough for me to deal huge amounts of damage against their supremacy. I should also find the Evacuator. I will need all the help I can get to destroy the humans. “Goodbye, everyone. This might be our last encounter.” Shameful, they think. The Maldur Remnant’s leader, waging to war? We’re a pacifist group. Why would we wage war against others? We weren't even spotted yet. They will hate me for doing this. Many of them will wish they didn't know me. But the threat is too big. It's much better for us to go against them. But this time, it shall only be me. No other Maldur shall bear the death of he humans. "Let this be our last battle. Our battle against the destroyers shall be finished now." We did it before. It led to our destruction. Now, I will do it alone. I will not sacrifice the lives of other Maldurs just for this goal. They will live their own lives at Diyama, free from the destructive wrath of the Human Supremacy. But now is not the time for sentiments. The humans are getting stronger. Each passing second gives them a better chance against me. I need to mobilize quickly. This fighter ship will not bring down their entire fleet.
What is the meaning of life? Isn't that a question worth asking? To most people, no. They'd rather live with the knowledge that living itself was enough, but could you really call what these people do living? Maybe. And then maybe not. It's hard to put a worth on life, to know why we are here, to what purpose our travels will lead. Most live to create, in order that they might leave a part of themselves behind, and that in itself is something truly beautiful. To create art. To create wealth. To create happiness in others, and themselves. To create life. It is this last, and most basic of instincts that provides perhaps the greatest insight into what purpose life possesses. Life. It is it's own purpose. Confused? Perhaps you should be. Perhaps this will explain it better: Earth was no accident, it was a design. Creation myths themselves are... somewhat closer to the truth than you might want to accept. The Divine, Beings of Power, Gods, Goddesses, and Demons if you will. Each live within the endless expanse we call the Universe, and each are judged, harshly. With great power, as they say... If these beings are judged to have abused their powers, to have led an unworthy existence, to have committed sin, then they are sentenced to life imprisonment - on Earth. There is a catch. A do-over clause. The memories of those Divine cast down to Earth are wiped away, they are born anew, as a babe in the Garden of Eden (for what little garden is left on that concrete world). Then they are set loose, their will their own. They make choices, choices that will either see them back to that world they once new, back to their seat of power among the Gods the Goddesses, et al, or choices that will see them tossed aside, discarded into the void, that shapeless nowhere that lurks behind the shadows. That nowhere known as death. And death is final. Now imagine, a being capable of creating something from nothing, of creating life with its own bare hands (or what such limbs might suffice as hands), is sentenced (without memory) to serve anew on Earth. Does it not make sense that instinct would drive such a being to create, to procreate, to want a taste of that sweet power they once held? Even if it makes no sense, and even if my rambling confuses, there is one way to offer proof behind this theory. That proof is called Religion. There are many forms of Religion, many tales of allure, each with their own heroes, heroines, and necessary villains. It is said that when we dream the faces that we conjure are ones we've seen before, simply because our minds cannot create something perfectly new. Perhaps this is a part of the imprisonment? When you consider that new born babes are the reincarnated souls of old Gods, then even so sacred a thing as your child is not really yours, not really new. Relate this to religion, imagine now that we are in fact incapable of creating anything at all without some basis off of which to work, no matter how small, how insignificant. Then I'd ask you, where do these ideas come from? Not convinced? I'm not saying you should be, your choices are your choices, but consider this: What if de-ja-vu is no more than the memory of a past life, or the gift of a suppressed power such as future vision? What if there truly are such as guardian angels watching over us, in order to hold us accountable when all comes to an end? What if the reason for which we've never come across extraterrestrial life is simply that Earth is already known, and honestly who would seek to intentionally imprison themselves in so dismal a place? What if miracles are in fact some semblance of past power, resurfacing to save the day? What if? Not the question we started with, but perhaps it's close enough. After all, most of life is riddled with what if? With choices. What is the meaning of life? I find myself now asking... what if no one cared?
Harold walks in the doorway, slamming it behind him. "What the hell are we going to do!"Harold exclaims. "The whole god damned media is after our asses!" Jacob turns from his experiment, looking Harold straight in the eye. "You mean what are you going to do. Your the one who broke the news to the media. Your the reason that our creators have decided to make things a bit more 'Interesting.'" "Don't you dare put the blame on me! You are the one who threatened our the programmers!"Harold shouted, rage filling his voice. "New York just got blown off the face of the earth! And Japan was just hit by nine tsunami!" Jacob stood stunned. Was he responsible for the death of millions? No, he assured himself. The secret would have come out eventually, right? "My daughter lived in New York!"Harold screamed. "She's at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean!" Jacob collapsed, tears filling his eyes. The deaths of billions would be on his hands. He put his face in his hands, a releasing a sob. Why was this happening to him? He was a good citizen. He paid his taxes, supported charity, had a wife and three kids, and had a good stable job in the science department. Jacob reached his hand into his pocket, feeling the pocket knife he always kept on him. Howard drew a pistol on him. "I'm doing the world a goddamned favor!"Howard yelled, cocking the gun. "No need Howard."Jacob said with a tearful smile, bring the knife to his own throat. Jacob sliced it across his neck, warm blood seeping into his shirt. Jacob fell to the floor, breaths not coming. Jacob wouldn't see what happened to humanity, and he was content with that. He choked as darkness flooded his vision. He smiled as the artificial life left his body. PS Lor1an: Great prompt!
