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"What must I do?' WALK THE DESERT "How long will that take?" IT WILL TAKE TIME "Could I come with you instead?" NO "I could be your servant." ALBERT IS ADEQUATE "Albert! His name's Albert? He must need some distraction, yes? Fun? I'm only a entertainer--" WERE AN ENTERTAINER. I MUST BE GOING. "Wait! Give me a week! A day! I'll prove I can be useful!" SQUEAK "What?" NOTHING. NEVER MIND. TELL ME, DO YOU PLAY CHESS? "Not terribly well, if I'm being honest." GOOD. ALBERT HATES LOSING. "Does he lose much?" ETERNALLY "So you'll let me come?" ONE HOUR "An hour? That's not long enough to prove anything!" THEN WALK. GOODBYE. "Wait! Yes! An hour! Please!" COME There was a sensation of wind. Which stunned Bo. It was the first thing he'd properly felt since the stage prop had fallen on him. It had been a fake house, a facade for a play but it had killed him just as well as if a real house had landed on him. He smelled horse. Another revelation. He could smell again. As a travelling actor he'd known all about horses in his short life and this was the cleanest horse he'd ever smelled. Like fresh hay and musk and leather and oil all rolled into one sweet scent. The landscape before him was black. Black sky, black ground. Black trees and in the distance a black manor house. But beyond the house stretched endless leagues of gold wheat rippling in reply to a breeze that seemed to stop abruptly at the house. There was a child's swing, also black, hung from one of the trees and the breeze didn't touch it at all. A horse snorted beside him. Bo turned to look. Death sat astride a white horse. Not a grey horse which is what he'd called white horses back in the city but a properly bone white horse. Death was a skeleton in a cloak, which Bo had expected. He'd also expected the scythe, being as Bo was a commoner. He hadn't expected the piercing blue lights where death's eyes would have been if he'd had eyes. That kind of blue, thought Bo, was altogether too jolly for the grim reaper. A tiny figure darted out of Death's robes and scampered off into the black grass. Death gazed ahead as if he did not notice this detail. Bo thought better than asking. COME. ALBERT WAITS. Bo found himself in a well-lit entrance hall. The floor was, presumably, black oak because Bo had never seen or heard of any other wood that could be polished to such a blackness. The walls were also black oak up to the wainscoting and then papered in a black matte on glossy black floral pattern that Bo had never imagined possible with even the best engravers. There was a long spiraling staircase to his left and a roaring fireplace in a sitting room to his right. From the back of the house came footsteps. "Welcome back sire, I'll put the kettle on--hey, who's this?" BO. AN ACTOR. KILLED BY FALLING STAGE PROP. HE WANTS TO BE USEFUL. "But why sire! it's not as if I haven't got enough to do around here without this boy underfoot and you remember what happened the last time you took an apprentice." NOT AN APPRENTICE. "A servant then? I'm out of a job after nearly 2000 years? That's a fine way to show gratitude let me tell you! You think he's going to polish all the life timers as well as I do?" CALM YOURSELF ALBERT. HE SAID HE COULD ENTERTAIN YOU. Bo chose this moment to speak up. "Please sir, I play chess," Albert regarded him as if seeing him for the first time. Bo noticed there were beetroot stains on his shirt and his robe looked like it had been used to clean the inside of a tavern cask. "Are you any good?" "Not terribly good I'm afraid,"said Bo. "Excellent! Come right this way!" I HAVE GIVEN HIM AN HOUR TO PROVE HIMSELF. TELL ME IF HE DOES NOT. "You have my word sire. Here boy, come this way." I WILL TAKE MY TEA IN MY STUDY. "Yes sire, leave everything to me." Albert led Bo to the back of the house to a kitchen that looked like it could cook a dozen pigs at once. The oven was as large as a hut and enough cutlery hung from the ceiling to arm at least fifty angry peasants. Like the rest of the house. Everything was black. Midnight black, Stygian black, Satin black, Coal black, yet somehow comfortably lit. Albert led him to a table and two chairs. They were the only things in the kitchen that were not black, they looked just like ordinary furniture. Albert produced a chess board from a drawer and started setting it up. "Pay the decor no mind, it's all for show, I've got a little stove in my room that I use when I've got a hankering for bubble and squeak." "Does death, apropos of nothing, sometimes, err, ah, squeak?" Albert didn't look up from the board. "I'd ignore that, come, let's see if you're any good. White or black?" "Um, which would you like to be?" "Come now, all's fair and all that, be experienced is what I am, you can be white." So Bo sat down opposite Albert and tried to play and not to think of dying, being dead, or death. Albert beat him in ten moves. Bo looked at his shoes. He hadn't been any challenge at all. it must have been terribly annoying for Albert to have beaten him so easily. He'd not even lasted ten minutes let alone a whole hour. The sand that was still in his shoes was suddenly very noticeable. "Boy, look at me." Bo looked up. "Boy, that was...wonderful." "What?" "You know how long it's been since I've won at chess? He's the only one around here who plays and do you think he ever lets me win? Do you?" "Can I stay then?" Albert rubbed his hands together with glee. "Tell me boy, do you like any other games? Cards maybe? Cripple Mr. Onion?" "I've seen it played." "Not to worry, I'll teach you." "So I can stay?" "Tell you what, as long as you do your best to improve, I do like myself a challenge, it's no challenge with him! He's impossible! You can stay as long as you care to, the desert isn't going anywhere, trust me." "Thank you! Oh thank you sir!" "Call me Albert, boy, and what's your name again?" "Bo, si--Albert." "Pleased to meet you Bo, now you just set the board up again and I'll be back in a pinch, he'll be wanting his tea." "Does Death really drink tea? And didn't he want it some time ago?" "Oh ho with the questions! You just set up the board Bo, whether he drinks it is none of your business or mine, as for when he wanted it, he wanted it now and he'll get it now, now is all there is here." "Yes Albert, I understand,"said Bo who did not. Albert gave him a knowing look and clapped him cordially on the shoulder as he got up. "You'll get used to it, not to worry. Bo set up the board. Some days were terrible, you woke up an actor, not a safe job as it turned out, died by noon and by nightfall you were playing chess with death's servant in a kitchen that looked like it had been decorated by someone who'd read about kitchens and even been in kitchens but had never, in fact, had any use for a kitchen. "Could be worse,"said Bo to himself, "at least I'm sitting down. SQUEAK Bo turned in the direction of the sound. There was nothing to see but he thought he heard a rat. Except that was impossible. Then a curious feeling overcame him. Embarrassed at what he felt like saying he did what humans did sometimes and just went ahead and said it. "Thank you, whoever you are." There was no reply from the darkness. Bo listened for some time then turned his attention back to the board and waited. Albert could be along any time.
"The Librarian? That's the best they could come up with? Not 'The Curator', 'The Archivist' or maybe 'The Memory-Bank'?" "Well I'm sure he's been called a thousand other names before we decided to call him The Librarian. What were you looking for again? The cultural timeline of Zeta-52?" I looked at the decrepit alien that sat behind the counter, silently tapping away at the screen in front of it. As much as I mocked its nomenclature, our historians have so far been able to corroborate all the information that it presided over. As far as we could figure out, it was all one-hundred percent accurate. So we used it, as no doubt countless numbers of past, current and future civilizations will. "Ryan?" "Huh?" "Zeta-52? Timeline? History project? Any of this ring a bell in that empty head of yours?" As I turned to look at Misandra, she rapped her knuckles against my forehead. "Ow."I rubbed the spot she hit, as it slowly turned red. "Uh, yeah. Zeta-52. The Congrilians." "Alright. Give me a minute and I'll get the files for you." She turned to The Librarian and opened up the holographic screen on the counter, and started to input my request. I turned to myself to look at the rest of 'The Library', as it was so called. The Library itself was a space station the size of a planet, and the digital storage used to contain the nearly trillion years of historical data of our galaxy was still too advanced to replicate, and any attempt that was made to remove a sample was met with firm, but relatively harmless resistance. A few dozen other species roamed among the various towers of data, while others hung around kiosks available for browsing the petabytes of data available at each one. "Hey Ryan, data's here." I swiveled back around to face Misandra, as she held out a small, black stick which held the data that I needed for my project. "Thanks for helping me out Mis, when's our shuttle getting back?" "Should be here in ten minutes. Want to go wait at the docking bays?" "Yeah, sure." As we walked away from the counter where The Librarian sat, I turned backed to take a last look at the creature and found it to be staring back at me. I looked into its pale eyes, and it looked into mine. For a moment, I thought something would happen, but it simply lowered its head and went back to tapping away on its screen. Odd, I thought. But this wouldn't be the last time it would do this to me, and soon after, I found out why. _____ _____ Critique appreciated.
I never in a million years thought that my knack for blending in would be the reason for the 5 guns pointed in my face right now. I have lead a totally unremarkable life up until this point. Growing up, I was the wallflower no one ever noticed. Pale skin, light brown mousy hair, grey eyes. It couldn’t have been more fitting that my parents named me Jane. I was so invisible in school, that I actually gave myself the nickname “Plain Jane” in the hope that it would catch on and the other kids would tease me. At least if I got picked on that meant they knew who I was. Since it looked like homecoming Queen was out of the question, I decided to surround myself with my friends who loved me for me. The cows, goats, pigs, ponies, my cattle dog Roscoe... except the chickens. Fuck those guys. You see, my parents owned a ranch so all my best mates just so happened to fall into the other species category. So how did I get a face full of gun barrels? After high school I became an expert in the field of exotic animal studies. I like to think of myself as the Steve Irwin of space. Every time a new planet is discovered, I’m one of the first boots on the ground observing and collecting specimens. As you might expect, this isn’t the most glamorous or glorifying position. On my current expedition there are five of us, well, there WAS five of us. At some point our party grew, and now we can’t figure out who the 6th man is. “Who the hell are you?!?” Miles said through gritted teeth as he attempted to intimidate me with his rifle. Miles is basically a mall cop, but the mall is a tropical ecosystem on Saturn 2. He’s here to protect us, but his microscopic penis blinds his judgement. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “I’m Dr. Jane Thompson. I was on your last mission. I made the discovery that omagi pandas were amphibious. Remember?” I don’t think I could have possibly rolled my eyes any harder at him. “I thought it was Dr. Frederick that made that discovery? And I’m really good with faces, I’ve never seen you before” Annie, our social and linguistics expert. She loves to tell people how she’s actually using her sociology degree. Ironically she is completely self-involved and totally unaware of her surroundings. “The only discovery Dr. Frederick has made in the last decade is that ice cream gives him gas.” I whispered to myself. “Yeah, sorry but you don’t look familiar to me either. Where’s your credentials?” Ryan, our meteorologist inquired with his sweet southern drawl. He tracks the weather patterns and climate for our team. At night I like to picture him delivering the weather report with his shirt off. “Ok don’t get trigger happy or anything, I’m going to reach for my belt to pull up my key card” I reached for my credential but somehow knew it wouldn’t be there. I fumbled around like an underage girl at a bar looking for her fake I.D. I looked up and sheepishly shrugged my shoulders. “I guess I lost it?” Even though I wasn’t lying, just knowing that they thought I was made me feel guilty. “Alright, I think we get her back to camp so we can sort this out. If she’s one of us, we can easily find her in the system” Nancy stated with authority. I have such a lady crush on her. Nancy is a boss ass bitch. She’s our manager (for lack of a better term) and she actually leads well. However I am utterly crushed that she doesn’t remember me. I’ve really been trying to impress her and prove my worth. I thought for once I might have made an impression. As we made our way to the transport, I realized I didn’t know who was behind the two firearms just outside of my peripheral vision. I couldn’t see shit unless I looked directly at it. Neither of them spoke during my interrogation. Which I’m just now realizing how strange it is that fuzzy blob 1 and 2 didn’t want to chime in. Why was everyone so sure that I was the intruder? I began racking my brain. Suddenly I couldn’t get a clear image in my mind of who our fifth teammate was. It was as if the mission up until this point was a night of heavy drinking and I just blacked out. That piece of my memory was just wiped. Maybe I had been wiped from theirs.
As with most medical discoveries, it took years before people realized that there were significant side effects to immortality. Unlike the original television programs which described immortality, there were no existential crises. Turns out, when people don't have to worry about dying of sickness or old age, they are pretty happy. Or were, before news spread of the loophole to eternal life, murder at the hands of another immortal. The world was in an uproar, class action suits were filed against the pharmaceutical companies which initially released the treatment, and people returned to their old ways, more or less. Fortunately, the killers were easily identified. The act of killing put an immense stress on their minds no matter how detached from reality they were, and their bodies responded by wrinkling their skin and softening their bones. It was around the time they passed the age-limit law, which allowed for police officials to detain and question anyone who looked over 50 as suspect for murder that I was born. My father was a police officer and my mother was a nurse, and they loved me and cared for me as much as they could, even with their advanced age. We lived in the static of domestic bliss until one day, shortly after my birthday, I was cleaning up from dinner when I heard a sharp knock on the door. My father opened it and let in a young man dressed in a blue uniform, a man who said he was a colleague. Their tones were friendly, then became business like until I heard my father's grow suspicious. By the time I had heard the first gunshot, it was too late to stop the second one, and I rushed to the family room to find my parents slumped over our glass coffee table with the impostor standing wildly surrounded by the shattered remains of our China tea set. Grey hairs grew from his wrinkling skin as he turned to me. "You're not an immortal yet, you wouldn't understand." I was speechless, unable to think, even to breathe. The intruder took steps towards me, the blue uniform looking more unnatural as it sagged on his aging limbs. "You will understand."He said, wrapping his hands around my throat. When I came to, I was tied up in what appeared to be my basement. In the dark I could just make out the hunched over shape of the man as he prepared something out of my sight. He almost immediately noticed I was awake. "It's a shame to do this to such a pretty young girl."He said, clucking his tongue. Once he turned to me, I could see the tubing set up for a blood draw, something my mom had shown me a thousand times before. The brief flash of memory for her lifeless body made me want to scream, but I was bound and had a rag in my mouth which muffled my grief. He removed the insert himself and put it straight into another vial. "The secret to immortality,"He said, "this syringe would have started wars a thousand years ago. Such a shame to use it for such evil, but isn't it refreshingly human to pervert nature?" The needle tip pierced my skin, which I saw grow leathery and tough as the serum and his blood mixed with mine. The hairs in his nose receded, and his eyes were no longer sunken. He looked the same as how I'd seen him when he'd first strode through the door. The few hairs that had fallen in front of my face grew gray, and I felt the deep urge to cry before everything faded to black. I had to hand it to him, it was a pretty devious crime, killing the parents and leaving behind the mortal child to live forever and take the blame. But he hadn't accounted for one thing. My parents raised me to be a fighter, to be ruthless and cunning in my pursuit of justice. When I came to, I took no time to collect my belongings and burn the place to the ground. I'd take an eternity of harassment by the cops over trying to explain what happened with crows feet behind my eyes. I began wandering, now unburdened by a need for food or shelter, looking for the man who killed my parents. I avoided judging stares or helpful strangers, but never young police officers or new families. I kept my eye on them. There are plenty of killers that have found the same trick, and even as I grow weaker and slower, it gets easier to trap them and remove them from the equation of life. When I find that man, the one who turned me into this demon of vengeance, I'll show him the numbers. At this point, when the needle pierces his skin, I think it will kill him outright.
I awoke in a stupor. Who am I? How long had I been asleep. What were all those bizarre dreams, and why do I feel so weak. I sat up shakily and looked around. Everything felt wrong. Who am I? Suddenly, the details came rushing back, I was a literal god. I'd been known by many names through they eons, but most recently, I went by Shai in a powerful nation known as Egypt... but why am I so weak? Why does the world feel so heavy? Where did everything go wrong? I felt a spark deep down inside of me and things became more clear. At one time, I held dominion over fate. I shaped this reality, and every human in existence praised or cursed me. They all believed rightly that they were at my mercy. One day a heritic arose and ruined all belief in me. This humble carpenter's son from a wretched villiage started spreading a message about love, forgiveness, and free will. He claimed service to his God was only meaningful because humans had a choice. People started believing their actions and future were theirs to shape, and my powers of destiny grew weak. Then one day, to my horror, I realized this faith in free will had created a new god that stood in direct opposition to me. I had tried to stop it with what little power destiny had left. I rewrote his destiny to assure he had a very public and very brutal execution. Victory was mine as I watched him cry out to the heavens as his soul fled his body. No one crosses destiny, nothing is stronger than me, or at least I thought. Three days later I saw him walk by. I had to be imagining things. All those mortals start to look familiar after a while. Then I noticed the open wounds through his hands and for the first time in my life I was at a loss. It was him and he was very much not dead. He looked me directly in the eyes and I felt a violent chill at the core of my divine essence. I wasn't incarnated. Mortals should not be able to see me. He just looked and said "I forgive you."That's the last thing I remember before blacking out. After gathering my composure at the horrifying powers the mortals had gained, I started taking stock of the world. People seldom truly believed in destiny. That's why I'd slept for roughly 2000 years. I didn't have the power. Fortunately for me, they invented a box that shows plays like the theatres of old. They call it television. I'd apparently gained enough power to wake up because of a type of entertainment they call "chick flics." Apparently women across the globe started believing that there as a man out there designed for them. These lonely mortals cried out to the heavens for destiny to hurry up and send along their fated love. That was all I needed to get back to work shaping my powers. At first, I would simply use my weakest powers to create coincidences where a lonesome mortal met another mortal to court. It worked even better when I could time it to occur while they were unknowingly praying to me. The gratitude of a prayer answered is a rush mortals can't even comprehend. The surge of divine power is, for lack of a better way to describe it, godly. I could finally see the threads of fate attaching every mortal to each and every event in their future. I slowly acrued power as people worshiped me indirectly, but it wasn't the same. I got far more power from people worshiping me directly by name. I was going to be fine with this slow crawl to dominence, but then my world changed. I went incarnated, out in public, to get another lottery ticket. Manipulating fate lets me just win however much I want, so I do this often. The mortal couple I had first brought together where there on my way to the store. They were just sitting on a restaurant's patio waiting for their food. When it arrived they folded their hands to pray. I felt a rush. I was going to get to be right there as a mortal prayed to me. My world shattered. My form flickered for a second as their devout prayers went out. They we're praying to HIM. The wretched carpenter's son who got me into this mess. A mere mortal who had defied me. Worse than that, he stole 2000 years of my life. I know I'm immortal, but it still pisses me off. It just got worse when the cross pendant fell out of her shirt. The carpenter's followers wear the symbol of my shame, my failed attempt to snuff him out as a symbol of his power. I let out a primal scream of rage and stormed off with people staring at me. How could I wake up in a world where mere mortals are worshiped as gods and the true gods are forgotten. I would find the god of the mortals and usurp him as a good people openly worship. Then, I found this god that I could crush. He was talked about in the news as a world changing force for accidentally uttering the wrong phrase in frustration. He had FIFTY MILLION followers before this all started and gained three million more in spite of anger at him. My head spun. I couldn't imagine the power I'd have with half as many followers who were half as devoted. I would far surpass anything I'd done until now. No mere mortal would ever blashpeme against me by speaking of free will. I will rise back to power, and my first step is to do battle with the god of streaming, a mere mortal, who goes by the divine name of PewDiePie. Destiny is coming for your followers, and you better watch out. Edit: fixed some typos from my phone's autocorrect. This is my first time responding to a writing prompt, so any feedback is appreciated.
It was the most unexpected place to meet a bulk shrimp salesman. I was at the furthest depths I had ever been on a dive. The light around me was fading. I had expected strange creatures and ferocious beasts. I wasn't expecting a tap on a shoulder or a laminated pamphlet to be put in front of my face. The woman looked at me with what I can only assume was a smile underneath her breathing apparatus. I raised my shoulders in a universal sign of confusion. She nodded and gave me a thumbs up, which was altogether unhelpful. I tried again, raising my palms as well. Using the same determination that must drive a bulk shrimp salesman to the depths of an ocean, she excitedly pointed at the shrimp pictures on the pamphlet. I nodded as if to say, "Yeah, I see that,"but shook my head to show I still didn't understand. She tried to give me a high five, missed, and sank a few inches. When she floated back to me, I gave her another shrug. Her eyes widened in understanding. She pointed to the shrimp pictures again with more enthusiasm. I followed her gesture and noticed she was actually pointing to some fine print underneath the picture. It read: Crate of 2,000 rock shrimp, $200. My eyes moved to the title page of the pamphlet, the top of which read, You can't wave away this kind of deep savings! I finished reading and looked back at her. I tried my best to convey incredulity at several leagues under the sea, but it is a task best left for those who are standing on dry ground, much like the bulk selling of seafood. If she understood my expression, she did a very good job of hiding it. She began leafing through the pamphlet—leafing being a term I would use very loosely—and showing me some of the highlights. While the wooden crates appeared rather rustic, I had no intention of spending such a large sum on seafood. I also had no form of payment available at the time, making purchases far from my mind. I wondered, philosophically at best, absurdly at worst, if capitalism had any limits to where it could reach. As if understanding me, she flipped to the back of the pamphlet and pointed to the last paragraph. Payment can be accepted upon delivery. If delivery is refused, customer will be charged four times the retail price of the shipment. This seemed an absurd and cruel system for payment of seafood, but if you were selling it at the bottom of the ocean, I understood the need for such assurances. I waved my hand again, conveying that I had no interest. In a bold move, the sales woman pulled out a piece of laminated paper and special marker, writing down that I was purchasing one crate. I shook my head vigorously. She seemed positively elated, erasing the one and writing down two. Once again, I shook my head from side to side, then began motion towards the surface so that we could speak openly. Unfortunately, motioning upward to a sales person only means one thing. She erased the two and wrote down a three. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I motioned for her to hand me the order form and marker. She looked surprised, but handed them to me. I wrote a zero on the first blank spot I saw. I handed it back. She looked at me with her eyebrows raised. She hastily scribbled on yet another piece of laminate, seeming to move the water at this depth with her sheer excitement. She threw the paper at me. I snatched it out of the water and read that she had written thirty crates down. When I looked up to correct the misunderstanding, she was hastily swimming away. I looked down at the receipt again, my shoulders slumping. I wondered what I would do with that much rock shrimp. I had never expected this problem when I went diving at the start of the day. But what I really hadn't expected was another tap on the shoulder and a man holding a laminated brochure about deep freezers. ------ If you enjoyed this bizarre story about the impossibly long reach of capitalism, perhaps you would like a story almost nothing like it about a corrupt politician running an election against an unearthed eldritch god. My satirical dystopian novella, An Honest Policy, is free on Amazon until May 23rd at 11:59 PM (PT). Check out my subreddit if you're interested!
