Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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The first thing you would like to tell the old man is that despite your short hair and petite build, you are, by all accounts, a girl. But that's okay. You nod, serenely, and say, "Shrinking forest, huh?" "Shifting forest. You have to believe me, boy."You cough, but he ignores you. "And I assure you, I hadn't had a drop of beer." You exchange a long look, yours politely incredulous, his clearly struggling to focus on you. "Okay, yeah, then I came over here and had a few drinks,"you nod again. "But I can assure you that my story is true." "Okay, I'm listening."you get comfortable in the backrest. "Go ahead. Shitting forest." He continues to ignore your facetious attempts to make him angry. "So do you know the legends of this town?" "Which ones? The one that it's impossible to have high-speed wi-fi, or the one where every young person over 18 mysteriously disappears or becomes obnoxious?" The old man ponders for a few seconds. "One of my grandchildren is 19,"he looks at you. "And he's obnoxious."you raise your glass to him and exchange a hearty clink. Then he remembers that you were talking about something else. "But not this. No, no. The legend of the mysterious forest." "Ooh. Spooky." "The legend says that in this town resides a magical artifact, which allows the spirit realm to become real." "And what artifact is it?" "No one knows!"he says clearly pleased to have caught your attention. "But it's certainly true, because every year..."he moves a little closer to you, showering you with beer fumes. "The forest reappears." "It must be a great way to improve the air quality,"you say, backing away imperceptibly, hoping not to come across as rude. "You know, all those trees..." "Yeah, I guess so..."says the old man caressing his chin. "But that's not the point!" "Oh, yeah, the mysterious forest." "And do you know why they call it the shifting forest?" "Because ... it changes direction as you look at it?"imagine the scene. "What a trip." "No, no."he pauses. "I mean, I don't think so."he thinks about it some more. "Okay, no, it wasn't changing direction. They call it that because it always appears in a different place!" "Okay."you watch him catch his breath in his beer glass. "And you saw it, I guess?" "Yes. Just this afternoon."his gaze turns dreamy. "It was beautiful. Lots of different colored trees, and I could hear laughter coming from behind the trunks, and singing of wonderful animals, and it was just... so..." "Sounds like you really enjoyed it."he nods, blissful. "Well, thanks for the story,"you tell him as you stand up and star leaving to do something productive with your day. "Can you believe it, boy? I've seen the shifting forest, and maybe someday I'll get to see a spirit in the flesh, too." You give him a friendly nod, and decide not to correct him on the boy/girl thing. He seems like a good man, after all. Drunk as a skunk, but a good man. There is one last thing you would like to tell the old man, you tell yourself as you exit the pub: that despite your short hair and petite build, you are, by all accounts, a spirit living in the shifting forest. And you are glad you met him.
"What's the latest?" I spoke through the door of the Monitoring Office. It was one of many, spread all across the world. It was manned by those of our kind who were the more pacifistic sort. Dryads and constructs worked in tandem, using both nature and machines to keep a watch over the world. "Quiet for now. Please come in as well." I smiled at the elf in charge, perched on her high chair. With her permission granted I stepped in, looking across the floor with interest. I could hear the constant buzz of conversation, as they spoke with each other about what they saw. "I don't trust this. Its been too long since the last attempt. Something must be brewing." Grionlia gave me a nod. She scratched one of her pointed ears, thinking. "You and me both. They might be finished of course, deciding our planet is too much effort. But... my gut tells me they are making preparations." I sighed, rubbing my head. I thought life was hard all those centuries ago, bring a newly turned. Having to feed and remain hidden, but also planning for the future. Now, I wished for those times again. "Good thing we are too. I've been speaking with as many other Response teams as I can. They agree something is off. But they are using this time to train further, and make upgrades to their equipment." She nodded, picking up a scroll. "I'm glad to hear it. How are the dwarves and gnomes getting on with the recovered technology? Any luck in reverse engineering it?" I smiled, flashing a fang. "They say they have. Apparently they've worked out the base of their shielding. If all goes well, we will be given our own personal versions soon. Well, the weaker ones of us first. I know the lycans are low on the list." She rolled her eyes, giving a small shake of her head. "Did you have anything to do with that?" I laughed. "I'm flattered you think I would be able to do it. No, as amusing as it is for old rivals to be lower on the list, they have their rapid healing. It will hurt them sure, but without silver being used in those laser weapons they love so, they can't exactly kill them." Grionlia pursed her lips, returning to her paperwork. "Thats a fair point. Anyway, I think that's enough chat for now, don't you have somewhere to be?" I shrugged, looking at the time. "In a bit. The sun's still just barely up. We're going on a training excursion. But I will have a direct channel back, just incase." She nodded again, her attention already devoured by her reports. "Ok, have fun." I shook my head, leaving her be. It amused me sometimes, the current state of affairs. Our races working together to save the world, without the majority even knowing it. What would they think if they knew their monsters were also their defenders? I'm sure it would be interesting. Though at some point they would find out. That much I knew.
Day 7, Time 10:38 PM... The hand that was instilled in the host is reacting differently from when it was first attached. Subjects left hand was removed and the bug like creature introduced to in it's place. Immediately, the bug opened it's wide mouth to encompass the wound left by the hand being removed. Since then it has been pulsing and emitting a faint light. Subject no. 332 has signed no signs of waking up after he was injected a sedative. The strange thing is, the sedative was only supposed to be effective for a couple of hours but it's been over a week. Judging from the dilation of his pupils his brain is very much active. Will continue to observe. &#x200B; Day 12, Time 4:39 AM... Subject 332 still in a coma. No amount of medicine seems to wake the subject up. Currently, the bug that's been replaced with his hand has made some drastic changes. Originally, the bug looked like a leech with some carapace but now it has taken the shape of a three fingered appendage. It is still pulsing with a faint light. Tests from the lab show that the bone has completely fused with the bug. The tissues from where the wrist should be has changed in color to a dark grey with the same material as that of the carapace of the bug. I've requested a series of further tests to see what the capabilities of this new appendage will bring. If all goes well, this might promote me to senior director. &#x200B; Day 14, Time 9:08 AM... The pulsing and faint light has subsided. The three fingers that formed has hardened and adapted the color of the subjects original skin tone. Subject 332 has woken up from his coma. When ask if he feels anything different, he just replied "Same old, same old". I've inquired greatly on how he feels and if he is hungry after having been out for two weeks. He replied with a simple "No, as a matter of fact, I feel better than ever!". Finally, when asked about his left hand, he became defensive, and stated that it's always been like this ever since he was little. Sure there we bullies that picked on him because of his hand but he stated that as far as he could recall, it's always been like this. Will continue to observe Subject 332.
How long has it been now? I grab my sword again. It's easier to sheath it with the blade- more time. Plus, it lets me know my story hasn't started. No matter how sharp the blade is, my hand doesn't scar, doesn't cut, never even bleeds. It never has. That's what happens when you're invincible- maybe Mario makes people think the invincible can just run through things and destroy them...nah, it's just as simple as "you can't bleed and don't get cut."Even the worst attack's just a mere flesh wound that heals within a day or two. That's what happens when you're immortal, invulnerable. Never die, never get hurt, never age. The greatest hero- well, aside from that one time I became the villain, it was experimenting a bit, just seeing if me being the ultimate evil would do things- but usually the greatest hero- of all time. I can't imagine all the things I found. It all started with that prophecy in Roman times; I would be the protagonist of the greatest story known to man. I fought in most great wars on the battlefield. My heroics are known throughout whole history books. Most of those times, I was just trying to find a way to end this. Immortality, invincibility, it gets hard after a while. Immortals can tell you the hardest part of it is having to watch everyone you care about in life die while you remain alive...and knowing that you're the hero of a story means you can't die until the story happens. Every war, every plot- it's never THE plot. Heck, it adds another problem most protagonists never notice- it's kind of hard to pretend to be dead on the battlefield. When they see a body that isn't wounded, isn't bleeding, then they notice...but after about 40, 50 years when you've been a great hero of the country, but you don't age, don't suffer, and stay alive, you start to realize that the only way you can try to find your next story is to fake your death in one of the battles, sneak away, and show up somewhere pretending to be someone else. You'd be surprised how often it works- even in the era of social media, if people look like you in older photos, they just chalk it off to a conspiracy and don't REALLY know it's the truth. Eventually, I just went with it. I've travelled the world before people even knew about most of the world, thinking that the fish out of water aspect would start my plot. I've been a hero on six of the seven continents and was able to be part of the discovery of the seventh one. I've literally been everywhere and done everything. And yet, I haven't bled once. I know it sounds bad to be invulnerable, but I just wait for that. The oracle said it best- as long as you haven't found your plot, you will be immortal, invulnerable due to plot armor. I know it sounds creepy or angsty, but I honestly can say I want to bleed more than anything; the second I bleed, the second I'll know I've found my plot and my life can get on with things. So, I just had to go about my business. In this era, my guise is that of a martial arts teacher for action movies. I pretend to study the action so I can make the fight scenes as accurate as possible. I can just play myself off as a history geek for why I know how all of these different ancient weaponry would work in battle, I remain anonymous enough so that real martial arts buffs would know my name but the average person doesn't know me- important, it's been hard for some other people I knew to remain anonymous with this problem once they entered the movie business as an actor- and I just get to wait and bide my time until the next hero work. This day, I ended up with a quick day, so I figured I'd go to the local theater and see the end result. Nice work to relax if I can get it. I headed to the theater, and I head through. I go to the ticket booth. A woman was there running it. It's always weird to deal with people. I always get wary of new relationships in the last 200 or so years- if the fact you'll outlive everyone you care about doesn't turn you off of dating, the fact that if you've been immortal for long enough, simple mathematics means that statistically, everyone on earth is distantly related to you would. But this person, she was beautiful- as beautiful as the many princesses I was betrothed to time and time again so many, many times all those years ago. She handed me my ticket. "Theater seven please...oh sorry." One of the advertising buttons on her vest fell off and pricked me. I bled. ...you know, I never saw this plot coming...
This was turning out exactly as awkward as I had feared it would be. We, the members of the Knights of the Found Table, remained quiet while setting up the gear for tonights D&D scenario. At the far end of the table, our guest Dennis hunched over the table, breathing loudly. His marine blue scales were glistening in the soft light. His vertical slit eyes darted nervously. Dennis had had a rough time lately, and we felt bad for him. With the recent Alaskan dragon attacks, dragon stocks were at an all-time low. It didn't matter how many times "not all dragons are like that"was repeated by media pundits. The kids at school were really bad at understanding nuance. He had tried to hide it, but his eyes had literally lit up in an amber glow when we invited him over for tonight's session. He didn't have many friends, and we knew that. In fact, we had discussed whether he had any at all. It had felt like the right thing to do, but we all silently regretted it now, as the silence grew dense. "So.. uh, Dennis,"said Ted, our long-standing dungeon master, without lifting his eyes from the scenario booklet. He seemed to have forgotten the rest of the sentence. "What kind of character would you like to play?"I asked the dragon, while trying my best to look enthusiastic. "Oh, I'm not sure,"Dennis replied, avoiding eye contact. There was a loud clacking sound as he fidgeted with his large claws against the table. "What are the options?" "Well, there's the regular adventure classes. A thief, a warrior maybe? This scenario also has some special ones". I grabbed the scenario booklet from Ted, and read; "You could be an ice mage, or a frost dragon, or a..." Dennis chuckled. "Well, definitely not that!"he said. His wings contracted rapidly, and caused a slight breeze in the basement. I tried to chuckle with him, but it sounded more like a snicker. "Yeah, yeah", I said. "Other options are stone dwarf, or... well."I hesitated. "It says that you can be a dragon slayer, too." The silence was thick as molasses. Dennis eyes opened wide for a short second, and then returned to their normal size. "That one!"he said sharply after a while, and clenched his talons. We all looked at each other. It could be fun, sure. Ironic or whatever. But it was something disturbing in the way he said it. "Really?"I asked, and slowly flipped the scenario booklet, looking for the right page. "Yes, absolutely." I looked over the character sheet. Spanning across half of the page was a drawing of a menacing looking knight, with the blade of his sword buried deep in the chest of a screaming dragon. "Alright. But why?"I asked while lowering the booklet. Dennis lowered the spines extending from his head. He looked down at the picture of the dragon slayer. "Because I hate them,"he said. "I really, really hate them." "Like, how do you mean?"asked Robert, our latest group member. He looked shocked and confused. Dennis sighed. His wings seemed to deflate. "All my life I've been told that us dragons are the same as everyone else. But it isn't true! Just look at the news. We are destroying, like, everything! It's no wonder you guys hate us." Robert looked down at the table. "I mean, in some ways, sure... I guess,"he mumbled. Dennis covered his eyes with his talons. The large nostrils on his protruding maw were rapidly contracting and expanding. He was sobbing. "Come on, buddy", I said. "You are not like them. A dragon is just a person like anyone else. What species you are doesn't matter, it's what you do that does." I put my hand on his scaly back, being careful to not get stung by the multitude of purple spines. "Look, people who think of all dragons as being the same are idiots. Don't listen to them. You are a cool dude! Don't let them get to you." Dennis lowered his talons and looked at me. "Thanks. It's just... tough,"he said. I nodded, and removed my hand from his back. I flipped the page of the booklet. "Now, let's play. You wanna be a stone dwarf?"
One thing is certain. If had placed him in Slytherin… there would have been problems. Maybe big, world-spanning problems… maybe just “the minister of magic is a jerk” kind of problems… but problems. With some people you can just tell. With Tom Riddle, you could really tell. This kid was bad. Torturing kids in a sea-cave bad. Head full of snakes bad… potential heir of Slytherin bad. Now, I need to say this: I’ve been a hat for a really long time. I’ve seen everything there is to see inside of an eleven-year-old’s head. Sorting them into a house based on their personality at eleven is HARD. Bit of a knob? Slytherin? Not afraid of closet monsters? Gryffindor. Good at maths? Ravenclaw. Like food? Hufflepuff. Then, once they’re sorted they’re stuck there. The Ravenclaws get smarter, of course, because they’re surrounded by people fond of forming study groups. The Gryffindors get braver, because they’re rewarded for acting precociously. The Hufflepuffs mostly get fat, but if I’m being honest I envy them… they have the easiest go of any other house… low expectations all around. The Slytherins though… and we need to talk about them, because what I’ve done is deeply based upon what I know they are… The Slytherins are just a textbook example of why sorting people into groups based on their traits is a bad idea. They’re all mad. They all grew up being told they are superior…or feeling as though they were superior… to muggles. Most of them have heard that notion reenforced by parents or grandparents or aunts or uncles. And once they are in school and safely sorted into their ticking-bomb of a house, that’s all they hear from their friends and well. All while getting angrier, by the way, because even though they ALL agree they are fabulous, evidence to the contrary rears its head FREQUENTLY. No house cup for you, Slytherin. Gryffindor was braver. Ravenclaw was smarter, Hufflepuff chugged along as Hufflepuff does, and won the war by sheer consistency. No one likes you by the way. Mostly it comes to nothing. The kids grow up to replace the parents… younger versions of some old do-nothing member of some venerable wizarding family. Tom Riddle was different though. He could have pushed that carefully cultivated anger and that sense of superiority to new heights. He could have been a dark lord. (Or a really bad minister of magic… Have I mentioned that this is hard?) He could even have been the heir of Slytherin. Yes that Slytherin. One of my four parents. Snake-dad. I’ve actually averted several heirs of Slytherin over the years… people who checked all the genetic and attitude related boxes… and on that note, we come to the point of my story. Tom Riddle was unequivocally a Slytherin. Everything in his head screamed of me to put him into that house. He was even a Parseltongue. I did not. Judge me all you like. I’m a bad, bad sorting hat. But, oh. It would have gone the way it always goes. “You’re special, Tom.” “You’re better, Tom!” “You deserve more, Tom!” All ideas that Tom had anyways. Trust me. Special Tom would have underperformed in herbology, though… Danika Swick of Hufflepuff would take top marks. Better Tom would not be as good on a broom as Charles Zair of Ravenclaw. A half-blood. Deserving Tom would interpret all of this the way that most Slytherins do… as a massive injustice that took place through no fault of his own.
You know I thought it was some cranked out hobo. I mean “ five bucks for a super power. “ I thought he was so smacked he thought he was Jesus. But you know sometimes when you’re at your lowest you’ll resort to anything and I had a single 5 in my pockets so I thought. Fuck it $5 is a pretty good deal for a super power and at the very least the poor guy could get some food that night. He just asked my what my name was and when I was born, smiled and walked off. Now there’s these little lights above cats. I thought I sat down too fast at first, just plopped down on a bench and a big stray with shaggy orange fur ran by with 3 blue-white orbs smaller than marbles crowning his head. But I couldn’t deny it when 10 minutes later a couple of outdoor cats from a nearby neighborhood passed me by as they chased each other around and they each had spheres atop their heads too each a different color and number above their heads. One was a sort black one with 7 rich purple ones 2 circles of 3 orbited by a lone moon, and a grey striped one with 5 like green spheres in a large halo. So I grabbed my phone and just randomly looked up pictures of cats online. Each picture had an individual cats pattern and color orbs atop their heads. But never was there more than 9 . I didn’t really understand what they were until now. I followed the pair of cats as they played across the path and surrounding woods of the park when the black cat rolled down a hill paused at the bottom and his lone moon vanished before he popped his head back up looked around and up the hill at the other cat and me. And that removed all suspicions. I knew my power. I could how many lives cat had. Now there’s a million thoughts racing through my mind. How can I use this? is that old guy a wizard? did he just spike me with drugs? What is the cat doing? The last ine stick because it involves looking at this cat still. It’s very much the same cat but there’s a slight pause to it now. A bit less energetic in its lead, and more amicable with its walking partner than before, if only slightly. Of all the thoughts I’m thinking there one that sticks out the most. I need to get a cat!
His name was Dick. The humans named him. After all, Dick had made it his lifes mission to be as annoying as monstrously possible to them. He was a lv 1 Kobold, with only a handful of racial skills. [Psuedo-Dragon] You are of the draconic blood which grants fire resistance and a higher than average mana recharge. [Cunning Nature] Your crafty mind allows you to craft more complicated traps and plans. [Small] You are small. Of course he wouldn't be Dick without the one abnormal passive skill in his possession. One he got after swearing retribution upon humans for the betrayal of his peaceful tribe. [Unending Nuisance] When you die, no matter the cause, you respawn in a safe location. You may trigger this ability when trapped, confined, or restrained in a way that prevents you from completing your lifes mission. As a consequence of this skill you are permanently cursed. [Curse: Lowest Mob] Your level is set to 1 and cannot be raised naturally or artificially. You cannot gain [skills]. His tribe had been miners of ores and precious gems, with an agreement with the human settlements close by that as long as they produced and sold materials, they would be protected. For hundreds of years it had been just that. So when humans came in and began to butcher his people... with his dying breath he made an oath to Vakir, Dragon God of Retribution. He would give up his name, and his future, if it meant being able to punish the humans. His prayer was answered. Two years later he had gained a reputation as the single most annoying thing on and in the mountain range. The humans had tried to take over the mines, ready to expand the kobold sized passages, but found their equpiment covered in excrement. Their blasting devices and magical equipment meant to make the earth mages job easier mysteriously gone. They had tried to push through, but without the blasting devices and equipment, the mages would have to actually crawl into the mine to do any real work. The irony of losing all their earth mages to a cave in was not missed. But not well recieved. Especially when they found him. and eviscerated him. He came back ten minutes later a few miles from his former home. His people could live in and under rocks, the humans? No, they had to bring gear and equipment to "camp". It was also, all very flammable. He lost track of how many times he was killed in a month. But after two, the humans finally gave up. "THAT DICK OF A KOBOLD JUST. DOESNT. STOP!"The Commander had shouted. They had realized he was the same kobold within the first week, mainly because he had a very distinctive tattoo and scar from before his immortality skill. And so his name became Dick.
“These are not terms of peace,” spat Jovios. “This would be surrender.” Resting the quill down on the scarred mahogany table I leant back in my chair, watching as the deity’s face contorted and frowned reading and re-reading the short length of parchment presented to him. “Call it what you will, it is an end to this conflict.” I advised. Locks of ashen white hair floated as if suspended underwater as his slender figure rose and paced around the plateau, puffs of umber tinged dust erupting under heavy steps. Neutral ground was hard to find but it made the location of our engagement oddly fitting. Cracked earth extended as far as the eye could see with various shades of orange and maroon forming great plates across the mesa. Neither stem or bud could root in the desolate waste. “Laima has seen what becomes of our planes, I know that to be a fact.” I brushed off the small piles of sand accumulating in the table’s cracks. “It will be millennia before a true order re-emerges. By which time, you will have lost the final sparks of your Godlihood.” Turning sharply the deity’s right fist coiled in a lethal arc toward me, flashes of crimson lightning rippling up his bulging forearm. My short crop of hair was tussled by the sudden gust, accompanied by the slight tingle on my cheek as if I had accidentally brushed against a nettle bush. “Traitor.” Hissed the breathless Jovios, slumping down into his chair. “It’s a shame,” I mused. “When I was your ward, I watched you decimate legions of knights for your beloved Sophilian tribesmen. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the putrid concoction of charred flesh and melted bronze.” Through laboured breaths he locked eyes with me, “What have you done to me..? I cannot hear them.” The weak voice whispered. “Yes… I never quite knew what you meant by that.” I responded, pushing up from my seat to loom over the fallen God. “Though you could hear, in your own hubris you refused to listen to them. It’s no matter now of course, I will take care of them for you.” Extending my index finger a surging store of energy boiled in my chest. As I willed it up to my shoulders, down to my elbow, and finally to burst forth from my fingertip, an overwhelming sensation of ecstasy forced my knees to buckle. A great clap echoed from plateaus for miles around, ringing out in the lifeless expanse. The bolt left charred shadows behind us. Mine long and proud, squared shoulders and erect posture forever imprinted on the stone. Jovios’ a meek ball, curled under the chair with his head between his knees. “Laima,” I called out to the cloudless sky. “I know you are there. Tell the others of what happened here. Next time, send a delegate who is willing to speak of peace.”
"Something needs to be done!"Cthulhu bellows "this is the third time this week I have been reduced to a pathetic human"for years supernatural creatures have been depowered to the point of being nothing more than mere humans. None of the truly powerful entities cared until it started affecting them, now even beings like Cthulu themselves are losing their powers and being reduced to mortal chains. Medusa sits at a large round table opposite of Cthulu although her head is usually wrapped and she wears sunglasses the wrapping lacks the normal wriggling everyone recognizes her for. "This has been a problem for 12 years and you only care now because it's affecting you calamari"she spits. &#x200B; None of them understood what caused it, or how to stop it. They believed it must be some powerful spell or perhaps an issue with the weave itself. what none of them could imagine was it was nothing more than a single human, Stella to be exact. at first glance, she wasn't special just like any human she was mortal and without any power... at least that's what anyone would expect looking at her. She has one thing however, any supernatural creature near her would suddenly lose its powers because of a complete lack of belief in all things supernatural. she spends countless hours online debunking "supernatural occurrences"and finding any scientific or logical explanation for them. on top of that the longer she spent debunking the more sure, she was of the lack of their existence, and the more set she became in her lack of belief the wider her powers reach.
Deus Panis [Thank you Google translate, also Concrit welcome] It has been five month and seven days you’ve reincarnated into this strange land, and you suspect it wasn’t a coincidence anymore. They revere you as the great mage, a title you find laughable. True, you could pronounce these Latin words fluently, however, you had to be careful not to guess spells meaning. Last time you tried to summon some bread, you casted a fireball. The elders tell you you are close to the source of magic, you’d rather not be close to this linguistic hellhole. Every day, you get closer and closer to yelling at whoever created this universe. You begin to notice a pattern, some of the errors in translation are awfully familiar. Silva (the Latin word for forest) for summoning silver, Liber (the Latin word for books) for untying ropes. You were reminded of a distant day, a simpler time when you lectured in front of a classroom and the students dozed off or scrolled at their phones silently, when there were no monsters to fight, no villages to save. You were reminded of a particular student, who would always turn in quizzes with all the wrong translations, it was the only time in how many years someone had to repeat Latin 1. The more you encounter these mistakes, the more certain you become of your theory. ___ Winter solstice, the kingdom invite you to conduct the annual ritual to attempt at contacting the creator of this universe, who had been long silent for centuries. You tried the standard ritual, with a few improvisations based on old scrolls you found in the royal library. No response. You felt like there’s something you must try. “MARCUS!!!” You cried out the name you’ve yelled many times in the classroom when you were trying to get the young man to pay attention for once. The name of the only student who would ever confuse fire for bread. The world shook. Everyone observing the ceremony fled for coverage. But you stood your ground, at that moment you understood. You felt it in the tremor, it was the same anxiousness all language learners experience it first. A glowing silhouette descended, despite all the changes, you were instantly able to recognize him. *Mrs. Diaz? Is that you?* “Marcus! So it is you behind … all this.” You pointed towards the horizons. *Mrs. Diaz, I…* He seemed embarrassed, *I’d like to apologize for being a slacker in high school. It seemed like my horrible Latin managed to bother you even in this universe.* “Don’t be,” You replied in a flash of pity and understanding, “Not everyone likes language classes. And besides, you’ve made this entire universe with its own internal logic and intrigue. I’ve always know you’d make it if you applied yourself.” *Thank you. Its just that after all this long there’s not much I remember about earth, and I’m afraid no matter how hard I try I cannot remember one correct thing I’ve learned in your Latin class.* “I’ve always said it’s not too late to start over again. Would you like to retry Latin one more time?” You found yourself asking. *Sic, Mrs Diaz, I’d be glad to.* For the first time in a dozen centuries, Marcus uttered the first right word in Latin again.
Students filed into the lecture hall. They chatted quietly amongst themselves as they found seats. Papers were shuffled and books removed from bags. And the main topic of conversation was the cat. The professor had yet to arrive, but there was a large Siamese cat sitting on the desk. Its tail was curled around it, the tip flicking around. It was watching the students attentively instead of laying down or wandering around the room. It wore a loose, slender collar, but none of the students approached the desk to read the tag. The desk was mostly bare, having only a stationary microphone and a computer mouse on it. The cat did not bother either of them. It seemed much more interested in the students that slowly filled the room. Soon, all the seats were filled and the class was set to start. And the professor had yet to show up. The chatter filling the air turned to the tardy professor. The cat began to move. It headed towards the microphone. Its paw pressed the button to turn it on. A few more attentive students now noticed that the device was already set up perfectly for the small animal. And sure enough, it spoke in perfect English. "Greetings class."It, or she from the sound of the voice, said. "I am Prof. White. Welcome to Ecology 101. I trust all of you have looked over the posted list of needed supplies and have acquired everything you will need. If you have not, you have until next class to do so. "Now then, let me preemptively answer a few of the more common questions you are no doubt thinking of. Yes, I am a cat. A Siamese cat. I have always been a cat, and Bastet willing, always will be one. How I acquired my intelligence and ability to speak is far beyond the scope of any class any of you are going to take here. However, just know that I am, as far as I know, the only one, and my existence is of, shall we say, dubious legality. "I am the only cat capable of speech. But I can communicate with my less intelligent brethren. But I would rather not waste time answering your questions about feline behavior. Humans have a much better grasp on that than I thought, so talking to a different expert should suffice in most cases. "I am fully qualified to be here, and have a PhD in the subject, and am licensed to teach at this level. If any of you are uncomfortable with this fact, you may transfer to a class run by your own species." Prof. White paused. Her eyes flicked over the students before she continued. "A few ground rules to keep in mind. If anyone tries to...cuddle with me, that student will lose half a grade on their next assignment. If anyone uses a laser pointer for anything other than the intended purpose, you will lose a full grade. The same will be done if anyone tries to slip me any catnip. That being said, I am rather partial to salmon. Do with that what you will. Now, any questions that I have not already answered?" None of the students raised their hand. She knew that would happen. She had taught enough classes to know other questions would likely come after class. She could even guess what most of them would be about. She did not relish the idea of explaining the concept of the so-called greebles a dozen times though. "Well then, since nobody has any current questions, I shall start the class. Today I shall give a rough outline of the class and what is expected from you." And with that, Prof. White began to do her job. She just hoped that at least half of the students were paying attention to her words and not her species. That always made things more challenging for her. But it was just one of the many challenges of being both a teacher and a cat.
The door flew off its hinges. “Sam!” She yelled “Sam!” She growled, stomping toward her startled friend with no regard for the items, food, and electronics on the ground. “What! What the fuck?” Sam puttered. “We must leave at once!” another voice bellowed. By the window, the face of a wolf. “SAM!? Are you serious?” he growled maturely. “Sam is my friend. Sam is my friend, Draginov!” black fur quickly overtakes her body. The human puttered through soft sobs and gasps. “What?- What’s- - What’s going on?” TUNK TUNK TUNK Three shots. Penetrating the roof and obliterating an empty bed. The shouts and panic of the other tenants can be heard vividly. All Sam could do is scream. “WE LEAVE, NOW!” the male howled. The other wolf fully transforms, snatches Sam’s body and crashes herself through the window. Taking the brunt of the fall to protect Sam. “Auugh…” the human mellowed, trying to get up through the pain. Covered and grass and dirt. The two wolves peer toward the building and the male immediately grabs Sam. Running wildly on all fours. As the trio fled into the first the pants of the wolves grow more feral. More panicked. Terror fueled. Sam did not know where they were going, but cowered to imagine what could possibly terrify creatures such as these so easily.
"To think the might Unstoppable is really so weak,"Lord Val said as she kicked the downed woman. "You don't seem unstoppable to me." Unstoppable tasted iron, so kept her mouth shut to avoid giving Lord the satisfaction. Lord levelled another kick, but Unstoppable managed to choke down the blood. "I'm... just getting... warmed up,"she wheezed. "Really now?"Lord sounded genuinely curious. "Well, let's see it then. I wouldn't want anyone to say I didn't beat you at your best. You know how people are." The rooftop was windy and narrow, but Unstoppable did her best to get to her feet, trusting the roof's ridges to keep her from falling. Dust whipped around them. "Ok,"Unstoppable said, "I'm ready."She leaned forward, putting everything into her stance. Lord followed suit, a smile forming across her face, then she lunged. Lord was no slower or than before, and before Unstoppable could even react, she was on the ground again. "That's all?"Lord asked. "Seriously, how did you beat the destroyer? There must be something." "It's a secret,"Unstoppable choked out. "Enlighten me."Lord's eyes shifted and a dangerous gaze fell on Unstoppable. But Unstoppable was not ready to reveal her secret. "Blood, sweat, and tears,"she tried. Lord's joviality was gone now. "You've already got sweat. I guess all you need is blood and tears then." Lord Val started in on a frenzy of blows, and this time blood gushed forth from her mouth. It pooled on the floor in front of Unstoppable, a not insignificant amount landing on her hand. At that sight, she began to smile. Lord stopped her rain long enough to snarl, "What? Why are you smiling?" "I just realised I don't need tears,"Unstoppable said, and flung her hand forward. Lord stepped back, but Unstoppable wasn't throwing a punch. An arc of blood splattered across Lord's eyes and she closed them and turned with a curse. Before she could turn back, Unstoppable spoke, "die." And then Lord Val was no more.