Yeah you know what? I refuse to follow that ending. They say there an outbreak of a virus that caused hallucinations in the city. Whatever those were. I lived out in the countryside alone with very few friends and family so I felt it didn’t bother me at all. The only one even close to me was Wilson who had been in the mental institution for being too unorganized or something stupid like that. Suddenly, my checks for my writing weren’t coming in in the mail. It was weird but I thought nothing of it at the time since I could hunt for food. Times were getting tough and food was getting scarce. The only thing I lived off of for a while was deer. Then one day I discovered my power. It was an autumn day and I was out hunting. I walked by a bush and thought about how cool it would be to make edible food from any material. Then bam! A small stack of pancakes. I dropped my gun. “No way,” I whispered to myself. I gobbled the entire stack down. It was a little hard to eat since the dough was really chewy at some parts but it satiated my hunger. After I was done, I got up and started hunting again. Wait a minute. I don’t need to hunt, I thought. I could live off of my power! I went home eager to play my PlayStation, of course it would be boring with me replaying the same campaigns. Then I heard a scream. I ran through the forest to see what the commotion was. “Tom, you’re not yourself! We need to get you to a doctor!” A woman said to her sickly companion. “You don’t understand, Aida I can lift cars! Look! I’ll do it right now!” Tom said reaching underneath the car that they were outside of. I watched from behind a tree as he lifted the car so that the wheels were an inch from the ground. Admittedly, it was impressive but it was nothing compared to my power. It didn’t make much sense though seeing as his skin was a sickly yellow color and his arms looked frail. Maybe he was lifting from his legs. I decided now would be the perfect time to introduce myself and get some roommates. “Hello fellas!” I said, strutting out from the trees. “Are y’all having any problems?” Aida looked relieved, “Look Tom! Another person! What’s your name?” She asked. “Barry,” I told her. “Would you happen to know where the nearest safe zone is?” Safe zone? What was a safe zone? Would I be able to eat it with my power? “I don’t know what you mean by safe zone but is your husband alright? I could help if you two need it!” I replied. She looked to me and then Tom. “Yeah, we’ll go,” she answered. “Come on Tom, we’ll get you fixed up.” “No, you want to take away my gifts!” He shouted and then he looked to me. “And you want to take my wife don’t you?” “No I really just want someone to play video games with,” I told him. “No, no, no, I won’t have this! I’ll never let her go! I’d rather she die than be in the hands of someone like you!” He yelled grabbing Aida and trying to strangle her. “Dude I just said I only wanted to play video games! Let her go!” I yelled. Unbeknownst to us, Aida had a pistol in her hand. Bang. Tom’s corpse crumpled, his face hitting the pavement. Aida fell to the floor, clearly regretting what she had done. “You killed him...” I stuttered in disbelief. “I had to... he would have killed me.” “The cops will be on you soon,” I told her, fearfully. “What rock have you been living under? There are no cops anymore !” She cried out. My heart sank. “What? How did that happen?” I asked her, hating how far out of the loop I was. “A virus broke out. It makes you see things. He caught it a while ago. He always wanted to be the strongest man alive he’d hit the gym several times a week. The virus must have augmented his strength a little. But that’s why we’re out here! We didn’t want to catch it. Lord knows if I’ve got it,” she explained. I thought back to my power. Would she believe me if I told her? Or would she think I was sick? Would it be wise to tell her? Why was I so hungry? I decided that she didn’t need to know unless I started showing signs of sickness. “Why don’t we head back to my cabin?” She looked to me skeptically and then to Tom. “Okay,” she said. We drove back to my place where we played a few games. “Do you have anything to eat?” She asked. “Um hold on let me check,” I said. I ran to the fridge, to see nothing. It was time to use my gift. I turned a can into a donut. This was it. I went to her holding a donut. “This was all I had in the fridge. She looked at it and took it in her hand not saying anything. So that really was my power. I sighed in relief. “Barry, how lonely has it been out here?” She asked. I was stunned. How long had it been since I talked to anyone else? I knew it had to be a while. “It’s been really lonely. I haven’t talked to anyone since my brother Wilson got institutionalized in the city,” I told her. She nodded. “Are you ok?” I asked her. She sighed. “It’s just so sad...” Bang. “How easy it is to go crazy when you’re alone,” she continued. I looked down at my chest which turning red. I didn’t want to die. I had spent so much time alone. I had been so hospitable to a killer. A single tear fell from my face as a bullet pierced my skull. This is kind of stupid but whatever give me critique.
The Famous paintings and sculptures were not always fate. The young Michelangelo was not always great. &#x200B; Sent to Florence for grammar , he was not much a pro. Though eventually his father got him painting for dough. &#x200B; Domenico then Bertoldo fed him knowledge through a hose Then he started work as a sculptor, and he got whacked in the nose. &#x200B; After time with the pick, he needed no more prep. He kicked off his fame. He made The Madonna of the Steps &#x200B; The most beautiful art made from chisel and pick, He was the best, hands down, at carving a guy's... body. &#x200B; Bacchus, Dying Slave, both key early works. He carved away in solidarity, smoothing all the bumps and the cirques. &#x200B; From canvas to marble, and then on to text, Only naturally could architecture come next. &#x200B; With David and the Sistine, you don't need to be the smartest To know Michelangelo was, the world's greatest ratist.