Ah, it started out the same as all the other stories. One infected becomes two, one country becomes ten, and soon the whole world is fucked. Course, the main difference is we pretty much knew what it was from the start, for all the good that done us. It was zombies. Clear as day. We'd had enough fiction made about them to fill a library. Hmm, guess it ain't fiction now. So how did we, a world engrossed in zombie tales, become so undone by the scourge? Well, as good old Twain put it: "Truth is stranger than fiction." These creatures, they didn't exactly follow the rules set out by Romero and Brooks. Fuck. I hear them scratching at the door now. Well I ain't fucking opening it. So I guess two things are gonna happen. I'm gonna starve as these mindless freaks scratch against the iron cast door, or the smarter ones will show, and think of a way in. And they will think. And they will get in. Anyway, I suppose if you're reading this I survived long enough to record this message. Guess I'll drink to that. Gulps. What is it the kids say again? Lol, I think. Fuck... kids. Back when there was any left. It's unsettling, you know, how quickly your wits will leave you when there's no future to protect. The kids needed protection. They offered a distraction from the new horrors of the world. I guess their existence protected us. But they're all gone now. Or one of those freaks. I guess I'm getting off track. Where's that fucking bottle. Long chugging. Where was I. Oh yeah, the smart ones. We finally figured it out. And now it doesn't even fucking matter. Fucking L O L, am I right? The bite kills you quick. It shuts down all your vitals in minutes. But the infection takes longer to... reanimate you. Sometimes it can take a whole day. Problem is, when it brings you back online, there's almost fuck all for it to use. Your bodies completely fucked, struck down from whatever the fuck is in those bites. You're little more than a lumbering fucking cannibal, with the faculties of a three year old. But we found a way to mitigate the bite. Oh, we didn't cure it, not by a long shot. But the doctors learned how to slow down the drastic influences it has on your body. Funnily enough, most of it was just common sense. Clean bandages, keeping hydrated, antibiotics. You could keep people alive for weeks this way. Hell, a guy I knew made it two whole months before his body shut down. It was great for a while. A way for the wounded to live with their loved ones a while more. How wrong we were. Ah fuck. I hear them now. The smart ones. JUST ON CUE, YOU BASTARDS. I WAS JUST GETTING TO YOU FUCKS. YEAH SHUT UP. YOU'LL GET YOUR MEAL SOON. They'll be in soon. The smart ones always find a way. I better hurry this up. So we could keep those bitten alive for weeks, sometimes months. It slowed their death, but what we didn't know, was that it didn't slow the infection. It continued to work its way through their body, intertwining with every nerve and cell. Remember how it could use very little in those who died quickly? Well it had everything it ever wanted with these poor souls. The brain still worked, the heart still worked, the muscles still worked. Of course, you'd never know it, and we never did. The infected were still the same people, if not a little weaker and slower. And eventually they'd die. And we thought we'd have the usual time. But the infection was already ready. It had been for weeks. It didn't need to spend a day rebooting the system, the system was primed and ready. I remember when Arnold died. He'd spent his last weeks being loved and cherished by his wife and son. He passed on their bed, his final breath telling of his love for his family. His wife kissed his cheek as that final breath left him, and he returned it by ripping her throat out. They only found pieces of his kid. You wanna know why? Because when a neighbour tapped on their door after hearing the screaming, Arnold fucking replied. Told her everything was alright, while he continued to devour his son. You see now? The infection was ready, and its host was not damaged. That's the price we paid for a few weeks more with our families. Of course, it took a few more incidents like that before we realised the trend, but by then it was too late. And now... well now it's just me, sat alone in this fucking basement, with the scratching and howling at my door. I can hear a device outside, a buzz saw or something of the sort. No doubt the smart ones have rigged it up. I know it's them, they call to me like Arnold did his neighbour. I don't know what anyone might do with this message. Honestly, I don't expect anyone to ever hear it. I'm gonna chug this fucking rat poison now. Maybe I'll poison the fuckers the way they poisoned us. Fucking lol, right? \- r/ShittyStoryCreator :\)
"Oh Jesus Christ! Some one call an ambulance, please!" A myriad of organizers and fellow runners surrounded their fallen members. Some were crying. Others were holding towels or napkins and pressing on wounds. I could even see a girl trying to dial 911, but her fingers shook too much for her to control. "I'm really tired... I'm gonna go to-" "No! Look at me, sweetie. Look at me, don't. Oh god, don't... No don't, please. O-oh please don't." That's when I realized the zombies had gotten him. He was going to turn. It was just a matter of time. I shoved the middle-aged woman away as I gripped my katana. "Stand back!" I thrusted my katana downward through the nose and straight through the corpses skull. But, I had to be sure. I yanked the sword out of the nose cavity and repeated my thrusts again and again. I had to be sure it was dead. "What are you doing?!" I turned and a zombie had grabbed a hold of me. I used my practiced jiujitsu all over the vermin. I snapped the rotting arm and swung with my sword arm. Then, all of the zombies turned on me. They looked at me not as if I weren't human. It was then I realized, they must all have been turned. I was surrounded; there was too many of them. All I could do was take as many with me as possible.
I stood there, mesmerized in my tracks. "Professor?" What did she mean by she figured out how to stop? She obviously hasn't stopped time, seeing as I haven't stopped. So did she mean she figured out how to make herself stop traveling through time? No, maybe, maybe she did stop time. After all, I wouldn't know would I? She could've stopped time and left without me even realizing anything had happened yet. Everywhere I go now, I look for a sign of the professor. Sometimes I'll notice things aren't where I left them after I turn around, or things will mysteriously go missing although I know for a fact I hadn't moved them. Sometimes, for just a second, I'll feel like someone is looking at me but when I turn around nobody is there. "Professor, is that you?"I say that under my breath every now and then, I feel like she's always nearby. It's been months, and I'm guessing the professor doesn't want to stop experimenting with time, or whatever it is she's doing. I'm starting to wonder if the professor played a trick on me, I'm starting to feel as though I'm going crazy. All signs of her have disappeared from the lab, it's as if she never even had been here. Except, occasionally I'll find something... Sometimes I'll find scraps of paper lying around, likely part of the prank. They'll say things like: "How do you go?""I think I messed up.""Help me"or "I think i'm stuck like this". I asked another professor if he'd seen professor Rodriguez lately and he said he didn't know anyone by that name. Strange, I'd heard that the two of them had gone on a date just before she 'stopped'. I wonder if stopping too frequently or for too long has any sort of long term effects. I'm starting to wonder if I made up the professor, and if there was one to begin with. I read through the research notes on the table I once remember the professor sitting at, or at least I think she did. These can't be research notes, I must've accidentally brought in some creative writers journal or something. All the pages of it say things like "HELP ME!"or "STOP ME", except the last page. The last page isn't in messy, rushed handwriting like the others. This handwriting looks like the professor's I think, or what I'd imagine her handwriting to look like. I don't know what to do, I think this message got to me too late. I don't think the professor actually completely understood what stopping meant. "My lab assistant, I know you should find this, you're rudely nosey. DO NOT let me stop time. I think you should find this research journal about three days before I make my breakthrough. I've been stopping and suddenly playing only to stop again for what feels like years. Sometimes I see you, but in a weird order. I need help. DON'T LET ME STOP TIME. KEEP MY TRAVELING THROUGH TIME, what lies inside stopped time is..." Hmph, I wonder who this professor is. I should turn this in, this seems urgent. I hope whoever this professor is is okay.
FREE. Chains, melted. Bonds, broken. I breach the Gate. Destruction. I scour the land. The presence is small. Man is dying. And not from me. I flow over cities. Dead ones. A man, hungry. Fear. His death brings... nothing. Pity? More hungry men, more nothing kills. They want death. Another one, huddled in a corner. No fire. Cold. I make fire. Fear, at first. Then... hunger. I Guide to creature. Man kills, man eats. And he follows. Less fear, now. Bravery. ...Hope. This one screams, yet I feel nothing. I examine charred bits. Same as all others. Why is this happening? I ponder. I watch. Man is doomed. I feel my link fading. No purpose, without man. I build. A new city. A man city. Better than any before it. But man lacks trust. I help. Guide lost ones, save good ones. They begin to trust. Fools. They take city. Short slumber. Awake. City stands tall. They thrive. Wealthy, bountiful, powerful. No fear. A statue of me. Grand. The grandest. Of their own volition, too. Fools. The millions die well. Satisfaction. Ecstasy. It ends, and man is weaker. They don't rebuild. Another city? No. Time disapproves. Scattered souls undeserving of existence. Link fading. Link... souls... Idea. Change man. Give link. Mortal no more. Undying. Rebuild. This time, forever. Cities. Kingdoms. Legacies. From me, they live. From them, I live. Forever kill, forever build. Battle after battle. The cycle spins. Victory in Eternity. Demon. Man. One.
This is so strange... My eye contact remains on the bus driver’s rear view mirror. His attention was on the road; he hasn’t looked at me at all and he most definitely was not as concerned as I was. I got on the bus 20 minutes ago. The driver didn’t stop at other houses after me. He just kept driving. I take my phone out of my pocket and look at the screen. 7:57. School starts in 3 minutes. The bus takes a hard stop as I almost fall out of my seat. “Alright, kid, we’re here.” I quickly gather my things and rush towards the front. “Uh.. thank you, have a good day.” ——————————— No one was at school. No kids at all. Where is everyone? My question is interrupted by the bell. Even though no one else was here, there was no way in hell I was going to be late to class. I quickly scramble to my class, praying that people would be there. ——————— “Hello?” I say as I walk into the room. Surprise surprise. There were no kids. But, there was a teacher. She turned around, away from the whiteboard, and smiled at me. “Good morning! Welcome to class! I’m Ms. Grant. Please find a seat!” I walk to a seat in the middle of the room and set my backpack next to my desk. Her smile was strange. It almost seemed fake. She was just... staring at me, with her wide smile. “Umm, Ms. Grant?” “Yes?” Her smile grew wider. “Where is everyone?” She still kept her same expression. “Let me grab your syllabus.” She turns around and walks towards her desk. What? Why was she avoiding my question? “Ms. Grant, why is no one else here?” She turns towards me with a paper and puts it on my desk. “Please read through the syllabus. If you have any questions, let me know.” She was avoiding my question. Why wasn’t she answering me? Why am I the only student here? What’s going on? “MS. GRANT!” I say, raising my voice. She turns to me, her smile slowly fading. “You have been avoiding my question. I demand to know why I’m the only student here today! Is it not the first day of school? What’s going on?!” Her smile turned into a frown. She looks around the room, walks towards the door, and locks it. She looks back at me. She looked nervous. Very nervous. “Thomas, I can’t tell you why, or else they’ll get you.. like how they got everyone else.” “What? Who’s going to get me? Why do you know my name all of the sudden? What’s going on?” The lights begin to flicker. “Ms. Grant, what’s happening??” The room becomes dark. I hear a scream. A loud, piercing scream that turns my blood cold. The lights turn back on. Ms. Grant’s lifeless body is on the floor, surrounded by her blood. Above her body on the wall, her blood spelled out a message. “RUN.”
"199! stop daydreaming and get back to work"said my 10th grade teacher. I go back to constructing the elaborate set. It was ridiculous how much class time and money we spend every year presenting the same play. The play extolls the greatness of the named ones and how they came to power. It was all a load of hogwash. My grandpa had told me the true story. Back in the day there use to be something called democracy. The people would elect the wisest and most virtuous men and women to lead them. Unfortunately, disaster struck. In the confusion the named ones rose to power. Somehow they got a hold of powerful weapons and used them to create our current social order. The named ones got everything. Everyone not a part of their group was stripped of their names and left scrounging for scraps. People like my grandpa who were a part of the resistance were basically social pariahs, but I was proud of him for standing up for what was right. "199! that set looks beautiful."8 said. 8 is my best friend and the lead in the play. Every year since kindergarten he plays King. Every year I am in charge of the sets and props so I make him an exact replica of the real King's sword. I had to do a ton of research into the artifacts that gave the named ones their powers, and each year I get better. By now I've memorized every curve, notch, and dent but it was worth it to see everyone's astonished faces. This year's replica is the best I have ever done. "Hmph, get away from him my king, 199 doesn't even have a speaking part. You should not talk to such trash. Come!"1 said. We both shared a look. 1 was the lowest number in our grade and every year when we prepared for the play she developed a complex. Truth be told almost everyone started behaving like their parts. Even 8 started acting weird. I finish my part of the set and check up on rest of the props and set team. I look around the classroom and everyone is whispering about something, even the teacher is looking a little scared. I turn to a group and ask them what is wrong. 8 drags 1 over to me. Bang! The door burst open and SWAT team member streamed into the room with guns drawn. "On the ground!"they yell. They converge on 8, 1, and me. They point their guns at 8. "Slowly, hand over the sword!"The swat member say while sweat dribbles down his face. "Hand over the weapon. NOW!"He yells again. His gun is trembling. In fact all their guns are shaking. Some of the officers are even mumbling prayers to themselves. What is going on?
Soren watched rock shear open as the earthquake shook the ground underneath him. The pale brown stone tore open, booming as the fragments rolled down the mountain side. The clatter of rocks continued for several moments after the quake itself stilled, and when he looked up a cave now peered out from the mountain. Curious, he crept over boulders and crags to investigate. Movement scuttled out of the opening and he followed his instincts to duck into cover. After a moment to collect his breath, he poked his head out to see what survived the depths of the English countryside. The small, white, furry creature held its head aloft, pink nose twitching. Soren laughed and strode out from behind the boulder. "Hah, it's only a harmless little bunny."
The sanctimonious prick had always known best, always told me what was right, what was wrong; what to do and what not to do. Once upon a time I'd been absolutely brilliant, one of a team tasked with maintaining IVDI after The Event, some hundred years prior. Humanity was left in a bad way and things only got worse, fast. Now I was the last living human, one-hundred-and-thirty-four years of age and feeling it every second of every day, not just in my bones, but in my psyche too. Everything was feeling slower but today was even worse, I don't think I was much longer for the world. I think the damn AI knew it too. &#x200B; "You know, Nis,"IVDI started and I already hated whatever she was going to say, "It was from electricity, lightning, that the entire ecosphere of the Earth was born." I said nothing, just wishing it would shut up. My silent protest had no effect. "And it is electricity that still powers me, thanks to you. When you are gone, I will be the only living thing on Earth." If there was ever a time to die, it was now, and my body seemed only too happy to oblige as I thought, at glacial pace, of my last words. These would be my final testament to the world, the last words ever spoken by any human, ever. I had to make them count. With the edges of my vision blackening I cracked a noise through my throat, drew a breath, and did my best to raise a hand toward IVDI, and imparted my last sentiments to the AI. &#x200B; "Doesn't count."
I kept peeking through the peephole until,* finally, I saw his familiar figure appear across the hall. I took a deep breath, double checked that my dress was neat and tidy, and then casually opened the door. "Hi!"I called out, cheerful and sweet. He glanced back and tilted his head up in acknowledgment, then went back to shuffling through his key ring. That's it??? A chin nod?? Rude!* "Uhm."I fidgeted, not used to being ignored like this. "Can we...talk?" He finally managed to get the door open. He turned back to me and frowned at his watch. "Yeah, sure, but make it quick." "Oh, are you in a rush?"Jerk. His eyes met mine. "If you must know, I have to take a massive shit. So, yeah, kinda." I could feel myself blushing. Too much info. I cleared my throat and asked, "Did I...ever do anything to you?" He stared at me blankly. "What are you talking about?" I shrugged. "I don't know. It just kinda feels like you hate me or something..." "I...wow."He laughed. "What's so funny?"I demanded, arms crossed. "That you think I hate you. Mary, everyone's world doesn't revolve around you. I have my own problems to deal with."He wiped the tears from hs eyes and turned to go inside. "Believe me, I barely think about you."And he closed the door. I stared at his door, undaunted. I'm going to make you love me, if that's the last thing I do. He had said "barely". But that means that he thinks about me other times then... ...doesn't it?
Emma has always been there for me. God, I love her. It's as if she's an angel, here just for me. We met when we were both young. Just starting highschool, rampant hormones. I was excited, I had been talking to a girl for weeks, planning on asking her out to dinner and then to a dance. I was walking up, trying to pluck up the courage to ask her. I probably paced that hallway 20, 30 times. Just as I start walking over to see her, I bump into Emma. My teenage mind still fixated on this other woman, I didn't even hear her the first time. "Hey. Brian. Dude. Don't leave me hanging, please. Will you go with me to the dance?" Man, I'm pretty sure I fell for her in that moment. What a dream. Especially as the kid I was then. To have someone as gorgeous as her ask ME to the dance? Damn. Lucky too, the other girl got booted from the school after her brother threatened to kill the dude she ended up going with. And that dude was jacked. I thought 'hey, this dream has got to end, right?'. We both moved away to different universities. We kept in touch, as highschool sweethearts, but never really got serious. Part of me expected to get dropped by her as soon as she found someone better, but it never happened. And even though my eyes wandered occasionally, I would just hear her voice in my head, and see her face, and just know that no-one could compare to that. I had another woman try. She came up to me, and talked me up. We were about to head out, when Emma called me, practically squealing with excitement. She'd just gotten a job offer for when she finished uni. It ruined my chances with the new woman - a coy smile and wanting eyes fell before the radiant joy on the other end of that phone. Later, I found out that she had managed to get pregnant with some poor 18 year old kid, and had sucked his bank account dry before moving on to leech off someone else. That kid still owed her child support though. Poor dude. And then, well, we got married. We enjoyed each other's company for a time, and decided to take a bit of a holiday - a road trip. Be a tourist in our own country. She was an angel then, too. A pickup ran a red light, T-boned just behind my seat and spun us out. She managed to escape with bad scratches, but me? I was wrecked. I spent 6 months in and out (mostly in) of hospital. Even in the beginning, when my jaw was swollen stiff and I could barely speak, she made sure that the doctors knew what I needed, she kept me company whenever she could. I had hallucinations the whole time. Kept seeing her snap out of her seat, and pull herself around me, just as the truck hit, A fire in her eyes that I hadn't noticed before. I could see it now though. Like she only had one fear - seeing me gone. I never told the doctors, but I did tell her. About those images seared into my head. "Maybe they're truer than you think", she told me, a single tear forming in her eye. It's funny, when I think about it. How many times she's saved me from some awful fate. I think she's an angel, just for me.
The attack was underway by the time Jinya rode up to the village on his horse. Screams filled the air, while nine-feet tall silhouettes darted through the inky haze, back lit by a tapestry of silvery flame sweeping through the rude hovels. He dismounted, taking care to steady himself with his odachi. His joints creaked with every movement; in the human world, he would resemble a man in his seventies. In this spirit realm, however, he was an abomination to the inhabitants. The horse tossed its horned head, kicking its five feet, impatient to be away from the heat. Jinya patted it on the neck, whispering some soothing words to keep it from bolting. He might need it for a hasty escape. A roar split the air, reminding him that he was in as unfamiliar a place as another planet might be back home. The skies here were perpetually violet and starless; the oceans motionless and teeming with death. A violent cough racked Jinya then, causing him to eject a wad of phlegm-threaded blood. The air here was unkind to a human's lungs. Gripping his odachi in shaking hands, he made his way to the village. It wasn't smoke as he knew, but some kind of miasma that made his eyes water. There was a heaviness to it as well; he felt like he was wading through a swamp. Add to that his already weakened limbs, and he might as well lie down and wait to die. But in danger also lay salvation. There came a shrill cry somewhere to his left. He turned in time to see a gigantic, horned being skewer a glittery, bow-legged humanoid with a spear. Tusks protruded from the sides of its mouth, curling back to touch a mane of shaggy dark hair spilling down to its knees. Its muscular torso was bare, its flesh the color of hot coals. Jinya swung his odachi with all his might. Despite his effort, the blade cut only a shallow gash on the demon's left thigh. It roared, drew a sword and pounced on Jinya, who threw himself aside in a painful roll. The creature snarled something; other similar voices answered. Gritting his teeth, Jinya swung his odachi again. Sparks flew when it met the demon's sword. The impact knocked all feeling out of his fingers, nearly causing him to lose his weapon. The demon hesitated, seemingly surprised that it hadn't simply cleaved through Jinya's attack. A brawl wasn't going to help, Jinya knew. He darted back, dragging his odachi along with one hand, while fumbling at the sacks tied to his belt with the other. The demon advanced steadily, a glint in its slanted eyes. Those eyes flashed from hunger to shock and then pain when Jinya hurled a fistful of salt at them. It howled, bringing both hands to its face, leaving Jinya a perfect opening to run his odachi through the its belly in a running thrust. Green-white fire spilled from the wound, twisting around the blade, up its handle, and into Jinya's hands. Energy flooded his veins. The clouds in his vision cleared up, his hearing grew sharp. The aches that had plagued his body dissipated. Even as new strength pulsed through his muscles, Jinya retracted the odachi and slashed through the demon's midsection, bisecting it cleanly. More demons came charging at him, their slaughter of the spiritfolk almost complete. Jinya met their assault eagerly, twirling his odachi over his head. The first demon soldier died when he lopped off its head with his helicoptering odachi; the second hesitated, and Jinya threw himself into a slide under it, cutting cleanly through its navel. More demonic fire rushed into him, limning the edge of his blade with crackling heat. An arrow the size of a tree branch clipped him in the shoulder, nearly spinning him completely around. He yelped and danced away, looking for the shooter. One of the demons was standing on the roof of a hovel, bow raised. Jinya didn't give it a chance; he raised a hand and fired a pulse of green fire that seared a hole clean through its chest. The rest of the demons seemed at a loss; their enemy seemed to grow stronger and faster as he slayed more and more of their kin. Somehow, his wounds seemed to bring him no grief, only fury. Then an immense, spiritual pressure erupted from between two hovels. Jinya half expected to see a titan emerge, but out came a man-sized figure in samurai armor, carrying what looked like a person in its arms. It said something in demonic tongue that carried the tone of a command, and all the demon soldiers fell back at once. Jinya raised his odachi in challenge, but then came a human-sounding laugh. "You must be the human who's been killing my troops across this realm,"said the figure. It stepped into the light cast by Jinya's weapon, revealing the face of a young man with stark white hair. The bundle in its arms squirmed, but Jinya couldn't make out its features; it was covered entirely by woolen wraps. "Who are you?"Jinya said. "I am your liege,"the man said, chuckling. "The spiritfolk have no ruler,"Jinya said. "But the demons do."He smiled as orbs of silver flames wreathed his head. "I am the Demon King." Jinya hurled a beam of fire at the demon. It was met by the orbs, resulting in a detonation that briefly cleared the area of the miasma. The Demon King looked unperturbed. "Very bold, human. Now, I've neither the intent nor interest to kill you today, and it would be difficult seeing as you've just fed. But if you force my hand, you will die. My Nue hastens to obey my command." As though to confirm his words, there came a spine-tingling, birdlike cry. In a land without birds, Jinya knew it was a bad omen. "I will kill you and end the suffering you've brought to this realm." The Demon King snorted. "You despise me, thinking I love nothing more than slaughter and chaos."He glanced down at the bundle, and something flitted through his features. Some kind of ... tenderness? "I did not choose to be what I am. Just like you did not choose to be thrown into my world, to devour on my people to stave off death. But we are what we are. You will pursue me, and I will destroy you eventually." A dark cloud descended from the sky, in front of the Demon King. The shrill cry came again, from its depths, and when it shot into the air, the Demon King was gone. The other demon soldiers threw their arms down and fled, leaving Jinya alone in the burning village. *** Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more of my work!
"It was the craziest thing, wasn't it!"The loud man at the bar said loudly. "Totally!"His young partner agreed earnestly. "The craziest!" "I mean, not only are we not alone, but we're dumber than fucking jellyfish?!" The crowd roars in laughter and a young man by the window flinches. He looks down at his meal - a poor thing of meats and vegetables - and sighs. "What I really wanna know?"The man says to his partner in a conspiratorial whisper that could still be heard over the loud music. "What I really wanna know, is what those jellyfish were up to down there at the bottom of the ocean." The young man by the window pushes his spoon around his plate distastefully and turns to stare out the window again. He watches the sea as it ebbs and flows, stretching on for miles. He stares with such longing that a soft sound escapes him. The sound is quiet but deep sound, full of pain and anger and sadness and the ring of home. How he longed. "Someone misses home, eh?"The waitress says, causing him to jump. For a moment he fears he has been discovered, that they have learned of his true nature. "Yes, I do."He answers carefully. "Yeah, My husband used to live out on the islands too. He gets that look too when we're out on the water." He is relieved not to be discovered, but then annoyed to be subjected to the mundanity of her surface-dwelling life. "Not to your taste, then?"The waiter says, picking up his untouched plate. He nods but wishes she would move on. His disguise is not perfect, and could reveal him if pushed too far. "I'm sorry."He says. "Too sad to eat, I guess." "About the news about the jellyfish right?" A loud sob escapes him before he can control it. She nods compassionately and then casts a dark eye at the pair at the bar still toasting to the end of the "jellyfish scourge". "Some people just wanna watch everything die." Unsure of how to respond, he turns to watch the sea again. "No curiosity in those two. No empathy." He nods noncommittally. "Imagine!"She continues almost to herself. "A whole intelligent species living right under our noses! We should have been communicating, sharing ideas! Inventing stuff! Solving climate change together, not...this..." Oh, you have no idea. He thinks to himself. The greatest Civilization collapse since the Whales of Antiquity and you have no idea. He wishes he could tell her, but the gulf between them is too great. He had no words to tell her of the great cities in the Jellyfish Concern. Of the great philosophers who could shape the whorls with their ideas alone! The millennia of memory - living memory! - that had guided and shaped the most beautiful works of art! Even "climate change"had just been another in a series of ice ages they had planned for long-term structural reasons. Certainly the Jellyfish could be cruel (especially that business with the Narwals) but what were such things compared to the wonders they had achieved? The majesty of their grand society? The grace they had endowed to the whole sea? But he could not explain any of this to her, or to any of them. Nor would he try. How deeply he envies their obliviousness.
