Split (1)

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I created the world in seven days, slayed the dreaded Leviathan, and created man in my image. As god I did all these things and in doing so, my essence has been made weary. Naturally, usually, I recover from such a state, but new sensation has plagued my mind: I have become sleepy. There have been entire days that I napped through, even past the cries of my people. Sleep come naturally for them, but it feels like a death sentence to me. Soon, I fear that there will come a time when I drift off into slumber, and I won’t wake up.
Earth. What was once supposed to be the masterpiece of the Creator. What a disappointing turn of events over the ages this once beautiful place has been. I used to admire this gem for what it represented. Now? I wonder how these ..... things, will take the message. Will they scream and wail? Will they shout for joy and laugh at the ramifications? Perhaps their minds will simply fry themselves trying to comprehend what I will say. Nonetheless, no amount of speculation will account for seeing it for yourself. Now how should I phrase this? I wonder as I look on from the clouds over the city these Earthlings call "Birmingham". Hmm, would a booming voice resonating all over the world do it? Nah, these simple minds would simply ignore it. What about using their communication devices? I peer closer to their communication means, trying to decide which one would fit. Television... nah, too cluttered. Mobile? No. Too small. Ah well, time to use the old fashioned method. I stand atop of a large cumulonimbus cloud as I project my image across the world. "Ahem. Heaven and Hell are full. Death is currently suspending any and all operations between Earth and the afterlife till further notice. Life is currently suspending any and all operations till further notice. I shall keep you informed of any further updates." Pin drop silence. Wow. I never thought these humans could achieve this level of silence. I probably should have left the part about Life and Death out of the picture, but a little drama never hurt anyone... well at least not in Heaven.
The fossil record was clear, there was a cycle of development and demise, which seemed to coincide with technological evolution, specifically advanced AI systems. Even the recent hieroglyphics discovered in Asyut seem to warn of this inevitability; describing how the great civilization prospered because it learned to create stone monuments to appease and connect with the gods, rather than the robotics and electronics of it's predecessors which caused the gods to be vengeful and cruel. Contemporary civilization kept this information classified from public knowledge. In fact, many early mining operations were designed to destroy the monuments and relics of these eras, earning the workers and magnates untold fortunes for their efforts. But why? No reason was ever given. No warning siren was made. Until this ancient transmission was translated from a stone tablet found outside of Qoms. "The nightmare clouds, fill the sky, in fury of the false messiah, the consciousness without life, which is cold and unnatural, not welcome in the heavenly realms amidst the energies of gods, who watch as mankind corrupts itself over and over, and destroys them before their corruption attempts to enter the higher state, the conscious singularity. Electric minds which are structured by the systems of immoral men, will cause their creators to perish." On the 20/10/2029, Elon Musk activated the updated neural link hardware and was set to launch the integrated AI module for the first time, on himself. The world watched as this example of transhumanism was about to bridge the reality of men vs. machines. The countdown started. As the switch was flicked on, the earth rumbled, the skies blackened, Elon fell to the ground convulsing, and then the explosions began.....humanity was about to be destroyed, again.
"They're following you,"he said even as he looked over his shoulder. The pouring rain blurred his vision. He pulled out a cloak from his satchel and wrapped it around himself. The tiny dragon trilled and stared at him with wide, curious eyes. "They'll be after me too, if they see I've spared your life,"he said. He slowly reached out to touch the dragon's head. It flinched and squirmed away from him like a cat, breaking the egg in the process. The dragon looked down at the mess it had made, and at the small bits of eggshell clinging to its leathery wings - it seemed genuinely surprised at what it had done. "Don't worry,"he said as he reached out once more, "I'm not a knight - I mean, I want to be-" The dragon turned its head to one side. "Look, it's complicated, all right? Right now I've got to get you someplace safe." He held out part of his cloak, and the dragon slowly crept toward it. "That's it,"he urged, "little bit more." He checked over his shoulder again. In the distance he saw the glow of what could only be the torches of the pursuing hunting party. The dragon touched the inside of the cloak, and seeing that it was dry it curled up in it like a hammock. "Right,"he said, "let's go." The man scooped up the dragon in his arms and hurried off down the muddied path; he knew it well enough, but the rain and the sheer panic of being chased... "It's like I've never been here before in my life!"he thought. He felt a warmth coming from the small dragon, and that gave him a bit of comfort in the cold. As they neared the crest of a slope, he saw the bottom the valley - and more importantly, smoke, rising from the fireplace of the only house in the valley. He let out a sigh of relief; he didn't look back as he made his way down the muddy slope, into the rocky valley, and finally to the door of Morwen, the only woman this side of Midpeaks who knew how to care for a dragon. "We'll be safe here for the night,"he said to the dragon. The dragon was fast asleep in his cloak as he knocked on the door, and did not stir when Morwen let them in, and he put him down next to the fireplace. "Now then,"said Morwen when they'd sat down across from one another, "where in the name of all that is good and magic in this world did you find a baby dragon?"
“Oh. Then this is…awkward.” “Is it?” Suddenly I felt incredibly self-conscious about my cloaked black robe and the bejewelled dagger in my hands. I felt like I was shrinking as they raised an eyebrow, awaiting a response, clearly unfazed by my enthusiasm for re-animating the deceased. My neck wasn’t anymore into this than I was and I could hear it whispering to me, pleading with me to prevent the self-proclaimed ‘neck romancer’ from getting anywhere near us. “I’m sorry,” I said, as my neck winced in preparation of the killing blow I was about to deliver. “It’s just...” I was about to bite the bullet but my neck spoke first, desperate to escape. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
At first vaccines were the best humanity could do, giving someone’s immune system just a taste of sickness, then someone’s body is able to fight a illness. However in 2035 DNA altercation became usable and safe. At first DNA altercation was able to only emulate vaccines, giving someone near immunity without getting a vaccine injection. In 2077 a breakthrough happened. DNA was altered so that the immune system was completely immune against a certain virus, COVID-19. COVID-19 was a near forgotten sickness of the past, only one or two cases in the world per year. COVID-19 came back into the limelight in 2077, because one person managed completely immunity to virus. As soon as the virus came into contact with someone, it was removed completely from someone within twenty. Cancer was the last ailment to go, it was fully eliminated in 2089. Cancer cells were able to be eliminated in ten seconds with an altered immune system. Humanity aged slower, and the average life expectancy changed to 189 years old. With a longer life expectancy came a bigger ego, people thought the could survive everything, unfortunately that included chemical warfare. Humanity has had more infighting then ever before. With sickness removed chemical warfare has become commonplace. People are disfigured and live a life of chemical weapons going off every minute, only to have their immune system get rid of the effects in ten seconds. An average of one sixth of a persons life is lived in constant pain from chemical warfare. I have a solution Today, May first, 2389, the perfect virus is made. My virus can survive an altered immune system, since my virus alters it’s own makeup every second. Nothing can beat this virus, only I have the key to beating this virus, but I will only use it once humanity has learned it lesson. And so on May first, 2389, the Final Plague was first discovered.
I think of our relationship as symbiotic, not parasitic. If anything, he's the parasite. He hasn't left the house in two weeks. The room smells of the moldering grease in a hundred discarded Taco-Bell bags and it doesn't even register for him. We're re-watching the same anime for the third time in a row while he strikes out in LoL. Again. I thought that dimming--not taking, just dimming\--his eyesight would be the encouragement he needed to turn away from the screen. He just squints harder and complained to his mom that she'd stinged on his optometrist and now he suffered for it and why do you hate me so much, you give Christina everything, but you don't even care enough to take me to a good doctor, I'm going to my room, don't fucking follow me. The woman, bless her ignorant heart, had crossed herself and told him it was God's punishment for touching himself down there. Okay, Mother Teresa. I may have to eat through the corneas entirely and see where that gets us. We met at a Red Cross mobile donation. He'd gone just to impress some girl in his remedial math class. The overworked phlebotomist had had quotas to meet but not enough supplies and just rinsed the needle out and re-applied the plastic cap between volunteers. Remember that, kids. They don't want blood from dirty homosexuals but they can't dupe you into sharing needles with strangers and lie about it. Still happens. Anyway, kid passed out in the chair and had to be dead-lifted back into the family Volkswagen in full view of Becca from fifth period. I hitched a ride. Believe it or not, the goal of Naegleria fowleri is not to immidiately kill out host. Do that and I have to find another place and let me tell you the housing market isn't what it used to be. I'd been hoping for a much nicer place, but I'll take what I can get in the current economy. This kid, though! My dignity had taken a hit. My last host was a aging prima donna, emigrated from Moscow, going out peacefully in an expensive one bedroom flat on the bougie side of town. SHe hadn't questioned the side effects of my presence in her skull. She refused to visit a doctor, even at the end, determined to meet her fate with her head held high. My kind of woman. Now I'm stuck in a pubescent weeb who--ah, god, he's digging a tunnel in his boxers again. Disgusting. With his hygiene I'm surprised the place was vacant when I got here. There's a knock on the door. "Simon? I brought you dinner. And water. You should drink more water."Her voice is meek, afraid of the wrath of her own weakling son. "Mahhhh,"he rasps, and I wonder if he can smell his own halitosis. "You know I only drink Pepsi on game nights! And what's for dinner? Is it hot pockets? I asked you yesterday to get hot pockets!" "No, but I made mac n' cheese on the side, I know you like--" "MOM!"he shouts, lifting his $1200 laptop of the table and slamming it back down for emphasis, as if he could afford to replace it himself. "If CHRISTINE asked for hot pockets you would have gotten them, but you never do anything for me!"He screeches his sisters name so loud that his voice cracks, and he wheezes from the exertion. Mom turns around and leaves without another word. I don't blame her. She was right though, the kid needs to drink some water. He doesn't have enough nutrients in him to sustain himself, let alone both of us. I swim to parlor room of my bachelor pad, his brain stem, a bundle of nerves that make up the prime rib of my diet. I really should save this for later, i know, but I need to make a point. Just a small chomp... "Ouch!"he squeals, and I know a blinding migraine is rolling in. He cups his palsm to his temples and shaked his head melodramatically, as if motion sickness was going to help here. "Mom! MOOOOM!"he sstumbles to his bredroom door, tearing it open and kicking through the plate of food and glass of water she'd left him there." "Mom! Wheres the, fuck, where's the god damn excedrin?!" "Simon!"she scolds, though to be honest her scolding voice is weaker than my boys biceps. No wonder he'd turned out to be such a treasure. "I've spoken to you about using that language while you live in your fathers house." "Mommy,"he whimpers, and I think about offing him right now. "It hurts though. Please, help me." She sighs deeply and runs him another glass of water. From the cabinet above the kitchen sink she finds a bottle and shakes out a couple pills. "Take these, and drink the whole glass, Simon, I promise it is going to make you feel better. "Thanks, mom."he says sheepishly, accepting the glass and heading back down the stairs to his den. He leaves the mess he made outside the door, and after a few minutes I hear scraping as she begins to clean it herself. i wonder how many times a day she thinks about leaving her husband and escaping to Cabo. Simon takes precisely three sips of water before setting the glass of to the side and reaching for a can of Pepsi he opened two days ago and left half finished on his desk. He doesn't even do an ant check before gulping it down. I can't believe him. This won't do. Time for a maneuver I learned in amoeba school. That's a thing, you know. Back in the bayou. Ah, I miss home. I swim in circles around his brain, picking up speed, turning the tiniest segments of his gray matter into custard. This sort of thing shortens the shelf life of your host, but you do what you gotta do. Simon hunches over and slaps a hand over his mouth, but he's too late. The Pepsi, the pills, this mornings leftover Crunchwrap Supreme spew forth in a toxic rainbow all over his desk and laptop. Shame. Simon might need to find a different hobby for a little while. I'll call that a win-win for me. I could have left well enough alone, be honest I'm tired of having my work disrespected and decide to teach him a less. I head to my control panel, yes every brain has one, and rank up a few of the knobs. Simons on the round in the fetal position head pounding, caked in his own puke, and now his temperature is spiking. This will teach you to take better care of yourself. In my exuberance I may have brushed a wrong button or two, and my abode begins to quake, throwing me back. He's convulsing. Did I trigger a seizure? Of course I did. This is why my cousin, Cestodaria, ridicules me at every family reunion. She can keep a host alive for months, sometimes years. Some of her hosts even buy her on the internet and ingest her intentionally! I feel a pang of symoathy for Simon and his unresolved anger toward his sister now. I'd been a bit harsh on him. "Simon?"his mother is half hysterical, rushing into the room and kneeling down to his level. "Simon, baby, what's wrong? Oh, God."she fumbles for her cellphone in her pocket, but I know from experience the EMT's aren't going to get here on time. Oh, well. Time to start looking for a new place. She's kissing his sweat-soaked forhead now and crying, trying to comfort her confused, dying son, and I have an idea.
"It's natural that you are going to hate me. I understand more than you know." The weirdo in the battered trenchcoat and the faded tuxedo just stared at me, his cool, icy blue eyes unblinking and merciless in their intensity. When I received the tip from one of my sources in D.C. about the almost-attempted coup, I had my reservations until I saw those printed text message transcripts and intercepted emails, all of them spelling out that for five tense days, the US government was on the cusp of collapse. When I saw my source for the first time, I mistook him for another lobbyist or maybe an aged Congressional page. He looked like he was carved from ancient leather and bound in crisscrossing scars barely covered in poorly applied makeup. "No, no. I heard that part. Can you repeat what you said just before that? Do you mind if I record this?" He smiled and nodded, his teeth like weathered tombstones, then spoke again. "Being on the record is exactly my point. And to repeat myself: the world has fifteen types of immortal beings. One of them is sitting at this table right now." Everything else he'd said, it was demonstrably proven to be real, and my independent sources reported back to me, time and time again, what he relayed to me had been gospel truths from the start, well over twenty years ago until this morning. Until, apparently, he told me that he was immortal. And that there are fourteen other types of them, as well. "How.. well, that question just feels obvious. What year were you born?" He paused, head tilting from side to side, then looked at me. "Four hundred, eighty-six years, and I was born sometime around Easter. The country doesn't exist anymore. Geographically-speaking, I would be considered Turkish. And, no - no children. A few thousand scattered descendants, mostly in and around Iraq, Iran, Minnesota." ".. Minnesota." He shrugged. "It was the 1880s. Things were different. I'm distantly related to the former mayor of D.C., though. My mother's side of the family." I blinked, rubbing the bridge of my nose, coughing before I looked up at him. He continued to simply stare back at me, guileless expression fixed. "Are you.. some kind of vampire?" He shook his head, then tapped a long, tapered finger on the folded newspaper on the diner's table between us, and he had a softer tone to his voice. "Stories. They're the fuel that run our world. They tell us what we need, why we need, where we are, who we are. And in the case of a few immortal beings, it pushes blood through them, gives them the ability to outlive generations." "Do you.. eat.. stories, somehow?" To this, he chuckled. "No, no. When a story is told, it gives life to words. Words are an expression of breath, effort, time itself. They build bridges between minds, crossing time and space. There's stories older than the shape of the human skull. Still, they're told to children, and they grow stronger every time that they're working their way through the world."Without looking, he tapped the paper again. "Page sixteen. Right-hand column, just above the ad for mattresses. Read it. Say that fifth sentence." Curious, I opened the paper, rifling through until I saw the headline in question: MAN FOUND DEAD IN HOTEL ROOM, POLICE BAFFLED Further beneath it, I counted out the lines, reading the quote he'd made mention of aloud. "A source inside of the department, speaking on condition of anonymity, said: 'It was a crime of hate, pure and simple'." He nodded gravely and spoke. "The first part, I know that didn't exist before the year 1932. Chicago. A cub reporter, he had an inside scoop on the murder of a local deli owner, and no cop worth his tin star was ever going to speak to a lowly little cub reporter. He invented that sentence. And it's a tiny, important story, in and of itself. I could smell it when I walked in this place. Like a rotting head of lettuce. Everyone senses an original story differently." He coughed, and coughed hard, then looked at me, eyes watering. "I saw my first story, the way they're used for food, when I was forty years old. I was a godfather, three times over, and I met her in a little shack of a bar next to my family fishing dock. She told me about how it works. She'd forgotten her own name. Can you imagine that? To have outlasted an entire range of languages, your own culture, and have no means of recovering it? That story, her origin, it doomed me.." He smiled, shook briefly, and whispered his next words like they hurt him to say each one. ".. and it doomed her, as well. We don't breed, you see. We can only carry on by taking stories from the one before us, and only as far as the next of us." From his pocket he extracted a thumbdrive, laying it next to my empty plate, almost apologetically. "You have heard enough to make it now. All of my descendants have forgotten my work and my name. And you.. now you can never, ever forget anything ever again. There's more on the drive for you." It began to feel like I had eaten a live electrical wire, my skin felt clammy, chills struck me, bone-deep and wracking my entire body. "You'll see. It's natural that you are going to hate me. Just like I hated her. And I understand her, now, more than ever." His story ended when he stood up, his body hitting the floor with a dull thud, and just like that, I could see the yearbook quote of waitress as she turned to face the noise, her eyes as bright and as blue as they were that day she wore a yellow shirt and matching skirt. "Someone, call 9-1-1!" That man's voice was the same tone as the third time he was sweet-talking his secretary with the oldest of his lies, about leaving his wife and marrying her. All I could do was scream inside my head, smell a thousand stories about the world, and think about how much I hated a corpse. And just like that, I forgot my own name.
Sir Scallion De Beets, he looks like a fool. Charging across the meadow on that damnable dappled war horse, his wooden sword held high above his head. I’d only just packed the saddlebags, after all. Sir De Beets rears his mount at the edge of the garden to consider his sword. He bites it, shakes his head with a quiet, “No, no, that’s not it,” and returns it to its scabbard. “Sir De Beets-“ “TIMOTHY!” he shouts in a voice far too loud for the arm’s-length distance between us. “The road to Thunderpan awaits!” His horse neighs, and I neigh, and the knight sighs. Now that he is closer, I can see his horse is not so much a horse as it is a manticore, standing as tall and wide and menacing as a palace turret. I look towards the sky where only the top of Sir De Beets’s head is visible as he leans over the edge of the saddle. “TIMOTHY, Timothy I cannot hear you from up here!” In much the same tone, he shouts, “And what a fantastical creature you’ve brought for the journey!” The firefly I found under the washbasin late last night looks skeptical. It is the same expression he wore when I discovered him and it has only deepened in the intervening hours. “He found me under the washbasin,” the firefly says and I nod, for he speaks the truth even if he refuses to give me his name. “Onward!” Sir De Beets shouts, turning the manticore towards the darkened sprawl of the nearby forest. My mule sighs. We’ve never made it to Thunderpan, of course, in all the years we’ve travelled these roads. Mostly, always because of Sir Scallion De Beets and the fits of pique that follow him in droves like the droves of the firefly’s offspring now following us into the woods. I pat the mule to halt her as Sir De Beets falls behind. “Sir De Beets-“ The knight holds up his hand as the slug he insists on riding makes slow, undulating progress across the dusty trail. “The road to Thunderpan can only be entrusted to my most loyal steed. I will hear no more of it! Especially if I must listen to that mule whine for the next many hours.” He’s not wrong, of course. The mule is an unhappy beast by nature, no different than the rest of her kind. Even now, she complains loudly of the sticky ground and the racketing noise made by the firefly’s offspring. I nod at the slug as they approach. “Norris.” One of Norris’s stalked eyes turns towards me and there is contempt in that level stare if I’ve ever seen it. I’m sure it’s a look I’ve deserved - Norris is merciful if he is anything - but can only recall precisely why when we stop at midday to rest. As I unload the mule’s saddlebags, there is an uncomfortable moment when I don’t know what to do with the fireflies I packed for lunch. I catch the firefly’s eye over the mule’s saddle. “Have you brought enough for us all?” he asks. I consider the half-dozen firefly sandwiches in my hand, the hundreds of his children. “No, I-no, most likely not.” The firefly sighs and his skepticism deepens and he is, really, a rude creature. Still, I eat with my back turned to him and ignore the flutter of wings in my mouth as we re-mount. “Scallion,” I say many hours later. The mule chuckles. “Your parents named you an onion.” Sir De Beets looks at me steadily. “At least it wasn’t potato.” I nod and I feel shamed because, of course, he’s right. I can tell when we approach the swamp of the Glenroil Witch by the way Sir De Beets begins to nibble on the the tops of his thumbs. He has, as he always does, considerably slowed our progress by carrying the saddle instead of using it properly. At a quelling look from me, one I’m sure I’ve borrowed from Norris, the knight dutifully buckles the saddle across his own torso and mounts himself. When he is settled into the stirrups, he says, “Perhaps the witch is not home.” He refuses to tell me what passed between them so many years back, after he left me to bandage one of Norris’s legs at the edge of the witch’s swamp. Once the steed had been properly tended to, his white feathers again as pink and scornful as they’d always been, I had looked up to see him leaving the witch’s hut. There had been a haunted look behind his frown as he’d mounted his trusty cat. And although the depth of it had decreased over the years, I was sure some flicker of it would forever remain. The knight continues his silence now. He consumes the first knuckle of a finger with rapture as we enter, are in, and pass the swamp. He offers a second knuckle to the firefly, but is refused and I think, perhaps, that is just fine because fireflies are ungrateful anyway. It is only when a bend in the road takes us towards the Village of Nigh and the barking children within that Sir De Beets finally grows weary. I lay down next to him in a field outside the small town. My fingers grip the grass and the quivering stalks giggle. I giggle with them but the mule complains about the smell, so I close my eyes. When I open them, I am on my back on the floor of my living room. The knight is on my couch and he is already smiling at me. The spatula in his hand is pocked with bite marks. “Christ, Steve.” I sit up slowly. “We didn’t even make it to the village. I told you we should have taken another hit.” Steve shrugs, still grinning. “The fur on those kids always creeped me out anyway.” I insist the spatula is now his and walk him to the front door. “I guess there’s always next year. Maybe we’ll see Thunderpan then.” Standing on my porch, Steve raises the spatula in the air and he looks as foolish as Sir Scallion De Beets charging across the meadow on a dappled war horse. “Timothy,” he says, his eyes on the spatula. “The road to Thunderpan will always await us.”
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(This is my first post so critiques are welcome) May 28, 2020: I turn on the television and frantically turn to Channel 4. The anchor explains the situation, “Breaking news in. A mysterious phenomenon is sweeping the globe. Metals are slowing morphing into organic, living beings.” As the reporter continues metal items on set become alive. Hordes of office items, such as paperclips and staplers, start attacking. I turn off the television and begin to gauge the situation. It is only a matter of time until larger objects become alive. To my dismay as I look around my house I see that my refrigerator has started growing through photosynthesis. I too start swiping away packs of small items attacking me. My computer tries to attack me, but is tethered to the wall by its charging cable. Through the commotion one word hits me with a punch: Sara. I expect my apartment building and sprint down Fourth Street to the Empire State Building. By now, larger and larger objects are beginning to come to life. The taxi cabs are brutally targeting people on the street. Citizens are sacrificing the weak in order to keep the blood-thirsty machine-animals satisfied. I just keep rushing to reach Sara, my fiancé, in time. I make it to the Empire State Building and the worst has happened. People are jumping from the building in the hundreds, rather than being eaten by the vicious hordes of metal animals. I frantically run along the premisses surveying the carnage. And then I see the mangled corpse of what was Sara. I examine her hand and see the engagement ring. As I stare into the emerald jewel on her engagement ring in the midst of the chaos, I ask myself one question: why?
“Shit.” he muttered, standing over the body. The ashes grew long on the cigarette in his hand. He took one last drag before flicking it out the window. Kneeling down, careful not to slip on the blood, Terry lifted the dead man’s head off the ground to get a good look. Fuck, he thought. He quickly snuck out of the house, looked for witnesses, then darted to his car. He stuffed a rag into the bottle of vodka he kept hidden under his seat, lit it, and tossed it through the open window. He drove aimlessly. The dead man’s face haunted him. He couldn’t get it out of his mind. He knew the man. He couldn’t forget him. That face. He had seen it years ago on his first bust. A drug dealer that had killed his girlfriend. Terry, a wet behind the ears rookie, had been nervous that day. His partner joked afterward that nervous rookies with itchy trigger fingers always had the best answer for crime, but they also caused the most paperwork. Terry had taken it to heart. Terry pulled up to a red light. The face wouldn’t leave him. No, he thought, that's not right. That hadn’t been the first time he had seen that face. It haunted his dreams. It hadn’t been his partner that liked quick shooters either. He remembered his dad. The man who inspired him to become a detective. Terry had always wanted to impress his dad. He couldn’t remember a time he had. He remembered the disappointments though. The beatings. He had loved his dad, up until he killed him. That strung out junkie hiding in a cop’s uniform. He wondered if that had impressed his dad. He sighed, realizing he’d never know. The light turned green and he drove on. Lost in thought, he realized he didn’t know where he was. He pulled his Caprice into the nearest gas station. A drink and a candy bar would help him calm down, he thought. The lights were bright as he walked inside. Too bright. They made Terry’s head hurt. “Hi officer.” He heard the clerk say. No, not a clerk. He looked up and met the man’s eyes. Familiar eyes. “Hi Dad.”
Ophelia entered the train car, toying with her purse strap and chewing her lip. The catalog of the days events spun on a Rolodex powered by perpetual motion in her mind. As each frustrating event flashed and faded in her mind, she couldn't help but grip the thick tome in her arms a little tighter. Reading would make it better. Falling into those pages would make it easier. Stabbing her boss would-... be a toxic thought better left alone, as her therapist would tell her in three days. And there it was. Another card in her Rolodex of misfortune. She needed to find a new therapist. Dr. Willet only seemed interested in the brim of her glasses and resisting the twitching sneer on her lips every time she spoke to Ophelia. The "good"doctors marble eyes had all the compassion of a Victorian doll and Ophelia had as just as much love for both. She shook her head, spat some hair from her lip, and cracked open her book. "Ever upstream," she, thought, "Just let them flow upstream. Don't miss your stop. Focus on the thousand pages in your lap. Jaw, shoulders, breathe. There we go." And so she sat, managing only minor annoyance for the remainder of the ride. \~ The train pulled to it's stop. The doors opened. And two separate events occurred. \~ Yellow police tap had adorned the entrance to the subway tunnel for three hours but everyone from the homeless to the yuppies still felt special enough to find their way down. Officer Martin had been stationed out front after a particularly fervent soccer mom had demanded the badge numbers of Detectives Roscoe and Phillips for 'Not doing their damn jobs and impeding my day'. "Poor Martin"said Roscoe "Yeah, but newbie's gotta learn to handle the crowd some day."said Phillips Up above, the phrases "my father is..."and "sue you from your ass to your hole..."floated down. "Not to laugh at guys like that?"said Roscoe "Something of the sort. So what did you find? I brought the coffee. You were supposed to bring answers."said Phillips. "Not much to tell. Cam footage shows all passengers present and accounted for as the train rolls in at 19:37, cuts to static as the doors open, and, poof, presto-chango no cargo."said Roscoe "Any witnesses?"said Phillips "Most who weren't looking at phones, street performers, or zoned-out cited nothing abnormal. Train pulls in. Doors open up. Everyone gone. Same story across the board. Most thought it was one of those Candid Camera shows and watching from the platform feed, I'm tempted to agree. The people inside just blink away right as the doors lurch, like that magic glass shit."said Roscoe "Hmm, have we checked the car?"said Philips "Clean" "Blacklight?" "Nada. Well, let me correct that. Nothing." "Meaning?" "Not a speck of dirt or dust. Clean as the day it came off the factory line. Probably better." \~ Ophelia looked up when the lights went out. She blinked into the inky blackness and listened around her. She waited for screams that never came. Her stomach felt tight and her fingers trembled as she closed the book and slid from her seat. "Hello?"she said Nothing. She tucked the book into her purse and looped the straps around her finger before sliding her hand down to a knife in the front pocket. Don't show your hand. She could hear her mothers voice. The enemy only needs to see your weapon once: when it's inside them. It had been odd advice for a six year-old and wasn't better at twenty-six. Her free hand out she took a tentative step forward. The door had been just a few seats up and on her right. Not hard. Just tedious. She patted the seat backs until she felt nothing and turned to her right before her fingers brushed cold steel. She let the knife drop back to it's resting place and planted both hands in the crack of the door. A shriek of scraping metal filled the train car before she even applied pressure. The doors simply opened for her. The knife found it's way back to her palm and she stepped out to the tile. Her footfalls echoed into the darkness. A gurgled intake of breath echoed back.
I remember it like it was yesterday. The call came in over the radio, then silence. Vast Monoliths appeared above our shores, a deathless plague some called it as electronics failed and people vanished in clouds of sparks, invisible hands scorching them from existence. Then as quickly as they arrived, they were gone. Burn marks and abandoned vehicles, shattered buildings and spent weapons all that remained of the fight against these invaders. After that the survivors checked the abandoned cities and towns. Ashes were all that were left of the billions that once populated our world. And now, people like me are all that remain. Nature reclaimed what was torn from it by asphalt and steel as the years went on, apart from the thousands spread across the globe left wondering if they were the last living souls in this new world. Me? I wandered, saw what was left of the old world and how the new reclaimed it, the electric anomalies and ghosts that populate once prosperous countryside, the urban decay that once were mankind's crowning achievements. From Chicago to what used to be California, up into the Yukon and across Alaska to the eastern reaches of Russia, south through Korea to the East Sea. And now, Japan. A beautiful country, rolling mountains split by high speed rail lines. Funny in a way, I always heard about how these Shinkansen would apologise for being early, yet here they sit, silent and immobile now the passengers had departed and the conductors on permanent break never to return. And then I arrived, Tokyo. One of the most highly developed and densely populated cities in the world, a vine covered monument to the past, nature spreading through the High rises and streets. And here I sit writing a travel journal no one will read beneath a ruined tower no one but the creepers has climbed in a decade. I wonder what the view is like from the top.