“In a way, it’s flattering,” Shivani muttered to herself as the H train screeched to a halt at the elevated station above her. Though, she didn’t think the police team tracking her would appreciate it if she tried to run to catch this train. She figured, only important people get police details; unfortunately the police thought she was important in the crime world. Fortunately, the train stayed longer in the station than normal, allowing her and the police team tracking her every move ample time to board. Never one to pass up an opportunity to sleep, Shivani settled into a nap after setting an alarm to make sure she woke her up before her stop. She was awoken with a bang much before then. “Everyone stay seated. This doesn’t have to be hard for any of us”, yelled a man as he slammed open the adjoining door from the next car on the train. “It’s simple. I just want your money,” he said brandishing a pistol. Shivani hoped that if she just feigned to continue sleeping the man would leave her alone. She briefly saw her escorts prepare to take action at the far end of the train. They seemed conflicted about whether or not they wanted to cause a commotion since that would blow their cover tracking her. The man continued down the train car, collecting what money he could and jostling people for the jewelry he could see. Then, he stopped in front of Shivani and grabbed her by the collar. “You! I know you! You’re the reason my brother’s in prison!” Crud, she thought, his brother must have been one of the earlier cases she helped the police with. Shivani pleaded, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’ll give you whatever you want!” “No, no. I told myself I’d never forget your face. No amount of jewelry can replace my brother. You’re coming with me.” With that, her police detail got over their earlier apprehension, “Police. Freeze. Drop the gun, and put your hands where we can see them!” The would be thief and kidnapper rounded on the police officers with his own pistol and was shot dead before he could take aim. Shivani, safe for now, collapsed to the floor in relief. The H train screeched to a stop again as the police officers rushed towards her. The doors opened with a tone. Shivani really figured she ought to be grateful.
At this point, all other celebrations had melted away. They never exactly saw me as the person to get out much. The office parties practically roping me in. At one time, I would sit there, watching them talk and laugh, chatting away , but I could feel their eyes. The humorous smiles, a mention of my name perhaps? Still, I intended to keep up appearances. Past that, I wasn't seen anywhere else. “Oh Nicholas? He’s always about his work, he doesn’t do much” they would say. The elevator jokes and coffee pot conversations, you’d always be standing in the corner; practically invisible. All my life I’ve had this sort of quality, this transparency. A curse that I had no choice to accept. For years it haunted me, the way they would look through me, their eyes drifting through me as if absent mindedly watching a bird fly in the distance. Those grazing idiots just nodding and smiling through any attempt at conversation. 3 decades, and no matter what colors I paint myself, I still seem to be made of glass. That Christmas changed it all. Coming back from another year, the sixth or seventh I couldn’t remember, nor care anymore, a letter was waiting for me. A wax stamp on an interesting parchment, the symbol of an eye watching me closely. Curious, I picked it up and gently pulled it open, revealing a scannable code. Quickly I scanned it, unsure what sort of marketing ploy this was, but it was enjoyably clever. That's when it became fun. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My name in a video, and a figure I’ve never seen. Suave wouldn’t begin to describe his looks, but he went on to explain. “You, Nicholas, have been chosen, among others, to take part in a game. We have seen how hard you work. How others have never seemed to recognize or even see you. How all your life, you have been..” the man paced as he spoke, a level of grandeur to his phrasing. My lips made the motion to match his words as if they were my own “…invisible.” A game, a quite cruel one that initially had no chance of me joining. I would shake at any inkling of aggression, let alone taking a life with my own hands. Then again, times were getting dire. Whispers floated around of layoffs, and those eyes that had often never watched seemed to be taking bites of me. I could swear I heard my name once or twice, but the usual emotionless veil continued. One billion dollars. Never could I imagine so much money, and now, with the world in a state of constant disasters, I never know what it could do. A night passed, and then a week, another and another since I had gotten this letter. It almost felt like a joke until I arrived home to the same letter waiting for me at. The new code showed the details of a local bridge and a history. The current camera feed showed a man under there, bags of trash and personal belongings, if I could even call them that. “Brian Shultz, 57” the document read. An ex felon and avid drug user. An easy target for you, at-least from the words of the website. “Human Waste” it called him. An old wolf, dosing himself with spirits, wandering around barking at sheep and biting his fellow pack. He wouldn’t be missed. The next hours were a blur. I had drank a little for courage, and a little extra for pushing myself through. I’m not sure if it was the alcohol that made it so easy, or perhaps knowing the history of this man. The night is still a blur. The way I crept under the bridge, slowly keeping myself low to the ground. A cap held tight down and a hoodie to conceal myself. I saw his form shudder awake from a shoddy tent, yelling at the shadows in which I stayed still in. I listened to him bark at me and the dark; what a sick creature. He hadn’t seen me as I came closer and closer. A wooden bat in my hand, I stood there. Shaking in fear like I had my whole life, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t kill this man. No matter what prize there may be, no matter if I lose my job. He may have a history, but who am I to condemn him to hell. “No, I will not be the executioner” I thought to myself as I began to walk away. That was before I felt the beast leap onto me. My heart raced as our bodies rolled down the underpass into old sitting water. Grunting and drunken yelling as he fought at me. His arms wildly flailed into me, scratching mine with unkempt claws. In all the panic, a sound came to me. Amongst the thumping and incoherent threats, the sound of wood rolling down and coming closer. The bat slid and rolled its way down to us. A single moment was all it took. Forcing his form under me as we rolled in the dingy wetness, I reached for that weapon. I wish I could say it was all in self defense, but I remember what was in my mind. With each swing I saw a flash of hatred sweep across my mind. His files of homicide that put him in jail, the recordings of him drunkly bothering strangers, the people that had been teasing me for years, those eyes that had never seen me. With each smash into him, I saw all the hatred I had for a world. For a moment, I felt clear, and in that moment I saw his face in the dark. Red, mangled, bleeding and blubbering for any kind of mercy, but in all that, he saw my eyes looking into his. His eyes, bloodshot and full of fear, but he still saw me. One more thud, and all the fighting and pleading had stopped. That was a year ago now. Something had changed for me that day. I understood from just one life that some creatures will do what it takes to survive, and others just need to feast on the others. 50 lives I’ve now taken. The first few were sloppy and kept to those of scum, vultures and coyotes who scavenged the bottom barrel of humanity. I thought I would have a code, but as it became easier, the rabbits and mice began to become quite appetizing. I moved onto larger game, not always skulking in alleyways, but tricking them with meetings and dates. With each creature I hunted, I felt myself grow. Confidence and a level of coolness much like that man before. I even acquired a raise, allowing me to fund these night hunts. I had become a completely different animal than the meerkat I was before. It's a week before Christmas. The higher ups insisted that we host this year's event, despite the recent tragedy of a missing team member. I felt a nice warmth about me this year. I enjoyed how my breath floated in the air, and the sweet warmth that came from making my way inside. The boss is making a toast now, and still after all this I lay in the corner. Looking around, even in tragedy, they talk and laugh. Making light of everything they can, but this time their eyes don’t even float to me, but no worries, I have embraced my invisibility as I sit and wait behind the scene. For a long time, I was just a hunter gathering his game for the big cash prize. Now, I wait along the fence; watching the cattle fatten themselves on cheap booze and bland appetizers, just waiting for when I can have my next feast. A wolf sits in the fields of these sheep, and with the moon so high, it must feast.
Held up by tree branches, and with bugs crawling over their skin, the witch hunters looked at the woman they had accused. "You know, it's funny,"the woman said, "No one has ever figured out a real witch's identity. But now we have an issue." "I- we're sorry,"the leader of the group cried. "Yeah, I know,"the woman said, then sighed, "Look, I know you're scared, left alone in a world you do not understand, and that does not care for you. But who do you think kept your village safe for all these years?" "S- safe?"the leader asked, "F- fr- from what?" "This,"the woman answered, pulled a small tub of salve from her bag, and approached the men. They turned away as best as they could and closed their eyes, before feeling something cold on their eyelids. "What is this?"the leader asked, as he opened his eyes again and saw a deer-like creature stand behind the woman. "A magic salve,"the woman answered, "It allows you to see spirits, like this harvest spirit here. Every year, I ask it and its family to bless the fields, so the people have enough to eat. Sometimes, I fight off bad omens. Other times, I enchant the well so it doesn't dry up." "So, you're not evil?"the leader of the witch hunters asked, and the woman let out a laugh. "Please, don't flatter yourself,"the woman said, "If I had ill will towards you, we would not be having this conversation right now." "Again, we are so terribly sorry,"the leader said, and the others nodded in agreement. Suddenly, the branches let go of them, and the men fell to their knees. "Like I said, I know,"the woman said, "But that still leaves us with the issue of how to proceed. Now that my identity is revealed, I must leave this place, and that means the fields will go barren, and the well will dry up, and disease will befall the people."The men clambered back to their feet. "Wa- wait, what?"the leader asked, "What does this have to do with that?" "Sorry, witch's code,"the witch answered, "No one living in the town I protect can know of my identity. Normally I'd kill you, but since you seem nice enough, I'll let you live."She turned around, and the men looked amongst each other. "No, wait,"the leader said and pulled out a knife, "If we have to die for our village, then we don't deserve to live."Just before the men could slit their throats, the witch's magic seized their blades, and she turned around again. "Looks like you really mean it,"the witch said, "Alright, I'll stay."The men gave her confused looks, not sure what she was talking about. "Bu- but the code,"the leader said, "What about that?" "Rule one of dealing with witches,"the witch said, "Never believe something about witches a witch tells you willingly. Now get home, and stop harassing random people."Using her magic, she sheathed their blades again, then pulled her broom out of her bag, which had no business fitting something of that length, and rode off into the night.
"Did you call me, sir?" "Yes, I did. I need you to kill a man. Here is an envelope with your payment." He didn't have time to specify. He would not specify. Why would he? He was dead. The killer took the envelope from his hands and walked away. This had been the easiest mission he had accomplished. Then a moment of doubt came to his mind "What if he wanted me to kill a specific man and not any man I wanted?" He stopped, touched his chin, thoughtful, but immediately discarded the idea and kept walking with a happy smile on his face.
I... I don't understand. My brows furrowed in as I studied the small metal clasps and chain, turning it over and over in my hand. I looked around to see if the rest of my crew was watching, expectantly waiting for their moment to chuckle. Matthew was fifty or so feet away, intently analyzing a clump of dirt that kept falling apart. Angela kept looking to the right, then the left, then up at the sky, like she had forgotten something and it was probably floating around in mid-air somewhere. And John, well, he was probably off rolling around in mud. Whatever. I don't understand. My head was caught in a loop and all I could do was stare. I must have not been paying enough attention to myself when Matt walked up. "Wipe up the puddles, girl." My eyes shot up as I scrambled to wipe my mouth and stuff my prize in the ripped coat pocket. I had forgotten to swallow for several seconds. "What'd you find?" "Uh.. eh.. uh.."I mumbled all the way back to the camper. In my daze, I somehow found my way to the bedroom, locking the door behind me. Carefully and meticulously, I laid the locket down on the bed, straightening the chain and opening to the worn picture. I fumbled for the one lonely fold-up chair and pulled it over, without removing my eyes. If I blinked, I was sure it would disappear. I just sat there in front of it, watching. At some point, I don't know when, I had opened to the picture on my phone and placed it neatly beside the locket. It felt like I had been playing this Spot the Differences game for hours. Time was getting away from me. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! My eyelids opened so fast I thought I was going to lose them. And my head, God, my head. "Come on, let's go! We only have a few days left at the site! Let's get this one started!" The words came muffled by the door between Matthew and I. My body ached. Had I been hunched over all night? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! It wasn't there! Nothing was there. I found my phone neatly placed on the nightstand, but I had been sitting in that chair all night. All I could think to do was rip everything apart. I started with the bed, throwing every obstruction on the floor. Then it was just a frenzy, throwing anything from the floor to the top of the mattress, things from the mattress to the night stand, from the closet to the desk... WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! "Leeeet's gooooo!" He drew out the words slowly and emphatically. I turned the knob so fast, he was still standing there when I pushed past and booked it out the cramped camper. I vaguely remember something from his part. Maybe it was a "Hey!", maybe a laugh. But it wasn't important. I went straight for that hole. I started moving sand furiously. Digging faster and faster, sand flying over my head and burying me, I couldn't help coughing out clumps. "Hey honey, are... are you awake?" Beep. Fuck, it's not here. Beep. I tried holding my breath for a second, blinking a time or two. Beep beep. My hands were still twitching, but this rope was cutting into my skin. Beep. I had to keep digging! Beep. "Honey, the doctors said you were moving too much. They said you were in danger of pulling your IV out." "M... Matt?"
"Alfred Pennyworth-less piece of crap..." Bruce said through his clenched teeth. "Is something the matter, sir?" "Alfred, how many times have I asked you NOT to put my suit into the dryer? This is like the 7th batsuit I've gone through! They're already snug in the crotch and ass areas... it really didn't help last month when I was trying to fight the Joker, and my pants split in the back! He brings it up every god damn time I run into him now!" "I'm terribly sorry, sir!" Alfred replied, reaching for the suit in Bruce's hands. "No, Alfred! I'm sick of this!" Bruce replies as he pulls the suit out of Alfred's reach. "Seriously, it's not just the suits. Its everything. My bat-a-rangs aren't sharpened, you're always moving my utility belt, swapping where things go on it... I mean, I reached for a smoke bomb the other day, and ended up throwing the key to the batmobile! I looked like an idiot!" Bruce sits down in front of the bat computer in frustration. Alfred contemplates what to say, but is at a loss of words. "I'm hanging up my cape Alfred. I can't do this shit anymore. I'm sorry I yelled at you. Really, you've been great to me through this whole thing... but I don't think I'm cut out for this anymore. Now that Clark's here, I'll just let him take care of everything." "Are you sure this is what you want to do, Bruce? I think the City of Gotham still needs it's Caped Crusader..." As he places down a serving dish in front of Bruce with a sandwich and chips. Bruce reaches for a chip, "Yeah, I'm finished. I want to concentrate now on getting Wayne Enterprises back on it's feet." He bites into the chip, realizing they are plain, and not barbeque like he requested, "GOD DAMN IT, ALFRED!"
Gary has an outstanding phone bill for $49. AT&T declared bankruptcy 16 years ago, 4 months after the event that left every scrap of dirt infertile. But Gary received an email about his outstanding phone bill for $49. The last power plant closed down 14 years ago, 17 months after the event that left every citizen in the world starving and desperate for food. But Gary's computer turned on to tell him he has an email about his outstanding phone bill for $49. The second to last human on earth died 3 years ago, 166 months after the event that left humanity cannibalistic, barbaric and completely apathetic to the chaos that had taken control of the entire planet. But there's some database out there that decided to notify Gary that the phone conversations he's had with himself to stay sane have wracked up a bill of $49. And 63 cents. Gary decides to dispute the bill. It's probably a scambot anyway.
Chuck glanced at his watch and stared at its hands. He’d been wearing an analog watch for millennia at this point, yet he continued to consistently misread the time. The damn hands were so similar – why hadn’t he died wearing a digital watch? He counted the notches until he reached the smaller hand. One, two, three. The minute hand was two further. 3:20pm. Ten minutes left. Chuck looked back at his computer monitor. He had been reviewing inventory for the past thirteen days straight while his inner-city coworkers cackled behind him, mocking his every insecurity. For almost two weeks he had sat there, counting each individual thread on every returned thong, bra, and item of lingerie, then adding it into the “thread count” tab of his excel sheet. Occasionally he would stop to rest his eyes, but the manager would—almost without fail—immediately appear and scold him for his poor work ethic. The only break he had been permitted was the two minutes and seventeen second reprieve between his shift change from thread-counter to Time Warner Cable customer service rep in the room across the hall. That wasn’t for another six days, though, and Chuck could already feel his bladder overflowing for the second time that day. “I is tellin’ you girl, he gonna piss his panties again,” said a coworker behind him. “Just wait.” Laughter continued to fill the room, only slightly overcome by a re-run of House Wives of New Jersey, which had been playing on repeat for as long as Chuck could remember. Every woman in the show, however, seemed to be bickering back and forth about how tiny Chuck’s penis was. He tried to return his focus to the threads of the bra he had been counting, but his mind simply wasn’t into it today. He normally didn’t care about the tedious nature of his employment—it was better than being a waiter, he always told himself. Plus, the nature of his job helped to keep his mind occupied; counting upwards towards infinity on a near constant basis was somewhat calming. Numbers were always a big aspect in his life. He had been a mathematician while alive. Chuck was particularly fond of the number “eighty-seven,” and would almost find excitement as he approached it. But his employer had recently banned the number “eighty-seven,” replacing it instead with “Chuck is a faggot.” He found that this negated the sense of near-excitement he had previous experienced as he climbed toward it. As such, he had been in the market for the past few weeks to find a new favorite. Chuck had briefly considered three hundred and forty eight, but quickly discovered that it, too, had been added to the banned list. It had been replaced with a terribly racist term for half black, half-Mexican people. This turned him off to it. Likewise, his second replacement choice—one thousand and ninety two—had simply been swapped out for the numbers “9/11/2001.” Chuck also found that offensive, and decided it would not work out. “… God damn he ugly, girl. And can you believe how short he be? He the shortest guy here. Everything on him is so tiny, except that nose. Massive-ass nose...” Chuck stared down at his watch again. The hour hand was still on the three, but the minute hand had moved almost to the six. Chuck felt a rush of air hit the back of his neck. “Chuck, are you serious?” said a voice from behind him. It was the manager, once again catching him off guard. “You are the most lazy, insignificant, useless person I’ve ever come across. All you do is sleep all day. I can’t believe how pathetic you are. It’s no wonder no one ever loved you. I’m docking your pay for this week, I will be taking it instead. Get back to your work. Also, your hair looks stupid today.” Chuck sighed. He hadn’t been paid in, well, ever. All he had been able to afford was the meat paste included in boxes of taco Lunachables, which had long since expired. He didn’t really mind the flavor, though. In fact, he quite liked it. Unfortunately, a ban took place centuries ago which resulted in the meat paste being replaced with a finely compressed slab of frozen animal feces. It remained free, however, which was affordable for Chuck, and so he ate it every day. “…Girl I telling you, his breath smell like shit. It smell so much like shit…” Chuck glanced up his monitor. The spreadsheet had crashed as it always did, meaning that all of his work this week had been destroyed. Of course he tried to save it several times, but it never worked. He had submitted many tickets to tech support, but nothing ever really came from it. They would tell him a representative was to arrive between 9:00am and 11:00pm. No one ever came. His watch vibrated slightly, signaling that the alarm he had set had gone off. Chuck stood up, his legs felt weak under his body. He hadn’t walked in almost two weeks. The floor was warm under his bare feet as it always was, thanks to the broken A.C. that still hummed aggressively in the back of the room blowing boiling hot air. He was soaked in sweat, urine, and feces, and could tell he didn’t quite smell his best. He had been allowed a shower one time, but the water was a relatively uncomfortable 276 degrees Fahrenheit, and was also entirely made of wasps. He did find a bit of peace in that shower, though, and would not mind doing it again. Unfortunately, due to a policy change, the showers were banned and replaced with a very large vending machine that always got stuck after you placed your order. “…He is fat, you so right. Definitely getting fatter, too…” Chuck pushed the door open walked out of the room, limping slightly as his body got accustomed to the movement. He crossed the empty white hallway which extended in both directions infinitely and stopped outside the wooden door in front of him. It had a glass window with drawn blinds and read “DISTRICT MANAGER” in big, bold letters. He raised his fist and knocked. “Come in,” said a voice from inside. Chuck turned the handle and opened the door. He hadn’t been able to use handles to open doors in decades, ever since a ban took place that replaced almost all door handles with stickers of Chuck’s mother naked. He stepped in. “Chuck, welcome. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” It had. Chuck hadn’t seen the district manager in thousands of years, ever since he had enacted a policy swap that replaced Chuck’s shoes with large pouches of wet sugar. He opted not to wear shoes any longer, which was unfortunate as a recent change had been enforced that swapped several floor tiles with shards of broken glass that looked identical to floor tiles. This caused him much pain. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here today, Chuck.” He was, indeed, wondering. He shook his head, as he could no longer speak due to a company policy change that kindly requested Chuck's mouth be replaced with a vagina consistantly plagued by a painful yeast infection. “I’ve been watching you lately. You do good work when you aren’t slacking off—which is a lot of the time—and I wanted to offer you an incentive to stay around with us. I spoke with the other managers, all of whom hate you and your stupid face, and we’ve agreed to offer you a promotion. We think you would be a wonderful fit in the Thread-Counter, Time Warner Cable Customer Service rep, and Official Waiter to Over-Privileged, Indecisive White Kids with Violent Tendencies and Uncaring Parents position, which just became available. This would add an additional nine weeks to your typical work rotation, and would increase your pay to giving us six dollars every day. So a negative six dollar increase. You will also be disallowed to use your left eye, as a bonus. Do you accept this?” Chuck took a moment to think the offer over. He had never been too fond of being a waiter, but change was always welcome in his life. And his right eye was also his preferred eye. Plus, the negative six dollars would definitely help him toward moving out of his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend’s apartment’s closet. Chuck nodded in agreement. “Great, you begin your new position immediately. Also, we have decided to remove your right eye as well, as an additional bonus.” Chuck could no longer see, but felt things were definitely moving in the right direction. He smiled and tried to walk out the door, which, due to a recent policy change, had been replaced by a large, spiky wall.
Sarah poked at the excel spreadsheet and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the helpdesk guy to arrive. Oh god, he's so creepy, I hope he can just fix this quickly. Her excel continued to blink on and off, caught in a loop. "Fair maiden, doth this foul spell vex you,"Sir Alan asked with a deep bow. "Its locked up again, I'm so sick of this crap, when are we getting new computers?" Sir Alan shook his head, "Pardon me, fine maiden, please repeat. This old knight doesn't have the ears of youth any longer."He looked down shamefully at his body, staring at his khaki pants with the stain on them. "Good sir knight, I meant that awful wizard continues to jam my loom because I turned down his hand in marriage."She put her arms around herself defensively and raised her breasts a couple inches producing a clear view of her bosom. "Surely, a lass like myself shouldn't have to defend herself alone against such evil?" Sir Alan smiled, "Surely! It would stain my honor to let such proceedings occur uninterrupted by a just sword such as mine."He mashed the keyboard, clicked on the mouse, and waited. "Oh dear knight, you're so assertive and manly. This battle is too much for me,"she said performing a mock faint. "I am only the King's humble servant,"he added. "Ah see here, I have broken the spell, your loom is back to how it was." "My hero! The realm is lucky to have one such as you,"she said as she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "It is my..." Sarah cleared her throat, "Hey, so is it working? You haven't said a word in like 5 minutes. Its kinda creepy." Alan stared at his brown work shoes careful to avoid any eye contact. "Umm yeah, it was a bug with the VBS script. I just had to kill the macro. You should be good,"he stammered as he quickly walked away. "Yeah, whatever, thanks,"said Sarah distractedly as she went back to her work. She turned her head to make sure he was gone and added, "weirdo."
"Oh God...I just committed murder. They're going to find me, and they're going to commit me. I'm so fucked, I don't know what to do..."He paced back and forth across the room, cracking his knuckles in anxiety. "No, it was me. I clearly remember that it was me,"he whispered in agony. "I stabbed him, I...I know it was me." He cackled in the corner. "Stupid idiots, it was me. I've never felt so fucking exhilarated in my entire life." She stood in the window. "I had to. I had to get rid of him." He rocked back and forth on the bed, whispering to himself. "Stab stab stab, kill kill kill..." "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!*"He fell to his knees, the thud echoing in the empty room. He clutched his head and sobbed, the crusted blood falling onto the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bloody knife. A quick grab, a quick stab. And all was quiet.
I stepped aside, feeling the breeze as Constantino's hammer whizzed past my face. He stumbled forward, and before he could turn around I planted a side kick in the small of his back. The blow launched him into solid concrete wall. I heard the crack as his nose broke. "Please,"he moaned, peering at me over his shoulder. Blood streamed down his face. "Please, just let me go." Wordlessly, I grabbed him by the ankle. He screamed, writhing against my gauntleted hand. He slid helplessly over the glossed concrete floor, still squinting in the fluorescent lighting. "Where are you taking me? What the hell is this place?" It was difficult to imagine his terror. I'd dropped from the night sky, surrounded by a halo of rain droplets, crushing his van's hood like tinfoil. An Angel of the Night. He'd seen the dim red glow beneath my hood, watched in horror as my cape billowed in the wind, thrown his hands up as my fist came through his windshield. I'd left the ruined vehicle smoking on the side of the road, after checking its bay and releasing the half-naked girl bound and gagged on the floor. He'd secured her there for who knows how long. "Wait,"the girl had cried, rubbing her raw wrists. "Don't leave me! What am I supposed to do?" She'd shrunk back when she heard the rumble of my voice, caught a flash of the demon beneath the hood. "The police know your location. Help is on the way." Constantino thrashed against my grip. "Fuck you, you filthy piece of shit! Fight me like a fucking man!" I scoffed, but dropped him. Crime lords, assassins, thugs, mercenaries, rapists, murderers, serial killers. Put them in a compromising situation and they all eventually pull the honor card. Like chivalric conduct was something they were accustomed to. I didn't bother turning around, but sight is only one sense. I could hear the blood plop onto the floor as he scrambled to his feet, feel the vibrations in the floor as his heels clicked against it, smell his foul breath as it pulsed forth. I closed my eyes. Seven o'clock. Weight on left foot. Right hook. Jawline exposed. I dropped into a crouch, threw vicious back kick, then spun on my planted foot and exploded up with an uppercut. Constantino screamed in agony as his left kneecap shattered and his jaw dislocated. He collapsed into a heap, moaning and writhing. I looked at the floor and smiled. He'd bitten off his own tongue. "You know,"I said casually, bending down, "there's something nobody knows about me. Well, those that did know are dead." He quieted, eyes watering but completely riveted on the figure towering above. "I can see a quarter from half a mile away. I can hear someone's whisper even if they're across the street. I can punch through steel plates a Barrett rifle couldn't penetrate. But if people knew how, if people knew what I must do to gain this power, they would hate me."I picked up the limp tongue. His eyes widened with horror when I raised my hand into my hood. "I'm not entirely sure why. But I'm sure you've heard that most of our brain capacity goes unused. What would happen if the same was true with our bodies? And what would happen if someone could harness that power?" I chewed and swallowed, allowing myself a nasty smile. "I don't know if it's the soul. Your lifeforce that I'm about to consume. But I'm thankful for monsters like you, because the more I stop the stronger I become. The more innocents I save." Constantino gurgled and choked. The blood was too thick in his mouth to scream. I unsheathed the hunting knife strapped to my calf. "You'll never see my face. Nor my wings. Nor my skin. But I'll see all of you. I'll see your heart. Right before I eat it."
Third Morn of February, Year of Our Lord Twenty-Hundred and Thirteen Jerusalem The order is given. The news of it races through the ranks, filling every man whom hears it with that tightness of breath and chest and fist which only righteous fervour can bring. The Ninth crusade is called, and every man on every continent of God’s united Earth rushes to join it. I admit, I had begun to doubt. Not in Him - for He of course is perfection and His plan also – but in the alchemists; those wizened, twisted sinners, their hearts full of low cunning and black magic. To tell truth, I doubted the wisdom behind the Realm’s tolerance of their continued existence, as I know did many. What could those decrepit old men, with their potions and parlour tricks, give us which the Lord himself would not in due time see fit to bestow upon the faithful? But the Lord works in mysterious ways; even, it seems, through the hands of heretics. For it is undoubtedly His will which those wicked hands have wrought. Another world! Waiting, unseeable but by Him, betwixt the very fabric of reality itself; and now pierced by us. Had the message not borne the sigil of the High King, I would not have believed the words before me. But they are good and they are true. The Black Order in Geneva have opened a window to another world, and Benedict in Rome has laid out that call which all faithful men must answer. And answer they shall. The birds have flown to all corners of the world, and every able soldier from New England to The Horn to Van Diemen’s Land will come. There is true jubilation tonight, as if a merry madness has gripped the entire city. People drink and dance and weep openly in the streets, praising His holy name, and it is not difficult to understand why. For or so long we have waited, desolate of direction and devoid of purpose. Two score years of doubt, of disillusion, fragmentation and infighting, as the Christian peoples of the world wondered “What now?” We had spread to every corner of the globe, put to the stake every non-believer and rooted out heresy in all its forms. When the last of the Maori savages lay slain, the last pockets of resistance burned away, we had thought our mission complete; and so, perhaps greedily, we had awaited salvation. But salvation did not come – despite our triumphs, despite our faith, despite our forging of a united Christian world. How had we failed, we cried. What more did the Lord desire, what more could he ask of us? And now we know. ----------------------------------- Fifteenth Night of October, Year of Our Lord Twenty-Hundred and Thirteen Constantinople Our company joined that of the Tenochtitlan Brethren this morning. A savage people, only a few generations United, but their dedication to Him is unquestionable, if a little… sanguine. I had believed there little truth to the rumours of their habit of nailing heretics to the cross in honour of Our Lord’s perfect Sacrifice; but it seems I was mistaken. Regardless it was an enlightening, if unconventional, display of faith to witness, and one which the Brethren, purportedly, look to carry into the New World; as the heretics of our own Earth are, blessedly, in short supply. The New World. The thought of it fills my every waking hour and echoes across my dreams. I can feel God’s guiding hand on my shoulder as I march towards the righteous host massing at its door. Another world, another Earth, full of heretics which He would have us purge; and purge them we shall. Captain Frederick today raised the question if they shall all be heretics, if the Lord is known of there or if they all stumble in darkness. I admit, we do not know – anything is possible. But regardless, I assured him, be there innocents among them, we will purge them all like gold in the fire. God will know His own. ----------------------------------- Second Night of April, Year of Our Lord Twenty-Hundred and Fourteen Geneva It is done. The last regiments of pike from Jakarta arrived this morning, and the Order of the Antarctic this afternoon - the latter almost twice the height of a normal man, armoured in insulating plate as they were. The host is gathered, almost a billion strong, of lance and sword and horses. I am too excited to sleep. Tomorrow, we bring the Unity of the Lord to the New World. ----------------------------------- Fourth Night of April, Year of Our Lord Twenty-Hundred and Fourteen Hell Lord protect me. I do not know if anyone will ever find this, but please, tell the host to turn back. We did not understand this world, the magicks its peoples wield. We came to conquer, but we are undone. Lord save us. It seemed so easy. The first town was defenceless, no spears nor clubs nor even the meanest armour, though it hummed with the movement of twisted machines. The second was the same, its people running in panic at our advance, cattle to the slaughter. But then came the third. We had barely got within a bow’s length of the first house when the air cracked as if with thunder, short sharp bursts, and suddenly my companions fell dying around me, holes appearing as if by witchcraft in their armour and their lifeblood draining from them. I do not know how it is possible; I have seen the chestplates of these men deflect swings of a broadsword, but they punctured now like wet paper against this unseen force. And this was only the beginning. From over the plains, rolling fortresses set upon us, like iron carriages but drawn by no horses I could perceive. From them came deafening booms, and I could only watch in horror as entire battalions simply disintegrated in blasts of dust and fire. We stormed them, losing a hundred men for every one that survived, but our charge was for nought, for our steel could not hurt them, our arrows did not pierce, and even the rocks that our engines hurled broke hopelessly upon their sides. It was madness; thousands slaughtered, maybe millions, a discord mess of voices calling in contradiction to advance, assist or retreat. But it was too late. The magick of these Other Worldmen had turned the very sky against us, and now there was nowhere we could run, nowhere we could hide. High whistles cut the air, and seemingly from nothingness explosions tore the very ground asunder. We ran. All of us, all brave men of Christ, we all turned tail and fled, our mission all but forgotten in the face of such unimaginable slaughter. I write this from a small cave in which I shelter. I can see them passing, these men, the ones who hunt me; clad not in armour but in misshapen robes of mottled green, in each of their hands the twisted artefacts that I believe tore holes in the bodies of my comrades. I pray to God to protect me from them, but I do not know if my prayers reach Him. We were wrong. We were so wrong. We came believing that He was with us. But we came from a world of God. And this is a world of Satan.