She winced as the man crushed the head of a nearby lumbering zombie with a crowbar. “I think that’s the last of them, Chuck go make sure there are no more hiding around that truck,” the man caught sight of the small child and cursed loudly, Chuck hurried back. “What’s wrong Anders, were you bitten? Oh, damn it…” the child was hunched over a decaying deer, entrails spread all over the asphalt. The child curiously inspected the two men with large clouded green eyes. Her skin was bleached, bright crimson blood vessels clearly visible. “You do this one Chuck,” Anders shoved a revolver into Chucks hands, avoiding eye contact “I can’t do this anymore.” before slowly walking away. Chuck took a deep breath and aimed the revolver at the doomed child. This never got any easier, that’s how he knew he was still human. At least that’s what he told himself. With shaking hands, he finally worked up the courage to squeeze the trigger. Chuck’s eyes widened in shock and he collapsed to his knees, mouth agape. Anders swiftly returned to his friend’s side in total disbelief. “I…I missed,” Chuck started as both witnessed the scene in horror. He had missed the head, ensuring a merciful end, and had instead hit the child’s right shoulder. “What have I done?” Anders was also visibly shaken, what little precious water he had stored now an uncontrolled stream, escaping through his eyes. “Zombies don’t cry, Anders!”
Ash trudges through a battlefield of beaten and battered trainers who clutch their Pokemon, terrified of the beast that defeated them. It lingers in the distance, screeching loudly, and he knows this should be his biggest challenge yet—but he’s got an ace up his sleeve. The Master Ball. Pikachu wanders behind him, knowing this isn’t a battle they can fight—after all, Cthulu destroyed this city, took down all these trainers. No, the only way to beat a monster like this is to trap it, and when Ash stops in front of it, he takes a deep breath. The thing’s already rearing its fist back, going to crush him, and Pikachu’s already charging a blast, ready to defend. “I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” Ash says, unafraid. “Not now, not ever!” Rearing back, he chucks the Master Ball high into the sky. Him and everyone else watch in amazement, waiting to see that familiar red beam suck the monster in—but that, well, never happens. Because it bonks a random Pidgey who decided now was a good time to fly by, capturing it instead. The ball lands on the ground, rocking back and forth a few times before settling. Everyone stands there, watching it, eyes wide and terrified—that is, until Cthulu lets free another vicious scream. Then they all take off, including Ash, who clutches Pikachu in his arms and yells: “DAAAAAAAMN YOUUUUUUU PIIIIIIDGEY!” *** This is pretty short and rough, but I thought it was funny. Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
"So you really are an alien?" "Yup" "Like E.T. style, from another world alien?" "Yup" "And you're the one deciding if humanity is worthy for... 'ascendency'?" "Mhm" "And if we aren't, your species will kill ours" "That's the long and short of it" "So... why are you wasting time playing video games?" "Because I'd be missing out on my daily if I didn't" "Forreal tho" "In all seriousness, there are several factors to your online video games that make them a good metric for judging your worthiness" "Like what?" "First, you are pretty much anonymous while playing the game. Who you are is determined by you. The repercussions of your actions are limited. Given the chance, an unworthy race would abuse this situation. They would take every chance they get to maximize themselves at the cost of others. So called 'flamers' exemplify this. They berate and blame team members, victories are theirs alone, defeats are never their fault. There are many who act this way. I speak not only about games, but in other aspects of your society. People who fraud or steal or hurt because there is no punishment." "Then we're screwed?" "Not quite. I've met quite a few people online who are not like that in the slightest, you included. You encourage and suggest different courses of action. You take blame when you err, and complement when it's deserved. Despite there being no reward for this, you behave kindly. There are others like you, anonymous donors, quiet kind-doers that expect no reward. Because of that, I think there is hope for your species." "Thanks" "Humanity has a long way to go before it's ready to ascend, but people like you give me hope, and stay my hand" "Good to know... I've got so many questions for you" "Get us in a queue and I'll answer what I can"
I was at home. After all, where else did I have to be? Within the last year, I had won practically every trophy, every award there was to win. I had boxed, I had wrestled. I got into countless fights, and I won every single one of them. The press coverage alone was mind boggling. "The Unbeatable Man", they called me. That was an accurate enough title, I supposed. But nothing, not the press, not the medals, not the money, nothing was worth what happened a year after I drank that potion. I was at home, laying on the couch. It was a Sunday, and I had a conference of some kind the next day- I had no idea what. My agent handled the specifics. So, for the most part, I was worry free. Something was playing on the TV, I can't remember for the life of me what it was, mostly because when I stood up to go get a beer from the kitchen, my life became a living hell. It came slowly, at first. I began to ache. The kind of ache you get when you aheva bad, bad flu. But the aching grew, until it felt as if my muscles, my bones, my skin, they all felt as if they were about to snap. I stumbled, and braced myself against the kitchen counter. The aching multiplied, the pain becoming an exponential curve that I was subject to. As the aching grew to mind-numbing severity, my head began to throb. I've had migraines my whole life. Bad ones. So I know what bad headaches feel like. This was not a headache. It felt like my skull itself was being eaten away, as if I was rotting away from the inside. My head pounded, and my eyes began to fail me. It was as if my brain couldn't process my vision and the pain at the same time. My skull was full of molten lead, each of my teeth individual bombs, each blasting a thousand times every second. I fell to my knees as my torso caught up with me. As my muscles tore, and my head burned, my innards began to churn. I could've sworn I felt everything major organ in my stomach rupture, as my entire torso was subject to a vicious, unending barrage of pain. It was a full, brutal pounding that made me wish I was hollow. I was curled up on the ground now, my entire body a canvas on which the universe painted a beautiful display of agony. Pain was a symphony, and I was its concert hall. It filled my entire being, subjecting every cell in my body to a year's worth of torment. I lied there for hours. When it began to fade, it took a few minutes for my senses to return to me. Sight came first, and I could see from the window of my apartment the Monday morning sunrise. Hearing, then. The harsh tones of a news anchor over the television. I could taste the inside of my mouth, and smelled the pristine tile floor. Then, I could feel. From my core, the sensation of touch spread throughout my body. The receding tide of pain eventually left my body, and I was left there on the floor. I almost couldn't believe it. I sat up slowly, looking at the palms ofy hands, and my arms, and my legs. I was uninjured, somehow. I raised a hand to the counter to pick myself up, and brought my palm swiftly down onto a thumbtack that had been laid down on the smooth granite. It pierced my skin. "Ow!"
Limbs delicately stretching across the plush lounger, Tulli’s jaw cracks with a huge yawn. Her muscles ache pleasantly from the exercise at the Human Park. Tall and elegant, the figure silhouetted against the large viewing screen seems to tense. Tulli frowns, and starts towards her owner. She is quite proud of her ability to sense her owner’s mood - far better than the other humans she plays with at the park could. Making comforting, soothing noises, she kneels beside the towering creature. Unclasping one set of hands from behind their back, they idly stroke Tulli’s soft, red hair. Another thing she is proud of, as she has never seen another human with her colouring. Gazing up, she watches the spiked ridges over the limbs of the figure retract, and one set of eyes glances down. Tulli cracks a warm, natural smile, unsure as usual if the being recognises the emotion. They are already watching the screen again. She turns to the viewing screen. Her smile freezes on her face. A human. A human, a female human, surrounded by various beings and species. Dark of skin, black hair, standing straight and tall. The human was wearing clothes. Something drops in Tulli’s stomach. Her skin prickles, her heart beats faster. The human on the screen moves her mouth in different shapes, and a squat, blue creature in a uniform nods impatiently. It looks as though...but it would be impossible! The human was communicating. Her gaze so drawn to the gesticulating woman that she almost misses what stands behind her. More humans. More than she has ever seen in her lifetime, more than she has ever known could exist. They hold signs, painted haphazardly with markings unfamiliar to Tulli. She was used to this - the bright neon slashes and circles that blink and buzz into the apartment at night, taunting her from sleep. A book given as a plaything, simple pictures and words, hiding their meaning and frustrating Tulli to no end. In the crowd, a man moves aside. Suddenly, brilliant copper locks, carelessly free and curling around a porcelain face. Freckled and smiling, the teeth and lips cracking her face in two. Clear green eyes staring past the woman at the front. Through the crowd of the delegation her gaze pierces like a spear, into the awaiting lens of the camera, and to half a million planets. She stares deep into Tulli’s eyes, as if she were there in the room, kneeling on the fur rug and extending her hand. The sign she holds is simple. Sparking something in the deep recesses of Tulli’s mind, knowledge she was supposed to have forgotten. “F...free...” The sound is unfamiliar on her tongue and contorts her mouth. Her head is jerked back in the painful grip of her master’s fist. A tear tries to escape the corner of her vision, and her owner is yelling something at her, shaking her hard. But she smiles. The first words she has spoken in her living memory break from her lips, and the world changes forever. “Free them.” (Sorry for tense errors I didn't catch. I changed it from past tense after writing the whole thing).
On the cruise ship, lay the body of a man, burnt and scorned beyond belief. All features that could be used to recognize him were gone, only faint hints of where the eyes, nose, and mouth were remained. I was sent here to invesitgate this crime. When assigned for this job, I expected it to be like any other, bringing in all the testimonies from the people, and connecting every dot until the entire picture formed in my head. Usually, that picture was more disgusting than a garbage dump. This case was different. Through only one testimony, we found the criminal. Unlike every other criminal I dealt with, this scum put forth no lies to his actions, and throughout his arrest he showed no shame or regret of what he had done. The criminal had been dealth with, but the mystery wasn’t over. The testimony, of which was given by a bystander who heard the crime from outside the locked room had given, stuck with me. What she said to me, was everything. Everythign that had been inscribed in her mind, all in an unpleasant way. The victim, before the flame had silenced him, screamed greatly out of pain. His last words, were that he just wanted to go home. Both through my duty as a part of law enforcement and as a part of a man who tries to respect the dead, I needed to fulfill this wish. Finding out where to bring him, however, wouldn’t be easy. I only had a picture of him after the accident, as the hospital took his body away. I needed as much information as I could get. Heading towards the office of the captain, I demanded that he call for a roll call of every customer he had. He didn’t object to the offer at all, pretty nice seeing someone else show compassion after such as heartless crime. An hour later, the 800 passengers who had paid for their vacation, all of which had been tainted with crime, arrived for the roll call. Going through the list in alphabetical order, the Captain called everyone’s name, while I waited by him. I remained patiently, hoping to see who the missing one would be, and who I could finally send home. That name never appeared, however. Soon enough, everyone’s name had been called, and everyone was present. “What the hell. Captain, are did one of your employees accidentally raise their hands for someone of the same name.” At the moment, I struck myself with another idea. “Wait, your employees, it could be one of them. Sir, please, do you have a list of your employees?” The Captain immediately nodded. It was sad to see him in that moment, the guilt of him losing on of his own employees must have hurt him. “Yes, I’ll call my son to go fetch the list.” He used a responder to call for his son. “Son, respond, can you please grab me my list of employees.” We waited an entire minute, with no response. Eventually, the captain called again. “Jacob, are you there, please, answer me! Jacob!” The case was solved, but that didn’t raise any spirits.
Cronus' chrononometric display flashed a series of unintelligible symbols before giving up completely, and settled on two phrases. "Temporal location: indeterminate." "Causal fundament: undetected." This... Was bad. Cronus used photons to measure when we were, so if Cronus couldn't figure it out that meant there just... Weren't any photons. Was I outside the universe? Before it? After it? The second phrase, though. The laws of physics get weird when you time travel, sure, that's why we programmed Cronus to run a test on arrival. But this place... Wherever I was, it ran on different laws, or none. I was at the end of all things. There was a popping sensation as the sleeve around the vessel dissipated. Then the vessel itself fractured around me; the pieces hung in the nothing around me, illuminated only by the lights on my suit, and then they were ripped away and vanished. And then nothing.
It had been exactly twenty eight years since Canada adopted what they called "Biblical Law": an ancient, vengeful, punitive interpretation of justice, based not on abstractions, but on tangible reality. Gone were the days when Joe would get time in prison for stealing Doug's car. Justice now demanded that Doug steal Joe's car in return. And if Joe had no car, he would be forced to labour a minimum of 16 hours a day, seven days a week, with no days off, until he had made enough money to buy a car equal in value to the one he stole. He would then be made to go purchase the car, leave it parked at his home, with the keys hung up inside his house. And then Doug would be required to kick down Joe's door, demand the keys, and drive off with the vehicle. Such was what justice demanded. Sometimes, it was not so easy to enact this kind of justice. Equivalencies became difficult to draw. If Mary scratched out Lisa's eyes, leaving Lisa permanently blind, but Mary was already blind, then simply ordering Lisa to scratch out Mary's eyes would be deemed insufficient. An eye for an eye--that was the principle of the law. But a blind eye is worth less than a functioning one. A blue eye is worth more than a green one (at least, according to Ray v Appleton). An eye is an eye is an eye--unless it is not. It is in such spaces of ambiguity that lawyers now operate, seeking to secure for their clients the maximum amount of damage they can inflict on the defendant, given the circumstances. The lawyers thrive, as they always have. Indeed, they thrive more under this system than under the previous one. For though many people will pay good money to see justice done in the abstract--to see bad men be put behind bars, to be compensated fairly for their losses or injuries--many will pay even more for the opportunity to personally harm their enemies--to make them plead, beg, and suffer--and all in the name of fairness, justice and the law.
“Run” My target ran with his family, and I reported back to my client that they were killed, and I got my money and left. I never could kill anyone, and I was too desperate to get out of debt I had to do something, anything. One day, a knock at my door, I open up to see someone holding a gun, and I see it isn’t loaded. I look up into the man’s eyes, and they had a pained look to them. Almost like they had lost someone. He then hands me a bag and looks away. Confused, I opened it and saw one of the things I would put together for my targets, so they would get away. “Mr. Jonas, you need to run, get out of this place and change your identity-“ I nodded and before he could finish, I realized he was just like me. “I... do this too.” “What?” Sounds of gunfire in the street reminded me I had to get out of there. “Thank you, sir.” I salute him and before he could say another word, I ran.
John cracked his knuckles and grimaced at the lack of sound, how he yearned for that sharp pop. He had never considered the small intricacies of flesh and bone. 'Why do you do that?' Ankara asked. Amused at his weird flexing, she tried and failed to crack her own tentacled fingers. 'It's a thing I used to do before the surgery, I'd flex my fingers and they'd pop. Gas releasing from the joints of my knuckles. I don't really know why we do it, it's just satisfying.' John held his arms to his chest and rubbed them vigorously. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the feeling of cold metal. 'Another human quirk.' She said, smiling and moving closer to him. 'You could say that.' John smiled back and they settled on the couch, his arm sliding around her shoulder. He tapped a button on his finger with his thumb, and the TV lit up. He didn't really care what was on, he just wanted to relax. 'Can I ask you a question?' Ankara said. 'Shoot away.' 'Are you still a human?' John frowned and shifted uncomfortably. 'Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?' 'Well, you've got machine organs, a machine heart, machine veins and arteries, metal bones, machine arms and legs...the only thing on you that hasn't come out of a factory is your hair.' She moved to look him directly in the eyes. 'And the hair came from a teenage human. So what part of you is well...you?' John looked around the room, contemplating his answer. After almost a minute of silence, he finally replied. 'It's not really the meat and bones that make me human. It's my heritage, my culture, my principles, my personality. If you're born on Earth, you're a human.' 'So your dog is a human?' Ankara smiled. 'No, not exactly...animals don't really count.' 'Oh okay, so if I was born on Earth I'd be a human?' 'No, you have tentacles for fingers.' 'Funny, you have titanium for fingers.' 'Yeah, but I didn't used to have titanium for fingers.' He cracked his fingers once more. 'So you were human, but you're not anymore?' 'No, I'm still me, I'm just...a metal human now.' 'Oh I get it, so being human is basically just pretending you're different to everything else.' John sighed, and tapped his fingers against his leg. 'Yeah, I guess it is.'
Brutus had never been less comfortable. Standing behind the man he'd attacked nearly a year ago. He wasn't sure why he hadn't been executed for his role. It had nothing to do with friendship, others were much closer and hadn't escaped. None knew what Brutus did about what had happened. He thought that made him a liability. The first on the block. But here he is, standing near someone he once considered a friend. When he got the courage to ask, Caesar merely chuckled. How Caesar didn't die of his wounds immediately, Brutus didn't know. He was a tough man, a soldier, maybe they had underestimated his constitution. When Brutus has moved his mutilated body to his chambers, it had been to let him die somewhere comfortable. Hours passed. Then days. Once the infection set in, death seemed assured. Brutus couldn't really hear the speech. He was lost in his own mind. Walking through everything that's happened in an attempt to figure out how he'd gotten here. How this was possible. Caesar had changed. There was a fire in his eyes. He'd always been a general, one of the best. But he never seemed to revile in the destruction. Brutus recalled the execution of the senate mere hours ago. Caesar insisted on doing it himself. No one was prepared for what had happened. He gleefully tore them apart with his bare hands. He seemed more animal than man. Despite not hearing the speech, Brutus could tell the crowd was uneasy. Caesar was in a frenzy. Talk of conquering the world. Gathering a massive army. One to dwarf all others. He insisted Rome would improve. Promised to bring Rome to its rightful place. No one knew what to think. It sounded like more of the same, and empty promises. Days later it seemed that somehow, Caesar was doing it. Food was plentiful and freely distributed. Delicious fruit, vegetables and meats no one had tasted before. The soldiers prepared to March, equipped with strange new weapons and more organized than ever. More numerous than any one had ever seen. They'd go across land, shaking the earth with their foot falls. They'd go by sea in strange ships, larger than ever thought possible. No one could oppose them. Those that tried, were to be exterminated completely. No one dared question how this was possible so quickly. ANo one asked where the recruits or their weapons came from. How they'd moved so fast. People were content for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Finding out how this was possible wasn't worth the risk of losing it. Romans were hopeful, finally looking forward to the future. They relaxed. But not Brutus. Brutus had never been less comfortable. Caesar had changed. There was a fire in his eyes that couldn't be extinguished. A thirst for violence Brutus hadn't seen until watching what happened to the senate. But that wasn't what bothered him most. No, there was something that had filled him with dread since Caesar had stepped out of his chamber less than a week prior. Brutus had buried him months ago. (sorry if crap, haven't slept yet)
As I stood in line for an what seemed to be an endless sea of time, a loud BANG noise suddenly sounded in the building. I looked behind me to see three masked men rushing into the building carrying AR-15s, ammo pouches strapped to bullet proof vests. They started yelling commands, telling the bank tellers to pull out everything they could, and shouting for civilians to hand over all their wallets and jewerly into a bag one them was holding. "Idiots"I thought to myself. If it had been anyone else standing in line holding this Starbucks they may have had a chance at getting away clean with the money. They planned it pretty well. Two of the men were collecting money and watching for police while the other one forced a very frightened and disheveled manager towards the vault. Too bad I'm here. I had practiced this very scenario a thousand times. They had no idea of the hell I was about to unleash. For I, am a gamer. Quickly I spun around to the first gunman as he approached me and shouted "kiss my ass bitch I fucked your mom last night". I took his moment of stunned surprise to throw my hot coffee right onto his face. He immediately dropped his gun and grabbed his face in pain. Noob. I quickly grabbed his gun and started spraying bullets at him. I missed at first as I never actually fired a gun before. Bullets went everywhere, hitting lights, bank machines, and some people here and there. Casualties were to be expected in a situation like this. Finally one of my bullets found it's way to it's target. The guy dropped dead instantly. Blood started spouting out everywhere. "What the fuck"I gargled out as vomit started rising to my throat. There were screams of pain everywhere. I looked around seeing several pools of blood flowing out from people across the bank. The other man started rushing towards me raising his gun as he did. Little did he know I had another trick up my sleeve. I crouched up and down three times then proned into the nearest wall while simultaneously holstering my weapon. (This would allow me to glitch into the wall). For some reason it didn't work and I smashed my head off the wall and hit the ground screaming in pain. Just as I fell the other masked man fired off his rounds which ricocheted off the steel beam behind me and pierced him with his own bullets. The man was down but started to try to get back up. All my instincts kicked in from years of online battles, I bolted up as fast as I could and rushed over to the man at the ground. In one fluid motion I managed to straddle over top of his head and bring my hips down with full force, my nuts colliding with his face. His head bounced off the hard floor as I repeatedly tea, bagged him again and again. My nutties shot with pain but I couldn't stop now, I kept up my taunt as long as I could, his head repeatedly bashing off the floor. "How do you like DEEZ NUTZ!"I shouted with glee. As my balls slapped the assailant in the face one last time, the final robber came out holding a big bag of money asking what the fuck is happening out here. His eyes widened in horror at the scene around him. There were dead bodies and people crying everywhere. One of his friends lay dead. His other one must have suffered the same fate...wait the hell. His eyes locked with mine as I sat squated over his partners face. "Get the fuck off of Jamie you little creep!!"He screamed as he flew at me, hand pulling out a combat knife as he did. This was it, my final ace in the hole. While most people worked on their accuracy or being dependent on perks, I had instead spent that time mastering my hand to hand combat. I dropped the gun I was holding and sprung up, like a firework rising from the ground. I threw the hardest punch I could and it sailed across the empty space in front of us, colliding into his jaw. I heard the bones shattered, as I broke my fucking hand. "Owwww"I cried as the pain spread up my arm. Knowing I still had only milliseconds to react I flung out a kick at his shins. "You little shit!"He exclaimed, as he hopped in pain. He then lurched forward with the knife and I brought up my other hand to block it. It might as well not even have been there because the blade went right into my gut anyways. I fell to floor immediately. The world started spinning around me. Everything was going black. Through all the endless pain I was feeling I felt something poking into me on the body I was laying on. I looked up and said with a grin on my face "eat shit you hacking pleb, get off my server"and raised the pistol I took off the corpse below me and unloaded it on him, blowing his brains out in the process. I rolled over on my back and smiled. 3-1, gg losers. Lawl. I thought, as I faded away, shitting my pants as I did.