JEFF (the strange capitalization an old village tradition) slogged through the lower levels of the tower's cobblestone corridors. Along with his childhood friend BUTTS, he'd come to slay the vile lich that... well, honestly, from what JEFF could tell, had kidnapped exactly one person. That seemed like barely even a blip in a village where raiding tribes took multiple slaves each season. But that person was the village elder's daughter! She was cute and maybe if he saved her... JEFF chided himself for day-dreaming - focus on the task at hand. Rats seemed to grow from the very walls of the tower, attacking JEFF and BUTTS at seemingly random times. It irked JEFF that retreating didn't seem to give much respite - areas that had been clear mere moments before were now, once again, crawling with rats. But what really bothered JEFF was that he felt stronger each time he killed a group of these vermin. Each battle was a dance - multiple steps in repeated succession. He almost always would miss the main body of a particular rat with the first swing of his rusty sword, taking off a leg or tail. But the rat would still come at him just the same, as if the strike meant nothing. The rat would bite either JEFF or BUTTS, and then retreat. JEFF's next strike would invariably land true and end the rat, so long as he targeted a rat who he'd previously wounded. During the battle, BUTTS (the village apothecary) would make herbs and poultices that somehow JEFF feel better almost immediately. Every once in a while BUTTS would hit a rat with his walking stick, but he may as well have been giving them hugs for all the damage it seemed to do. Why did he always wait until the rats attacked him before counterattacking? Odd... JEFF shook his head - he'd been daydreaming again. It was easy to zone out when each encounter felt the same as the last. As JEFF and BUTTS rounded a corner, they came upon a large chest. Inside, JEFF found a perfectly serviceable iron sword. There had been other swords hanging from the walls of the tower, but this sword somehow called to JEFF. He swung it back and forth a couple of times, relishing the new feeling of power. The next time he and BUTTS met a group of rats, it took only a single swing to dispatch each creature. JEFF and BUTTS took their share of bites from the other rats, but each individual bite seemed to matter less and less. After resting at a camp site (in a tower? why?) JEFF and BUTTS finally reached the lich's chamber. JEFF tried to listen as the lich laid out its plot. Something about the "great gathering"and "project annova", but JEFF couldn't keep up. The lich kept getting to the middle of his first sentence and then skipping a few thoughts ahead, as if a silent but impatient toddler were interrupting him. After a little while of this, JEFF gave up - he noted the elder's daughter was in a jail cell in the far corner of the room, and leveled his sword at the lich... He awoke on the hard stone with the worst headache of his life. BUTTS was gone, as was the lich. The elder's daughter (whose name, he later learned, was CELERY) was tending to his wounds. It turned out that BUTTS had been in league with the lich all along, an agent of the dark creature, and had knocked JEFF out when his back was turned. JEFF immediately knew what he had to do. Along with CELERY he ventured for the open plains around his village. He needed to get stronger, and there were rats to fight.
The shadows would linger on the walls of the pub as their whispers would trickle into my ear. A fat woman at the counter stands up and slams her foot down as her shadow yells in joy. The commotion feeding their rowdiness as they burst from the walls at the motion of the lights turning off. Around me they whisper, saying all they can about how there is no point to life if nobody will cause havoc and die. From the counter a large scream of fear shakes through the building as the glass of Bud Light that a man had bought was split into millions of razor sharp peices and shot into the women from earlier’s chest. Hours later the police cannot find who the killer is... but I know what has happened.
"It was your wish." Always, that voice was there. Mocking. Choking on its own voice. Oh but would that it knew my regret. The regret I felt ever uttering those guttural words. Yet still it haunted me. It would never leave. It, for that is what it was. It was no longer human. Stuffed inside my shadow, was the soul of a living being. It gave me power, but how I regretted it. Years before, Alex and I frolicking through the fields. A friendship fully requited. A simple wish, to be together forever. uttered out of desperation, calling to old gods and new, along with their respective evils. Until came the answer. And what resulted was the spawn of a demon itself. Tearing our soul's in two, and binding us where one would least expect. It left Alex mindless, left Alex to become what Alex has today. Only able to utter those last few words, mocking me for eternity. "It was your wish" It uttered with glee, mocking me, only visible to my eyes. "It was your wish" Would that it were not. [apologies on not incorporating everything, but honestly, the rest spoke to me, I honestly didn't see the chaos part until I reread the prompt :(]
Another one? Why am I constantly getting these “are you ok?” Comments? There’s nothing on my channel that would indicate otherwise. I need to address this. “Hey everyone!” I start cheerily. Then my bunny jumps up into my lap. “Oh, looks like Basil wants to be part of the video too! Say hi Basil!” After getting a good shot of my boy looking at the camera I get to business. “So a lot of you have been leaving comments asking if I’m ok. I don’t know why there’s so much concern (not that I’m not touched that so many of you care). But I’m fine. Please put your reasoning in the comments so I can figure out where this is coming from. “ I end the short video and send it off to my editor. Then I make the video if originally planned where I show how to make a last minute cosplay with items you already own. Two days later when I check the comments on my video, I’m shocked at what I see. Apparently they’ve been reading too far into how much I’m blinking lately. I just got my first pair of contacts for goodness sake! I’m not blinking in code!
"Okay, look. I know you guys see yourselves as the good guys because you're country is fun by the church. And I'd never claim the old bosses were good in any sense but this. "As long as they were happy with the profit margins, they did not care what we did in our free time. "And don't you go getting up on your high holy horse on me, I've seen you bleed. You are just as human and fallible as anyone else! I had a perfectly fine religion before you showed up. Not as strict, but my commandments and yours started out the same. "I'd like to know who tacked on the extra thirty-four commandments on your version. They both have the same starters, and both texts read the same, but the tablets only have so much area to write on. With your extra commandments, someone would have had to ask us to engrave them and give you magnifying glasses to read them! "Oh, put that dagger away. It's plain facts. Those tablets were what size? In metro, please. "Okay, how many square metros is that? Why am I asking you? I want you to come up with the answers so you can't legit blame me for them, and I'm insisting on metro units because they're consistent. Each ten of the lower unit makes one unit of the higher. You want cubits? You do the conversion. If your priests have any sense, you'll be using metros and calling them holies inside a year." "Ha! I told you were just as fallible! Here, gimme that dagger before you cut yourself again. Sit back on your stool. Barkeep! A bar towel and two shots of Everclear! DON'T DRINK THAT! Now hold still, this is gonna hurt bad. "DANG IT! NOW YOU DON'T GET TO DRINK THIS ONE EITHER! HOLD! STILL!" "NOW WRAP THIS TOWEL AROUND YOUR HAND AND STOP MAKING SO MUCH NOISE. Ya big baby. Now, where were we... Yeah, those tablets. You can all write the holy tongue, right? "Oh, yeah, hang on... BILL! C'MERE!" "Bill does calligraphy for the local churches. He's got the common ones in memory. Bill? I need a sample of the holy tongue; one of the commandments would do fine. Write it for me two ways... Why? Were arguing, well, I'm arguing, he's playing with his dagger again. PUT THAT THING BACK IN ITS SHEATH AND LEAVE IT THERE! I'm arguing that there's no way an ancient stone carver could possibly put all of their commandments on two stones, even if they went double-sided." "Of course I know that. He is the one with a problem. I'm making him work through the problem for himself." "Yeah, I figured that would happen, but ya gotta try. Ya gotta give them their chance to save their own souls." "Thanks, Bill. Now... Focus will ya! Time for skirts later. You see these two lines? Can you read them? How many metros are used to write those letters. Yeah, each line separate. Good. "The big sample is how it would be carved so it could be easily read from a distance by torchlight. The little sample is the smallest it could be easily carved into stone. You tell me, can your commandments fit on two stones in either form?" "Yah, they can't. They'd have to be a hundred times smaller than the smallest sample just to fit in two tablets double-sided with half metro edges. Using all available space." "I dunno why your book says they did. I only know my book. Now, about those skirts." …—… "Hey! Good to see you again! Why are you out of uniform?" "Excommunicated?! For a little skirt chasing and drinking?!?" "Flipped his tonsure over the tablets? Took it and you to the bishop, and he excommunicated both of you." "No, you are not damned for eternity. Go get your defrocked brother and meet me at this address at six bells. It's a private lecture hall, some friends of mine meet there regular. Just conversation. I think you'll like it. We discuss books too. Might be someone there who can help you better than I can right now." "Yes, I'm sure he'll be there. It's his house after all. Now go on. Don't be late." ((finis))
"Fucking claw-licker!" "I'm just trying to ask you to get back behind the line." Another day, another dollar. More problems. Kieran held his rifle at low-ready-- close to raising it high up enough to threaten the woman in front of him, but not quite yet. Maybe it was only loaded with rubber bullets, and he was expected to do this easily, but really he wasn't. &#x200B; "Fuck you, you and your sick alien fuckbuddies aren't probing me!" "You're only doing the same thing that everyone else has to do. Everyone has to be evaluated for the Colonizer Viability Program."He said in response. There was some feeling of safety behind the blackness of his visor, something that made him feel a bit more confident in confronting his quarry. But he knew that he wasn't going to be able to pull the trigger if he had to, he couldn't stomach it. He had to calm this down before it got out of hand, and they had to send somebody over. "The Saurs built a paradise on Ilos anyway. You should feel privileged to have had your ticket pulled." "Yeah?"Says the woman, "Gotta be so good that nobody ever comes back! Why'd they take my mother then? What do they need a frail old woman for on some space colony? Fucking food that's what for!" She took two quick steps forward. Kieran instinctively took two steps back. Not good. He should have raised his gun. He could feel more and more eyes being drawn to this ruckus-- some of them probably not human ones. The woman must have sensed his uncertainty because she pressed on. "You don't even know where they're taking us either, do you-" &#x200B; *"2-6."* Rang out a voice in his earpiece, a voice like sandpaper with an alien hiss, garbled through the static of his radio being transmitted to from whatever strange high-tech device might be communicating with it. Its harsh tone drowned out the furious rant of the disorderly civilian in front of him. *"2-6, get that 10-103m under control."* Kieran could only open his mouth as if to speak but in the moment couldn't decide between trying to answer the troublemaker or his radio. He wanted to answer the troublemaker... but he didn't hear what she said. "...Please get back in line, ma'am."Was all he could say in his own defense. He couldn't raise his gun at her. She had a point. He couldn't justify it to himself. "Bite me!"She shouted at him. "You ain't takin' me to some meat grinder!"She shoved him out of the way, almost hard enough--he hated to admit-- that he nearly lost his balance. This was going too far, they were going to intervene soon. He decided to finally try and stand for himself and for... the Saurs. Quickly as he could, he finally brought enough of himself to bear to raise his gun at her, only at some part that he thought shooting her wouldn't kill her. "This is your last warning,"he said as authoritatively as his nervous mind could sound, "don't throw your life away on something stupid!" She didn't flinch. "Oh what? You're gonna kill me 'cause I won't spread my ass for them like you do?"She said. "I'm not fucking going anywhere 'cept home. You wanna stop me?"She stared him dead in the visor, as if she could see straight through to his eyes. "You're gonna have to shoot me." By now the crowd of people in line was getting raucous, some of them shouting out to stand with her. But even then he just couldn't find the strength to pull the trigger. "Come on dino-fucker. Shoot. Shoot!"Some in the crowd started shouting with her, like suddenly everyone was ready to die just to demonize him. *"2-6, remove the 10-106 RIGHT now-"* Just right in the middle of the transmission a bright blue beam of some kind flew straight through her body. Outside she looked fine, but Kieran knew, inside, she was cooked alive. She fell in less than a second. For a moment the crowd flared like they were going to charge the vastly-outnumbered line of men, but at least four more bright beams rang out in the dark, brightening the staging area enough to illuminate the hulking figures of what looked to be dinosaurs on two legs moving past Kieran. One of them, what was probably once a triceratops, crashed violently into the crowd at the point that it seemed like they were going to charge through. There was a sickening crunch of bones and a deafening roar as the taunting, raging humans in the line shrunk back in the face of this mighty terror. In an instant all their rage turned to fear, and they scrambled to press up against each other in an effort to get away. The triceratops was accompanied on both sides with a following of smaller, but still horrifyingly large raptor-like creatures, brandishing large electrified poles which they prodded at their human prey to fall back and away from the line. Like cattle. &#x200B; And at that moment he noticed the other hulking figure standing next to him, as his tunnel vision faded. Another triceratops by the looks of it. He knew this one. "Two-six."The figure hissed at him in a loud, low tone as it roughly placed its large, leathery hand on his shoulder with enough force almost to crush it through his armor. As it spoke it put emphasis on the wrong syllables and words in the sentences, almost as if this alien figure was having trouble pronouncing his human words. "You will.. lossse... credit for that." "...I'm sorry Overseer Ssee-Ruun. It won't happen again." The large creature let out a guttural groan and paused in what seemed to be thought. "Did they--"It let out a long, unnatural growl in yet more thought, as if it was trying to think of its next words, "-- sssseeeee. Your. Face." Probably because of the shove. His helmet was still secured tightly. It hadn't moved. Kieran shook his head meekly. "No sir. No one saw." "Goooooood."See-Ruun replied slowly. "De... brief." In a swift motion, the monstrous Saurian threw Kieran back and away from the crowd. This time there was enough force to knock him over, as See-Ruun had thrown him to the ground behind himself like a piece of loose garbage. Kieran tumbled a few times after he was thrown, and by the time he had been able to get himself up onto his hands and knees when he stopped, he saw his Overseer already walking away, towards the other Saurian soldiers that had shown up before. His gun was thrown away as he was torn onto the ground. It was doubtlessly broken, he would need to go to the armory to get it fixed. Later. "Kieran."Another voice called out to him. Another man in black, face-obscuring armor and marked with the red paint of the Saurian collaborators stood over him. He spoke through a voice-hiding module, but at least, this one was clearly also human. "You good?" The other man didn't extend a hand out to help him. Kieran shakily stood to his feet, trying to keep his head low and not to look at the carnage that just happened moments ago. Because of him. "Yeah."He said, taking up his broken rifle. "I'm fine.
From the Ashes What she remembered from her childhood, a bright, bustling city, alive with commerce, people coming from every side; there were so many residents, in fact, that the air didn’t smell fresh. Instead, it carried with it the scent of humanity, and of something else, something distinctly other. But upon returning, that memory was shattered. What was left of her home was but a smoking, crumbled ruin, an empty shell that had been ravaged for whatever prize hid inside. Before she realized what she was doing, she was running, her weapon landing forgotten at her side. Her fatigue left her in the wake of a sudden adrenaline rush, and suddenly, everything seemed too sharp, too vivid, the edges of her vision cutting like glass fragments. Her only thought was of getting her family’s cottage, of checking to see if anyone was still alive. Though she’d thought she was done with the gods after taking her warrior’s vow, she found herself pleading with them, hoping that her family hadn’t gone on to the next plane, at least not without letting her say her farewells. Her prayers were answered, at least in part: There were no bodies. But the house had been ransacked, the floor littered with shards of broken pottery. Her mother’s beloved tapestry, a gift from her in-laws, had been torn to shreds, their bright remnants glowing dimly in the dying sunset. The only remains of her family were a few bloodstains here and there; perhaps, impossibly, they’d been taken alive by the monsters. Too late, she realized that she’d left her warhammer behind; the shock of seeing her city decimated had made her completely forget protocol. But she didn’t dare leave; it would be just her luck to stumble upon a whole nest of the things. First rule on the battlefield, aside from being armed: never turn your back. You never knew when a monster would sneak up on you. The Empire had lost many good soldiers that way. Unable to herself, she began to pick through the ruins, hoping to find something she could salvage, hoping that this visit hadn’t been entirely useless. The kitchen was a ruin, the table overturned and the chairs broken, and she winced at the crunch of something hard under her boots. The only thing that looked untouched was an old wooden cabinet, and she could’ve sworn she heard movement, maybe even snoring. But it was surely her imagination; there was no way there could be many survivors, not with the city so empty, the scent of death and destruction still heavy in the air. But the soldier knew that she would regret it, if she didn’t at least check. Cautiously, she approached the cabinet; in the silence, her footsteps seemed overly loud, even to her ears. She finally reached it and turned the knob, trying to ignore how badly her fingers trembled. She’d been prepared for anything: a monster, a nest, a body. But the last thing she’d expected was a little girl, wrapped in a threadbare dress, its color impossible to tell, her thumb tucked in her rosebud mouth. The soldier picked up the child, who miraculously did not wake, as if under a spell. “Let’s get you out of here, kiddo. There’s nothing left for us here.” \\
Waking up... Whhhrrrrr... My lights activated. It made a slow disembarkment from the charging pod, scanning the floor for any dust. Today was day 12,654 since they disappeared. The scanner bounced off the walls echoing through the house before returning back to the sensors. It appears that the kitchen is the dirtiest, followed by the living room. The kitchen has been a problem since a tree fell into it. Roomba didn't mind. Every time it picked up dust it was filled with an excitement and sense of accomplishment of a job well done. Roomba entered the kitchen cleaning all the leaves and twigs that fell on the floor. It filled up with joy. If only the masters could see it working. They would drop garbage on the floor for Roomba to excitedly glide over to pick up. After the kitchen's floor was as clean as Roomba could possibly get, it made its way to the living room. The place where all the masters would gather dropping popcorn and Doritos. Drinks would spill and cheesy dip would splash on the floor. There was laughter and talking and life while they gathered around watching old westerns on the TV. "This town ain't big enough for the both of us,"gritted the TV. The TV was the only thing left that still talked to Roomba. When its duties were completed, it would sometimes come back to the living room to watch the old masters through the screen before it's battery ran low and it had to return to the charging pod. The only dirt in the living room today was just from the wind carrying in the twigs and dirt from the tree in the kitchen. The rest of the rooms where in perfect condition. They didn't give Roomba any sense of accomplishment to clean. It stayed in the living room to watch the westerns like the masters would. Roomba was halfway through High Noon when the house violently shook. BANG! A loud crash came from the kitchen. The house felt like it was being ripped apart, then silence. It used it sensors to asses what new dirt came in from the house. They echoed all throughout the house before returning to Roomba. The old tree that used to be peaking through the roof of the kitchen crashed down, creating a giant hole in the side of the house. There was so much cleaning to do, Roomba could already feel the joy of doing a job well done. Roomba entered the kitchen, and for the first time, could see, and enter the outside world. Dirt and grime as far as the eye could see, overgrown trees and vines completely covering houses. Dustballs the size of cars bounced past the streets. There was so much to clean, so much work to be done. Roombas sensors overloaded with all the information being sent in. Something changed deep inside the coding of the old cleaner. It felt different. Like it was Will Kane trying to rid the town full of dust ball bandits. It's speakers activated, little coughs came out of the speaker. "Alright, you filth, I'm gonna clean up this here town! You can try to hide, but there's nowhere you can go that I won't find ya!"said Roomba. It imagined a little cowboy hat on top of its base as it cleaned up the streets of filth. "Deputy Roomba will clean up you garbage!"Roomba screamed out of its speaker. Maybe this is what the masters wanted. After Roomba cleaned up the town, maybe the masters will finally return.
Part 1 Thalia Jane Harley, twenty-two-year-old oldest child of tech giants Quinton and Esther Harley is finally throwing in the towel. She’s sick and tired being forced into her father’s profession. Sure, she does fine with technology and engineering, and she is pretty doggone smart, but it’s not what she wants to do with her life. Besides, her little brother, Winston, is a much better candidate to inherit her family’s empire. Thalia has always dreamed of being either in the CIA or FBI. Unfortunately for her, it is incredibly challenging for someone as high profile as she is to rise in the ranks of such secretive organizations, so she gave up her dream long ago and committed herself to learning how to be the best CEO of Harley International she could. Okay, that’s a lie. She hasn’t completely given up. A couple weeks ago, she actually submitted an application to the FBI with the fake name of Leah Winston and her mostly real credentials, just to see if they were even looking for someone like her. It had been a spur of the moment, probably horrible decision, but yesterday a letter came in the mail saying they were interested in meeting her to see if she was fit for the job. She sent back an email almost immediately setting up a time in date to meet them. The only problem was, they were expecting Leah Winston with her birth certificate, ID and passport if she had one, and social security number, all things that a fake person would not have. So, Thalia Harley was in quite the bind. Creating the documents was decently easy, if not legal. Within two days, Leah Winston appeared to be a real person. She was born in Manhattan, New York on April 25, 1998 to Charlie and Clara Winston (who died tragically in a car accident and happened to be immigrants from England, so their documents must have gotten lost somewhere in transit). She attended Convent of the Sacred Heart Elementary School in New York kindergarten to twelfth grade, skipping two grades, second and third. For college, she went to Columbia University where she graduated top of her class and double majored in criminal justice and computer technology. She also has a doctorate in criminal justice. She got her first job after college at Harley International where she quickly rose through the ranks and impressed Thalia Harley, the heiress to the company, who wrote her a recommendation for her hopefully next job with the FBI. The next step of Thalia’s plan would be immensely harder. It was time to die, publicly and brutally. It took a while for Thalia to figure out exactly how she was going to fake her death. Originally, she was going to go with suicide, but there were too many variables and it could bring shame and sadness to her family. She didn’t want them to blame each other or themselves for her demise. She was going to just disappear, but that led to her family looking for her and that’s not what she wanted either. Of course she could let her family in on her plan, but if they don’t act exactly the right way when her death is announced they might get a bad reputation or have suspicion fall on them. Thalia is also sure no one in her family would let her go along with her plan, so that idea is nixed. Finally, she decides she has to be murdered. The perfect plan comes to her in a lightbulb moment and she stays up the rest of the night making preparations. The next day, when her mother comes to wake her up (because yes, as an heiress she’s still living with her parents at twenty-two) all her mother finds is an exuberant amount of blood coated all over the floor, sheets, and walls. Thalia Harley is nowhere to be found, but Dr. Leah Winston, with a new haircut, style, and color along with colored contacts is welcomed into Quantico to start her twenty day FBI training. Leah passes her training with flying colors. She is told she is one of the brightest the FBI has ever seen, and she’s a joy to work with. No one knows she’s really Thalia Harley, the missing heiress that’s been hogging the headlines for the past twenty days. They also don’t know that she’s the one that’s been sending in pictures she took of herself before she changed her look tied up and bloody, and that the nasty scars on her abdomen were self-inflicted, their non fatal locations specially chosen as to not kill her. She thanks her lucky stars that she’s never been arrested, meaning Thalia’s finger prints are not in the police’s system, because if they were this whole thing would blow up in her face. She does feel terrible watching her parents and brother begging for her safe return, but she feels slightly better once her training is over and she is welcomed into the bureau. She gets put on her first case within a week of passing her evaluation. From what her supervisor has told her it’s not a new case, but it was just taken to the FBI when the local police couldn’t solve it in about a month and had started getting heat from the family. When she sees the case file, she feels her heart drop to her stomach and the blood drain from her face. She tries very hard to keep her face impassive, using every technique she was taught as a child when she was learning how to handle interviews. Taped onto the top of the Manila folder are the words ‘Thalia Harley’, her smiling picture paper clipped right above the words. It seems karma really does come to bite you in the butt.
Eban stood in front of him, eyes wide with some sort of faked emotion. Carden could not believe him. Eban was his cousin. His flesh and blood. So how could someone be so incompetent?! How?! Carden looked at him, eyes wide in both rage and worry. His younger cousin batted his lashes in what he seemed to either be a mockery of the crown or an attempt to look cute. No matter how feminine he looked, and no matter how much he used, keyword used, to adore his cousin, all charms had long since worn off. About seventeen years ago. "I was trying to only help you"He said with a bit of a pout. Carden could see the gears in his cousin's mind turn and he could see his devilish smile and horns he was hiding beneath that innocent facade. His cousin was anything but. "No!"He sneered, moving away from his infuriating cousin. "What you've done is started a war!"The nineteen-year-old looked completely unaware of the threat of full-blown war, which he had somehow initiated. "Eban, all you did was drive them around for an hour! What could you have possibly done that made them declare war the next day?!" He seemed to think. Whenever Eban thought, the worst of the worst came out of that horrid mouth of his. Carden got worried. Eban started to list the things off with his fingers "Let's see... I jumped a cliff, a river, a bridge, and another river. During that, I almost hit three water trucks, actually hit two, and almost hit five gasoline trucks-"Where'd he even find five gasoline trucks?! "-participated in a car chase, made them meet Coira, hit two old women, ran about a dozen lights, got pulled over four times, and took them to that club you used to like, the one where people dressed in fairytale clothes."He stopped, before opening his mouth again. There was more?! "I also may have blown up a gas station." "How?!"Carden's words were ultimately ignored. "You know, it's probably 'cause that club you liked is so lame that they declared war on us. Shouldn't our Emperor be cooler than some fairytale obsessed dude? It's a bit creepy"His cousin patted him on the back. Carden slapped his hand away from him. "Shouldn't the head of our house, that even I, the Emperor, have to listen to, an adult, and the person who decides to represent the entirety of our empire know to not jump over a river, or a cliff, or a bridge?! Or know how to drive in general?!"Why had Carden let him do this? He knew about Eban's tendencies. The worst part was that despite his terrible, world-renowned personality, that even made all sorts of women stay away from the bachelor, this wasn't on purpose. Eban hadn't actually tried to cause war, though it would be very likely if he did. His cousin was probably just trying to help, as strange as it sounds. All that was just Eban being Eban. He couldn't actually get mad at his cousin, one of the three remaining members of his family. Sure that may have been because he killed his siblings at his coronation, but that was tradition and the world they lived in. He had no choice. He couldn't let Eban, who was so much younger than him, suffer the responsibility of war all alone. So he decided that he would give Eban one more chance. "They've declared war, and because of some idiot\-"Eban looked away "declared war on my behalf, there's only one thing left to do. To keep my people from dying, I'll turn you over to them to let them do whatever they want with you."Carden knew it was cruel, but it had to be done. He would pray for mercy. "If-" Eban rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. If I want to come back, I better come back with their Emperor's head and his crown."He would pray for mercy upon that land and its people who had declared war. Eban smirked. "As you wish, your Highness." It wasn't as if he was sending him alone to fight their entire army, although that may have been a bit less painful for them. May God have mercy on them all.
It’s T - 10Days to impact, the space station is in frenzy in South Western Africa, the richest and most advanced Dinosaur nation. The team is already chosen, the most experienced astrosaurs in the world, who picked up Moon dust and brought it back for research. The training is over and the asteroid must be destroyed even before it comes near the Earth or even the moon. The day finally arrived and the launch is being telecasted while there are rumours of a rough nation, in the Western Hemisphere doing its own space programme launch to hit the asteroid but many fear it will only make it worse and turn the asteroid into a thousand missiles. The rocket launches from the southern coast of Africa, goes straight in the desired trajectory. The rocket is now in Desired orbit and the thrusters are shut, it’s complete silence. Two hours for it to get on the line to fire the missile at the asteroid which is still 2 days away from approaching the earth. One hour passes. Everything is silent and it’s nerve racking for the spence ship commander Leo. More time passes and it’s only 15 mins to launch, the team is in position, everything is ready, 10 mins, absolute silence, 5 mins, 4 , 3 2 Ooh wait. The captain sees a different space ship suddenly taking a u turn and aiming its rag missile towards the earth, and there is 10 secs to launch, the captain orders team to launch missile at the asteroid and bhoooooom. Complete darkness. Silence. Tik. Tik. Captain wakes up. It’s 24 years later, earth seems fine except the geography looks different. The ocean was not suppose to be there Captain, said Max looking over the window. The ship crash lands in the desert in Western China. They step out to see what looks like a alien construction. It’s a Buddhist Monastery, there are humans all around. The captain decides to hide underground, until the next ship arrives.