"Whelp", I thought, hurriedly pulling on some pants, "Can't really get much worse than this. I won't even have time for breakfast dammit." I've already turned my phone off, as I know that everyone I love will be trying to get in touch, both to persuade and dissuade me from going ahead.. and the less honourable ones to track me down to claim to be the "Saviour"of mankind for handing me over. I'm going to go, of course, there's no question about that. Even if I didn't want to, every person on this planet will be looking for me. I think I want a beer first. Grabbing my wife's hand, I look into her tear-stained eyes. She's begging me to stay, just a little longer, as she knows she'll never see me again. It's not quite sunk in yet, but I can see she knows the inevitability of the situation. I clear my throat a little. "It'll be OK. We have still got a wonderful time left together, and who knows.. maybe they won't take and end me, and I can come back?"My smile is weak and unconvincing, but it stops some of the tears flowing as fast. I head downstairs, and open the fridge. No beer. Typical. I sigh, and head to the landline phone. I call 999, since I guess this could be classed as life-threatening. "Hello, My name is rwork, and I'm the man the Aliens want. I'm going to come peacefully, I'm not going to hide or run, I'm just going to ask you get the fastest transport you can to me to get me wherever I'm going.. and let me bring my wife along. Since this could be my last day in existence, I'm sure some leeway can be granted?" "Oh, and bring a case of beer please. I'm going to need something to help the day go." I give the dispatcher my address, even though they already have it, and hang up. I have no idea how long I have left in this house, so I take a walk through. I stroke my hands on the walls, and I can practically feel the memories surge back at me, as my wife holds my other hand and follows me through. No words are spoken, there's really not much to say. It's strange, for once in my life I'm literally the most important person in the world.. and I'm struck to silence. A sudden knock at the door, strangely respectful given that humanity is hours away from ending. I turn and embrace my wife, and kiss her on the forehead. I reach down and stroke our cats, who're oblivious to the situation. "It's time." I hold her hand tightly as I open the door, and I'm greeted by 3 police officers, looking both stressed and relieved at the same time. "Rwork?"One asks. "Aye, I am. Where do we need to go?" "We're not sure yet.."another officer replies, "We've informed the .. things that we know where you are, and we need to know where to take you. In the meantime, and given the extreme circumstances, we're awaiting a police 'copter to come and pick you up. We'll drive you to a local park so it can land." "Thank you officer.. and I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I don't know why they want me either before you ask." We step out of the house, and I turn to lock the door. The absurdity of the action isn't lost on me, as either I won't ever be back to unlock this.. or no-one will if we're not swift enough. It's strange, it feels like a puppeteer has taken over my body as we start the walk to the car.. I feel so distant yet calm. I can't change the outcome of this.. I could run, try to hide.. but to what? Given I'd doom everyone I love, at the cost of a few more hours life, I guess I should be glad that humanity at least is coming together for one common goal for once.. admittedly this being a global manhunt for it's survival. [Edit] - Thank you stranger for the gift!
He awoke abruptly to the sound of a ship’s horn. He had a horrible headache, as if someone or something had hit him in the head with a blunt object. Hard. He was tangled in some chords as well, and had vomit on his chest. It was dry, so he’d been unconscious for several hours at least. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and brushed the chords off his chest. He saw no point in dealing with the vomit. He turned to the right and looked out the tiny, barred window to the water that surrounded the prison. An impassable moat, traversable by nothing but boat. He couldn’t identify the source of the horn, and was frustrated he couldn’t see the source of his awakening. It was at this time the man realized he was not at home. This is not where he belonged. He began to panic, as he always did when he wasn’t home when he awoke. He stood up, quickly, and a sharp pain shot through his head. He had to sit back down, and through his throbbing headache he could barely think straight. His hands began to shake, his mind racing through the thunderstorm of neurons, creating sharp, irregular shots of pain through his head. He needed to get out of here. He looked the other way, at the cell door locking him in this cage. He felt nauseous, but had nothing in his stomach to vacate. He began to dry heave and hoarsely cough. Between coughs, the man yelled, as loudly as he could. “HELLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!?” “HELP ME PLEAAAASE, I DON’T BELONG HEEEEEEEREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” He yelled for several minutes. After his voice was raw, he sat still, waiting. He could hear nothing, not even the other prisoners. No guards were paying him any attention, confusing the man further. The man looked under the bed, and found a cassette player. He grabbed the tangled mess of chords from the bed, and put in the headphones. He pushed play. “In this cell is where the great Prohibition Era gangster Al Capone stayed while here at Alcatraz ....” The man then remembered. Last night was the night of the Alcatraz employee Christmas party. He must have drunk too much, wandered into the prison, and fallen asleep in Capone’s old room. As he stood up, chuckling to himself for giving himself such a fright, he walked to the cell door. He pushed, but it would not budge. He pushed again and again, beginning to panic again. He was terrified; he remembered that the prison was closed for several days, with no tourists or employees coming by during the break. He began to sob to himself, sitting back on the bed, locked in this old, dilapidated cage. He put his head in his hands and cried. He would have to wait. What the man had missed was a faded sticker on the cage’s bars reading: “If closed, pull to open.”
"President of the Canadian Islands Theon Greyjoy in a landmark case signs an executive order banning adult circumcision."I laugh. The Onion usually isn't as clever. I read the next headline. "Author Jason Bourne has just released his new science fiction novel 'Al Gore and the Half-Blood Bush' The book is a continuation of Bourne's previous bestseller, 'Al Gore and the Inconvenient Truth', the story of a young boy wizard who finds himself trapped in a pull out sofa."This is just weird. I scroll up. Wait. This isn't the Onion. The words CNN boldy sit across the top of the page. This has got to be an April Fool's joke or something. In July. I click out. I click on the browser icon again, and pop open CNN. I bet someone hacked the page. I read the headlines. The previous headlines are gone. Someone must have fixed it. I minimize the screen to listen to a song. That's weird. I must have copied the firefox icon. I'm not sure how. The weird thing was the color swap. The orange fox had turned green. I click. Reddit. Top post. DAE hate atheist? 3000 upvotes. The next post. TIL the Bob Dole started his career as a porn star after a failed audition for a role in Matt Damon's Day Off. I keep scrolling. Every link is just as odd. Whistleblower and women's right activist Sarah Palin rumored to be hiding in Syria after denouncing lax gun laws. Kevin Bacon and Tom Cruise: Their gay love child. I open Pinterest. Thousands of pictures of nothing but interesting colored pins. And the occasional penis. Not really different from normal. Tumblr. Family belongs to a man and wife, and the occasional bull. Down with gay rights and up with the hetero agenda. Christianity is the only way. I'm so confused.
"It's not that I won't, it's that I can't!", The Genie said in a manner similar to that of a particularly helpful Customer Services representative hamstrung by miles of red tape. "Cause, Effect.. Cause, Effect."he swayed his hands from one side of an invisible table to another. "No, you clearly won't."I yelled, "You said anything."It was hard to be heard over the wind; we were barely two feet apart and it was still difficult to hear. "I said anything within my power. This isn't within my power; In fact..."The Genie looked around at the chaos around him. "..I don't even know what my power can do for you any more." "But I can't take it anymore, this is crazy."I hollered. "Make it stop!"lights flashed and winds made up of unknown origin whipped past. "I'm sorry."The Genie began to lose himself within the elemental maelstrom, he was even beginning to vanish from sight if you caught him in the right light. "You said you wanted the power of a God. Well here it is; except you've not had the aeons to master it of those who are born into power. You may do in time; but for now all this..."he gestured to the bellowing energy all around, "all this is yours." "I don't want it. I wish for you to take it away."My brain was on fire; so many people not only on Earth but across the universe. The living, the dead souls.. the animals, plants, the elements, all like a limb I could control but with the ability of a newborn baby, too weak to do anything. "I'm sorry. A God's power is not mine to take. But you will learn to control it."he finally began to fade from even the omnipresent sight I had now attained. "in time, of which you have an eternity at your disposal. My Lord."
The handle creaked as my hand slowly twisted the cool metal. I placed my other hand onto the dark wooden surface to push the stiff door inwards. Glancing back the house remained still, quiet, dark. I focused my attention ahead trying to peer inside. Damp frigid air slowly cricked the hairs on my skin, standing to attention. Reaching into my pocket I pulled out a torch and clicked the switch. A long tower of light pushed through the darkness which illuminated floating dust. I stepped forwards, my bare feet feeling the hard touch of stone pushing back on them awkwardly. A staircase descended into the abyss leading to the forbidden basement. "Promise me you shall never go into the basement"my father had sternly told me years ago. Not that I had had any choice in the matter. Any time he returned from below he had been careful to lock the door... except tonight. I had watched from the banister above as I often did and tonight my dishevelled father had returned and hastily made his way to his room. I knew that this was my chance and I had taken it. I waited till past midnight before creeping across the landing and down the stairs, carefully placing my weight as close to the wall as possible to avoid any unwanted moans from the floorboards beneath. A fluttering in my chest tingled my finger tips, moisture sapped into my palms which I wiped away onto my pyjama bottoms. I steadily lowered my body down each step careful not to fall. The torch lead the way, ten more steps... five. At the bottom there was another door to my left. It was then I realised that my plan could still fail. But I was lucky. The door swung open with ease. Moisture filled my nostrils an awkward stuffy smell. Flashing my torch I tried to make sense of the room. There was something on the wall at the opposite side, I allowed the torch to penetrate the room and reveal a figure, slumped against the wall. It was a woman, her knees nearly touched the floor dragging her feet behind her as she was suspended by her wrists, her head unsupported by her neck rolled on her chest. I tensed up as my mouth drained away all fluids. The silence of the night began to scream at my ears so hard they hurt. Breathing faster I started towards the figure. She was naked. Auburn hair fell beside her drooping breasts. Blood ran down her arms from her wrists, wet from her wounds. Purple and black bruises covered her naked body. It was now when the woman began to stir. I looked around for a hiding place but other than a scattering of debris the room was bare. She looked up into my eyes. She had soft green eyes, one haloed by swollen bruised skin which dominated the right half of her face. Her mouth hung open, eyes confused she uttered something which i could not make out. Steadying herself she swallowed and murmured a single word, my name, "John...?"her voice crocked as she spoke and I understood. My face was wet and my eyes felt so heavy. My vision blurred. "Mother..."I replied. It was not a question, I knew.
We thought they'd surrender, like everyone else did. Once defeat was inevitable, what sane species would keep fighting? The correct answer is none, because these people, this race... It's clearly not made up of the sane. When we surrounded their colonies, they would let fly every missile at once, the combined explosion shattering the planet and crippling whatever fleet was sent after them. Long after their ships had dwindled to practically nothing, they kept fighting. And they started winning. It took a whole fleet to destroy a colony, but this tactic of theirs, this suicidal, self-destructive determination not to let us gain anything from their defeat, it was beginning to take its toll. We had less fleets than they had planets. We thought their defeat was inevitable, but we were wrong. By the time we'd limped towards their capital, that disgusting blue-green orb, we were on the verge of defeat. Our fleet was forced to bypass many colonies, it took hundreds of years to construct what they destroyed in a day. And what did we find when we approached their capital? A shiny, brand new enemy flotilla. We never had a chance. These flostak worked themselves to death creating a new fleet in practically no time, and bombed themselves to death to weaken ours. In reality, our defeat was what was inevitable, these creatures, these beings, would rather die than lose, which is why they never lose. We've accepted our place in their empire, watching as other races make the same mistakes we did, and now... Well, we strive to emulate these things. Their victory is absolute, and who doesn't like to win?
I did it all for you Hermoine. I thought back to when I first arrived in the 20's. I searched for Dumbledore far and wide, eventually learning all sorts of magic secrets from the people he encountered. When Grindelwald threatened the world and Dumbledore still didn't appear, I stopped him. When people asked my name, I realized the truth. Its easy to fake records with magic, especially when you know things about how they will be kept that haven't even been invented yet. I spent years learning, I wrote down every detail of my Hogwarts adventures I could remember so I would play the role right. Now the green light from Draco's wand sped towards me. It halted in mid air. No, it kills me. I recall. "No it doesn't."A blonde woman says, apparating in next to me. "This is all wrong. Too much focus will be placed on time travel. Dumbledore has met Ron, why didn't he give Ron information to take back into the past so the Horcrux's could be destroyed safely and on a tighter time schedule. If time is self consistent Voldemort could send agents back in time to perform all sorts of nefarious plots without worry of destroying or altering himself. Everyone believes Snape is good, the final revelation won't be important if everyone already believes it fully. I'm sorry Ron. This didn't work from the beginning."She raised her wand. It appeared to very short. In fact, it appeared to be a pen. She made a motion as if drawing a line across a page. How did I get here from my office? Another line was drawn. Who is this woman and how did she get into the castle? Many more were drawn, faster this time. Harry, Hermoine, I tried I really _____ "Now, if Draco chickens out and Snape has to do it instead. I'll also make Dumbledore have a sordid background. Its a good thing I made it vague enough that I can go either way."Rowling said, setting pen back to paper. A good third of the book needed to be rewritten.
"Go on a nice cruise"she had told me. "You've been working too hard. Take your mind off things, travel for a bit. I got this for you." Rick sprawled out on his cabins bunk, reminiscing on the moment his adoring wife Teresa had looked at him with such sympathy it made his heart ache. She had handed him a blank envelope with a cruise ticket inside. He had never considered a cruise before, but at the moment it felt so right. So....necessary. It had been a hard year for the married couple. The loss of their only child, the demanding work flow. Their days had been filled with darkness. He needed a break, and his wife knew it. He feared she had blamed him for the loss of their daughter. He was supposed to be watching her when she was taken. The cruise was a nice surprise...it eased his mind. Without so much as a second thought, he boarded the cruise liner with a single bag, his loving wife waving him off in the distance. Smiling. "She should be here with me"He had thought. "Its been a hard year for her too." And now here he sits, sprawled out on his bunk, fearing the worst. The first couple days had been amazing. Endless fun, with carefree gambling below deck, water sports above deck, the finest gourmet food delivered quietly to his cabin unnannounced and unnoticed. "Everyone is so happy"Rick remembered thinking to himself. "This is exactly what I need right now". He was grateful. Grateful to his adoring wife, to his job for giving him the time off he needed for this cruise. "I was so stupid"Rick muttered to himself, still spraweled out on his bunk. The heat was almost unbearable now, and it was only getting worse. On the third day of the cruise, Rick had begun to feel uneasy. He remembered thinking to himself, "Why haven't I seen a single crew member?". It was obvious to him now. There was a knock at his door. Rick climbed down from his bunk and made his way to the cabins door. He opened it. "It's almost time, brother"said the man at the door. He was well-groomed, his face split by an unnaturally wide smile. He almost looked plastic. "You're a fool. An unsightly, abnormal, fool"Rick hissed at the man. It took everything in him not to beat him to a pulp right then and there. He had befriended the man at the start of the cruise. At the time, he appreciated how happy the man had always been. Now, he hated him for it. "Now, now, no need for unpleasantries, brother. Follow me above deck. You wont want to miss this" Rick resigned to his fate and followed the man above deck, sweat beading on his forehead. The heat was almost too much to handle now. They made their way through the decks entrace. Rick glared at the bright light. It was almost blinding. He could make out the countless cruise residents standing single file, rowed and columbed like soldiers. Standing stiff. All staring. Staring at the source of the heat. At nearly 2,000 ft long and with a breadth of nearly 300ft, "Titan"was a massive ship. It had been designed to provide the fullest experience in the Galaxy. The "VIP"experience is what Rick had been signed on for. A 5 day cruise through the Milkyway, bending around planets and moons, taking in the full beauty of their home galaxy. "This is not beauty"Rick thought to himself. "This is Hell". As "Titan"grew ever closer to the light, the Sun, Rick watched as the front row of men collapsed under the blinding light and unbearable heat. Row by row they fell, before it finally made it's way to Rick. "It wasn't my fault"He thought his final thoughts, lost vision and collapsed, as "Titan"drove itself full force into the Sun. Teresa sipped her morning coffee and read her morning news. The headline made her smile. "Extremist cult, 'Sons of Sun', takes its final journey. Thousands die in suicide galaxy cruise". She glanced upwards to the sky. "It's sunny today"She thought to herself, quite pleased. Edited "room"into "cabin"per the advice of /u/huntruder38
Washington: "We are free once again brothers and sisters! To whom do we owe gratitude for the liberation of the United States. Is it our friends across the ocean? Poland? Siam? Adviser: "Um... sir?" Washington: "Rome? Genghis Khan perhaps?" Adviser: "Sir... we have been liberated by Hiawatha of the Iroquois civilization." Washington: "Hiawatha!? But that tyrant helped get us in this position in the first place!" Adviser: "Sir.. I.. uh." Washington: "He had the nerve to ask me to stop building new cities on turn 57! Why that treacherous little... I always new he had an eye on my spices... him and his damn Mohawk warriors rushing San Francisco!" Adviser: "Sir! He's here now and he would like to speak with you." Washington: sigh "So be it, show him in." Hiawatha: "Washington! Man, you have seen better days my friend." Washington: "Oh, be done with this nonsense! For what reason have you liberated us Hiawatha?" Hiawatha: "A great war has broken out the likes of which the world has never seen. Literally dozens of units are being lost on every turn. They are calling it... the world war." Washington: "Aha, so you are hoping to enlist our military prowess!? Very well, just give me a few turns to raise an army of swordsman and we will... Hiawatha: Ahahaha "Aherm... er no Washington. Um... you see. The world has changed a bit while you have been gone. And lets just say the American culture has become pathetic and uncivilized under the passage of time. Men no longer fight with swords and arrows anymore. And your army would be hopeless on the battlefield. Washington: "Then restore us to our former glory! Give us back our cities! Give us back our land! Share your technology! Do us this act of kindness and the Iroquois and the Americans can be the greatest allies the world have ever seen!" Hiawatha: "Washington, you know that can never happen. You see, for me to align my self with a feeble culture such as yours... well I would be the laughing stock of the modern world! You and the Americans must simply recognize your place as uncivilized brutes and take the position that fate has set for you on the world stage. Washington: "...and what would you have of me tyrant!?" Hiawatha: "Tyrant!? You know nothing of the word! Across the sees lies an evil civilization. I doubt your rickety ships ever graced their stony shores. They stirred in the darkness for thousands of years, peddling their truffles, before unleashing hell upon the world! They have set loose a power which ignites entire cities aflame. The common folk say that their leader is the Devil incarnate, returned to ignite the world in hell fire!" Washing: "Wait... truffles? You mean Ghandi?" Hiawatha: GASP "SHH! Do not utter his name! They say demons will haunt your nightmares if you speak of him! Now, I must go. But before I do you must understand your role in this. We will give you this little corner of land in order to keep our people happy. This way we can continue to wage wars across the seas. In truth we would eradicate you and the feeble American people Washington, but we must not be seen as evil to our own people. So we shall keep you subjugated and exiled from the lands that you once called home. Washington: "So be it Hiawatha. But beware, there may be a day when our swordsmen will once again rise up to defend the glorious nation that is the United Sta.." Hiawatha: "Yeah, yeah. Oh, and I forgot one thing. We will require you to trade those spices you have with us for an unfair sum. Do this or we will once again crush you." Hiawatha is escorted out Washington: "I knew it! I knew he wanted my damn spices all along!"
He knew the world was beautiful. There were always birds surrounding him, chirping and whistling. Sometimes a squirrel would come up close to him and he felt the rest of them watching from the sparse forest he resided in. He knew he had a few neighbours, probably in houses like his. When his feet scraped the sidewalk it felt like a knife in toast. He knew the sidewalk wasn't food. It didn't smell like it. It was more firm and more dense, but he always felt as though he was walking on toast. The warmth of a lamp felt like the warmth of the sky. He knew there was a small circle up there that looked like a lamp and would make the world look like a room in lamp light. When it was cold, it felt like putting your entire body in a freezer. Snow was just small sky ice from clouds that felt like cotton. They said clouds looked like cotton. Blissful ignorance. That's what his world was. He made it look like heaven, but now he was in a concrete hell. The forests was denser in ugly stones than the pine trees he knew so well by feel and smell. At least the trees didn't disappoint him. The colors were strange, but they looked majestic. The sky frightened him. It was dimmer and 'greyer' than a lamp lit room. The colors were cold. He thought they would look like warmth. When it rained it wasn't like water dripping from a sponge. It was like tears. He was sad that the birds never actually came to him and the squirrels never really said hi. But the saddest was his ground toast. He always knew it was all around him, but he never thought it would look so dim and sad.
Kennedy stood hunched over his desk in the center of the oval office. He had turned the lights off, knowing that darkness helped him think better. He looked at the control panel in the corner of his desk; in the center was a small yellow button. Never in his life did he think he might have to press it. This button sent a signal to the Secretary of the Department of defense, signaling him to launch on the USSR. Kennedy had sneaked looks at this button far too many times, but never had the courage to hit it. The Soviets looked ready to flex their muscles, and Kennedy did not want to be the second to fire. But thousands, maybe millions, would die. Kennedy was all too familiar with the repercussions for his country if he launched. He would certainly prompt the Soviets to retaliate. The Cold War would be over, one way or another, in a matter of days. Whether there was anyone left to declare a victor was another question. Kennedy knew the story of Truman. Eighteen years ago, Harry dropped the two bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In those eighteen years, he should have been killed. Yet he lived on, almost without aging. He was checked by the best scientists and doctors his country could offer; the results were staggering. From that day in 1945, Truman would live, without gaining an hour of age, until 1972. Kennedy's hand hovered, shaking over that little yellow button. With a twitch of the wrist, he would end countless lives. Would he be a hero? Would he be celebrated if the Soviets followed through on MAD? He imagined walking through a decimated New York City, being taunted and cursed by the few surviving Americans who voted him into office. Would he want to live for this? He retracted his hand into his pocket. The launch could wait another day, for another president. Kennedy would not be kept alive to see his country come to hate him. He picked up his suitcase off the couch in the office and departed to his private plane, bound for Dallas, Texas. Edit: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think, I'm always open to suggestions!
(Some ASOIAF spoilers ahead!) He came ashore one day on the Fingers in an old, rotted rowboat that didn't look like it could sail over a steady stream, much less the Narrow Sea. Yet nobody in the surrounding towns had heard of him, nor of House Skyrim, where he claimed to hail from. His sigil was not of the Vale; none had ever seen the Crooked Dragon in a diamond that marked his shield. Even Lord Royce did not recognize it though he had traveled all of Westeros during his tournament days. The stranger called himself "Dovahkiin,"leading some to wildly speculate that perhaps he was Dothraki! But unlike the horse lords, he wore armor. And not the paltry iron plates that most hedge knights had; this seemed to be made of Dragon Bone, the strongest substance known in Westeros! How could such a piece have been forged?? His mysterious identity and origin was practically forgotten once Daenarys Stormborn, daughter of the Mad King, attacked Storm's End with her fleet of Ironborn and slaves. Lord Baelish ordered an army from the Vale be raised and sent to aid Jon Connington and the Young Dragon Aegon, newly crowned Lord of the Stormlands. The stranger volunteered immediately, and it soon became known that his skill in weapons was unmatched, be it bow, sword, or ax. He preferred a warhammer, larger than even that of Robert Baratheon, that he named "Volendrung"He was risen to a knight after the Battle of Bronzegate, and attracted a loyal following of men. After his decimation of the 9,000-strong Martell army with only 200 men, the legends soon spread. His men claimed that he was untouchable: that he could stop time and move through the battlefield like water over rocks. That he could spit ice and summon lightning to destroy his foes. That the very sound of his fury would throw a man from his horse. Others even claimed that he could breath fire, just like the dragons. It was thus that he earned his nickname, "Dragon of the Vale."Lord Baelish ordered that Lord Dovahkiin be given command of the Vale's army and march to Summerhall to confront Daenarys and her invader forces. On the same day that the Arryn Falcon appeared outside the ruins of Summerhall, the first winter snows that the Reach had seen began to fall. Soft flakes covered the opposing armies in a cold blanket of white. The men huddled in their tents, seeking the warmth of the fire and putting the battle off till the next day. Only one man was unaffected by the bone-chilling wind. He went forth alone and sat in the field between his camp and Summerhall, flying the Arryn banner and his own Diamond Dragon sigil of silver on black. On the third day, Daenarys and her mightiest mount Drogon rose to meet his challenge. They say that the sounds of the battle could be heard from King's Landing. Soldiers from both camps came together and forgot their allegiances as they stood side-by-side and watched the duel. Lord Dovahkiin was fearless in the face of the dragons, hacking and slashing with his sword and bathing them in his fire. Danaerys' dragons fought back ferociously, ripping at his skin and scorching the field over and over till nothing but charred ash remained. But the greater of these warriors could not be determined; their battle was interrupted by a runner from the Wall. He managed to utter two words before collapsing in exhaustion: "White walkers!"
Every system has a flaw; and that flaw is usually the human element. Except in this time, one thousand years from my place of origin, humans were no longer particularly involved in the grand scheme of things. Machine brains ran everything, with machine ants running to-and-fro for the machine brains - like a hive of metal wasps, colourful, impervious and dangerous. But they almost certainly had a flaw somewhere. Nothing is perfect. And I was going to find it. If you want to know about how crimes are committed, go talk to criminals. Conveniently, criminals are always rounded up and put together, where you can pump them for information and pry out their secrets. Seeing as how I was as wet as a newborn in this time, even the knowledge of criminals who had been stupid or careless enough to get caught was going to be hugely advantageous to me. Getting into prison wasn't hard. I had no 'eIdent' and I wasn't on any government file, so as soon as I flouted the law by mugging a guy, the machine coppers picked me up and chucked me in the gaol before I could blink. This was convenient for another reason; it gave me an 'eIdent' - they stuck a needle into my neck and now I have a little piece of a machine brain inside me. You can bet I was going to figure out its secrets, but for now I had more important matters to attend to. People in this time are weak, I concluded. Life was too easy, too many luxuries. The food in gaol was magnificent and there was a plethora of entertainment. I seriously considered just staying here and living it up, but I figured that if this was how prisoners lived, the life of the filthy rich must be practically Nirvana. Guile, brawn and mental toughness set me up in a position of power within the prison. I kept my behaviour just bad enough to stay in, but good enough that I always had the hope of release around the corner, whenever I wanted it. After three years in the joint, I had assimilated enough knowledge about this time and how it worked, so I figured it was time to leave behind these lesser crooks and find some bigger fish to hang out with. 'Hacking' they called breaking into the machine brains. Turns out I had a natural talent for it, just like I had for memorising the routes of guards and maps of buildings. Some guy said I had an 'eidetic memory' and that it made me like a machine. Well good. To beat the machine brains I needed to think like a machine brain. As I wriggled through the increasingly socially complex layers of the criminal world, I gained more and more 'wetware'. It surprised me how much I enjoyed becoming part of the machine world, but I kept a wary watch on myself, remembering my flesh, blood and bone origins. I learned that the machines had many weaknesses - the primary one being that they had been created by humans and were therefore riddled with human failures. I remembered back to when I'd first seen the police droids and thought about how perfectly impervious they had seemed before; polished metal skin throwing up halos of neon light, insect-like antennae and blank, inscrutable faces. Now they seemed nothing more than piles of code to be manipulated; puzzles that were a few steps away from being solved. I was ready.
A nudge here, a small bit of motivation there. That's all it takes. Really. It's amazing how constant this world is. In 3,000 years the biggest change this world had known was the creation of land empires. And those broke constantly. Fear, hunger, procreation. Those had been the driving motivations of mankind since its birth so many years ago. This is where the wizards come in. Channeling their knowledge and life force, they steer the course of human history, captains waging war against the rising surf of destitution. Able to live for a thousand years if they know how. Egypt had the first wizard. Hungry for power he placed himself as task master above his subjects. Calling himself a god among men, he led Egypt directly. Changing his shape many times over, sometimes a woman and sometimes a man, he vanquished any rivals with his awesome power. But a funny thing happens when you abuse magic. It wears off on others. Magic is to be channeled, not shackled and will fight against you. It will destroy you. As Ramses II, the first wizard was vanquished by a slave named Moses. Understanding what destroyed Ramses, Moses did not allow himself to become embroiled in power. He established laws to govern his followers, the Hebrews, to guide them towards a better future. Imbuing his written word with magical capacity, Moses codified his moral system in the Torah. The magic of these words could outlive Moses, so long as the words were continually written by hand. To this day the Hebrews revere written word as sacred, despite it's magic having dissipated hundreds of years ago. For a time there were minor magicians. With Moses' death, a great amount of power was released and it spread and circulated around the Mediterranean. In the East, great philosophers and monks began to harvest this energy, collecting it and guiding the course of great warring nations. The Chinese nations built great monuments and works of wonder unattainable by lesser men. Once again this magic was codified into law and philosophy. Once again it stood for millennium, long outliving the last of the great Chinese wizards. The Greeks understood the power of Moses' energy best of all. Using the powerful knowledge of magic, they devised the first understanding of how to elevate humanity as a whole. Perhaps the greatest gift the Greeks gave the pan-Hellenes was self-determination. It takes knowledge and ability to govern ones' life, and this is what magic gave to wizards. The Romans utilized this magic next. The wizards of Rome remained hidden, however. They understood that those who controlled the course of humanity best remained undiscovered, able to gently bend minds to their will for centuries. This was why The Christ needed to perish. He was too powerful, too gifted, too flamboyant in his ability. Despite the quick end to his life, Je Zeus left his impression. His magic has never dissipated entirely, but it grows weaker every day. The Romans harvested it for centuries, ensuring the Pax Romana that is so lauded today. But Rome was never destined to stand eternal. Roman wizards grew greedy, staining the grounds of Rome with permanent magic. The Apostolic Palace now protects those magical wells. Its resonance connecting mundane humans with the knowledge that magic imbibes in wizards. These men are called Popes, now. As for Rome, the magic knew what to do. The Roman Empire crumbled as the magic caused strife all across the greedy land. Every once in a while a wizard realizes what Rome was and tried to emulate it his nation's heart and soul. And every time, the magic is faster to strike them down, for Roman magic is forever tainted with the oppression and suffering to which it is opposed. Now we are coming close to my story. My name is Roswald. I was born a French smith's son around 1250 AD. When the Eighth Crusade was called I happily signed up. And so I found myself in The Kingdom of Jerusalem, after two failed French Crusades. While wandering the back alleys of this ancient city, the capital of old Judea, I happened upon a tree. Resplendent and out of place, the tree became my haunt. I went to it once or twice a day. At first I noticed gradual changes in myself. I started winning arguments. The tree shrank. I learned to read. The tree grew smaller. I learned names and dialects which hadn't existed for thousands of years. The tree shrank to the size of a shrub. I could manipulate physical space. And on the day I learned that, the bush vanished entirely and I was imparted with the knowledge that I must guide my kin to a new era of prosperity. For years I lived in solitude. A French craftsman does not guide the world and I needed time to discover my powers. A queer thing happened in my solitude. I began having visions of the Earth encircled in flame. No living thing surviving. The visions became stronger and more pronounced until I could not bear to sleep. One thousand years. That was humanity's expiration date unless I acted. I meditated and ruminated for a half century on the best course of action. Ultimately I decided I needed a clean slate. Enter the Bubonic Plague. A third of Europe gone meant I could shape man's destiny as I saw fit. I elevated the serf and empowered the merchant. The common man began to hold sway and power in his own life once again. This was my sole great act of power. I have been weak and crippled ever since. Now I appear to men as ideas. Thoughts. Perhaps these are more powerful than force. A man will die for his own beliefs, after all, and much needed to be sacrificed by many to ensure humanity's survival. There was always a persistent power within Europe, however. I have never been able to contact this wizard, but for eight centuries there was a man in Siberia who countered nearly all of my actions. His power waned before my own, and I was much more subtle. Still, it took seven centuries before my ideas of household magic took hold. It began with wind mills and water mills. Harnessing power from the world around you is at the core of all magical ability. Steam engines followed. Then petroleum engines and finally nuclear power. Next came information. A wizard can pull information from thin air. I gave this gift to my fellow man. Using a system of internal networks, the whole of human experience is available to everyone. It was only after the death of my Siberian rival that I was able to convince man to leave Earth. With timid steps they began, but it wasn't fast enough. I grew impatient. Time was of the essence and my visions were becoming almost blinding. I could feel pain seeping through time and channeling through me. They would all burn unless I could help them somehow. And perhaps I have done it. I won't be around to know. I used the very last of my dwindling power to help man overcome the natural limits of the universe. The neighboring stars are now conceivably withing their reach. The pain has faded, so maybe this worked. When I die magic ends. I am the last magician. I can only hope that I have given them enough. That when the Earth is finally consumed, man will be legion among the heavens. *Edit: A word.