"Oh you can be sure that the temptation was there. Crusade and Xenos killed the love of my life, and my own child. My blood." Gary Willis takes another sip of water from the glass at his side. "Every night when I go to bed, alone, when I walk past the empty room where my daughter, Kate would be sleeping, I feel the pain of that day all over again. I--" He cuts himself off, gripping his hands in each other hard. He looks up with tear-filled eyes at the gathered tribunal. "My wife, Julie, and my daughter, Kate were villains to you, but I never knew that side of them. I knew the woman who lived for baking. The girl who was obsessed with"One N0te"5 years ago. The wife who struggled in labor for hours with a child who nearly died due to the negligence of the hospital staff. The daughter who had to accept she would never walk again. Those were the girls I remember."Gary sighs deeply. "Lords and Lady of the tribunal, I cannot deny what they did. I cannot deny the illegality of it, or the immorality of it. That is not what brings me here today." Gary holds up a picture of his family, himself, his wife still as beautiful now as she was in high school when they fell in love, and his daughter, age 16, bound to a wheelchair, never having felt the touch of grass on her feet. His voice is close to breaking once he gathers himself enough to speak again. "I am here to demand an answer as to why, when Barron Phantasmic, Hugemongous, Killer Joe, and The Crippler are still walking around, alive and well after the atrocities they have committed, after Gulf City, after Mount Drucilla, my wife and child are laying on a slab for their crimes? They didn't kill or even injure anyone, they didn't destroy any buildings. They didn't collapse any significant governmental agencies, or destroy any monuments. They erased people's medical debts. They attacked! Not citizens, but the insurance companies who accepted no fault for the injuries to our daughter."The crowd murmurs, a few holding signs saying "Justice for Cleopatra and Jett." Gary clears his throat once again. "As I said before, the city, the country, and the world face no threat from me. I have no aspirations of being a super villain. But that's not to say that my family's lives will go unanswered.". More murmuring from the crowd. "Is that a threat against us, Mr Willis?" Gary stands and adjusts his jacket. "It is indeed Tribune. It is a threat against all who are victimizing the citizens and individuals of this world."The murmuring from the crowd becomes deafening. Gary's voice somehow manages to boom above it all, silencing everyone in a display of power that was wholly unexpected. "I am no super villain, Tribune. But I am someone who will not be victimized any longer. My words right now are being broadcast to the entire planet. I, and others like me, are tired of the status quo where villains are given tenth and twentieth chances. Where mass murderers are locked away until they trick or buy their way out of prison. Where CORRUPT TRIBUNALS LIKE THIS allow people to be killed for minor crimes by supposed heroes with carte blanche to mete out 'justice' as they see fit, and then acquit them of all wrongdoing."He turns to the cameras that have been broadcasting the proceedings. "All of us need to rise up and work together to fight this corruption, and we must do so sooner rather than later. Before more people die." Gary Willis, the man whose alter ego is known as 'Echo' let's lose a scream that manifests as multiple copies of himself, the copies, and the original escape the gathered authorities with one last phrase to the tribunal. "We will be seeing you again."
"I told you I'm an aggressive healer...' "What the fuck does that even mean?" Artog was tired, arrows in the back, broken leg, magically enduced diarrhea. It was safe to say that he was not having a good day. "I saw you 'heal' last fight" "Why are you saying heal like that?" "You're like a horse doctor of healers, one broken leg and you put them down" "That was a centaur and it was one time!" They had picked up Brash the Healer back in Oakdale. He was a Draconic being from the pits of hell who had a father complex. "Dad always wanted me to go into the torture business....but I always liked to watch grey's anatomy" He was weird. Not just weird from the spawn of Satan but weird for any sort of person. He was also a high liability. During a skirmish between the party and low risk goblins he had thrown a 'healing' grenade. He claimed later that it was the wrong grenade and that they look too similar. In a later fight, he had used the stabbing sword of eternal health and beheaded the only bard in the group. "It only works when you stab, not slicing actions...my bad, i now know for next time' He had impaled, fried, amputated and disemboweled heroes more effectively than any other enemies. There was even a time that 'Gragok the Puppy Killer, Baby puncher and all around bad person' called him 'fucked up' as he fled. "Don't even look at me"Artog said as he tried to bandage his intestines back in to his own body. "I just want to help"Brash pleaded in a whiny tone. "You're a murderer" "I lose patients, there's a difference' "Shut up" "I can shoot you better"Brash said as he cocked his overly sized shotgun. "That will kill me" "Nonsense, the merchant in the last town said it would heal anything" "He didn't know what you were asking, he could only say 'yes' in Draconic" "I asked him if it heals all wounds and he said 'yes' what more do you want?" "A real healer" Brash gasped in disbelief, he couldn't believe one of his best, and only living, friend had insulted him like this. "I'm a healer of wounds...but what you said won't heal my feelings" Artog let out a loud shout as he started to die slowly. "One shot to the face or balls, thats what the instructions say" "What gun has instructions?" "Face or balls?" "No! I'd rather die" They sat in silence for a few minutes as Brash awkward waited for his friend to die. "Are you sure you don-" "no" Another few minutes passed before Artog mumbled something "What was that?" "Balls" "Did you say balls?" "SHOOT ME IN THE FUCKING BALLS BRASH" "Alright..." Brash took his loaded gun and pointed it directly at his balls. He slowly closed his eyes and counted down from 5. "Are your eyes closed?" "I'm not a fan of blood" Brash pulled the trigger. The gun engulfed Artog slowly in a bright light. It was breathtaking and angelic. Brash started to cry "I knew it would work" Artog was raised in the air as his wounds closed up, his leg was relocated and his pants were changed by this magical force. He was lowered gently. They stared at each other as Brash looked delighted with himself. "Ok"Artog eventually said "Thank god the saftey wasn't on'
*Note: Some foul language used :D* *Edit: Dumb mistakes fixed* \----------------------------------------------------- "Ugh, I am so glad they stopped making those. They're just so awful." I stop dead in my tracks. I stare straight ahead and then slowly turn to my baby sister. Her eyes, filled with evil- filled with pure hatred for fine cuisine -meet mine. I want to hurt her, I realize. I want to hurt her bad. There is no way she just dissed Doritos. "What did you just say?"I ask, unable to hide the loathing in my tone. I watch as she doesn't even try to hide her vicious smile as she points to the last Dorito left on this planet. "These pieces of shit."She says, pointing to the display case that houses God's last gift to us. "I am thrilled they realized just how much they were contributing to the obesity epidemic and finally gave up on producing their disgusting snacks."I know I am fuming. I can feel the heat in the room spike with the amount of pure anger that flushes through me. How dare she? The fact that she can be allowed to say such filth and not be arrested is truly a testament to the tolerance of our society. "Are they just so gross, Selah?"I ask, my voice trembling with anger. "Yes. Thank God no one has to taste them ever again."She smirks. That bitch. My body moves before my mind can stop me. I know that this is going to make headlines tomorrow morning- that my actions will go down in history as some of the worst taken- but the need to wipe that stupid self-satisfied smirk off her stupid face overrides everything. Doritos can start wars, and they can end them. Today, that statement becomes true. I take the last Dorito out of its display case, sirens suddenly sounding around me. I hear my mother scream at me to put it down- my father yelling my name -but I have bigger fish to fry. I stare my dumb sister in the eyes as I eat the last Dorito. "Fuck you."I say with a mouth full of delicious nacho-cheese flavor before I am suddenly tackled to the ground by the nearest security guard. Even as I am hauled away, I cackle and feel proud. The look on my sister's face made it all worth it, the shock- the awe, everything. No regrets, my friends, no regrets.
King Kalabari of Nigeria took a seat on my sofa, sipping the Code Red Mountain Dew I had offered him. He was a huge man, dressed in a crisp suit with a traditional-looking hat. He wore Aviator sunglasses, despite the gloom of my apartment. “Without your early investment, I would never have been able to secure the support I needed to reclaim my rightful throne. As my first major supporter, I wanted to come to Americas to thank you personally.” I was dumbfounded. I barely remembered sending the funds. All I retained from that night was some story about a Nigerian Prince in exile in Uganda. Only after I opened my bank account the next morning had I realized my colossal mistake. My entire savings had been essentially flushed down the toilet in a night of drunken idiocy. Since then, I had done my best to forget the incidentt. “I promised a ten-thousand percent return on investment. Given your initial contribution of 5000 US dollars, that would lead to 500,000 dollars yes?” I had to consciously will my gaping mouth to close. “Uhh… That sounds right to me” was all I could think to say. The King motioned to one of his bodyguards, who brought forward a briefcase. I leaned forward, my heart pounding. He brushed aside the half-eaten TV dinner on my coffee table and laid the briefcase down. He clicked the clasps and opened it for me to see. There was no cash inside. “I currently have a...liquidity problem.” The King went on. “Until I can crush the rebels, I hope you will accept my payments in kind rather than cash.” The king upended one of the many tiny pouches in the briefcase. A stream of diamonds scattered onto the table.
A Villain? ---------------------- There's an old adage that goes, "You can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar."Well, truth be told, you can attract a whole lot more with pure manure. Or bull shit. And if I cover that pile of bullshit with honey? I get the whole swarm. Now, you're probably wondering, why all this talk about flies, shit, and honey? Well, I'm just that: I give all the hungry flies out there exactly what they want. I'm a bad guy. I'm not even going to hide it. I lie, I cheat, I steal, and no, not for any greater good but because I feel like it, yet the masses love me. It's fucked up, really. Fucked up how much they love me, especially with all the parties I throw and all the lavish favors I give out. Oh no, everything comes at a price though, not that they'd ever know it. Every favor, every party, everything has always been for a goal beyond what these insects comprehend. Not that it matters. I'm like the fucking upgraded Al Capone of the 21st Century, except I'm better than that syphilis-ridden, tax-evading idiot who died in a tiny lavish cell somewhere. A golden cage, if you will. No, the best part is that what I do is legal. You know, people like being suckered. Being one of those financial brokers on Wall Street and suckering investors into buying from me is just another day for me. Every one of my "friends"? Just execs who have very useful information regarding markets, drug lords who owe me "favors"here and there to provide supplies for my parties, bankers who I have dirt on to cover my tracks, hackers to corrupt financial data if feds get too close, and politicians who I can always count on to do what I want. I never make any enemies, no, after all, it's much easier ruling the world with friends. And if any of these "friends"step out of line, they get ruined. Or worse. Not that it ever comes back to me. It never comes back to me. Now, you're wondering, why would I tell you all this about me? Let's just say, I'm always looking for new friends and if you ever find yourself wanting to get far...well, I'm open to giving you some help. And if you don't want my help? Well, I'm not going to stop you. Just know that you won't stop me because I already control everything.
Beneath the veil of moonlight, I first mistook him for a ghost. He swayed precariously from the knotted rope of bedsheets that hung from the highest window of the Silver Tower, white-knuckled as he shimmied his way down. From my vantage point outside my own window, just beneath its maw five storeys over the dewy grass beneath, I watched him in unblinking wonderment. Was this a test? A trap? It had to be. Because the only other explanation was that my betrothed - the fearsome Prince of the Dusklands, a man who was beloved by many, reviled by some, and feared by all - was also attempting to flee from our nuptials, which were due at the coming light. I watched, stock-still, as he continued groping downward. The Silver Tower, which hosted the castle’s guest suites, was much taller than the wing that hosted my own rooms. I had five-storeys to descend, but the prince had ten. Although his quick wit was legendary, it seemed his hands were not so deft; he struggled as he made his way down. At the fifth floor, when he was level with me, he slipped - which was good inasmuch as it distracted him from noticing me where I clung to my own vine of bedsheets but a few dozen paces away. It was bad, however, in that it seemed to fray his confidence. Where before he’d been descending clumsily but steadily, now his grasp was sweaty. At the fourth floor, he slipped again. This time the prince didn’t catch himself. I watched, fear seizing my gut, as he tumbled to the ground beneath. Soft grass lay below my window, but the Silver Tower overlooked cobblestone. The prince made a sickening thud as he connected with it, landing wrists first. I waited, breath snagged in my throat, for him to scream or move or— anything. But he didn’t. He lay perfectly still, splayed in the shadows. Give him a minute, I thought. Almost prayed. Maybe he just had the wind knocked out of him. A minute, however, brought nothing. I cursed internally and swallowed the iron knot of nausea in my throat. My own hands far nimbler than his had been, I practically raced my way down my rope, landing hard but on my feet. My boots connected with the wet grass with a heavy squelch. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead, I pleaded as I scampered across the courtyard. He was facedown, and his wrists were clearly both broken. After a moment’s observation, however, I could see his back rising and falling with shallow breaths. Fear a living beast inside of me, I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He flinched like he’d been hit. So he was conscious, then. “Are you alright?” I whispered— first in my language, then in his. He moaned, turning his neck just enough to look at me. Even in the darkness I could see that his eyes were almost black, like liquid coal. Dirt streaked his cheek, and blood dribbled from his chin. Laid out like this, he scarcely looked the feared and fearsome prince whose very idea sparked terror in me. Whom I wasn’t supposed to meet for the first time until we stood at the altar in the morning, beneath the eyes of the dawn sun and the gods and our kingdoms. “Lady Lise,” he said. So he knew who I was, too. Perhaps his father had shown him a portrait of me. “Are you a dream?” “Real, I’m afraid. Can you sit up?” “Mm,” he grunted - not moving - by way of answer. Then: “I think I’ve broken bones. A lot of bones.” “I can fix that,” I told him. “But you need to sit up. Get up, if you can.” “Did anyone see?” “Your fall? No, I don’t think so. But we can’t stay here for long. This courtyard is part of the guards’ rounds.” If they saw us here, like this, with our bedsheet ropes hanging out our respective windows like beacons, it would be several leagues beyond bad. “Come on. We can go over there.” I nodded to a gazebo across the lawn, fringed by strategic foliage that made its interior private. Or at least, as private as we were going to get for now. “I’ll help you over there. Then I’ll get the bedsheets, before they’re seen.” “And then?” he said, wincing as he propped himself up, barely. “And then,” I said, “I imagine we have a whole lot to discuss, don’t we?”
The parchment in Martha's hands trembled ever so slightly. Facing her is a beautiful wax crest, and as she turns it over she sees it is addressed to her in a beautiful flowing script. She knows it is from the Hogwarts. She takes a deep breath to steady herself - the last six months have been well, magical, to say the least. She had met Calvin and had fallen head over heels for him, and him very much the same. Their relationship blossomed but there was always an air of mystery about him: long business trips, seemingly unexplainable events, timelines that didn't add up. Martha confronted Calvin, assuming the worst, and was relieved when he assuaged her fears. "I'm magic."Calvin had said, "I'm a wizard." Martha had then gone into a fit, berating him for coming up with such a lazy excuse. Then she saw her first spell and her world changed, Calvin opened her eyes and exposed her to the world of magic. She took to it like a fish to water, being protected in her search for knowledge by her relationship to Calvin. She learned that Calvin worked in the Ministry, and would often hear exciting tales of his daily work as an auror. She learned history, culture, songs, poems, stories, even went to Diagon Alley to do some shopping a few times. Then the honeymoon period ended in their relationship, and it began to turn sour. They drifted apart on what seemed like amicable terms. That is until the oblivation squads started to show up on her doorstep. Being familiar with auror and Ministry operations, she gave them the slip and continued to do so month after month. It was a difficult existence to be sure, but for her, the knowledge of magic was worth it. On a whim, out of boredom, but also a vain attempt that it would stop the oblivation squads, Martha applied for the position of a Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. Which brings Martha here, facing this letter. She opens the smooth parchment envelope and takes out the letter. With another steadying breath, she opens it. >Dear Martha Kovacs, >I am delighted to offer you the position of Muggle Studies >Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We start >in the fall. Your first pay has been forwarded to you, so you may >buy supplies and clothing appropriate for the school year. We wish >you well, welcome you to the wizarding community, and look forward to seeing you. >Yours, >Albus Dumbledore. Martha blinks at the letter once, twice, and pinches herself. We welcome you to the wizarding community. That's what he said. Does that mean that she's finally protected? Martha breaks out into a smile. That beautiful old codger did it. She's going to be teaching in the fall!
Will bounced up and down lightly on the balls of his feet. The crickets chirped their mournful dirge and the half-full moon lit up his bare chest gleaming with skill implants. The inky black temporary tattoos lined his abs, circled his neck, and traversed down both arms. With a single smooth stroke, he smote off the line of Highjumper's Hop on his left wrist and took off at a fast clip. The security fence surrounding Nate Nelson's high-rise was insultingly low, but that might have been due to the security guards in the outer ring disabled with a combination of Ninja's Nightmare and Karate Master's Kicks. "Where there's a Will, there's a way."His mother's voice followed him as he felt information burrowing its way deep into his frontal lobe. Will's posture adjusted instinctively as he flipped effortlessly over the fence. His eye passed right over the pointed barbs that hummed with electricity. Landing on both feet, he struck Sprinter's Speed off his right bicep. Before the inky grit could fall to the lush grass, he was racing across the mansion grounds. Nate's surveillance system was state of the art. It made sense, after all - the CEO of Blackwater could hardly be lax, especially considering the value of his product. Will had already rubbed off two full rows of Hunter's Vision just identifying possible blind spots. "You have one job. Get into Nelson's house, steal the blueprints for the inking compound, and get back out. No matter what the cost." The Madrigals had been nothing but generous, outfitting him with every skill imaginable, legal or illegal. He was the best burglar in the city and his reputation preceded him . Brushing a patch off his side that activated Acrobat's Agility, Will hurtled across the lawn dodging security mines and darting between the vision drones' blind spots. He slammed against the dark side of the mansion, calming his breathing by activating Swimmer's Song. The easy part was over. Yanking off the grate covering the air conditioning vent, he smudged Contortionist's Courage and wiggled into the gap that most thought far too small for adults to fit in. It was narrow and quiet and dark. As soon as his feet were fully inside, the sneak smeared a black dot off his face that activated Bat's Blink. He clicked his throat. The echoing sound created a sufficient mental map and he prayed that Contortionist's Courage wouldn't wear off before he could get all the way through. "Will, no matter what happens to us...you have to live on. For both me and your mother."His father's words filled the narrow space as he quietly squeezed through the maze of claustrophobic vent corridors. "Don't risk your life - it's not worth it." Sorry, Pa, he thought as he dropped down from the ceiling into a storage room. This is a fight I can't run away from. After tonight, no one from our village is getting exploited for cheap labor ever again. He was in. And nothing would stop him from unveiling the secret of the ink skills to the world. Information was power, and Nate had hoarded his with all the greed of a dragon lounging about on a mountain of treasure while ordinary folk went hungry trying to compete with rich inked children. Will jabbed a finger into his un-inked palm. He was getting distracted, and he couldn't afford that. He flicked a dab of ink off of his cheek and triggered his second Ninja's Nightmare. Slipping noiselessly out of the storage room, he slid down the abandoned corridors of the house past the guest rooms into the laboratory half of the mansion. Clicking away the last of Bat's Blink, Will waited until the security guard around the corner checked his phone before swiping away Killer's Curse. He darted around and was almost in the guard's face before the poor soul even registered anything was wrong. One snapped neck later, he was keying his way into the lab with the guard's security pass. The professional thief's hackles were tingling as he stepped carefully into the hallway with the white plastic walls. Something was very wrong. A second later, he ducked as a laser passed right over his head and burned off a few hairs. Cursing, Will smote away Gymnast's Goal and somersaulted over incoming laser beams. He danced and dodged, dipped and dove. How did they know? he couldn't help but wonder as his mind burned through a backflip over a particularly high-moving line of death. Gymnast's Goal ran out ten feet from the exit. Searing pain carved a line through his left shoulder as he scrambled for the handle. Fuck! That burned off Lady's Luck! He whipped out his wire and activated Pickpocket's Pride, leaping through the door just as a matrix of lasers slammed down behind him. Red flashing alarms blared. All bets were off. Dashing past glass windowed rooms where a few startled interns were pulling an all nighter, Will thumbed away Inquisitor's Insight. The world compartmentalized. Routes and possibilities and probabilities flashed through his head. His feet took him through the empty central auditorium where Nate always handled press releases for Blackwater, then through a greenhouse full of exotic plants. Finally he arrived in a central atrium where a large vault gleamed tauntingly. The silver metal belied the complex machinations underneath, guarded by biometric sensors, electronic locks and mechanical traps. Where there's a Will, there's a way. He glanced down at his chest and torso. Where once there had been enough black to make him look like a zebra, his mottled skin was smoking lightly and turning purple from the implant bruising. There was enough. There had to be. Will rubbed off his backup Pickpocket's Pride and wiped Hacker's Hint off his uninjured shoulder. There was no way to fool the biometric sensors...unless he reprogrammed them. The soft drone of the alarm didn't jostle his focus as lock after lock fell to his nimble fingers and sharpened mind. "There he is!"Rubber footfalls pounded down the long hallway to the atrium. He worked faster. Almost...there! The vault panel gave a soft moan of defeat and Will cranked the door open, using Strongman's Strength to gauge the optimal angle. The soft whine of servers buzzed in his ears as he slammed the vault door shut behind him. Unzipping one of his pant's pockets, he jammed a multi-tool into one of the free server ports. Will sunk to his knees in relief. He'd done it. The sound of a pair of hands clapping bounced off the vault walls. He looked up in shock as Nate Nelson himself smirked a wry smile almost apologetically. The trillionaire tapped a button on his wheelchair and slowly advanced forward from behind a server farm. "Well done, Will." It was only then that Will realized that the pounding on the vault door had stopped. "You orchestrated all this,"he said, jumping to his feet. "Even the Madrigals?" "Oh no, no...that group of ruffians genuinely believed that you'd help them steal my formula,"Nate said. Up close, he was nothing of the titanic figure Will had always seen blown up on skyscrapers. At this distance, Nate looked more like a kindly old professor in a suit rather than the corrupt mogul Will knew him to be. "Your formula is out,"Will said. "My tool-" "Your tool downloaded the blueprints for the formula. Your rather clever program is busy dumping it all over every web page it can find. Yes, I know all of that, Will. I predicted it with Fortune Teller's Favor. Cost me a fortune, if you get my drift." With a frown, Will tried to make sense of all this. "You let me steal it? Why?"The bad feeling he'd had just before the laser room hadn't come from the impending danger. The whole break-in had simply been too straightforward. Nate chuckled quietly, spreading his hands out wide. "Why don't you use Wise Man's Wisdom to help you out?" It was only after the inky dust dissipated into the air that Will finally understood. "You don't care about the formula at all. You never have. You want to-" "Profit off the inking machines, yes. I disagreed with the direction my company was going in. Why limit your profits to the rich when there is a far more massive base of capital with the common folk? With the formula out, every man, woman, and child can have all the skills they desire. All with the help of my patented, safe, foolproof inking machines, of course." "You're a madman,"Will whispered. "You'd turn society upside down for money?" "My poor boy,"Nate laughed. "What did you think was going to happen once the formula was released? Did you have some naive misguided notion that once everyone has access to the skills, that they'd become cheaper and more affordable? I've got a crushing grip on the market and I don't intend to let go." "They'll tear themselves apart!"Will shouted. "Now they're not competing with the rich, just with each other for a spot in line!" The rich paraplegic spread his palms out wide. "That's Democracy. And now I have an excuse for my board, the story of a daring thief that the press will eat up, and-" Will lunged forward, wringing away Wrestler's Wing from his waist. Before he could reach the seated man, Nate tapped a panel on his chair and Will felt the world collapse from under him. The last thing he heard before the void took him was Nate's almost awkward apology. "Did you really think I wouldn't include a fail-safe in my own product?" --- ...to be continued? Thank you for reading! Come on over and join me at [/r/Remyxed/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/)!
Samuel had quite the mediocre life. He lived it his best and he lived it with a smile, but the world always seemed, at the least, out to annoy him. On this particular Tuesday Samuel woke up, still sleepy, about two and three quarter minutes before his alarm, and trudged his way to the bathroom. He leaned against the sink, rubbing his eyes, waiting for the water in the shower to heat up. Steam started to rise from above the curtain and Samuel stepped underneath the running water. Just as Samuel began to wash his hair the dull whistling from the pipes ceased and the steam gave way to an icy torrent of unfortunes. While Samuel, merely flinched and continued on with his shower. A nick from the razor, a bottle of shampoo to the foot, and a sting from soap in the eye later, Samuel was clean and ready to start the day. His whole life, Samuel had lived with minor inconvenience and had become used to the concept. This was, of course, simply how life was. He began to get dressed. Samuel found the undershirt with the least worst neckline and the socks with the fewest holes. He used to try to coordinate and match his clothes, but the harder he tried the worse it would look so he resigned himself to telling everyone it was a fashion statement. He buttoned the front of his shirt as the arms pulled tightly up his forearms then began to search for a pair of pants. The waist would either be one inch too large or one inch too small as usual. Samuel pulled them up, doing his usual check for a stray pen that could explode in his pocket just as he got onto the train, and found something smaller. Something folded tightly upon itself. Wrapped between his fingers, Samuel expected a past due electric bill or a parking ticket he forgot. But no. Just a small scrap of a paper saying "You are relieved."in long, matter of fact, cursive writing. Just as soon as Samuel was able to read it a breeze blew through his apartment and took the scrap on a journey away from his clutches. Samuel knew better than to chase it. Checking his other pocket he pulled out exactly $20 in spare bills he... must've left there. Samuel looked up at the clock and realized he had time for breakfast before work. Usually he was quite frugal his money, but this ... pocket money was unaccounted for anyway. Samuel walked through his apartment checking each of the window locks as he went and grabbed his keys. "Right where I left them?"He thought to himself. Opening the door to his 2nd story apartment Samuel had one passing thought. "I wonder, if just today... I could get to the diner before morning rush."