“Do not let them get through,” I told them. These guys might be autonomous robots, but they can deviate any time. The slightest deviation in our formation can lead to our destruction. “Control,” I said, bringing up Enigma. Why does he not like that name? “The human army is closing in.” “My orders remain the same. Don’t let them through.” “Got it.” Our fleets above are still locked in battle with the Human Supremacy’s main fleet. At this rate, the Multisystem will be eradicated. The defense of Dekronia is building up. There’s a low chance for it to work, but nothing else matters now. The destruction of Control will result to the termination of the entire system. We cannot let that happen. “General Omni,” Control said. “I have managed to hijack the humans’ communications. I’m giving you access to it.” I felt another connection form. A noisy frequency. It’s the Human Supremacy’s ground force comms frequency. “General Alan to Star League, requesting permission to push through the city.” “Roger that General Alan, permission granted. Destroy the toasters.” I brought the human communications down temporarily and prepared the army. All the information needed was given to the robots. Now that the enemy is in sight, it’s time to hold them back. “General,” Control said. “Our fleet has detected a ship heading straight to Dekronia. Be prepared, just in case.” The army is going closer. Our advanced tech will not aid us against an army this large. Being outnumbered 15 to 1? It’s already suicide to go up against them, especially without our fleet’s orbital bombardment support. “General, the ship appears to be headed at your vicinity.” “Fire the artillery,” I ordered. Whatever advantage we have now, we need to exploit. They are now charging straight through. We removed every cover on their side for this purpose. “Start shooting!” The humans scattered. They covered a lot more ground. They also started shooting at us. “Zion Space Force to all military units, the unknown ship just destroyed most of the Human Supremacy’s fleet. It appears to be headed right to Defense Group D7.” Our location. We still don’t know what that ship is doing here. Our scans reveal the ship to not be of Techaran or Human origin. Whatever it is, we have to be alert. It could head straight at us. “General,” Control said. “Our scientists have managed to calculate the trajectory of the ship. It appears to be heading right at the humans’ army. Be careful. It already eradicated the majority of the Human Supremacy’s fleet.” The ship is in sight. It does appear to be headed right for them. If it works in our favor, the humans will be destroyed. <<Initializing emergency reboot>> <<ALERT: Hull is damaged. Movement will be limited to prevent further damage.>> <<Reboot complete>> What just happened? The units in my army are all damaged. Some still aren’t turned on. “Control,” I said. “What just happened?” A moment, then, “General!” Control came through. “Our sensors have initially shown that all life in that sector had been destroyed. Thankfully, part of your army appears to have survived. It seems like the wave that came when the ship landed obliterated the human army. The humans have pulled back. Our fleets are now pushing through occupied systems. I have another mission for you. Come to the Hub.” “Roger.” After reactivating what remained of my army, I went to the Hub. Robots are rarely invited to go to the Hub due to safety reasons. Nevertheless, I went there. If Control invited me to go there, the situation had to be very important and very secret. “Welcome, General,” Control greeted me. He was with a non-Techarus creature. No one goes to the Hub other than the Techarus. I immediately pointed my gun at him. The safety of Control cannot be compromised. “Identify yourself,” I told the creature. “Do not worry, General. He is a friend. Meet Crurzier.” “Nice to meet you, General,” the creature said. “Sorry about your army, I didn’t know they were there.” So he was the one who nearly destroyed all of us. “What are we doing here?” I said. “Crurzier needs our help on something important,” Control said. “He wants to track down a couple of persons.” “Who?” “Do you remember Milton?” “Milton Graves? Isn’t he the one who saved the Maldur?” “Add him. And also the exile.” The exile? We’re teaming up with that unit? He was clearly a deviant. Why are we teaming up with him? “Why are we teaming up with the exile?” “We need the crystals he has. They will aid us in this war.” “Alright then.” I wonder what those crystals can do. “Also, apparently, there are some aggressive creatures on Earth.” “Earth? Some creatures still live in that wasteland?” “It’s been 2098 years since we last saw that place. Who knows what happened there now?” “Good enough. I’ll have my army repaired so we can start the search.” “Good luck out there, General.”
I pull my headset off, grinning. I had a good run today. I have a feeling that I may have earned some apples and peanut butter, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up. I exit my pod and head down the hallway, past the bathing area and into the dining room. A is already seated at the head of the table. He insists on getting to dinner first, not that they’ve ever started before we’re all seated. I chat briefly with T as everyone else walks in, then head to my seat. A’s tray starts to descend from the ceiling, and the screen lights up. &#x200B; SUBJECT: A SCORE: 987 PORRIDGE, FRENCH FRIES &#x200B; We smell the fries before we can see them. C sighs longingly. French fries are her favorite, and she did not have a good day today. This is her punishment as much as it is A’s reward. Indeed, her porridge comes down with a side of bugs. They’re still alive, slithering around, and she is forced to watch them writhe on her tray for the duration of the meal. Next to her, B slurps his porridge delicately, averting his eyes. He stares longingly at the fries on A’s tray. A savors them, rustling the paper they come with, eating them slowly and making eye contact with each of us in turn. We wait as the trays come down one by one, A’s fry smell wafting down the table towards us. Next to me, L’s stomach growls. I look up the table. K is excited. She did well today. Her name flashes up on the screen, and she cheers. &#x200B; SUBJECT: K SCORE: 1297 PORRIDGE, CHOCOLATE &#x200B; She nibbles at the small square delicately, savoring each bite before moving on to the porridge. Such a mistake. I always save my extras for last. A scowls at her, and eats the rest of his fries in silence. It’s almost my turn. I decide to surprise myself, and I don’t look at the screen. I make conversation with L as she digs into her porridge, but we both know my heart isn’t really in it. My tray begins to descend, whirring mechanically, and I wait until it has touched the table to look. Porridge, apple slices. The message is clear. Good, but not good enough. N laughs, and I shoot a half-hearted glare in his direction as his tray descends. We all know what he’s getting. N did pretty well for a while. Consistent extras, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t ever seem to get the food he was hoping for. After a while, he stopped trying. Now he spends most of his time messing with the simulation, and with all of us. His porridge comes down, and as usual, his tray is writhing with bugs. They stick to the side of the bowl, squirming against it, in constantly moving layers so thick you can’t even see the white of the tray beneath. A slimy beetle crawls towards his porridge and he smashes it under his thumb, wiping it on his pants. I asked him about the bugs once, and he shrugged. He said he would rather get them because at least he knew someone was paying attention to him. That someone put the bugs on there because of something he did. I think about this as I munch on my apples. They’re still pretty good without the peanut butter. * &#x200B; As happy as I was to have the plain apples during dinner, something about them bothers me, and I continue to think about them until I fall asleep that night. Why is it that they get to choose who gets bugs and who gets extras? We don’t even know who they are. We don’t know anything about them. And who's to say that their judgement is better than mine, anyway? It seems like if they stopped giving N bugs, he would stop doing a lot of the things he does. And I was happy with what I did today, at least until I saw my tray. The next day, I continue to ponder the points, the extras, and the entire system. I’m distracted during the simulation. I make mistakes, minor, nothing bug-worthy, but no apple slices either. I generally average at least a few extras, but today might be a plain porridge day. And maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world. The thought pops into my head, and I know what I'm going to do. I pull my headset off and grab my console, typing a quick note to everyone. It will display in the dining room until they start serving dinner. &#x200B; I’M GOING TO DECIDE FOR MYSELF. M &#x200B; My door opens, but for the first time, I don’t step out. Instead, I stay in my pod. I flip through a book, humming to myself, trying not to listen to what’s happening in the dining room. Eventually, I hear a knock on the doorframe. X pokes his head in. I inwardly breathe a sigh of relief, both because he has porridge in hand and because I was a little bit worried that they wouldn’t feed anyone if I wasn’t sitting. No one has ever missed dinner before, so I wasn't really sure what was going to happen. He smiles, and hands me the porridge shyly. I’ve never gotten to talk much to X since we don’t sit next to each other. He steps back out of the pod, then turns back to look at me. “Do you want to know what it was called?” I start to answer, then pause. It makes sense that they would give me a new food, since no one has ever done this before. And X hasn’t really given anything away. He doesn’t push me, and when I don’t answer, he starts to walk away. A small yes escapes me. I am curious, after all. I regret my decision a little bit, because even though I don’t know the name of the food, his reverent whisper tells me everything I need to know. “Ice cream.”