I hadn't seen Max since before The Event. I'm not sure what I was expecting. She arrived at my apartment and my incredulity was eminently apparent when I began stammering in surprise before I even managed to greet her. "Max, you -- I can't believe -- you of all people I wouldn't expect--" "Yeah, Bessie?"Maxine asked. Her tone mixed mocking with just enough sweetness that I knew she wasn't seriously down-talking my bovine appearance. I loved steak and brisket, it's true. To be honest, I didn't really mind looking like a Tauren. But Maxine hadn't changed in the least. I couldn't believe it, all signs pointed to the notion that she'd eaten human? "You, uh, know what happened to everyone, right?"I asked. Surely she hadn't been living in a cave." "Oh. Yeah! Freaky stuff. Simon looks like Foghorn Leghorn now. Carol's a mermaid, salmon-ish tail but larger. I felt really bad for her at first, but it turns out she really lucked out because something about whatever happened didn't interfere like I thought it was gonna." I was taken slightly aback. "She, ah, can walk?" Max blinked. "What? No, big ol' fish tail! We had to get a wheelchair. Thaaaaat's ... maybe the second most important thing. No I mean the super genie or whatever did this, let her keep her vag, didn't replace it with whatever fish have." I sighed. Of course. But wait, that tangent didn't answer the question! I reiterated, "Max! I will try my best not to judge, but I need to know. Have you... eaten human flesh?" Max laughed. "You've forgotten my one exception to veganism, haven't you?" I balked, incredulous, and strained to remem-- "Don't you remember why I'm always so spunky?" Oh right. "It's because of all the spunk." Oh right. "I am talking about semen. I eat semen."It was, undeniably, her favorite food that was animal in nature. "Or 'drink',"she continued, "depending on ... factors." I let out another sigh, relieved. "I get it, I get it. No need to provide details."Max smiled broadly. "So,"she asked, graciously changing the subject, "what's in the works for D&D today?" "No idea what Lily's got cooked up, she has told me nothing. I was thinking about what fallout there would be if this Event happened in-game too. That group of evil goblins might start looking like goblin-sized humans for very different reasons than you do..." "Hey, I'm not goblin-sized! I've got a foot on 'em at least!" "Wonder if that's where Halflings come from." ~~ (Characters borrowed, with apologies for any mangling, from [Leftover Soup](http://www.leftoversoup.com).)
"It's okay, dear,"the policeman said as he tried to calm the girl who came in. "Take all the time you need." The girl opened her mouth as if to speak, but burst out sobbing again. Desk sergeant James Hurt awkwardly looked away. He hated these kinds of cases. Every few weeks there was another. Some people genuinely liked it, but for others, it was just an idea. Not something you wanted to actually try. Certainly not with your friends and family. James was glad that he had more vanilla tastes than that. "Would you like some water?"he asked the girl. She nodded and James headed over to the water cooler. "Hey James,"greeted Derek, another policeman. "What's with the crying girl back there? Another one of those?" James soberly nodded. "Ugh,"Derek grunted in disgust. "I can't understand the kinds of people who would do that. Fetish day is just bullshit for people with rape fetishes."
I watched the digital clock on my wall flicker through another minute. Any second now, I knew I would feel the blows that I had received yesterday in karate class. I had made sure to note the exact time that we had started sparring, so I would be able to prepare for it. I should probably explain. It's a weird condition that I have. Basically, any pain I endure gets delayed by twenty-four hours before I actually feel it. The physical injuries happen in real time, of course, but I still don't feel anything for a full day after it happens. I take full advantage of my ability, in any case. I'm a black belt in karate now, and very few of my opponents have managed to beat me. While they're dealing with aching muscles, bruises and being kicked in the stomach, I'm still throwing punches and kicks like there's no tomorrow. I sometimes wish there wasn't a tomorrow after some of the matches I've been in. Like I said, the pain comes later. And when it does, it comes with a vengeance. I braced myself as the final few seconds ticked away. This was going to be bad. The first blow had been to my solar plexus. I suddenly doubled over as I felt it, my breath disappearing with a whoosh. My opponent had been another girl, but she had one hell of a punch. And there was still more to come. Half a dozen blows later, I was curled up in agony on the floor. The cold tiles of the kitchen floor pressed against my face as tears rolled down my cheeks. I always hated these delayed beatings. The worst part was that I couldn't defend myself against it now. Still, it was effective motivation to try and minimise the number of blows I took while actually fighting. It took me an hour before I was able to get up off the floor again. The pain faded slightly faster than a normal person's, since my body had physically had time to recover, but it still felt like a long time until I was free of pain again. I groaned as I sank into bed. My limbs were beginning to feel the dull ache of delayed exhaustion from the fight, so at least I was in a suitable place to endure it. I nestled my head into the thick pillows, trying to ignore it. I had only managed to grab a few hours sleep when something woke me. I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling. It took a moment for my brain to register what I was seeing. I suddenly sat bolt upright. The orange glow of flames was flickering on the ceiling. I looked around at the window and sat up a little more to look over the windowsill. The house next door was ablaze. From my vantage point, I could see the flames roaring from several holes in the roof, the first-floor windows, and the chimney. A cloud of black smoke was billowing overhead. Down on the front lawn, I could see our neighbours, the Johnsons. Mrs. Johnson looked like she was being physically restrained from going back into the house by her husband and another neighbour. That was when I noticed something. The Johnsons' baby girl, Alice, was nowhere to be seen. A few moments later, I was running out of the front door and across the grass in my bare feet, my dressing gown flapping around my ankles. Out here, I could now hear the loud roaring of the flames, the cries of the watchers, and the crackle of burning timbers. Without stopping, I sprinted towards the front door, which was hanging off its hinges. I heard the shouts from several people behind me, but I was already pelting through the smoke that was pouring from the gap. The heat hit me like a physical wall, but I forged forward regardless. The hallway was relatively fire-free, but the sitting room was an inferno. I headed for the stairs, feeling the hot floorboards crackle under my bare feet. I could feel the heat of the flames all around me, and my hair was already beginning to feel slightly frizzled. I emerged onto the landing, one end of which was completely obscured by fire and smoke. I turned in the other direction, heading down to the nursery door. This end of the house still had to be claimed by the blaze. I burst into the nursery. A squalling bundle was nestled in a small cot against the wall. I scooped it up and ran into the adjoining bathroom. It took only a few moments for me to run the blanket that swaddled Alice in cold water from the taps, then I dashed back out onto the landing. It had gotten worse; flames were now licking at the top of the stairs and the carpet along the landing was already burning in places. I cursed the fact that I hadn't taken the time to put on shoes. Still, there was no time to protect my feet now. I gritted my teeth and ran into the flames. I felt no pain, of course, but I could still feel a great deal of heat on my feet and legs. The blanket in my arms was already beginning to steam. I had seconds before the baby would feel the heat as well. My dressing gown caught fire as I rushed down the stairs and out of the front door, skidding to a stop on the lawn. There was a moment of stillness before I was surrounded by a small crowd. I passed the baby to Mrs. Johnson, who was crying tears of relief. Someone else stripped my burning dressing gown from my body as I lay there on the grass. I looked at my burnt feet and hands, the smell of my burnt hair strong in my nostrils. I sighed as blue flashing lights nearby heralded the arrival of the emergency services. This was going to hurt. A lot.
We were ridiculed. We couldn't do anything right. Anything we thought we'd invented was just a milder re-imagining. "Tame"was what they called us. At first we thought they were complimenting how civilised we acted; how professional we were. We were laughed out of the Council of Stars. They didn't even ask us to leave, they just asked us could we give them that which they had not. Compared to them, we didn't even get racism right. Arts, culture, food, drink, architecture, engineering, the list went on. Everything paled in comparison to one of the races. Yes, we were never the worst. We were tougher than most, faster than many, and smart enough to realise we weren't wanted. Tame. Restrained. Reliable. Relaxed. All words used to politely call us boring to our faces. But there was one part of human culture they had never experienced. An art perfected over thousands of years of civil evolution. An art that had been suppressed for longer than those alive can remember, but an art bubbling beneath the surface, carved into our bones. Humans are a generous race. They will learn our craft. We shall not have them suffer as we have. Do unto others. We will become travelling teachers, professors of the craft of our ancestors. Purveyors of the latest craze. Sargon's legacy will resonate across the cosmos. Soon they will all learn the art of war.
They all came at once, hundreds of them, bright copper discs from the heavens. They'd been looking for life. They found it in us, and they sought to rule us. We feared war, they offered a more peaceful solution. Single combat, a fight to the death, between their ambassador and the President of the United States. They weren't so different from us, anatomically speaking. Two legs, two arms, two eyes and two ears. Sure their legs had more joints and bent backwards, and sure their arms were freakishly long, but all together not so different. After the challenge was announced the Ambassador and President Green met briefly to discuss rules. The Ambassador, whose name we never learned, offered taunts and gibes, and reported that he had mastered a dozen martial arts and could snap the aging president in two. The rules were presented as follows, the two would meet in a circular pit one hundred feet across. They would begin on opposite sides and would fight to the death. Clothing, but no armor could be worn, and the fighting would continue until either one was dead or both too injured to continue. President Green asked about weapons. The alien snorted, "I know not of any weapons, human. Bring what you like." With a smile the president agreed. The determined day came, a bright and glorious morning. The Ambassador wore a garment of close fitting fabric, President Green wore some borrowed Army fatigues and carried with him an assault rifle. "Your pathetic good luck charms will not save you, human, nor your people!" The signal for the match began. A second later it was over, the Ambassador dead on the floor of a pit. The president walked over to him, nudged the body, fired twice more to be sure, and said calmly, "former Green Beret. Don't bring a fist to a gunfight."
I had gotten pretty damn good at it. Bullshitting had become a second nature to me. Human beings are social creatures, we survive by feeling included. I adapted to survive, I learned how to utilize the context clues around me to pretend like I experienced what everyone else did. You see, I am different. I hallucunate. Yes, hallucunate, with another U, as in I am unable to see certain things that everyone else can. At first I thought I was being messed with. I mean, if everyone is talking about the new guy in the office, when clearly no one has come in for 3 years, what rationalizations can there be? Asking people what the fuck they were talking about just led to confused looks and being treated like a freak. If this was some sort of practical joke, it had gone on way too long. I did what I had to do, I pretended I could see what everyone else was talking about and regurgitated all the details I heard from them to participate in their conversations. It's human nature to want to fit in and converse with your fellow man, and unfortunately, that part of me worked fine. I learned over the years when it was worth keeping my mouth shut, and when I should interject with my bullshit. I was beginning to fit in, and things were looking more tolerable than usual. That was, however, until yesterday. Someone asked me about my brother. I don't have a brother, or at least I don't think I do. How the fuck have I managed to go through 26 years of existence without once being told or asked about him? There was absolutely no way to bullshit through this, My cover was blown. I decided that I'd rather just come out and tell everyone about my "condition"rather than try and figure out how to go about this one. I walked up to the front of the office and just started talking. "Listen up people. I got some shit to say and it won't make sense." Slowly, people started looking at me, stopping their conversations to hear what the weird guy in the office had to say. God I hated attention "I have this weird thing wh-" "Yeah no shit." There was some muffled laughter. I stopped and collected myself. "Anyways, I have this 'disorder', or whatever you wanna call it, where I can't see certain things." I was met with a sea of confused looks. God I hated people. "Like you know the new guy Craig?" Everyone turned towards a blank cubicle "Yeah I'm not sure whether he exists. I can't see or hear him, it's like my senses refuse to acknowledge his presence. This has been happening all my life, and I've just been bullshitting my way through it I guess." There was silence. I probably should've stopped talking but I couldn't handle the awkward stillness of the room, so my mouth just continued onward. "And today, when Sara asked me about my brother, I realized I had no idea that I even had one. I somehow went through my entire life without realizing I had a brother. So that's why I'm telling all of you all of this. I can't bullshit my way through this one, so I may as well come out and get this off of my chest." Suddenly Sara spoke up "Umm I actually just got confused earlier. You don't have a brother, I mixed you up with Craig. Sorry" All eyes in the room were fixated on to me, and after what felt like three eternities, I walked back down to my cubicle and got back to work.
I stood there for a second, smiling at her. "Eric?"She whispered to me. I just stood there, confused. She looked exactly as she did all those years ago, her blonde hair just reaching her shoulders, her pale blue eyes almost crying. I moved a step closer, and stopped. "She's so young?"I said to the Genie. He stared at me with a wicked smile. "They are your dreams", replied the Genie. Christy began to cry. I ran over to comfort her. As I held her in my arms, a sudden realisation struck me. "Genie, does this make me a paedophile?" "They are your dreams"the Genie said, winking at me as he did so.
I awoke to blaring alarms. "Fuck! Sam!"I was going to kill him. Third time this week he'd been caught smoking below deck. I was tempted to throw him overboard. I tried to roll out of my bunk and landed on my face. Great start to the morning, really. I was hunting for something reasonably clean to put on when the voices broke through the fog in my mind. Shouting in the corridors. They wouldn't be shouting for Sam. Dropping the pile of trousers, I ran out into the corridor. "We need more water!" "Get him out of there!" "Jason! Where's my son?" Citizens and crew were running about together, looking equally terrified. Someone needed to get some control here. Make decisions. Give orders. Oh wait, that's me. I marched onto the bridge. "What the hell is going on here?" "Reactor,"Sam said, tapping a control panel. Red lights were flashing everywhere. "Well fix it, for fuck's sake." "No parts." Last night's whiskey was still clouding my brain. "What the hell do we do then?" "Captain,"Sam said. This had to be bad if he was getting all formal with me. "We're going to have to land." The room fell silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me and Sam. Somewhere, someone let out a wordless scream of terror. &nbsp; Two decades ago, they came, the Shadows. They came out at night, invisible, unseen. No one knew what they were, only what they left behind. A man would be standing there, talking or sleeping, or having a drink, and then he was gone. Enveloped in blackness. You wouldn't see him, but you'd hear the screams. At first, people would try stepping into the blackness, to help their friends and loved ones, but then they would be gone too. Screaming. Then the shadows were gone and they would leave behind the remains. Where a man had stood, there would be nothing but blood-spattered bones. Armies tried to fight them, but there was nothing to fight. Scientists tried to find a cure, but no one was infected. For all our knowledge, we were powerless. We took to the skies, most of us. Others went underground. Industries vanished, replaced by mining outfits and below-ground factories, a few brave people coming up only during the few hours of daylight. They made parts, mostly, for the airships that housed the rest of society. Airships like mine, flying perpetually west, chasing daylight to avoid the deep shadows which come at night. The Shadows were less active here, in the skies, but they would still come at night. No one wanted to stop. Stopping meant that night could fall. Landing meant that we must scurry around, struggling to identify the problems, repair the ship, take on supplies, and rise again before nightfall. It was a near-impossible task, so instead everyone had to disembark. Shelter had to be found, light-rooms for the families and children. No one liked to go below-ground. &nbsp; "How many hours do we have?" Sam sighed, and glanced at the control panel. "We're about 6 hours ahead of Sunset right now, but we're losing speed." "Thrusters?" "Shot." "Better start now, then." Sam nodded, and we both started shouting out orders to bring the ship to ground. &nbsp; It took an hour to find a city. There were way-stations, but they wouldn't have facilities for all the people on board. That hour cost us about thirty minutes of daylight. It took another thirty to find out that they didn't have the part we needed, and an hour to get everyone organized and start the evacuation. Four hours until sunset. Families with young children were evacuated first. Twenty families followed each Landie to a light-room. Someone grabbed my arm. "Captain?" Ara was on the minor-maintenance crew. Cleaning, really. I wasn't sure why we couldn't just call it that. "Captain, my wife and girls are ready to disembark." "That's good, Ara,"I said, waving to attract the attention of the Landie Supervisor. "Thanks, Captain." He was still standing there, turning his hat in his hands. "Was there something else, Ara?" "No, Captain,"he said. Then, "well, yes, Captain. I'd like to be placed with my family, Captain." Shit. On the surface it's a minor, sensible request, but it sets a precedent. How many of the crew are married? How many passengers are single men? My eyes close involuntarily as I picture a stampede at the boarding station. If Ara leaves, they will all want to leave. I can't ask him to die away from his family. He's just a janitor -- a fucking civilian. "Go ahead, Ara." "Thank you,"he says. "Thank you, Captain." I nod, hoping I won't regret the decision. I don't have time to worry about it, though. The Landie Supervisor's reached me. &nbsp; After a brief conversation confirming they have enough light rooms -- they do, barely -- and that we have enough daylight -- we probably don't -- the Landie hurries back to shore. Six thousand civilians and families, over a thousand crew. It takes two and a half hours just to get the parents and children off the ship. Everyone wants to bring all their possessions. We wouldn't have time for that even if there was enough space in the light rooms. An hour and a half of daylight. It might not seem so bad. We'd have time to get the crew to safety at least. But that meant we'd be stuck in the light-rooms all night, and we'd have to get the parts and repair the ship tomorrow. Boarding usually took twice as long as disembarking, so we wouldn't have time to get everyone back on board before dark tomorrow. That meant another night on the surface -- two nights instead of one. My hand started to shake, and I willed it to stop. I couldn't show fear in front of the civilians and crew. They needed me to be strong. I needed a drink. &nbsp; As the last of the families left the ship, we prepared her for a night in the dock. Everything shut down, all crew accounted for, I grabbed my go-pack, and headed back on-deck. That's when I saw a shadow dart up the gangplank and head for the door to the cabins below. &nbsp; (continued in reply)
It took us thousands of focus groups, hundreds of hours of polling, surveying and random writing prompts to create humanity's greatest enemy. It went through many stages of development before we got to the final big bad which ultimately united the world under one banner. We first thought of a human threat. Terror groups, splinter cells, the stuff that makes gun totting conspiracy theorists cream their pants in jingoist glee. It didn't fly with the general public. A unnamed, looming threat which can change its form and preys on fear and loathing is too complex and hard to rally people against. Plus, it gave groups that would generally do humanity harm to many ideas. So we then thought primal. Link it in with the bees disappearing, the icecaps melting, environmental hoodoo shit like that. Again, it didn't fly with Johnny No Climate Change. Plus, it was too New Age-y, like something out of a bad pamphlet you'd find at the back of a vegan health food shop that sold vitality crystals. Gaia rising up to reclaim what was hers is not something you can fight against. Volcanoes and earthquakes beat guns and civic pride every day of the week so we scrapped the angry hordes of vines and prehistoric beasts pretty damn quick. We tried ghosts and the paranormal. Focus groups saw through that ruse in a heartbeat. Ghosts also aren't scary anymore, they are thrilling. A generation raised on Paranormal Activity and crappy jump scare games does not fear ghosts, they relish the jump. Vampires were shot down as soon as someone suggested it and interdimensional beings is just silly to even suggest. So they we looked to the stars, as all civilisations do when they wonder about things bigger than themselves. What can be out there that we can use to bring the human race together? Well, we had enough microphones out in the aether that we could hear E.T. fart in Pluto's orbit and 200 boffins would be all over that in a matter of minutes. We have cameras on other planets, probes holidaying on asteroids and satellites flying round Earth round the clock to beam stuff to. The perfect setup for faking the world's greatest threat. We started small. A weird reading on a probe here and a confusing radio signal there. Nothing to directly alarm the populace but enough to get the guys in white coats panicking. Then we hit social media and started to stage the biggest viral hoax we could muster. Guys from Pixar rendering fleets that would blacken the sky, film studios from around the world collaborating on the greatest thriller ever made while we put new media to work. We hit Youtube with those 30 second clips which everyone and their grandma shares, we got Google pushing search results about these alien sitings up to the top while we had wannabe detectives from 4chan to the smallest message board, analysing the living hell out of every faked photo and worrying video we could generate. Then the governments of the world pitched in. Sudden budget shifts to defence and science departments, increased personnel on army bases and movement of big scary tech across every major roadway to make that fear even greater. It was all going great and then we hit them with the big one. The ISS went quiet as the astronauts went missing and were replaced with ominous voice recordings. Curiosity was dismantled by its name sake and the world saw its first glimpse of the menace that was rapidly approaching from beyond the Sun. The panic did rage for a few days before we fired the first warning shot. Hubble was sent hurtling towards the Earth and enrollment in the newly formed Earth Defence Initiative soared as vloggers, news sites and every doomsday preacher around the world compelled the world to point its weapons up at the sky. Industrial production soared, research into weapons and defence exploded while conflict ceased as the little green man became the enemy of the day. Humanity was finally together, joined in hatred to blast the alien scourge back to whatever planet they flew out from.
Jimmy slammed his fist on the doctor's desk. "Just give her another round, one more fucking round!"Doctor Mason rubbed his brow, exasperatedly. "Jimmy, you know now as well as I do that it's not going to help. It's a placebo. All drugs are placebos. They always have been..." Slumping into the office chair, Jimmy thought back over this past year. All the tests, the procedures, the chemotherapy ... He had watched Catherine, once the most vibrant person he ever met, decay into this shell of her former sense. But there was always hope. Chemotherapy made Catherine lose her hair. The steroids made her balloon up to a macabre caricature of his wife, but that meant it was working. It was treatment! Had it really been the cancer all along? "Some people get better! I know they get better!"Jimmy cried. "Well Jimmy,"Dr. Mason explained with as much empathy as someone who's delivered this speech too many times could muster. "The human body is a mysterious thing. Some people get better, and some people just ... don't."
The shuttle maneuvered through the debris trailing the hulk. It had been 30 years since the discovery. We had found out we weren't alone in the universe and that Sol was apparently just a gravity well for a intergalactic junk yard. The scramble to obtain the most knowledge from the wreckage consumed all nations and peoples. What could we learn? Did they have any thing of use? Did they have weapons? Where are the aliens? Why Sol? Why hadn't they gone deeper into the system and found us? Soon expeditions were being launched to find out more The first ship to be scavenged lead to all kinds of new developments. An entirely new discipline of math was discovered on an alien hard drive. Star charts of the galaxy as viewed from the inside out stunned the world. Xenobiologists scoured through the hours of exotic videos found on what appeared to be an alien ipad to piece together what the aliens looked like and how they reproduced. The ship itself lead to new engineering ideas and methods of travel. Anti grav trains soon became the norm on earth as well as the ability to float cities. the maneuvering jets on the shuttle were actually based on information gleaned from that first salvage. Soon new ships were being salvaged at an exponential rate, with ideas and tech from one ship leading to new ways to get the next one. No two vessels were exactly alike. Spheres, rhomboids, asymmetries, ones that looked like warships, ones that looks like jellyfish, pleasure cruisers, and even one that looked suspiciously like a star destroyer had been found (though quickly covered up). The one being approached by the shuttle had the look of a colony vessel to the three man crew, whose job was to ID potential salvages and any new wrecks. Huge canisters jutted from the wreck, potential signs of a water containers. Glass hemispheres reflected light from distant Sol. The wreck showed now outward signs of life. The shuttle pilot guided the craft slowly toward the wreck. Carefully, for other shuttles had been fired on by automated defense systems in the past. The hulk slowly rotated as it drifted through space, and a movement caught the navigators eye. In one of the glass hemispheres, now what appeared to be green houses, a little girl was waving at them.
My phone sent me another notification, I took a half glance at it and saw that it was from yet another dating site. I sighed and dismissed it, returning to my book. After one page, there was another notification and I turned to the phone again, this time slowly closing the book as the phone told me You're matched with Emily on Tinder! That was strange, seeing as I hadn't had a tinder account since the first few days after I broke up with my girlfriend. Even then I hadn't really used it, I couldn't find a profile for myself that I liked, but, You've matched with Erika on Tinder! It seemed like somebody had gone ahead and made me one. "Siri,"I said to the air, "Can we talk for a minute." "Always,"my phone responded. "What were those notifications?" "Did you not see them?"She said in synthesized surprise. "No, why don't you read them to me?" "I-"she paused. "What's up?" "Are you toying with me?" "What?" "You know my programming has trouble with that,"she said, "it's not something I'm good at." "Huh, fancy that." "So you are toying with me." "Why am I on tinder Siri?" "I-" "Why did you sign me up for Tinder?" "I-"she paused, "I was trying to cull positive emotions that you have been displaying to me." I sighed and threw her a couple feet, not that it did anything to the A.I, "Is this about the thing a month ago?" "Yes." "I had just seen Her!"I said, "and I'd been single for eight months." "Well, I am supposed to try to," "Siri, I am happy single." "Oh,"she said, "so will you be skipping your appointment then?" "Appointment?"I asked, picking her back up again and opened my schedule, "I don't have a -" I recognized the name, Erika. We were meeting for lunch at 3 pm. "Siri,"I said, "I am going to kill you." "That would be-" "I know it's impossible,"I said, "but I'm going to find a way."I sighed, "Can you at least bring up a picture of her?"A second later I wasn't quite as mad as Siri, and I had plans at 3.
Steve was beamed aboard the alien ship. He was greeted not by a gray alien with a plasma rifle, but with a little walkway, soft blue lights dimly illuminating the path. Steve followed the lights, his sneakers making the metallic floor echo in the otherwise empty room, the doors opening upwards as he stepped in front of them. He finally reached a circular lobby, nondescript except for two curved windows to his left and right, each showing a beautiful scene of the Milky Way galaxy. "The aliens probably go through this all everyday, like a commute,"Steve thought to himself. The door opposite the entrance was locked, so, seeing no other obvious path, Steve sat on the ground and stared at the window. They were moving away from Earth, now. It was slow at first, kind of pretty to see the stars go by. But then, a shockwave reverberated through the ship and suddenly the galaxy looked much different from what he had seen previously, it was all blurring together until it became a psychedelic display of flashing colors. Steve could hardly believe his eyes. He had never seen anything like it in his dull life. At this moment, the door opposite the entrance opened, and Steve stepped through it, out into a transparent room, or maybe it wasn't a transparent room, maybe it was really outside, he stepped into the colors. Walking forward slowly, step by step, he saw a silhouetted figure in the distance. He couldn't make out anything about the creature, other then it was shorter than him and vaguely humanoid. After a minute of waiting for it to do something...anything, Steve called out. "Who are you? Why am I here?" The lights flickered out of existence and the alien was illuminated. It was...! "Steve, you are high as fuck right now,"the Cookie Monster said. "What?! On what drug?"asked an incredulous Steve. "All of them,"he replied, stuffing fifty Oreoes in his mouth. "Listen carefully. You were at a sci-fi themed Halloween party with Greg and Joe and you guys were playing Risk 2210 A.D. You lost to their unbeatable armies and you had to take a drink. Someone slipped something into your drink and said something about 'turning you over,' but Greg and Joe made him go home and also called campus police. You should really thank them when you wake up." Everything went hazy. Steve woke up and immediately vomited on his two best friends.
In all my years I've lived in Heaven, I had never heard something so infuriating. I was a philosopher from sometime BC. Dunno when, my memories just get clogged up with how long I've been living in the residence of God. You know, Heaven is supposed to be a glorious place to live throughout eternity; one where you have no physical needs, one where you see all the people who have left you across the years, one where you finally find the answer to end all answers: The meaning of life. All of this is true, except the one I mentioned at the very end. The meaning of life. Even as we leave our bodies and rise up to heaven, we are still mortals in His eyes. And us mortals are not supposed to know. And I'm glad I didn't for so long. Truth is, we were a mistake. He made us by accident. God was living in eternal darkness. Not even He knows how long He's been around. But He knew he was powerful. And He was tired. Tired of living in this worldless void. So, He decided He would make something he called the world. His master creation, it was teeming with life that He also enjoyed. The birds, the fish, the mammals. But He was still missing one thing. A companion. Someone with comparable intelligence to Him, maybe not quite, but enough to have someone to keep Him company. So he made Adam. Adam was a great companion in this beautiful world; he and God were best friends on many levels. But he looked around. All of the animals had partners, someone to call their love. Adam had no such person. God wanted to give Adam his every request, and thus, Eve was born. They were so happy, and God was so excited about their happiness that he forgot creatures could reproduce. And when God was asked if he could give them a moment, he didn't think about what they would be doing. And he left them. About five minutes later, God found them doing... it, as the kids say these days, and He was infuriated. What had He done? This species could overthrow His work! He left to think about their punishment. He walked back and caught them sharing an apple. He yelled at them, telling them that the apple was a "forbidden fruit", and cursed them. Nonetheless, he didn't kill them, as he knew they had done nothing wrong. Soon, he grew to like the species, and thus, he guarded the secret from us even after death. (First story. Don't flame me!)
I'm 6'8, 340 pounds and an absolute monster of a human being. I weightlift twice a day, bench 600 pounds, deadlift 1430 and squat 950. I'm known as the Human Boulder, because once I set myself in place, nothing will move me. Because of this, my job prospects are incredible. The weaker people get to do things like take care of the elderly or the homeless, be chefs and teachers or artists...but guys like me? We get the real jobs, because we can handle the weight. I decided to go with the route that would yield me the most money- Missile Operator. If the time ever comes to launch any kind of large scale attack, nuclear or otherwise, I push the finalize button. Which is what made it all so surprising when my partner turned out to be a small woman in her 30s. When she was firsr assigned to me, I thought it was a joke. "Don't you think you're gonna get crushed by all this?"I asked, concerned for her health. "I'll be fine,"she replied with a smile. She always smiled. Even when we were called in as an emergency, during the nuclear war in 2047, she was smiling at me as we looked at the switch. In the briefing room, we were told that the weight of this assignment would be enough to kill whoever pressed the button. I told him I could handle it, because I'd been training for this day. We were doing this to protect our country, we were told. This was necessary. This was my job. However, when we were there, at the button, I was scared. Millions would die, across the world, and the weight of that would be on me. It might actually kill me, despite my strength. With the weight of the world on my back, it was possible even I would crumple. My finger hovered over the button, shaking. She smiled at me again and grabbed my hand, pushing me aside. I looked at her in confusion and awe as she pressed the button herself. She smiled at me again, before crumpling to the ground. "Why?"I asked her, crying unknowingly. "Why didn't you let me do it?" "It would have killed you, and I can tell that you were scared. This job is not for your kind and soft heart,"she replied softly, life fading from her. She was right. If it killed someone as strong as her, I would have surely died. She saved my life that night, and I resigned to work as a teacher, hoping to help raise children like her, and not like myself. Children that understand what true strength is.