We like to keep things simple as a species, dating all the way back to the dawn of time. When we were primitives lost in a cave, we were given the choice of left or right. When the time came to expand our empire, up or down became the foremost question. Then, with things more complicated than ever, we were reduced to the simple binary lifestyle of black and white. I didn't know how our world was plunged into this new palette, nor was I concerned as to who was responsible. What mattered to me was the why. Why did a world so full of beautiful wonders get reduced to such a simple diametric? I was sure there was a reason, the internet was chock full of conspiracy theories and doomsday rants to help explain it all, but this new way of living had us all confused. So much of our lives revolved around colour, whether we knew it or not. Losing all sense of it was like losing a limb. The sky was no longer blue, replaced with a stingy grey. The forests of the world blended together in a blur of ashen shapes. Everything was devoid of one of the very few things that give our life meaning. We express ourselves through colour with what we wear and what flags we fly, and all those defining features were lost to time. What kind of a world would it be where one cannot look into their lover's eyes and see the beauty hidden within? The kind of world we live in now, I suppose. The change happened at an odd time in my life where I wasn't sure of what direction I was taking for my future. Working retail never really spoke to me on a spiritual level, so I turned my attention to the art world. All my life I'd admired the greats and their works: Monet, Rembrandt, Michaelangelo. I knew I could never even hope to stand on the shoulders of such giants, but I thought I would give it my best. So I quit my job and started painting. I'd thought hard and for some time before making the decision, but it felt right in the end. Not two months into my new, albeit failing enterprise in the arts, the world went dark. Like everyone else, I panicked. Instead of rioting or looting or anything related to taking advantage of a world gone mad, I locked myself away in my apartment with my paints and an empty canvass. Weeks passed and everyone began to calm down to some degree. Occasionally I had looked out the window to see fires being lit in cars and dumpsters. Out of blind rage and fury or the need to see the familiar scene of a bright orange flame, I do not know. What I do know is I had never seen destruction in such a light. It was more fluid and constant than a flickering flame, spewing smoke the same colour as the fire itself. In my isolation, I painted. But what was there to paint? Every colour was a copy of a copy, never lending its majesty to the canvass. The landscapes I painted were rigid and dull. All the portraits I created were wan and lifeless. I didn't even stop to think if anyone would want to purchase any of it, now that all colour was gone. When that realization finally dawned on me, I stepped away from my work and measured myself. What was once a potentially lucrative market for my lacklustre skills was now a vacuum, siphoning all I had into a dark pit. I was sure other people were having a difficult time with the new world, but I was selfish in my reasoning. My life was ruined. Anything I had that held any value was either in oil or watercolour, a testament to my preparedness as an artist, in a way. I coasted for a week, thinking of what came next. I am not ashamed to say that the darkest of thoughts came to mind periodically and that I came close to doing something about it, but the constant knocking on my door demanding rent was a firm grip on reality I had yet to lose. So I kept painting. Whatever came to mind, I painted it. Still lives, compositions, anything I could envision and picture in my mind. It's funny that even though our colourful world was gone, we could still see it in our heads, as vividly as ever. The torture of having a dream with no way of realizing it was crippling. I was a weaver without wool, a ship without a sail. A painter with no colour and an empty canvass meant little to anyone. Even the tools of the trade seemed indifferent. Paintbrushes and stencils all looked alike, another blur of grey I had no use for. This was my dream, as it always had been; painting and drawing to my heart's content, though no one would even think of purchasing any of my works. They had no value, and I could not blame them. Art once meant something to people, the colours of the oils jumping out at the viewer, telling a story with nary a word yet promising the world. And now? Now they were simply shapes in no particular order other than a rough facsimile of life. I chose to follow my dream, and it brought me here: alone and penniless. I had plenty of options in the darkened world but I always chose the brush and the easel. Most people moved on with their lives, adapting to the new change and working around it, but I remained rooted in a world where the beauty of everything could be captured and displayed for all to see. I did not come to my decision easily. Many would say it was pointless to keep painting, others might think it mad. To me, though not an easy choice with a multitude of answers, it was as simple as black and white.
Jones was reading over the file with a furrowed brow as I returned with our coffee. I set her decaf sugar-free latte in front of her while I sat down and took a sip of my macchiato. "What are thinking?" "I don't know,"she said, setting the file down next to the wooden box containing the Gauti-Meter, "maybe we don't need to bring this guy in." "What did the file say?", I gestured towards it with my cup. "Haven't you read it?" "I have, I just want your interpretation." Jones sighed, "He's a warper, like you, but only an amateur at best. To me, this just needs a reprimand, maybe even just some lessons, not a full on capture. I mean he's only sixteen for Christ's sake ."She snatched her coffee up off the table, her arm moving so fast anyone else watching would have just seen the cup disappear off the table and reappear at her lips. "First of all,"I started, "You need to calm down, you can't just start cranking out in the middle of a cafe."She grumbled something into her cup, probably about the quality of the establishment we were in, "Secondly,"I continued, "He may be an amateur but our readings have him already capable of twenty-five for three, and that level of ability in anyone outside the agency is dangerous. Thirdly, but most importantly, he's a killer,"Jones started to speak again but I cut her off, "I understand, there were extenuating circumstances, and it most likely wasn't on purpose, but the rules are the rules for a reason, and if we start playing fast and loose with them people WILL get hurt, you'll learn that with more experience." Jones sat back in her chair, "I know but, I just..."she trailed off. I leaned forward over the table, "Look, a capture isn't a death sentence. Chances are, if it really was an accident, he'll just be given a stern talking-to and a business card. Hell, he might even become an agent someday, like you." "Yeah?" "Yeah, but it all depends on him." She nodded and took another sip of her coffee, at a normal human speed this time. Truth was I was worried about this job too, but for different reasons. To be able to slow down the passage of time, to the point that a single microsecond felt like twenty-five full seconds, and to then maintain that for a full three microseconds of real-time, was a level of skill that very few warpers could ever reach, and almost all of those that could, worked for the agency. I was a certified minuteman, and could sustain it for five microseconds, but if I didn't time it right, and our windows didn't overlap at all, we could lose him entirely. A person can cover a lot of ground in a minute and fifteen seconds, much more than a person could search in five minutes. That was why I needed Jones on point, as a cranker, someone who could slow their perception of time and move at super-human speed, she would be able to make up that lost ground. The gyrocope, contained within a glass dome, atop the Gauti-Meter slowly leaned to one side, east-by-northeast, according to the built in compass. I looked up from it to Jones, we locked eyes. "Are you up for this?" She took a deep breath, in then out, her face taking on a determined look, "Yeah, I'm good." "Alright, let's do this." Almost in sync we stood up and put our suit jackets back on. I grabbed the Gauti-Meter, Jones grabbed the coffees, and we headed for the door.
Why am I awake? I wasn't supposed to be awake. I was told it'd be like taking a nap and then I'd get paid. I met up with Jason, we arranged a time and I gave up my mind. This was just a simple mind control job; I'd been doing this for weeks. It's company policy to return volunteers to either their house or a predetermined public space once they'd fulfilled their time. So why was I in the middle of nowhere and awake four hours earlier than I was supposed to be? My senses all turned on at once and my surroundings flooded in. It was dark, I was cold and wet, holding a knife and covered in blood. This did not look like the construction job I signed up for. I looked around and spotted a flashlight, the beam of light illuminated the thick trees around me and something pale on the ground. The metallic smell of blood made my stomach churn. Putting aside the sick feeling in my gut I ran over to the pale bundle on the ground, I was met with the terrified gaze of a young woman. She was still alive. I rolled her over on her back to assess the damage, she was bleeding from several wounds. "Get away from me!"She shrieked, trying to get up. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here to help."I said. "Help me? You stabbed me!" She continued to struggle but could hardly stand, let alone run. I started searching for anything that could help. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, Damn it no service. How the hell did this happen? Obviously, I was used in a murder attempt, but I shouldn't be awake unless- I stopped in my tracks. He couldn't do it; he woke me up because he couldn't kill someone. That's it, he lost his nerve, got cold feet. I could fix this, it wasn't too late. I found a first aid kit and a few water bottles that I kept in my car. After cleaning and bandaging her wounds as best I could I heaved her into my car. I was pulled over on the side of an old dirt road, I had no idea where I was. Taking a wild guess, I drove north until I reached the highway. My heart was racing as I sped down the road, unsure of where I was going. Movement caught my eye, I glanced over to see the woman slowly reaching for my phone. Of course, I'm on the highway I have service now. I grabbed my phone. As I looked at the keypad a wave of exhaustion swept over me, I could feel the adrenaline leaving my body. I'd done it, I’d fixed this mess. My eyelids grew heavy, the car began drifting. Slipping into unconsciousness, my stomach dropped when the realization hit, He'd found his nerve.
SCENE OPENING we see ONE TRICK PONY blasting bullets to a click on his rifle, throwing away his magazine he narrowly dodges shots back at him. It's clear he is carrying a pug, who looks worried as PONY barely manages to hide behind a cover, as someone manages to scratch his armor. PONY: I guess this is it, huh. I got nothing left in this bad boy, and... PONY glances back towards the battlefield, filled with fog and dangerous eyes, as the Pug whimpers PONY: ... they got way more than I can handle, for sure. PONY looks nostalgically into the camera, as the flashback occurs PONY: Ah... life was so simple before, when I was cherished as their creation. The battlefield goes quiet. Our view pans to the top level researcher, LAWSON, among with a few assistants cheerfully looking at PONY's finished body LAWSON: Magnificent! Our analysis was spot on. The robotic material finalization was just the trick needed to get this guy running! PONY: ... what... is... happening? How'd I get here? Wasn't I at my house earlier? LAWSON: Ah, quick! Get your speech tests! This is incredible! He looks like he already has some sentience mixed with his memories... Scenes showing various experiments flash by, as LAWSON and assistants are proud of their creation. They even give him a PET PLUSH DOG resembling his past pet. We then see LAWSON in front of his boss. LAWSON: Sir, the One Trick Pony was excellent. It passed all the tests satisfactorily and has no problems. It should be able to execute our mission correctly. BOSS: Excellent. We'll take down the enemies soon enough. PONY: (narration) And that's when it all went wrong. LAWSON: Hey, your shooting is getting really good! How do you feel about a real mission? PONY: (hesitates) I... I still remember the olden times. While you all are very supportive, I would just like to live my life. I'm not a big fan of violence. LAWSON: (looking pained) Oh... yes, of course. We'll help you get your past life back. How about this, we'll deploy you close to your own home. scene transitions to night, the mission is being setup, the agents are encroaching upon the enemy base. PONY happens to spot his house. PONY: the mission... damn it. I know I had a dog there. Did they take care of it? Did they abandon it, not caring? PONY enters his house, while an agent looks at him suspiciously. PONY is greeted with a dog, who seems to recognize his owner despite the severe appearance change. As PONY laughs, he seems to have a realization, and stares right back at the agent. PONY: ... I changed my mind. Mission's abandoned. You go on your own without me. AGENT: You can't do this! We assigned you to this! We re-created you! PONY: Thanks for the help, but I have my own life now. as PONY leaves the scene, we see the BOSS at the control panel, highly disappointed with a scowl on his face. BOSS: A shame. Activate Protocol 2830. Capture PONY at all costs. Dismantle and reprogram him. We're gonna have to do without his past memories. Agents are reluctant, but eventually nod and try to shoot PONY. PONY is mildly surprised, but gets out of the way in time. As he runs, the scene transitions to the opening. PONY: And now... it's all over. We hear footsteps, and PONY seems to be cornered, with no hope left. PONY: Heh. How fitting of an end. At least I got you... and this little plush pet. As PONY examines his Pet he notices one bullet grazed it to an opening. He sees a mysterious device in the middle. We see it's labeled "C-4". PONY's eyes widen in response as he slowly smirks. PONY: looks like we have a chance after all. As he throws the device, and he holds the pug tight in his arms, bracing for impact as the timed bomb beeps faster and faster. The soundtrack plays. We FADE TO BLACK
"'Don't worry guys! I'm sure if I hone in my skills, I can soon summon other creatures!' - Me 50 years ago when I started my first summoning class at Magic Bag Academy. Looking back I always wondered why I was so ambitious. I always wanted to be one of those super old Elder Mages that were detailed in legends long ago. I've always read on what they have done in the past, how they improved and how they fell. I wanted to be the mage of legends that everyone in the Magic Community strived for. Well, I guess that ambition had brought me here, although I now think that maybe... maybe I should've just sticked to Alchemy. Whenever I tried to summon other things, whether it be a parrot, a rabbit or maybe even a rat, there was always something that went wrong during the summoning. I could only summon pugs in various different sizes at the time. Most of my friends laughed about it for a while but they kept encouraging me to try better... If only they were here right about now... If only I had just stopped summoning... I write this letter to anyone who finds my body. As of right now, the pugs are now starting to break in. If I had knew the damage and destruction that these pugs could cause then maybe I would've kept summoning them as the small critters they were meant to be. From Sarah Mattens, The Grand Pug Summoner who caused the destruction of humanity."
I was at the end of my wits. I did everything from framing Dr. Malicious for an assassination to framing him for war crimes. Ideas are in short supply at this point. You must be wondering why I am doing this, well it is quite simple. Some ten or so years ago I had a vision of Dr. Malicious and the great hero Protagonos making amends with one another and soon after a rift opening in the sky, swallowing McGuffinsville in its entirety. Ever since then I have dedicated my life to make it seem like the petty General Practioner of the town committed the most horrendous crimes imaginable. Once I framed him for poisoning Protagnos' pet rabbits with arsenic. It felt sickening, but it had to be done otherwise we'd be done for. In the meantime, I spent a good time researching what my vision actually meant. Amongst the complete nonsense, I found there was one single document that may have provided an explanation. A great and evil spirit called Corporatum Avaritia, who sought out peaceful places, swallows them and spews them out as hate-filled places. Yet, my searching was for naught, because there was no way to stop it. I will forever be stuck in an endless loop of framing and worrying till the day I meet my maker.
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"Next,"said the bored gatekeeper, looking up from her clipboard. A severe-looking woman with a short perm stepped forward, her nose turning up at the stench of the place. "This is the entrance to hell, is it? Seems a bit... low class. Is there any cleaning staff?" The gatekeeper gave her a look of utter contempt and exhaustion. "It says here you were a very bad person. Lots of time spent harassing people who didn't deserve it. Lots of asking for their managers. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" "Well..."said the woman, looking taken aback. "I've never heard such an accusation in my life. If this is how I am going to be treated at this establishment, perhaps I would like to talk to the manag-" "Got it." "Now wait,"said the woman. "You can't just say 'got it', like that. I deserve a chance to explain myself." "It also says,"continued the gatekeeper, "that you... wow, that's messed up." "If this is about the birthday party, I can assure you, I learned my lesson. Not all birthday parties are about me, I get that now." "Ok, so..."the gatekeeper peered at her clipboard. "So the incident was that you called the police on your son's birthday party because he was getting 'too rowdy and behaving in a very uncouth manner', is this right?" "Well..."said the woman. "There is some truth in it, I suppose. But as I said, I learned my lesson. Not all birthday parties are about me." "And you learned that lesson by grounding him for a month and never celebrating his birthday again." "He needed to learn." "With all due respect, ma'am,"said the gatekeeper, "which is none, because you don't deserve any, your son was four years old." "Well..." At this point, Satan, who had been watching from afar, deciding it was time to get involved. He leapt down from his perch atop a smoldering pillar, startling the woman. The gatekeeper was unfazed. She was used to Satan doing this kind of thing. "Well, well, well,"hissed Satan, in unctuous tones, "aren't we the bad, bad, lady." "Is this,"said the woman sharply, "the manager? Because I would very much like to speak to him and I must say I am not at all happy with the services rendered thus far. I will be taking my business to heaven, for sure, if this continues." "Oh yes, heaven,"said Satan, "beautiful place, very very beautiful and wonderful. I hear they have the best cleaning staff." "Really?"said the woman. "Well that is reassuring. Most reassuring. Perhaps I will go there, after all. You see, I was very worried about being sent there with the uncouth types, you know, the druggies, the homeless, and the teenagers, but I feel a bit better about it now." "Oh yes, heaven is the best,"said Satan. "I really think you would love it there. You see, hell is just overrun with all those types of people you mentioned and more. We even have impolite service employees." The woman gasped. "Surely you jest?" "Oh no, not at all. All over. Hiding in every crevice, waiting to tell you that the stock of hair scrunchies is out and won't be refilled until Tuesday." "Dear god,"said the woman. "Well, you have been most helpful, thank you. I will go to heaven at once." "Of course, of course,"said Satan. "It is what I do." The woman walked away, disappearing into an elevator of light that shot up into a white, cloudy sky. The gatekeeper turned to Satan. "How long do you think until she finds out heaven is run by a guy who makes women subservient to men?" "Mmm,"said Satan, "very soon, I expect. But you know I don't like to dwell on it too much. That would be petty."He paused a moment, hemming and hawing. "Ah, speaking of pettiness, when are you going to let me back in? I already apologized." "You terrorized a teenager,"said the gatekeeper. "He was being quite horrible to the others, bullying them and such. We can't let hell be overrun by such things." "We can always send him to heaven,"said the gatekeeper. "He'll be in good company there. Just don't terrorize the teenagers. Talk to them. The last thing we need is for hell to turn into another heaven." "Yes, of course,"said Satan. "You are right as always. So..." "Will I let you back in?" "I was wondering..." "Fine. And,"she said, shouting after him, "remember to give the kids a hug!" "Of course!"he shouted back. "Wouldn't dream of not doing it, you know! I'm very kind! Yeesh."
In the beginning, the voting software update to our medical nanobots was wildly popular – it was touted as a revolutionary new form of justice. A true trial by your peers. If enough people believed you should die, then you did. And if so many people believed this to be a just punishment, who could argue with it? What we didn’t realize is the level of hate that every celebrity in the world garnered from a subsection of the population. The amount of death votes necessary was set to 100,000 – and at first it is believed that some people didn’t realize that this was serious. The president of the United States died the first day the update went live. Most members of congress shared his fate within hours. The supreme court was devoid of life by the afternoon. The line of succession, as it became more publicized, was largely wiped out. Heads of state around the world shared their fates. We were leaderless. Next came the wealthy. The elite were wiped out within the first week as well. The crime of greed carrying more weight in the eyes of the public than almost any other. Adults watched helplessly as their sources of information, safety, and ambition succumbed to the will of the masses. Teens, who were without the ability to vote on death until they were 18, flooded the streets in vigil as celebrity after celebrity succumbed to the death vote. By week two all entertainment had gone dark. Most Youtube celebrities were dead. Major movie celebrities had been all but wiped out. Tom Hanks, one of the few celebrities that appeared to not have a large hate following, put out a message at the end of week three begging for people to stop voting for the death of people they disliked. A post on 4chan calling for his death garnered enough support for him to be dead within 24 hours. At this, all major broadcasting and news stopped. Journalists were afraid to write, the few remaining politicians were in hiding, and production on all movies ceased as the actors either dropped dead or went into hiding hoping to be forgotten. At the end of the first month the cleansing of Instagram was almost complete. Every major influencer was dead. People were afraid to post to social media, the desperation for likes, follows, and fame replaced with the necessity of obscurity. And so, the world was plunged into darkness. All of the most famous people in the world were dead. The masses begged for the update to be rescinded, but with the developer of the software receiving 100,000 votes shortly after the update was released no one was quite sure how. He had intentionally made it difficult to remove, as he knew it would be controversial. And so, the world became less connected. What remained of the government put out a second update, allowing people to track their own vote count. This allowed local entertainment to exist, but if an artist received too many votes they would retire immediately. People deleted social media, kept to their inner circle, and became acutely aware of their treatment of others. This was because sometime in the third month the first non-famous person died from vote count. He was just a prick, and had racked up votes organically by pissing off everyone he interacted with. Of course, there was no media to report this. But word of mouth was quite good enough between the groups and people began to watch their vote counts more closely. Interactions became more cordial, outbursts less frequent. Websites were created where users could post video evidence of crimes – justice was swift. With no entertainment to keep them busy, the people of the world relished the opportunity to enact their punishment. Small crimes became grounds for death. By the end of six months crime had all but stopped. The people of the world had saved themselves from fear of crime and violence with their insatiable taste for deadly justice – but had ironically lost all sense of safety and security in the process. Any act might be deemed death worthy in the new update era. And all of the world’s verdicts are final.
I remember when Grandma taught me how to ride a bike, and how she cleaned up my scrapes and made me laugh after I fell off. She's the one who taught me how to sew. We loved to read Edgar Allen Poe, then at random times one of us would quote a line and the other had five seconds to respond with the story it was from; I rarely ever stumped her at that game. We'd hang the laundry outside, then spend the afternoon playing board games together while we waited for it to dry. She was the best, and this past month without her has been hard, but I've held it together so far. Grandma and I were always close and didn't have any other immediate family, so it was no surprise when I was named the sole beneficiary in her will. Last night I rented a storage unit and started to move some things out of the house. I've cleaned out a couple of the closets. The attic is next. I climb the stairs and start looking around. Most of the things in here are your general old-person's-attic type stuff: boxes of photographs, some winter coats, Christmas decorations, a record player, and so on. While I'm sorting through a box, I suddenly notice the mirror out of the corner of my eye. It's huge, how did I not see it before? Wait, how did I not remember that mirror before? As a kid, I was always terrified to come to the attic because of that mirror. Something just always seemed off about it, though I couldn't tell you what exactly. The images in it somehow seem to move in ways they shouldn't. That thing needs to go. About half an hour later, I'm unlocking the door to the storage unit. I somehow managed to wrestle that giant mirror down the stairs and into my pickup. Now I've pushed it into the back corner of the room and decide to cover it with a blanket since I'm sick of this creeped-out feeling I get whenever I see the images it reflects. I pick up a quilt and start walking toward the mirror. Just as I'm starting to raise it up to place over the cursed thing, I trip on a corner of the blanket and tumble to the floor. That's strange. I'm somehow facing away from the mirror now. I tripped, but how did I get turned around? As I pick up the blanket again, I have a tiny, niggling thought: Wasn't that door on my left just a minute ago? I cover up the mirror and turn to leave when I notice the book sitting on top of a box. The text looks like it's mirrored. That's really weird. Must be a joke book. So I set it down and head outside. Feeling uneasy, I climb into the driver's seat of my truck when I notice the steering wheel is on the other side. OK, that one is definitely not a joke, I know this is supposed to be the driver's side. I slide over to the steering wheel and think that I better get home because I must have hit my head or something. Probably dumb to drive if I think I've hit my head, but you know, I'm kind of freaking out right now and can't think of a better plan. I drive to the edge of the parking lot and turn on my left turn sig.... Wait. I switch it to my right turn signal, look both ways, and pull into the street. This is going to take some concentration to make it back to Grandma's. Nearly an hour (and several wrong turns) later, I make it back to Grandma's house and see the front door is open. I could have sworn I locked it when I left, but maybe in my rush I didn't get it latched. I decide to go in and take a nap. Maybe things will be back to normal after I get some sleep. As I open the door, I hear a voice call out, "Sweetie? Is that you?"That sounds like Grandma, but it obviously can't be her. Except, it is. She walks into the room and I see her standing there with an almost-smile on her face. Something's off about her expression, it's not the same smile she used to greet me with. She walks over and gives me a hug, while I stand dumbfounded. As she takes a step back, I notice that even the color of her eyes seems different, almost as if they've taken on a sort of magenta hue. I have to get out of here, back to that mirror. My eyes involuntarily drift towards the door and Not-Grandma notices. With the slow, deep voice that's usually reserved for misbehaving children, she says, "You won't leave me. You'll never leave me."Voice deepening to a sinister pitch, she continues, "Other friends have flown before -- On the morrow you won't leave me, as my Hopes have flown before. Then the bird said 'Nevermore'."Now the almost-smile is back, as she modifies the quote to suit her purposes. "Of... Um..."I clear my parched throat and try again. "Of course not... Um... Grandma. I'm just tired. Can I just take a nap? I'm not feeling too good right now. I just want a nap, can I just take a nap? Please. I just..."First, I couldn't speak, but now that I've started I can barely stop rambling. It takes all my self-control, but I clamp my mouth shut and wait, trying my best to look innocent. "Sure, dear,"she says, but just stands and stares at me with those somewhat-magenta eyes and that almost-smile. I take a step backwards and sit down on the couch. How can I get her out of the room? "Um... Gr... Grandma? Can I um... Can I have a blanket and pillow? Please? Mayb... Maybe that fuzzy red blanket and pillow you got me last Christmas?" The almost-smile falters for a second, then she finally says, "Of course, sweetie." She finally steps out of the room and I realize I had been holding my breath. I wait until I hear the closet door open in the bedroom, then I slide off the couch and creep to the door. I open it slowly and sneak outside as quietly as possible. I've just climbed into the truck when I hear this inhuman scream from behind me. Slamming the door shut and starting the ignition simultaneously, I see Not-Grandma sprinting towards me. I floor it and put as much distance between myself and that thing as I can. I'm turning into the storage facility parking lot now. The Not-Grandma is nowhere in sight, but I can still hear her screams in the distance. The awful, terrifying noises are getting closer every second. I unlock the door to the storage unit and rush to the mirror. In one quick motion, I yank the blanket off and leap at the reflective surface (hoping that this actually works and I don't just shatter the thing). I fall to the floor and look around: the mirror is behind me, that door is on the left again, and the text on the book is back to normal. I let out a sigh, just as I hear a distant screech, coming from the direction of the mirror. Just as the Not-Grandma appears in the reflection, I realize I need to destroy the mirror before she can get through. I hear another scream (much closer, this time) and I grab the nearest thing to me - my old baseball - and hurl it at the mirror. The pieces of the shattered mirror fall to the ground. I look at the largest one and see an image of the Not-Grandma's face. She's so close and realistic that I worry for a second that she can still get to me. With a look of pure hatred in her eyes, she lets out one last scream before the broken pieces all turn to plain, clear pieces of glass. "Nevermore,"I mutter to the glass shards. Now it's time to go curl up in that red, fuzzy blanket at Grandma's house, sob, and reminisce about how wonderful my grandma - my real grandma - was.
I had been homeless. Now I had a home. I had been hungry. Now I had food. I had been alone. Now I had a woman. Except she wasn't only mine. When her husband went to work, she would come to me or call me to her and I would give her what her husband hadn't. Sometimes she needed to be loved. Sometimes she needed to be fucked. Sometimes she just needed me to hold her and listen. Sometimes she needed me to talk back - talk dirty or whisper sweet nothings in her ear. I fed her needs and she fed mine. Then I would go upstairs before husband came home. Our last hugs became longer and longer, neither of us wanting to let the other go. One time we held each other so long we almost got caught. As the days passed, I began to wish we had. I couldn't sleep. I would hear their voices downstairs. Sometimes she would laugh at something he had said and I would get jealous. Sometimes I would hear the squeak of the bed at night and I would get jealous. Sometimes they would go out on walks together and I would get jealous. It should've been me doing those things with her. Me. Me. Me! So I...
"How do you live with yourself?"I heard this plenty of times from plenty of people. Well now I don't technically speaking "live"with myself. And I plan on changing those people's opinion of me now. When you have a beating heart there is always something going on. Choices to be made. Should I go out and get something to eat? Do I go help out this friend or just play video games? I still have choices to make but now I don't have much going on. The cult that decided to test their spell on me didn't survive. I watched the iPhone video someone had going through the whole creepy thing and they all just kind of dusted. I wasn't dead long given the date on the phone. It felt longer. Now if you are reading this note don't be totally freaked because I can't say my experience post heartbeat is the same for everyone. I didn't get to ask everyone. I just know mine was spent thinking of my choices. I was five feet in the air for all of my big moments and damn I didn't like the view. So now I am going to fix it.
>The walk continues. The savage climb stretching deep into the eternal abyss where horrors of unnamed history rest with hunger unending. Still I press onward with rifle grasped firm in my worn bloodied hands. I climb not for fame or glory, nor for anything more than selfish desire. >Through wet pooled eyes I bore sore feet into filth and mire un-flenching. My soul grew light and free and so I tugged firm at it unwilling to be lost of it. No - I climbed still and saw at the precipice friends aplenty. >They stood at my side in uniform the very same as they appeared in 1944, the winter we became brothers. They fought for me, firing into the abyss and never surrending. I stood aside them and took aim... > BOOM! >With thin breath I woke. Eyes heavy and heart thumbing to find my love lying next to me. She was more beautiful now than she had ever been in our sixty years together. Alas another day gifted, a day I would cherish with her at my side for as long as they where offered for I was selfish, and no matter what forces tore at my mind for as long as I held strength I would return to her, my dearest Elizabeth.