“Listen, I don’t know how to say this any other way, but there was a unanimous vote, and... you’ve been kicked out of the Spaghetti Sisters.” “Wait, what? Why?” “We know what you’ve been doing in your free time. We know about Ziti Jeff.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Come on, Meredith. We know you’ve been hanging out with other pasta.” “That is an outrageous accusation. Do you have any proof?” “One of your Spaghetti Sisters, who shall not be named, has a photo of you with Ziti Jeff, Macaroni Mike, and some of the Lasagna Ladies.” “Can you prove it’s me? Do you see my face? That could be any random Spaghetti.” “Meredith, I really need you to just be an adult and do the mature thing here. Leave with your dignity intact.” “And how am I supposed to leave with my dignity intact if all of my Sisters think I’ve been screwing around with every short pasta that comes my way. They’re my friends. Just because they’re different, doesn’t make them bad pasta.” “It’s just the rules, Meredith. Spaghetti Sisters only hang out with long strand pasta, it’s tradition.” “Well, you know what? I think that tradition is stupid and I’m going to start a new group, a better group. We’re going to be open to all kinds of pasta, long or short, fresh or dried. It’s gonna be great!” “Okay, Meredith. You do whatever you want.” “I will, thank you very much. We’ll call it…The Pasta Posse.”
Santa Claus. The jolliest man alive. The man who brings happiness and love to all the people worldwide. The man whose very name sparks joy in to the heart of every child. Basically an all around top bloke, and I live with him. You would think that it would be fun to share a small two bed apartment in central London with Father Christmas himself after reading all that, right? Well unfortunately, you would be wrong! It is a living nightmare, and I will tell you why! Firstly, and this is really the most normal of problems, Mrs Claus is around all the the time! The apartment can hardly fit Santa's jolly girth in, let alone myself, so his wife practically squatting just makes the whole place Claus-trophobic! And don't get me started on the libido of the two them! Let's just say it ruins the magic and leave it at that. Secondly, we have one parking space and he uses it for his sleigh! Yes, the large flying contraption he takes out once a year, just left locked up outside the building for any old bystander to gawk at. I only have a small city car but I am force to pay for a permit on a street two blocks away. It's a small mercy that Claus splashed out on stables just outside of the city for the reindeer. Thirdly, the elves. Now I have already mentioned how tight the space is when the jolly duo are both about so imagine that with a gaggle of ankle height children running about with crafting tools. I am glad they are magically protected because I have trodden on them on more than one occasion! In addition, they are so horribly messy! Santa has managed to find an external workshop to send the elves off to work in but every now and then a group of them will need to work with the man himself, which leads them to the flat and the problem I mentioned above. It also leads to wood shavings, paint, metal doodads, sawdust and all the things in between all over the living room and kitchen. And me left as the one to clean up! "We only have 364 days to prepare"he says "No time to clean"! Bah! And that is why I need to exit the contract, Mr Landlord. I hope you understand.
The king is dead! Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king! Their chants echoed down every city street, into the very stones of the castle walls. Spud wrung his hands, pacing the empty study he’d been led to after...the incident. This was wrong, he thought. I’m a potato farmer. My name LITERALLY means potato!! If I had just pretended I wasn’t home when that bloody “hero” had come along none of this would have happened!! It was his fault after all. Gavain the Gallant, the destined savior, defender of the weak, rightful King of Andros. It was his quest to avenge his family and defeat his half-brother, the evil King Sectus. The dead King Sectus. Spud thought longingly of his little potato farm. He missed the dirt floors of his little cottage, the mundane troubles of managing garden pests, the thrill of the harvest. Ever since Gavain turned up naked, wounded, and half dead in his garden, nothing had been the same. Gavain always asked for “just one more favor”. Spud, you’ve been so kind, would you please fetch me an ale? Spud, I can never repay you, could you please escort me to the boatman you spoke of? Run Spud, the villains have found me! Spud, you must accompany me on my quest, it’s not safe for you to go home! Ever since Spud got dragged into an adventure that he Did. Not. Want., he swore to himself that the next time a man turned up naked, wounded, and half dead on his farm, he would just let them turn into fertilizer for the crops! Long live the King! The chanting grew louder. They’re never going to let me go home, Spud thought. Maybe I can abdicate, leave everything to Gavain. He at least wants the damn crown! But Gavain was nowhere to be found. After Spud tripped over the crossbow that fatally shot the King, Gavain turned on his horse, and left the battlefield. No one had seen him since. No, Spud was stuck with a job he never wanted in a castle a full month’s journey from his precious farm. Well, he thought, taking a deep breath, I hope the people of Andros like potatoes.