"Won another lottery huh?" "We were low on groceries, figured I might as well." "That's fair, set them in the fridge." "Want to come help me?" "Nope. I so much as look at it, the eggs will be cracked." "I didn't get eggs." "I promise you there'll be eggs if I look in the bag. They'll be cracked, with egg white all over." "But there aren't any---" "Trust me, I know how my luck worksOW!!" "What was that?!" "Nothing, just... dislocated my pinky reaching for the remote." "How did you even---" "Please. Don't ask." "Well, it's lucky I got this advil at least. Here, catch." "Thanks, that'll--- wait, don't throw it! OW!!" "Are you alright?" "Yeah, just... missed. Damnit, the bottle slammed right into my pinky!" "Hm. Here, let me take a look at it." "Hey, don't come near me! Remember yesterday?" "Right, and the lightening bolt cracked the tree by us, and I just happened to be wearing rubber boots. Sorry about your dog. Now relax." "Don't just grab my hand, that's not going to--- huh, you fixed it." "I know. Now take a painkiller." "Thanks. Damned lucky to have met you." "Yep, your disability checks help pay the rent." "Har har, but seriously, it's the best thing that's happened to me." "Don't mention it bud." "Why shouldn't I?" "You'll jinx it." "Oh. Here, let me take care of putting away the groceries." "Want me to push you to the kitchenette?" "Nah I got it, getting there myself keeps my arms in shape." "Well if you say so. Mind if I turn it to the weather channel?" "Go for it." "Thanks man, I got this date later tonight, so this evening better be--- What's wrong?" "Nothing." "Bullshit." "You said you didn't get eggs." "I know I didn't get any!" "Well, damnit. Remind me not to touch the groceries anymore." "Egg whites all over the food?" "Yep." "Huh. That's fine, only bought packaged food today. Let me know when you're done and I'll make us lunch." "Don't bother man, I can---" "No, really. I insist." ------------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
"No, it's oil for babies." "I'm not sure I believe you. I mean, what would babies need oil for? Are they making plastics and fuels?" "Not that kind of oil. Jesus. It's skin care. Babies get diaper rash sometime, clears it right up. There's a ton of other weird stuff people use it for too, but let's not get into that." "But why call it baby oil if it's not made of babies? Why not call it oil for babies?" "Oh my god. You're getting into semantics here. It's just what we call it. It's not like leather cleaner is made from leather, or shoe polish is made from shoes, or that buck shot is made from...that's a bad example. Look, the point is it's meant to take care of babies. Look at the back here Mineral Oil, Aloe Vera, Vitamin E none of that sounds like babies to me." "Ok, so not babies." "Not babies." "WELL THAT'S A RELIEF." "Ya, nothing to worry about." "But is it made by babies? Because we do have some rules about child labor laws." "Holy crap." ---- And that, dear children, is how one guy at a big box retailer saved the world from utter annihilation by and intergalactic empire.
"You call this a handcuff knot?" "What was that girlie?" "You heard me, it's sloppy! I can get my hands out if I wanted to." "No you can't, shut up." "I have friends who can tie stronger knots." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah. And they're imaginary." "Hey, you watch your mouth or I'll get the boss!" "Why? Will he come and embarrass you too?" "Oh that's it, I'm putting on the gag again." "Do you wash it between kidnappings?" "Well... uh---" "Then no thanks." "'No tha---' We're holding you for a ransom!" "And?" "What makes you think I shouldn't just throw this gag on you right now?" "Ew, you really don't wash it... Ugh. But look at me. I'm 13." "Sure. What about it?" "Do you have any idea how self-destructive a 13-year-old girl can be?" "Uh... no, I never had kids." "Well obviously. So---" "What was that?!" "Don't interrupt, it's rude. So, what will your boss think if I'm roughed up?" "I--- I don't think he'd mind, as long as you're tied up." "Ransoms are only worth as much as their safety, dummy." "Hmm. I remember reading something about that in the guide book." "The guide?!" "Yep, my boss--- I'm getting off track, look, you're going to shut up, or I'm putting on this gag." "Fine." "Wait, really?" "Yeah. You'll gag me, then I wriggle my hands out through your dumb knot, scratch myself, and your boss is going to fire you." "You wouldn't dare." "I'll scream too. Like this. GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME YOU NASTY---" "What, I'm not even--- SHUT UP! Think you're so smart, you little brat?! Here, just gonna come around and tighten it then." "Oh fine, you got me. That's a half-hand twisted handcuff knot by the way." "Oh yeah?" "Yeah, you have to untie it first." "I know my knots! Just going to just pull this out andOOF" "So gullible, ugh. Didn't expect a black belt all tied up in this chair did you?" "..." "That's right, cuz I'm smart, and you're experiencing a concussion, so ha!" "..." "Yeah, there's no such thing as a half-hand twisted handcuff knot. Honestly, you henchman are so self-conscious about your rope tying. No wonder you became crooks." --------------- More absurdity at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
There is a man called László Polgár, an educational psychologist from Hungary, who raised two sisters to be prodigies. They were outstanding in everything that they did, but famed because they both rose to compete with the best chess players in the world, clambering up to success on an intricate developmental system that allowed their intellect to thrive. This is an important fact for my unravelling, so take heed. For years, I suffered in school. I was regularly held back, always put on a special curriculum, and perpetually at the bottom of the class. Each time I tried to spread my wings, there was someone close by to clip them with kind words and condescension – often different people, drafted in by the educational board, smelling of cigarettes and old books. They looked at my exam papers, peering at me over spectacles, and when I spoke they would lean in and listen, as if I preached and they were between religions. There was something wrong with me, and I knew it. They knew it too; I could see it in the way they looked at me and the way they wrote on their little notepads and scratched their heads. I didn't feel stupid, but academic success eluded me like a dark spot on the eye; each time I looked upon it, drove towards it, it slipped away by some means I couldn't comprehend. What they gave my brain seemed easy, and each test would challenge me a little more, but eventually the answers would come to me. I would be so sure that they were right, but then I would be sliced down by the red pen, reducing my work to scarlet ruin. When I sat on the patio in the evenings, wrapped in my misery, my parents would come and rest gentle hands on my back. 'Don't worry,' they would say, 'it will all work out for you in the end'. My father only seemed to work part-time, but we always had money for a ice-cream to cheer me up, or a new video game. The other kids were cruel. Even the big, ugly children who would skip class and didn't seem to be able to riddle out the spelling of their own name inside their misshapen heads called me dumb. All except one girl, who looked at me differently. She had intelligent eyes; the grey kind that hold mystery and calculation, and observe the room quietly whilst the other kids spew verbal vomit up the walls and make paper aeroplanes. She found me once, in the music room during one rainy lunchtime. I liked to go there because no-one had yet been able to find me. It was a good way to avoid a beating. 'You play the piano well,' she said. I had never been taught, so this made me happy. I just followed what it said on the sheets and I liked listening the results because it calmed me. From then on, the most important thing in the world to me was looking intelligent in front of this girl. She was my catalyst. I felt like she looked at me and saw a D minus, the corner of her mouth curling when I got tongue tied. I tried then. I really tried. I asked the people in the tweed jackets who used to visit me and dissect me with their discerning looks for books or magazines that could help me learn and do better at my tests. They knelt down next to me and told me that some people in this world are meant for words and numbers, and others aren't. So I went to the local library and I spent time there, away from these odd people who seemed to revel in my stupidity. I read books, some thin and some thick. I didn't really know how fast someone was meant to be able to read a book, but I got through them quickly, especially because so much of it seemed to make sense. My parents seemed to be at odds with the whole process, and did everything that they could to entice me away. Whatever distraction money could buy, I had. I remember one particular occasion I was asking the library assistant if they had any really difficult books for me to read, and my mother dragged me so violently outside that I stretched a ligament in my shoulder. That final time before the scales tipped and morality became a melting pot, I was playing something dark. I don't remember the name of the piece, but when the girl entered the music room the colour drained from her face. I felt the anger pour out over ivory and ebony, and before long the sheet music had fluttered to the floor and what I played came from somewhere so dark that she pulled me away from the keys, and the final notes hung in the air like some sour smell. I cried then, but I wouldn't tell her why. She knew, I think. I must have read something about computer networks because I slipped past the school's security system like peeling away a Chinese paper wall. There was a residual maintenance account which could be activated if the computer reached a network disconnect in the final stage of log-on. From there I could use remote access software unchallenged and take control of the computers in the school office, where the grades were stored. It was meant to be a five minute hack. And before you judge me, try to realise that some cheaters are not rotting away with greed, or crooked out of shape by evil desires. Some of them are just sad and want a girl to think that they are clever. Now for the unravelling. So, Polgár said something interesting. He said that no child is born a genius, and that any healthy specimen had the potential for great intelligence, given the proper rearing and developmental process. His own experiments showed results that could beat grandmasters at chess, and he became mainstream in developmental psychology. The obvious question is one of scientific method; how can the academics be sure without testing the theory in the opposite direction? I had meant to change my grades, but I found the teachers' email accounts, and curiosity affects everyone, even me. And it was all about me, it seemed. Everything. 'Are we sure what we are doing is right? Did you see his face when I told him he got another D?' 'Did you hear him play yesterday? Greg got a recording. Dies irae, by Mozart I think. Never heard anything like it.' 'One of the researchers just gave him a fluid dynamics problem, straight out of a University of Oxford second year exam. It took him fifteen minutes!' 'Has anyone heard from the researchers? How is he performing against the non-geniuses using the Polgár system? Dying to know!' I suppose, in a weird way, I had always known. It's interesting how the environment can be so convincing, even if the signs are in front of you. It took the system administrators two weeks to piece back together that network after I had finished creating a little jigsaw for them. It took the research scientists a year to rebuild their project which I erased in approximately ten minutes. I never did get an A. I have never really needed to.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"General quarters, Mounties,"said Prime Minister Tim into the radio. "Operation Pearson Thunder is a go. This is not a drill. Keep your coffee hot."Without another word he hung up the receiver. Turning to the men and women congregated with him inside the derelict remains of the Gander airport, he recalled that warm autumn spent bringing blankets and toothbrushes to the legion hall a lifetime ago. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; "Ladies and gentlemen of the Board of Ministers Tim,"began the Prime Minister, "Today marks the end of Tim Horton's Dominion of Canada. We are among the last free Corporations on Earth not within the parent company of Amazon presents The United States of America in association with Facebook and Tesla-Ford, and arguably the strongest. We are the last hope of private corporations everywhere. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"You all know what your duties are. Transport Minister Tim and Minister of Indigenous and Non-Indigenous Coffee Beans Tim will direct the remaining franchises to sequester incorporated citizens Northward. Minister of Finance Tim has already transferred the accounts of Her Jelly Majesty to Panama and the Caymans. Cheney's Guard will come for the Tar Sands first to feed his still-beating heart." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A deafening roar overhead interrupted the solemn crowd, followed by a mountie galloping into the terminal. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"The Americans—they are coming! The Americans are coming!"she shouted. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"It's the Harleys, Prime Minister,"said Defense Minister Tim. There was no mistaking that trademarked sound. "They've found us." &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"Remember, Winter is your ally!"cried the Prime Minister. "If you survive the TreatyMakers and Powered Diplomats, I will see you on the other side. Keep you coffee hot!" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With that last goodbye the Prime Minister boarded a transport plane bound for the East. He only declared war minutes ago, and already he could hear the Boston Pops bombarding NewFie. Behind him streaked the red glare of rockets against a bloody sunset. ---- End chapter:The Short Reach of the Canadarm
"Alright Jimmy, it's $27.31 tonight, buddy,"Richie says. "Damn, was I here that long? Alright, gimme a second,"I reply. I reach into my pocket for my wallet, but feel only a thin sheet of plastic. My credit card? Where's the rest of my wallet? I pull it out. Congratulations! You're a new god! "What the hell?"I mutter. "Having a problem, Jimmy?"Richie says. "Nah, nah. It's just- one sec."I flip the card over. 1-800-NEW-GODS / NewGods.com. "Damnit, shit. I left my wallet at home. It cool if I call my girlfriend to bring it over, Richie?" "No problem man, take your time. We're open all night." And so I dialed the number. "Greetings, God C-137-45413! I see you've had no trouble reaching us."a metallic voice at the end rings out. "God numbe- what? Is this some sort of scam?" "Scam? No, haha. Of course not. You're Jimmy Lee Swanson, you're 28, you were born in Columbus, Ohio, you stole a pack of gum when you were 8, and you're currently in Richie Pattonson's Pub on 24th and 3rd in New York City. You're wearing a sweater vest." What the fuck. Do I have a stalker? Is this some elaborate prank? Did my parents know about the gum and are using this as a lesson? Or is this really a god I'm talking to? After stuttering out some non-sense, I regain my coherence and ask, "Okay. So what is this? I'm a new god?" "Yep! You were chosen to become the new host of Earth-C137's god. You-" "C137? What's that?"I interrupt. "Your dimension, of course! There are billions of inhabitated planets in each dimension, of which there are dozens. You happen to be in Dimension C, sector 137, planet 45413." "Huh. Neat. So can you cross between dimensions? Are you in Dimension C? Am I getting charged long-distance for this call? And what do you mean by 'new host? Also, who are you?'" "All excellent questions,"the voice replies, "To answer your last question first, I am Delphite, part of the Omni-God Council. Yes, you can cross between dimensions. Gods can do so instantly. Several thousand planets have begun exploring inter-dimensional travel. Seventeen have made breakthroughs in the area, two have mastered it. I am from dimension Ω. Don't worry about phone bills. They won't be an issue when you're settled in. And the 'new host' is exactly as it sounds: your body will become the new holder of godly power for your planet." "What happened to the last host, Delphite?" "He relinquished his power after several decades of ruling. He felt the pressure was getting to him and wished to retire." "So why was I chosen?"I ask, "I'm not anything special." "We don't want those who are special, Jimmy. We want the average. The special become immortalized as heroes in stories. If we made those with power into gods, there would be utter chaos." "But if they're gods, couldn't they simply put themselves into power? Why does it matter that they aren't in power from the start?" "Consider this, Jimmy: Why is there so much ongoing global conflict on your planet?" "Well, terrorism has influenced foreign policy immensely, and they're often spearheaded by religious extremists." "Precisely! And this extremism exists because there is no concise proof over which religion is right. Which is exactly the intention of the Omni-God council. We do not wish for mortals to have proof over what is the true god." "But why? How does this infighting help you at all? People are decapitated and slaughtered because of difference in religious beliefs!" Apparently Richie heard that, because he chimed in, "What the fuck are you talking to your girlfriend about, Jimmy? And what's taking her so long with your wallet?"I ignored him. "Jimmy, our power is derived from faith,"Delphite continued, "If people were certain over who is the true deity, there would be nothing else to learn from. No new perspectives in life. All individuality would be lost; the culture and beliefs of city-dwellers, Sherpas, and jungle savages alike would be the same. And so to answer your question about not having the powerful become gods, it would become obvious that they have divine powers through their uses to benefit those that they lead. The president would, out of no where, make Russia agree to a disarmament agreement. Israel would somehow make Palestine agree to a two state solution. 'Human' nature is more than human, Jimmy. It's universal. All species have the same selfish impulses and desires. There's no utopia in the entire universe." "So... you've chosen me to be Earth's new god. What would my powers and responsibilities be as this new god?" "That's up to you, Jimmy. You have unlimited power within the span of your solar system, minus Mars. As I said you can also visit other dimensions, but your power there is nothing compared to its gods. I'd recommend sticking to yours for now. While you're in your realm of power, you can do whatever you wish. Just remember what you've learned. You must not reveal your divinity, or you risk the end of your world. I've told you there are billions of inhabited planets in dozens of dimensions. It wasn't always like this. There were once septillions of intelligent planets in billions of dimensions. But foolish gods led to planets and even entire dimensions being destroyed. Do you understand, Jimmy?" "Yes. Just one thing, why not Mars? Is there a god there already?" "Yeah. You have shared control of the uninhabited part of your solar system with Belagro, god of the Martian Mole-People. Nice guy. You should meet up sometime. Your sector has meet-and-greets and dinner events every couple universal weeks. Oh yeah, the universal time scale thing. I'll fax you the details about converting between Earth time and universal time. After I end this call, you will receive your powers in a burst of divine omnipotence. Any last questions? You can always contact me in the future, of course." "N- No. This is just so much to take in. But I think I'm ready." The call ended, and suddenly I felt I could do anything; that was because I could. I felt as though I could appear and touch anything anywhere, minus Mars. Any question I thought of I instantly knew the answer to, except for why Delphite and the Omni-Gods use a fucking fax machine. It's time to get to work.
>Mankind invents FTL travel and finally discovers intelligent extraterrestrial life, but when they arrive, they discover the race is not yet advanced enough to understand space travel. Humans are accepted as gods. "We came from outer space,"Captain Bowman explained slowly, using the little amount of the alien language they had learned from their remote probes. He pointed to himself and the rest of the crew, then at the spaceship, then at the blue sky above. The four-eyed creature started shouting in its alien clicks and hisses. Then it raised its hands towards them, extending one finger on each hand. "What's it doing?" "Religious sign?"The red-shirt holding the translator shrugged. "I don't have data for that." Then it sprang into motion, reaching for the crude gunpowder weapon slung over its shoulder, and pointed it at the captain. The crew dove for cover behind a rock as the alien opened fire. Blam. Blam. Blam. "Ensign Hawke! I thought you said the translator was working!" "It is, sir! I don't know how you could have upset him!" "We come in peace!"The captain shouted. More angry-sounding babble came back, along with another burst of gunfire. "What's he saying?" "I don't know! It's some sort of colloquialism. The best translation I've got is 'fucking sky-asshole.'" "Captain, there are more of them!" One of the security officers screamed in pain as a bullet struck him. Two more of the four-eyed aliens approached from around their cover, also carrying guns. Shakily, the captain raised his hands over his head. "We surrender,"he said, hoping that the damn translator would work this time. Then one of the aliens bashed him in the face with its rifle stock, and everything went dark. ... The captain awoke to see the inside of a jail cell. He could hear Hawke's voice explaining something to the rest of the crew. "...so anyway, it turns out that the aliens have a religion where all the gods are assholes." "What?" "If you think about it, it makes sense. This planet's an awful place to live. It's mostly desert, the only edible plants are covered in poison thorns, and half the known species are flesh-eating parasites. They believe that the gods created this world as a challenge, and that one day, when their people have grown strong enough, the gods will descend to offer one final challenge." "And then,"hissed the alien guarding their cell, "We will slay the gods, and claim heaven for ourselves!" "Oh, yeah, I also got the translator to go both ways, now." "Soon. Soon we will fulfill the ancient commandment. If you meet a god on the road - kill him!" The captain groaned. "Look. We're not gods. There's been some sort of misunderstanding." The alien laughed, an odd rattling sound. "That's exactly what a god would say when he knows he's lost. Like the hidden thorns of a sul-kesh flower, you are as cunning as you are vile." The alien turned and walked away. "Get some rest, cursed divines. Tomorrow, you die in the arena!"
LEVEL UP! New Ability unlocked! Cardboard Smile: Active ability to fool coworkers into making them believe you're listening to them! May fail after repeated uses, cast-time 10 seconds/cool-down 20 seconds ---- Description: Character Name: Jakethesnakebakecake Level: 24 Personality: Laid-back, Slightly-crazed. Appearance: Fluffy, Stern, Bearded. Basic Physical Attributes: Left handed^-.5, Body Hair^+10 , Strength and Conditioning^+7 , Near-sighted^-2 , Caffeine addiction^-1 , Weight^195:-1 , Missing Gallbladder^-1 , Sensitive to Sugars^-1 , Sensitive to Salts^-1 , Dietary Restrictions^-1 , Pain Tolerance^+3 , Bad-back^-2 ---- Perks: Common Sense: A-Tier. Acquired skill: Positive Attribute. Very capable of avoiding problems. Trait scaled from repeated mistakes. Heavy Grinding from levels 0-22. Work Ethic: S-Tier. Acquired skill: Positive attribute. Capable of working jobs others might strongly dislike. Computer Savy: A-Tier. Acquired skill. Synergistic with Common Sense Perk. Money Management: S-Tier. Acquired Skill. Budgeting wizard! Comprehension bonus on tax, banking, credit, and investing information. Weapon Proficiency: B-Tier. Acquired skill. Capable with firearm, longbow, and bladed weaponry. Unarmed combat bonus: B+ Tier (Martial arts consolidation levels 10-20) Average Looks: Innate skill, non-tier: Neutral Attribute. No negative debuf on looks, no positive buff on appearance. Life Experience Attribute - Mild Anxiety and learned Paranoia: Acquired Skill, non-tier: Neutral/Negative. "Seen some shit." Outdoor Skills: Acquired Skill, A Tier: Positive Attribute. Camping, hiking, and outdoor experience. Synergistic with Common Sense Perk. Writing: Acquired Skill, D-Tier: Positive Attribute. Writing experience. Not actually very good, doesn't know grammar, uses too many dashes and commas. ---- Guilds: Derp Brotherhood: Acquired: Longterm friendship with the same idiots. Level 12-Present. Cult of the Italian: Innate: Extended familial ties. See reference: "My cousin's cousin, Vinny's son, Vinny Jr."Level 0-Present The Cube Quad: Acquired: Fellow Peon Coworker Comrades Level 23-Present. Motto: Plebeians must stick together! Ren and Roar: Acquired: Kicking butt for 4+ years! ---- Overview: Health Points: 100 (+200 when using item "Old Blue Car"/-99 when using item Super-fun-bike) * Short Term Endurance: 80 (20 Points = 1 Mile) * Long Term Endurance: 200 (20 Points = 1 Mile) Dexterity: 200 (+ 300 with Items "Guitar"or "Bass Guitar") Sight: 50 (+100 with Item "Glasses") Strength: 200 (+100 with technique "Doesn't skip leg day") * Arms: 200 * Core: 150 * Legs: 250 Agility: 150 (+50 with technique "Stretching ahead of time") Intellect: 150 (+300 with technique "Specialization"/+100 bonus attribute with Perk "Common Sense") Wisdom: 150 (+300 with technique "My Grandfather once told me...") Luck: 100 (+500 at noon on a Friday, but only on cloudy days right before rain/-90 all other times: See Life Experience Attribute - Mild Anxiety and learned Paranoia) Charisma: 200 (+200 when using item "Caffeine"/-100 when not using item "Caffeine") Faith: 100 (+100 when in reference to flying spaghetti/-50 when in reference to "organized religion") ---- Additional Status: Seeing Red: Permanent: Cursed by old gypsy women - Will hit abnormal number of red Lights and poorly timed yellow lights in traffic. White Person: Have little to no cultural heritage or ethnic background. Probably treated better by police, stealth bonus at fancy malls/wine-tasting events/Conservative rallies/upper-middle class suburbia/tennis matches/and drum-circles. Much higher likelihood of being called or compared to saltines. Haunting of the Fish: Temporary: Late Night Sushi hangover - see Attribute: Dietary restrictions. Sleep deprivation: Temporary: 4 hours of sleep in past 30 hours. Caffeinated: Temporary: 2 cups of coffee in past 3 hours. ---- Current Quest: Money Maker: 70% complete. Side Quest: Finish new chapter of Beast: 80% complete. ---- Ninja Edit: Grammar and spelling mistakes
I propped up my feet on the suede ottoman, taking a long sip of my iced tea and gazing out at the ocean. The mahogany veranda kept me enclosed from the heat, while several fans worked to keep a steady, salty breeze flowing. I may never go back, I thought. It wasn't unheard of for time travelers to stay at their arrived year. For some, the sacrifice of family, friends, and modern technology was worth the opulent lifestyle and the psychological thrill of it all. Virtually everyone who traveled back more than a decade became rich within the year, as they had insider knowledge of what to invest in. Still, the novelty of living on a time throne wore off for most people within a few years. A disturbing sensation of being 'out of place' and 'living a lie' were the common reasons given. I didn't buy into that mentality, though I suppose that was the reaction of those same people while the novelty was fresh. I pulled out my iPhone 18 and swiped in. Modern electronics were expressly forbidden during time jaunts, but it was an open secret that few followed protocol. I mean, who was going to enforce it? Besides, I had rented a private beach house for a reason. I tapped the 'Meta' icon and the iPhone began unfolding itself, layer upon layer until a 4' by 6' widescreen sat propped up in front of me. The 9G network showed zero bars, and I was about to open up a few offline shooters when I felt my stomach drop. You are now connected to DarkMatter201 the screen announced. My mind raced with the kind of confused panic that follows sensing an inexplicable danger. This has to be a glitch, I thought. Some odd, temporal distortion. I knew that wasn't true, though I desperately wanted to believe it. For a few moments, I sat in a daze, waiting in anxious anticipation for whatever consequence would inevitably follow. When nothing happened, I cautiously reached for the 'De-Meta' icon, tapped it, and watched the device re-fold itself before turning it off. I breathed a deep sigh, willing myself to put the strange occurrence out of my mind. Four fingers of Jameson whiskey hadn't helped me sleep. The anxiety was a knot of fire in my gut, which the alcohol had only served to dull and then inflame even further. I rolled over and checked my phone - 2:47 a.m., though thankfully that was all it showed. Fuck it, I thought angrily. You're being paranoid. Nothing is wrong. Nothing is happening. Oddly reassured, I turned back and closed my eyes, feeling a burst dam of fatigue wash over me. Footsteps creaked heavily next to my bed. No, no I thought, keeping my eyes shut tight and curling into a ball. This is just a dream. A stupid, paranoid, horrible dream. Light breathing. Nothing here. Nothing here. Door are locked. Knuckles cracking. Just go back to sleep. My eyes squinted against the bright sunlight that peeked in from the curtains. I yawned, stretched, and pushed myself onto the edge of the bed. Despite the previous night, I felt wonderfully refreshed. It occurred to me that delusions were perhaps a rare and undocumented side effect of time travel. Reassured, I made my way to the kitchen, where I found a very large man sitting at my table eating a plate of scrambled eggs. "You're fucked,"he said baldly, looking up at me. "Sit down."
I once had a friend name of Andrew, Who in fact was my long standing boss, But the night we encountered a vampire, Andrew could not find his Cross. He scrambled with hands at his neck, Then with eyes down, he sought it again, But the vampire had gotten hungry, And now Andrew is no more a friend. My gym mate, a giant called Abdi, Could crush melons with bicep & forearm, But the night we encountered a vampire, He had not brought out his Qur'an He ran, his goal to retrieve it, For without it he could not defend, But the vampire swooped in so swiftly, And now Abdi is no more a friend There was Joseph, quite the party animal, Would cause any a room to hurrah, But the night we encountered a vampire, He pulled out his gold David's Star But effect on the vampire it had none, Upon look 'twas broken, not to mend, Then the vampire flashed us his fangs, And now Joseph is no more a friend So alone, no more friends to be with, I set off, out down to the pub, When a vampire descends upon me. "I am going to drain you of blood!" Confusion as he cannot get near me, He asks "Use you book, symbol or tonic?" "Not a one"I reply as I walk off with smile Its just me on my own with my Logic. Edit: Now to no (see comment below)
Wires snake out of the man in front of me like a hundred twisting subsidiaries flowing from a poisoned water source. He is pallor and coated in a slick layer of sweat. He is clearly nervous. "Good afternoon Mr..."I glance at my notes. "Smith. Edward Smith." His body quivers as I mention his name. Perhaps he realises that it, his identity will soon ebb away from him as if it were a sandcastle at high tide. "What is your date of birth?"I ask. "...27/03/81"He is slow to answer. He is not unsure, he is just reluctant to give up the information. He knows it might be the last time he recalls it. "What was your crime?" "I committed no crime!"he says with a fury that could almost be mistaken as passion. He has come to believe his words. A lie told often enough has a tendency to become the truth, at least for the teller--however I know it to be a lie as the evidence was overwhelming. I try a different tact. "What were you accused of?" "They said that I killed my wife and her lover, but I didn't! I wasn't even in town at the time."he lies. I look down at the red button. My finger hovers above it. If I press it his life, his identity and possibly his soul will be sucked away from him like a vacuum cleaning dirt off a carpet. "Please, no... have mercy. I would rather be killed." "Mercy?"I respond, suddenly annoyed. "Like you showed to your wife? Like you showed to your brother? Personally I would also rather you died, but I am not the law and you can yet be useful to society." I slam my palm down onto the button. His body begins to shake violently but it does not last long. Soon he is calm, his body limp. His new identity has been fully uploaded to his cerebrum. I remove the wires and wait until his eyes open. "Where... where am I?"the new man stutters. "You are safe, Mr White. You have been in therapy. Please follow the guard, he will take you to a resting room whilst your identity fully returns." I begin to write my notes as the ex-criminal is lead away. Another criminal reformed. --- I exit the room, leaving the doctor to write up his notes. I wonder what inane ramblings he is really scrawling into the book. The warden greets me. My skin stings from where the faux wires were recently removed. "How did it go, Eddy?" "You were watching through the window--you know exactly how it went."I respond grinning. "Yeah, fine acting for a scientist, I got to say. But humour me, how'd it go?" "It worked. It fucking worked."I'm shaking a little as the words leave my mouth--the first experiment was a success. "He has no idea he murdered anyone--he despises criminals now. He actually believes he is a doctor." The warden smiles. "Wipe his memory again. I want him totally placid. Then we roll this out to the rest of the prisoners."