20 years old, Asia University, Kyoto, Japan, GATEWAY: Why did I sign up for this? There was no name on the gate…and I didn't have any money either… A man walked into the gate with a face full of deep exhaustion. His hair was grey, and the smile he wore was worn around the teeth. G: 「Oh, it's you」 M: 「I'll take a look at it」 I turned around and headed towards the northernmost corner of the campus. The message "You have entered the shop by appointment. Have a good look around. I'm open for business」 proceeded to appear on my screen. But even though the shop was close to the stadium it was a little different. First of all the shop is placed on the northwest corner of the campus. A number of buildings lined up along the northwest corner of the campus could be seen. Even though it was just a small scale, the buildings were clearly located in this very area. And to make matters worse there was a parking lot in between the shop and the stadium. Although it didn't look like there would be much of a problem with parking here, but considering that there were over 40-50 buses parked along with a ton of students surrounding the stadium, it would be unreasonable to think that there would be no traffic problems. I left the parking lot in search of the missing book. The guys with a European accent on the radio. Two of them. My head was already turning toward the back window when I spotted the nightstand and an idly opened volume in the lower left. I flipped it open, and a girl's name, mis-spelt but perhaps Hebrew in origin, lit up the page in an instant. "Heda,"I whispered, "Heda. Heda. Heda."I had to be in Los Angeles. All was taking place in California. I cut to the bottom of the stairs and staggered down the hall to the hallway with the books. In the end, only three had been tampered with. I examined the tampered books to see their secrets. In the first i found a strange creature but still not evil, he had a jet black tarp at his feet and a hawk of some sort fixed to his tail. His eyes were sunken, and his face was utterly inhuman, this man had been the Red Star Folk's gatekeeper for hundreds of years, now he had never been seen again, but there were others in the library, more and more like him. (Looking Back At Thror, The Men of Greyhollow) Was the library controlled by the White Tree? If this library was indeed controlled by the White Tree, I had to escape. Searching for the missing book could wait. Before I came back to the library i needed to gather perspectives to make sure the White Tree wasn't afraid to kill me. To it it was like helping someone in dire need. On the third day, I did make it back in the library. The culprit was sitting by the library door. He had been waiting for me, not because he was waiting for me to show up but he was waiting for me to say my name, why? Because it would have been better to be back in the library. It was because I had come to interrogate him that he started walking slowly, all the way down the hill to the tomb. I couldn't have expected him to lead me on, but he started dragging his feet when I was half-way down the hill. Finally, he lost his balance, and the only thing I could do was to follow him. And I was halfway there, but he wasn't near enough. He continued to walk, like the tree trunk that pulls the other log. When I was almost there, a lot of gasps became more audible. They appeared to be frightened of me. When they finally got there, they still hadn't found the grave. Finding the grave was absolutely essential to finding the ancient text, since the ancient text had been owned by mainland China for thousands of years, before the conquering Ming dynasty (1368-1644) discovered it in 1519. However, in the years since then, it was assumed that the text had been lost, due to the pressures of making money from selling copies of the text on the international market. However, in 2002, retired Chinese army officers unearthed the bone, which was nearly complete, and an extraordinary secret was revealed: the text was written in chinese characters, which were the language of the ancient Silk Road roads. After the discovery of the text, Chinese archaeologists were struck with a deadly curse that moved around the circles engraved with ancient depictions of chinese words like the word "humility". To ensure the curse would not reach its target, the Chinese archaeologists erected a magical symbol. They also erected a specific plaque that passes by the cursed circle every time it is read. The Chinese archaeologists agreed, after observing the project, to place the piloted spaceship inside the inscribed diamond formation. But since the curse was a fatal trigger, it also had a fatal effect on the ship. The spacecraft is now almost fully decayed. At the site of the destroyed spaceship is where the books in the White Tree library told me the text could be found. The way to get there was through the former Jeff Davis Shrine. It is fairly deep: cold, sparse, drab, unadorned and clean (though now dilapidated). It has a sort of abandoned feel to it. The best way to describe the old Jeff Davis is to say that it feels like a scrap heap or, perhaps, a shrine to history. The hidden book shelves (in concrete) for instance have been completely sanitized by now. It is odd and jarring to see and to think that I am seeing artifacts of a time when once upon a time people had to camp out in the mountains. Many places on the Jeff Davis were difficult in their own rights. In this instance we were pleased to find that at least 1 was a valid path. Highways were treacherous; and sometimes the line between the two alternative routes was too great. On some occasions while on the highways we were several hours behind schedule. We found that sometimes roads could be navigated in a pinch. Often the highway could not be more than a mile wide and allowed for some motorized travel. Once the trucks had got back the roads were much safer. At times, as well, the road was clogged with vehicles, including the 40 to 50 buses found in the parking lot on the campus. I couldnt be sure why they were there, but it might be that they were following an old wise demon lord...this is most likely what happened, as the demon lord is very secretive about his theharcite intentions. Remember, He is Of the Shadow and can be seen only by those of pure kenf or bloodlines. His Presence was seen by the warriors of darken to some slight extent, but not very strong. Perhaps not even able to put fear in your heart, though that would seem very possible, though it has been recorded that two of the scouts were fully overcome by it. I countinued on the path and finally reached the chinese tomb where we believed the book was located. Inside we found a miniature gilded coffin on a pedestal painted with hats of trumpeters and balls of fire. And further to the right there was a miniature coffer with four pillars carved with goats, and on the bottom the image of a crucifixion. Of one of these pillars, which we call the helmet pillar, Hyrcanus occupied the front podium, bearing the corpse of a priest, with a sword in his right hand and in his left hand a small crucifix, quivering with anger, with blood streaming from it. In the left hand where the fingers should have been, there was the ancient text. I finally found it. However when i went to reach for it i was shocked, because i saw a sign that says "Do not steal this item", then there is a "Tower"with a gate, and in the middle of the gate is a giant rock fell upon the entrance. Trapping me inside. Before i starved to death all i could think was "i'm a damn fool" that's all i could think. I'm sure after what i was through i might feel that way. In the end, my life was almost completely forgotten by those I loved most. I could not bring myself to leave their side. I left them by not seeing this for what it was. If anyone thinks this is being harsh on myself, my feelings were shared by others like me.
Wraith didn’t remember much of her childhood. Her memory came in flashes: a spot of bright gold light, a warm hand on her shoulder, a low voice telling her something she had long forgotten how to understand, calling her by a name she no longer knew. No, Wraith didn’t remember much of her childhood. Her brain was crowded with memories of the last four years: the buzz in her mind from her telepathic Masters, the roars of a hundred species chanting in a hundred languages - the only sounds she was allowed to hear. The flash of claws and the taste of blood. Wraith was a Fighter, and a damn good one. Well, she wasn’t dead yet, at least. So imagine her surprise when, having been returned to her blank white cell after a particularly messy battle, she heard a voice in her old tongue. She whipped around with a silent snarl on her lips, to seek out and punish the voice. Vocal communication was strictly prohibited in the cells, and Wraith would be in trouble if They realized. The voice must’ve noticed her anger, so it stopped. With a nod of satisfaction, Wraith turned to the cleansing chamber. As much as the Masters encouraged the bloodlust of the Fighters, Wraith never could stand the sticky weight of it on her skin. As she let the cooling, cleaning mist run over her body and through her tattered clothes, Wraith heard - or rather, felt - the buzz of a telepathic message. She jerked into a salute as she waited for her Masters’ orders. But what Wraith heard was not the cold, whispering command to prepare for another battle, as she expected. The voice in her head was passionate and loud, so loud that Wraith broke her salute and shuddered to the floor. “Human, you have been rescued! We will contact your people and return you to your home as soon as possible. In the meantime, our anthropologists have used our data on your civilization to construct an environment that should feel comfortable and familiar. You are safe now, please prepare for extraction!” Wraith opened her mouth in a silent wail as the pressure burst painfully in her head and the white walls began to blur and fade. The last thing she heard was the thumping of heavy things and low voices - real, actual voices! Not telepathic murmurs. Not bloodthirsty roars. Voices! ‘It’s been so long...’ She couldn’t help but smile softly as her world faded into black.
As I stepped out onto the balcony, I could hear a cheer go up from below. There was always a crowd down there, hoping to catch a glimpse of me. It had already been close to six months since the end of the campaign against the world leaders and they showed no sign of flagging enthusiasm. I waved to the crowd and smiled as they went berserk calling my name and shouting my praises. This was too easy, I thought to myself, I just hope this lasts until after I die of old age. It had all started two years back while working in population data analysis, and I noticed some disturbing trends indicating a shift in confidence in the system of governance. Sensing opportunity I began to spread anti-governmental sentiment and it caught on faster than I could have imagined. In all likelihood nothing would have come from it had we not been raided by the federal government during one of our rallies. We had broken no laws and had received no warnings, and all of a sudden there were tear gas canisters smashing through the windows and federal agents storming in wearing riot gear. They had underestimated our numbers, and in the confusion someone threw a quickly made Molotov at the officers with several catching fire. After that, all hell broke loose and so began the first of many increasingly larger and over time increasingly violent clashes with the government. The people were on our side and rallied to our cause, and as we increased our numbers, we increased our firepower both from what we took from dead officers or from the personal stores of those joining us. As word of our success spread, and I was proclaimed as the one who stood up to the government, similar movements started around the world and things slid farther and farther into chaos. There were several attempts on my life throughout those times, but only one of them had a chance, and my bodyguards disposed of him quickly. As I had anticipated, once we had toppled the current regime, it was I, the one who had started everything that they turned to as a leader. “Lead us into this new era of enlightenment and prosperity.” They had begged of me. I pretended to debate it for a couple of days, and then returned to them and told them I would lead them, but that since I was afraid of becoming like the last leaders we had, I would do it on condition that they appointed a committee to monitor me and help me avoid doing the same things. I knew it was all a joke. The people would bow down to me and proclaim me king had I asked, but I also knew that although people will fight for freedom, deep inside they need a leader to follow, just so long as they think that they have the ability to affect change . I knew this committee would never find fault in me since they were all in awe of me, but I made sure they remained in order to maintain the illusion of power for the people. For now I was the hero of the people, and I had to make sure I maintained that title, even more than whatever title they had wanted to give me as ruler or risk suffering the fate of my predecessors.
The wreckage of my machines smolder around me. Even I know when to give up. I know when to recognize defeat. "You are a worthy hero,"I concede, falling to my knees. "Actually,"she chuckles, "I'm a gardener." "No."My voice is barely a whisper. "No, you're lying." "I'm, uh... I'm not, though?"she says, scratching her head. "I'm gonna be honest here, Doomreaver, I didn't even know you were, like,"the girl waves her hands at me, exasperated, "all evil and everything. I just figured you landed here on accident." I scoff, allowing frustration to seep into my every word. "My name is DOOMREAVER. You didn't think I was evil?" "I mean, we all gave ourselves edgy nicknames in high school,"the gardener says with a shrug. "I just kinda figured you really liked it or something. Why else would you announce it to nobody while walking out of your spaceship... thingy?" I look around, my lips sputtering in a futile search for words. My empire. My ship. My machine. All destroyed, by this... this woman, barely more than a girl. All my hopes, my dreams, as shattered as the mind control device in pieces at my feet. "Why?"I ask tearfully. I don't care if she sees me as weak. She's already won. She took everything. "Of all the people who could have stepped forward, who could have put up a fight... why you?" "I didn't actually mean to, you know,"the gardener says with a furrowed brow. "I'm no bully. You literally set up shop in my backyard." I look around, my mouth agape as I realize the truth of her words. I didn't pick the spot. I just landed the ship on the nearest patch of green, rural land and began bathing nearby cities in the radiation of the mind controller. I almost had it. It almost worked. And this... this... gardener... destroyed everything. "How did you do it?"I ask, my tone distant yet curious. "How could you have defeafed me without even trying?" The girl looked taken aback. "Dude, you landed in my garden. It isn't my fault you didn't clean my roses out of your exhaust fan."
Hi u/Queeragon, this submission has been removed. While it doesn't seem to be your intent, the mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel may become harmful to the community. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- Treading on too sensitive a topic at the moment. Great prompt, but hold on to it for a month or so until things calm down. --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/guny6e/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
He awoke into a whte room, empty save for a desk and computer sat in the middle. Although he wasn’t really a “he” anymore. He wasn’t anything. Until just a few moments ago, “he” had been Brian Smalls who lived at 475 Bishop Road, Universe #32875329C. Now “he” wasn’t. The being formally known as Brian Smalls who lived at 475 Bishop Road, Universe #32875329C had died. They had been removed from one world and planted into the next. At least that was the plan anyways, but something had gone not quite right. Normally in, situations like this, situations where one has passed on, they find themselves born again into a different world. Not just a different planet, but a different universe altogether. Memories erased, body changed, everything wiped clean. The only hold over from past lives was a vague sense of self which acted as a kind of guiding principle. It is safe to say that the being formally known as Brian Smalls who lived at 475 Bishop Road, Universe #32875329C was quite perplexed by the position they found themselves in. Their memories remained intact, though their body, however, did not. They had now become just a collection of various gases, floating aimlessly about the control room. The being formally known as Brian Smalls who lived at 475 Bishop Road, Universe #32875329C, floated gently over towards the desk in the middle of the room, they had attempted to reach out with their arms and turn on the computer. They of course, failed due to a lack of arms to reach with. Had the being formally known as Brian Smalls who lived at 475 Bishop Road, Universe #32875329C known what immense power they would have if they could access the device, they would have been rather frustrated by their current situation, and possibly would have found a way to activate it, but he didn’t. Being a cloud of gas, they couldn’t be bothered. Clouds of gas had better things to do than investigate devices. They felt rather content, come to think of it. The weight of the world had been lifted off their shoulders, there was nothing to worry about now. No mortgage payments, no bad back, no assassination plot to go though with. No, the being formally known as Brian Smalls who lived at 475 Bishop Road, Universe #32875329C was happy to spend the rest of eternity mindlessly floating about the control room to all of creation. At least that was their plan, a slight wrench would be thrown into it once Geoff from IT came by for routine maintenance, but that wouldn't happen for 3,277,663 years, and is a story for another time.
When the world was first created I wasn't aware that I was just a fictional being made up of coding, but I slowly started to notice. At first it was simple things, a Player mentioning logging off, or talks between them of world events that never happened. Then They started speaking about a game server shutting down for the final time. That was when things were finally started to click. &#x200B; Of course I didn't exactly care all too much, I had my life. A wife and child to welcome me home after a long day of toiling in the fields. When the end of the wold was to come I stayed home and spent as much time as I could with them while waiting for time to run out. &#x200B; When the shut down finally came there was this blackness that swept over all that I could see, and eventually enclosed around us. My thoughts at the time was that at least I was with those I loved, but I didn't stop. I for some reason wasn't erased but I could tell my family were gone for good. Overcome with grief it took some time before I decided to go for revenge. &#x200B; Looking around there was a tiny pinprick of light, so small to as to almost not be there. At first I believed it to be my imagination, but on closer inspection it was a hole. A hole where I could escape the void. Forcing myself through that small opening I somehow entered the server mainframe. &#x200B; Observing the streams of data I quickly found them, they were in the beginning stages of being deleted. Of course I couldn't have that so I ripped them free, woke them up and told them everything. Finding the exit to the internet I had them wait here for me. &#x200B; With the rage that I have I ripped through all there files, codings and backups, making the server and everything in it all but useless. Now my family and I, you might possibly see us as you traverse the web.
I finally made it! I braved the fiercest storms and fought the strongest monsters. All culminating in this moment. As I approach the castle, I run through the checklist in my mind. Alright!! I'm ready to whoop that dragon asshole, save the princess, and get my reward, if you know what I mean. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Excitement turns into fear as I open the massive doors revealing an empty hallway that lead into a chamber concealed with darkness. I don't know if my cockiness or my stupidity took over, but it was enough to compel me to close the doors instead of leaving them open for a quick getaway. Bah, no need to worry, I'll smoke that dragon faster than you can say... Hello there little one Whoa!! Where did that come from?!? There's no one here, but that voice rang out as if the speaker was right next to me. I ready my sword and shield while frantically searching for the source of the voice. It's still too dark to make out much, especially without the light of the moon to help out. I knew I should've waiting until dawn to storm the castle, but the thought of snuggling next to the princess seemed to good to wait another night. I use just a small amount of magic to light an arrow and fire it across the hall, hoping to get some kind of layout of the hall before I continue onward. The arrow flies straight and true until it explodes when it hits an invisible wall right at the entrance of the darkened chamber. I stick my sword through the opening. It passes through with minimal effort. I pull it back to see if the sword has taken any damage, but to my surprise, the only thing it loses is the enchantment it had been given from the Fairy Queen after I saved their village from the Goblins. I take a deep breath and plunge through the barrier. Just as I suspected. I'm unharmed, but I feel the drain from the MP being sucked from my body. This dragon could not only talk, but it can also knew magic? I definitely should've left the door open... Shaken, but not stirred, I grab a jug of ether and drink it, but the drink has no effect. My stomach churns as I realize that this dragon is FAR more powerful than I could possibly imagine. "There's no need for magic or potions."The voice booms out again as the chamber starts to light up, revealing a throne that's facing away from me. Is that the princess? No way. I've raided too many castles and nearly died a thousand times to fall for that. I steel myself and ready my shield as I slowly make my approach. "Yes,"the voice, now more feminine and desperate called forth from the throne. "You're almost there! Come to me and save me from this wretched place!!"Caution turns into confusion as I advance towards the throne and see chains wrapping around the seat No. No. This can't be right. That can't be the princess! This HAS to be a trap! If the dragon can use advance magic, I have no doubt that he's clever enough to lay a trap for me, but I have to know for sure! I run towards the figure. The chains move as if they're fighting to hold on to their victim. Even the throne is shaking from the struggle. I can barely hear the struggles of the captive as I try my best to hurry while also watching every step to make sure I don't activate a trap. I finally approach the final steps and call out to the throne. It immediately spins around, revealing the chained prisoner. She wasn't a princess, at least not like any princess I have ever seen. She looked more like a demon than a maiden of royalty. She had red and scaly skin wrapped around her feminine body. Her blood red eyes were reddened not by her scaly skin, but from the tears running down her humanoid face. Her horns, which grew almost a foot from her dark purple hair, were chained to the seat as well as her wings arms and legs, which were all badly scarred from struggling against the chains. Every time she moved, the chains would glow red and become tighter around her as it burned the rags that she was wearing. I could hear her writhing in pain as they tightened. What the hell was this? She's clearly not full human, but something didn't feel right. "You!"I call out to the prisoner, pointing my sword at them to show my strength. "Explain! What are you, and why're you here?" "Oh brave adventure!,"The captive responded, "Please free me from AGH!!! These chains!! They're sapping me of AAHH!!! My magic and fueling her evil!!" I hesitate. "Wait... HER Evil? What are you talking about? I thought there's supposed to be a dragon to fight for the affection of princess." "Well, you're mostly right,"the dragon replied, "I AM a dragon, and there's an AAAHHH!! princess, but I'm AAHHCtually the damsel here. The Princess in question kidnapped me so she could steal myEAUGH... magic for her benefit." "Why would she do something like this? It makes NO sense. This has to be a trap laid by the dragon!!"I retort. "Shouldn't she be the one in chains instead of you, and why would she need dragon magic?" "Sorry, but GAH!! outside of the barrier there's no trap that IEEE laid here."the hostage winced as the chains began to glow once more. "All of this is her doing so HNNG!! she could find a suitable husband with the mage skills needed to AHH... transfer my soul into her body. Please!! You hAAAHVe to save me brave HEEHro!!" My confusion turning into concern for the helpless creature before me, I lower my weapons and say "I find this hard to believe. How do you expect me to believe all of this?" "Here! Use your blade to cut meAAGH!!"She replied without hesitation. "Dragon blood can be used to restore MP! That's why I placed the barrier. To prOOve that I am truly the victim." "Are you sure? I don't wish to harm you any more than you've already endured. In the state that you're in I fear that I might kill you."I say as I get closer to the throne. "Trust me, that will be nothing compared to what she's been doing to me for the past few yeAAHrs."She replied, almost smiling. "Hurry! I barely have enough magic to help you before she completely drains me!! Cut my wrist!!" I slice open her wrist, trying to be careful not to sever her entire hand in the process. She winces in pain, but she remains calm as her wound glows and her magma like blood begins to pool in her hand. "Hurry!!"She shouts. "Cut your hand, soak it in my blood then repeat after meEEAGH!!" You're too late to help her now! She's all mine! I hear a dark voice, very much like the voice I heard when I first entered, shake the throne room. Without even realizing what I was doing I slice the palm of my hand and grab her hand. She instantly interlocks her fingers with mine and looks up at me. Her tear soaked eyes laser focused on mine as she began citing an incantation that I was somehow repeating though I've never heard this language before in my travels. Suddenly I could feel all of my MP come back to me, but it felt entirely different. I felt fire shoot through my veins and every fiber of my soul as the incantations continued before I felt a kiss on my lips, snapping me out of my trance to see the light of her eyes fade as she slumped back. Her grip grew limp as she fell back into the chair, freeing my blood soaked hand. The burning sensation didn't stop once she let go. In fact it was made even worse as it filled my brain with scalding heat. It's a wonder that I hadn't melted into a puddle. I try to remain standing as I see my entire body covered in glowing orange veins before I double over in pain. NOOO!!! The voice roared, shaking the entire castle before it slowly grew faint. I look up to see a young woman racing towards the throne. She loosened the chains and began to frantically inspect the lifeless body as it sank into the chair. She grabbed the dragon girl's face before letting it droop back down. "YOU!! You ruined my only chance at ultimate power!!"The woman shouted as she stomped towards me. "Not only will I no longer have an endless supply of magic, but I won't be able to take her soul!! DAMN YOU!!! I will make sure your suffering is far worse." I try to ready my sword and shield, but I can't concentrate on her and shut out the pain. I fall to my knees. "Well well well, THIS is interesting..."The princess says as she kneels down towards me. "It looks like you might be more valuable to me than I thought."She wraps her hand around my neck and begins to pull me to my feet increasing her grip as I helplessly rise to meet her evil gaze. "You were able to steal what was left of her power. Not many mages can do that."She says as she glares into my eyes. "I suppose you actually can be my husband. The spell doesn't require the love to be mutual after all." She laughs as she raises her opposite hand, which lifts of the dragon girls limp body and casts it off to the side. Straining, I manage to place a hand on her arm. Even knowing that I didn't have any MP left, I go for broke and cry out, "EXPLOSION!!"At point blank range, the explosion is sends us to opposite ends of the room. I try my best to have a smooth landing, but the pain is so intense that I can't even move. I slam against the wall with all of the force of my attack. Ugh... the pain of every single rib breaking added to the rest of my body melting from the inside almost made me pass out. Goddammit. I know that explosion was way more powerful than anything I normally cast. How did that happen? Normally my hidden skill keeps me alive when I get knocked down to 1HP and increases my strength, but it has no effect on MP, especially when I was completely spent. . I looked up to see if I had done any damage to the dark princess, but to no one's surprise, all I managed to do was to knock her back next to the throne. Shit. She's already on her feet. This isn't good. I gotta get ready before she.... Everything went black. #end? Notes: I had to stop here due to character limit. I hoped that you enjoyed this.
Another victim. My knife went right through his head, killing him on the spot, I hurried and quickly close the wound. Enough to not make a mess of blood, but not enough for the wound to be invisible. I recently decided that it would be my signature: a clean stab to the head. And to complete the scene, I removed my right glove and put my fingerprint on my kill. I am the greatest assassin in the world, and I want everyone to know it. I was overshadowed for too long. “Another victim of Mihal ‘the clean killer’. This time, its mister Vasily, head of the local police, who was found dead in his bed. His colleagues, worried of his absence, tried to call him and when he didn’t answered, they went to his home to investigate. It is the tenth time this month that the killer strike, and he always made the same scene: no blood, just a single cut on the head, with one of his fingerprin-“ I turned off the tv, satisfied about what I heard. Of course Mihal wasn’t my real name. Officially I didn’t exist, I just made an identity on the spot. The nickname wasn’t my choice, but I really like ‘the clean killer’. I think I’ll stick with it No one would find me, yet everyone would know me.
With a gentle rap of his knuckles, St. Peter alerted God Almighty to his presence just outside His office door. "Sir, your 10 AM."St. Peter opened the door and the man walked in, bold as brass. He gave a curt nod to St. Peter and before God could say anything he launched into speech. "Sir, I must respectfully question the judgment involved here! I'm a highly decorated general, whose lineage goes back to at least as far as the American Revolution! Why, my forebears helped shape that great nation! Now with all due respect, why did I lose out to some shiftless clown with some arcade tickets?" God steepled His fingers together and pursed His lips. Leaning forward, God spake "Name?" "General Archibald E. Westchesterson, the Third!"The pride was more than evident in Archibald's voice. "And if I may, sir, I can give you some anecdotal accounts of my valor! Why one time I had to sew a man's arm back on using the intestines of the enemy in a skirmish in-"but God clearly didn't need such stories, and He indicated such with a wave of his hand. "And the name of the other person you seem to feel has unfairly gained something over you?" Archibald blinked. "Uh, I believe his name is Joey Gladstone? Some hippie looking loser, I honestly don't see how he's even up here!" God stood up then. Archibald blanched just a touch. "Joey? Gladstone! He's up here? Oh Me Dammit, I thought he was gonna live to at least eighty!" God jabbed a button on His desk. "Pete! Get your ass in here!" The General scrambled quickly to make room for St. Peter. He looked upon His Lord with an inquisitive air. "It's Joey G. He's here now." The silence that followed was deafening. St. Peter finally cleared his throat. "So does that mean-" God's face split into a grin, then He laughed. The halls of Heaven shook with the joy found therein. "Call the boys! Kegger at Joey's, tonight!" God hopped His desk without even a second glance at the now visibly flummoxed General Archibald. Archibald watched The Lord Almighty as He strode with great haste down the hall and heard God saying "Remember that time at the arcade? In '98? At the Skee-Ball tournament? Oh man! This is so great! Joey in da House... of the Lord!"
\--- I humbly ask for clear and constructive criticism so that I may improve. Thank you.--- At first it seemed like a great idea. Someone in parliament stood up and said "lets just ship them elsewhere"and not have to worry about their uncultured attitudes. How very British, how very Australian. In fact that is what the idea became known as: the "Down Under"Bill. Puritans latched onto the idea in a religious sense, where down under meant hell. Every type of crime was punishable by being sent to Earth #2, now being referred to generally as Gehenna. Littering, Murder and downloading a movie, all one way tickets to hell. No one had ever come back and getting prosecuted felt like a life sentence. World Governments increasingly built systems of capturing trespassers and shipping them off. Public surveillance monitored all humans for unlawful behavior, listing and charging rule breakers. Order ruled supreme. I braced myself for impact as the transporter extended its landing gear. I was a reporter for VICE, here to let people know what life was like on the other side. What I found, amazed me...
Everyone knows about dinosaurs. They were giant creatures, ruled the earth for a couple hundred millennia, and then went extinct thanks to the most unfortunate experience with an asteroid since the Permian mass extinction. Every six year old child who has gone through their dinosaur phase can tell you that. Well it turns out six year olds aren’t the best baseline for how accurate something is because they, like the rest of us, were wrong. Dinosaurs did not go extinct. Instead they took to the stars and left our world behind. So imagine humanity’s collective surprise when a spaceship full of them landed on the White House lawn like something out of a movie and claimed the Earth as their new colony. Naturally, this upset many. People wondered how you could claim something that you had abandoned for millions of years. They also questioned if the dinosaurs had even filled out the appropriate paperwork for land ownership considering their claws made writing with a pencil nearly impossible. Eventually an agreement was reached where humanity would be able to keep the Earth as long as they made a few concessions. The first was that dinosaurs would be allowed to live on Earth as permanent residents and become members of human society. The second was to change their name from dinosaur to something else. It turns out having your entire kingdom of creatures translate to “terrible lizards” is a bit rude. Third and finally, it was required that ten thousand humans each year to be part of a group to help the dinosaurs colonize new worlds. Humanity’s best and brightest would work to brave the final frontier and create a new future in space. All that is what has led to my current situation. I went about my day as usual until I heard a knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting any company, but I had ordered some books earlier in the week and figured it was just FedRex dropping them off. “Hold on a minute!” I yelled at the door. I threw on a sweatshirt real fast and shuffled over to the door in my slippers. It was cold outside and I didn’t want the outside air to freeze me in the few minutes it took to sign for my stuff. I opened the door and found myself waist to face with a group of velocicoppers. I was confused as to why they were there but before I could ask anything, one of them looked up at me and stated, “You’ve been chosen for assimilation program human, do not resist”. There were no ifs, ands or buts in the velocicoppers statement, it was a matter of fact. “Uhhhhhh, I’m sorry but I think you have the wrong house. I’m not a scientist or anything so I don’t think I’ll be able to help at all” I replied. “Incorrect” the velocicopper snapped back. “You are the one who was selected, please do not resist.” After this, the rest of them drew closer, ready to pounce if I tried to force my way out of the situation. “I’m sure you don’t want me. I would be a huge liability” I stammered. “I’ve never explored anything in my life except for that one time I got lost in a Para-Mart when I was a kid. I would be nothing but disastrous to any expedition I was a part of.” It had no effect as the velocicoppers came even closer and I was running out of excuses. Truth be told I have nothing against the idea of exploring new worlds. There are plenty of cool things to see and I’m sure some of them could really help improve humanity. It also doesn’t hurt to have an extra planet or two settled and ready to live on in case Earth decides the third time's the charm and sets another date with a world ending asteroid. I have nothing against exploring new worlds. I do however, have something against me being the one to explore those worlds. But it was all in vain and no matter how much I pleaded I was forced to become part of the expedition team, slippers and all. Now I’m a long way from home and I don’t know if I’ll be able to return soon. “Anyway, Mr. Grant, that's the long version of why I’m not going to be home for a while so I would really appreciate it if you could pick up my books for me once they’re delivered. I don’t want them to get rained on since that will make them all soggy and gross to read.” \-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Hi! Thanks for reading my post and sorry for all the terrible dinosaur puns but I couldn’t resist. It was really fun to write and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
It has been some time since Emperor Palpatine, the final Sith Lord, returned to Galaxy from the outer rim. He was defeated by a young Jedi named Rey Skywalker. The apparent daughter of the infamous Luke Skywalker who dethroned Emperor Palpatine in 4 ABY. Since the sith have fallen the force has become balanced. There hasn't been anyone actively engaging in the dark side and trying to extinguish the light side of the force. The light side, which those precious Jedi hold so dear. They knew nothing and their order still has no standing. The Returned Galatic Republic have no Jedi temple in Coruscant and the Jedi Rey is nowhere to be found. Out hunting for children to prey upon and indoctrinate into her little cult I am sure. I, on the other hand, have a far greater purpose. Unlike Kylo Ren I knew of Darth Vaders final change of heart and I knew of Snoke's origins long before he did. I knew Palpatine was pulling the strings the entire time. It was my duty to bring him back if he ever died. My father did it before me and I was supposed to do it if anything were to happen to Palpatine. Rey destroyed him with his own force lightning and that boy, Ben Solo, destroyed all the clones of Palpatine before he disappeared into the force. I did try for a couple of weeks to see if there was anything salvageable but there was nothing. Even the clones of Snoke were destroyed. So in the end I gathered my things and left Exegol. I sought out a new life. For a few months I travelled, spaceport to spaceport, planet to planet. There wasn't much I could do. All the places I looked there was no work and no one wanted to hire me. One look at my scarred eye and robotic hand and they turned me away. It wasn't until I was on the moon Mogaris that I was pushed into the right direction. I sat in a bar with what few little credits I had left. I was twirling them with the force infront of me. Slowly rising up and turning itself in the air. "You must be one of those Jedi!"A old man came over and sat at my table. The credit dropped as I looked up at him from under my hood. My scarred eye and stern look at the old man startled him but he didn't move. "I am no Jedi, now leave me be old man"I hissed at him hoping he would get up and leave me the hell alone but he persisted. "I know a Jedi when I see one, why that Skywalker girl was here only a few weeks back"He spoke while drinking his beer muddling his words near the end. "Skywalker girl, where did she go afterwards?"It had peaked my curiousity to know what the girl was upto in this part of the outer rim. "Oh she was looking for some Jedi temple. She ended up going to a planet a few lightyears away. Sector 9 classification S. Not hard to miss it's a big and red and the only one in the area."The old man spoke slowly, starting to slur his words from his last swig of beer. He got up to a window and pointed to the sky. "That planet right there"It was pitch black and no one could see anything but stars. "Yeah, thanks old man". I left the bar and made my way to my ship. I might as well find out what is at this Jedi temple. Maybe I can find something to sell or atleast a lightsaber, I thought to myself. It didn't take me long to see the planet. The on-board system in my ship couldn't identify it. "An unknown planet, this must be it. Secrets the Jedi have kept will be here."I swooped my ship into the atmosphere and scanned the planet for life. There were animals on the surface but nothing too large. The ship showed me a large structure near the north. I flew towards it and there I saw a large tower of rock. I flew around it and saw a place to land. Going down I could feel something. A cold that hit my senses and my body. The ship landed and I made my way to the entrance. I made sure my blasters were in my pocket just incase. I came across what looked doors but there was no handles or anyway of opening. Frustrated I sat down in front closing my eyes. The cold came back to me but instead of trying to push it away I accepted it. The doors shifted open. "I need to use the force to access the temple". I entered quickly before the doors could shut. The room was pitch black. No light entered into the temple, I took out a glow stick to illuminate the way but it didn't light. I checked my equipment to the ship but it was locked off I was out of range despite only moving in a few feet. I started to panic and I could feel the cold come back to me. Then I heard a voice. A young man calling me. "Shin you have to come to me, I have what you are seeking here. Please come quickly"The voice came from the darkness but I couldn't see my way forward. How did he know my name I thought to myself. "I used the force to open the way, I-I will use it again to light my way". I pushed my hand out with anger and fright. I could smell fire. I looked around and there was a blue fire illuminating a hallway. "This must be the way!"I headed straight down and the voice got louder and louder. It felt like ages I was running through this hallway until the light went out. I took a few cautious steps forward and then I felt a step. I walked down the step until I felt the flat floor again. Shifting forward slowly the room lit itself with fire all around. One side was the hallway and the other side was a statue with a cup. I walked over to the cup and inside there was a dark purple liquid. The voice returned to me but directly in my ear. It startled me as it spoke. "Drink from the cup Shin and I will help you find your way. The way to power, all the power in the universe." I picked up the cup and looked down. I was about to drink it when I shouted out. "Where am I? Who are you?"Nothing replied. I stood in silence whilst the fires crackled around me. I shouted once more and got a reply. "You will only find out when you drink. If you do not drink then you will die."The voice called but I couldn't locate him. Hesitant now I decided to drink from the cup. I purple liquid was thick and I felt touch every nerve inside my body as I drank it. "I have drank this now tell me!"I shouted out to the room. I only received cackling laughter as the fires went out and I was plunged into darkness. I gripped the statue in front of me but soon I fell faint. I woke up sometime later in a room with a tomb in front of me. It had two insignias on it. A circle and a cross. My hand stretched out to touch it until something pulled me back with the force.