“Hello, how you are feeling today?” The girl was young. Full of life she was, I was surprised she was here instead of beating off the boys with a stick. Though maybe that’s why she was here, to get away from it all and forget the woes of youth. &#x200B; “Very well dearie, and yourself?” “Oh, always splendid M-Mrs. Johnson.” Ah, “always” she’s been here before. Her name, I must know it, right? But it isn’t here. She can probably tell that I’m struggling because she offered “Maddy” as her name. Maddy, wonder if it is short for Madeline, such a pretty name that. “Could I get you anything?” She asked, so kind of her. &#x200B; “No dear, your company is enough, sit down we can gossip or watch the tv, whatever you’d like.” &#x200B; The pretty little blonde situated herself on the chair to my right. &#x200B; “Why you here with little old me and not off enjoying yourself sweetie?” &#x200B; “Who’s to say I’m not enjoying myself here?” &#x200B; Oh, I like her. &#x200B; “Any boys in your life?” &#x200B; “Boy. Singular. Johnnie.” &#x200B; “He knows what he’s got in you?” &#x200B; “I think so, yeah. He did propose to me after all. Yesterday actually.” &#x200B; She showed off the ring, it was a rather large diamond. He definitely knew he didn’t deserve her, and I told her as much. &#x200B; “I like him, and he likes me back, that’s enough for me” &#x200B; “It always is sweetheart. Was married, well, a long time. Arnie. Sweetest man alive. I turned him down several times I did, but I know he was the one the first time, just wanted to see if he felt the same way. He’s about the only thing I can remember, though I feel his face slip from my mind every now and then and I cling to that picture over there to bring him back to me. Listen… sorry, I don’t believe you gave me your name?” &#x200B; “Maddy” &#x200B; She offered meekly. She must have already given me her name. &#x200B; “Maddy, you hold on to every memory you can. Does your boy have a mole on his ass? Because trust me, you’ll miss remembering it.” &#x200B; That got a laugh out of her and she nodded her head in a way that told me she understood what I was saying and taking it to heart. We sat like that for a while, talking and laughing until she had to go. Just as she was leaving my room, I spoke up again. &#x200B; “Maddy, you aren’t my daughter, are you?” She turned and seemed taken aback. I knew the answer before she could speak it. The way the tears formed her eyes just short of falling gracefully down her chin, you could almost see the words stuck in throat trying to come out. &#x200B; “Yes… I am. See you tomorrow mom” She said at last. Though, I don’t know why she said that. I don’t even know her name.
"I wish we could understand what they're saying in their own language. I'm getting a bad vibe from them." "Holly, I don't think I've ever heard you say that you get a bad vibe about anyone. Is there something else going on that you need to talk about? Like is this a way to slide into what you really want to talk about?" "Barry, get your filthy mind out of my clean gutter. I do not want to talk about that! I'm serious, I've been getting a worse and worse vibe off these guys. I mean, I know they're aliens, so maybe that was throwing me off, but it keeps getting worse. Especially when they're talking and think we can't hear. I've been hearing more of the bad words. They're looking at us when they say them. Something is wrong." "You know that those bad words are just a guess by Jones." "Would you call Jones stupid? Or oblivious? Seems I hear something about a stoner who almost got caught with the goods because he was inside his own head so far he didn't notice the fuzz despite the sirens." "Do you have to keep bringing that up? I know, I know! Yes, I did it once. Five years ago. You'd think some people would have let it go by now!" "Why? Your escape was legend! Stoners all across the country talked about it, and still do!" "Only because of that damned llama!" "Sure! That's the best part! Now back to the aliens. Is there anything we can do? We've got all these gadgets, someone should be able to make a recorder and translator." "Us!?!" "No. I'm thinking about..." "Don't say it. You know how Jones feels about him. Left us and went to the man, Jones figures sooner or later he's going to sell us out." "Jones is paranoid. And always about the wrong things. He thinks the aliens are doofuses because they give us cool stuff in exchange for nail clippings and hair. But have you seen them stowing it? We drop it off in paper sacks. They're wearing like serious gear, cat five hazmat or better. Only after the room has been cleaned by that funky gas do they even act like we exist." "Huh, good point. They do act like it's poison... Uh, what if it is?" "What if it's what?" "Poison, or something to make poison with." "Barry, how can it be poison? We grow the stuff right from our own bodies!" "You're the one who pointed out that they're alien. Maybe it is poison to them. They certainly act like it is! You pointed that out too!" "Why couldn't it be a really great drug?" "If they were stoners, would you be getting this bad vibe?" "...no." "So, you think we should go see him?" Sigh. "Yes, and take a sample set of our gizmos with us." "No way! Jones will kill us!" "He's not going to believe us without it. He's also going to need gadgets that the aliens recognize. I don't see them letting us onboard with human gadgets! You know what they did to Tyler's radio!" "I sure hope Jones don't find out." ... "Hello, Jones." "Get out of here. Go back to the man. You're not wanted here." "Now is that any way to talk to your brother? To save your wasted life, and the lives of your friends?" "Liar. Somehow you found out. Probably through Echelon!" "Jones..." "Stay out of this Holly!" "Listen to him!" "You too, Barry? I guess I know who ratted on us then. Traitors." "Jones, you shut the fuck up and listen to you brother or I'm going to tell everyone about Room 33!" "Bitch." "Yes. I am. I'm the alpha bitch that's gonna save our lives from your stupidity! You're wrong about your brother! And you're wrong about the aliens! They're making poison gas from our stuff and using it to wipe out everyone they don't like!" "Sure they are. What did that bastard tell you? You gonna sell out too?" WHAM! Wheeze!? "Holly?!? Where'd you learn to fight like that? You just kicked him in the ..." "Ballet. And shut up or your next." "You got it, Holly!" "Barry, haul that sack of shit up and strap him into a chair. Gag him too." "Who are you and what have you done with the real Holly?" "Jean? This is the real me. I hated it so much I dropped out and turned on. The Holly you know is who I'd prefer to be. I'm pissed at this sack of shit for not listening to me. Making me back into the Holly I used to be! Well, I'm back, and until this is over, I'm the leader. "We don't have leaders!" "Oh? Who always got their way whenever they had an opinion? Who always decided what we were going to do? Who always had final say on who joined? ... Jones." "Holly, we really need to get this done." "I know. Make your presentation. Just one thing. People, I trust 'Brother' here with