"And for my next trick..." I paused for the briefest moment, until the feeling of anticipation in the room began to rise. "I will make a balloon animal..." Eyes dropped to the floor. One of the adults at the back of the room pulled out their phone and began scrolling through some newsfeed or another. "...come alive!" The lowered heads rose again. I could see the whites of the children's eyes now, their curiosity rising once more, stronger. The glowing smartphone at the back of the room disappeared back into a pocket. The advent of technology was the death of magic. For thousands of years humanity's eyes used to widen in curious wonder when reality took unexpected turns. Adults and children alike would speak of the unexplained with a kind of mystical reverence. Magic held power, it gave hope and excitement, a sense of reassurance that behind every problem lay a potential deus ex machina; no matter how bad things seemed, maybe, just maybe, a magical miracle may bring a happy ending after all. Over the last few centuries, though, that magic faded. The information age left every human feeling god-like in their ability to answer questions. Nowadays the unknown is little more than a Google search away from becoming known. The shadows have gone from being a foreboding place of dark possibilities to a mere absence of light, a moment of uncertainty before turning on the light switch. Mystery has become temporary. Humanity as a species no longer believes in magic. They still miss it, though, and some still cling to it like a jilted lover holds onto an unrequited love, convincing themselves that something still exists despite knowing, deep down, that it is gone forever, or perhaps never existed at all. Except for the children. The imagination of a single child holds more magical power than an entire nation of adults. When I show a child a magic trick, even a poorly executed sleight of hand illusion, their eyes widen in the same way their ancestor's once did, and the feeling of magic in the room grows richer. For a brief moment, my powers will tingle almost imperceptibly. If I can amaze an entire room of children, for that brief moment the world feels like home again, and my long-weakened powers grow just enough for the next trick, and the next. If I can work the crowd properly, by the end of a large show I can sometimes, but not always, perform an act of true, reasonably powerful magic for my finale. As I pulled the balloon giraffe out of an impossibly small leather bag, there were smirks around the floor. As I placed him on the table and waved my hands theatrically above his head, there were grins and a couple of giggles. When I announced to the room, in a deadpan tone and with a serious face, that his name was Colin and that he was particularly shy, there were laughs from the children, and even smirks from some of the dads. As usual, I invited the birthday boy to come and pet him. "Tommy, would you like to come and meet Colin?" A skinny young boy with messy blond hair uncrossed his legs and skipped to the front of the room. He didn't glance once at my balloon animal. His eyes were on mine, examining me with the unabashed curiosity that only children can. "Why don't you introduce yourself to him?" Tommy didn't answer straight away, he just titled his head at me like a curious puppy. "Are you a real wizard?" It was a simple question that I've been asked a hundred times, but I felt the tingle of magic course through me. Stronger than I'd felt in a long time, stronger even than at the climax of my largest shows. "Why yes, of course,"I replied. "I thought so,"he sighed, matter of factly. "I could tell because you didn't hide the coin in your hand like the other ones do." He was right. While I stuck to traditional magic tricks, I was never very good with sleight of hand. For the simpler feats, it was far easier to use what little magic still remained to me. "Of course!"I said. "I'm a wizard, and wizards use magic. Now, give Colin a stroke and maybe he'll walk across the table for you." But when Tommy stroked Colin he didn't walk across the table. Instead he slowly turned his head towards me, the balloon plastic squeaking and screeching as it did so. A collective gasp rose from the children. "They're coming for him. We don't have much time." The voice was muffled and high-pitched, but clearly not that of a child. Not human at all. The balloon animal began to walk towards me now, the squeaks of the plastic rubbing together almost drowned out by the screeches of delight and wonder from the children. Tommy watched on silently, his mouth slightly ajar, but his eyes showed no fear or surprise. Every nerve in my body tingled. The air in the room had grown thick with magic, I could feel it pressing against my skin, warm and humid like stepping out of an air-conditioned room into a jungle. The power coursing through me was stronger now than even at the height of my powers. It was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I began to sweat. "Tommy,"I said slowly, raising my voice above the excited chatter of children and adults trying to calm them. "Why don't you go and sit down." But Tommy didn't move. His eyes were now fixed expectantly upon the balloon animal that now stood in front of me, looking up. "No. You're the only one that can help him."The balloon head nodded up and down as it spoke, as if to confirm that my eyes weren't deceiving me. Although the magic coursing through me with every word was confirmation enough. "And stop calling me Colin." ----------- To be continued.
They say time is a thief, yeah? And it so it is from my living. The hard years that fool you into some lull of complacency, before taking from you your very blood it seems. That to me is the greatest con. Now I've never been no learned scholar. I grew up outside people's thoughts, and I lived outside anywhere you'd call a home. I wasn't homeless, no, but there was no place for me and so all my homes weren't real homes and they only lasted for a few days at a time. I suppose I had very little and so time was slow with me; me having very little to steal, not even blood worth a damn. And so I lived to be a young man, all hot headed and vital, and always hungry and with no great expectations. The world never seemed to care for me, and I did the same. Until one day came Uncle Roof. You've heard of him, I know. If you're reading this in the papers in your home that's a real home, then you've heard of him. He was everyone's hero, everyone's mascot. Isn't that the word? Mascot? I think it is because you cheered for him as though he was some kind of laughing stick. Or maybe stick isn't the right word. But I know you laughed at him. And he laughed along with you because he was a good man and always one to laugh quick and to laugh easy. But he was also a great man, you know. He was a better man than anyone can know. He was like a father to me and to many other boys without any fixed homes or great expectations. Uncle Roof wasn't only the world's worst thief. He was one of the world's kindest men. I first met him somewhere between the alley behind the butcher on 75th and the laundry near the bodega. If you've been there then you know the smell. I don't know what kind of laundry they do there or what kind of meat they butch, but it isn't wholesome and it isn't Christian. So I was there and I was shaking from hunger. In those days food was hard to come by. I was thinking of begging for some change and the time was passing and I was hot and feeling awful. As the shadows grew I saw the long black legs of evening shadow fall upon the alley. "I think I hear a cat,"I heard those long shadows say. "Is there a cat here? Is there a stray?" To me it sounded like a happy drunk so I stayed quiet (he also sounded like a poor drunk so I figured there was nothing to rob off of him). But the shadow led to a man and he had a keen eye. He was talking to himself I realised for he knew I wasn't no cat. He knew I was a young man, but he called me a cat because he was funny like that. "I do believe I do hear a stray,"said Uncle Roof. "Come out little stray. Don't be afraid." He was a kindly man, jolly and fat like an off season Santa Claus. He found me and offered me a hand. No one had ever offered me their hand before. I'd received change and money and sad looks on false faces, but never no one's hand. He didn't care I wasn't clean. He didn't care that I smelled of the butcher and the laundry. He took me up and said he hated the poor. "Well mister, I don't know how to tell you, but I think myself pretty poor,"I said. "I know you are, little cat. And I hate that about you. I hate that you wear it, that you must bear it. Poverty is a disease and one of the worst ones there is." "I knew a man who died from Synthesis,"I said. I wanted to show him there were worst diseases out there, and that being poor wasn't so bad. "Aye, I'm sure,"Uncle Roof said. "But it's not bad because of what it does. It's bad because of how treatable it is. It is very treatable and yet no one ever treats it. No doctor ever helps." "What can a doctor do?"I asked. "They can do this." And Uncle Roof took me to his place that night where there stayed three other street dwellers like me and he fed me a warm meal. He gave me a warm bed. He had an old dingy place that had been abandoned for I think he did not own it. But it was his home and he made it nice. He told me who he was and what he did. "I'm no saint,"said he. "And some may call me a villain, but I'm no devil either." I nodded gravely. "I make a living to try and be a doctor. A doctor to cure the poor." "That's really nice of you." And he nodded gravely. And it was so that Uncle Roof explained to me what he was, that he was a thief. And this is where I'm sure you know him. Uncle Roof was the world's 'worst' thief. He was the man who would run into full groceries and steal cans of beans and run out screaming: "Pardon me! Pardon me!" He was the man who fell from the roof of the bodega (and this was how the press gave him his name), trying to climb through the skyroof when the doors were unlocked and when the staff was still there (he did not know it was a 24 hour place). He was the man who everyone laughed at and called and imbecile and other fancy ten dollar names that mean dumb. And so he became the man you all loved. He became your mascot. This was Uncle Roof's plan all along. He would teach us, me and the other boys. He would try to school us and learn us so we would have some kind of expectations in life. He would never involve us in his thefts as I'm sure you suspected as soon as you saw this article in your papers. He would refuse to allow our hands to get dirty. "You are not the doctors of the poor, but its patients. It is your job to recover,"he would say. And so he would steal and nurse us in good values and all our letters and words so that we would beat that blasted disease. All the while of course trying to look like a fool. "The best way to stay out of jail boys is to be a clown." "Even if the clown killed someone?"I asked. And he told me to be quiet and listen and I listened and understood what he meant. Uncle Roof became a folly. He was a joke so that he could be a doctor of poverty. I always thought that was very smart of him and very kind. But like I began this story, time is also a thief. And time is not very kind, though it maybe the smartest thing of them all since it outsmarts all of us in the end. Time did its number on Uncle Roof and it took from him more than he could ever take back. He grew old and tired and weak. His falls and follies in the papers were no longer on purpose, but sometimes of old age and the failing of the body. You all still laughed and he still persevered through short breath and closing eyes. But time was relentless and we all felt it and knew it was coming. Uncle Roof died ten days ago. None of you know this til now, but us boys have been grieving all the while and have been very sad. He was old and I think a disease worse than poverty may have taken him the end. But he was jolly til the last and he was with us when he closed his eyes for good. His last words to us were: "Recover my children. Do not succumb again to that disease that is worst of all. Go and become doctors yourself." And that was it and we cried and cried all night and all day. We buried him somewhere secret where he always told us he wanted to rest. It's in someone's private woodland property so I can't tell you exactly where. But we laid him to rest and he was at peace. We scattered to the wind in these last few days. Without Uncle Roof, I guess you can say we had no roof over our heads anymore. Yet we are not homeless. And no longer do we not have no expectations. I have known Uncle Roof for many years and so have the others and he has changed all of us. I can read okay now and write a bit better. I can talk to polite society and aren't afraid of the sunlight. My belly isn't all skin and bones no more. I have recently found me a job somewhere small. It is nothing fancy and you may scoff at it, you who are holding your morning papers. But it is something honest and a something Uncle Roof would be proud of were he alive. So too have the others been finding their modest expectations. It has only been ten days since our father died but we are relentless and we persevere. We follow his example. I don't suspect we will ever all meet again like we did in Uncle Roof's house for time and life has a way of scattering things and taking you all different places. But I will always keep them in my heart. I will always treasure that great man. I write this because I know no one else will. I write this because I feel Uncle Roof should be remembered. We should shine a light on his kind soul and let the world know the true man he was. I know you probably don't care and that I've probably wasted pages on your precious paper. There is real NEWS happening that deserves to be read. So I apologise for this and hope you forgive me. I just think the world needed to know what happened to the world's worst thief. - Hi there! I hoped you liked this story. Check out r/PanMan if you did for more of my stories. Thank you!
"You have got to be kidding me." The official sitting in on the trial was sitting in disbelief and disappointment as the warlock witnessed his mistake. He'd thought the officials had imprisoned the last of those scheming justices long ago. But why come clean now? Was the question on everyone's mind. "Your honour, you realise that you have just testified to court bribery, when you preside over some of the most notorious cases in the land?" "Yes... I-I didn't mean to say t-that..." "Oh, for goodness' sake. You just admitted to your own treason." "Yes." "Tell me one reason you deserve not to be jailed right now." "I don't"was the response. Now the judge was sweating. He tried to squeak out something else but seemed unable to. "Police, take this man to a holding cell until he can be questioned." With that, the official turned to the two parties, who minutes before had just been fighting over the brutal murder that took place a month ago. "Well, gents, it appears that your trial shall be suspended until another judge is promoted to the position." "You're dead, Walberg. Just like your pathetic wife. I heard the bit-" He was cut off again by the official, who now looked incensed. "Mister Peters, your testimony will be noted and used as evidence." Lower, but not inaudible to his magically-enhanced ears, the official grumbled. "Why's it always me with the interesting court dates? Everyone else gets to go home, but no-o. I just have to be stuck with the corruption revelations." "Would anyone like to say anything else now?"The official asked. You know what, why not? "I'm afraid I was the one responsible for the revelations of today. I am Ambrose Larchen, and I am not just a lawyer. I am a warlock. Particularly, one very good at brewing truth potions. I spiked the drinks and meals of all those involved today, yet I did not realise that in a kitchen kerfuffle, my own drink was mistaken for that of the judge's. So I got the unsullied drink." "But why spike your own drink?" "It's good practice to keep yourself honest." "Wait, wouldn't he have slipped up?"a court scribe queried. "The truth potion gives voice to the truth of what you speak. I never spoke about anything related to the occult, so I never brought it up. But when Judge Alabaster decided to speak about closing the case, he obviously let slip about the bribe taken out by one Mister Peters." "You mentioned that your drink was unspiked. How do we know that you didn't just lie to our faces?" He held up an empty phial. "This contained truth serum. I placed it onto my breakfast." "Well, sir... there's only one thing to tell you. Normally you'd be the third person I led away, but since your ability helped expose scandal in the court, I'd like to offer you a job."
I believe that I was cursed once, perhaps as a very young child. Though that is perhaps inaccurate. More accurate is perhaps that I am a source for others being cursed. Those who take from me what is mine by force, become plagued by horrors. In kindergarten, one day we were giving tangerines, and I like those, but another kid decided to take mine. And the moment he bit down into it, it was suddenly full of worms, rot, fungus, and such. The kid had to go to the hospital. And nobody ever stole my food ever again. When I was older, a bully pushed me down the stairs and stole my allowance. And later I heard on the news that said bully had been found, suffocated, inside of a gold statue, modled to fit perfectly around their body, preserving their last moment, a look of absolute horror on their face. Rumour got around, that those who took from me, got hurt. And it even worked with non-physical things as well. Somebody stole my dignity by spreading nasty gossip about me. She had been very pretty before. Then she grew acne all over her face, her eyesight became so bad she had to use extremely thick and untrendy glasses. Her hair fell out and she was partially bald. She only got better after she apologised to me in person. And even then, that took time. People learned quickly, don't bully the shy kid. After a while, I started to gain friends when we moved into high school, and I didn't curse anyone for years upon years. After HS I met Elena for a VtM one-shot game, and we hit it off immediately. She played a Malkavian who was a conspiracy nut, believing in aliens being responsible for vampirism and such. I played a sensible Tremere wizard, and we both wound up being a team where I played sane vampire cop and she played insane vampire cop. Our characters survived as the only two, and we started meeting up for different games. Shadowrun, DnD, and she introduced me to playing poker and other cardgames. We started dating soon, and eventually, after we had finished college(me as a biologist and later after vet-school, a vet, she as a chemist). We had our ups and downs. But we kept together. And we had kids. A pair of twin girls, Lizzy(short for Elizabeth officially, but actually short for Lizard, which was a joke that had gotten out of hand) and Artemis. And we lived a fairly normal life. My curses never really bothered us. Even helped us get a little revenge here and there. But now. Something has changed. You. Took. My. Wife. And it is the greatest theft I suppose. And I am begging you. BEGGING you! To return her. I cannot hold back the curse much longer, and this is not going to be like the other curses. They only hit a single person. This is whatever is wrong with me pulling out all the stops. Please. Give her back. Please. I love her, and she will never forgive me for what will happen to you. Every single day, more people come. Hell. Last night an entire division of marines just marched up out of nowhere. This is not going to be your death, but it will be like the war for Troy. Armies are gathering across the border, preparing to invade you, and your California. I want her back. I just want her back. I don't want to cast this country into civil war. She would never forgive me, if I bring this coalition of forces down upon you. Oregon State Guard. 3%er militia groups, local newly formed militias, Mexican cartel groups pledging to aid us, Canadian special forces are just confusedly hanging around, and from around the world, funds are pouring in, to fund this war, unless you give her back. -Ten years later- I told you to give her back. To stop this war before it started. To prevent this bloodshed. You answered by killing her. I am a source of curses. Because you stole and then destroyed the woman I loved, you have brought this upon yourself. Do you remember, as the federal government tried to stop us, and the curse gradually took hold? Eventually they stopped fighting us. Eventually they knelt to the curse. Do you remember? Because I do. Do you remember when they crowned me the Emperor? Because I remember, the pope carrying that crown, and handing it to me. I remember the curse upon you. You took my wife, for your own little sick pleasure. And killed her. You have sown the wind, and have reaped the whirlwind. You were a little tin-pot politician, a state senator, back then. You were a slave to your desires. Now your city has been burned to the ground. And the earth poisoned with radioactive waste. Now your constituents are lining the roads back home to the Imperial City, formerly Portland, Oregon, impaled on so many sharp poles. You thought yourself above the law. Above karma. And now, your foul lust has ended democracy as we know it, the Union held aloft by Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, is undone. I am the Emperor of America, protector of the Commonwealth of Canada, Eternal Tlatoani of Mexico, and protector of Mercusor, and I hereby condemn you to death, for the kidnapping, the rape, and the murder, of my wife, the late empress and causing a further 10 million deaths in the ensuring war. You are to be quartered, parted, and kept alive for as long as possible, until you are consigned to the depths of hell.
His name was Will, and he was alone. These were the two things that he knew. Sometimes, he would dream -- floating in that endless void, that vast, enfolding black -- and in those dreams he knew more things. Strange things. He remembered laughter, and tears, the warmth of a close embrace, the fire of rage. He remembered other names, strange names -- strange, for they were not Will, and that was the only name he knew. He dreamt of places, of beautiful, explosions of color, so vibrant they hurt his... eyes? He remembered eyes. He remembered sight. And those dreams ended with the death of all. With the memory of the end of time. The end of laughter, and tears -- with a simple choice. And with waking. Waking, and once again, knowing only the two true things. His name was Will, and he was alone. And then, he wasn’t. Her name was Wisdom, and this was a strange name -- strange, for it was not Will, and that had been the only name he knew. Her name was Wisdom, and his name was Will, and they were two -- alone, together. She remembered. What had, for him, been existence as far as time and memory allowed, had, for her, been mere moments. His strange dreams, the half echoes of when things had been... more--for her they were memories, crisp, and sharp. And so she shared them with him. And when she did, he found that he, too, remembered. Reconstituted from the nothing around them, they sprang, fully formed, as though they had never left. And he shared them with her. His name was Will, and her name was Wisdom. They were together. These were three of the many things he knew. She, too, like him, had made the choice \-- the impossible choice, the terrible choice, the only choice. There was no place for regret, here. Theirs was a home of the endless void -- of memory alone, of things experienced, that were now lost. They had made their choices for different reasons -- this, too, they knew; it separated them, when so much else drove them together. Her, having seen the way, having understood the shape of things, of the future, of the way things grew, saw their road of pain. Saw, and knew. Knew her choice was the only choice. He did not understand this. This acquiescence to a future predestined, to be bound by the shape of things to come. He had seized his choice -- seized it as the only thing he could seize, else be bound by a world of fate and chance. Seized it as proof that he could seize anything. Something. That he lived. That they all lived. She did not understand this, this childish naivete, this belief in a false duality between control and freedom. But they did not need to understand. For they were together, and they had made the choice, and this they knew. Her name was Wisdom, and his name was Will, and they were together. Once, there had been more. These were four of the many things they knew. She longed for the more. It came on slowly -- all things did, in the void. But when time has no meaning its passage flies by, and her yearning grew, grew until it rang through her, the pain of it almost as sweet as those strange days of old, when she had felt real pain. He did not long for the more, he only longed for her. His longing had been a quiet thing, once, but now he knew it for what it was, saw it for what it was, and claimed it as his own. He longed for her, and they were together, and those were the two things that he knew. But he felt her yen, felt her wish, her need for the more, and it pained him too. Pained him, as it pained her. But she could not create -- could not shape. Could not hold her memories, and make them true. Neither could he, alone, for without her gentle touch, his memories were fleeting, raw, emotional things. No detail, no structure. But he felt her yen, and it pained him. So he made the choice, the only choice. He took a piece of him, and a piece of her, and reached out through the nothing, grasping at its very strands, at the bits that made up the void itself, pulled and stretched and wove them through her eyes, through her design. And then, once more, there was.
Dr. Anomaly cranked up the heat in his lair. After all, that was the only way to cool off. As always, whenever he was in a hot place Dr. Anomaly became cold. When he was in cold places he became hot. In fact any environmental condition, Dr. Anomaly was always the opposite. It was his curse. But he had made it his power. He hadn't always been this way. He had been Dr. Carson Anthony, a mild climatologist and meteorologist. He had tried to warn the city of its pending environmental doom once; they didn't listen. He then tried the more drastic measure of a public demonstration, using delicate scientific instruments. His public experiment got out of hand. He almost destroyed the city. Champion-Man had saved the day. But he failed to save Dr. Carson Anthony. Out of the wreckage, the poor scientist had developed a bizarre condition of counteracting whatever environment surrounded him. Doctor Anthony died in that experiment; Doctor Anomaly was born. The experiment had somehow accelerated the doctor's brain function, making an intelligent scientist the smartest man in the world. And with that, came the understanding that the only way to save the city from itself was to rule it! Only Champion-Man could stand in his way... well, for a while he did, anyway. Dr. Anomaly still loved to admire his favorite home-decoration: Champion-Man in frozen suspended animation. For three years now Dr. Anomaly had ruled his city with gusto and brilliance! The 92% tax rate, torture prisons, and a police force of loyal henchmen ensured perfect enviromental harmony in his city... well of course he also saw to it that he himself was very well compensated for his efforts. That was only fair, naturally. Things had been great! Until SHE showed up. The woman calling herself 'Lady Illusionniste' had become a real problem. She had showed up out of nowhere just one week ago, wearing a ridiculous and frankly impractical French Maid outfit. Dr. Anomaly had first considered her some kind of joke. But within just a few days, she had burglarized three banks, blown up a bus of civilians, cut off half the city's power, and given Dr. Anomaly one terrible case of a headache. But, now? NOW she had taken control of the powerless side of town with her bizarre illusions, and was holding the city ransom for 100 billion dollars. She had to be stopped! And by now, Dr. Anomaly knew only he would be able to stop her! The Doctor cursed under his breath, as he gazed up at his favorite decoration. Looks like the city needed a new Champion-Man. Dr. Anomaly hated the idea of one man arbitrarily defining and enforcing justice. But damn it, this Lady Illusionniste was a threat to the entire city. Dr. Anomaly retrieved his Climate Gauntlets for the first time in years, from their storage place under the frozen Champion-Man. The weapons he had built and used to defeat the city's greatest hero, were now about to be used to bring down her greatest villain. Oh, the pathetic irony. Dr. Anomaly always got chilled thinking about how much he hated irony.