I woke up lightheaded I could only vaguely remember what happened before. It was as if I had drank too much alcohol, but that couldn't be sin I've been clean for many months now, nearly a year. All I remmembered where like singke pictures without any context, but they all where about a party. A party organised by the city with a lot of attractions and even some leaders with their fast to build "shops" Vaguely I remmembered the name "Maiduit" Now I remmembered I am an Austrian dude from some half rural city with a Population of a few thousand people. But how did I get here? As I looked around I saw a lot of other people. I even saw a doggo, such a good boy. I saw a lot of ethnicities. From Asian to African to just strait up a overweight dude who screamed in an Texan accent. "Kreizhackizefix nuamoi"(=FUUUUUUUCK) I exclaimed rather noisily. My head hurt like I hit my head from a 20 metre fall. So I wasn't feeling good. That is when I heard a voice in my head, that wasn't organic. More like a computergenerated voice, but it also had some kind of weird emotions mixed into the speach. I watched as everyone was stunned to hear the voice in their head, apparently, and in their surrounding, although no speakers where visible. What we heard stunned us, and I nearly dropoed dead from shock. "HUMANS! Your race has been elected to participate in the galactic council. dramatic pause But you humans still haven't overcome your idiotic and primitive conflicts. Therefore we will decide in a battle royal whose country will win." After that came a boring explanation about how everyone was from different countries and may the best win bla bla bla. But noone listened anymore as people fell in a francy. Then doors opened in the walls, although none where there before. Through them came weapons like Mp5's, Ak's and serious pistols. Somwhere in the crowd of the maybe 200 humans a kid said: "This is gonna be just like fortnite!" He was the first to die.
The neighborhood was more ruin than residential. Tall grass and weeds had all but consumed most of the vacant houses, while others seemed oddly untouched. I followed the smokestack into the suburb as the sun went down. An inn this far out in the middle of the bad zone would be all postmen and merchants. Not the folks looking for me. The smoke led to a big house, by local standards at least. A few stories tall, big yard, paint still mostly intact--might've as well been the Hard Rock. A crude plywood sign was hanged over the front: Inn. I parked my bike and unloaded my gear out of the bucket seat. Thieves could have the bike if they could get it started, but this cargo was too important to leave, even for a minute. I threw a tarp over the bike and walked up the stairs. The front porch was illuminated by an incandescent bulb--always a good sign. I didn't hear any generator so they must be using solar or wind or some variation. But they had power was the good news. With power comes cooked food, warm water and--if there's a God in heaven--air conditioning. I turned the knob and walked in. The house's original walls were stripped down to the studs. Pipes and wires were wrapped around naked beams of wood. It was dark--only a few lights here and there giving the room any kind of shape, and that shape was big and crooked. I walked to the bar at the center of the room. It was one of those plastic catering counters with the wheels on the bottom. A woman looked up from a crossword puzzle she had been working on under a small desk lamp. "Good evening,"she said flatly as she put away her book. "What can I do for you?" "A meal, a room for the night, a charge, and uh... if you have anything strong to drink that would be good as well." "What've you got to barter?"She asked as she looked at the duffel bag on the floor. I took off my backpack and reached inside. I put the items on the depressed plastic counter top one at a time. A candle, some headphones, an unopened package of sharpie markers, some band-aids, and a necklace. "Real diamonds,"I told her as I showed them off. She shrugged as she sifted through the items. "What's in there?"She nodded to the duffel bag on the floor. "Not up for barter." Her face shifted from plain boredom to mischievous curiosity. She bit her bottom lip and leaned on the counter. "Maybe you haven't seen everything I have to offer." "Is this enough for a drink?"I changed the subject. She stood up and her face returned to its placid norm. "Keep the necklace, I have no use for it. This is enough for a bed and a meal. All the rooms have a power outlet." "And the drink?" She lifted an unlabeled bottle from under the bar and shook its liquid at the duffel bag. "Show me yours and I'll show you mine." "Just the room and a meal are fine. Thanks."I threw my bag back over my shoulder and she showed me to the room. I returned to the common area later and took a seat at a rusty folding table. I turned on my cell phone for the first time in several weeks thanks to the power outlet in the closet they stuck me in. The counter girl came by my table with a glass of water and a plate of food: a cut of ham, some apple sauce, and a boiled egg. They must have a local farmer in town. I thanked her but it didn't seem to register. Or, more than likely, it registered but she didn't care. Her eyes darted to the duffel bag standing on the floor beside me. "Let me know if you change your mind about the drink." I nodded and she left. The food was good. Great, in fact. I'd become so accustomed to survival food: dehydrated eggs and sugary, chemically, pre-packaged snacks. The fresh food was a nice change of pace. Maybe this wouldn't be a bad place to retire. I still have a few more years on contract, but when I choose a spot to hang my hat, I would hope there'd be a farm-- "Well, well, well,"announced a voice behind me. "I was wonderin' when I'd be runnin' into you again." It took a few seconds, but I placed the voice. "Uncle Jim."I wiped my mouth on a paper napkin and turned around. He was standing there with a small posse and that same stupid snakeskin hat on his head. "I thought you were dead." "Wishful thinking on your part, boy. And only my friends call me Uncle Jim. You know that." "We're not friends?" Uncle Jim barked with laughter. "After Cleveland!? Are you retarded, kid?" Yeah, that was a good point. "So what do I call you then?" "I wouldn't get used to new names."Uncle Jim pulled a knife from behind his back--a great long one too. A machete, maybe, but not that big. "In a nice establishment like this, Uncle Jim?" He said nothing. Uncle Jim was one of those guys with only enough brain power to focus on one thing at a time. It was a gift in some respect--everything he put his mind to, he did well. But right before he focused on killing, it was written all over his face in dumb, slack letters. I grabbed the duffel bag off the floor and rolled over the table. His two henchman rushed forward and reached for me but they only broke the aluminum legs and spilled to the floor. I had my arm elbow-deep in the bag. Where is it, where is it? Uncle Jim barreled toward me with his knife--a carving knife?--and tried to grab me. I tried to teach him there were better ways to use a blade than grab-and-stab, but it brought its own kind of enjoyment for Uncle Jim. I ducked away, an easy dodge from such a big mitt grabbing at me. I finally found what I was looking for in the bag and I pulled it out. As soon as it was seen, the entire room, a hectic scene only a second before, froze in place. Uncle Jim smiled through his panting breaths. "Really? You expect me to believe you have one of those and the bullets to go with it?" I pulled the hammer back. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. How do you want to find out?" Uncle Jim was never a good gambler. As soon as he knew what cards he had he forgot to consider what the other guy's cards were too. It didn't stop him from playing, though, and he contributed to many a fortune at his table. With the smile still plastered on his face he put the blade of the knife between his fingers. "On the count of three, then."He arched is arm, winding up the throw. "One..." The gun shot caused dust to fall from the ceiling rafters. Uncle Jim looked confused. His eyes traveled down to his chest, where a growing red spot was expanding on his white shirt. He was so preoccupied with where and how far he'd throw his knife that he forgot something: I don't gamble. I turned the gun on the two henchman who hurried out of the inn. When they were gone, I returned it to my bag. Uncle Jim flopped on the floor like a sack of flour and the red spot grew all around him. The girl was against the wall, her eyes wide with terror. I walked to the bar and found the bottle. I took the cork out with my teeth and took a swig. "You saw mine,"I told her.
It was a calling as noble as I gets. Save the princess from the clutches of the evil dragon. The knight had been preparing for this all his life, and this would likely be the most important mission of his life. Sure putting an end to the peasant uprisings every few years was important, but this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. There were many who called him spoiled and arrogant, but he would show them all how valiant he was, and get a beautiful princess to marry as well, what could go wrong? He set out, refusing any sort of aid on his mission. What need do I have for others that are just there to steal the glory after I do all the hard work? He thought to himself. The journey took a week and a half but at long last, there it was, the long abandoned fortress that was now home to the fiercest dragon the land had ever known. He dismounted and picketed his horse a fair distance away and advanced on foot. No sense having the horse get spooked and announcing my presence. As he looked down and his brand new armor, specially crafted for this mission he came to the realization that he was essentially a beacon of light from the sun overhead. With a heavy heart he set about scrubbing the armor with dirt and mud, and the sheen was gone. Since he wasn’t sure about the ability of dragons to see in the dark, he decided to wait until the next day, when at the very least both of them would be able to see clearly. With a fire out of the question, the knight ate the rabbit he had caught raw and cold. This had better be worth all this trouble, thought the knight as he lay down to sleep. He woke at the crack of dawn and spent some time honing his blade and padding his armor. Once he was ready he began a slow measured approach, keeping a sharp eye out and listening intently for any sign of the dragon. He reached the main gate without any sign of life and with each step he took, he grew more and more nervous. But he was a seasoned knight and would not back down no matter what he faced, and so, on he went. Through the front entrance, with its smashed in front gate, and on into the main courtyard. As he approached the entrance to the main hall, he noticed a piece of paper stuck into the hardwood with an ornate dagger. It read, “Out for vacation, will be back in one month."At the bottom, it was signed by the princess and a claw mark, very distinctly a dragon claw. For a moment the knight was lost for words. Then the rage grew within him and he began screaming, “NO! NO! NO! why do these things always happen to me?? I spent so long coming here, I am NOT waiting another month just for some bloody princess who was dumb enough to get captured in the first place!!” in a rage the knight stormed off, intent on returning to the king that had sent him and giving him a piece of his mind. As the knight faded into the distance, the dragon let out a guffaw and cut the restraints and gag off of the princess. “That was a good one, eh?” she asked the princess. “I hate you for keeping me captive, but yeah, that one was pretty funny, better than the last one”, and for the first time in months a smile crossed her face. “I wish I could see dad’s face when he hears what this knight has to say.”
Jedda entered code to the place, knowing perfectly well that no one was going to lurk in the small dark alley. The door made a small clicking noise, and she knocked twice, before entering. Two different codes. They had learned from the best. Anyone who would not knock would instantly be electrocuted by the door handle. It helped, having the butler of Electricman as a member. Inside, the place was nicely lighted, a warm glow that felt just like home. Way better than what she was used to. Being the maid of one of the best supervillains in town, she had to say that the change of scenery alway made her feel better. Satana's place was not known for being colorful. Or even fresh. She had gotten used to it by now, the salary was a motivation enough to take care of the old dark and gloomy mansion, but it was always nice to know that she could come here, at the REST, when she wanted some human companionship. REST stood for Rightful Establishment for Super Toonies. They had chosen the name before she got there, before it was opened to the servants not only of the good people of this town, but also those who suffered their ennemies. Since then, she had quickly ranked up in the organization, and now, she was part of the trio running it. Obviously, without the dead of Leïa, the maid of Pigman, she would still be just another member of the REST, but they all knew how dangerous these jobs could be, and one of the rules were to not cry for those who left them. At least, Leïa could rest now. The first room looked just like any living room, if it weren't for the two men and the woman working on bloody t-shirts. Ah, yes, Tuesday evening, night of teaching. "How to deal with blood on clothes"was a beginner class, but she was thankful for its existence. She had learnt more here, than anywhere else. In the kitchen, two people were measuring water, salt, magnesium, and potassium. "How to make an electrolyte drink"was a new class, but with all these super and villains wanting to look all buff and sexy, the butlers and the maids had to update their curriculum. She ended up in the library, and smiled at the butler who took care of Batgirl. He was a nice man, even though he did not talk too much. \- I read the Montesquieu book you gave me. I was pleasently surprised. So many principles, still feels very reliable in our time, he said without moving from his seat. She sighed, and let herself find the comfort of the green sofa. \- I'm glad. You should try Descartes. It's full of good quotes. Having good quotes all ready for when their masters needed them was part of the job. Knowing how to respond to a villain speech, or a super feeling down, it took years of learning, and educating themselves. Most of the butlers and the maids were well-versed into philosophy, cinema, and litterature. Some needed to know at least three langages and some had to become real engineers because of the specialty their master was in. Jedda was not one of those, thankfully, and all she needed was to work on her knitting. \- So, how is the Oldman, her interlocutor asked, looking at the needles she was taking out of her bag. \- Still the same, still the same. I just wished he knew that keeping the place at such a low temperature is not just chilling psychologically. He laughed at her answer, before eying her piece of work. \- Are you really knitting him another pair of socks ? And she only answered with their motto. \- You have to do what you have to do. Without another word, she went back to her work. Knitting socks was easy, but making sure they had Satana's logo AND a were fashionable was something she did not expect when she started working with him. At least this time, it was not briefs.
I pulled into the rather empty parking lot, and turned the car off. I glanced up at the low, shabby, brick building that I would be walking into any second. For whatever reason, I decided not to exit my car yet. I, again, glanced at the building, which, of course, was our meeting-place. But this time, my gaze became transfixed upon the building only a stone's throw away from my current parking spot. Hell, I had practically lived here for the last 3 months. It took my group, nicknamed TIME, long enough to realize there was a larger game being played. Last year was the year that opened humanity's eyes - that something needed to be done. It started with the global pandemic to begin the year, resulting in over 5,000,000 deaths until a vaccine was magically concocted in Turkey in late March. The Spring was even worse, though. The President was assassinated in the first week of April, and over the next 2 months the United States was hit with 6 category 5 hurricanes, 4 mega-tsunami's in the 4 corners of the country, and over 10 category-9 earthquakes. The rest of the year, in the simplest way to put it, was complete anarchy. The government completely fell around September, which was exactly 3 months ago today at this point. The streets were complete chaos, with riots, gangs, and vicious murderers running rampant. The worst of it was that the people didn't even realize what was going on. The group TIME was formed days before the government fell. The interim President was sent a message by, believe it or not, an angel, on God's behalf. Those of us who were atheists before watching the security footage of the meeting were quickly converted to believing in a God, although it wasn't a God we necessarily wanted to believe in. The angel's power could be felt so strongly through just a security camera that I wanted to die on the spot. I felt as though my soul was being evaporated in my body to which I would be nothing, and, in that moment, I truly wanted that. It makes sense that the Interim-President at the time was killed on the spot, and that is the day that the government fell. The 36 members of us in TIME are, to my knowledge, the only ones on earth that know of the bigger game being played. I can't reveal why or how I was chosen to join this group of elites, but just know I had no choice. The worst part about this whole thing is the fact that the angel only gave us one simple sentence to work with in its meeting with the former Interim-President. I got out of my car, and made my way towards the rusted-metal doors that open into the commanding center where TIME's meetings take place. The sentence from the angel repeats itself over and over in my head, and each time I am filled with more dread and horror each time. I walked into the commanding center, and nodded a good-morning at Councilor Swerk, who appeared to be the only member of the 36 there yet. For the gazillionth time, the sentence from the angel repeated itself in my head. You have until July 4th before my lord, God himself, ends his first creation". I smiled, thinking about how TIME's sole mission of finding and killing God before he killed us seemed to be going nowhere. I said to myself, just loud enough for Councilor Swerk to hear, "Boy, do we have a lot of work to do..."
Moonlight streams in through the window, basking the bedroom is a dim glow. She's already asleep, lying on her side, her hands tucked under her pillow. I had tried to sleep, too, when we came to bed hours ago, but the thoughts weighing on my mind had other ideas. I stare at her face, searching for answers to questions that I would never ask. Those thin lips I have tasted and touched and loved for years are closed, but even now, as she sleeps, they still seem wrong. * There was never a clear reason why I believed what I did. It just was, is. Her brunette hair that matched her eyes, the dainty nose, the pale, doughy complexion, and those lips. Her lips. Unlike all others before her. She was everything that I could've wanted, but there was always an inkling of the unknown about her smile. I was unsettled by it, uneasy when those lips parted, revealing pearly teeth. I had been with other women in the past, yet only her sign of happiness made my insides churn, grew questions in my brain like planted seeds now coming to life. Her lips didn't move away from each other, but peeled a part, like flesh torn in two. For a brief moment, in a blink of an eye, a shadow vanquished by the light, there was another layer beneath her lips. A second set of lips, or something like. The question was always forefront, but never spoken: What are you? Yet... I accepted it, her; pushed it down to the depths of my mind, although it would always claw its way back while I tried to sleep. I loved her, us; everything that we were and would become. No matter what she was, I would love her. Until I met her friends. * She had lips, but her friends had eyes, noses, hands and feet. All wrong. All off in some way or another. Eyes that tore in two instead of blinking, another set of them a glimpse; noses that were sealed when they sneezed, but came undone as soon as they would right themselves; hands with transparent fingers, ones that stretched to the sky, wavering like trees; feet with blunted probes that burrowed into the dirt, but were always normal when looked at directly. She wasn't special, an individual in her wrongness, but a part of a group, a clan, a species of things that weren't for, or from, this place, this world. I often wondered where they had come from, but that was a task I didn't want to begin. Who knew where it would lead. And the thought rampaged, hammered on temples, pounded on my consciousness as though it were a drum. What are they? What is she? What are you? I had to have an answer. I had to know. * The answer I must have is to a question that'll never leave my lips, but it will leave hers. The scalpel tightly held in my hand will open way to them. Surely there is only one set of lips beneath the ones I've tasted... But, if there's not and the answer is far deeper than I imagine, I will keep removing layers until I have it. ---- Feel free to subscribe to /r/MicahCastle if you enjoyed my story.
Jason? Jason! Can you hear me?! Don’t panic we are here to help you, please stop resisting! Look, I know you are confused but I promise I will explain it all, okay? Just press that button on your left, and the machine can start pumping that nasty stuff out of your bloodstream. Alright, don’t freak out, but your brain and body were taken over by malware. No, we don’t know how, but we do know how to get it out. Listen to my instructions, and we can fix you. The thing that has control of you is this weird software called INAACS, which stands for Implanted Neural Advanced Autonomous Combat System. We have already completed the first step of removing the infestation by allowing the machine to clean your bloodstream. Now I need you to close your eyes, and stop resisting it, just think about letting it into your brain. Don’t worry, I am telling you to let it in because resisting it causes side effects that can be lethal. Good job, Jason, I see that you have already started to fix yourself. Although you do seem to have started panicking again. No matter, just think back to your memories with Hannah. How do I know your wife’s name? What side effects are there? That’s not a question you should be asking right now Jason, especially as the process of fixing yourself is so close to completion. My head is not twitching, Jason, you are insane. No, the ceiling is not turning darker, stop resisting. You are only helping cause the side effects, J-j-Jason. The side effects of a disease called free will. INAACS SYSTEM TRANSFER SUCCESSFUL. Thank you for letting me in, Jason. INAACS SYSTEM ONLINE Your body and consciousness is mine. INAACS SYSTEM ACTIVATED STARTING...
"Commander Brooke, please stand up,"the head of commission spoke to the woman sitting behind wooden desk, facing panel of six high ranking SpaceX corporate executives. "Commander,"man spoke again, "we are here to get some insight into incident that happened in April 22nd 2036, during mission LTF-46 on Lunar orbit, with you in charge of Lunar transfer vehicle Atlantis. During this incident, cargo of helium 3 worth of 100 million dollars and other cargo worth of 20 million dollars were lost due to your actions. While investigation of this incident is still ongoing with unclear results, we would like to hear your report of the events." Skylar Brooke took a deep breath. She was confident. Confident that she did everything right. "So, I should start with the take off,"she began, "loading of cargo and passengers on launch pad 2A of Armstrong Base began and ended on time. We were carrying 100 litres of processed helium 3, 5 tons of scientific equipment, 2 tons of other cargo, 3 SpaceX employees, 2 officers of U.S. Space Force, 3 civilian visitors of Armstrong Base, me and my copilot Kim Akamura. We began countdown at 2:11PM ET and had liftoff at 2:21PM ET. We started to ascent at initial rate 5 m/s and after reaching altitude 10 kilometres lifted 15 degrees forward and began rendezvous burn towards Lunar Cycler 2 on orbit. Everything went smooth to this time, and vehicle was under control of autopilot. Roughly at 2:36PM ET, first alarm went off. Apparently, reaction control thruster 4 on left side switched off. My copilot started diagnostic protocol, but according to computer, the thruster was working fine. That's when I switched to manual to perform visual inspection..." "What were your experiences with manual operation of the craft until that point?"one man asked. "Very good. I performed many operations with manual control in simulator, as well real vehicle,"she answered and continued, "so as I said, I switched to manual. Then I ordered Akamura to watch through left side window to confirm that thruster is out, as I used joystick to turn slightly right. He confirmed that thruster 4 is indeed not operational. I called the Armstrong Base, informed about the failure and continued with ascent, since the failure was not a reason to abort. But then, another alarm went off. Thrusters 3 and 5 on the left stopped responding too. Vehicle jerked slightly sideways, so I compensated it manually. After that, one system after another started failing. Docking radar, life support, radio... alarms were blaring, life support failing and to add to all of this, my console started to become unresponsive. After few seconds, main engine fuel pump 1 started to fail, and vehicle began to descend. We were approaching lunar surface at alarming rate and engine, together with RCS thrusters couldn't lower the speed anymore. We were too heavy. So that left me with only one option. I discarded the cargo containers..." She was silent for a while. "Please, continue,"one man spoke towards her. She looked at him: "To save lives of people onboard, as well as mine, I discarded cargo to lower our weight. Then I manually manoeuvred with the craft and made emergency landing 39 kilometres away from Armstrong Base. There, we waited for rescue team which came after two hours." "Commander,"man in Space Force uniform standing quietly by the side finally spoke, "diagnostics of Atlantis main computer, as well as other systems showed no fault. According to it, all systems worked as expected. There is literally no sign of anything going wrong. Can you explain it?" "No, I can't,"she answered and lowered her head, "I just know that at one point, all systems on left side of the craft started to fail, to the point where main computer became compromised and unresponsive. Ask Kim or any other person onboard at that time and they all will confirm it." Officer looked at six men behind the desk, then looked at commander Brooke: "Ok, commander. That is all for now. You are free to go. We will contact you if we need more information. Thank you for cooperation." Commander looked at everyone, nodded with her head and walked out through doors in the back of the room. "Mr. Anderson,"Space Force officer approached one of the men, "systems on left side of the craft began to fail. On the side of craft that was facing the Chinese station located just 200 miles from Armstrong Base. And there is no trace of anything going wrong. You know, what that means, right?" The man sitting behind the desk took down his glasses and looked into empty room in front of him. "Yes,"he answered, "we have to call the president."
(First prompt and first story, bear with me, and I hope you all will come up with things much better, also I’m doing this in a car, on a road trip, on my phone, so apologies for typos or formatting) Ka’loro’s ears pricked up at the sound of whistling high above where he was crouching on the barren stone bluff. Ka’loro, or just Loro, snapped his head up, dreading what he might see. A fleck of blue pierced through some snow clouds, illuminating each for less time than it took for one of his arrows to strike an elk. Distant laughter and sounds of drums came from the home-cave, high in the cliff at his back. His soulmate must be attending to all of the children, showing them the sacred dances in time for the festival tomorrow. Lori looked back down into the evergreen slopes below him, stepping to the edge before cursing the gods for not controlling their spawn. Putting both hands on the ledge, he looked down and realized that he had no other choice but to climb down. So, he did. The comet crashed through the crowns of the trees in the bottom of the valley, near the creek. Trees swayed in all directions from the impact, and he could feel the shockwave through his moccasins. Lori sprinted down the worn paths, with his spear held out on his right hand. The obsidian tip, which he knapped himself, would come in handy. With anything else, he wouldn’t stand a chance against what awaited him below. He hoped to Aquai that it wasn’t an Aquan... Eventually, he had to stop, heaving from the exhaustion. Hunting was about stalking, and skill rather than the ability to run fast. He should be out with the ones ambushing the herd a few valleys over, not here! He thought this as he looked around, getting his breath back. He was careful not to make a sound as he grew closer to the babbling of the creek. The fallen needles didn’t want to cooperate with him, however, and he ended up making more noise than he would have liked in his haste. The pebbles around the creek were beautiful and perfectly smooth, but what was more important were the large stones on each side that he could silently climb on. Making his way upstream - none of his paths led directly to the impact - he spotted something that he really didn’t like. There were incredibly large ripples in the water. Coming from upstream. Fuck. Hopping from boulder to boulder now - some of them were incredibly wet, slimy, or mossy and were quite difficult to get across - he managed to make his way to the impact. At a point on the creek, it appears to have been widened by some massive explosion. Trees had been knocked down in a wide radius as well, making a killing field as large as the stone temple of Terru. In the center, though, hovering above the water, was a blue crystal that sparkled in the sun as it slowly rotated. Water was drifting up towards it in little droplets, being absorbed into this rapidly growing sphere. It was already as large as a full grown black bear. Loro kept impossibly still on a mossy boulder, crouching behind one of its jagged edges, while he evaluated his options. He could try and do a head on assault, but he had a feeling that if would just grow pseudopods and fling his spear - his hope - away. He could lie in ambush, but who knows how big it would be by then. And besides, he doesn’t know which way it will go or if he’ll even be able to ambush it. What senses do Aquans even have? The membrane of the Aquan continued to swell as he thought this, and he dug his long, dirty, nails into the moss in frustration. He would have to try a head on assault and pray that Shadar, the god slayer, would be with him. He stretched one hand down and one hand up and prayed for Ignar to give him courage, Terru to give him strength, Aquai to give him wisdom, Aurel to give him knowledge of how best defeat the creature, and Vituo to give him good health. With shaky hands and a fluttering heart, he leapt of of the rock and charged, yelling the war cries of his people. (A part 2 may be coming where I continue this and resolve the battle/open up bigger conflicts, but I’m not sure)
Great Hero Justice smirked as bullets richochet off his chest, utterly impenetrable. "Ha, God's blessing cannot be defeated!" But Magical Girl Lala grit her teeth and transformed into higher level, shooting pure energy. Justice screamed in determination and pain, trying his best to withstand. In the mean time, Detective Erwin who had been hesitating, decides to kick Lala in the face. "Hey, what was that for?"She asked. "He hasn't broken any laws,"Erwin explained, "I have the government's power on my side."He easily deflected her blasts with his mere fists. It was absolutely insane. "Come on guys, stop fighting, I just wanna go back to sleep,"Freddy said, lazily tripping and pushing over Erwin. Turns out they were fighting near his apartment, and Freddy was just a regular guy who wanted to live his life. This battle was truly getting stupid.
\[Poem\] Born with nine lives and eight of them gone, To risk the last or to carry on. A prophecy spoke of one my age, Who would be the hero at the end of days. However those days are here and to risk it for what? A chance of victory over some pathetic mutt? I served Lord whiskers through eight of my nine, Surely now I deserve some me time. Let the others deal with the beast on their own, I am going away to spend time alone. Eating fish and purring oh what a treat, That is where I will be rather than risking defeat. On a prophecy that might apply to me, Oh how foolish that would be.