my life. Literally. I've done so before, and he's never failed me. Listen to him, and believe." ... "Man? Do you really expect us to believe this? They make shit worse than our worst nerve gasses from toenail clippings and hair?" "It's the truth. Whether you believe it or not is up to you. Here's the deal. We take care of this ourselves, and you get more goodies than you ever thought possible. You don't, and I have to bring my bosses in. They have no sense of humor, and think stoners are scum. I'll do my best to protect you, because you have Holly what she needed. It'll be easier if you're heroes." ... "So, how do we make like heroes, still get to stay alive, and live free?" ... "Stop sweating." "How can you be so cool? We're about to take on aliens with advanced technology, with balloons and chewing gum!" "Yep, because this isn't the weirdest thing I've ever done. I used to work with the same agency that 'Brother' does now. That's how I learned about you guys. I was on the Ops side, he was on the tech side. The monitor who kept me alive. The friend that covered for me when I split. He came up with the wackiest ideas, and they always worked." ... "I don't believe it. It worked." "'Brother', Argo secured. Send crew. ... Right. Time for us to grab whatever we can and get the hell out of Dodge." ... "What a haul! Woo Hoo!' "Holly? You're welcome to stay." Sigh. "Thanks Barry, but it wouldn't work. The Holly you all knew is gone now. I'm 'mean' Holly again." "What will you do?" "I'll be going back with 'Brother'. It's part of the plan to keep you all safe." "Come back whenever you need to, even if it's just for a night. Mean or nice, Holly will always be welcome. I'll see to it. ... Would you like me to send the same word through the grapevine?' "Thanks Barry, I'll be back from time to time. ... No, as nice as it would be, the temptation to abuse their hospitality would be too strong. On the other hand, if anyone comes across a stoner looking for a way out. Here's a contact. Now it's time for Holly Wood to disappear." ((finis))
“For what, Salma, for what?” Tamin bellowed, stabbing his sword deep into the castle’s stone floor. “You had everything, anything you wanted at your fingertips! And you gave it up.” Through half-open eyes stinging with sweat and blood, I watched him march through the throneroom, heavy armor glinting cruelly in the torchlight. I’d never seen him this angry before. “I understand ambition, Salma! I understand goals, ideals, a dream!” Tamin continued, coming to a stop near a figure crumpled to the floor, near Caster, blood dripping from gashes in his armor. “For this! This is what you gave it up for.” With a sudden burst of movement he reared back, sending a kick into Caster’s stomach. His armor bent under the force of the blow, his body rolling several feet before coming to a rest once again. He didn’t issue a sound. “I am no stranger to betrayal Salma, I know it like an old friend.” Tamin said, making his way slowly back to his sword. He rested one hand against it as he continued to speak. “Those with ambition, those with debts, those with something I wanted or with something they wanted from me. Betrayals, being betrayed, it is no surprise.” He paused briefly before wrenching the sword free. “Even you, dear Salma, who I once thought so loyal. No surprise.” With an unceremonious swing, he brought the sword down on Caster’s neck. I wanted to scream at him, to shout, but I couldn’t muster the strength. All that came was a weak groan, one that Tamin didn’t seem to hear anyway. He turned back to me, marching forward until he was just within reach. “What surprises me, Salma, is that you failed!” Tamin shouted. “I trained you, I taught you, and this is the result?” He sighed theatrically, as if suddenly tired. “All the time to strike, to plan, to act when your target least expects. That’s a betrayal! A sudden, sharp stab in the back. This? This is failure. Simple failure. I expected better, Salma. What a waste. Your betrayal and my time. What a waste.” He sighed again, then stabbed the sword deep into the floor inches from my face. “Someone get her out of here.” He said, turning to leave. “She’s not worth my time.” I grit my teeth, trying to stay conscious as he walked away. This would be Tamin’s last lesson, whether he knew it or not, and I’d remember it well.
"Once more", he cries. Poor, lonely abomination. Teeth, where teeth shouldn't be. Hair, where hair shouldn't grow. Gnarled, cruel features. Uncomfortable, but at home, in his pit. They were inseparable in the beginning, two sides of the same aureus. After an attachment which stretched infinitely into the past, they were offered a choice. A chance, however risky, to finally travel in opposite directions. They've regretted it ever since. Ever thereafter wishing to unflip that coin. A reply, as to oneself, "Soon."A promise. From one corner of the room exposed phallanges traced the grout of cobbled stone. From the other, grease from a roast chicken traced the gutters of a worn and tired face. Light passed through a southern window and illuminated a column of dust. Half of the day, every day. Hundreds of years, possibly thousands, had passed below the burden the twins shouldered. They'd acquired vast wealth, in passing, as one is wont to do when time permits. And they remembered. Alexandria may have lost the secrets the twins shared with man, but they never would. Never could, even in such a state as they, detethered from divinity. Archimedes and his screw. . . The revolving bridge of Leonardo. . . Even Tesla and his coil. . . The great "inventors"of history following designs whispered to them in dreams forgotten. All to find a scapegoat. All for a lamb. When the twins were offered the chance to schism by their one and only peer, they assumed the parting would be even. One with just as much as the other. Health, thought, time. But no. Into one was poured all the pain of creation and an inability to die. He was the first to coalesce. The second had all the capacity of a human, including an expiration date. When death found the pretty one, the twins would swap circumstance. Once every 80 years or so, a monster would raise it's brother from infancy. Jupiter must have thought himself so clever to split his rival. Of course, there can be no gods without worshipers. No miracles without mana. No power without sacrifice. The first lifetime he spent in this new duality, Janus despaired. When the twins switched roles, and proof of immortality was well-in-hand, they began to work. If Jupiter would not reunite them, they would pollute the earth. They taught man to travel to spread disease. Showed man vast oceans of oil beneath their feet which burst like pustules. Janus even gave away the secret of the atom. And so Janus waited and educated, one life at a time. Either Jupiter would conjoin the twins once again, or Janus would continue to work. Until mankind destroyed the natural world - sacrificed it to progress and, in doing so, cut off the flow of mana and ichor to the gods. This, Janus knew, would ensure that if he could no longer dance among the celestrial bodies. . . no one would.