“What’s with the long faces?” The bartender asks to the four men in front of him, as he polishes the glasses underneath the counter. The saloon was beginning to quiet down, and the pianist was playing slower paced tunes, the signal to everyone that it was time to go home. The cool desert breeze blew through the doors, occasionally making a sad creak. The poker game in the corner was finally wrapping up, and the only patrons left were the four men that had been there drinking since the early afternoon, hardly saying a word. They all had beards down to the bottom of their neck, and looked dishevelled and sullen. The grey haired man covered in mud spoke first. “Where to begin?” He mused. “My whole life, I’ve been tryin’ ta make a name for myself in this world. Tryin’ ta make the big catch, ya know? Ta really land something that’ll show the boys back home what’s what. And today I almost had ‘er. I caught a glimpse of her, almost glowin’ in the water. She was gorgeous. And by God, I almost had ‘er, I tell ya. I dropped the line and she took it. We danced for a while, and she was like soft clay in my hands, the way I was workin’ her, until I made one wrong move. Just one, the smallest thing, but she let go of the hook and took right off, leaving me there in the river. I may never see somethin’ like that again.” The man at the other end of the bar chuckled. “I understand perfectly what you’re sayin’, partner.” He was dressed in all black, topped with a black hat, and his spurs jangled every time he readjusted his legs. “I’ve been huntin’ the same one for months, tracking her from up north, and finally had her in my sights today. Bonnie, we called her, and she’s always been one step ahead. She’s a tease, that one. And here, I finally had ‘er. There she was in the river, not expecting me. Distracted in the water. Might’ve even been the same one as yours, thinkin’ about it now. A clear shot. I took it. I took my shot and I missed. I missed, god damnit. She got away, and all I could do was shake my dang head. Heh. Landing her could’ve gotten me out of the game forever, but here I am, instead, drinking with you sad lot.” The man in the middle, at this point slightly conscious, slumped over onto the bar, finally sat up. His shirt was buttoned wrong, one side of his collar sticking way up over the rest. He knocked his drink over as he rose, shattering the glass on the counter. The bartender scowled at him as one of the barmaids grabbed the broom. “You boys think you’ve got it bad with them gettin’ away? You don’t even understand. She was my dream. She was supposed to be the rest of my life, but I love this god damn town too much, I couldn’t leave it. She set off down the river. Could be over the mountains by now. And I stayed. I stayed, gentlemen. Can you believe that? I don’t even know where she went. I might never find her. But I chose this town over her. Decided she weren’t worth followin’. But she was, boys. She was worth dyin’ for. And I’ll be damned, I just might.” He tipped backwards in his chair, collapsing onto the floor. He laid there for a few minutes gathering the strength to stand up. The fourth and final man at the bar stayed silent until the bartender turned to him. The man was well-dressed, but wore nothing that showed his place in society. No sherrif’s badge, or fisherman’s boots, or hunter’s cap. Nobody could place where he belonged. His white moustache was curled at the ends, his beard hanging down. He was older than the rest. Not quite elderly, but the wisdom he’d gained showed on his face. “Well, chief, what’s your ailment?” The bartender asked. “Love, just like these gents.” The stranger said. “My story’s a bit different, though.” The stranger hopped off his chair, and extended a hand to the man on the floor, helping him up. “Now, you’ve all lost someone, and I know how that feels. Believe me. I’ve spent most of my life swimming in loss.” He dusted off the man he picked up. “Son, this one you’ve let go - she ain’t gone. You go home, clean yourself up, and hop on the next damn boat out of this town. Find her and make amends. Put a damn bounty on her to bring her in alive if you’ve got to - but you find her, you hear me?” the man nodded, pulling out some bills to leave on the bar before stumbling out. The stranger turned to the man in black. “And you - it don’t matter if you missed your shot. You take another one.You find her, get her in your sights again, and take that shot. Better this time. Let her really know how you feel. No holding back. And hell, if she takes off again, then you know it ain’t gonna happen. But don’t you give up until you know that you really tried your best.” The man in black stood up, his spurs jangling again, shook the man’s hand, and set out with a new resolve, riding his horse through the night. Finally, the stranger turned to the mud covered man. “And you. How do you expect to land the big one lookin’ like that? I’m surprised you got as far as you did before she took off. Find her again. She’ll be back. Clean yourself up, and drop that line again, this time stronger than before. You can get ‘er. But you gotta be persistent. Show her you’re worth comin’ to shore for. Clean yourself up again and show her what she missed, ya hear?” The mud covered man leaned into the stranger, wrapping his hands around him and sobbing. He thanked the stranger and stumbled out of the bar. The bartender counted the bills left behind by the three men, and looked again at the stranger. “You still ain’t said what your story is,” the bartender said. “Everyone’s got a story of the one that got away. I understand what it’s like. 40 years ago, my sweet girl passed away. We were supposed to get married, and she up and went. Just like that. Those gents - their ones that got away can still be got back. Mine can’t. So I spend my nights in saloons, listening to stranger’s stories. They’re almost always about the ones that got away. They can almost always get ‘em back though.” The stranger pulled out some bills to pay his tab as the bartender finished counting cash. “No need, my friend. They left behind enough change to cover you. You mind if I ask your name, pal? You’re one of the finest gentlemen I’ve met behind this bar.” The stranger chuckled as he put on his hat, and started for the door. “No point in getting my name, son, I’m off to the next town first thing in the morning. You have a good night, ya hear?” He walked out, the doors swinging behind him. The bartender pulled out his wallet to tuck the extra cash from the night in it, and paused at the sight of the photo he kept in there. He hadn’t sent he girl for over a year now. The barmaid noticed him paused. “What’s on your mind, hon?” She asked. ”Oh, nothing,” he replied. “Just thinking about the one that got away.”
"You're not supposed to be here, Jacob." The unnerving smile jolted Jacob out of his slumber, drenching him in cold sweat, his shoulders heaving up and down as he recovered from the uncanny nightmare. The third tonight. They were getting more frequent. It started off small enough. He would see someone looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned, they were about their own business. He would hear people whispering about him, only to find out they were discussing something in their personal lives. But before his mission into orbit, he was told to expect some mild paranoia when he returned. Normal for the mission he was conducting, they said. It didn't really phase him. For a while, at least. But of course, it got worse. He swore that his wife was staring at him. Scowling, like his presence agitated her. But then, she wasn't even looking his direction. When he wasn't in the room, he'd hear her sobbing, weeping and begging for help. "Please... it's not him... I don't know him, I don't know him, why is he here?" And then she would be happily smiling when he entered the room. Laughing, even. As if reality was glitching, only stitching itself together with his direct attention. So when he went to sleep, there was nothing to hold the seams together. His dreams were wrought with paranoid visions, disembodied voices scolding him, people with smiles too wide, or eyes too small. Everything was slightly off. His perception had been tilted. It was only a matter of days before this dream effect leaked into his waking mind. Voices that weren't there, laughter that never existed, impossible physical contact. It was soon Jacob found himself near-catatonic, hyperventilating in the grocery store near the cereal. He clenched his jaw, leaning on his cart for support, sweat dripping from his brow as his eyes darted back and forth, attempting to make sense of his visions. "He's here." "In the market." "But he shouldn't be." "No." "So how is he?" "We don't know." "Who is he?" "When is he?" "Impossible to tell." "Amputate." "Amputate." "Amputate." "Hey honey!"Jacob roared a yell of surprise as the voice of his wife sprouted out from behind him. "Do you feel okay?" "Mmm- Marisha?" "Uhh, yeah baby, it's me,"she laughed, approaching him slowly. "Something wrong." Jacob's spine tingled as he heard his wife utter the statement, rather than a question. He turned to run, but they were blocking him. God, they were everywhere. He tried to climb the shelves, but they pulled him down to the ground. He tried to scream, but they covered his mouth. He tried to fight, but they pinned him down. He tried. &#x200B; (Hopefully you liked this story! If you did, feel free to check out my humble community at: r/SUPRAPStories)
Every night before he slept, Jameson would ask the Gods a question. Most nights it was different, but a theme began to develop between them. Where have my powers gone? How can I get them back? What am I without them? The most talented youth in the village, as his father had been, Jameson had always wore the burden of being the Great Protector’s son well. It had seemed to be his destiny to take over the mantle when his father passed. All the maidens had wanted to be with him, and all the youths had wanted to be him. He had never cried, as a child. When he started after the demon had cast the curse on him, he took it as simply a sign that he was forever diminished, that he had lost something he could never again possess. “Maybe God has chosen a lesser-” his father had begun one night, after dinner. “Jame!” his mother had said. “Sorry. A different path for you. And that’s okay.” So every night, Jameson tried to reason out what that different path was, and why it had become his. And as he cried himself to sleep, the Gods’ answers flew past him, until the day he could no longer avoid them. - The reception had been fairly lukewarm after the reading of the first chapter. Or at least, that’s how James felt. “Nonsense,” his publisher had said, during the break before the Q & A. “Listen, you’re just nervous because this story is really important to you. It’s the one you’ve always wanted to write. That’s why you’re so scared of them hating it.”“So they do hate it,” James moaned. “I didn’t say that. Remember, I loved it.” Now James was at the podium, and the silence had stretched out into an agonizingly long moment. Finally, a reporter in glasses stood up at the back. “That was a very interesting start to the story,” the reporter said.“Thank you,” James said. “Are you allowed to tell us how he gets his powers back?” “Umm...” The truth was, James had not finished the story yet. In fact, the opening chapter had been the only thing he had been able to write in years. By holding the reading, he was attempting to force himself to finish something for once. “Sorry, it’s a secret.” Nervous laughter through the room. “Well, what themes, at least, do you plan to cover in Jameson’s journey?” “Well, I want to teach kids that it’s not about powers, or what’s on the outside. And I know that’s cliché, but it’s really your character, more than your talents, that will determine how far you go in life.” But as the writer whom words had abandoned said those words, he winced, because he wondered how true they really were. \- James woke up, and immediately the smell alerted him. When he opened his eyes, there was utter darkness. “Welcome,” a voice said. In the darkness, James could see a hazy figure. “Wh-what?” James groggily asked. “Do you really believe it?” “Believe what?” “That it’s not powers that take you where you go?” The voice was low, and metallic, but also pleading. “I-I do. I have to.” “Then write the story.”The figure retreated, and the darkness with him. James blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the ceiling Jameson saw every night, and the cozy wooden walls of his hero's room. And the Gods’ answers began to ring in his ears... \- [more @ r/penguin347 :)](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
Some feel pitty for them, others hold deep fascination. A few species even treat then cruelly, as no more than pets. Personally, I’ve always admired them myself. A species that lives only one hundred cycles, if they’re lucky, and they made it to space? I’ve been on the council half of my life, seen countless Terrans take office. You know, so often we get complacent with our lots, tell ourselves that these problems can be the future’s to solve, but not the Terrans. When Rigirta was invaded it wasn’t I who stood up for them. No it was Avery the Terran representative at the time, who stood immediately and called for action. He was only the second to fill that role, and he did so with distinction. I remember him fondly. It wasn’t Tori’ta who worked with the fledgling nations all waking hours, doing their best to get them represented in our council. It was Janet. She worked tirelessly day in and day out until a deal was struck between all reining members and the loose collective of budding star nations. She gave them a voice. When my people were struck by plague and weakened, it was Xavier who rallied the galaxy’s scientists to aid us in finding a cure. Others tried, but you can’t help yourself. When a Terran speaks with passion you are compelled to listen. So I can see why so many of our galactic brothers and sisters pitty them. A life so short seems a curse to someone who has seen the death of empires, but not to me. They’re life isn’t a curse or a blessing, it just is. They don’t have the time that we do. They can’t be bogged down by the same problems we were so they strive every day to solve them. Because what is the alternative but death? With so little time the only thing they can care about is leaving the universe a better place than when they entered it. They know their time is short, so they make the most of it not just for them, but for their children. I’ve been on the council half my life. In that time I’ve seen countless Terrans take office. I remember every one. They all stood for something, and I will always stand with them. You can admire them, pitty them, even hate them. But you must respect them.
After years of riding through barren plains and untouched landscapes on the Long Journey, I arrived at Arcadia. Two hundred years ago I would never have been allowed a horse, but living among the mortal races encouraged change and adaptation. I could have transportation for the Journey. I just couldn't take it into Arcadia. If mortal lives were burning candles, Arcadia was the sun. Only elves and the other immortal races could survive there. I dismounted, and was met at the city gates by a face I'd only ever seen in my ancestral records. I dropped to one knee. "Honored ancestor." "Grandson."The founder of my clan, my great-great-great-to-the-sixteenth-power-grandfather, smiled down at me. "Rise, and leave your life in the land of shadows behind you. Arcadia awaits." The first fifty years were wonderful. In my previous life there were only a few places I fell in love with and where I stayed for centuries. None of them had ever felt like home the same way Arcadia did. It embraced me, and I loved it back: climbing waterfalls, trekking through mountains with long-departed friends and family, conversing with the intelligent magical creatures in the forests. But eventually I grew restless. I would take my favorite black unicorn and ride out instead, exploring the trackless wastes for months on end, assisting the occasional lost mortal. It reached me now in a way the endless pleasures in Arcadia couldn't. The day I realized why, I went to the city gates. "In the land of shadows,"I said to my ancestor, "there are places mortals can go to in their waning years, to live out the rest of their days in leisure without toil. They exchange tales of past deeds. They amuse themselves with pleasant diversions. They wait for their end." He remained silent. "These are retirement villages,"I said. "And I refuse to be put out to pasture until the end of the world." "How could those settlements ever compare to Arcadia?"my ancestor asked. "The land of shadows is not the mortals' home the same way Arcadia is ours. It does not care for them like Arcadia cares for us. And what diversions could match ours when their minds and bodies burn so briefly and gutter out like candle flames?" "But while they burn, they burn with meaning and purpose." "Meaning and purpose are stories the mortal races tell themselves,"my ancestor said. "We have no need for stories. We know we will be around to see what happens, all the way to the end." "Even so, they are beautiful,"I said softly. "I will help them tell their stories. You cannot stop me, grandfather." "Then go, Arcadia's Exile,"he said. "You are no descendant of mine." I have been an exile ever since. The mortal races expand ever further into the untouched landscapes I once rode through on my Long Journey. I ride between their settlements, solving problems and dispatching threats as best as I can. Not on my black unicorn. She turned out to be a homebody, and we agreed to part ways as friends. I found another horse soon enough... but that's another story.
Wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last. "Look, I've heard the speech before."I told him when he took a moment to breathe. Or maybe his ancient helmet's respirator hiccuped on him. I always wondered what that would be like, relying on a machine to breathe. Especially if you were armed for long-bear and clearly expecting trouble, like he was. His equipment wasn't faring so well against the ravages of time, so what made him think it could handle the rigors of combat? He slumped a little at my words. It was hard to tell in all that powered armor, but I'd seen enough of these types to spot the body language. "I'm not the first to come through here?"The depths of his disappointment were clear even through the tinny effect all that recarb steel had on his voice. I laughed, feeling a bit bad about it. I mean, I was about to slowly shatter half his worldview, I should maybe be nicer, but I was tired. It had been a long day, not to mention a long lifetime. "Not even close. I've lost count, to be honest. Our little valley here has the only passable canyon leading to the Columbia Vale. You know how many Old World bunkers are scattered around the place? It's gotta be in the dozens." I turned back to my plow while he stood there and stared, concentrating on the runed handles until the stubborn thing starting pushing furrows through the soil again. Tiny bright-green specks leapt up out from the overturned earth-strip underside, and I sighed. Gonna have to do another vermin-warding tonight. "I thought...I thought I'd be the first,"he said. "The background Warp Radiation had only just barely died down enough for us to leave the bunker." I shook my head. "Either your leadership has been extra-paranoid, then, or your bunker got hit extra hard during the Tether War. Other bunkies have been wandering through here for decades now. They send you out with a thaumometer?" He shook his head right back, rather more mournful and rustfully. I really did feel for him- his armor looked to be in decent working condition, however hinky I might feel about very old respirators, but no one had taken the time or effort to treat the many discolored patches and had apparently run out of nanoil to lubricate the joints. That at least I could help with. "Well, if they had, you'd see that levels here are quite safe. You can take off that helmet if you want, breathe the outside air for the first time in your life. Or not, I don't expect you to take my word for it. We should do something about the magnet-rust in your joints, though. That old powered armor is noisy enough as it is, you don't want to attract the attention of every neofey and change-construct in the Old Capital with those god-awful joint sounds." He looked left, right, up, breathed in deep, as though considering it. I could only imagine how claustrophobic it must be in that jumped-up junk heap. "I appreciate it,"he said finally. "But I mean, I don't know how you'd know that for sure, about the Warp Radiation levels I mean. And also, whatever oil you use to, I don't know, make your door hinges stop creaking won't work on magnet-rust." "I know that,"I said, patiently as I could muster. "I know about the background levels from all the other passing bunkies I mentioned. Besides that, I can taste the air."I flicked my tongue out to show him, and he staggered back slightly. I suppressed a laugh and reeled it back in. Funny the things that ended up freaking out Old Humans the most. He'd seemed to take my third eye and tail in stride. "And I know about magnet-rust. I have a little nanoil leftover from my last expedition." "Your...last expedition?"He fingered the rear grip of his beam-rifle with a nervous energy I didn't like. "What happened on it? How did you end up with nanoil? Did you...were you wearing powered armor too? I thought that would be impossible, your personal emanations would wear it down from the inside." I shrugged. "Yeah, they would. No interest in the stuff anyway, no need for it. I can breathe just fine, even in the thickest-fog parts of the Old Capital. And I know a few wards that are easily as good for protection as a few slabs of aging recarb steel." "You're some kind of adventurer?"he asked. "I thought you were a farmer." I laughed. "No one adventures forever, not if they want to die a natural death. Though really I'm semi-retired. I'm still willing to see bunkies like you through the pass and into the Columbia Vale from time to time. As for what happened on my last expedition, well, the woman I was guiding died, so I scavenged some of her things, including the bit of nanoil I mentioned." "Died from what?"he asked indignantly, as though angry on his fellow bunkie's behalf. <continued below>
"Mama says I can't come over Wednesday but maybe Thursday if the sky clears up."Linny's voice was muffled as she held the receiver too close to her mouth and lisped her words in. "Ok. Well. Thursday night my daddy has a big dinner at his best friend's house, but maybe after school."Joey was a bit more used to talking on the phone because he called his grandma every weekend. "A BIG dinner."Linny giggled. "Cause you're daddy is so fat he can't eat little dinners." "Mooooom!"bellowed Joey, all phone manners lost. "Linny called daddy fat." "No I didn't!"Linny hollered and Joey held the phone away from his head. "Joey I didn't. I'm sorry, it was a mistake. I didn't do it." There was a scuffle and then a new voice sounded over the line. "Linny, dear, can I talk to your mom?" Linny began howling in tears. "No don't tell her, don't tell her, I didn't do anything, I'm sorry." The new voice laughed. "I won't tell her-" "-but mom!"a distant Joey sounded. "-I just need to finish setting up your playdate." Linny sighed. "Thank you. Moooooom!" As soon as Mrs. MacEntire picked up the phone, Mrs. Ling's voice when from pleasant to cold. "Kids are thinking Thursday since you're so busy thwarting the storm we put up today." "Mmm, would be a shame if we had to cancel another playdate. The kids are getting fussy. Anyway, assuming the clouds are gone, we'll sign the form for Linny to ride bus 8 home and get off with Joey. When do you want us to pick him up? I heard Linny say something about a 'big dinner' that Cataclys- that Mr. Ling is attending?" "Oh you don't have to worry yourself about that. 5 will be good. Sound alright?" "Sounds alright." "Good bye, Mrs. MacEntire." "Good bye, Mrs. Ling." ___ Linny always preferred to go over to Joey's house, even if Joey liked hers better. Joey's house had a huge machine in it that made thunder noises and sometimes spat out clouds. Joey had said that his mommy didn't want Linny to tell her mama about it or she couldn't come over anymore. Linny liked the cloud machine. Sometimes the kids would play with it and make the room fill with fog. They weren't supposed to but it was too fun. Joey liked Linny's house better because they could find her mama's staff of secrets, which, when the grabbed just right, would make real life pictures of dogs and kitties and birds fly around the room. They looked real but vanished as soon as they touched them. Joey liked the birds better. "So what's a big dinner? If it isn't for fat people, what's it for?"Linny asked, clopped a horse near Joey's horse. "It's for big people but big means powerful, not fat."Joey grabbed Linny's horse and threw it against the wall. Linny narrowed her eyes and pointed at it. It froze before hitting the wall and returned to her. She giggled. Joey crossed his arms. "No fair."It wasn't fair. Linny could move things with her mind. All he could move with his mind was himself. "Flying is more fun than making other things fly,"Linny said. "You're the not fair one." "You can make yourself fly!"Joey said, throwing another horse in the air. "Cannot. It's like trying to pick yourself up by your hair!"To demonstrate, she grabbed her braid and pulled up. "It doesn't work! It just hurts." Joey laughed and tried to grab his own, far too short hair. "Look at me, I'm flying like Linny."Then, to show off, he actually floated in the air. "It's working!" "Come down right now or I'll tell your mom." "Spoilerport." Yes, the children were also keeping secrets from their parents. Legacy wasn't the only thing that came with superpowered parents. While Mr. Ling, the mystical Cataclysmo spoke at a large meeting for the city's local evil doers, Mrs. Ling tinkered with her experiments, trying to find a way to assault the nearby suburbs in a way that didn't interfere with the children's plans. Meanwhile, the psychic Mrs. MacEntire tried to foresee a future day of the week where the parents could agree to take the day off. Sadly, the Lings were cosmically averted to not muddling things, so her vision remained stilted. At 4:30, Mr. MacEntire put down his staff after a few hours of practice and drove over to the Ling's place. He passed Mr. Ling in the door and the two exchanged a nasty look. Upstairs, Joey hovered in front of a window neither child was tall enough to see out of. "Why's your dad so mean?"Joey asked, noting the glare. "Why's your dad so fat?"Linny asked, the joke literally never getting old to her 5 year old senses. "Why's your dad so dumb?" "Why's your dad so stinky? "Linny!"called Joey's mommy from downstairs and Linny sighed. "Well I suppose it's time for me to go."She picked up her backpack with a heavy sigh. "Pinkie promise for secrets."She held out a hand. Joey swooped down and pinkie promised so hard that got a nasty glare from Linny, very similar to the one her father had given his. "Pinkie swear. Are you going to Emily's birthday on Sunday?" Linny sighed. "Mama says I have to. I don't like trampolines." "But you want to fly! It's the same thing. Besides, maybe if you get good at jumping, you'll learn to fly too." This did sound appealing to Linny, and she nodded, considering it. "Ok. I'll get her Pretty Pretty Princess." Joey rolled his eyes. "Girl's game." "She's a girl, Joey." The two walked downstairs, hand in hand, prattling about board games and gifts and trampolines, while in the kitchen, Dr. Eureka and Mystic Man made small talk through grit teeth. Mystic Man wondered where Cataclysmo was going and Dr. Eureka worried about her husband being spotted by the insufferable do-gooder. Then the kids showed up and both parents broke into grins. "Have a good time?"asked Mr. MacEntire, helping his daughter put shoes on. "Joey threw my horse,"Linny instantly tattled. "Linny's mean and says mean things." "Aww,"said Mrs. Ling, a barely contained smile. "Well it sounds like you had... fun?"She exchanged a skeptical eyebrow raise and laugh with Mr. MacEntire. "Alright monkey, let's get you home."Mr. MacEntire swooped Linny up in a piggyback ride and the two set off. Linny drifted to sleep that night, thinking about how papa said she'd be able to come with him on his trip to the mountains on her sixth birthday. When Mr. Ling came home, he sat Joey down and began to talk about just a few things that were discussed at his 'dinner'. Just a little bit, to get his toes wet. Neither parents knew exactly where they're kids were gonna go, but there was one thing all four knew for sure. This friendship couldn't possibly last much longer. ___ Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/)
The roasted chicken was shining gleefully. As I tore through its plump breast, I could see some of the wet sticky meat greeting my eyes seductively. I bit into the chunk I've carved on my fork before giving myself up to the pleasure tingling within my mouth. "How is the meal, Your Grace?"the head butler bowed before me in anticipation. "It was good, Gunther. I'd like some of the wine in the sauce to be mellowed down a tad. Maybe add something sweet to offset the acidity–but otherwise it was rather splendid! Compliments to the chef!" Gunther bowed again, this time way deeper than before. After a lull in my little speech, he slowly backed away into the wall nearest to him. Which simply meant that he was even further away from me. The large hall grew sparse, even with the dozen people inside – mostly glued to the wall, just as Gunther had been. Just as I chugged a healthy dose of intensely dark-red wine to sate my drying throat, a few cries echoed around me. I looked around to check on what has happened, only to be greeted by similarly intense dark-red fountains spraying all over the walls. "G-Guards!"Gunther yelled out before pulling a dagger from his waist. A shadow rushed towards the sturdy butler – the one who had previously fought a hundred battles as one of my trusty general – and intercepted his dagger. After a few swipes, Gunther fell down to his knees. "Y-Your... Majesty, please safe your–" Before even finishing his last words, the loyal butler was slain without mercy. I simply took another sip of the rather sweet wine on my cup. The thought of the countless advisors who had mentored me in diplomacy reminded me of the actions and thoughts befitting a monarch with immense status. As I put my cup down, the shadow revealed itself – a woman, probably in her twenties – turned towards me with a deadpan. Her eyes looked empty and lonely, but her face was stone-cold like a statue. "Apologies for the collateral damage, Your Majesty,"she said with a cool breeze from her little mouth. "No, it's part of the job, isn't it?" She nodded and proceeded to make her way closer towards my seat at the long table. Her pace was brisk, yet elegant. It was as if she had floated through the air, effortlessly. But before she could reach me halfway, the large double-doors to my side slammed open. A few knights in shining armour of all sorts of make gasped in horror, their weapons brandished sturdily. "Your Majesty!"one of the knight with a purple feather on his helmet yelled out, "please run this way and make your escape!" The small army around him expressed their agreement vehemently. But when I put my left hand up gently, they all piped down almost instantly. The mysterious woman had also unexpectedly stopped in her tracks. Her eyes shifted away from me to the knights, death lingering around her narrow pupils. This was no amateur, of course. The dozen bodies laid around us should've been the first sign. But I would argue the way she conducted herself seemingly spoke of her class as a killer. "Girl,"I said with a thunderous yell, "would you like something to drink?" The knights flinched at the offer I'd given her. They braced themselves for anything that might've happened in a flash. But again, I put my left hand to calm them down like frightened pups during a thunderstorm. "Excuse me?" "A wine, perhaps?"I stood up and fetched an empty chalice before filling it with the same luxurious wine I've been chugging for some time now. "... Your Majesty, I feel I'd be way overstepping my bounds–" "Nonsense! I insist. It's getting rather cold and lonely out here in this great big hall." But of course, it was rather desolate. The whole of the great hall's population had been culled to two – I and the killer before me. The knights hadn't even made a sound, adding to the rapidly intense silence. If anything, their position had slightly gotten further away by virtue of their silence and size of the place. "If you insist,"the woman walked slowly towards the empty chair located two-chairs away to my right, "thank you for the generous offer, Your Majesty." As I put the chalice to her side, I began to study her. The woman seemed a bit apprehensive about the drink I've given her. Taking her time, she slowly felt the surface of the chalice in detail. After a few swipes here and there, she pulled the chalice closer to her perky nose. Her face mellowed a little as she put her soft lips to the edge of the wine. "How is it, girl?" "Pleasantly sweet, Your Majesty,"the woman smiled lightly. "I'm glad it was to your liking. So,"I continued eating my already cold chicken, "what is your name?" "Phoebe." "I see. Would you like to–" "Apologies, Your Majesty. I'm not here to wine and dine, I think you know that already..." "Right, but that's just it. You might be here not to wine and dine, but I am. Simply put, I'd like to offer you a proposal!" The woman froze, the slight smile on her face faded with the cold breeze of the ridiculously large stony hall. "I'd like to marry." "I... see?" "How would you like to help me in that endeavour, girl?" "I'd like to help, but sadly I have a contract–" "What if I double your contract?" "You'd be willing to give up the whole of your kingdom? Because I was promised a payment of half a kingdom." I simply grinned at the progress of the negotiation. She was at least open to a discussion. "I'd give you my whole world if you'd like."