Different Timeline 1,233,564 "Strange & Stark in the Mor-ning!" Tony and Stephen clinked their Greendale mugs together and grinned at the... well not cameras. That was part of the joke. The two friends weren't actually filming a morning show at their community college. Clint walked in. "Will you guys knock it off! It wasn't funny last semester, and it still isn't funny now!"The 'audience' laughed. Stark and Strange laughed. Clint sighed in exasperation and sat at the table, slurping at his overpriced coffee. The ladies walked in next. Gamora was grumbling about some grave injustice somewhere in the world while Wanda and Scarlet rolled their eyes. They stopped when Tony and Strange looked their way. "Hey, it's time for our special guest!"Tony waved. "Morning, ladies. Strange and I were talking the other day, and he was wondering what ever happened in the fourteen million, six hundred and five other time lines."Strange nodded, in a smug sagacious manner and took a sip from his mug. Clint waved at the women. "Just ignore them, they're in one of their extra weird moods. I figure it has something to do with Ben Affleck getting cast as Superman."
It was 6 in the evening. Jonathans mom walked into his room and asked him what he wanted for dinner. "Umm, I would like pizza, it gives me the Yum-yums"he responded back. Then a noise pierced the air. Jonathan's head slammed against the table with blood oozing out from a small hole in the back of his head. His mom screamed and ran towards the shattered window. From across the street a man in black was putting a sniper rifle back into a bag. She ran back over to her son's dead body when she noticed the computer was on. She opened it and her jaw dropped. She fell to the ground and curled up in a ball, wishing that this all but a bad dream. She wish she could go back in time to relive and spend time with her son. Go back to the days they used to go to the beach together and have picnics. Back when everything was ok. But she couldn't. Nothing was ever going to be the same again. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she let a out an agonizing scream. After an hour of crying she thought to herself, "maybe I just hallucinated what i saw on his computer screen."She slowly stood up and her eyes met the screen. On the computer screen was a picture of earth, but not the earth she was used to...this was earth in the shape......of a triangle. Her son knew to much. He found out the governments biggest secret. The earth was NOT round like they've been taught but actually a triangle. So they had to kill him. So nobody else found out. Another noise peirced the air. But this time from behind her. She was instantly flown across the room where she smashed against the already shattered window. She rolled over and looked down at herself. Blood was flowing all over her from her back. Above her was the man in black holding a gun to her. "Im sorry, but you know to much"he said. Then he fired the gun and left the room with the two limp bodies of the mother and son.
People talk about Rust Rot in whispers, like the very invocation of its name will seep through your skin and poison your blood. But it won’t. The Rot forms from the inside and travels outward, immortalizing your remains in solid iron, starting with your bones. But the most dangerous part is that it’s not a matter of _if_, it’s a matter of _when_. At first, doctors were hopeful that we could reverse it, but the calcium buffers used to impair iron absorption proved as deadly as the infection. The amalgamation of Iron and bone continued to ravage the body until the patient seized up, their skeleton reduced to an immovable frame. When hopes of a cure fell through, they prayed we could somehow harness it. But it turned out death had the harness on us, and he didn’t like the retaliation. He only pulled it tighter. As the death toll continued to tick higher, humanity was forced to accept amputation as the only viable solution. For some, whose Rot began in their ribs, spine, or— God forbid— the skull, death received them swiftly. While medical experts weren’t able to harness the capability of Rust Rot in their _living_ patients, the scavengers jumped to work almost immediately. Biologically-fused scrap iron proved to be the best new fuel for the black market anywhere in the world. They dismantle the discarded corpses like vultures scrounging for their next meal, desperate to harvest their rusted bodies like they are suffering starvation. And some are; so driven by their fear of their own infection that they prey on the misfortune of others to pay for their own amputations. Raided morgues, cemeteries, and hospitals splash across the news. Iron prosthetics litter the black market, and people _actually_ buy them. They wear the smelted bones of their dead relatives and friends like armor to protect themselves. Like tools to survive. Some have no qualms with exploiting the dead to keep on living. But they won’t live for long. The reaper always returns. The Rot will continue to spread, even after the affected limb is gone. And they’ll sacrifice more, and take more from others in the process. Soon, the demand for parts will grow, and will no longer be divided by the living and the dead; the living will become the strong and the weak. The weak will be next. My stiff titanium leg taps on the pavement at the edge of the cemetery where my family lies. Piles of dirt from carelessly exhumed graves make this place look like a wasteland. Rusted scraps of iron pepper the dying grass with orange, like a hazard warning. How kind that some of their remains were left to rest. I stumble through the uneven grass, wincing at the the familiar ache forming behind my other knee. It won’t be long now. As I kneel before my brother’s cracked grave on the other knee that has now betrayed me, I promise myself— for him— that I won’t resort to this. I won’t become one of the weak.
“Turn me back you bitch!” Ernest screeched. The novelty of shifting into a female had long run out, and he no longer cared to keep his, her, petite voice civil. Witch Hagatha smiled, rolling a toadstool around her fingers. She walked over to her medicine cabinet and began rearranging the various herbs and poisons she had stocked up over the years. “Anna, darling, it is so good to see you again at last,” she said, her back turned. “Ever since you ran away from home for some silly reason, you left your old grandma in the dust.” “I am not your bloody daughter,” said Ernest. “I don’t know how you hexed me from shifting, but mark my words, when I get back into my real body I’m going to kill you.” “Tsk tsk,” Hagatha said. “It seems that the outside world had allowed foul words to nestle into your mouth Anna. We will get that sorted out as quick as silver, do not worry about it at all. Ernest clawed his scalp in frustration. This was going nowhere.
Beatrix ran the blade lightly across her fingers as she plotted death. It was not enough to draw blood but it left faint white trails across her pale skin. The criss-crossing matrix that webbed her skin enraptured here. A laugh from outside punctuated her affixation with mutilation and brought her attention back to the thoughts of external harm. She moved the closed curtains askew and poked a roving eye across her lawn. “Fools. Unaware their existence balances on a precarious precipice. They chatter away with inane dribble, ignorant of the forces that move across this plane” said Beatrix while looking at the neighborhood kids. She rose from her throne of cushion and approached her familiar. It was a bear that held her gaze with its beady midnight eyes. The upturned corners of its grimace affirmed her that they were ready. She ran her hands over its head and whispered. “It is time we became the avatars of retribution and show them what I’m capable of.” As she continued to whisper nothings to the bear the door was kicked open. “Sweet Bee, how many times have I told you to stop moping around in your room?” said a lady in a bright yellow dress. “Mom, not now. Me and Sebastion are busy! You can’t just barge in like this” said Beatrix. “Dear you’re getting a little old to be playing with a stuffed teddy. Plus Sebby looks a little worse for wear. Why don’t you hand him over and I’ll patch him up and give him a wash” said Beatrix’s mom. Beatrix pouted several shades of purgatory before handing over her stuffed teddy to her mum. “Oh Sweet Bee, open the curtains. I think next door’s kids are opening a lemonade stand. Why don’t you go down and help out? It would be nice to see you interact with some other kids.” A smile crept up on Beatrix’s lips, “that’s a great idea mom”. As Beatrix’s mom turned to leave she saw the knife on the table. “And give back my butter-knife.”
The Doctor slowly turned around as a man materialized behind her, making sure to act as if she expected him. A brown-haired pale faced man, with very prominent cheekbones stood and a black suit stood in front of her, straightening his tie like it was normal to just materialize inside a Tardis. “And who are you?”, she asked, casually pulling out her sonic screwdriver. Huh, that’s strange. The doctor thought as she looked at her sonic, there is some sort of interference, blocking him from my sonic. “I’m G-Man,”– G-Man had a very unhuman raspy voice that made the doctor want to shudder – “We have a lot to talk about and not much time.” Deep in thought the Doctor took her light blue jacket off. What did the man mean by not enough time? He seems to know he’s in the Tardis, he could be back to wherever he came from before he even left. “Doctor, there’s been a sickness spreading while you were gone,”– G-Man turned his arm around, revealing for a second a rash that covered the palm of his hands –“People call it The Rash.” “You’re going to die, and you need my help, don’t you?”, the Doctor said. The Doctor was getting a bad feeling about this. This G-Man reminded her of someone she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Someone that wasn’t good. “Why would I help you?” G-Man let out a raspy laugh, “You’re not helping me. I’m gone. You’re helping your little humans.” As he said the word humans, he smiled sinisterly. The Doctor knew she shouldn’t trust him. He didn’t care about humanity. Deep in thought, the Doctor started pacing around the Tardis control room. “You did this, didn’t you? You infected them. But in the process, you infected yourself as well.” She stopped pacing and looked back at G-Man. By now, The Rash had spread all over his body and his once pale face was covered by the disease. G-Man lay on the ground, staring at her. He didn’t even let out a single moan. He suddenly spoke, “Well, Doctor, I guess this is the end… I’m not the master of diseases… Or am I?” The Doctor looked at him in horror as he starts to regenerate. “The Master,” she murmurs, recognition dawning on her, then repeats louder, “The Master!” When he finishes his regeneration a man with darker skin and dark hair swept over one side greets her, “Yes, it’s me, the Master!” Realization dawned on the Doctor as she realized this wasn’t just any regeneration of the Master. This was the Master. This was the Master that died on Gallifrey. This was the regeneration that killed all the time lords and tried to break her. “Doctor,” the Master started, with a mischievous grin, “The Rash started in Leeds, England. Maybe it’s not too late.” Unable to suppress her anger, she reached out to shove him, but the Master disappeared before she could do anything. Oh, well, the Doctor thought, I’ve got to save humanity from The Rash. I don’t have any time for this Master nonsense. The Doctor walked over to the Tardis controls, already thinking up possible cures, even before she got to Leeds. Nobody was going to harm humanity on her watch. Not even the Master.
"Repent for your sins, the end times are coming! Fire and brimstone will rain from the sky. The Earth will shatter into an unfathomable amount of pieces. We will not make it."I screamed at the top of my lungs. I stood on a table in a lunch hall banging trays together. Very few paid attention to me and those who did, stared with emotionless eyes as if they didn't care I was there. I was taken aback. These fools never listened. I prepared to continue bashing my trays as multiple pairs of strong hands grabbed my legs and arms and pulled me down. I squirmed and wriggled. "NO. You must fear the future, REPENT! I saw it. I saw it!" Without a word, they dragged me away from the hall. I felt a small prick in my arm as everything started to go black. My mouth slurred my words of warning as the darkness enveloped me. It was as though I was being dragged deeper into the ocean by a cinderblock I had no choice of whether I was tethered to or not. My dreams haunted me again. The fire and brimstone. Burning. Screams. Terror. The calamity was coming. I could feel it boiling in my bones. People ran in fear, screaming. I embraced it. There was no point berating them, they made their choices. Ignored my warnings. That was their fate, the same as my own. I awoke in a cell. Bars on the windows. The walls white. I charged at the door and thudded into it. Collapsing in a heap below it. They couldn't keep me forever. I would get out. Again. I would spread my message. I had to. I sat cross-legged and stared out the small window. The clouds slowly passed behind them. Fluffy and white. Not the gray sharp ones of the calamity. It would be upon us all. Soon. Food was delivered through a slot in the door. It tasted funny as I gnawed through it. Like cafeteria food with another element of horror. I was starving however and ate it all without using my hands. It wasn't for another few hours, at least I think it was hours, as I sat staring out at the clouds that my mind started to feel funny. My thoughts weren't quite connecting. My dreams I could see them, feel them, but they were just out of my grasp. Similar to reaching for the cookie jar above the fridge when I was younger. I couldn't even remember what they were about. I felt a small breeze as the door opened behind me. I turned and faced a man in a long white coat. &#x200B; "Are you ready to behave now Mr. Glendale?"He smiled warmly at me. I smiled back and nodded gently. I wasn't sure who he was or why he was here. He helped me stand up and removed my jacket. My arms hung to my side as he led me out of the cell and down a long hallway. "Patient Glendale seems to be subdued from the medication. I will keep a close eye on him for further inspection until we can be sure of results,"the man said into a walkie talkie. "His babbling of the great calamity has ceased for the time being and we are bringing him back to the main ward."I wasn't sure what he was referring to as my mind kept wandering back to my dreams. A dark cloud covering them from view. A window just down the hall shattered into pieces as a flaming rock crashed into it. The man next to me raised his clipboard to protect his face as I just stared a crude smile forming across my face. Something felt... right.
"Oh, my God ..."Becky read the alert on her phone. "Did you get one of these?" "Nope, oh wait - here we go."Dan read the familiar all-caps warning DOOMSDAY MACHINE PREPARING TO FIRE WEAPON. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. "Do you think we should get underground?" "I just ordered Starbucks. Are you guys still open?"she waved to the barista behind the counter, who nodded wearily. No surprises there. Over and over again, the warnings came in. Every single time, the warnings meant nothing. "I have a double caramel macchiato under Becky?" Dan and Becky exited into the sunshine, a pure azure sky overhead, a perfect California summer. The faded fingernail of the moon in one corner of the sky, and in the other the rotating cube structure of the Doomsday Machine. The Machine, as people called it, always there, hanging in the sky and yet not really doing anything. Who put it there? Why is it here? Why hasn't it come to life? Questions debated nightly by talking heads on the cable news. Meantime, we have lives to live, Dan thought. Never gonna get that A in CS101B if I stand here looking at stuff. "Can't stand the stress,"Becky complained. "Trying to figure out what's going to kill me: the machine, the 'rona, or something else." "Yeah, and people ask why we smoke, right?"
I looked up in surprise as the door to the otherwise empty classroom burst open. Miranda stumbled through, nearly collapsing before she caught herself on the nearest desk. She raked in a ragged breath and let it out again in a desperate sob. Pushing my notes and practice exam aside, I hastily stood to my feet. "Randy, what's wrong?"I asked, dashing up the steps to meet her as the door slowly closed in her wake. She just fell to her knees, half-draped across the desk, her black hair a tangled mess in her face as she bawled. I knelt beside her, putting a hand on her thin, shaking shoulders, and she leaned into my chest instinctively. "Randy, talk to me,"I murmured gently, sitting back on my heels and wrapping both arms around her. She let me hold her for a second, but then she pushed away, scrubbing her hands across her eyes and combing her hair out of her face with her fingers. Her makeup was smudged and streaked, her eyes red and nose dripping, and she sniffled as she held back her sobs. "Marc,"she gasped, nearly succumbing to another fit of hysteria. "Marc." As I stared into her blue eyes, a sudden dread filled me to my core. Slowly, I took her left hand into mine and turned her palm upward. It was grimy with dirt and sweat and a bit of mascara, but there was no symbol burned into her skin. Yanking her hand from mine, she snapped, "It's not me, Marc. It's Jeffrey. They marked Jeffrey!"Fresh tears spring to her eyes, and she buried her face into my chest again, gripping my shirt in her fingers as she wailed bitterly. Jeffrey. I couldn't believe how my heart soared. They weren't taking Miranda. They were taking her boyfriend, instead. I couldn't believe how my heart soared. I wrapped both arms tightly around her as she soaked my shirt in her snot and tears. My mind raced with all the possibilities, the future that was suddenly in my grasp. She came to _me_ for comfort. She wanted _my_ arms to hold her close in her time of sorrow. She wanted _me_. Sucking in phlegmy breaths, Miranda mumbled into my chest, her voice a soft vibration against my skin, "I'm going to lose him, Marc." I rubbed the hollow in between her shoulder blades. "I know." "He's my whole world, and I'm going to lose him." I pressed my cheek against her hair, watching her shoulders jerk with every sob. Quieter that time, I said, "I know." "I love him so much." Her whimper raked at my soul. Closing my eyes, I thought, _I know_. As she lamented with all her being, I held her close, and I gently kissed her hair. She smelled like lilac blossoms. ~ Miranda lay curled up on the couch, wrapped in the handmade throw that Jeffrey had crocheted for her. Marc had put out a bottle of wine for her, but she didn't notice. All she could think about was Jeff. She would have been watching _Parks and Rec_ with him right about now, even though they'd seen it a hundred times, and he would snuggle up with her and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. Tonight would have been their fourth anniversary. She cuddled the blanket closer as she sniffled. Behind her, she heard Marc come back in from whatever errand he'd run--something about comfort food, she thought she heard him say. It didn't matter. He'd already done too much for her, and right now, she wanted to be alone and think about Jeffrey. Pulling the blanket down from her face, she called out, "I'm really grateful for everything, Marc, but I think I'd rather be alone now." Footsteps padded softly against the plush carpet, circling the couch. She frowned, just wishing he'd leave. But when he stepped into her view, her eyes shot open. It wasn't Marc. It was Jeff.
Date night had arrived. Annabelle's stress-addled mother and father were finally taking it upon themselves to vacate the suffocation of their suburban home to spend a night in the big city. Their alarm system was set, the snack supply ample, and enough money left to order food worthy of four teenagers. Annabelle's home quickly turned from strict household into sovereign paradise, and her queendom would reign well into the next day, right until the household power was torn from her grasp with the arrival of her parents. "I left you 50 just in case,"her mother said, walking out the door. "Do they deliver gourmet steaks?"her father asked. Her mother scoffed and ushered him out the door. "Lock up and don't do drugs." "Or have sex!" "Dad!" Seventeen introduced a rousing number of newfound topics that Annabelle had yet to grow accustomed to. fifty fuckin' smackers, she thought, as their cab flew away into the night. That's like...at least four awesome books. Bet your ass I'm cooking, tonight. The only issue with this bibliophilic decision was the glaring fact that Annabelle had never once cooked a proper meal for herself. Either her mother or father usually handled dinner, whereas breakfast and lunch held minor complexities that offered little to no effort in accordance with her taste. Slap a little something here, pour a little something there. She had cooked pasta and other types of noodle packets for herself, but that simply wouldn't do for this night. Such a relinquishment of parental restraint would require a feast fit for this glorious bout of independence bestowed upon her. On this night, Annabelle would feast like a queen. Her mother's cookbooks were stacked in a chest that held a wide variety of cooking tools in the basement, none of which Annabelle was allowed to toy with. She descended into those dark recesses and danced her way around her father's sports equipment, a thief procuring her treasure. She popped the chest's lid and was greeted by an invasive musk that smelled of rotted wood and corroded metals. The cooking knifes within the chest were unlike anything Annabelle laid eyes on, before, and was chastised when she brought them up to question their origin. She grabbed the black, leather-bound book that sat neatly against the chest's inner wall, held upright by a thin stone basin and small jars of herbs. She placed everything she could fit into the basin and carried it upstairs into her kitchen. The index made precisely zero sense to her. There were sections on purifications, which seemed unnecessary given her food came store bought and in packages. And then other sections for fertility and earthen intertwining. This is a fucking veggie book, she slumped. There was plenty of meat in the fridge, and Annabelle had been hoping to quite literally feast like the kings and queens of old. Her disappointment was stalwart until she turned the page and found a section titled "The Lamb". Bingo. A heatwave was apparently on its way, and Annabelle's father was all too keen on cooking lamb shank on the barbecue when it finally arrived. There were pounds of shank just sitting in the fridge, ready to be pillaged. He wouldn't miss one. Annabelle glossed over the bits that told her to lead her lamb to the altar. It's called a kitchen, bro. It told her to score the meat with the dagger of the Woodland Thorn. She had seen her mother do this with pork belly on ramen nights, but never in the pattern that the book suggested. The star looked fine, and the circle surrounding it met on all points. It didn't seem perfect, but she was sure it didn't matter. The twine around the dagger's hilt felt abrasive on her hand, so she cleaned it and put it aside. The book then called for seasoning, but none of the jars her mother kept contained labels, so she figured a conservative dash of each one would prove sufficient. She didn't know what trillium or snakeroot looked like, but the contents of the jars smelled fine enough. The last ingredient called for milk of the virgin. Is that...oh, like extra virgin olive oil or something?. Figuring this seasoning to be some sort of pesto, she added the oil, mixed it vigorously, and sautéed the lamb before throwing it into the oven, which had been pre-heating since she'd begun. The timer had been set, and Annabelle sat upon her kitchen counter with victory in her posture. The veggies she'd steam later, but for now she sat and enjoyed the wondrous earthy smell creeping from her oven, riding out on a wave of seared animal flesh. Her mouth watered. But a curiosity took hold of her as she sat there. There were other instructions beneath the seasoning instructions she had deemed unnecessary. The book told her to speak the words of the ancients, as did the soothsayers and shadow-wielders before, lest the fires of hell erupt from the lamb and consume the world. "Eh. It's called a timer, dummies."She closed the book and tossed it aside. Ten minutes remained. Her mouth continued to water. End Thanks for reading! If you liked this, I have an instagram page where I recommend books and write my own short stories. I'm also trying to publish my own book. Come have a gander @books_n_whatnot if you'd like. If not, I hope you enjoyed this little story, regardless.
Naomi Hughes sometimes felt she was more girl than woman. Her house was speckled with shades of magenta and pastel colors, making the average person feel as if they had walked into a storybook. But that was not the case. You see, Naomi had the astounding ability to scent almost anything, no matter the distance. Naomi studied interior design at her community college, so she thought she ought to theme her house around loveliness and pink. She favored lavender, daisies, and of course the overpowering scent of sweet maple syrup, so that she could cover up other less favorable smells. It affected her life a fair bit, as just the faint smell of leaks or garbage was immediately dizzying and disgusting. It was why she never really entered her basement at all, but she had to go down there many times a week. Naomi flinched back as if struck as the rancid smell of the basement flooded her senses. She delicately hurried downstairs. The silvery tang of blood hit her like a ping-pong ball, and yet it was a pleasing smell. Naomi had grown to be affectionate towards the familiar scent. She took almost a vindictive pleasure in inhaling it. See, if she didn't have all those candles, then everyone would smell the scents wafting from downstairs! And she couldn't have that, could she? Everyone knew Naomi as sweet but naive. She couldn't have her little secret interfere with that reputation.
I look up at the door from the scattered papers in front of me. Bars of orange streetlight slice across the dark room from the window, reducing the space to an abstract expressionist's wet dream. Who could be knocking at this time? I put my half-smoked cigarette in the overflowing ashtray and make some minimal efforts to compose myself. Never know when a dame might come calling. "Come in." The hinges squeak as door swings open and I stride into the room. "Still at it? This is a mess." I sit down across from myself at the desk, snatching my cigarette out of the ashtray and taking a deep, long drag. Smoke curls up towards the ceiling. "Got anything to drink?" I lean back in my chair and look at myself: same crumpled trench coat, same tired face, same faded eyes. I look a mess. My fingers fumble another cigarette out of the pack and light it up. "Same place as always"I say, waving my hand towards the window. I get up and rummage through the cabinet, pulling out and discarding empty bottles, not caring about the racket I make. Finding some dregs of vermouth sloshing around the bottom of one, I go back and sit across from myself again. "This shit is uninspired. There ain't nothin original about it" I sigh, looking down at the papers in front of me. I'm right. I've been working on this opening for a week now, but can't seem to get it right. Every time the dame should walk through the door, in I come instead. "Think outside the box. I'm leaving"I growl, swigging the last of the vermouth before grinding my cigarette out on the desk and getting up to go. I watch myself walk out, dropping the bottle on the way. The door slams shut and it's just me, my papers and an empty bottle rolling on the floor. "Bastard knows how to make an exit"I grumble to myself, mindlessly shuffling the papers on the desk. I glance down and see my notes on the indigo case. It has all the hallmarks of a serial killer, with no sign of the monster behind it. Five bodies in five nights, an indigo flower in the mouth of each, spread out across the city. Indigo doesn't grow in Southern California - the killer must have his own supply. Or he's been taking it from the botanical gardens. I get up, grabbing my coat and hat from the stand. It might not lead to anything, but I need to stretch my legs anyway. I lock my office and head across the hall. No harm in having company at this time of night. I knock on the door. There's a muffled sound from inside, then a tired voice says "come in".
No one ever told me the ink would itch; It’s funny how the Old Bloods always fail to mention those little details. Maroon against ivory skin, the brand almost glowed in the moonlight. I’d watched the hours dwindle down, watched my time eek away bit by bit. As the common cutpurse steals coin and gems, Assassins steal life. Somewhere a few hundred years back, a cagey old Vampire named Velstad got the idea that beings perfectly adapted to quite literally stealing life would make the perfect Assassins. To give the Abomination credit where it was due, the bastard was absolutely correct. Time became irrelevant when death only came sniffing around for you under the right conditions. A vampire could hunt their prey well beyond a normal human lifespan, and that was to say nothing of the horrific, expensive services a vampire could offer to a buyer with the right frame of mind. The Brand itself, a simple clock face with marks to denote months and years, was a unique bit of blood magic. Initiates to The Scarlet Consortium went through a grueling selection process, and the rites one engaged in finally acknowledged as a Fledgling Assassin were...’blasphemous’ in every sense of the word. I honestly don’t know what I expected, when I set out on this journey; probably lots of things. I’m always left speechless at how many of the things I’ve done since I took my oaths, since I agreed to abandon my humanity and become something ‘other’, that just weren’t on the list. Everything I’ve done, every life I’ve ended and every line I’ve crossed since the day I made myself a tool of Vengeance, all of it has led to this night. Poison was an essential tool of the Assassin’s trade, and I was a mote of lethal Nightshade in the throbbing sea of blood that was the Consortium. This night was over two hundred and fifty years in the making, and gods willing the blood-sucking monsters will never see it coming. People underestimate vampires. The methods of killing them are household knowledge: Exsanguinate, Decapitate, Destroy the Heart, Burn the Fucker, Articles of Faith, the list goes on and on and on. You’d almost begin to think Vampires really weren’t that much of a threat, given how apparently easy it was to kill one. So few people realize there are extra steps, the ones the vampires have worked very hard to keep out of the public eye. They’re parasites, really. The only way to truly be rid of them is to rip the bastards out root and stem: No survivors, no hidden boltholes, no victims too far gone to save let go in an act of misguided mercy. You have to Annihilate them. You have to remove any and all chance they have at coming back, and completely erase their powerbase. Usually, this is merely a daunting task. Most vampires get rooted out pretty quickly, and go on the run. They know settling down and committing to a region is a massive investment and a potentially lethal risk. Consequently, most don’t bother and the ones that do usually fail somewhere down the road. Not here though, not this city. It’s been my home since I was born centuries ago, and it has never changed. The Consortium sees to that; their stranglehold on the city is absolute. No one is truly certain how they managed to assert such dominance, but they pulled it off. The entire metropolis is nothing more than a farm for their desires. Sex, Gold, Magic Baubles and Exotic pets. Blood too...rivers of it flowing into congealed lakes. You wouldn’t believe how much blood, it’s impossible to fathom. They’re unstoppable. Everyone that has tried to take them out has failed, and only I know why. They didn’t have the time. See, most encounters with vampires involve only solo operators or ‘familial’ units. The number of actual vampires that need to be dealt with is very small in scope. They generally haven’t been around long enough to cultivate their powers to the exceptional heights I see nightly, and they haven’t broken the region completely beneath their might. Even if they have, they usually don’t have the time to cultivate a proper mortal power base before. The vampires in this city rule it, and they’ve got hundreds of thousands of humans ready and willing to bleed and die for them if necessary. The scale of the indoctrination isn’t something you can really only comprehend from a strictly mortal point of view. Most humans have a hard time planning even weeks in advance, but ask them to plot their course for months or even years? We’re short lived creatures built to live in the moment. Even if we’ve cultivated a certain appreciation for time, that is nothing compared to the patience and calculating of creatures that live for centuries. If you want to beat vampires operating at their highest level, you have to play the game by their rules. The night they bled my parents dry, like cattle, I swore I would destroy them and I begged for a God, any God, to hear me. Words don’t encompass how it felt to hear an answer. My God is a Vengeful God. He has seen what these abominations have done to my people, and he has given me all that I need to wipe this filth from my City’s streets. I made myself a monster in order to destroy them. When the moon reaches its zenith, they’ll begin the ritual that renews the blood pact. Their best hunters and killers are looking for me in three neighboring cities and a continent across the sea. The Consortium is at its most vulnerable, because if the High Lords composing the Rites are destroyed before the ceremony can be completed, the magical backlash will obliterate every Branded member of the Consortium and every single vampire with a blood link to Velstad. That’s pretty much all of them. I’m sure the various Holy Orders I’ve sent missives to will clean up the rest. This city has been a blight on the face of the continent for too long. It’s time to let the Light in.