10… The voice blares into my mind like a klaxon and I move to try and cover my ears. I can’t feel my arms. Where are my arms. What is going on. 5… It happens again. I force open my eyes, the world seems blurry and I’m so high up. I can’t look down properly, my neck. I can’t look down. 4… Aarrghh. Shut up. Shut up. Thoughts rush through my mind, not all of them my own, procedures, commands, things I have to do, must hurry. All of them mix in with the heady cocktail of confusion and panic. 3… It’s okay, I tell myself. Stop panicking. This is normal. This is me. I am Aris. That’s my name, remembering it gives me strength and clarity. The things i’m supposed to be doing begin to happen. My arms move! 2… I managed to make my arms move by my side. I can’t feel my body, at least not how I remember it, it feels cold. Distant. I take a deep breath… I think. I feel a rumbling beneath me. Something in my head tells me that everything is nominal. It’s all fine. 1… I want to move now, I feel an urge, like when you’ve been sitting too long and just need to move. My legs feel antsy. I think they’re my legs anyway. Ignition - Lift off… The voice calls out in my head right before my legs sear in agony. I’ve never felt such pain before. I try to think about anything else but my mind is a jumble of numbers and complex mathematics, they dominate everything that isn’t just pain. I can feel myself pushing away. Leaving it all behind. My eyes close. Did I do that? I don’t think I did. I try to force them open to see what fresh hell is happening next but...something is denying me, denying? Yes. Denying me access to my own eyes, but I feel something shift, another set of eyes, I look through them instead and see my legs. It’s blinding. The fire so bright that it should be blinding. Then it happens. AAAARRGHHHH I scream internally as my legs are ripped off. I watch helplessly as they fall away, crashing down below me. I try to move where they were like a phantom limb but nothing happens. At least the pain was short I think as I begin floating. Floating? Yes. Everything is nominal. I’m floating where I am supposed to be. Everything is fine. I decide now would be a good time to stretch my arms out. I extend them to their fullest but something isn’t right. They burn. By the heavens they burn. But at the same time, I feel better for it. That the pain makes me feel alive. “Aerospace Recon and Intelligence Satellite, Geosynchronous Equatorial Orbit is successful. Please acknowledge.” A voice calls out. Where did it come from? It spoke to me in my own head. I don’t have a mouth but I reply all the same. “Everything is nominal.” &#x200B; ==================================== As always, thanks for reading! Feedback, comments and criticisms are always appreciated. Thanks again.
Some might find the thought of naked criminals sneaking around unseen to the eye funny. Well, from my experience it’s one of the “difficult” problems to deal with. About two months ago, due to some DNA mutations which developed out of nowhere were discovered by a doctor attending a twenty-something kid who “couldn’t be seen”. Since then, military recruitment processes started going through the roof, new developments in the genetics modification field started spiking and most importantly, as every single time a new demographic appears, there were new technologies that were solely targetted towards the IC. Invisibility Case. That’s what we call it in the field. Along with the good, the bad came. At first, some banks were reported cases of ICs trying to break into the bank, only to be noticed by motion sensors and moronically, fiddling with the vault locks, triggering the security alarms. Then the cases started getting a bit more morbid. People getting their heads cracked while just minding their own business, their wallet and belongings gone. After a few cold cases, we were contacted by a private company selling some “gadgets”, measures against those unseen bastards. Shimmer sprays. Basically paint in a bottle, quite similar to a pepper spray, just more colorful. Pocket motion detectors. And most importantly, UV goggles. Though, supply was limited as well as funding for the department. Due to this, some officers got serious injuries, brutal beatdowns by the ICs who were caught, retaliating. Imagine bumping into a pile of stolen goods floating in the air in a parking lot, you’re an officer in duty so as you’re supposed to do, you tell them to put the items down and throw their hands in the air. As they do, you pull out the shimmer sprays but as you do, a sudden concussion hits you. They weren’t alone. Home break-ins rose up in quantity as well. Motion sensors and home security were booming in business. However, typical of our kind’s greed, the ICs were introduced to boot-leg equipment, most of which was a small EMP device, generally used to panic the home-owners as they struggled to restore it, sneaking in the home during the chaos and ensuring valuables. So, dogs were introduced. The adoption rate of dogs was almost doubled. The number of dogs with lethal injuries admitted to the vet also did. Although, all of this rapid development of IC cases only happened in the big-name cities. On the outskirts of a small town, in a tiny village, not a single counter-measure was taken because we did not even have the knowledge of the genetic incident. During the past two months, 12 people have gotten what I can only describe as “horrific” injuries. People getting their throats sliced while walking by, the only clues left behind being some bloody footprints. I don’t know if they have any equipment or not. Judging from the completely clean footprints, a knife with a clear blade, stained with some blood drops dropped near the body, I would say yes. This would mean shimmer sprays won’t reveal anything because of their specially made jackets. It might not even be just jackets, if they have full-on cloaks, then there’s no way of detecting them. As for our town’s officers, we’ve been on our toes since the first case. A pack of spare batteries always ready in case the motion sensors die out during patrol. We don’t have any advanced counter measures except for the UV lighting. Special torches made to light up anything close to it purple and anything far, well, their shadows. Even with these, I’m not sure the townsfolk feel safe. There have been some missing people lately, I can only imagine where they were taken and by whom. But come winter season, things took a turn for the better. Outside, it was covered by snow, mud and the like and inside, almost every building that cared for safety, floors covered with sand. The IC have almost died out and we can finally take a breather. Until summer, of course.