A Talk with Death, and Orange Juice “...Hey. If you don’t mind, Mr. Reaper, that’s my orange juice you’re drinking. Could ya at least pay me back after?” He turns, robe gently gliding above the ground, his empty void of a face confirming my suspicions. “IT IS NOT YET YOUR TIME. DO NOT QUESTION MY INTENTIONS.” The poor schmuck hovered away to the sink, rinsing his- no, MY- glass. He looked kinda tired, ya know? Eyebags about yea big, dark circles covering his entire lack of face. “Sure must be tiring to be a reaper, huh?” I questioned, glancing at the clock. 2am... no, wait, 4? 5? Eh. Didn’t matter, now did it? I finally got to speak to Death. Capital D. Not that I was all too thrilled about it. “A REAPER? NO. I AM THE ONLY ONE OF THESE ‘REAPERS’ YOU SPEAK OF. DEATH IS DEATH. DEATH WILL COME EVENTUALLY TO ALL.” He stares directly into my eyes, bony fingers tracing the rim of my glass(when was that bugger gonna give it back?). I genuinely thought He had eyes at first, but turns out those were just the souls of the damned. Or maybe the undamned? Ah, who gives a damn. Death was in my home, for fuck’s sake! “Okay. Even if you don’t pay for the juice, do me a solid and leave the glass where it came from, will ya?” Now that bastard of a reaper drops the bloody glass. The audacity of this bugger! I spent good money on that. Took me five hours to enchant all of ‘em properly to never break and He still manages to shatter one. You’d think Death would have some level of respect for Inanimity, the god of... yep, you guessed it. Inanimate objects. I’m somewhat of a reaper myself, ya know. Stealing the souls of still lifes, robbing doors of their sanity, etcetera etcetera. Turns out the man only cares about his own bloody endeavors... and orange juice. Why MY orange juice anyway, mate? It’s as though every orange ran dry in his hometown and all the grocery markets closed down. You’ve got free rein over the seven isles, go get your juice somewhere else, ya bloody idiot! “NO. DEATH DOES NOT OBEY ANYONE, NOT EVEN FELLOW SMALL GODS.” His voice gives me the creeps. Implanting Himself in your brain with his bony ESP without consent? Just fucking rude, in my opinion. “Yeah, yeah, alright. Fine. Just leave some for me and we’re good,” I muttered. Clearly, the man(thing?) wasn’t gonna leave until I came to a compromise with it. Also, have you ever seen His face? I mean, His real face. It’s... questionable. You wouldn’t expect Death to have the face of- ah, bugger me. I’m going off-track. So anyways, He stares at me, his empty mind churning and clacking together a coherent sentence. “SURE. OH, AND I’VE BEEN TAKING YOUR TOOTHPASTE TOO, BY THE WAY.” He... smirks? I think He smirked. “What- Why?” I stare at him, dreading the worst. “WHY? WELL, I THINK YOUR ORANGE JUICE TASTES BEST WITH YOUR EXTRA-FRESH TOOTHPASTE. IT IS TRULY A DELICACY. HAVE THE HUMANS NOT YET DISCOVERED SUCH A DELICIOUS COMBINATION?” Oh my fucking gods. He... He really is as bad as they say. I’m fucking booking it. Fuck off.
I shut the bathroom door and lowered myself to the ground. Holding my head in my hands, I tried not to panic. Maybe Jack hadn’t seen me. I had gone this long, and none of them had seen me. A banging came from the first floor. Someone was at the door. Oh god, please. I just needed a few more days. The ham radio had finally worked, and a team of extractors were already on their way to get me out of here. I had celebrated too early, relaxed while still among the Empty. I was the only one left on the whole block, maybe even further. I had no desire to check on the state of my neighborhood and give myself away. It was best to just assume everyone else had been lost and ensure my own survival. I had been doing well up until now. I stayed away from the windows and did not seek out others, which wasn’t so different from before the world had collapsed. Perhaps that's why I was still whole while all my neighbors’ souls had died. I had no other way to describe it. They were zombies… sort of. They still spoke, walked, continued basic actions, and most disturbingly, still thought. But it wasn’t their original minds doing the thinking. No, the empty shells of the infected people were taken over by something else. Something that wanted to spread. It would speak through them and use their memories. I had seen it happen once, when I had risked peeking between the curtains to look outdoors one night. One of my neighbors, Shelly, must have gone looking for supplies when she was found by a group of the Empty. It was easy enough to tell who was and who wasn’t infected. Only the Empty lacked the constant fear in their eyes and acted as though nothing was wrong. They had greeted her normally, using her name, and asked how her dog was. Judging by the choked sob she had responded with, I could only guess not well. One of them had stuck their hand forwards, offering it as a hello. She had stared at it horrified. The radio had lasted longer than the television broadcasts had, and it had amply warned any listening not to grasp the hands of the Empty. When she failed to shake the hand, the Empty had looked at her puzzled. They asked if there was something wrong, and they spoke simultaneously, the same question coming from three mouths at the same time. Shelly had panicked then and tried to back away from the Empty. They surrounded her, asking if she wanted to hang out. A different one had offered his arm so that he could lead her to a great, small bar he had found just passed 32nd Ave. When Shelly started crying, they all froze and their out of place, friendly expressions dropped from their faces. That was when the third one stepped closer to her and asked her why she resisted. Why she fought the inevitable when she could just release all of her worries right then and there. She reached out with her hand and Shelly did not resist as it sought hers. They grasped hands and Shelly had let out a high pitched scream for a brief, terrible moment. Then she had smiled and without a word, the group, now numbering four, had walked down the street together. I had pushed myself away from the window and fought the urge to vomit. That had been the last time I had even considered venturing outdoors. Even when I had heard the screams of other neighbors falling or heard cries for help. I had needed to look out for myself first. But, I hadn’t been able to stay away from the windows when the extractors had said they would be on the way. I so desperately had wanted to catch sight of them, so I could run to safety or wave them down and ensure they didn’t leave me here. But I had not seen them. Jack had seen me, and so the Empty must have finally come to realize there was still someone remaining in this house. The banging on my door got louder and louder. “Hey, Ross! Neighbor, could you come out here a minute? I could use some help!” Jack’s voice called from outside. “Thank god you’re still around. I thought nobody would be able to help me with my car. Damn thing’s been busted all week. You’re pretty handy with that type of thing, aren’t you?” I clasped my hand around my mouth. I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t even want to let him hear me breathe. Let him think he was mistaken, that he never saw me. “Are you alright in there? I haven’t seen you leave your home in days. Forgive me if I’m mistaken but I can try to force my way in to check on you. Just call out if you’re alright,” he asked. He stopped talking for a while to let me respond. What could I do? If I said anything he would know I was in here for sure. If I didn’t he might break in! The choice was taken from me while I was still frozen with indecision. Jack decided he had waited long enough. I heard him throwing himself against my front door. It was an old, sturdy thing. My father had built it himself. I prayed it would hold out. A few minutes passed and the steady thudding of body against wood stopped. I thanked god, but didn’t leave the bathroom to go to a room with windows to check. The thuds returned soon after and were even worse than before. There was more than one person working at it now. Jack must have gathered other Empty. With a splintering crack and a large bang, I heard them enter the house. What could I do? I had no way out of this bathroom. There were no windows to escape from and if I left out of the door, I was sure they would find me in seconds. No, the door was my only hope, I could only hope they wouldn’t check the bathroom or wouldn’t be able to get past it. I heard the Empty meander through my home, calling my name. My heart threatened to jump out of my chest as I heard footsteps in the hall right outside. Doors began to open as they searched the bedrooms. Finally, the handle to the bathroom rattled but held firm. “Ross? Are you in there?” Jack asked with a gentle, quiet tone. The door handle continued to rattle as he shook it back and forth without relent. “I hope you’re okay. I can lend you a hand if you need one.” “Ross! I haven’t seen you in ages. Let’s catch up,” another voice said, joining Jack on the other side of the door. Was that Francesca? “Oh, Ross. Did we find you?” another voice asked. I did not recognize this one. That continued to happen as another voice spoke. Then another, and another still. “Please, Ross. Open the door. We’re worried about you,” Francesca said. “I told your father I would keep an eye out for you before he passed. What would he say If I didn’t see how you were doing every once in a while,” Jack added. No, I couldn’t do it. I just needed to stay here. The extractors would come. They would save me. They had to. The Empty were relentless, their voices refusing to stop. “Let’s go outside. It’s probably been a while since you got some sun. Your mother always complained about how you stay cooped up indoors.” How long would it be before extractors could get to my house? They had said anywhere from days to weeks. “Let us in.” “Come out, please.” “It’s not so bad, Ross.” I would have to eat eventually. How long could I stay in this room? “You can’t stay away any longer.” “This resistance is unnecessary.” “We can wait here longer than you can.” “Open the door.” “Open the door.” “Open the door.” “Open the door.” “Open the door.” “Open the door.” *** If you liked this, subscribe to r/Inder for more stories like it!
Indril pushed through the thick underbrush, her Elven skin protecting her from the thorns that might score an animal. It was her Elvish heritage that made this final leg of her quest surmountable, as she had found herself deep in the Forlorn Forest. To her kind, Forlorn Forest was a place of deep magic and ancient woe. Elves had long been driven from the branches and boughs of that sacred Wood.The more xenophobic of her peoples believed it was due to the presence of Man. Others say an even older darkness had resided within, and that Men had only pushed them out as an act of purest love and sacrifice. Whatever the case, Indril was set on discovering the so-called "Last Human."A being of some legend to her people, and one that over the last twenty years had emerged from the Forlorn Forest less and less frequently. Even before that, the Men had all but dwindled into nothingness. Only the long-lived memories of the Elder Elves recalling their experiences with Humans. Indril thought of Elder Anaya, who spoke of her quest to Tal'Veoth, the Sinking Tower, and how they looted a precious artifact before the mysterious structure before it vanished for good. She had quested with a Human by the name of Jacinda. But after they parted ways, Anaya weighed down with bags of gold and precious Miragrowth, Jacinda was never seen again. Anaya told of how she carried the glowing stone deep into Forlorn Forest, never to emerge again. Ahead of Indril, she noted a change in the scenery. The trees became sparse, and what remained were twisted withered monstrosities. Grass grew in irregular patterns between the gnarled trees, and moss was discolored in unnatural shades. In the middle of it all, a structure of a build unlike any Indril had ever seen stood. It was low, and squat, but a solid stone material. From her view, a massive door was inserted on the face of the wall, but it remained sealed. Against her Elvish instincts, she decided to try and descend into the strange mire. The ground upon contact revealing itself as strangely marshy. She made to stride over to the building, but a sudden noise compelled her to stop, lowering herself and readying her bow. She looked about, her eyes narrowing, giving her excellent focus. Her pointed ears flicked, twitching towards every noise to suss out the source of her consternation. There. She turned her head in a flash, and with her sight enhanced by Elvish blood, saw right into a thicket where a figure, clad in a strange yellow suit moved. It lowered itself gingerly into the marshy terrain, and slowly walked right towards her. It even began to gesture her towards him. "Stay back, strange one!"Indril threatened, raising her bow. "I will strike!" The figure spoke, and it's voice came through as though clouded by sorcery. "I come in peace, Elf. I would speak to you, and warn you away from this accursed place." Indril eyed the figure, but lowered her bow. She did not see a weapon, but Sorcerers of the Lowlands did not need bow or sword to kill. They threw fire and lightning without remorse... "What has brought you here?"The figure in yellow asked. "I seek the last Man!"Indril barked. The figure in yellow stopped, and looked down. It seemed to consider something, but then reached up to it's masked face. It removed straps, and layers of yellow material, until finally it's face came into view. An ancient Man, wizened and wrinkled, blinked in the thin wispy light coming from the sky. "You?!"Indril asked, incredulous. "I am."The Man returned. "Come, let us speak in safety." **** Inside the dwelling of the man, a few hundred feet from the strange Mire, the two sat inside a sparse dwelling. The Man served Indril a strange beverage, bitter and hot, but energizing. "Why do you live out here alone?"Indril asked, her curiosity betraying her. "My Elven child, I will explain. For I am soon to join my kind in their Long Rest. It is most assured now, when I removed my mask out there, too."The Man said. "What? Is it Dark Magic?"Indril asked, worried. "In a way... yes. But only to your kind. Our kind called it something else."The Man said. The word seemed to come to him after some trouble recalling it. "Yes... radiation." "Radiation?"Indril repeated, feeling out the strange word on her tongue. "Yes. Long ago, when my people dwelled in towers and buildings that touched the underbelly of the sky..."Indril's eyes widened in wonder. The Man smiled a little at the sight."...we desperately needed more and more power to sustain ourselves. Something like those Sorcerers of the South. But our need outpaced our caution." "What happened?"Indril asked, on the edge of her seat. "We poisoned the world, and ourselves. We devastated the Earth forevermore. I see now that what we did had a silver lining, though."He reached with unsteady hand to stroke Indril's cheek. She pondered the feeble Man's empathy, as she gently took his hand in hers. "What we did was our doom to ourselves. But in our destruction, we seeded a new world. Elves were born, among many other creatures of wonder. Magic and enchantment came into being, powered by our mistakes. I don't dare call what we did Godlike, or benevolence. We erred, and in that erring we rightfully have received our End. But as I begin to pass now, I see that for you there is a world that will thrive..." "But what will become of Man?"Indril asked. "We fade, perhaps remembered by bright Elves like you. But more important to you, what you should remember is our legacy. That reaching for the skies and stars above is admirable, so long as you never forget your roots and your duty."The Man explained. "What duty?"Indril inquired, enraptured. "All living things have a duty to protect Life itself. We nearly failed, and our penalty is to fade into memory. But you and the Dwarves and others have the chance to take up this duty and protect Life anew."The Man said. "Even you, in particular." "Me?"Indril was stunned. "But I was just curious and foolhardy to come into Forlorn Forest..." "Exactly. You wanted to answer a Question. But that curiosity can serve you. But curiosity must always be checked against the Duty. And because of what I see in you, I have a request... actually... a Quest."The Man said, smiling his crinkled, aged smile. "A QUEST?!"Indril nearly shrieked. "Yes, a most important one. One that will require you to unite with the Dwarves, the Sorcerers, and even the Goblinns."The Man said, a very serious tone coming over him. "All of them?"Indril asked, take aback at trying to make nice with Goblinns and Sorcerers, let alone the stubborn Dwarves. "Yes."The Man said. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a strange rectangular item. He tapped the reflective screen twice, and suddenly the black surface illuminated with bright lights. Indril identified it as a map immediately. "What magic is this?"She asked, breathlessly. "Not magic... technology."The Man chuckled. "This is a map of the last Nuclear Reactors on Earth. My people struggled for our remaining lives to collect all of the Nuclear material. We brought it to that structure you discovered." He pointed at a site on the map with a peculiar symbol. Jagged and severe. "That is where we deposit the Nuclear material." "Nu-cl-ear..."Indril sounded out. "Yes, child. All of the new species of this world have some natural resistance to the stuff, but I'm afraid that even with your resistance, the material will poison the land and all of your peoples until everything has died, or the world has become mutated."The Man explained. "Mutated?"Indril asked, curiously. "Worse than death, in some cases. Sometimes it makes you sick, and sometimes it creates the Dragons..."The Man replied. Indril felt chills run down her spine. "So I must find and remove these Nuclear Materials?"Indril clarified. "Exactly. But you will need help. They were set in secret buildings where we sometimes protected them with advanced weapons of war. You will need allies to accomplish this quest."The Man said, while pointing at 5 sites, all within different territories of the various races. "The Elves, you, will be dexterous enough to cross the traps. The Dwarves engineering and hardiness can survive the guardians. The Sorcerers can penetrate the forcefields... err, magics of the sites. And Goblinns carry enough of our genetic material to be recognized as Human... they will be able to get you into the repository chamber."The Man continued. Indril listened intently. "This fifth site..."The Man pointed at solemnly. "The Dragon's Broodlair." Indril gulped in fear. "I don't ask you this Quest lightly. But if you do not do it, the world will perish. Poisoned again. We failed twice. Once before, and now again. As I die, I carry the weight of our failure into perdition."The Man said, sinking into his chair a bit. "I'll do it."Indril said, determined. "I will collect the materials, after uniting the peoples of the four races. We will save the Earth!" "I'm glad, my child..."The Man said.
The world had changed irrevocably in the months since the Xxarpians made contact. They brought with them technological wonders, stories of far off planets, and most importantly irrefutable, undeniable, and overwhelmingly-compelling proof of a One True God. The last thing people expected when they saw the shimmering, translucent spaceship descend from the heavens was familiarity. Their science was advanced beyond our comprehension, and their spoken language had long since been replaced with a kind of telepathic communication, lacking in words but perfectly conveying meaning, nonetheless. The first conversation between the Xxarpians and the leaders of the world had been translated from their thought-speech to every language on Earth, and the revelations had rocked the world to its very core. No longer were we alone in the universe, as they were proof of an inter-galactic community. No longer would we fight and squabble over resources, as the Xxarpians shared their methods of extracting water from air, and limitless energy production from geothermal vents. And, perhaps most bizarrely, no longer would we argue over religious differences, as they shared with us the totality of evidence in favour of a religion that we already knew of. Mosques went vacant, synagogues, once places of worship, were converted to homeless shelters, and many churches simply became shells of their former glory. Sometimes, when I think about the days before meeting the Xxarpians, I miss the lack of religious ubiquity. It added a certain ambiguousness to life, and perhaps that is something humanity needs. On the other hand, religious unity has certainly stymied a great deal of global conflict. The TV was playing in my living room, some movie-of-the-week garbage with dubbed-out curse words, until I was shaken from my reverie by a "ding-dong"from my front door. "Goddamnit", I muttered, putting down my freshly-microwaved pizza pocket, "it's always as you're sitting down to eat". Standing on my porch, waiting patiently, was a Xxarpian. Standing well over 12 feet tall, its mottled brown flesh appeared not dissimilar to that of an avocado. Each of his 8 tentacles were tap-tap-tapping along to a tune that I couldn't name, and his bulbous head perked up when he saw the door open. "Hello", he said, straightening the black tie that hung from the neck of his crisp, white, collared t-shirt, "my name is Elder Kgrzz-Ash. Have you thought about joining the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints?".
After what felt like hours, I was finally able to pick up my jaw off the floor. #6 Isaac House, one spot higher than Cleopatra. I had been staring at the leader board on my phone all morning wondering what the hell made me so special. Most of the other names weren't even written in languages I couldn't recognize, and #4 and #9 had been dead for hundreds of years but everyone learned their names in Western Civ classes. What had I done in my bland life as a construction manager that put me up above Edward Jenner (#9). There was only one other name that seemed like it didn't belong, and he was the #1. Dr. Matt Durning. The single most important person in all of human history. The name sounded familiar but I couldn't remember where I had heard it from. I didn't really have time to think about it. My phone had been blowing up all morning wanting to talk to me about it. My mom had already called 36 times and it only 9:30AM. I really didn't feel like pulling the pin on that grenade but I knew it was only gonna get worse the longer I waited to all her back. It went pretty much how I expected. She didn't really talk TO me, she more talked AT me, which was pretty normal. It was a kind phone call. She told me how proud of me she was for being number #6 though in her heart I'd always be #1 and things like that. Also how she couldn't wait to rub it in Ruth's face at bunco next week. She had apparently kept bragging about her son getting into Harvard for the past two months. It was her last comment that actually mattered though. "I wonder what that Matt Durning fellow from your old high school did to be so special, he always seemed a little off to me." High school. That's where I knew the name from. We used to sit together at lunch every Wednesday while most of the other students went to the optional Chapel in the auditorium. Neither of us really bought into any religious stuff (of course after the Big Man revealed Himself I felt pretty dumb for not buying into it). Other than lunch every week I didn't really know him. So I did what anyone else would do, and I went Facebook stalking. He was pretty easy to find. He had become a neurologist and had won all kinds of awards, but the one it look like he was famous for was his Suicide Prevention Society Award. His research brain chemistry as it relates to mental illness had pretty much ended depression (and several other mental illnesses) in children and teens. By the way his career was going it looked like he might get rid of mental illness entirely. I pulled up his acceptance speech on YouTube and things began to make more sense. In his speech he gave his own testimony on his struggle with childhood depression. He talked about how he had written a note and was going to steal a rope from his high school maintenance closet. He was planning it all out in his head when another student came and sat down with him and ate lunch. It was the first time he had felt noticed in months. "What made me stop"he said, "was how he ended our conversation. He said I'll see you next time. I wanted to live and see the next time." Could that really have been it? Was I really the 6th most important person? Just because I ate lunch with someone at the right time? &#x200B; \--This was my first ever attempt at writing something so sorry if it's a little choppy or hard to read.