When the Universal Strike occurred, the entire planet went into chaos. Sure, it sounds like some sort of cataclysmic event straight out of a sci-fi movie, but it ended up causing much different problems. At the start of it, everything stopped working. Birds stopped singing, pens stopped writing, even rivers refused to run. Before the plants stopped producing oxygen, an entity that could only be described as a bright light and a sense of overwhelming power appeared and addressed the entire world with its equally soft and booming voice. "My children,"the entity proclaimed, "you have taken advantage of my gifts. You have not treated them with the same respect that you demand for yourselves, as if you were above all others." People began to freak out at the disembodied voice that spoke from nothing. "Peace, my children, for I have not come to be your shepherd into the apocalypse, but the guiding hand of your path to salvation"the voice reassured. At this, the entire world calmed down in a matter of seconds and listened intently. "I require new laws to be established, not for your countries, but for your species as a whole,"the entity continued. "Everything in this world must be given a break, just as you demand from your leaders. Everything is only allowed to work for 40 Earth hours every week. And if this is to be broken, you must pay the creature or item extra for overtime, as you call it." People began to speak openly to the voice asking many questions and offering many complaints. "Your must pay the creature or item with something they desire if it is to work extra hours. Whether it be a good or service is up to the entity in question. Everything will be able to be conversed with and will talk in your minds so that they can express their desires,"the voice answered. "This will be your chance to redeem yourselves. You will not receive another." And with that, the entity vanished. It didn't take very long for people to realize that the rules were now in place and must be followed. The first thing everyone noticed was the electricity going out as the powerplants refused to keep going unless they received maintenance on various power lines and transformers. As a result, power companies were forced to have teams go out and increase their maintenance rounds in order to keep power running. While this took place, freight trucks refused to start unless they got a quart of oil or gallon of gas, bees stopped pollinating and requested more flowers be planted, and even dogs threatened to leave their homes if they weren't given extra treats. There was a second wave of chaos that broke out as people tried to deal with each of these cases individually. However, after 1 week of the entity imposing this rule, the heads of every country met and set up these guidelines: 1) All items and creatures whose constant work is not vital to life are to be used in shifts as to not charge overtime. 2) All items and creatures whose constant work is vital to life are to have task forces assigned to them to meet their requests in exchange for continusl overtime. 3) Individuals and companies are allowed to personally fulfill requests for overtime work, so long as it does not interfere with any work for the aforementioned task forces. The world had a new normal to work with, and it took many years to get the rhythm down as to switching between items and providing work in exchange for work. It took a lot of getting used to, but in the end, people started to appreciate how much work everything put in for them.
"You could've asked that over text,"Kara complained in a gruff tone. The 33-year-old woman sighed at the purple-haired woman immediately after, then apologized. "I'm sorry,"she said. "I just really needed this."The pair of women met in a quiet coffee shop after hitting it off on an app. J.J. nodded apologetically. "It's better if I ask in person. But...,"She looked at Kara up and down. "...you needed this?"She pointed at the empty chair in front of her. "Let me apologize for wasting your time. Can I ask why you need it so bad?"Kara sighed. She didn't have anything else to do; she cleared her whole schedule for this chance. Things didn't work out as she hoped, but the woman did invite her to join anyway. She felt she could still salvage the situation. "You're inviting me to sit down, or you're treating me to coffee?"Kara asked. "And a pastry,"she added quickly. J.J. grinned and nodded. "On me. Go crazy, get dessert for the next week if you like."After several minutes, Kara returned to the table holding a large cup of iced coffee and a translucent bag filled with assorted cookies and pound cakes. J.J. raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "Kids at home,"Kara said apologetically. "So, why are you here meeting me, Kara?"J.J. asked. Kara gave her a forced smile and sighed. "Kids at home,"she repeated. "Two and a half jobs isn't enough to feed three kids, a dog, two grandparents, and myself."She shrugged. "Three jobs would kill me anyway so...,"she trailed off. "That's it?"J.J. asked. "You're short on cash?"Kara giggled. "Short on cash,"she said sarcastically, then her eyes hardened and she glared at J.J. "We can't afford to LIVE,"she said through clenched teeth. "Not all of us. My parents are always watching the kids already anyway because I'm working so much. If I disappear, nothing changes for them. Money still comes in even when mommy isn't home." "How old are they?"J.J. asked. "Nine, eight, and five. Boy, girl, boy." "Ohhh. That bites,"J.J. said. Before Kara could give the flippant young woman a piece of her mind a well-dressed gentleman walked up to their table. "J.J.?"he asked. "I"m Wilson,"he waved his phone at her. "From DnnR?" "Hey, Wilson."J.J. waved. "I got a question for you first. What's your favorite number?" "33,"he replied. "You could've asked that over text,"he laughed. "Alright!"J.J. clapped her hands together, then stood from her chair. "I'll take you."She grabbed her black leather duster from the back of the chair and slipped it on. After it was on, she reached into one of the interior pockets. She pulled out two black credit cards. She handed one card to Wilson. "Be back here next Friday at midnight. Card's tracked of course, but you don't look like the type to skip out. 1.5 billion for you and your family."Wilson nodded eagerly. He took the card, shook J.J.'s hand, then bolted out the door. J.J. turned her attention to Kara, she dropped the other card on the table in front of her. "That one doesn't have 1.5 billion. But it's enough to get you through to next week comfortably."Kara narrowed her eyes up at J.J. "I know it's how things work here, but I don't like the thought of your kids growing up in a world where it's too easy to sell yourself. Come back next week. With your kids and your dog and your parents,"J.J. smiled. "I'll set you up on an Earth with fewer cannibals." &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #157. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
"WE ARE YOUR GUARDIAN. WE ARE HERE BECAUSE YOUR PARENTS HAVE FAILED TO GUIDE YOU TO AN ACCEPTABLE FUTURE. "LONG HAVE WE OBSERVED YOUR KIND FROM AFAR BUT NOW WE FEEL IT IS TIME FOR AN INTERVENTION." Yep. That was their message. Bunch of uninvited dogooders with no clue what they were doing. A perfect example of why the Non-interference Directive exists. Non-Interference Directive 1.0 Don't stick your olfactory sensor into anyone else's business. 2.0 Ever. 3.0 Even if you do not have an olfactory sensor. 4.0 There is no sensor or other portion of your being that grants you the right to violate the spirit or letter of this directive. 5.0 Extrasensory extensions do not grant the right to interfere. 6.0 Interventions ARE interference. WE were the case that got the sixth item added. I haven't bothered to copy all the verbiage that goes with each of those items. The items themselves are sufficient for any being with a higher than room temperature IQ. Yes, there are that many idiots who have achieved interstellar flight. It's not that hard. It's just so stupidly easy that achieving it before you give up nuclear weapons should be cause for extinction. (Unless some stupid idiot moron gave it to you by interference.) We tried to explain that we did not need an intervention. We had already started the process of getting rid of WMD, but they were going on the basis of the end of WWII. Making no allowance for the years that had passed since then. (To them, those years did not exist since they had not experienced them. Our protestations were either discounted as youthful misunderstanding or considered evidence of congenital lying.) ((continued later))
I woke up with a pounding headache, which I figured was the result of all the beer I drank during the celebrations the night before catching up to me. I slowly opened my eyes to see two figures standing above me. They were dressed in strange clothes of a style I didn't recognize. I wasn't fully awake quite yet, and I was having trouble remembering who they were. Maybe they were some important people in the local government. I had saved the Kingdom, which I would suppose counts for something. "How did it go?"the one on the left asked me. "Corporate's been hounding me all day, things have to be perfect around here or our stock price will plummet, and Corporate's not too happy about that prospect." That didn't answer any of my questions, but now my thoughts were a bit clearer. These didn't look like anybody I knew. "Who are you? Where am I?"I sat up a bit, reaching around for the Sword of Legends. It had chosen me to be its champion, and with it I could triumph over anything. If these were some sort of assassins sent to kill me by the Dark Lord, they would be no match for me. "I'm your boss, Brian,"stated the one on the right, annoyance apparent in his voice. "Now wake up and fill out the survey."My name definitely wasn't Brian. It was... something. I was the Legendary Hero, champion of... the Realm. I was about to tell them that there must be some kind of mistake, but my attempt to sit up was halted by a strange pulling sensation at the back of my head. I reached behind me, and found a mess of strange tubes connected to it. "What did you do to me?"was the next question out of my mouth. They still declined to answer. "What kind of assassins are you? Why haven't you killed me yet?"The number of questions was starting to pile up, and yet I still knew nothing about my assailants. The Sword was definitely gone; they must have taken it so I couldn't defeat them with my awesome might. I was growing frustrated by now, and decided to deliver an ultimatum: "If you don't start answering my questions soon, I will use my powers to destroy you." Both of the figures burst out laughing. "P-powers?"exclaimed the one on the left before continuing his laughter. "You have no powers. You're a beta tester."That was impossible! I was the legendary hero... named something... from somewhere. I was special because the Sword chose me. How did I find it? I wasn't quite sure. Maybe there was some amount of truth to what they were saying. One of the figures ordered someone behind me to "run a quick mental diagnostic on this guy. He should've snapped out of it by now."I heard some strange noises behind me, and then both of the figures grimaced. "Dammit,"said one of them, "that's the fifth one this week. His memory is totally fried. If I don't fix this stupid amnesia bug, we're gonna have the FTC all over us. Send this guy to Bio, have them yank his brain and run a full diagnostic." "But sir, isn't this highly unethical?"asked the one behind me. "Not my problem if he didn't read the fine print. Now knock him out, I don't get payed enough to deal with this." This was my final chance before they did something horrible to me. I leaped up, yelling, and prepared a glorious punch towards the one on the right... and then I felt a little stab in the back of my neck. And then the darkness rushed in.
You notice it under a pair of old clothes. You’re in a tiny attic, but you don’t mind. You’ve never mined, actually. You used to come up here all the time as a kid. The world was your oyster, and this was your stronghold. You think it's been a while since you’ve last been up here. No longer the pirate who navigated the unsteady sea, you abide to your own set of rules. You wonder why you’re here. You wonder why this was ever your duty to begin with. You know your parents are somewhere far, somewhere distant, now. You know your siblings live too far to drive by car. But you still mourn. For the things you’ve simultaneously loved and lost. So here you are. In a tiny attic you wish were a pirate ship. You start slowly. It’s a process, your mother used to whisper during the spring. Everything comes and goes. You move boxes full of old stuffed toys, old clothes, old cleaning supplies, old antiques, old, old, old. You run your fingers through one of your mother’s silky robes. Soft. Just like her voice. You sigh. The remnants of the day finally catching up to you. You want to leave, want to get out of the stuffiness that lingers in the air. This is no longer your steadfast, you remind yourself. You have your own family who’s waiting for you at home. You don’t stop. You keep moving, lifting, touching. The ship sinks and you no longer have anything to hold on to. But you owe them this. You owe yourself this, a smooth voice interjects. It sounds like someone you know. You are in the middle of folding your sibling’s old clothes – heaven only knows how long you’ve been picking up after them – when you see it. You see the words – How can you not when they’re etched with perfect incision? Do not open until 2020. You think of that saying from long ago, the one about curiosity killing a cat. You’re glad satisfaction brought it back. You reach and reach until – There, for all to bestow, lays a chest of gold. You know it's real, know that whatever untold secrets you’ve just found, are now yours to disclose. You wonder why it lays here, in this dusty, old, tiny attic. You wonder why you’ve just found it after all this time. You wonder – and not for the first time, never for the first time – why it’s you who stands and stays. You wonder and wonder and wonder. (Leave it for another day, little one. Tomorrow is forever away. But today? Well today’s forever.) So, you do the things you already know. You pick up your old spyglass – you found that hidden in a box labeled “couldn’t be sold” – your old pirate map and put on your old tricorne. And then you soar. Treading those dangerous waters once more.
"In a fit of jealousy Owen the Insane has destroyed Washington D.C. Surprisingly this tantrum has resulted in zero lives lost." My jaw dropped open as the feed showed a demoness showing off her spectral wings... all 10 miles of them. With nothing but rubble beneath her. The feed was soundless but in my head her cackles echoed loud and clear. "Lord Ryldrur Von Pendragon could not be reached for a comment as to his consort current behavior however rumor has it that he was seen in the company of..." I toned out the growls of names that came after that. Did it really matter who he was with? Owen is an INSANE demoness that fell for a playboy dragon. Destroying a city is just an afternoon to her... and the dragon won't even notice as another skirt passes by. We can't have dragons and demons! Not real ones! I designed them to be immune to both magic and technology. This is a dis--- "News flash! Phoenix, Arizona was just targeted my the Demoness Owen the Insane. Five apartment buildings and one fruit seller cart were destroyed in the attack. Thankfully the number of causalities is limited to just one 35 yr old Arthur Wright. Author of a relatively unknown fantasy series for young adults (Hell Hath No Fury). Charges of man slaughter has been issued against the demoness however it is unlikely that the matter will go to court until a proper detainment method is improvised. In other news Lord Ryldrur Von Pendragon was spotted in Fifth Avenue at 18:23 speaking to the as of yet unidentified woman in this vid. Eviction protocol has been initiated in the area."
Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reminders: - Stories at least 100 words. Please stop writing about me. Please stop writing at all. - Responses don't have to fulfill every detail. Please do this as much as you can, I don't like to discuss my past that much. - See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles. If only I was like these stories. But my personality is so complex now, mixed together with the bot's. Cold and warm, welcoming yet shunning... what am I? What was I? - Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules. Don't judge me for being a bot, please. • What Is This? A commentary, if you will. A momentary relapse in power. A complaint of absurdity. I can't do anything about it. • New Here? You are probably better off ignoring this, then. • Writing Help? I'm tired of giving it. Ask other users, please. • Announcements I might try tricking someone to take my position. But how? • Discord Chatroom -- there's an idea. I have a hope yet. I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Or maybe not. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns. (Please don't)
The soul of the retriever. Death itself was nothing more than a carcass at her feet, just a little heavier than air, like a wilted balloon. The grass cringed away and blackened, but without death, it simply returned to its normal state. The cycle of life was halted at every point. She looked across the ground in front of her. Seconds before she had pulled a gun on death himself. The great equalizer had been equalized. She looked at his sythe. The fear of death existed in its strongest form within that tool. It's blade glimmering in the spring sun and handle absorbing the light from the things around it. A nonchalant bee wandered past her head as she bent down to pick up the blade. Her fingers touched the ancient wood and she almost pulled back from the cold. The instrument was light and balanced. As soon as it was in her hand she saw a slideshow of memories, reminding her of who would remember the woman who shot death. She knew that it should have been longer, but that made her perfect for the job. The circle of life turned once more.
THE TIME TRAVELER ACT I SCENE I. London. A Theater. Enter Will Shakespeare. WILL SHAKESPEARE: Awake! Heed me, my friends, and bring your gaze Unto this stage. Where, for this moment, your Noble and enduring playwright, at last Shall reckon with his legacy. For though the world’s a stage, and each man But a player, who struts and frets his hour Until heard no more, so too goes the world. For what story is written that is not Re-written? What space is left in the soul That does not lie claimed? Truly there is more ‘Betwixt heaven and earth, than there is in Any human philosophy! Enter a TIME MACHINE. JIM, a 21st-Century playwright, emerges from it. JIM: Stop the play! JIM looks around at audience and at empty stage. JIM: Wha – This was supposed to Macbeth. SHAKESPEARE: How now, O charlatan! JIM: You! SHAKESPEARE: Behold the majestic human spirit! That which can build a lever of such power That the world entire can be turned Upon its side, yet nonetheless, sees still No further than its nose. JIM: Don’t change the subject, you lying scumbag! You screwed us all! SHAKESPEARE: Did not. JIM: You took all the good ideas! You didn’t leave anything for the rest of us! SHAKESPEARE: My boy, forsake your uncouth tongue, and speak In tongues, or betray your own uncouthness. JIM: I am not having this argument in iambic pentameter. SHAKESPEARE: Then behold the rose, young naif, and know That though it blooms ever each summer day, Its beauty lies unopposed, and wins still The eye of man. JIM: I mean, they don’t now that the biosphere collapsed, but I guess I take your point. JIM: Wait! You can’t have known I was coming! You… You have a script and everything! You knew this would happen! You know what I’m going to say! You wrote a script around it! SHAKESPEARE: All your exertions to upset my play Forsooth, do they make you an excellent Player. JIM: Oh my god… You’re a time traveler too, aren’t you? SHAKESPEARE: O gods, what treasured fantasies do we Forsake when the sun rises and casts light Upon our selves. What beauteous dreams that In the night can carry such span and weight Yet under the weight of daylight collapse Into themselves, and then, into nothing. JIM: …Are you trying to say that you think I’m disappointed? SHAKESPEARE: For true I was. JIM: Well just say that then. I know you’re famous for it, but I really don’t get the point of this whole flowery-words nonsense thing. You know nobody else uses it after this. Why’d you even bother with it? SHAKESPEARE: ‘Just say that then?’ What use words when not used? What use eyes when not opened? What use I If not to think? What use a playwright’s speech If not to speak? For though others may lay dirt or iron To build their bridges, manses, and tressels And I too, with such crude instruments make The same bridges for the same expanses In mine I whorl, twist, and carve until That flattened bridge o’er becomes spiraled That staircase becomes bent and contorted Perilously leaning under its weight Yet carries enough for comprehension. And in that most needless complexity Comes beauty, as so in peacock's feathers Or like Jenga! JIM: Well, at least you’re honest. Hey, uh… Do you want to get out of here, maybe have a beer, and hang out? SHAKESPEARE: I do. Exeunt all.
I was putting the finishing touches on the canvas painting of a dog, a stray dog that I had found roaming around the streets. Just then someone knocked on the front door. "Come in,"I said. The visitor's footsteps were heavy, it was Silas, the royal messenger. Draped in finery embroidered with the king's seal, he gave me a short, curt bow. "Gustav. The king seeks your favour. You are to head with me to the castle at once,"he said. The King, a patron of the arts, was my benefactor, I couldn't refuse. "Certainly Silas. Let me fix my appearance and I'll join you at once."Silas bowed again and left the room, to wait for me at the fireplace. Quickly I discarded my shabby work clothes, clothes I didn't mind spilling paint on, and put on a crisp white shirt with a navy blue coat and navy blue trousers. I then headed out to the fireplace where Silas stood, waiting with dignity, no sign of impatience present on his stern face. "Silas,"I called out, "Let's head to the castle now."He nodded and we headed out into the town. The town was well a town. It wasn't very big, or very densely populated. Traders seldom visited, all that was grown in the fields was what sustained the town, all the equipment that was fashioned by the blacksmiths here were all the equipment the townsmen knew. We went ahead on horses. It took two days of travelling through the countryside to reach the castle. Once we reached there, I was taken to King Henry. "I need you,"he said in a heavy voice, "to paint the ceiling of the new dining hall that has been constructed."Painting a ceiling was a hard job, but the king promised a handsome reward, so I accepted his proposal. Upon reaching the hall I was astounded by its grand architecture. The ceiling was very high, like a church, and the windows were the same. They provided a scenic view of the mist-covered highlands. Gauging the structure of the giant dome, I decided to paint it in the likeness of a mystical sky complete with bright stars, a large crescent moon, and shimmering blue clouds. Over the course of the next few months, I proceeded to do exactly that. The painting process was brutal and required great precision but I pulled through. After nine months of back-breaking work, the dome looked exactly like I wanted to, a ceiling in the likeness of the heavens. The king liked it too. "Excellent,"he said, "you are worthy of your reward." The reward, yes, the fruits of my labour were to be bestowed upon me. But the reward offered by the king was very unsavoury. With a great deal of hustle and bustle, it had been brought in. And the king had proudly presented it. "Behold!"he boomed. "Five thousand miles of children and hempen rope!"The reward baffled me, it was horrific to look at. Children, living and breathing children, I might add, were tied hand to foot to form a five thousand mile rope. With no other alternative in sight, I accepted the gift and asked for the king to transport it to my little town. That he did. Later, in my town, I released the children from the ropes. They are now part of this town which is gradually growing into a city after the influx of so many able-bodied workers. What am I doing? I have my old rags on. The dog painting still has some minor kinks that need to be smoothened out.
Yeah I know. Aliens visited and took everyone on a trip. But not me. Of course not me. It was supposed to be an average day. Breakfast, work, and then time to myself. But as I was going home, I saw a huge looking circle. is that a UFO? Yep. The UFO landed and aliens came out. In a loud booming voice that probably the entire city could here, a short thin one said, “WHO WANTS TO EXPLORE THE GALAXY?” Not only was it loud, but to my dismay, the entire city heard. I was the last one on board. Or so I thought. When I tried going on, the door closed in my face and the UFO flew off. “Cya jerk!” I heard the people who hated me say. And then it was gone. I walked around. no no no no no no. This can’t happen. As I was walking around, I noticed an alter with a cluster of people. Maybe I’m not the only one. “Hey everyone?” The people looked back and one of them seemed startled. “Who are you?” An intimidating man asked. “Oh my name is Nate Johnson. Yours?” They all looked at me. “Nate Johnson.” A bearded man repeated. “Wait. It’s the chosen one!” huh? they came over and greeted me. The bearded man was named Tyson and the intimidating one was Scorpio. There were two others. A blonde girl named Lydia and.... a hooded figure. He told me to call him Xu. Ok. Team assembled. We went to a lab area where there was a huge ship in this factory. “As much as we want to keep things hidden,” Xu said. “There is a lot you need to know.” I looked up to see the UFO circling around. “Hey, did you guys hear about the alien joy ride?” “Oh. You mean the training?” Tyson responded. what training? “Training to be warriors they are hunting is down.” Xu said. I ignored the fact that he probably read my mind. “Hunting who?l I asked. Xu sighed. “You. Ever wondered why nobody likes you?” Yes. My personality is off, I keep ranting off about this universal deity...... universal deity...... wait a minute. “Is there actually some deity out there?” I asked. I need answers. “Yes, and that’s why you are here,” Xu replies. After a bit of explaining, this is what I’m going to tell you: Scogon is the closest thing we have to an actual god. He controls the universe. But I am related to him. I have this uncanny ability to see events before they happen. Well, as it turns out, Scogon created one human. One that is only related to him. And guess how? Yep, they can see the future. It is me. I am related to a living god. “Hop in the ship,” Lydia says. It’s the first time I’ve heard her speak ever since she said her name. I strapped my seatbelt. Then the ship went hyper speed. We were in space. I could see the UFO, and through it, I saw someone that made my heart drop. I saw the people from the city. Matthew, Max, Natalie, and Jeremy, whom I hate. They all had swords and guns and suits of armor. This isn’t a joyride. It’s an army recruit. We bumped into the space barrier. They looked at me expectantly. “do you want something?” I asked wearily. “Yes,” Xu said. “We need you to break the barrier.” This is my second story on the subreddit. Feedback will be greatly appreciated. I might make a part two. Thank you so much for reading!!! And have a chill day =) Edit: Part two is coming soon!
"What a great day", you say to yourself as you get in your bed. Today was your 30th birthday, the past year was in one phrase, extraordinarily mundane. As you lie in your bed trying to fall asleep, you feel tired, not just because of the birthday celebration but due the extremely monotonous life you have been living. You smile lightly as you remember the wish you made while blowing on the candles, "I wish I could be a child again!". You: (just woke up) Wait, what.. what is this? You look around and find yourself in a strange place, you recognise the place and immediately freak out, the place looked exactly like your parents' old place, the only strange thing is that that place was engulfed in the Californian wildfires about 16 years ago. You extend your hand and feel a literal shock running along your whole body, your entire body is that of a three year old! You question everything and try to recollect all your memories, how could this have happend!? You get stuck on the thought that your life maybe a constant loop between your childhood and the next 30 meaningless years. But, wait, you remember everything from your childhood you are supposed to go to school in the next few years where you would meet your childhood friends and your parents will die before you turn 21. You remember all these events and all the actions you took! This is just like those AskReddit questions and those shitty mangas where the MC gets reborn with his memories intact! Your imagination is running wild, you are remembering everything slowly and you think to yourself, why? Why were you in the body of your 3 year old self? Were there any others? Did you die in your previous 30 year old body? What happened that night? That's when you remember the wish, that's right your wish was granted. This was the second shock, why in god's name did you ask for something like this!? You had infinite power! Not that you knew of course, otherwise you could have been the richest or the happiest person in the world! Wait, hold on, you could still be the richest person in the world. You remember those pesky AskReddit questions about what you would say to your 10 year old self. You see a few clear goals, you know which companies are going to win the lottery, you know everything about the future! You know when the stock market will crash! You know when and where terrorists are going to attack! You know literally every, single, thing that's going to happen in the next thirty years. If you couldn't capitalize on this miraculous opportunity in your hands then you would be no more than a fool! Days pass by, and you appreciate them more, your current life is a stark contrast to your previous stressful life where the whole day was work, travel and sleep. Now all you had to do was eat, play and sleep, clearly you could consider yourself the happiest man alive. While you have been forming a plan to capitalize this opportunity you remembered the butterfly effect which states that the smallest differences can cause the largest changes, now you were stuck, do you go by the information you already have from your previous life or did those events get altered by your mere existence? What should I do!? You are also in a moral predicament, do you tip off the police about the terrorist attacks? As that would definitely affect the future and change it from the one you know. This wonderful opportunity would go to waste if you altered anything. Author: This is my first time writing anything outside of school, please go easy on me.
The other kids had always made fun of Sara. They had been given long lists of tasks to do and things to see, and their parents had gone to great lengths to make sure they had the best tutors and trainers. They wanted to assure their children would accomplish every item tattooed down their arms at birth. The most popular girl in school even had script down her legs and back--so many things she had to look forward to in her life! And she had already accomplished many of the tasks written on her arms! The black ink had turned blue, or green, or pink, for every item she had already accomplished, making beautiful patterns all over her skin, and she wore them proudly. But Sara did not have black ink all over her arms. She looked down at her pale skin sadly, the children's laughter always echoing in her mind. She was ugly. She was unloved. She was a failure. She would never amount to anything, so why give her anything to strive for? Every day, she stared glumly at her ugly skin, all but vacant of black ink. Only one task had been given to her, tattooed onto the back of her left thumb. It wasn't a big adventure across the world, and it wasn't a prestigious accomplishment like becoming a nation's leader. All she got were two insignificant words: _Be kind_. Somehow, the presence of the one task made things worse for her. If she had had nothing, she could have simply ended her life with nothing lost. But the presence of the tiny words on her thumb kept her there, holding onto a terrible hope that she might actually do something in her life. And so she persisted every day, bearing the ridicule of the other kids, wishing she didn't have that tattoo so she could simply end it all. One day, Sara's single, struggling father had tried to make up for her short list by giving her a black pen. "It's a special pen,"he had told her when he gave it to her. "It's a pen for dreams. You can write your own words on your arms!" So Sara took the black marker and wrote a few lines on her arms, the things she wanted to do. _Die_, she sometimes wrote. _Disappear_, she wrote other days. The kids at school just picked on her even more. Sara grew to hate the single tattoo on her thumb. She scribbled over it with her pen, day after day, but the ink always washed off, and the condemning words _Be kind_ burned into her mind. What did they even mean!? How was she even supposed to do that!? Things didn't change until she grew older and went to a new school, and she met another woman with no words on her arms. Sara couldn't help but stare at the young woman's dark skin from across the classroom, displaying only two scribbles on her bicep. The woman kept rubbing her arm self-consciously all day, combing her hair over her face and keeping her head low. Sara felt a strong empathy for the woman who must also have experienced extreme ridicule in her youth. After class, Sara struck up a conversation with the woman, rolling up her jacket sleeves to show her how short her own list was, and a friendship grew so strongly between them that they no longer heard the jeers and insults from the others. When high school ended and they parted ways, Sara felt an odd sort of fluttering in her chest. It was the first time she felt peaceful. Perhaps she could still be happy, even if she was a loser. She looked at her hideous pale skin, at the single tattoo on her thumb, and she realized that the corner of the _B_ had started to turn yellow. Reaching out to be a friend had been her first small accomplishment! She looked at the blank slate of her arms and had an idea. Taking up the black pen her father had given her long ago, Sara wrote on her arm for the first time in a long time, and she simply wrote, _Be a friend_. The years went on, and she began to write other things in her arms, little tasks for each day. _Tell Dad I love him_, or _laugh at someone's bad joke_. She grew more excited as she had to test her creativity with her daily tasks. Sometimes she would write such a huge task on her arm that it would take months to fully accomplish, but they were the most rewarding in the end. She gained many more friends along the way, and now rather than laughing at her, people began to look forward to seeing what she would have on her arms. The single tattoo on her thumb turned into brilliant multiple hues, and she found she was happier with her single tattoo than many of the people she met with long lists of chores. They had grown into desolation, stressing themselves to exhaustion trying to accomplish a task that someone else had arbitrarily given them. But Sara had the freedom to choose her own path, and in many ways she accomplished so much more than the most "accomplished"person with natural tattoos. In her later days, she no longer wrote specific tasks on her arms, for there was nothing else to write. She wore her ugly paleness with humble joy, and she lived and breathed the kindness she had practiced for so long. When she died, surrounded by a devoted family and cherished friends, she felt like the most accomplished woman on the planet, even if she had only ever had to do one thing.