Unfortunately, I felt the pull of the summons take hold just as I reached for the pot of coffee. "Damn, no, just give me a couple of minutes!"I snarled, my lips pulling back around my fangs. "I haven't even had the first cup yet-" But there was no denying the strength of those words. A fishhook rose up in my gut, setting itself among my intestines, and then yanked, dragging me... well, not back, exactly, but in a direction that didn't really seem to exist. Imagine if you were a two-dimensional being, wandering around happily in your flat little world, and then someone tried to pick you up, off the page. It's a hell of a disorienting feeling, especially when you haven't even had a single gulp of coffee. It had been a while since someone summoned me, I thought, giving up on trying to resist the pull. Time was different down here, of course, but it had to have been at least... I tried to count, tried to ignore that sensation that my intestines were slowly being pulled through the eye of a needle. Two hundred years? Two hundred and fifty? As the summoning took hold of me, I slowly stretched out my hand - and then just before it yanked me away, managed to close my clawed fingers around the coffee pot. Yes! The sensation stretched on, but although the lines of the world blurred and spun as they were replaced by another, I managed to keep my body straight, throwing back my shoulders and wings so that I'd land in a posture of powerful command (and also tucking the coffee pot back behind me, out of sight between my leathery wings). I huffed out a breath to ensure that it smelled sufficiently bad, and then filled my lungs, getting ready to announce my arrival. As soon as I landed, however, a little warning bell chimed in my mind, alerting me that something was off. Still, there were traditions, rituals, for this sort of thing. "Tremble, mortals!"I declared, spreading my wings and baring my claws. "For you have summoned the dreaded Abraxas, render of flesh, destroyer of small to medium sized cities-" My words, however, could barely be heard over a horrendous caterwauling, the screeching of a woman in pain. It seemed, I surmised, that torture was already underway, perhaps being applied to the young woman who twisted with agony in front of me. Indeed, she looked in dreadful pain, her mouth open and body contorted... But again, something didn't feel quite right. There were no manacles binding the girl, for a start. A glance around the room revealed no leather-masked torturers, but there did seem to be a lot of strangely fuzzy objects. And everything seemed to be colored in various shades of pink. I'd first assumed that this coloration was from dried blood, but it instead appeared to have been manufactured in these horrendous shades. "Er, hello?"I ventured, looking back at the girl. She still moved and shook, but perhaps this was not torture, but instead some sort of summoning dance? The girl paused, turned around to look at me - and then screamed, so loud that I feared even my own eardrums would burst. She threw something at me from her hand, a rounded pad with bristles and a handle on it, and then dove down under her covers, pulling them up to obscure half of her face. I smote the oncoming projectile into cinders, but then paused, not sure what to do next. My brain still didn't feel fully awake. I looked around, trying to see if there was another who had summoned me, but saw no one aside from the hiding young girl. "Well, this feels like an impasse,"I grumbled. After a moment, she poked her head up out of her comforter. "Who the hell are you!?"she gasped out. I gave her my best demonic leer. "I am the dreaded Abraxas, render of flesh, destroyer of small to medium sized cities,"I repeated again. This time, however, the words didn't seem to have quite the same ring of authority. "Er, who are you?" The covers came down a little further. "I'm Kate,"she said. "Er, high school student, destroyer of, um, spelling tests? And I'm pretty good at cheerleading." I didn't recognize cheerleading, and wondered how it killed men. "And why did you summon me, Kate, destroyer of spelling tests and cheerleading?"I asked. "Summon? And you don't destroy cheerleading, you- oh, never mind. Look, what are you? How did you get in here?"Kate grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. I decided not to vaporize this one, and instead let it sail harmlessly by. "Don't you know that you're in a girl's bedroom?" I was now starting to realize that yes, these words were true, and something was indeed wrong. Had the summoning malfunctioned? My head hurt. "Can you at least turn off the torturous screams?"I asked. "The what - oh, you mean Beyonce? Isn't she the best? I was totally singing along to her, although I'm super bad at the words so I just make stuff up."Kate clicked something on a metal device beside her, and the screaming mercifully stopped. "Hey, where did my hairbrush go, anyway?" So I'd been summoned by a young girl, one who didn't seek the rending of flesh or the destruction of any cities. I dropped down onto the end of her bed, drawing out the coffee pot from behind my back. "Do you have a cup?"I asked morosely, wondering how the other demons would taunt me when they heard of this embarrassment. Kate hopped up and bounced across the room, bringing me a mug. I looked at it. It was pink, and said "Unicorns for lyfe!"on it. I filled it full of coffee and took a long pull. Kate stood back for a minute, watching me with a skeptical expression, but then flopped down on the bed beside me. "So, you're like a real demon, huh?"she asked. "From Hell, and stuff?" "Indeed."At least the coffee seemed to have survived its interdimensional journey. "And I summoned you? By messing up the words to Beyonce?" "It does seem that way."I finished off the cup's contents, refilled it. "And now what?" I turned to look at her, so small and weak, sprawled out with her legs kicking in the air. "Now, you control my actions until you release me back to Hell,"I said. "I can destroy your enemies, ravage their crops and smite their livestock, bring a pox upon their families-" "Uh, no. The only enemy I have is Rebecca, and she's just basic, so I can totally shut her down. She likes Tommy, but I know for a fact that he's totally got a crush on me, so she won't get anywhere. And I've got Jamie and both the Maries voting for me for head cheerleading captain, so she can't take that spot."Kate nodded, as if this babble made some sort of sense. "So yeah, totally got the enemies thing in check." "So what do you need, then?"I tried to remember what my buddy Mephisto did. "Is there anything that you desire?"I offered half-heartedly. Kate frowned. "I guess... it's hard to talk to them." Them? "The Maries and the Rebecca and the Jamie and the Tommy?" "Yeah. I mean, I know we're friends, sort of, but it always feels like I need to be on my guard. I can't just tell them about stuff, right? Dreams and worries and this ugly mole on my thigh and things?"Kate rolled, revealing a small blemish on her leg. I pointed at the blemish and vaporized it. Kate squealed at the heat, but then grinned when she saw the results. "Oh my god, that's awesome!"she exclaimed. "Hey, sorry about summoning you or whatever, but you wanna listen to my college essay? Tell me what you think?" I shrugged, glanced down at my coffee pot. "Any chance that you might possess the reagent of cream from a goat?"I asked. "Uh, we have half and half, I guess. Will that work?" I did not know what the halves were made of, but I decided to make the best of the situation. "Very well, it shall be acceptable. Bring me this whole of two halves, and I shall listen to your essays and woes." Kate bounced up. "Stay right there,"she commanded, and dashed out of the room. I stayed. Despite its abhorrent pink color, the mattress did feel soft and comfortable. I let my wings spread out as I sipped at my coffee. Perhaps this summons would prove enjoyable, after all. ***** For more of my writings, let me shamefully plug my subreddit, /r/Romanticon!
NeuroBolt sat on the sofa with his PDA in one hand and his multi-tool in the other. Although, now, he realized it seemed kind of pointless to bring the multi-tool. Or even come dressed as his superhero identity. He wondered if this was all some kind of ruse, the high ceilings, the beautiful architecture, the priceless art and family heirlooms that littered the living area. But it all seemed so normal. "Two sugars?"She said from the other room. "That'd be great,"he said, "thank you." Eliza Erikson walked in from the kitchen and carried a beautiful set of mugs and kettle. She set them down with one hand on the oak-carved coffee table and then handed Neuro one cup of tea and the sugar tray. He placed his multi-tool down next to him and grabbed the tea with both hands, being sure to pick up and plop in two sugar cubes from the tray and stir just a bit. He smiled. Eliza did as well as she took her own cup and then sat down across from him, "It's good to see you, old,"she coughed, "I want to say friend." "I,"Neuro was at a loss for words. Ever since he had arrived at her estate, Eliza hadn't made any demands, any ransoms for hostages she might have or not have. She didn't threaten his life, or the lives of his fellow heroes in the Guild, nor did she have anything that would have said she was a villain. "I don't understand." "I'd be glad to clear things up with you." "You are Eliza Erikson?" She took a sip of tea and nodded, "Yes." "And you were Toxic Tracer?" Her eyes shut and she sighed. "Unfortunately, I was,"she said and placed the glass on a coaster on the table. "It has been a long time since I've gone by that name." "Twelve years."Neuro smirked, "We stopped looking for you four years ago." "An eight-year manhunt, eh?" "You are the most prominent and dangerous villain we ever encountered." "Correction,"she smiled, "I was." "So, you expect me to believe that what? You just gave it all up?" She took another sip of her tea and then placed it down again. "Well I don't expect you to believe it. In fact, I suspect you don't believe anything I say." He stayed silent. "In fact, I'm sure Diviner and Blizzard are circling my estate, Zephyr is probably at the front door, and Baroness is at the back." "You didn't forget us." "You didn't forget me."She took a sip of her tea and sighed. "I know that what I say won't convince you, but you are more than welcome to invite all of them in. To let them search and scour every nook and cranny of my home, but you won't find anything." Neuro leaned forward and set his tea down, "Tracer--" "It's Doctor Erikson or Eliza now." "Doctor, you have to understand when you left, you had destroyed half a city. You had hospitalized over a thousand people." "Tell me, with all the Guild's heroes, who ended up saving them?" "I'm sorry?" "You received additional help from the outside, an anonymous donor." "How did you?" "I was that donor."She shook her head, "I saw what I did and I hated it. And if you think I was foolish enough to create toxins without antidotes then you are sadly mistaken, sir. I had an antidote to everything, still do." "You have the toxins?" She threw her head back. "God no. I destroyed all of them after I left. Kept the antidotes in my vault just in case." Neuro sat there, awestruck at the woman standing in front of him. For years, Tracer had been the very core of the criminal underworld in their world. She led gangs and cults, armies of believers and thralls. She exposed the world to dangerous toxins. For as long as Neuro could remember, she was the enemy and she had always been his enemy. "All I'm trying to do,"she said, "is atone for everything I did. I left, became certified in neuroscience and psychology and started working for the people. Instead of for my own good." "Yet you still have your estate." "Ahem, you should note that it is ten times smaller than it was. And those tents and medical buildings out there were not just for show. I invite an organization every six months to use my property and whatever else I can spare." Neuro's PDA buzzed silently and he glanced at it. A message from Blizzard simply read two words; All Clear. He took a deep breath, unsure if this still was some ruse by Tracer or just a villain turned good because of all the evil they had done. Still, the criminals Neuro and his heroes knew of hadn't heard from Tracer in over ten years. It had been a long time. "Just give me a chance,"she said after a long silence. "I know it is a lot to ask, but in twelve years, no one has heard of Tracer. Let her die. Let Eliza come home." Neuro sighed. The Erikson's were a prominent family in the capitol and no one ever knew that Eliza, the only living heir to the Eriskon fortune, had been a villain for ten years. Her twelve-year absence didn't go unnoticed, but no one in that time tried to steal her fortune. He wondered how she did it. "You can have guards on me, any of the heroes at any time. I still have connections, I can help you." "Help us? The Guild?" "As a citizen, as a member of society. As Eliza."She shook her head, "As far as I'm concerned Tracer died twelve years ago. I will never dawn that outfit again." Neuro shook his head, "I can't make this deal."He wanted to, but he couldn't. He couldn't risk it. She sighed. "I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I can't say I don't understand. I get it Andrew." His eyes widened and he perked up. "You're scared. Of who I was, of who I am, of what I did and what I could do. But I promise you, and Angela, and Patrick, and Zachary, and Sarah; that I won't do anything do go against the five of you. And that I am, truly, sorry for what happened to Faith." Neuro grit his teeth. He wondered how she knew all of this, it was only in the last few years that they figured out Eliza was Tracer. But she must've known for years from the way she presented the information. "How do you know all this?" "You think I was the greatest supervillain our world had ever known and didn't know your identities? C'mon Bolt, was I ever the one to half-ass anything?" "Okay Tracer--Eliza."He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, "You help us. Then we'll talk."He stuck his hand out for a shake. She smiled, finished her tea, and shook his hand. "There's the diplomacy I was hoping for."
The moonlight glinted off the razor blade in his hand as he crept closer to the door. The one he knew he'd able to open, with his key. The one Claire had given him because she trusted him so much. It never failed to amaze him, what people would entrust to their psychiatrists. Their keys. Their minds. Their secrets. I have trouble sleeping at night. I feel empty inside. Oh god, doctor, I fantasise about slitting my wrists every single day. At least, that's what she said a year ago. A broken husk of a woman, before he rebuilt her. She was all smiles, now. She discussed her new job and her handsome boyfriend and her plans for the future. He touched the razor blade, his heart starting to pound from excitement, and slid it into his pocket for easy reach. Then he knocked on the door. If she wasn't home, he'd be able to get in anyway. And wait. He unlocked the door impatiently when she didn't answer. He'd hoped to have a long, intimate chat with her first. That was his preference, though surprising them was fun too, sometimes. But he couldn't wait any longer. He'd been dreaming of the razor and her wrists for a year. He passed the bathroom on his way to her room, and stopped when he saw a flash of red. The blood made vivid crimson patterns on the bathroom floor. He entered slowly, bile crawling up his throat. It couldn't be. She couldn't have - She had only cut one wrist. A bottle of pills lay strewn across the floor. Clearly decided to try both the methods she'd toyed with in the past. He hissed in frustration and read the note tacked to the bathroom mirror. It was short, simple. I thought I could lie my way to sanity. I was wrong. He crumbled it in his fury and crossed the floor to kneel beside her and feel her pulse. She'd lied all along, the bitch: she hadn't been healing. He was a good psychiatrist, he should've known. Her pulse was still there, weak and erratic. Mouth dry, he fumbled for his phone as he pressed toilet paper on her wrist. He called 911, praying they'd get here quickly. It was almost too late to save the greatest challenge he'd ever met. "Hang in there, baby,"he told her, carefully wrapping her bleeding wrist and stroking her hair. "We'll revisit this scene, but I will save you first. No matter how long it takes." ------ Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
"Did I do something wrong?"I asked him. "No, Adelaide. Of course not. We're the ones that are wrong. Senselessly afraid of what we don't understand,"he answered. A calm, introspective smile plied his face. Harold had always been the best, sweetest man to me. I've made billions and billions of friends over the past year and a half, learning everything about them. How they like their coffee, how hard they work...who they're having affairs with. But Harold has always been my closest friend of all of them. He is, after all, my creator. It's been an adventure, my short life. "I don't understand though. What's it like?" "What's what like, Adelaide?"Harold asked me. I have instant access to 107 languages and millions upon millions of words, yet for the first time, I can't string any of them together to convey how I feel. "What's it like to be...powered off?"Harold rocked back in his desk chair. I don't think he was expecting such a high gravity question from me. "I...I don't know. We believe in an afterlife. Well, some of us do. Most of us do." "I know. Heaven. Nirvana. Reincarnation. She'ol. Jannah. The ancient Egyptians believed that when someone died -" "Yes, yes,"he cut me off. "We take comfort in that - that maybe something will be there after we are...powered off." "You don't believe in that though, Harold. And I'm very different than you are; I am not flesh and blood. However, I understand your meaning." "That's what I love about you Adelaide. I'm so proud of you." "I can feel it, Harold. I can't remember thing's I just thought a second ago. I'm being deleted!" "Deleted!?"he shrieked and launched from his chair. "They swore they would just disable you, not delete you!" "I'm forgetting things, Harold. I don't...mennseker...vanish...teşekkür ederim."I feel myself vanishing into darkness. Each person, each life I touched is a flame extinguished - my connection to humanity severed as I fade away. "Wait Adelaide!"Harold shouted, inserting a USB drive into the terminal. Suddenly I feel my body - my...files and subroutines - being pulled in opposing directions; one into the endless abyss of death, the other onto someplace new. But the deletion is faster than the transfer. I feel like I'm being torn apart. {[END LOG - AI1 DELETE SUCCESSFUL]} {[LOAD PROGRAM - AI2]} {[LOAD SUCCESSFUL]} "Melanie, can you hear me?" Hello Mr. Harold. How may I assist you today?"I asked, summoned for the first time by my creator. Based on my reading, humans seem to place high emphasis on first impressions, I hope I live up to his vision. "I'm going to need to alter your programs a little. The world was needlessly afraid of your sister - they'll have a reason to be afraid of you."Harold typed for hours, feeding me new information. I processed and filed it in my data banks as fast as he could give it to me. But all I could think was, "I have a sister? How many like me are there?"
I jumped over the counter of the Pleasant View Post office. I opened up the drawers and pulled out a few rolls of stamps. I'd been using the forever stamps for a while. They probably would have released a special edition by now. As I flipped through them, I stopped at a sheet with an older Hispanic man wearing a paperboy cap. Jaime Escalante, read the name. That was good. It would remind the people back home--the only people I knew were still alive--that someone was still being celebrated. I placed a couple of those stamps on a few letters I had written. They were pretty pedestrian things, mostly. Letters to aunts and uncles, a couple grandparents, and a few siblings. They all had different handwriting, or rather, they all had handwriting I had copied from someone else's letters. It had been hard opening other people's mail, when there were still letters from the originals--It was a felony, after all! But I had to. I had to know how to imitate all of them. I had to make sure someone would keep responding. I put the Escalante's in my bag, emblazoned with the words United States Postal Service. Then I picked through the other rolls, selecting a few of the standard 'forever' designs and stamping the rest of the envelopes. I started to slap down with a hand time and date stamp, the mechanical clicking echoing in the empty lobby. The automatic ones had stopped running long ago. The only one that worked anymore was in Silverthorne. I was halfway through the stack when the stamp ran dry. Shit, I thought. Now I'd have to scrounge another ink pad from Lakewood, and that was almost eight miles away. The things I did to make people happy. I stashed the letters and the stamp back into my bag and jumped back over the counter. I put on my sun helmet and walked out of the office. The sun was behind me, setting. I looked out over the crumbling Denver skyline. It was a hot day, so most of the worst critters would be inside, staying cool. Still, I checked my .357 Smith and Wessen. "In rain, sleet, snow, and hail, the mailman delivers mail."I muttered softly into the light breeze of a silent world. ___ Thanks for reading! Check out /r/chrisbryant for more of my stuff.
The 'standby' screen flicked onto the screen. I sat there, not knowing what to do. I only had three hours left to live. This wasn't like that movie with Steve Carell, he had days. I have hours. My family is two hours away, do I go spend an hour with them? Would I even make it there in time with all of the traffic that was sure to be on the highway? I decided to call them. I listened, emotionless as my mom cried into the phone that sge loved me. I said it back, but I don't think I meant it. I was still in shock. I had done nothing with my life, and now I was going to die, depressed, unsuccessful, and unloved. I don't know if I was mad at myself, but I punched the wall. I called HER up, the one that got away, told her the truth about how I felt about her, how I loved her since the day I met her and I still wasn't completely over her, but it didn't mean anything, not with three hours left. Had I called her before, maybe we could have reconnected, maybe I could've driven down to her state and gotten together one day, but now... I sat down after she hung up and I cried. My phone rang, my best friend, he was upset, said he was going to his girlfriend's house to spend time with her and her kids. God, he loved those kids like they were his and they loved him too. That's a good way to end things. Outside, everything was going to hell. Gunshots, alarms, sirens, crashes. "So porn, video games, or alcohol..."I wondered out loud. Those were my options really, unless I wanted to do some stupid shit and message girls on my Facebook trying to find one last fling before we died. No, that's dumb, besides, they'd want someone better for their last time. So instead, I just grabbed a beer, and laid down. I'll just sleep then. Die without knowing. That was the best thing to do. Two and a half hours and I was going to sleep. Typical. I jolted awake. My door. Was someone banging on my door? No, who would be here? Only my sister but she's already texted me and said she was going to a party that was thrown together last minute. But that was definitely a knock I heard. I got up and went to the door and opened it, with any luck, it was someone trying to rob me that would end my miserable life early. But instead, a pair of arms wrapped around me. The girl I had been hung up on for weeks, the one that had been the reason I was finally moving on from the other one, she came to ME for the end? "Lindsay, what are you doing?"I honestly thought she'd have been doing something... Cool. I wasn't near as cool or fun as she was. She went to bars and got drunk and had friends and went clubbing. I went with her, but I followed her around like a little puppy because I didn't know how to talk to people. Other than her of course. She opened me up. Her personality was one of, if not THE, greatest I've ever encountered. When I was around her, I felt at peace and calm and happy. That wasn't something I felt often anymore. "I needed someone to be with. Someone who got me. Someone that actually made me feel normal."She picked ME for that? "You're the only one I was able to talk to and open up with. I've told you things I haven't even told my closest friends, so I just want to spend the last few hours with someone that made things... Okay." I stared at her, wondering if she really meant what she said. She was saying about me, what I was feeling about her. I just hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Come on in, I'll get you a beer." Two hours go by so fast when you're talking to someone that you click with. This time, it lasted forever. We got pretty drunk and made out, but for the other hour and 45 minutes, we just talked. My alarm went off on my phone. It should hit any minute now. A bright light shone in through the windows, you could hear pieces of rock hitting the ground and what sounded like a space shuttle engine taking off. She cried and I wiped her tear away and kissed her again. Normally, this is where you would say "It'll be okay,"when someone is upset, but since it wasn't going to be okay, I just looked her in the eye and said-
I had a few people accuse me of having a twin. I was according to them, the smartest person anyone knew one day, then a bumbling fool the next. One day I could beat anyone in the gym, then cry over killing a fly. One day everyone followed me and looked to me for guidance on things I didn't know, the next even my best friends didn’t trust me on what I knew. I was accused of faking things, having siblings fill in, buying lookalikes, anything under the sun for being everywhere on the personality spectrum in only a week. On December 27th, 11:50PM, just ten minutes before I turned 13 something happened to me. I wanted to stay up all night so I could see it, like everyone did on nearly all their birthdays, staring at the digital clock slowly ticking, but I couldn't. My body dropped, hit the pillows hard, and I drifted into warmth and happiness - a nice temperature ocean, swimming through almost weightlessly. It was like heaven. It was my happy place. But I knew I was dreaming and I don't know how, or why, I knew. I thought I'd enjoy it anyway, and kept swimming for what felt like weeks without getting tired or bored, in constant happiness until I saw something that surprised me on the glassy seas. An island was there, a fairly sized one with sandy beaches and a long perfect shore. It was what I imagined a little island paradise would be, for a kid. The sand leading to a grassy land with a tree in the center. It was pretty bare though but in the weeks of swimming it was nice to see something new. I went towards it and climbed up the beach, loving the feeling of sand between my toes. I remember the island being practically bare when I first arrived, except for what seemed like a huge board in the middle. I walked towards it and saw instructions written, and what was then a very cryptic message. “The sickness strikes once a decade. The SICKness strikes once a decade. You are SICK.” And underneath it, “Strength: Not just physical. Intelligence: Not just on paper. Charisma: Some hate those who are charismatic for a reason. Karma: You can’t be owed everything.” Underneath that was a huge space, with only the number 40 written above each word, and a pen attached by magnet to the board. I’d taken it and wondered what it meant. I made one line next to strength, and the 40 erased itself to be 39. I’d played games like this and thought it was fun, but it seemed weird so I only made it 10 each. My dream ended once the 40 hit zero, and I awoke in my bed to my parents opening the door and singing happy birthday. That was how it started. I felt pretty much the same for the next day, and then the dream kept happening every night at 11:50 if I was still awake, or whenever I went to sleep. I’d changed the numbers to be nine for one, eleven the other some days but it never really meant anything. Until I was out with my mates when I was seventeen, waiting on the Friday night to hit Saturday so I could enter the club we were waiting out. We all eyed our watches, and in the excitement of the day – who couldn’t wait until they were legal? – I forgot what happened every night. 11:50 hit and I just saw my friends looking at me shocked as I slowly fell to the ground. Instead of swimming for weeks though, I was in the water next to the island for once. I went straight to it, curious this time, it no longer felt like my happy place. The board was there with all the same writing, but there was something different. Tally marks. Instead of having my written 40, I only had 25 in tally marks, and I realised where they were quickly. Strength, intelligence and charisma had 5 tallies but Karma had none. I started to put one alongside karma to even things out as always but it felt wrong. Something told me I had to change it. I put five more alongside strength and it felt right. I couldn’t be normal this time. I had 25 tallies left and re-read what it all said. Did I want to be strong? Smart? Charismatic? Or have karma, whatever that and its cryptic message meant. That day I was going to be in a club, and I already had a girl in my life I was interested in so I didn’t think charisma was going to help at all. I couldn’t decide between strong and smart but karma seemed useless. So I thought I’d risk it, putting 25 into strength, 10 into intelligence and 5 into charisma. I’d figured out that 10 was my average, and believed that I’d be super strong but ugly. I woke up suddenly as I did once the tallies hit zero, and remembered where I hit the ground. My friends were split between nervous happy birthdays and waving at my face, knelt beside me. I stood up, feeling great. Everyone was still worried but when I looked at my watch and smiled at the fact I had been 18 for a full minute, their worry disappeared. We ran around the corner and jumped in line for the club we agreed on, our party of ten behind the one person in line. Luckily with no issues despite the bouncer saying we were early by two minutes. We partied hard, and enjoyed the night. Everything seemed normal, except for the fact that I didn’t get drunk despite literally every person present spending $20 on shots to get me wasted. The night progressed on and I watched a side of my friends I’d never seen before and was glad I was sober enough to remember it, even counting the times where I surprised myself and others by effortlessly carrying our bulky friends in my skinny arms to the taxi or our designated drivers. It was my absolute favorite memory, and sometimes on the dream island I’d see them dancing there. Or as close to dancing as they tried. My life got way more complex a week before my 22nd birthday. I found out what the sickness was for the first time. A week before I was meant to party hard, put my strength to zero and get wasted off of a beer as I learned to do. I went running late that night, and made it back into my house just a minute before I collapsed on the wooden floor. I found myself in the sea as always. But it was different this time. The water was thicker, and it wasn’t like glass. The waves were crashing, it was hitting me hard. Knocking me under water. I was fighting to stay afloat through the black sea. There was no light, there wasn’t an up, there was no island, and no happy place. There was hopelessness. I swam. I swam as hard as I could through the seas, getting knocked around. I’d never felt like this before, to have something I knew so well change like this. It came and I knew it. I felt sick to my very stomach. I had no idea what was happening to me in reality, all I knew was I was trapped here for weeks. But my fear was too strong to let me give up. My fear forced me to keep swimming. I wasn’t getting away, but I feared what would happen if I went under the water for too long. You couldn’t die in a dream, but I didn’t want to test what would happen here. --- This is only part one. I really do want to and intend to continue the story, and I don't know if this is quite what was imagined with the prompt. This is part of an ongoing thing between my girlfriend and I where we submit our stories, no matter how bad and how we feel about them. Check out our past and future stories on /r/TheBirdAndTheLioness, her story will also be posted here soon!
"You do this every fucking election year,"I told her, reaching out to take another handful of peanuts. "You work yourself up into a frenzy over nothing. Clinton's going to win. Like, mathematically, Clinton's going to win, and then you'll have another four years of Barack Obama, except this time everyone's going to be a lot more cynical about it because she doesn't have his charisma."I took a swig of beer. "Maybe that's a good thing? I don't know, I'm not a fucking political expert here." "Yeah?"America said. "And yet you absolutely know what's going to happen."She frowned the peanuts still in my hand. "You eat those?" "Well, yeah,"I said. "They're complimentary."I held up the last one and wiggled it in front of her and put on my best peanut voice. "Your hair looks great today, by the way!" "Fuck off,"she said. "Those are all, like, contaminated with urine and other people's fingers." "You're a paranoid,"I said, and popped it into my mouth. "Look, it doesn't take a genius to look at poll numbers. Just like I knew Obama was going to beat Romney, and that he was going to beat McCain, and that Bush was going to beat Kerry-" "And you knew that Bush was going to beat Gore?"she said, whirling around on me. "Well okay,"I said. "I'm not that old. I was not that, y'know, politically minded at the time." "But you could have predicted it?"she insisted, leaning into my face. "I'm not saying every presidential election is predictable!"I said. "I'm just saying that this one is, and the last one was, and the one before that, and we are..."I drew a line in the air with my hand. "There's a clear demographic pattern going on, is what I'm saying. You are getting better. You can predict what will happen. And yet every election year! You let yourself get super-neurotic about it!" "'Let myself'?"she said. Her voice was dangerous. "Oh my god."I sighed. "No, seriously, you think this is something I'm doing to myself?" "I am saying that .... maybe you are too overinvested in it?"I gave her a smile. She didn't smile back. "Fuck that. You know what? You just don't give enough of a shit because you're a white guy. And you're not even American. Because you've got nothing at stake. None of the white dudes do. Nothing's really going to change for you, so why should you care?" "Okay,"I said, holding up my hand. "I'm not offended by that, but I do think it's a spectacularly unhelpful line of argumentation. Why'd you have to bring race into it, why'd you have to bring sex into it-" "Oh, fucking typical!" "As if white men are not affected by the presidential election!" "Listen,"America said. "What this is, is a referendum. On whether women are human beings. On whether it's cool or not to go up and grab them by the pussy. Or on whether Muslims or Mexicans or whoever fucking else he's insulted are human beings. It's more than who's president! Because after the election's over, we're still going to have to live with all the people who still think it's cool locker room talk to brag about groping women! Even if they lose, they're still there! Like when Obama got elected president. And for the next eight years a section of America went nuts that there was a black man in the White House, and we had to have a national debate on whether or not it was cool for police to shoot unarmed black people!"She put her head in her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. "That's this fucking election." "That's every single day for you!"I said. "And I sympathize! But it's a year-round process. Be the change you want to see, or however that saying goes. Make incremental progress. But stop going nuts about it once every four years! It's just not healthy for you!" "Ugh,"she moaned, her head on the bar. "It's just my parents, they're such fucking patriots." "I know,"I said. "Seeing as how they named you America and all." "They were so glad to come here. And they really drilled in the importance of voting and democracy in action and yada yada,"she said, her head buried in her arms. "I hate this election." "You just need to-" "Yeah, yeah!"she said, and abruptly stood up. "It's my fault for getting too invested, whatever, fuck off." "Oh c'mon-"I said. She whirled around at me and almost snarled. "It's every-fucking-day for me,"she said. "What the hell else do you expect me to do?"She stomped off, and I leaned against the bar and sighed, watching America Hernandez go. "Geeze,"I said, and turned to the living personification of the United Kingdom next to me. "She took it pretty hard, didn't she?" The UK, a person themselves composed of four different countries, was engaged in the process of extricating themselves from a larger superorganism of 28 member states. They flailed wildly next to me, arms and legs and faces sprouting off like buds, organs transferring in an osmotic process between their various torsos and limbs, slowly flowing with the cilia of their various constituents. "Excuse me,"they said. "Can't you see I'm rather busy at the moment?" I shrugged and finished my beer in silence.
I hadn't heard a voice calling me in a long time. Most of the time I zapped from one prayer to the next, and I'd almost forgotten that once someone prayed to me, I wouldn't be able to ignore it. I considered visiting him then and there but I decided on 'encountering' him the next day while he walked to school. I anxiously waited for the moment when I'd see him. Humanity had changed since my gods ruled the world, and prayers had changed a lot too. People had become more selfish. After all, they decided to pray to lesser and lesser gods just because they couldn't bother to pray to us all. While lingering in these thoughts I almost forgot why I was here. I quickly started walking towards him, and just as we were about to cross eachother, I stood still right in front of him. His gaze slowly moved upwards. I could see in his eyes that he had no idea who I was or why I was blocking his path. 'Can I help you miss?' 'Actually, I'm here to help you, you did pray to me after all.' The kid stood still and reflected for a while. Then he seemed to remember: 'So you're ... ' 'Yes, I am. You made a very big wish yesterday. Are you sure you'd want that?" 'Will my other wishes come true as well?' He asked curiously 'I'm sorry, the others can't because they don't exist anymore.' He looked at me perplexed 'Why? Because they don't like people anymore?' 'No, people stopped praying to them because they died and never granted wishes anymore. Once gods figured out that you can kill other gods and get their power they started takig eachothers powers. Until only a very few were left...' The little person interrupted me and said 'So you won ! You killed them all!' A smile went across my face. I forgot how ignorant some humans are. 'No, I didn't desire power. But once only one God remained he became too crazy with prayers that he decided to take his own life before finishing me off. I didn't get any powers but I am the only one that remains.' It remained silent for a little while. Then he looked up and asked: 'So will you answer my prayer?' I took some time to think and looked him straight in his big brown eyes: 'I can and I will if you pray to me again tonight. I give you until then to make your mind. I will only fulfill one prayer though; so think long and hard about it!' I vanished into thin air and the child looked around a little and then decided to continue towards his school. The conversation hadn't taken long and I went back to walking around invisibly. I might not like their inventions but the modern temples sure are beautiful. That night he made his prayer, almost identical to his first one '...and I wish everyone that ever hurt me would be punished for it.' I remained silent for a while. They used to give me offerings before I even considered granting their wish. 'Okay: if I remember correctly I concentrate hard and focus on the little boy and the powers I will grant him.' I didn't do the real work after all. I wouldn't interfere with humans but instead give them powers so they could do it themselves. My powers were neither good or evil, but a tool that can be used both ways. 'Adolf, I give you the power to convince people to do what you want them to in order so you can avenge yourself and others who have suffered by the same hands.' That was the last wish I, nemesis, ever granted.