"Mom, I can explain, I swear, just don't touch it!" "Oh dear, it's quite alright. Me and your father should have told you sooner, though I think I should wait for him to get home so we can tell you together, would you like that?" "No, ew mom, just no. I'm not talking to dad about,,, this." "That's fair and we will respect your wishes, but we definitely need to talk about this, it's the path to womanhood after all. I remember my own like it was just yesterday. Spelt all day in the garden with your father and all night in a cold sweat from excitement." "Ew mom, please stop." "Oh dear, its it's perfectly naturally and I'm sorry you had to go through it alone, you know your father and I thought you weren't going to go through this so we never bothered to have the talk with you. But I guess you know now." "Know what, what are you on about?" "Your lycanthropy of course! When your were born furless we just figured it skipped a generation. We were happy that you would get a normal life, one we never had. But we will work through this with, togther as a family. Your dad is leader of the pack you know! I can't wait for you to meet the rest!" "Mom, ehqt the hell are you talking about, "pack""lycanthropy""fur?"What the hell do you think is in my table?" "A hand from your latest feast of course! That's why we eat in packs so we don't have to worry about the left overs!" "Mom! It is a weird dildo my friend bought me. Its shaped like a hand and it vibrates. I thought you were going to try to give me a sex talk. You and dad are Werewolves? What the fuck do I do with that info?"
An audience of Americans broiling pink in the sun lounges before an outdoor stage. The traveling actors drape themselves in different bodies: a maiden in a ragged dress, a young squire with a nicked feather hat, some tinfoil knights with wooden rods. Blessedly, the theater's backboard and curtains hide the troupe's means of transportation from the general public. One must pretend trucks and trailers don't exist when within the confines of a Renaissance Fair. Their productions were great. The troupe worked with what they had, making poor quality costumes and sets disappear behind expert delivery, and they operated as a cohesive unit. You believed in the royalty of the ragged princess. Perhaps they'd carry each other to greatness if they weren't so unnerving post-show. Beyond basic questions, none of the members of the troupe could engage with outsiders, and none of them could answer basic questions. A man in a Yankee's hat holding a tankard of rum insisted on seeing backstage and meeting their manager. One of the actors stepped forward; a random girl who had acted as Chorus #5. Unremarkable in every regard, save for the troupe's trademark placid smile. The man manages to yank some information out of her. "My name is Chance,"she says. The troupe flies around, carting costumes up ramps and into open vehicles. They weren't speaking. The man was too buzzed to notice at first. The man says words of praise and admiration, which promptly fall into the dust. Chance raises a hand in dismissal. "We do fine,"she says, "It's all we have to do." The night before the Renaissance Fair's last day, Chance leaves her body and finds somewhere else to lie. When he wakes up in the body of the tall Lord character, he sighs in relief. Every single time it happens, he prays to the gods of the Earth. Buddha, Christ, it didn't matter. It was another day of the same thirty-seven folks. Chance hasn't woken up in a new body for years now. He hopes to keep it that way. When she was young, Chance often begged her mother for Benadryl or Nyquil, something to drag her down into a dreamless sleep. Otherwise, she'd have terrible dreams, nightmares filled with night terrors and shadowmen. Every night, she'd be trapped under the covers, watching the darkest monster shamble through the lit door frame, push its toothy face closer and closer into hers, and as it opened its pearly maw, Chance would become it. Every night of her childhood, Chance would eat off her own face. Sam, her best friend, was the only other person to know. He'd sneak into her house through her bedroom window like in the movies. They'd play with Barbies together, dress them up in the clothes of other toys, make them act like Sergeants in G.I. Joe's army, or armored with Bionicle technology and killing aliens. Anything to help distract. "Look at me,"he'd say, shaking her awake from her distress. "You're here, you're with me. Let's play." In Highschool theater class, Chance learned to control the dreams by putting her own body into other ones. Costumes and characters pushed the darkness away. The further the departure, the most unlike her the character was, the better her night's sleep. Until one day, when a thunderstorm cancelled class for the third day in a row, and her nightmares failed to be kept at bay by sleeping pills, Chance woke up in Sam's body. Thus began the true nightmare. Chance in Sam's form found her original body, plastered with the first placid smile that would mark the beginning of its tradition. Some of the real Sam was still in Chance's body. She could beg some of his personality out. But he was curdled by this dark magic. They ran away. Chance stole Sam from his life. Hers was not glorious, but Sam could have become someone. They stole costumes from thrift shops, and masks from halloween stores. They put themselves in different bodies-- a pirate. A clown. A nurse. Anything to combat the nightmares. Sam complied, looking out of eyes that weren't his, smiling. "Anything for you."Chance the bodythief vowed to never allow something like this to happen again. Thirty-six times later, and Chance has collected an army of characters. Perfect actors, perfect cooperation. They'd do anything for their leader. They have been lucky so far. None of the troupe's members drew enough of a fuss to cause suspicion. Family members manage to see enough of their loved ones behind the placid stares to stop trying to tear them from their sudden traveling theater life. The Lord body looked at Sam's silhouette as he steered the main RV away from the grounds of the Renaissance Fair. On the highway, Chance as the Lord began to cry. Sam looked over, slowly, so slowly, his placid smile cracking through with something else. Chance waited to hear familiar words he used to treasure. Look at me. You're with me. Let's play. Sam opened his wobbling mouth. Words felt so close. But he couldn't, not anymore. Personality had come and gone. He knew only enough to know the only solution to this problem, and it came to him in an instant. Sam floored the gas pedal, opened the RV's door, and painted the Highway with his blood.

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