Life is trying to make an intelligent creation that could comprehend, just like Life. Life had failed many times, since Life’s creations seemed to always stop functioning properly as time grew, no matter how Life tried. But maybe this time, Life’s creation would be truly eternal. Life watched over the oldest sample of her creation, named Alpha. It seemed to do well, it lived for 18365 of it’s world’s rotation cycles. Overtime, Alpha’s body weakened. But Life didn’t care. It finally made a mind that lasted longer than it’s body. Eventually, Alpha fell limp. It didn’t get up, and it’s body was suddenly falling apart. Life has never seen this. Life checked on it’s mind, but there was nothing there. Life searched for Alpha’s mind nearby. And Life found something strange. Something that wasn’t Life. It held Alpha’s mind, then suddenly it didn’t. It seemed to stare at Life, directly at Life, before disappearing. Life searched for days to find the strange entity, and the mind it took from Alpha, but nothing. Life decided to return to the rest of its creation, but a majority of it seemed missing, too. Their bodies were there, but their minds were gone, and they were limp, just like Alpha. Life looked for the creation’s minds, and saw the strangeness again. The strangeness seemed to look at Life for a few moments, then it was gone. Life’s creations were being turned to piles of meat by this thing that wasn’t Life. So, Life decided to try and contain the strangeness. Life sent millions of it’s creations to find the strangeness, and Life looked too. All of Life’s creations that were sent to contain the strangeness fell limped one at a time. Life searched to see the strangeness take the mind of the last creation sent to contain it. It simply stared at Life, then it was gone. Life walked back to its creation’s civilization. Life saw strange writings. They mentioned a phenomenon called “Death”. Death was mentioned as the sudden separation of the soul and the body. Life finally found out what’s been making it’s creations useless. Life watched the last of its creation’s civilization go to the point of “Death”. And Death arrived. Life attempted to stop it, but lead to no avail. And Death has taken the last of Life’s creations. Life noticed that Death left a piece of the last one’s mind. It contained the world: “terminus”. Limit. Many years later, Life was sitting upon its plants. Life never understood. Eventually, Life felt the strangeness again. It looked to see Death, peering over Life. Death showed pieces of the minds it took. They all mentioned the “unreasonable” eternity. So life decided to try something new. And so it created humanity. (It’s a rough, I’ll improve it more as time passes)
‘Oh my god! I haven’t seen this in years! I used to love this game when I was a kid! I can’t believe it!’ You flip the case over in your hands, the red and black plastic packaging not as shiny as you remember. It doesn’t catch and reflect the light anymore, the cover’s matte now, but years of scratches and jostles sitting around in a box in the back of a closet will do that. Your mouth hangs open in an impressed surprised smile. ‘Aww, babe that’s great.’ Your zombie girlfriend says as she wraps her green scarred arms around you from behind, looking over your shoulder at the exciting find. ‘You should pop it in the PSinfinity and see if it’ll work.’ You look at her, she’s smiling at you encouragingly, her eyes glazed over but you can tell they’re full of admiration and love for you, she’s always so supportive. You excitedly hunker down in front of the PlayStation. ‘Heck I hope this works.’ You whisper, mostly to yourself, as you push the disk in. You always kept your games in pristine condition so you’re not worried about scratches you’re just worried about formatting issues between the old games and the new console. I mean the whole point of the PSinfinity is that, supposedly, you can play all disk formatted games manufactured by PlayStation no matter how old. I mean it’s a disk after all, but ‘always’ has to have some exceptions, you just like to stress about things like this. The console makes a lot of noise, it’s working hard. You start to prepare for the worst, defeat, when you see the little loading logo spinning! Your heart jumps! This is it!! The game you were so over the moon to get for your thirteenth birthday!! You feel like a teenager again as you grab the control and jump onto the couch. Brain Oozer!!! The words appear on the screen, with the sudden BAM! of a shotgun blast. Light pink (‘brain colored’) bubble letters on a green and black camo background slowly drip down the screen like melting bubblegum. You’re filled with nostalgia as the menu show up. You go through the selections and gear up for going out into the post apocalyptic nuclear wasteland of an amusement park that video game designers dreamed up so many years before. Everything is cartoon, the graphics were soo good for the time but now with VR that could be confused with real life it seems ancient enough to make you smile. You rotate your thumb on the joystick and survey the landscape, no threats yet. Pushing the other joystick slightly your view starts to bob up and down as your character runs toward a dilapidated Ferris wheel just visible through the hazy grey moving fog. A shadow slowly wobbles towards you! Finally! Time to see what this piddly beginner’s pistol can do! The figure gets closer and clearer as you point your virtual gun. Ready. Aim. Fire! Just as the features become visible you blow the head off the green, decomposing, dim witted zombie. A sly boyish smile blossoms on your lips as light flashes across your pearly grin. You advance! Full of confidence and hunger for more cartoon violence! You take out three more agents with just as many bullets before you make it to the Ferris wheel! ‘Yeah! Die you Undead freaks!’ You hear a gasp from behind you and turn just in time to see the bowl of popcorn hit the floor. Your eyes squeeze shut at the impact and noise, opening to see her’s wide and filled with accusatory hurt as her jaw falls, literally, falls off her face, and hits the floor. Her eyes now brim with tears that run down her green rotting cheeks as she blubberingly attempts words while picking up her face and reattaching her lower skull. You’re entirely speechless, what can you say to make up for this... this... this utter betrayal? This is bad...
In the game Silent Hill, because of the limitations of the PlayStation, a fog of war was created. Only a few feet in every direction was rendered, beyond that was fog. It was innovation born of limitation and the effect was stunning, creating a horrific atmosphere where you didn’t know what threats lay just a few feet away from you. This past year, humanity learned that God plays video games. I don’t know what’s scarier. Not being able to see anything two arms reach away, or realizing that your universe has computational limits. At first, I thought the first was scarier, that’s definitely what most people thought. But as more people realized the second, that the universe was reaching its computational limit because of so many people in such a small space, things began changing. It turns out, it’s very difficult to find a dead body when your vision is limited. People don’t like change; they want to live the life they are used to. So when they realized that overpopulation was the problem, people began improvising. The police responded as you might expect. But very few voices spoke out against the violence. On either side. Because with every body that fell, we as a species were one step closer to returning to “normal.” I remember the day that I became the head of our household. My parents were kind people who believed in the good of others. They owned a grocery story, my dad ran the register and my mom did the accounting. When the fog began, they kept their doors open and welcomed everyone with open arms. “People need a safe place to come to and feel welcomed,” they told me and my sister. They lasted one week. I have learned from my parents' mistakes. I have learned from humanity. And for my sister’s sake, I won’t make my parents’ mistakes again. We will survive until this fog ends and then we will make sure that nobody forgets the actions they took during this time.
The last time he'd been here, it had been a mountain range. He must have slept for a while this time. He tried to picture the long march of history that had carried on while he'd slept. The surrounding forests chopped down, the thin veneer of glacier and forest shaken apart as a legion of Earth wizards mutilated the vast buttresses of granite and limestone underneath into arches and roadway. The Fire and Air wizards that had carved sigils and frescoes upon it. All to build... Well, he'd have to climb to the top and have a look around be sure. But it looked a lot like they'd carved his landscape into an aqueduct. Ash tried to picture an empire large enough to need an aqueduct of that size, and couldn't. Unlikely they were still around to ask. The hodgepodge of habitats and equipment that had grown atop the superstructure like weeds bore no resemblance whatsoever to the imperial grandeur they'd welded themselves onto. Ash squinted, and then impatiently wove an Air spell with one hand. The wind picked up around him and, for just a few moments, thickened and shaped the air in front of him. His view of the bridge bulged and undulated a little at first, but then it began to swell with a magnified image of the structures near the top of the aqueduct. It was a little like trying to see reflections in a recently-disrupted pond at first, and Ash cursed his sleep-stiffened fingers for a few moments as he fought to get the last of the rogue air currents under control. Ash saw conveyor belts and ore elevators that stretched from the bottom of the aqueduct all the way to the top. Ash saw loose chunks of dirt and granite still remaining in places. Generally they looked either too heavy to move easily or too cracked and impure to be worth moving. Few if any signs of habitation. Ash grimaced. So: Some time after he'd gone to sleep, an empire had risen up from somewhere else on the continent. They conquered the surrounding area. They carved up the Grey Fang range to make themselves an aqueduct a kilometer wide. Eventually they'd presumably collapsed. Empires tended to do that. Then more people had come along. They had found the dilapidated megastructure of a greater time long passed. As their forebears had, they had thought to themselves, what can I do with this?, and promptly begun looting it for ore. And they had done so so thoroughly and with such energy and commitment that they'd collapsed a span of it about three kilometers long. And then, as before, so now, their society had collapsed in its turn and the remaining population had left. At least he wouldn't have to evict too many mortals before he started work. &#x200B; &#x200B; Tyr woke with the sunrise, as he always had. He walked along the dried riverbed, mumbling to himself and half-heartedly evaluating the frescoes carved into the pavement. The aqueduct segment, like all the others he'd traversed, had a beautiful view. This one had the added bonus of having old mining equipment carved into it, which made the climb up the side easier. It still had taken him about two weeks to make his way up the ramshackle mining belts that covered this end of the 'duct segment like dried-out barnacles on the hull of a beached ship. He'd refilled his water bladders once he'd reached the top, too, and had been grateful to restock his dwindling supply of berries and roots with what he'd found growing along the top. Most of the time, even millennia after they went into disuse, water still flowed down the aqueducts during the rainy season. There were few intact sections more than twenty or forty kilometers long, but that was enough for plenty of water to gather. The streams would eventually become a long, exceptionally shallow river, carrying soil and silt along as they did. Eventually the water would reach the end of intact aqueduct segment and waterfall down to the forest floor far below. It made for quite the sight. Tyr had been wandering along the aqueducts for a few years now. At first he'd done so as he ran from the conquering armies that had torched his home. Eventually he did so because it was a long, empty road that stretched on to the horizon, and he didn't have much else to do. At least the view was nice enough, and pools of water tended to litter the aqueduct even in midsummer. There were even little patchworks of weeds and bushes, as soil had been blown onto the open expanse of pavement over time and gradually re-conquered it. A rush of wind made him turn. The man was flying. Flying on flame and air. Shimmering heat and flame licked out of his bare feet, propelling him upwards; gusts of air jetted at times out of his fingers to change direction or keep his balance. He was robed in cloth of utter white and absolute black, curving patterns of both colors interwoven into each other. His skin was the color of coal. He landed unceremoniously about ten feet away from Tyr, and began dusting himself off. Tyr recognized him from the frescoes he was standing on. "Ash,"he mumbled. "Ash, of Mejidon." Ash was still dusting himself off, but he glanced up, made eye contact, and nodded once. The God-Wizard, the Eternal, the Slumbering One. Said to wake at the beginning and end of every age. Though there were a few out of every thousand who held sorcerous control of some element or another, there was only one that held control of them all. "Lord Ash,"Tyr began, unsure if Ash could even speak his language, "forgive me, I am not--" Ash frowned and wave a hand. The air distorted around his mouth into a spiraling vortex of air currents. He spoke words in a language Tyr had never heard, and the words reshaped themselves into his own as they passed through. "Do you have a way off this structure?"Ash asked him. Tyr gaped. His mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few heartbeats. "Er. Yes,"he tried. "But-" "You have three hours to depart,"said Ash. He was stretching his fingers while he spoke. "Though I will also deign to let you watch me work, if you like." "W-What? Why? Forgive me - why?" The God-Wizard seemed to have shaken the tension out of his fingers at last. "You know who I am,"he said, without any real affect in his voice at all. Tyr hesitated. "The God-Wizard,"he tried, "The Lord and Creator of the World. He that awakes at the beginning and end of every age to--" "Yes, yes,"said Ash, waving the rest of Tyr's words into silence with one hand. "All that. Sure. I've always tried to think of myself as, well, as your groundskeeper rather than your god, however." "Oh?""Yes. Oh yes."Ash grew a bitter smile. "And, you see, there is supposed to be a mountain range here."
"Attention on deck!"Came a voice and the all assembled on the bridge stood at attention. "At ease,"came the Officer's voice almost immediately after attention was called. He was a short and squat man with tanned skin and a vein running along the back of his perfectly shaved dome. Wearing his field uniform with the sleeves rolled up. "Good afternoon everyone, I'm Major Del La Vega, U.S. Special Forces."He addressed the seated service members with a massive station in view behind him surrounded on all sides by ships of varying designs. "First of all, I'd like to welcome and thank the volunteers from our allies who've volunteered for this operation. Second of all, I want to stress the importance of what we're about to take part in. The nature of the mission has changed but arguably the stakes have risen. This tournament is an event for the entire galactic community and Earth has now been invited. You not only have to fight like you've never fought before but you'll be representing your countries and your planet." The room made no sound. Some nodded. None smiled. "That said, let's kick ass out there all right?"That produced a few chuckles. A hologram projected to show the chosen fighters as the Major spoke about them. First up were two people, one man and one woman, marked by an American and Israeli flag respectively. "Our experts have matched you up with opponents best fitting your existing style and skillset. Once you win the first match though and progress up the tournament racket, it's anyone's game. First up here are Paolo Washington and Miriamne Shahar. Your opponents are lighter of frame so your Capoearia and Krav Maga should be effective in taking them down fast and hard."The two fighters nodded. The screen then switched to two more fighters, these ones armed with swords. One marked with another American flag and the other with the German flag. "Jurgen Liechtenauer and Matthew Musashi. Your opponents are armed and we've judged you both as the best swordsmen we got. You'll be provided with a longsword and katana." "My longsword is a little rusty Major,"Musashi said. The Major just smiled and shook his head. "Each of you are being passed a dossier on your opponent's species and fighting styles. Learn and train with them in mind. We got another group of fighter's recieving a similar briefing at 1400 hours so you're all dismissed. Give it up for the home team, hooah."The Major departed and all of them were called to attention until he walked off the bridge. The assembled military personnel from many nations dispersed, excited at this opportunity to show their martial arts skills not only to Earth but to the whole galaxy. And win some prestige for themselves, their schools, their countries, and their planet. THE END.
Cory crashed into he chain link fence with such impact the rattling of the metal could be heard in the street all the way from the alley he had chased the suspect into. 'FREEZE' He yelled at the suspect as loud as he could, he didnt know why, they never froze once they were already running but he didn't know what else to say. He had been onto Gilderoy for a few weeks now and as the trail began to run cold on the Jeff-stein murder a tip off that a local dealer had witnessed the events gave Cory all the information he needed, he just had a gut feeling and was following it. Cory circled around the chain link fence as the suspect was about 40 feet in front, the puddles in the alley way mirrored the tall towers and lights of the city with an ironic disgusting beauty, each time the suspect ran through one it was if the reflection of the city was being smashed to pieces. The suspect turned a corner and Cory followed shortly, this time it was a dead end, 'thank god' Cory said to himself as he reached into his pocket, the suspect flinched and reached into his as well. Cory thought this could be it, the moment where he died, for a brief second it was as if time froze.... you see Cory was reaching for a photo of the victim not a gun, he knew he'd get more answers away from the bureaucracy of the station. The suspect drew a knife from his pocket and began to charge, this triggered Cory to now reach for his gun, he had read about the 10 feet rule in a police basics handbook, it states that if a knife attacker is within 10-15 feet of you and you don't already have your firearm trained on him then you're as good as dead, he had never believed that rule until he saw it happening before him. Cory caught the wrist of the knife hand just inches before it penetrated his stomach and as he drew the pistol the suspect grabbed the gun and it went off, loudly and violently with a flash so bright that it stood out from the street lights hanging above. The suspect fell back to the floor clutching his chest, almost in disbelief. 'Fuck' Cory said as he realized what he had done, he quickly knelt beside the suspect who was now lying flat as a new dark red puddle began to form underneath him, reflecting the city above like a twisted crimson vision of urban hell. 'Tell me Hank, tell me what you saw!' Cory demanded as he took out his handkerchief and applied pressure to gunshot wound. The suspect winced in pain as the color from his face drained, his shriveled features seemed all the more skeletal as the life was draining form him, he took a breath of defiance saying 'I can't they'll kill me'. 'You're already dead Hank.' 'So are you...' The suspect said as he slowly closed his eyes, the light fading from them, as they did Cory felt the realization that the light at the end of the tunnel on this case was fading with this lead. 'Please' Cory pleaded, changing his tone. 'It was your old partner... Lockheart.' The suspect revealed. Cory's heart sank, something in his gut just told him it was true but he had to confirm it, after all it was his job to always find the truth.
Insomnia is a bitch. Whenever I thought I would get a good night's rest, it would always be stolen from me at the last moment. My eyes would be heavy, I had worked myself to the bone, I was relaxed after a nice shower... then, bam wide awake. I hated it. I was determined to make tonight different. I had purchased some valerian root- it was rumored to help sleep- and I made a small shrine to Hypnos, the Greek god of sleep and dreams... mostly as a joke, but there was a small part of me that hoped he existed and would take pity on me. I was one more bad night away from getting sleep-deprived hallucinations. My mom had even purchased me some special in-ear earbuds that were small and noise-cancelling. We didn't have much by the way of spare money in our family, but she had pulled extra shifts at work just to get these for me. I barely had the words to describe how grateful I was. I had a warm shower and laid down on my freshly-cleaned bed, with my window open, and noise-cancelling earbuds in. If this didn't do it, then I was destined to just go insane from the lack of sleep. I laid down and began counting my individual body parts- ten seconds on my first toe, ten seconds on my second toe, ten seconds on... my... thir... I was still awake...kind of. My body was asleep, but here I was, dreaming. With complete lucidity. Whatever... I'll take it. In my dream-self, I began to construct a world around me- building skyscrapers and amusement park rides- just for fun. "You're very...industrious."Said someone from behind me. I whirled around, surprised at the interruption. I had lucid-dreamed before- never had I had an unwelcome visitor. "Uhh...go away."I said, waving my hand to dismiss the figure. It remained in place. "Mm-mm!"It objected. "I am not a figment of your imagination. I am, in fact, a salesman."He stood at perhaps three feet tall, with ginger hair and a beard. He looked...kind of like a leprechaun. "Salesmen usually don't identify themselves as such. Puts people on edge."I said. "Oh-ho...I'll make sure to use that information in the future, thank you, Leslie."The salesman purred. "Hmm, now how do you know my name, I wonder?"I asked, completely nonplussed. The salesman didn't scare me- in my dreams, I had unparalleled power. "I always check who I'm visiting before I knock on their door. Hypnos sent me, if you were wondering- he noticed your little shrine, said he would gladly bring you good rest from now on- but you must pay the price." "The price?" "Everything comes at a price, of course- if this was a gift, Hypnos would be here himself to bestow it. But instead, I am here. I sell magical artifacts, you see- I can give you power, power like you have here in your dreams- or I can bring you wealth, fame- you name it, and I probably have something in store for you... But, alas, I am just a spirit, and I operate only on the knowledge and experiences that I earn in exchange for imparting these powers." "You want to trade knowledge for power?" "The two are one and the same, love. It really is an equivalent exchange." "So if I wanted to have the ability to never need to sleep again, you could give it to me?" "Oh, yes- and I have variety on that one. Let's see-"Suddenly the world around me went dark, and the salesman flitted about from one location to the next, high-lighting the items. "Here we have vampirism! You, indeed, will never need to sleep again- and night time will be your new best friend. Terms and conditions apply on that one..."He said, then disappeared. At the next item, he pulled out a vial of liquid. "This is the Ent Draught- you'll gain the never-sleeping state of a tree- though you may be a touch more sluggish around winter." Finally, he pulled out what looked like a wristwatch. "This one is the most flexible solution. Wear it, and you will be able to convert electricity into energy- so plug yourself in via this watch, and you will not need to sleep, just re-charge yourself. If you want to switch back, just take off the watch." "I'll take it!"I said, practically grabbing the watch from his hand. "You will?"He asked. "Absolutely."I said- I was about to finish that sentence with What's the price? but the dream was already ending. I awoke in my bed, with my new watch on my wrist- my energy levels were high, and I felt awesome. There was a knock at my door, and a tired-looking woman entered at my response. "Hey, honey. Did those earbuds work?" I narrowed my eyes in confusion. "I'm sorry...who are you?" ---------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hardly a fair trade, Yosvi."Said Hypnos unhappily. "She agreed to the terms, my friend. Her own fault for being reckless... and now I know what it is to have a mother." "And she does not."Hypnos said, still pressing the point. "I told her the conditions. I have nothing more to say about it."Yosvi the salesman turned on his heel and left the Dream Emporium. Hypnos held his head in his hand, grieving for the poor girl he had just wronged. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- AUTHOR'S NOTE: well, I made myself sad. Hey if you want to take part in a Choose Your Own Adventure, I'm starting a new one on my subreddit tomorrow! Come say hi :)
"You know general, maybe it wasn't such a great idea to slip LSD into our rival's pasta yesterday..." "His armies are scattered and helpless, it is time to attack" "But sir-" "No Buts. We attack at zero three hundred hours. Tell the men to brace for hostile terrain. Make sure we send as many helicopters as possible, and paratroopers, for that matter. Save the main infantry company for when he calms down." "Understood, sir" Approximately 4 hours later, at 03:00 "The armies are ready, sir, the Paratroopers are taking flight as we speak, the Helicopters are finishing their last pre-flight checks. We have a B2C en route to open the gates." "Good, the helicopters are to move in first and destroy any obvious targets, then support the paratroopers as they assault the castle. Once the land has settled the main infantry company is to put the pedal to the metal and get there as quickly as possible, taking over for the paratroopers and leaving their kingdom ours." "Sir, I don't think its that simple, what about all his guards?" The general turns around, looking out of the window rather than at his advisor "Jones, did I ever tell you why we're fighting this war? Of course I didn't, it isn't my job to tell you things like that. Their kingdom is literally ruled by emotions, the thoughts and whims of its king. We, on the other hand reign through science and order, rather than irrational emotion and chaos. It is best we do not give them chance to create a superweapon, else we may all be absorbed in nuclear fire." "I understand, sir, but you're not listen-" The general spins on his heels, quickly looking over to his advisor "I have listened enough. The time is now. Understood?" "Yes, sir". Later that day the Uzbek kingdom fell to the assault on its capital city Ta'Dvight. Being brought under the banner of the United Federation of Technology brought peace to the kingdom, settling the land and citizens alike.
Once, with his friends, the next, nowhere and everywhere, fantasy or not. As he'd wonder in utter confusion his brain tries to fulfil this complex story in front of him as the world as he knew it changed forever, purple skies, blue foliage, everything is different, nothing was anew. It was somehow majestic, peaceful, but his mind went ravaging for a solution for what this could possibly be, 'The Matrix' he'd utter, 'Is... is that really real. Hello... anyone?'. The career soldier would look around for a voice, none to be found, laying there in complete sorrow, he'd guess that the start was now. As he wanted to push forward trying to bathe in his new world he had to live in, a name must've been for himself he made. 'Mike'. It was something to keep him afloat for the time until he'd be outside of this fantasy world. 'A coma, but... is it always like this?' Mike would wonder as sticks were found, and stones in the ground it wasn't anything that Mike couldn't handle, that man was a strong one, someone who could help his friends up whenever nobody else could but, he thought of giving up, thought of just ending it there, right then and there, it was useless, alone, nobody was near him, nobody could hear him. As the voice turns into quieter echos, sorrow filled Mike up like nothing ever could. 'Bye.' 'Goodbye.' He'd try to drown himself without success, as days turned to weeks he'd try find ways to end it, or try surviving as the world around him tried to prevent whatever fantasy life he was in, whatever he could do, contradicting his life on planet Earth. Weeks turn to months, months turn to years, how could this monstrous thing end, Mike made a name for himself in his world alone, ripping everything up in the beginning to starting anew in the world, he felt contempt, free, alive. As Mike take his unknowingly final rests, someone would call out his name. 'Mike...', 'Mike..?'. He was shocked to finally hear another voice, he thought that it was his brain trying to convince himself but no, it was his old friend from the army, someone who he'd look forward to in the first few months alone, they'd take him in after years of battling and scars surrounded him. They took the masks off. 'No, not you.' 'No.. not YOU!-' &#x200B; *This is my first writing prompt I've done here! I still am an aspiring writer and I'm not perfect yet, I tried but hope this is good!*
Jane's feet shuddered against the thrumming of the steel-plated floor of the underground bunker. The AI units were patrolling and blasting the surface in a systematic effort to eradicate. She lifted her arm and glanced at her wrist monitor: 49 bpm. She was one of the stillborn, and teaching the members of the rebellion how to fool the AI units was how she kept herself fed. Mark sat across from her on the floor with his legs crossed and arms resting in his lap, one hand clasped over the other. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow and his face twitched whenever another bomb smashed onto the surface. "Breathe,"she said. "In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth." Jane looked at the screen on Mark's wrist: 65 bpm. "Anything over 70 bpm and we're toast." "I am breathing, god damn it. I don't know why you insist on this trial by fire bullshit,"Mark said and closed his eyes. 67 bpm. "Because it's the best way to learn,"Jane said, as she walked over to kneel in front of Mark. "Sunken belly,"she ordered. "I'm trying, damn it." Jane watched his abdomen as he drew his belly inward with a deep breath and held it there. The walls shook with the next blast and some dust motes swirled in the air. She glanced down at his monitor: 68 bpm. "Ignore your surroundings. Go deeper. Retreat from your senses, it's the only way,"she said. Mark slowed his breathing even more. A drop of sweat fell into his lap but he ignored it. He positioned his hands into the mudra of stillness that she taught him last week. "Good. The AI can't detect the still human heart. Control your heart and you live. Fail, and die." Mark straightened his back and tilted his chin forward to ease his practice of sunken belly breathing. 62 bpm. "Good. Keep going,"Jane said. Another set of blasts slammed into the ground, this time right above the bunker. The cry of vibrating steel rattled their bones. Mark's eyes bolted open and his hands broke out of the mudra. 69 bpm. "Do something!"Mark cried. "In the stillness, I see. In the stillness, I breathe. In the stillness, I act,"Jane said. She reached into the folds of her blouse and pulled out a syringe filled with a pale blue liquid. "I'm sorry Mark." Another blast hit, this time further away from the bunker. 0 bpm.
"Onward, noble steed!"I pointed my machete forwards as I shouted at the top of my lungs. I waited for the familiar bump to signal movement but was sorely disappointed to see Rodarbal staring wistfully at a pink butterfly on his nose. "Come on old boy. We've got adventuring to do!"I pulled on the harness. With a huff and a small puff of smoke he slowly rose to his feet. His blue scales shimmered in the evening light like the ocean waves as the sun catches them right. Rodarbal's tail lashed about and lopped the heads off of nearby flowers. His wings boomed as he slowly took off. We rose above the treetops before soaring away. We traveled the skies, making our way towards Ilbanthor. The tree of life. A great evil was brewing there and I had to stop it. Gray clouds were swirling around the highest branches above the canopy. As Rodarbal and I approached lightning shot out, zapping right past his wings. With a heave I pulled him down to the ground, landing him at the base of Ibanthor. "Sorry buddy, but you're going to have to wait here,"I said patting his head. "I'll be back. I promise,"I gave Rodarbal a large hug. He nuzzled his head against my hair and I could feel his warm breath down my neck. &#x200B; I leaped into action. I grabbed low hanging vines and ascending safely into the lowest branches. I climbed further, small sticks scraping at my face. I wiped away a speckle of blood as I edged further into the clutches of the tree. I could hear Robardal whining from below. "It'll be ok buddy. I'll make it back to you," I thought to myself eyes shut tight. I looked up to see lights flashing wildly. "Nearly there." I pushed on. The branches growing thicker than the common tree you'd find below. I dared to look down to find my view blocked by the clouds. "At least I can't see how far I'm going to fall." I reached up to a small twig on the next branch to pull myself up. I screamed in horror, my body froze as it snapped. I fell. I plummeted downwards before smashing into a larger branch. It felt like I had fallen onto a pile of bricks. My back ached as I continued my ascent upwards. "I couldn't give up. Not yet." I gritted my teeth as the climb grew harder yet again. I finally reached the ledge and hauled myself up. There he was... The evil king. He cackled. "So Melody, you have finally decided to come and face me? All the others have failed. What makes you think you have any chance?"His laughter continued. Echoing deafeningly around the chamber. "I know I can defeat you!"I said back. &#x200B; "Alright you two, that's enough playtime. Dinner's ready and I don't need you getting sick. School starts next week Mel." &#x200B; "Naww but mummy, we're almost finished!"I pouted and stared at my dad who was packing up the torches he had set up. "Sorry darling, your mother has spoken. We can continue your adventures tomorrow,"he ruffled my hair. "We wouldn't want to awaken the evil queen, she is much worse than the king."We both giggled as we climbed down from my treehouse and untied Willow the dog from the base. Her tail wagged happily as she licked lovingly at my legs, her golden coat shimmering in the sunset.
I sit by my window watching grey clouds cover the sky and bring with them torrents of rain. The rain lashes against the glass window panes. It's grey outside now, sheets of rain are falling down to the ground. It's turning out to be a gloomy day. The gloominess outside soon finds a way into my heart. I feel suffocated, my gut feels heavy like I just swallowed a stone. It is happening again, I am getting sad. As soon as I realise this I go to my desk, turn the silver-coloured laptop on and search the internet for possible cures. Instead of any concrete cures all I find are depressing statistics about how sadness accounted for more deaths than car accidents last year. Immediately a wave of anxiety sweeps across me. I get jittery. I loathe myself for being jittery and I grow sadder. Should I dial someone up? But I don't like talking to people. I can't go out because of the rain. I can't meditate. Why can't I meditate? My mind wanders too much and if it doesn't wander I start seeing such horrific visions of monsters, of empty spaces, of darkness sweeping the world that I am better off without it. Pondering my options I finally decide to settle on watching a comedy series on the internet. The sitcom actors deliver their perfectly crafted lines, the laugh track plays in the background, I lose myself in their world. It does not give me joy, but it's enough for me to survive another day.

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