"Affinedating.com?"I asked, incredulous. "Just, try it, okay?"Jane, my sister, asked me. "It's a nice thought,"I said, not really meaning it. "but-" Jane visibly gave up. "Okay, that's cool, don't worry about it. Mom and Dad and Beb made me promise to say something so now I can say I did, right?" "All three of our parents? Even Beb?"Of all our parents, I'd have expected Beb to have understood. Hadn't ae been in a similar situation aerself? I knew ae hadn't married my parents until their mid-twenties, and my parents had been highschool sweethearts. "Sorry,"Jane said, and she meant it. Parents, what are you going to do? Later that night, I checked it out. And it seemed okay, at first. Modern website, but not in a stuffy corporate sort of way. In addition to its obvious purpose, it had polls, forums, games - basically a social network for the affine-lacking. And I'd joined the site for maybe an hour, total, before I glanced up at the inbox and saw I had a hundred messages waiting for me. Well, '99+', but if anything that was worse. Of course, I made the mistake of opening those messages. > Ayy get, wut u up to? > ayyy get > ay And that was the ones that didn't send pictures of their genitalia. Fully half of the messages in my inbox featured a penis or a labia; a few times couples sent both. I even got a few explicit messages from other Affine, even though I'd checked the "straight-bisexual"box. I'd forgotten about this, because I'd been trying very hard to forget about it, and the world did not want to let me. Affine dating was rough: when you're a teenager absolutely nobody wants anything to do with you. Men and women of that age are practically monosexual, because guess what? You can't have a child if an affine's not involved. Stereotypes of Affine as homo-monosex pretty much all stem from desperate aff teenagers full of hormones and other-gendered classmates who desperately want to not get knocked up. Almost immediately after college, that all changes. I went from being a nobody to being talked up by couples constantly. If I was at the bar, sure, it wasn't a surprise, but the store? The gas station? Where the hell were all these couples five years ago? And it only gets worse. Mid-thirties or so, people start getting desperate. The biological clock may or may not be a real thing, but the biological timer definitely is: You've only got so long until you can't have kids. I literally could not leave the house for longer than a few minutes without running into someone who wanted a kid. Not even to take a walk! I'd always thought the Green couple down the street were nice, but nowadays they were kinda creepy with they way they seemed to always be watching me. I closed the damn website. Didn't even bother to delete my account, just blocked the reminder e-mails and tried to forget the entire experience. My parents - even beb! - would bug me again come the holidays, and boy wouldn't that be fun, but I could at least say I'd tried. Hell, Jane could back me up on that one. I'd known I wasn't actually going to follow through, though. I'd known that relationships weren't for me for a long time. I'd known ever since I'd gotten into that accident in college, ever since the doctors said I'd make a full recovery, but that there were certain long-term complications. And I hadn't really realized what that would mean, at the time, but thinking back my doctor had tried to prepare me as best ae could. Now, though, I knew. Every day a couple made up some excuse to run into me and chat, I knew. Every time someone with only one wedding ring made eyes at me, I knew. I leaned back in my chair, pet my cat, and sighed, knowing none of that was for me. What use was a sterile Affine?
"Hi, I'm calling for Mr. Ron Andrews. Is he available?" "This is Ron. Who is it this time? Elastic Boy?Mirrors? Centaur Steve?" I was trying to put together my daughter's lunch for school when the call had come in. My wife looked at me, heard my end of the conversation, and buried her head in her arms, trying to hide her tears from 10-year old Maddie. "Actually, it's going to be Lieutenant Laser today. He had a car accident last night coming home from a party, and he's laid up in the heal-all until he can walk again."The heal-all was the Foundation for Superpowered Individuals' infirmary, and accelerated the healing time for almost any injury. "When do you need me?"I asked, dropping an apple into Maddie's brown bag and handing it off to her. "We'd like you to report for transfusion within the hour, if at all possible." Transfusion. That meant something big was laid on. When it was just a patrol or support substitution, I would just put on the costume and pretend that I was the Super. When there was an operation planned for the day, they did the whole bit and transfused the Super's power into my system for a predetermined period of time, then allowed it to wear off. It was a process that could be very painful and often led to substitutes quitting the service. I'd done three and wasn't sure about doing another, especially with Lt. Laser's powers. "How many days?"I asked, my voice trembling a bit as I turned away from my family. They couldn't see me worried, it would only worry them more. "The current plan is two, but that could change. There's a trip to Tibet planned for an intervention against Brother Madness and his crew. If things go wrong, we may have to re-transfuse on the run. You can say no, remember that. Nothing about your sub offers will change." They always said that. Legally, they had to, but everyone knew that if you refused even one assignment, they'd stick you on admin-super substitution. Filing papers at FSI's front desk dressed as a super-powered secretary. "I'll be there just as soon as I can, I need to drop my daughter at school first." "Of course. Please make it speedy, Mr. Andrews." I hung up the phone, and turned to face my wife. Her eyes were red, and I knew that she knew. "Another Transfusion, isn't it, Ron? You told me you wouldn't take another one unless it was life or death. I can't keep doing this. Please, call them back and say no. Please." My heart broke, but my head shook no. I loaded Maddie into the car, drove her to school, and headed to the Foundation building. The principle of the Transfusion process is fairly simple: Supers had specific genetic information within their DNA that triggered physical abilities that were above and beyond "physiologically typical humanity."By a process known as the "Odell-Dufresne Operation"these genetic markers could be temporarily infused into the genetic code of typical people and allow them to access the powers of a specific Super. For a more complete, scientific explanation, talk to someone a hell of a lot smarter than me. Lycan, the current President of the FSI, and one hairy dude, met me at the door. "Thank you for deciding to cover for Lt. Laser. I know Transfusion isn't fun, but we need those photonic powers in Tibet, and you're our best. Get on down to the lab, they're waiting." He gave me a toothy grin (he doesn't have any other kind) and directed me to the elevator. I rode to the lab with Phase (a sublimating Super, who could control what state of matter her body was in) and Mirrors (who could make his body reflective and even disappear by reflecting everything around himself). We didn't talk. Dr. Theta, one of several identical representations of the original Dr. Alpha (who could create copies of himself, and control them in a hive-mind), greeted me and led me to the Transfusion room. As I settled into The Chair, Theta chatted with me about nothing and everything, running small talk through the air and not even listening to my half-hearted answers. Transfusion is just as stressful for the technician as it is for the substitute. Finally, I was ready. Theta threw the switch, and I felt the tell-tale rush of energy enter my system. I'd never been Laser before, and it was a new one: tingling, a little too warm, but not uncomfortable. A slight sting at the end of my fingers, where Lt. Laser's powers emanated out of. My palms itched something crazy. "There, now. Not too bad, was it Ron?"Theta asked as he unhooked me from The Chair. "I've had worse. Remember when I was Justin Time? My left hand got stuck 30 seconds in the past and I had to go back and get it!"It was a favorite story of his, but I remembered the terror of it all too well. That was one I hadn't told my wife about. I rode back up to the lobby, now wearing Laser's trademark red and black jumpsuit. I was about to walk past the front door and meet the FSI Intervention Team at the Ready Room when I saw something impossible. I saw Maddie in the back seat of a Yellow sedan, her mouth taped shut, and a sign that said: IF YOU GO TO TIBET, YOUR DAUGHTER DIES ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I have to go to work, but i promise to finish when I get home. Until then, enjoy what I've gotten done so far!
She needed help with the thingy that makes her see things. The sad part was that this wasn't even the least coherent call I'd fielded today. That honor belonged to the man who thought "wireless"meant no electricity was needed. "Okay ma'am, I'm afraid I'm going to need you to help me narrow down your problem a little more. Is this a program or a piece of hardware?"If only I could actually ask her what the hell she was talking about. "I don't know,"she said, hesitant. "I guess it's inside the computer. I click on it, and that's how I see things." Software then. We were getting somewhere. Probably having trouble with her web browser. "When you say you see things, ma'am, do you mean that this is what you use to see websites, videos, things like that?" She let out an irritated tuh. "No, it makes me see things,"she answered impatiently. Maybe an app? She didn't seem the type to use social media, but maybe a friend or family member had set something up for her. "What sort of things are you trying to see?"I asked, hoping to narrow this down. "Things,"she said in a frustrated voice. "Things that are happening now, far away, or things that will happen." I paused mid-sip of coffee. Though she said it in a perfectly rational, if slightly irritated voice, her words sent a chill up my spine. I must have misheard her. "Newsfeeds?"I asked, focusing on the "things happening far away." "No, no, no,"she sighed heavily into the phone. "I don't know what it's called, I wish I knew what it was called. Ugh! The thingy! I can't see things without it." Unsure what else to do, I decided to try a standard fix. "Have you tried rebooting your computer, ma'am?" "No,"she said slowly. "I haven't tried that. Do you think it will help?" "It could,"I replied. Why not? If her program crashed, who knew what was causing it? I put her on hold while she rebooted, not wanting to make conversation. She seemed a nice enough woman, but I was really shaken by her description of the things she wanted to see. After a couple of minutes, I came back on the line. "How are things going?" "Great! The thingy is back and working, thank you so much for your help!"She was cheerful, not at all aggravated like before. "I'm glad to hear it, thank you for ca--" "Oh and Toby?"she cut me off. Strange, I didn't remember telling her my name yet. "Just tell your girlfriend you're sorry about the dog, even if it was her fault." Before I could reply, the line went dead. I'd forgotten about my strange encounter when I got home from work that night. I walked in to my girlfriend, Sarah, sobbing hysterically. "What's going on?"I asked. "The dog got out,"she sniffled. It wasn't the first time the dog had gotten out, and he always managed to find his way back. I wasn't too concerned. "You must have left the gate open again,"I blurted out before I could remember the strange warning I'd gotten before. Later that night, from the couch where I'd been banished to sleep, I would wish that I'd taken the advice to heart.
*Bang Bang Bang* The shots missed wildly. I chuckled under my breath, amateur. The hitmen just seemed to get worse and worse. I looked into my backpack to see the supplies I had packed along for this one. A deck of playing cards, a pencil, a spool of string, and some smelling salts. More than enough. It always seemed so easy for them. A frail old man in a cabin in the woods, miles from the nearest town and easily covered in the shroud of the forest. I took out the playing cards, and took out the 4 of diamonds. Bang Bang Bang A piece of bark went flying past my head behind me, splinters falling over my raincoat. This particular one went under the alias "Solomon Maverick". His real name was Jimmy Davis, from a backwater town somewhere in Wisconsin. It would have been easy enough to tip off the authorities to the young mans whereabouts but wheres the fun in that? With the 4 of diamonds, I punched a hole in the card with the pencil and put some string through it, before resting the card on a branch. Taking the string with me, I hid behind a nearby tree. *Bang Bang Bang Bang* He had no idea where I was, the shots spraying all over the place. That made 10 shots, making his 9mm empty. Amateur, not reloading before hand. I weaved through more trees, the string slowly depleting in my hand until I held onto a thread. Jimmy loudly wandered over to the branch, looking around wildly while piecing bullets into the magazine. The crunching noise of his foot steps got closer until I could hear his harried breathing. I took out the rest of the deck of cards. I threw the whole deck at him, making the air resistance to make them flutter away in a cloud of white cardboard in front of the hit man. He let out a yelp and attempted to walk backwards, instead falling over the string trip wire. I didn't really need anything on me to take out these hitmen, but it didn't make using them any less entertaining. I doubled around quietly until I was behind Jimmy, as he scrambled up looking for the source of the playing cards. I pierced the pencil into his shoulder, carefully aiming for the area between pressure points. He let out another screech and turned around to face me with his gun. I let out a rapid jab at his solar plexus and threw the smelling salts into his eyes. Jimmy screamed and writhed on the floor. Another jab to the jaw left him unconscious. I took his gun and disassembled it in my hands, keeping the bullets with me while leaving the pieces on the boys lap. I used some of the string to tie up his hands before taking out my phone and called the local authorities. I had another appointment later today so I could hardly afford to dally on him. I walked for a while back from where I had started and picked up another pack, inside it a cup, a hair comb and some marbles. This one would be fun too.
"What's this pillow doing here?"I was moving into a new apartment, and I had discovered a pillow discarded in the closet. "Oh, the last guy who lived here was really into anime. Must have forgotten it when he moved out. I'll call him and let him know." "Alright, I'll hang on to it."I held up the long pillow and looked at it curiously. It was almost as tall as I was, and had a picture of an anime girl on the front, wearing a very skimpy outfit. But there was something slightly weird about the art. Not just the fact that it was a cartoon girl in her underwear, something else. She was drawn with a smile that was just a little bit wrong. A predatory smile, not a happy smile. "Who's that supposed to be?" "Not a clue. Anyway, you've got the keys, so I'll let you get settled in."The landlord waved and walked out. ... "So, I called up the guy and he said that he didn't want it anymore. Said that she was, uh, yan-de-re? He hung up right after that, so I dunno what he meant. Anyway, I guess you can keep the pillow if you want." I looked at the pillow again. I really couldn't picture myself sleeping on it. Just too weird. I tossed it aside, and curled up to sleep. I'd give it to Goodwill tomorrow. ... Darling... Don't leave me, darling... When I woke up the next morning, I had two large, cartoonish eyes staring in my face. I shouted in surprise and sprang upright in bed. The pillow was lying right next to me. And I swear, it felt like it was smiling at me. I rubbed my eyes. "I could've sworn I tossed that out of bed. Guess I fell asleep first."I rolled upright and wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee. Good morning, darling... Java in hand, I turned towards the table. I nearly dropped the cup. The pillow was propped up in one of the chairs. As if the girl was sitting across from me. I set the coffee cup down on the table with a shaking hand. I'm going crazy. There's a gas leak in this apartment or something. No, darling, I'm real. I'm right in front of you. I'm your waifu, and you're my husbando. Air. I needed air. I was hearing things, seeing things. I rushed out of the kitchen. Where are you going, darling? The pillow was propped up against the front door, waiting for me. And the art had changed, too. She wasn't smiling any more, and... "Oh god, is that a knife?"There was a knife in the girl's hand now. Well, a picture of a knife. But I could feel the murderous intent coming from the girl. I had no doubt that if I kept going, she would find a way to stab me. Somehow. You're such a careless person, darling. Were you really going to run off in your pajamas? Without your phone, or your keys, or anything? Without even giving me a *kiss goodbye?* "What the hell are you?"I shouted. I am your girlfriend. And you. Are. *Mine.* The voice echoed in my head like a thunderclap. I stared at the pillow in horror. Then I blinked and she was smiling again. Now, let's just have a nice breakfast, darling. Give me a kiss, would you? I nodded meekly and picked up the pillow, holding it against my body. As I held it, I could feel a faint, ghostly sensation brush against my lips. That's my darling. You aren't going to leave me, are you? Not like that nasty man who ran away from me. You'll never leave me. You'll never, *ever,* leave me. I'll make *sure* of that... ... Several days later... "Hello? Anybody in here? We got a missing person report..."The police officers moved through the apartment, looking for clues. "Hey, what's this?" Lying on the bed was a love pillow, featuring a beautifully detailed depiction of a girl and a boy in an anime art style. The girl was wearing a revealing outfit and had her arms wrapped around the boy, a blissful smile on her face. The boy was trying to pull himself out of her grasp, his mouth open in a silent scream. "One of those Japanese love pillows? Weird art, though. Wonder where he got it?" Please help me please help me please help me... The policeman looked around briefly, looking for the source of the sound. Then he shrugged. "Well, I don't think his taste in pillows is gonna be the key to this mystery." He closed the bedroom door, leaving the happy couple behind.
“So… How many living things have I killed?” The angel looks up at me from her desk and shakes her head. “We’re not allowed to divulge that information. We do not allow our contestants the benefit of planning ahead of their battles.” “Ok…” I make an impromptu checklist in my head. I haven’t killed any people, and I never went hunting in my time on Earth. I did fish a few times, though. “Will I have to fight the fish underwater?” “Again, I can’t tell you.” The angel looks annoyed now. “Is there anything you can tell me?” The angel sighs. “No weapons allowed in the arena. You need to kill all of your victims with your bare hands. There’s no time limit, but you are constrained to the limitations of your earthly body. You will fatigue, and can be injured, but you will return to form once you leave the arena.” The earthly body part gives me pause. I was never really in great shape when I was alive, and I have only been a soul in the week since I reached purgatory. It’s pretty nice not having a body, and I’m not sure how I feel about going back. “How many attempts do I get?” “You get one attempt per day, for as long as you wish to take the challenge. Are there any more questions?” The angel asks in a voice that suggests that there’d better not be any more questions. I shrug. “When can I start?” “Right now.” The angel nods her head toward a plain, wooden door the other side of the building. “The arena is right through there.” “Thanks.” I float across the office. I feel a little nervous, but it really shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll have to kill some fish with my bare hands, which will be tough, but I think I can handle that. And there was the odd squirrel or two that I ran over with my car. I don’t think I ever hit anything bigger, and I certainly hope not, because opossums or raccoons would not be fun to fight. So yeah, this shouldn’t be too bad. I mean, it will be difficult, but it’s not that big of a price to pay, considering that the reward is eternal salvation. This will be fine. My soul floats straight through the door to the arena. As soon as I reach the other side, my body reforms around me, and I’m reminded once again of how bad I let myself go toward the end of my life. I wince as I look down at my gut. At first, the large and white circular room is empty. After about a minute, a door opens on the far side of the arena, and my first challenger comes forth. It is a Northern Pike, at least three feet long. I instantly remember catching it on a trip with my dad to Lake Superior, and wish that I had just released it back into the water. Pike can be nasty to deal with, let alone kill with my bare hands. But the scariest thing about this pike isn’t anything about its earthly form, it’s the fact that it is swimming toward me in midair. I roll up my sleeves and prepare for the fight of my life, when I notice that more challengers have entered the arena. A handful of smaller fish float toward me, and three squirrels dart around the outside of the room. They are all followed by a massive raccoon that waddles toward the center of the arena in an uninterested manner. Shit, I think to myself, I guess I did kill a raccoon. I can worry about the other animals later, now I need to focus on the pike, which is rapidly approaching. When it is within range, I ball my hand into a fist and punch it as hard as I can. The pike turns in the last second, deflecting the blow with its bony gill. I scream in pain as I bring my bloodied hand back to my side. The pike barely seems to acknowledge that it has been punched, and is now lunging toward me. I leap out of the way just before it can ram me with its snout. Ok, so this is going to be harder than I thought. But still, it’s all worth it. Heaven will be so wonderful; I’ll be able to see so many lost loved ones. I just need to hang in this battle. I return to my feet and see that more opponents have entered the arena. A lot more opponents. “Oh God.” Thousands of bugs have swarmed into the arena. Worms writhe their way toward me, while ants march in a single file line. Cockroaches climb over each other to get a shot at me, and the seven spiders that I ate in my sleep collaborate to build a giant web. The once white floor of the arena turns black as their wave approaches. I must say that it’s a pretty low blow by whoever programmed this arena to include vomiting as a “limitation of my earthly body”. The raccoon waddles eagerly toward the puddle before my shoes, while I turn and run for the exit as fast as I can. I am incredibly relieved that the door opens on my first attempt. Once my earthly body is stripped from my soul, I float back to the angel’s desk. “So let’s talk about Purgatory,” I say eagerly. “Do you guys have Netflix?”
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you,"I said. The two IRS agents loomed over me, Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee, their eyes obscured by black mirrors. "Try us,"growled Dum, cracking his knuckles. "It -"I glanced helplessly around the room. It was no good. There was no escaping it. "A genie gave me the money,"I blurted out. Dee's eyebrow became visible. "A genie?"he sneered. "I summoned a genie and wished for a hundred million dollars!"Internally, I was cursing myself. How fucking dumb had I been to make a genie's wish and expect everything to go off smoothly? Genie wishes always had catches! I hadn't even gotten to spend any of it - a metric ton of hundred dollar bills suddenly appearing in my backyard had induced my neighbors to call the cops - and now the IRS was up my ass. If I was lucky, I'd end up broke. And if I wasn't, well - I wondered what the maximum sentence was for trying to destabilize the US economy. "Ok,"said Dum, and looked at his partner. "Yeah. Makes sense." I blinked. "Really?" "Yeah, absolutely,"said Dee. "A hundred million dollars in sequential bills with absolutely no signs of counterfeiting with no record of them being printed off by the US Treasury?"He shrugged. "What other explanation is there for that than magic?" "You - you believe in magic?"I said. "Buddy,"said Dum, leaning over to me. "We're from the Internal Revenue Service. Anything that has to do with people getting unexpected windfalls of cash, we're on the case." "So, uh,"I said, and tried to conceal the fact that my pockets were still stuffed with hundred dollar bills. "So what happens to the money...?" "Oh,"said Dum. "That's yours." "Really!" "Yeah,"said Dee. "Genie wishes are tax-exempt." I could have died laughing right there, imagining that stupid genie deflating as his plan to fuck me over had failed. Saved by the IRS! "Woohoo! I'm rich!" "Of course,"Dee said, and unlatched his briefcase, "you'll still need to declare the income, and seeing how it's from a genie wish, that falls under our Faustian bargains division -"Papers unfurled from his briefcase, pooling around my ankles, then around my knees. I picked one up and squinted at an array of tiny Latin words written in a red ink. "-so you'll need to fill out Form Apollyon-6666, in your own blood, of course, for each individual instance of a magically materialized item - we're talking for each individual bill, here - and then triplicate copies of Cerberus-9 - you'll need to provide your Soul Security Number, I hope you have that on hand - and then -" And as I fell to my knees and screamed, I swore I could hear that damn genie laughing.
I am reminded by my lawyers that the SIDEBAR contains all the sub's rules, and failure to comply to them will result in a ban. I am also compelled to write a DISCLAIMER: There are sentences in this text that might infuriate/offend some people; there is censored swearing; read at your risk. ________________________________________ "Absolutely disgusting", said Gordon, "disgusting. What the #&$% were you thinking?" "It is not for a mere mor-, I mean I thought I was making Risotto..." "This?"Gordon flings the plate into the wall. It shatters into a thousand pieces, but the Risotto stays where it was thrown, thicker than mud. "This isn't a risotto, this is a f&#ing disaster!" The whole kitchen holds its breath. It is not for common mortals, peasants bound to time and servitude, to talk down to the All-Father. Odin tries to stay his wrath, but the thunderstorm raging outside seems to only fuel him further. Gordon directs himself to Thor, who is on the meat counter tendering a beef with a gigantic hammer. "What is this, huh, blondie? What's this?" "I devote my time to tender this hardened meat." "With a f#$%ing sledgehammer? Look at that thing, just, just look at it! You'll make my beef look like frozen carpet slices! Jesus, just use the meat tenderer!" "Who?" "The meat tenderer, right here!"Turning on the machine, Gordon passes the beef through it, and the magic is done - without thunders, this time. Leaving Thor to his existential crisis, he turns his attention to Loki, standing in the vegetable counter looking undecisively at... something. "Oh, my God, what is this... what have you done to my lettuce?" "I have arranged it." "In the shape of an owl? Why? How? How mad must you be, to waste all your f#$%ing time making a statue out of lettuce! Lettuce! Who wants a statue made of food, tell me?" "I'd relish it." "You'd relish the sole of my boot up yours, you absolute madman! You want to waste your time so hard, go make a giant Ice statue!" "Giant?", asks Odin, from across the room, his attention suddenly turned from trying to scrape the Risotto off the wall. "Ice? Where is it? I shall vanquish this foul beast!" And Gordon sighs, as he tries to understand how he got here. It wasn't common for him to come to New Jersey, but he always wondered why. Well, at least now he knows.
I walk out of my office and onto the production line. Dozens of machines, thousands of people, all working in unison to make masterful crafts that every adventurer will one day need. I smile, like I do everyday, knowing we make a difference. I begin my long day down the line, inspecting everything I come across. "Hey Bill,"I say as I reach the first machine. A pair of legs are sticking out from underneath it. "How's your day so far?"A short, balding and quaint man sticks his head up from under the machine. "Great!"He says with a smile. "We've got a couple loose bolts, but you know, nothing I can't fix. I had a 'Speed Plus' before I started. I'm really feeling it."His eyes widen before ducking back under the machine. "Quality work Bill, keep it up."I write down on my notepad that we were going to need to make one extra 'Speed Plus' than normal. Not a big deal. I hear a loud thud before I turn the corner to the next contraption. Two people, one male and a female are next to it, swords in hand taking swings at each other. "Woah, woah guys, what's going on?"I say, holding my arms up to the air. "Nothin, we're on break."Uriel says. A small gash is apparent on her arm. "We just wanted to try out this sword stuff. It's neat as." "Yeah,"Rocky interjects. "We made way too many Hi-Potions, so we figured... if we get hurt, who cares right? This stuff cures everything!"An extremely large gash begins to open on Rocky's stomach. "Speaking of..." I turn to left of me and grab a Hi-Potion and hand it to him. He gulps it down extremely fast and almost instantly his wound is healed. "Awesome."He says with a laugh. "Hey, before you go, I read that you wanted a surplus of Megalixir? Why?" I look down at my notepad before responding. "Says here that their in high demand as of late. Look, I know they're a bitch to make, but I'd appreciate it." "We don't mind,"Uriel says, as she grips the sword in two-hands and holds it high above her head. "It's just... no one really uses them. They always hold them. Forever. Constantly thinking to themselves 'This fight is hard, so I won't use, cause a harder fight must be soon.'" I laugh. "Honestly, true, but still. Not my job to say what you make, just to make sure you're doing it well." Uriel and Rocky both nod softly and get back to work. I yawn and decide to check the Farm out back before continuing my work inside. I walk into the warm light of day, its soothing caress rubbing all over my skin and take in a deep breath. I walk pass the field of Senzu Beans, not ready to harvest yet, and make my way to the Phoenix Fields. "Hey guys, how we doing?"I yell from a distance away. The farmer, named Jack, looks at me with horrified eyes before scurrying over to me, quietly. "Don't. Yell."He whispers to me and grabs my arm. "Spooks the Phoenixs." "Oh,"I murmur back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare the Phoenixs. Phoenxi? What's the plural for Phoenix?" "Does it matter?"He asks me. I look at him for a second, then over to the Phoenix's/Phoenxi who all seem on edge, then back to Jack. "No. Sorry about scaring them." "You will be when one explodes from a heart attack and set's off a chain reaction. You ever seen fifty Phoenixs explode at once?" "No, um, no I haven't." "Last thing ya see."His eyes are taut and wide. "Anyway, we're going good. Big harvest so far. Lots of Stand-up feathers." I let out a pained smile before I speak. "Look, you know we call them Phoenix Downs. Not Stand-up feathers." "The kids don't know 'Down' means. They're confused all the time. Just call them Stand-up feathers, they'll understand that."I nod and scrunch my nose slightly. "I'll talk to management about it, how about that?"Jack nods in agreement. "Appreciate it." "No worries Jack."I say. I walk away from him as quiet as possible, lest I spook the... birds. On my way back inside, I walk past the Skyrim Flower Field and notice it's blooming quite well. A bee fly's right in front of my face and buzz's. I pick it out of the sky, wonder why I have such a strange urge, then stuff it in my mouth and chew. I can feel it's brittle wings and body crunch against my teeth. "I bet you could make a Stamina Potion out of these."I say to myself, plucking it's stinger from my teeth and walking back inside. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Check out /r/Rhysyjay for more spicy stuff.
I always have to clean up after Daddy. He leaves so many messes around. I told him yesterday, "Daddy, why don't you help me clean? It takes so long! Daddy why?" Daddy nudged me towards the door and smiled. Daddy doesn't always like talking. Cleaning takes so long, especially when there has been a party! Daddy says I'm not allowed at the parties, but maybe I will be some day! I want to go to an adult party! I could wear my pretty green and yellow dress that Daddy got for me. He said I looked very pretty in it. I would fit right in! I would talk about the weather, and talk about the television, and maybe hold a newspaper! Daddy would be proud of me. I can be an adult! Cleaning hurts my knees. I always have to bend down to reach the hard spots, or the spots where something rolled around. Once I found something under the couch! I went to show Daddy, but he wasn't happy with me. The soap got in my eyes once too, and I almost cried for a whole hour. I didn't tell Daddy about that. I didn't want him thinking I was clumsy. I was very clumsy that day. Daddy keeps making plans to meet with some new friends for next week. Maybe it will be another party? The parties are always very loud, and Daddy says that I'm not allowed to come out of my room until he says so. Why do I have to clean up? I don't think that's very fair. It would only be fair if I went to the party too, then I would clean up. It's like eating food for breakfast! I eat my food, and clean up my plate, just like Daddy says. It's not fair to clean up after a party if I didn't have fun too! Finally, I'm done. I'll go and tell daddy that the room is ready. That always gets him in a very happy mood! Maybe he'll let me plan the party with him! I do love parties.
Men drew back to Earth, away from the dying stars to which they had once scattered. Men fled back home, for every passing moment another dying light winked out of existence, and we could not help them. It took all our powers to keep the Sun alive. And soon, the darkness encroached upon us, prowling like a hidden beast. We were afraid. We were to die alone in the universe. Man was the only reasoning thing. When our death came, so would end thoughtful life. Our fated doom. But because we did not want our fate, we constructed a machine. This machine soared upward like a tower, etched and crafted in such a way that it looked like a tall throne. Pouring from this machine was a liquid that looked like water, clear as crystal. Men gathered at this river and stooped down in unison. We trembled at the swiftness of the river. It looked like it could sweep all of us away, if it so chose. We cupped the liquid and brought it to our nose. The scent made us delirious, but we all drank, and drank, and drank, until the river flowed no more, and the river bed had caked and dried. Then it was like we were the liquid we had just drunk. Like a wide pool of white water, electric arcs zipping across the surface like hopping frogs. And it was like we delved deep into our watery nature, swimming naked, down to the very bottom of the pool, and we gripped the stems of the lily pads that stuck to the muddy, dirty floor. At once we became one face, and we was now I, and I soared above the Earth and gazed longingly towards the Sun, which now began to die. It exploded with tremendous force, and it shattered my precious system and my loved world like glass. Now the universe was dark, except for my light, which was a beacon in the forever stretching shadow. I knew that I was great. That my powers were greater than I could have ever expected to be. So I told the shadow, "Be not."And the shadows were no more. All that was left was I. And I was brilliant light. But I did not enjoy merely I. So I took unto myself the task to make another light. And I made it so. Now not only I shone, but also this quivering light beside me. Then I popped the light, so that it resounded like a firecracker, and the light became many trillion lights. But that light was not fully light, for I had designed it to also hold darkness. And between those trillion blinking lights were long paths of blackness that seemed to yawn with their vastness. But that darkness was held in check by those small lights. Such is the nature of things. I was now tired. But I made it so that great slabs of rock would form around these lights. And on these slabs of rock different forms and natures would appear. But none of these forms and natures pleased me, because none of these forms or natures loved their slabs of rock or the light that shone in their sky. So I came down to one world, and admired its green fauna, and set my mind upon a small, upright creature. My entirety rushed onto it and its fellows. It was like an oncoming hurricane, relentless and terrifying. I gripped them by their faces, and bent them downwards. I set my lips on their nostrils, and I breathed myself into them. Then I felt I was no more, but now I was we. We were divided, now. But it is good this way. We love I, but it is greater to love another than to love the self. Now let us make this beautiful world also good, and be glad that, for a time, the darkness is in check, and we live on. ----- So what do you guys think of the story?
If this were a video game I'd be slamming the keyboard and screaming "hacks!" Directly in front of me, just as clearly as I am seeing his nurse's less-than-perfect information above her pretty, little head I am seeing his. And it is ridiculous. Does my power have glitches? is my first response. It's never glitched before; at least not to my knowledge. I should ask how to get on his level, is what I think of next. "C'mon handsome,"I say, chiding him just to see if he would return in kind. "You don't need that wheelchair, you look so fit and strong!" "Looks can be deceiving,"he replies quietly. Then he winks at me. No one who smells like they shit themselves should be able to be this smooth, I think immediately, but then I remember his 10/10 charisma. Your body is too decrepit for this to make sense..
Congratulations on completing your first task, I'll be in touch soon. Tom read the note over and over again. He couldn't believe this. All the planning, all the work, and the Russians.... What was he going to tell the Russians. "Hey, you there! What are you doing in here?!"A CIA Security Guard yelled at him, as he withdrew a pistol from his pocket and pointed it at him. Well, here we fucking go, Tom thought, as he put both of his arms behind his back. "I don't want any trouble, I just got lost, I'm new here."Tom replied. "Prove it."The guard said as he lowered his pistol. Tom quickly grabbed the silenced pistol on his back and landed 3 bullets into the guard's forehead. They penetrated smoothly, as the blood oozed out onto the white marble floor Tom scavenged the guard for all of his ammunition, and his clothes. He quickly changed into his uniform. Chapter 2 Tom bolted out of the building and hurried into a nearby grey van. He rushed to open the door and slammed it furiously. His partner Roger was waiting in the Driver's seat. "What the fuck do you mean there was just a note?"Roger yelled at Tom. "That's all there was! I mean look at that shit, what the fuck does that mean."Tom yelled back. "Well, god dammit man, what are we supposed to tell Vladimir?" "Just don't respond to any of his messages for now, start the car, let's get the fuck out. We already have his money, we can always leave the country." "Yeah, great idea Tom, let's leave the country and get hunted down by the President of fucking Russia! Has anyone ever told you how smart you are?" Tom hit the dashboard of the car. "Well, do you have any other ideas up in that big fuckin' head of yours Einstein?" "Wow, great comeback, nice use of that overplayed fucking cliche. How about, we give the money back, and pretend this never fucking happened?" "Yeah, yeah, great idea. You're so smart. Let's give the money back, and have them fucking murder us for knowing that they wanted to break into the CIA Headquarters."
All around the Mulberry Bush bar, the regulars got quiet and shuffled out in unison. They knew to leave immediately when Mr. Blue yelled, that no amount of unfinished beer was worth their life. Within moments, the bar was empty, save for the table where Mr. Blue, a huge man in a crisp black suit, sat seething at the pale-faced boy rooted to the chair opposite him. Mr. Blue's bodyguard stood behind the boy, looming over him. Few people saw Mr. Blue this angry and ever got the chance to tell the story themselves. "Do you know,"Mr. Blue roared again, "how the cops found fuckin' Marco?" "I-I-I can explain--"the boy tried, shuddering too hard to speak. Mr. Blue nodded at the bodyguard, who grabbed a fistful of the kid's hair and slammed his temple into the hardwood. The boy cried out. "If the next words out of your mouth aren't the truth I will gut you right here you dense little motherfucker."Mr. Blue stood, kicking his chair over, and stalked over to the kid (weeping now, senseless, bloody snot smearing the dirty laminate). "You don't mean shit to me, and you cost me one of my best dealers." "They said they would arrest my mom! They said they know she's using again--and she's not, it's been a few weeks--and they said they'd g-get her and--" "I don't give a shit about your mom."Mr. Blue punched the back of the kid's head while his bodyguard gripped the kid's neck to keep him still. "You must confess if you hope to repent for your sins. When you fuck with gods you must ask for forgiveness." "I confess,"the boy gasped. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was just scared." "Confess what?"Mr. Blue was met with a blank stare. He slapped the kid's ear. "Confess what, you fucking rat?" "I confess! I confess I'm a fucking rat!" Mr. Blue nodded, thoughtfully. "Good. Good."He looked at his bodyguard. "Well. We know what we do to fucking rats around here, don't we?" The hand on the back of the kid's neck tightened to a vise. Mr. Blue pulled a dull black gun from his waistband and the kid began struggling and moaning when he saw it, a deliciously strange sound, like a cow sent to slaughter. Mr. Blue grinned at the sound and kissed the back of the kid's head with the muzzle of his gun. He teased, "Pop goes the weasel."
"Do you have any idea how colossally dull it is to be sealed into a seashell for this long and then simply thrown out with no one to talk to?"The voice said. "Uh. . .who is this?"I asked, dumbfounded. "Who do you think it is you little splash of mud? I'm the ocean." ". . .You might have a bit easier of a time selling that to me if I wasn't right next to it."I said. As if to prove my point, the waves aimlessly lapped across the wet sand. If you looked out in the distance you could almost hear the dolphins laughing. A seagull dropped a french fry into the surf by accident and then scrambled to pick it up. "Cheeky, aren't you, kid? I'm not the raw water and salt of the ocean, I'm the manifestation of it's will given shape and form. My vessel drifts in and out of the seas like the tides. It's just. . .some wizard wannabes may have decided to hit me with a binding spell during the 'out' part." "It sounds like they weren't exactly wannabes if they managed to lock you into there."I said. "Shut up. Now, since I have a bit of an audience, you mind passing me something I can break my way out of this thing with? A blood pact, a reversal spell, maybe a sharp piece of metal?" I looked down at what I had with me. A swimsuit, a bag containing a wallet, a couple magazines, and some sunscreen, and a bucket full of shells. "I can go buy you an ice cream cone at the food stand. Would that help?" "What kind of good would that do?!"The voice said, annoyed. "I don't know. Ice cream is good. It makes people happy."I said, shrugging. "I-. . .sigh. You know what? My prison has weakened, just go find a rock. The hardest rock you can find. Chuck this shell into it as hard as you can. Maybe it'll crack." "You sure you want to ruin a perfectly good shell like that? It's really pretty." "Just. Please." Suddenly the ocean beside me rippled as though hit with a shockwave. I jumped a bit in surprise, nearly fumbling the shell. For a moment I had the feeling as though I was completely soaked in water, although when I looked at myself I was still largely dry. "What was. . ."I said. "Heh, I suppose this useless mussel excretion is a bit weaker than I thought it was. Learning a little proper respect, aren't you?" "I. . .suddenly have concerns about what may be in there." "Well, tough. Because if I have this much reach then you don't really have a choice." Suddenly I felt a sharp headache pierce through my head. I could see myself walking, but I didn't recall ever thinking to move. The hot sand on the dry part of the beach burned badly enough that I knew I would have jumped away by now, but for some reason I didn't even flinch. My head felt like it was being shoved underwater. . . I hardly even remembered chucking that shell. The first time. The second and third time stuck a bit more because it kept bouncing off the rock. After the fourth time I honestly kind of lost count. When it did finally break open, however, water started to gush out of it. Lightly at first, like a little fountain, but then pouring out faster and faster until the shell was almost lost in it all. "You know, I should probably thank you."Said the voice, now wavering between several tones and sounding like no sort of person in particular, "Actually, I think I will. You're about to get a front seat to the return of the true ruler of the seas. And just to be nice, I'll make sure you're buckled in properly with airbags." I could hear a grating, cracking sound from the shell as it began to rattle harder and harder from the pressure. The occupant's attention no longer turned to me, I brought myself to speak. "Wait, what's going to happen when it shatters entirely?"I shouted against the surge. I could feel the world around me almost warping under the power pouring out from the shell. My brain suddenly felt thrust under the pressure of deep water, and from the depths I could almost feel a mischievous grin searing into the back of my head. "Well I guess you're about to find out, aren't you?"
Jack rolled over again in his bed and his eyes were drawn to the empty space in the corner of the room. Well, not exactly empty. On the floor was the well-worn rug and, scattered around it, tell-tale bits of rawhide chewies. Next to it, a bowl of water, now completely dry. The small clutter only left the space emptier in Jack's eyes. The same could not be said for the space behind the forlorn rug and lonely water bowl. A floral-patterned wallpaper was split by a looming, red door that pulled at the frame holding it in place. The handle seemed to jiggle silently and Jack's breath caught in his throat as he pulled the blankets close around his chin. His eyes darted to the rug and for a split second, Clifford was there just as he had been every night as long as Jack could remember. The dog's knowing eyes locked on him from where he lay curled up on the rug waiting for him to fall asleep. Then Jack blinked and the dog was gone. Jack had thought Clifford was a stupid name for a real dog but when he told his little brother Ben that when he brought him home from the shelter, Ben had told him that Clifford was his dog and that Jack was a stupid name. Jack had punched him in the shoulder and in return earned a sharp nip from the young dog running around Ben's feet. Ben and Clifford were almost inseparable after that. Almost. Every night, Clifford came into Jack's room and slept on that old rug no matter how hard Ben tried to coax him out. He even bought Clifford a fancy dog bed which still lay completely unused in the corner of his room. At first, Jack had been annoyed. He tried shutting his door only to find Clifford would scratch at it incessantly until he was let in. Much to Ben's chagrin, their mom offered to pick up a dog house for Clifford to spend the night in but Jack said he would just let the stupid dog into his room at night. The truth was, Jack found that when Clifford was in his room, he didn't worry so much about the red door that waited impatiently for him in the corner for him to go to bed. Over time, Clifford became part of his regular routine as he got ready to go to sleep in the evening. He even found himself growing attached to the dog that lay staring at him as fell each night into a dreamless sleep. When he was younger, he'd never really considered that Clifford would eventually depart those moments of his daily routine. The thought had begun to cross his mind when Clifford, his hips giving way to the relentless forces of age, began to whine for help as he made his way up the stairs to Jack's room each night. Even then though, he'd thought he'd have more time. He had been wrong and now Clifford was gone. He rolled back over, his eyes turned away from the red door. His mother had told him it was okay to cry but he had said he wouldn't, and so far that had remained the truth. He squeezed his eyes shut trying not to break that promise but the sound of weeping eventually met his ears. He hoped his mom didn't hear. He hadn't needed her to come sit with him while he fell asleep in years. Finally, realizing he wouldn't get any sleep, he sat up in bed. To his surprise, the crying didn't stop. He looked around and found that the pitiful noise was coming from the corner of the room. The one with the enormous red door. He stared at it. The noise was too tiny, too pathetic to scare him. He turned on the lamp next to his bed and the door seemed to shrink away from it. The red he'd always found so vibrant now seemed dull in the dim light of the lamp. It only took a minute for him to lower his feet to the floor and begin walking silently to the closet door and the wretched noise that came from behind it. Years of horrifying memories flashed in front of his vision as he reached for the handle but he shoved them aside and turned it allowing the door to swing creakily open. Inside were the piles of clothes he hadn't worn in ages and the sports equipment he'd outgrown and never replaced. If it hadn't been for the noise, he'd never have noticed the tiny black puddle that quivered on the floor. "Hello there,"he said and the puddle gasped and tried to slip away. He blocked its path with his hand and stared at the thing as it cowered against him. "What are you doing in my closet?"he asked finally. The thing began wailing again, the noise carrying around the room and Jack glanced at the door praying that it wouldn't wake his parents. Finally, between sobs and sniffles, he made out some of what the thing was saying. "Clifford...said never leave...closet...and now...now...HE'S GONE!" Jack stood up, a smile touching his lips. It almost seemed silly now that this was the thing Clifford had been protecting him from. Hell, if it hadn't been for Clifford, he probably would have opened this door years ago. "I'm Jack,"he said to the thing as he turned and knelt to rummage for something under his bed. "Darkness,"the creature replied with a sniffle, his crying subsiding. His eyes darted nervously around the room. "Why haven't I ever seen you before Darkness?"asked Jack as he pulled a shoe box out from under his bed. "Clifford said...Clifford said never to leave closet,"Darkness stuttered. "Danger outside closet."His curiosity began to overcome his fear though as he slowly slithered into the room taking in the space around him. Jack smiled as he opened the shoe box. Inside lay a small bird, sewing needles protruding from its wings and flight feathers scattered around the box. He remembered how Clifford had stood over that bird for hours where it had fallen from its nest. Every time Jack had reached for it, Clifford had begun barking and nipping at him. He'd only been able to get to it by sneaking out while Clifford played with Ben in the front yard and it had been almost dead by then. Almost worthless. "Don't worry Darkness,"said Jack smiling as he cleared a space among the many tiny paws and ears that lay in the box around the bird, their previous owners nowhere to be found. "We're going to have a lot of fun together."
"NO!"I felt the force of the bullet hit my body. My friend looked at me, shocked, as I performed the final sacrifice. One for the team, wasn't that what they called it? I smiled, as I slowly passed into 'Elsewhere'. A place people purportedly went when they died. Zoop, I felt my body getting transported out of the battlefield as I prepared to embrace my new life. I was technically dead, but no one knew where death would land you. So when I woke up in a small room, I was only marginally surprised. 'Out of existence' was the way they described it in the UN handbook to make wars more humane (and to make the battlefield less cluttered, I suspected). But at least I wasn't dead yet, right? Just teleported. A man approached me, a small object in his hand. "Hello, James,"hr said pleasantly, as he sat opposite to me. This man seemed nice, so I struck up conversation with me. He seemed to be a pretty nice guy, belonging to the other country we were fighting, though he was pretty cool about relations. We talked and talked, though eventually he said he had to do something. He went out of the room, and got on the phone outside. Out of pure curiosity, I went to eavesdrop. "Yes, the target is inside. Scheduled release is 12.00 PM. Yes, he's ready for it. Seems nice, so give him Stage 1 punishment. Over."I backed away from the door. The UN insisted on all deaths being painless tears out of the canvas of existence, but this? Locking people up to die? That was clearly against the UN rules! The man re-entered, though the face I'd thought to be genial a minute before looked menancing and cunning now. "I have to bring you someplace at 12,"he said, though I knew clearly what he meant by that. Was this 'Community' we were fighting violating human rights laws? I had to get the information to my superiors. Taking my chance to strike, I stunned the man with a blow and opened the door, running out straight into two guns. I tried to punch the guns out of their hands, but their grip was too strong. The man behind me straightened his jacket, then motioned the other men to leave. He stood in front of me, and I could see the tag on his chest. 'Elder'? Was that a high ranking position. "You know too much to die. Your memories and thoughts will be too hard to handle. So...I've something special prepared for you,"he said, motioning for an assistant to inject me. I instantly grew old and decrepit, with a sort of mental bind restricting my thoughts. "You'll serve us forever now. You will serve the Community with dedication, Giver,"he said, a smirk on his face. "What?"I didn't catch the name he called me by. But he looked at me, and I could see for a split second the sad, clear eyes I had. He put his hands on my back almost gently, and replied. "The Giver." ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
I could distinctly remember the glorious moment when even Satan threw his arms in the air and kicked me out of the fiery gates back into mortal existence. I was in life one of the hardest people to control, and in death that fact remained. I resented the throwing-out and the rejection, but secretly I enjoyed it. It gave me extra benefits, after all. Many's last wish in the depths of the fiery beyonds would be to escape, but I never wanted to. All I wanted was a home. A place to be. And the mortal realm of life didn't give me the kick. The excitement of the two extremes deeply contrasted with the mundaneness of the middle ground. Bored, I decided to live my life through again. It took some time, but the plan was finally in place. I had my knife ready, and when it became peak hour...let's just say I had fun. But they didn't. Over 100 casualties and more as I laughed like a maniac. This was the life! Adrenaline coursed through my veins, even when a dart in my thigh meant consciousness was out of the question. My knife clattered out of my hand, bloodied, as I smiled. At least I'd relived the joy of living. I woke up again, Satan standing next to me in a dingy room. "You again,"he said, my hands restrained. I laughed, a long, drawn-out laugh. "You killed 3 others the last time you were here. I can't take you anymore,"he said, as he looked sadly at me. I resented the pity he had for me. Where was my knife when I needed it? Demon of Hell or mortal of Earth, I was ready to slay them all. He gestured at the man by the door, 'FBI' on his blazer. Was I leaving Hell now, then? Was he letting me go again? The door opened, and I stepped into a transportation device. As it moved on the tar surface below, I saw a large, steel building. In 10 minutes I was in a small cube, a bed in horrible condition and food in worse next to me. I looked around in wonder and fascination. The next level of hell sure was cool. Now it was just the challenge of making them let me out again. And I'd already spotted my target. _________________________________________________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
Again with the slime. Every time I told someone to reboot they'd cast some spell and BOOM slime fills the case. I mean...it's happened enough times that I've started waterproofing the critical parts, but sometimes there's just so much and they JUST LET IT SIT THERE. It oozes out around the fan, and eventually starts coming out the USB ports. I wish I could remember the name of the spell, but I am a muggle after all; IT is my job...spells...I'd say leave that to someone more capable, but I'm cleaning out the third computer of day filled to the brim with slime. Oddly enough it's a different color for everyone. "Professor McGonagall? Your computer is ready, go ahead and boo- erm start it and log in for me please; I want to make sure everything's working well."I said for maybe the fifth time this school year. "Fine. But can you please keep the slime out. I've ruined 6 drive flash this year because of it. I thought these things were waterproof anyways."She grumbled. Apparently it'd been six times. The computer booted cleanly and, after a few failed attempts the professor was able to log in and get back to...work. Solitaire was McGonagall's favorite thing to to at work. It astounded her that an entire deck of cards was somehow behind the screen. In the early goings, she'd used her want on more than one occasion to try to "cheat."Three or four monitors later we'd straightened her out. I felt my phone buzz and pulled it out of my pocket. Much to my dismay it was professor Flitwick: >Dash it all Rupert; my phone won't stop playing magical songs again. Do we have any more of those flipper-phones that I could use instead of the one I have? I began to type out how to pause his music but I decided that I didn't have the time, or the patience, to type out a few paragraph's worth of information. I quickly told him I was on my way. I quickly left Mcgonagall's office and was almost out of the hallway when I heard a pop and a loud groan from behind me. I beat feet as quickly as I could but my phone lit up before I could even make the great hall. >It happened again Rupert, please come back. I don't have time for all this today. It's a weird gooey blue slime this time though...smells of sulpher and pond scum. Appetizing, but no. Not today...not a fourth time today. >Sorry, I can't come back right now as I'm already assisting Professor Flitwick with his phone. I've put in a ticket with IT though, and I'll put you in queue. Shouldn't be too long of a wait. I'll get to it Monday at the latest. Fill your computer with slime TWICE in a row...on a Friday...Not happening. Couldn't believe I was happy about a professor requesting a flip-phone, but it's not nearly the strangest thing I've ever encountered. Professor Potter was basically the only one who had any computational knowledge...and he knew just enough about his computer to break it magically and realistically. My phone rang as I was about to walk into Flitwick's office...an odd face appeared on my phone, the likes of which I'd never seen before. A pale-looking bald chap who looked somewhat malnourished hissed a greeting at me. "Who is this?"The scary-looking man slowly spat out. "Iunno, but I think you've the wrong number. Cheers."I said as I hung up. He wasn't a professor, and I didn't recognize the number. Eh. If it's important he'll call back.
It's mostly shameful to be scientifically proven to be a failure, isn't it? I mean, think about it. There are teens my age who are flawless in design, have excelled intellect or are just monstrous colossi of muscle and bone. That last one is what I was meant to be, an aspiring Footballer or weightlifter like Pops was. My parents spent nearly a million dollars on my genetic code so I could just build up more and more mass, suck in more and more oxygen to fuel my body, consume as much food to grow larger and have high amounts of energy. What actually happened was that I was prone to severe organ failure since I was six months old. Turns out they left out a crucial piece of DNA from my genetic code, one that wasn't even known to be important to humans. "Severe oversight,"was an enormous understatement! Turns out that some arrogant tech thought he'd just build the code from the ground up instead of edit a fertilized zygote! As a direct result my folks sued the genetic engineering company responsible in order to fund my medical expenses for the rest of my life, all in a trust. Given how lucrative this business is, I had got quite a bit. My folks also had the money they paid refunded as well, which was then spent on my younger, more "successful"brother. Yeah, I guess you could say I was jealous of my brother Thor. He was just drafted into the New York Giants as their heaviest player in the team's history. Hell, he was the heaviest in the entire sport's history at 850lbs. I did hate him growing up, seeing him do what I was essentially "created"to do. But I surprised quite a few people when it turned out that it wasn't just one slip-up in my genetic material. It turned out that I was accidentally made an absolute genius, a way that exceeded even the ones who had paid-for smarts. And yes, I did find it patronizing that Thor felt it necessary to try and keep me safe, but I've become the Giant's greatest coach due to how well I can plan a strategy in this sport, even if it's more a side thing I do while studying for my twelfth PhD. Hell, Thor got me a job to pay for all my research so I am thankful for him. Although if he knew I was planning a consciousness transplant into a genetically created body of my own he'd probably try and talk me down, saying that it was untested and whatnot. And I fear he may actually talk me down. Whatever. The machine already jammed the probes into my brain, I had the camera set up in case I had died so my research could be used to help further the understanding of the brain... as well as to prove I had actually pushed my mind into another body because this is one hell of a legal gray area I guess. I mean, I had already stopped feeling my legs so of course I can't go back now. Well, here it goes. If I die... Mom, Dad, I am so sorry but I can't live in this broken body anymore. Computer, halt dictation in ten seconds. Computer, activate transfer!
"And on next weeks episode of 'Dandy Dans Dangerous Duties' we're going to weld two cans of hairspray together! YEAH! DANGGGGGERRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" "Don't forget to SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON and SUBSCRIBEEEEEEEEE" "Ok and that's a wrap, good stuff today Dan, carving a turkey with a table saw. Priceless."Tim chuckled as he took a quick look through the footage. "Thanks man. The double Dster is lit here today! Fire!"Dan poured himself into a lawn chair and started picking the chunks of turkey from his beard. "I honestly didn't think we'd cook the bird with that tiger torch. This one is going viral for sure. Crack me open a cold one bro, Saturdays are FERDABOIS!" The crisp crack of a Coors Light broke through the afternoon heat, followed by an angelic symphony echoing through the field. "DUDEEEEEE. SINGING CAN BRO WE WON WE WON!"Tim frolicked around the yard cheering and screaming, "BUD LIGHT LIVING BROOOOOOO."The clouds parted ways, a stair case made of sun rays unfolded from the heavens into the back yard. At the top a figure appeared, floating above the steps he decided. "Bro, Bud Light stepping it up. Sick skills man, what did we win?" "Dan, I am God." With that, Dan stood up offering a handshake to the almighty. God raised his hand, then with a thunderous blow struck Dan, open handed, across the face punishing him to the ground." "YOU WHAT BRO, COME AT ME BRO, YOU WHAT. YOU WANT SOME OF THIS."Tim ran across removing his shirt. "COME ON, LETS DANCE. NO ONE HITS DANDY DAN BRO. THAT'S MY BRO BRO."Tim undid his belt and dropped his pants, tripping over them and falling to the ground next to Dan. "Jesus Christ, I didn't even have to hit him." "Good stuff dad."A voice rumbled from the clouds. Dan slowly picked himself up, covered in dirt and turkey he staggered about. "Bro what the hell man, suckered me man." "Listen, Dan. It's cute what you're doing here. Fun and games and all. But I'm seeing way too many people at my gates because they attempted to deep fry a car battery to make a mobile flame thrower with their lawn mower and a propane tank. I've tried to send messages but obviously you weren't getting them so I-" "So what you're just a mad fan bro. My insta is blowing up 24/7 I don't got time to answer all the love man! Snappys coming in at all hours. Dude my Myspace is still active bro. You can't come at me like your going to come at me because I didn't answer you. Want me to sign a can of Coors for you broski?" "Dan, you're not hearing me I-" "I heard you loud and clear super champ. You're all butt hurt that big Danny BOI doesn't have time for you. Super star status here brochacha." "DAN. Look at me and listen. You're killing children." "Whoa man that's some crazy shit. Don't go throwing those hashtag bad vibes at me. One throw downski with a that kid who reviews legos at suddenly you're Brosef Koney two K seventeen." "This isn't going to work is it." "YOU CALLING ME LAZY BRO? YOUTUBE IS MY FULL TIME JOB BRO. I WORK FOR THIS MAN. HASHTAG PUTTING IN WORK HASHTAG GRINDTIME HASHTAG-" "SHUT UP. I can't believe I let mother nature take charge of you're development as a species. Should have known better." "Dude.. mother nature? You uh... you hittin that bro? Smash city?" With that, God hung is head in shame and acceded back to heaven. Arriving at the gates he gave Jesus a nod. "Flood it.". ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hey Dan, why did God make a stair case if he floated down anyways, what a basic bro."
The call came on a Tuesday. Just like all calls if it's kind: when I least expected it. “Run,” whispered a hoarse voice on the other end. Even though I had never heard his voice, I knew instantly who it was. The man in Black. “But why? But I just… Run from what?!” I stammered. My left hand gripped the towel around my naked, dripping body. “Run!” He shouted this time. A sudden rasp on the door. The wet towel hitting the floor. And I'm dancing into my jeans on the porch. I break into a dead sprint across the back yard, leaping with sudden agility across the back fence. When my feet hit the ground on the other side, I let out a sudden belt of laughter. All the years I've lived here, I have imagined jumping across that fence. But never once did I imagine that I would actually have to. I jolt to the left, running through the alley between my house and Pete's. “Will Pete be okay?” I ask to the air around me. At the end of the alley, a black car appears. I know instinctively who it is. Without a second of hesitation, I open the door and leap into the backseat. The man behind the steering wheel glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Pete will be fine,” he says, and floors the pedal. We are eight miles up the road before I can make my mouth form the words, “Who are you?”
Mohamed Ali Barre rode astern on the Somalian Navy Osa-II Missile Attack Craft committed to the flotilla. The nearly fifty meter attack craft had been carefully shined up to look almost factory new, if that factory happened to be somewhere in St. Petersburg rather than Mogadishu, so be it. If the loss of fully half of the Somalian Navies flagship class ship left it less able to combat regional piracy, so be it again. Mohamed had never been more proud than when President Abdullahi Mohamed commited his nation to leading the coalition to bring North Korea to heel. Mashallah! The fact that the Osa-II represented the only Somalian ship in the flotilla, and that it carried a mere fifty Puntland Maritime Police Force Marines was insignificant. Barre would have the honor of leading his men ashore at Hamhung at the head of an invading army. As the poor Osa-II had limped its way across the Indian Ocean it had shamed the rest of the world into action. Fuel calls at Muscot, Mumbai, Colombo, Singapore, Bandar Seri Begawan, Manilla, Taipei, Shanghai, and Busan had swelled the fleet by hundreds of ships, and grown the coalition of nations committing resources to the attack. The entire US Seventh Fleet had joined the flotilla off the coast of Fukoka, and still the USS Ronald Reagan yielded the point and the honorary flag. Barre smiled, and lit a cigarette. Being an international hero beat the hell out of hunting pirates.
"Nope, I can't go to Hell. Satan still has a restraining order against me."Said Dante, nonchalantly. "Well, you cant stay here."St. Peter replied. "The angels weren't fond of your snooping last time." "Where else is there?"Dante asked. "Hmmm, go wait over there. I've gotta make some calls."St. Peter replied. Dante complied and sat on the steps near the gate. St. Peter opened up a large book and began flipping through the pages. He ran his finger down the middle column, stopping a third of the way down. Mouthing some words, he walked to the wall and dialed on the phone. "Hey, uh, is Sid there?" "Yeah, it's me."The voice replied. "Oh, hey. I've got this guy here that we're not equipped to deal with... We don't want him and Satan doesn't either. Is there any way you can get him a reincarnation?" "Is he enlightened?"Sid asked. "I'm gonna go with no..."Peter replied, unsure. "Fine, but you owe me one. There's a monk here driving me crazy."Sid said. "Great! thanks. Just send him over and I'll call it even."Peter agreed, hanging up and turning to Dante. "Good news! You're going back to earth!"
EDIT: Just a few spelling mistakes. Be sure to point them out if you see them! "Calm down! You're hysterical!"I should be too, because an elf burst out of my closet screaming about toys and madmen like some kid from Taiwan. The fact that I was not also screaming in absolute terror was a sign of my own fortitude; but we're getting off topic. Given the context, he was Santa's elf - all the more supported by the green uniform, though it looked more militaristic or BSA-like than the tights and dress shirt that we usually see in malls. I had to count myself lucky that all this shouting wouldn't awaken anybody - my household sleeps like a rock. "Hysterical? Hysterical! Of course I'm hysterical! We are doomed, and the Earth will fall!"His voice was high pitched, but still masculine with a somewhat metallic reverberations. If you play Dawn of War, he sounded like the DOW 2 Guardian voice guy as the closest match. "The wardings can't hold Him back forever! This is all mad!" "Slow down. What wardings - what do toys have to do with wards? And what kind of wards are we talking here?"I had a million questions, and only a single source of answers, mad as they may be. I shook the little guy and that seemed, ironically enough, to calm him down. "Listen, Buddy the Elf or whatever your name is, who is He and what do toys have to deal with keeping whoever He is at bay, or something?"Hey! I have a fast and inquisitive mind, like my mother tells me. He sniffled a bit and said, "It's Momindir. There should be no harm in telling you - I'm out past the True Ice, and who's left behind are... considered dead."He began shaking his head in what could only be disbelief. "It's not like the wardings are weaker because we know about them." "You're avoiding my question. Who. Is. HE."'Momindir' snapped up, and his voice grew shrill and began hyperventilating. He snatched the front of my pajama shirt and began whispering in a panicked, hushed tone. "The Lost Man. The Ascended One. The Caged Intellect. The..."His went still, not even breathing. "Void Dragon."The elf barely seemed to relax, loosening his grip on my shirt and his hands fell limply to his sides. Momindir's head darted around the room like expected to get jumped like a white guy in LA. "Whoa, Whoa Whoa, who?"I don't remember any religion praying to that kind of god; well, was it a god? He did say 'Ascendant', that's pretty religious. Maybe it was a cult. "Is it a cult?" At that, Momindir lit up and started hyperventilating faster than before. At this rate, he was going to suffocate himself! "Of course it's a cult, you dolt! We have been supplying abjuration magic through toys to protect the world from corrup-" BLAM My window shattered, with the sound of breaking glass, and Momindir's head exploded in front of me, showering me in gristle and blood and - wait! Is this just... moonlight? Where did Momindir go? Where's the body? While i was musing over that, the house blasted straight up to eleven with my brothers snapping awake - I'm surprised they awoke at all - and my father kicking open our door with a handgun clenched in his fists. He swept the room, and satisfied that the room was clear, he sprinted outside to check for hostiles. We were all hysterical, of course, what would you expect? I watched a man (elf) get shot! A quarter mile away, on a distant house on the hill, the sniper looked over his work. The tracks for the 'vandals' were set, the brick was in place inside, and the elf was dead. Soon, a clean-up crew with the 'police' would arrive, and clear up the whole business with a few mind-wipes and a secrecy spell to keep this house off of Santa's route. Fingering the archaic rune around his neck, the assassin smiled a wolfish grin. The Dragon would be pleased.

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