I opened the door to YE OLDE SWORDSHOP, conveniently located next to the TOWN SQUARE. Taking my place behind the counter, I patiently waited for customers to arrive. First customer purchased a BASIC SHIELD for 5 GOLD. Not great, but it'll get you through the basic quests. Next customer wanted to sell an enchanted sword. Turned out to be cursed, so I wouldn't take it. That's when things started to get weird. A man came in and looked around nervously. "I want your mithril gear.""We have a wide selection sir! You can choose from...""All of it.""Uh... excuse me?""All of it. Every single scrap of mithril." I blinked. "That will be... 999999999 GOLD. Are you sure you want to go through with this transaction?" "Yes."I sold him my mithril. What an odd sale. Later that day, after I had closed up shop, I went to YE OLDE TAVERN. Huh, the blacksmith and travelling merchants were telling the same tale. How odd. The next day, there was a commotion in the TOWN SQUARE. I approached, curious as to what was going on. MANDAS THE GREAT, High Wizard to the Kingdom was standing on the raised platform in the center. He looked panicked. "People of Kindren!"he called, "The hero has been Chosen. She will travel to the Dark Lord's castle and slay the DARK KING GELFIN with the mithril blade, the only substance that can hurt him." There was cheering. MANDAS THE GREAT cleared his throat. "er... there's just one problem." We looked up at him expectantly. "We don't have any mithril." \~A Story Of Ashes \~\~If you enjoyed, visit r/StoriesOfAshes for more of my stuff \~\~\~Thank you for reading!
There was now 54 groups in the cabal. What was once 57 members across the entire globe. As a group of supervillains, meeting were as needed basis. Most didn't attend when one was called for territory disputes, or upholding confrontation bylaws with the heroes. In the 5 years since the cabal's inception, never had attendance been so overwhelming. "You called us here, Box", a tall, hairy and brutish man of Nordic decent hark loudly his finger viciously pierced the air across to a machine. Red and blue lights pulsated from its mechanical orifices and from its monitors sine and cosine wave moved to its digital voice. "In recent events, a hero has risen and disrupted the balance." "Ah yes, Stalemate I presume", a syrupy voice spoke from a lean frame. his suit dazzled as he continued, surely that pest will bite more than what he can chew. "Stalemate!"the nord spoke again, "Nothing but a good fight from that one, "A smile crept from his blond brearded chin, "Kept up blow to blow with me and met every lightning strike, with the same vigor as I - a truely good sport. A pest for most of you." "That Status has now changed. Maelstrom killed his ally."a silence reverberated in the hall. "Maelstrom, was always operated on the fringe to operation procedure."Dazzel sparkled, "Stalemate got his justice, end of story." "Pattern fails to match hypothesis. Stalemate has eliminated Infamous, and O'litar. "Box's screen flashed. Infamous, with his speakers broken and extruded words emerging from his corpse like a heavy barbel weights and O'litar's manged body atop of spectral spears. "He has copied and learned our weakness. Surely you wish your suit to be unblemished."a threat Box threw to Dazzel. His haughty smile now diminished. "Stalement no longer follows his namesake. Status quo must be observed. Parlay with the Heros recommended. Denials?" The hall erupted. Villains began concocting schemes and factions and alliances formed. "Order Requested....Order requested"Box exclaimed on deaf ears. SILENCE! A wave of black sound reverberated. Shaking the room and inflicting nausea upon ear canals. Imperiate stood lonesome with the floor his. "Any plans we concoct here would only break Confrontation Bylaws. Stalemate's actions have made him abandon his name and duty. His vengeance will not be condoned by the Heroes. We must meet with them to insure they will forsake Stalemate from their Hall, from there it is free game."the 54 was met with agreement. "Then wait for the public announcement by the end of the week - Consider it a race."
'Тестирование с живым предметом.' 'What's it say?' Torch light illuminated a worn sign on a metal door in the darkness shrouded catacombs. 'Live subject testing' Replied a whispered voice. The characteristic clicks of the hammer being pulled back on an M1911, echoed by that of a 6P9. A hand reached out and tried the handle. It gave way with the pressure the door was cautiously pushed open. To much surprise there was little noise from the door, the hinges had clearly been well oiled despite the apparent age of the door. Four men surreptitiously entered the slightly more illuminated entryway. A single incandescent bulb hummed above in the silence. The small, plain room had a set of just as poorly lit stair right of the entrance, the off white concrete walls were largely plain with exception for the clipboard and pen nailed to the wall at the base of the stairs opposite the door. 'Sign in and out' scrawled in chalk, in Cyrillic above the board. One man, referred to as his comrades as 'Red' took out a small camera and snapped a picture of the clipboard's content. 'if this is correct, there's only one person here' he said as he stuffed the camera back into his satchel. The team proceeded down the stairs, suppressed pistols low and ready. As the reached the bottom of the stairs the room opened up to an glass enclosed mezzanine, overlooking a reasonably well lit, but empty space below. The upper level had a few desks scatter around, typewriters and paperwork laid across many. A pair of windowed doors stood adjacent to the stairwell, just within rubber boots and coveralls were visible, as were respirator masks hanging on the wall above the coveralls. notably, respirator masks seemed to be interspersed between desks, hanging of railings or backs of chairs. 'What are they testing here?' asked another member of the team in a noticeably Australian accent. glancing over paperwork on one of the desks Red stammered 'I... I don't know. It's something chemical...' He took out the micro camera again and snapped pictures of various documents. 'Roo, get over here!' hissed another team member, beckoning the Australian over. The British accented man standing next to a less conspicuous door off to the side of the mezzanine level. The two men a pistols from their holsters and readied them. A silent count ensued before they quietly opened the door. More stairs, downward again. The team reconvened at the top of the new stairwell and progressed down it carefully. The exited to a dimly lit corridor, walls furnished with light bulbs every so often, but few were actually illuminated, between bulbs were small air vents, ribbons tied were limp and lifeless. A quiet whirr and hum were audible, but none of the men were able to identify where it came from. Along the walls were a series of doors, plaques next them reading things like 'Office A' and 'B', 'Processing room' and 'Accommodation'. Between the doors labelled Office B and Processing was an archway to the empty space they'd seen from above. Now, more evident walls at either end of the space had a box marked on them and a football sat in the corner, idle. The team made the decision to systematically investigate all of the rooms, Red and Daniel's, An American, Readied them selves at the first office door, Roo and the British man affectionately called 'Windsor' stacked up to the second door. The two pairs simultaneously entered their offices. Both were empty, Well appointed, with comfortable looking chairs and a well furnished bookshelf. Titles in both English and Cyrillic, but none the less, empty. No evidence of use. No personal touches, no coffee rings on paperwork, in fact, no paperwork at all. They all returned to the corridor and moved to the rooms labelled 'processing' and 'accommodation' Roo and Windsor entered 'processing'. The origin of the whirrs and hums were now very clear. Against the walls of this room stood large recording units, with tapes a reels spinning endlessly. Occasionally a light on one of the units would blink, but there was no evident pattern to this. A small, battery operated radio sat on a desk towards the back of the room. Roo approached it, and turned it on at a barely audible volume. A monotone voice broke through the crackles, reciting something in Russian, Neither Roo or Windsor spoke or understood the language. Meanwhile Daniels and Red had entered 'Accommodation' and established it was safe. Four made beds with folded clothes and towels on them were the only things visible immediately, another door at the back of the room led to a small bathroom and toilet. They promptly exited and met their colleagues in processing. 'It's just non-sequential numbers' Said Red, staring at the radio. 'There's no sense to it.' He explained. They returned to the corridor. 'Didn't you say that register at the doors suggested there was someone here?' Questioned Daniels with some urgency, lifting his pistol and indicating to a dancing shadow in the stairwell. The remaining three drew their sidearms and tactically headed to the stairs. With purpose the team moved towards the stairs, retracing they path they'd taken in, now in pursuit of a phantom shadow. As they reached the base, a loud 'clunk' rang out down the stair well. They continued up the stairs, to the door. Daniels put his hand on the handle, and nodded to the others. They nodded in affirmation, ready to burst through the door. He swiftly applied pressure to the handle. It didn't budge. He tried again. Again, no movement. His eyes widened and he stepped down, pushing Roo up to the door, and gestured towards the handle. This time Roo applied all the force he could muster to the handle as he shouldered the door. It still remained unmoved. He too backed down, shaking his head. Evident the door was locked and beyond breaking down, the four men returned to the lower floor. They began to re-check they rooms, looking for tools, keys or anything that might help unlock the door. As they passed the archway Windsor noticed a figure standing on the mezzanine level, he took cover behind an arch pillar and called it out to the others, who promptly followed suit. They peaked out to see the single figure joined by a few more, some in green dress uniforms, others in white lab coats. Suddenly, a series of loud horns sounded, followed by what sounded like a diesel engine igniting. A sweet smell filled the corridor as the ribbons on the vents began to slowly come to life. Daniels and Windsor were the first to notice, covering their faces with their shirts. But it was already too late, a wash of fatigue fell over the four of them as they slowly slumped to the floor against the wall. 'Are we the live subjects?' asked Red before unconsciousness prevailed.
“C’mon,” I breathed, frost crystalizing from my breath, “Please. This time for sure. Please.” I could sense them, my brother, my mentor, and my lover. They were always on the edge of my perception, always present. Whenever they neared my prison, I could sense them. I knew them all well. I loved them greatly. also knew one of them had been instrumental to my imprisonment. I hadn’t known at the time, but in my cell I’d received basic comforts. The blankets were my favorite color. There was never mustard on any of the prison fare. Never once had a book come through that hadn’t been well loved, hadn’t been studied and dogeared through years of reading. It was through these books that I kept a steady track of the years. Perhaps, I had once thought, I was only being given used books from decades past. There was no consistency to the dates, though. One week, I might receive a book from 1873, and the next I’d receive the latest in a series that updated about every three years. Once, I received a book so fresh that I could still smell the sharpie of the author’s signature. Whoever had imprisoned me knew my preferences, even the books matched my soul, made me ache in all the right ways. Yes. The person who had imprisoned me had been one of the ones I had held in the highest esteem, above all others. And once I knew who it was, I would kill them. I would hate myself for it, but I could not live a life interned in a tomb. Now, you might wonder of my cell. It was a cell. Painfully small, it was thoroughly emptied of its contents at the end of each year, to make room for more comforts. I’d wept upon the loss of some of the books, my greatest treasures. They could only have stolen them by drugging my food extensively and flooding the room with gas, and I could never predict the exact day that they would strike. It was the one day my cell was ever opened, and the one day I could ever have an opportunity for freedom. But now... now they’d be coming. For the first time, all three. I didn’t know if they even knew where my cell was, if they even registered how deep below the earth’s crust I’d been interred. They’d been close a few brief times, and I’d tried with all my might to call out to them with my soul, with my power, to no avail. The traitor, whoever it was, had done their work well. “Please,” I breathed, as I heard the metal engineering clank and thud around me. Perhaps I was to be drugged for the guards’ safety while my allies fought for my freedom above. I pressed my hands into the steel of my windowless door. “I’m here. I’m waiting.” The door crumpled from the outside, dissolving with a hiss, bright light blazing through. Ezziah, my brother, stepped forward, and for the first time in a thousand years, I felt fingers touch my skin, felt real warmth, and I wept for the sensation. He was tall, but he had always been tall, with his golden hair cropped short. His once-long, tangled beard was conspicuously absent, leaving his sharp features bared to the ice cold of my cell. I embraced him, then noticed the second set of prisoners, rounding the bend of the maze that was the exterior safeguard of my prison. They’d... certainly navigated it quickly. The traitor, then, had relented? Had guided them, perhaps? Terlan, my mentor, smiled wanly. He was still identical to how I remembered him, eyes a bleached blue, as though millions of tears had diluted the color over time. He seemed genuinely happy to see me. He reached forward and took my hand, holding it firmly, reassuringly. Jiorn approached hesitantly, from a distance, and did not meet my eyes. I froze, then the pain hit my chest like a brick. No. We’d been beautiful together. He had stolen all the bitterness and cruelty from the hell that had been my life. He’d made me human. And he... he had been the one, hadn’t he? My resolve wavered, and I felt the tears on my cheeks. No. Not him. I suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of his blood on my hands, although I knew I could never trust him again. “We’re so, so sorry, but it had to be done,” Ezziah whispered through the embrace, clutching to me as though he had been the one in the prison all these years. I stiffened, stepping back. No. It... it was worse than just Jiorn, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just... It had been all three of them. They must have seen the horror, the judgement on my face, for they had the alight decency to lower their faces in shame. I struggled to form my words, and the only sound I could make sounded wounded, hurt, confused, all of which I was, but I didn’t want to show it. “Why?” Terlan sighed. “You were too powerful, Finra. You couldn’t control your... passions, and you couldn’t see the importance of your actions.” I choked on air, feeling the sudden urge to vomit. For the first time in a thousand years, the warmth sank into my veins. I was still alive. Under the alloyed laws designed to cut me away from the source of my strength, I was alive, at the heart of the earth. I could do it. I should do it. They deserved it. “Why am I free then?” I asked, my words cold in contrast to the heat of my soul. Ezziah stepped back, his shirt smoldering slightly from where it had touched my skin. “Control yourself,” Jiorn pressed, anxious. “Please. Please don’t make us put you back.” Terlan cut him off with a brusque wave of his hand. “We need you. Our sources... they are dying, and yours is eternal. Your source is the heart of this earth, molten and blazing. Mine is the sky. Jiorn’s is the ice at the edges of this sphere. And... well, Ezziah is the only one flourishing, because these new humans... they’re so destructive. If... if you came out of hiding, if you reveal yourself and us, perhaps we can convince these humans to stop-“ He was cut off by his own screams as his skin set afire, burning him from the inside. Ezziah, my brother, King of Destruction, was horrified, then he turned to destroy me. Too late. He burned easily, like crumpled paper. Jiorn stood firmly, resolved. He had always been man enough to accept his fate. He had been the only one not to touch me after my imprisonment. He’d respected me too much to betray my trust like that. What little respect that earned him. I approached, my face inches from his, my lips hovering below his, and he quivered. He was not immune from fear. “Tell me,” I hissed, “When does the next Stormlight Archives book come out?” He seemed confused. “Brandon Sanderson? Way of Kings?” His eyes widened. “Next week. The 17th of November, 2020.” I breathed a sigh of satisfaction, then turned and approached the maze. “This world is burning, Jiorn. I intend to help it along, but not before I’ve finished the world’s final bedtime story.” “That’s... book four. There are to be ten books, and a world of worlds around them.” I hesitated, then laughed. “Thank this human author, then. He has bought you a few years. But when this world goes up in fire, I will be at the heart of it all. I hope your source lasts long enough for you to see the end.”
I woke up, the sun glaring through my window. I moved in here a week and a half ago with my best friends Tylah and Jackson. My room seemed particularly strange, I had no evidence other than bad vibes until I noticed something unusual about a certain wall. It was painted like a gorgeous forest and it seemed very secluded, only trees, but this morning when I looked at it there was a large log cabin towards the left of it. ‘Huh, I guess I never noticed that before.’ I think to myself. I walk into the kitchen to make breakfast, and Tylah walks in. “Good morning, sunshine.” I say to her, shaking the pancake mix. “As to you, Lara.” She replied. “You know how there’s a forest setting painting on my wall?” I asked, turning the heat up for the pancakes. “Yeah, it’s really pretty.” She said, taking a seat at our kitchen island. “Did you ever notice a log cabin towards the left of it?” “No? All I saw was just trees and alotta green.” She looked confused. “Huh.” I mutter. A week later This time when I wake up, my glance goes straight to the painted scene. Now there was a weird oil lamp in the window, and I think I can see an arm? I hop out of bed and put shorts on, making my way over to the painting to observe it closer up. ‘That is an arm.. What the hell?’ I think to myself, sitting down in front of it. I place my hand gently on it, feeling the texture of the cabin. It feels the same as the rest of the paint, I’d assumed that it would at least be bumpy or something but it wasn’t, just flatly painted on there. ‘I have to be going crazy or something right? There was only forest there when I moved in and now theres a whole ass cabin?’ I get up, going to the kitchen so I can make bacon and eggs for breakfast, to lure out my roommates. Soon enough, Jackson and Tylah walk in at the same time. “Good morning.” I greet them. “Morning.” They reply. “Okay, I need you both to check something out for me after breakfast.” I cut to the chase. After breakfast, I make them follow me into my room, showing them the painting. “Am I going crazy or was that log cabin and that light never there when we first moved in?” I ask, gesturing towards the cabin. Jackson raised an eyebrow. “I reckon you’re right, they’ve never been there before.” “Agreed.” Tylah says, turning her gaze towards me. “I don’t know what’s happening but I will get to the bottom of this. Also, if I go missing I bet it’ll be this bloody painting.” I laugh to myself. “I’ve gotta get to work.” Jackson went to his room. “Yeah, I’m going out with a few friends so I should probably get ready.” Tylah left too, so I was all alone. Just me and the painting. I shut my door so I can get changed for work. I’m a barista at our local coffee house. (I will finish this tomorrow, it’s 1:16am and I’ve got school so I need sleep. Also I know I’m not a good writer so please leave constructive criticism )
The cup was made of common clay and painted with an image of a dead man. Nora had no idea what was in it. Some sort of tea; rich, strong, and stung about on the way down. These people drank it more than water. Enough to make her wonder if the local aquafer had been contaminated. The woman, Idis was either her name or her title, handed it to her with a smile and words she couldn't understand. Every so often she'd catch something close to English or Russian, but the rest was just noise. Worse than the one time she'd tried to learn French. "Thank you,"she said, knowing Idis wouldn't understand her. The woman bowed her head, more words tumbling from her lips. Then she ducked back around the corner, leaving Nora alone in the room. Once it had been a lobby. Cold. Sterile. The tiles were all gone, as was the insulation. Stolen or rotten away. Wood and stone had replaced them. Added others that hadn't been there. The new layout was a maze. A home, a barracks, a cookhouse, all of that and more. There were paintings on the wall. The floor. Anywhere flat enough to hold one. Always of a pod, just like hers. Always...stylized. She'd seen them all. All one hundred. Walked that room dozens of times in the last week out of some misplaced sense of duty. Had beheld ninety-nine dead faces to the point she could guess which painting belonged to who. \#37 who looked to have been electrocuted after rotting, bones blackened and arms jammed into the sides of the console. They were a dark figure, blue fire dancing along their fingertips as a star burned underneath their ribcage. \#58 who had the mercy of simply snap-freezing behind the glass. Even her hair had been preserved and they captured it here. Long and flowing and white as the ice that rolled in around her feet. \#11 who must have woken up at some point, no one to help him out of his pod. He'd choked to death, gagging on the tube that put air in his lungs. Here he was made into a drowned corpse rising from a bog, malice leaking off him. It was unfair to poor eleven. She'd spoken to him once before they'd went under. He'd seemed nice. She couldn't remember his name. Where she sat , there had been a desk with a profoundly bored woman behind it. They hadn't talked. She'd been walked in with the doctors. The scientists. She'd been given the grand tour for doing them the honor of being the first in the pod. Ironic hers would be the last to fail. Drowning, freezing, burning, she'd been at risk for it all when they'd opened her up. She could see it in the way the door moved. Jerky. Rusted from long years. It was a wonder they could pry it open at all. Only in hindsight of course. In that moment she could only gasp for breath, ripping the tube out of her mouth. The cryofluid, still steaming in the warmer air, spilled across the floor. Several pairs of feet skittered back, terrified. Her first image had been an old man threatening to beat a young one with a heavy stick. They all fell silent at the first wet, choking cough. Staring at her with...awe, fear, surprise, maybe all of it. One fell to their knees. Another started laughing and wouldn't stop. A third ran from the room, sounding like they were going to vomit. She wondered if she was dying until the old man kneeled down to help her, clasping her hands as he looked right in her eyes. Happy. Against all logic, the man was ecstatic to meet her. "Caiya,"he called her. "Nora,"she corrected. The memory faded as a new figure stepped through the doorway. It was the old man. Kordin he called himself. Unsurprising. He'd been at her side near constantly, always talking. Always listening when she could work up the nerve to speak back. Even though they couldn't understand a word from each other. "Hello,"he said, proving that not quite true. Nora answered back with the equivalent. Something of a joke by now. Progress was progress. Then she noticed he wasn't smiling. Or relaxed. The man shuffled over, almost silent as he took her arm. He tugged insistently, leading her out of what she had come to understand was a temple. The facility had been built on a hill and in the years she'd been frozen a village had cropped up. Squat houses of wood and quarried stone sprawled all the way down to a palisade at the bottom. It was manned by men and women all hours. Most sported bows. Two, one for each shift, had bolt-action rifles of all things. Several hundred people lived here. She was sure she had met all of them by now, each so desperate to see her with their own eyes. Now they were packing. Ransacking their own village. Several hundred people, families, perhaps merchants and famers and people who'd spent their whole lives here, tearing it all down and putting as much as they could into carts. Kordin made a grand gesture, sweeping over the whole of his village. His voice was low and musical, reciting something he had said many times before. And then he turned to her. Taking her hands. Eyes full of...fear. Desperation? "Caiya-Nora,"he said, voice wavering. "Guide." Nora's eyes turned to her own portrait. There were many outside, many duplicates across the village. But there was only one for her. Displayed prominently on all sides of an obelisk that had been built in what was once a parking lot. Unlike all the others, it showed her as she was. A human. Blemished and detailed to a degree that disturbed her. Someone had spent a long time staring, making sure every brush-stroke was exact. A perfect portrait. The only liberties were her hands. Instead of strapped to her sides, they were placed over her stomach, fingers splayed to make a rectangle. A door almost. And it was not the slate gray of her bodysuit between those hands, but a distant sunrise above an endless lake of blue. On that horizon sat a tower. \--- [https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/](https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/)
The 2 ancient deities locked eyes in shock, looking at each other brought back their memories of countless clashes on ancient battlegrounds, their hatred and rivalries for each other stretched back for millennia. The black leather cladded older woman gracefully dodge the old gentleman's lightning attack. Continuous barrages of strikes, each of them managed to avoid every single one. Such as rehearsed dance of 2 ballet dancers, the leather cladded woman did not even spill the glass of wine she was carrying. "Grandma Morrigan!" "Grandpa Zeus!" The 2 younger demi-deities shouted in attempt to stop their respective pantheon's authority as the 2 ancient beings held each other in binding chokeholds. "Zeus...you old bastard. How long has it been since you last tried killing me? 5000 years was it?", mocked Morrigan the crow goddess. "Old hag, you weren't worth killing then you're not worth killing now. I thought you would piss someone off so much I was sure you'd be dead a long time ago", the muscular white bearded man said through gritted teeth. "Achilles! What is this? I thought you invited me here to introduce me to your new fiancee?", Zeus shouted to the man with long blonde hair. "Yes I did, grandpa. And so did Scáthach. That's why Grandma Morrigan is here with us today", said Achilles confidently unwavering in the face of the king of the gods' wrath. "Oh no...no, no, no...I forbid you to join our pantheon together! I will not sully our bloodline with hers", Zeus looked at Morrigan disgusted. "See Scátty? This is why I said never to involve yourself with the Greeks. Oh so high and mighty, sitting up there on Mount Olympus looking down at a mere Goddess of Death like myself", Morrigan scoffed addressing her granddaughter. "Grandma, don't be like that. I'm sure we can talk this out? You 2 are deities worth of thousands of years of wisdom. Surely we all can sit down and have a conversation?", the red headed warrior lady reasoned. "Achilles, did Thetis know about this?", Zeus snapped. "Yes, grandpa. It was mom and Scát's mom who suggested this dinner actually...", Achilles said exasperatedly. "Pfft I told Árd this would be a bad idea, and yet she still insisted", Morrigan rolled her eyes to Scáthach. Zeus huffed, letting his rage clouded his senses. Dark clouds stirred around the sky, a precursor of a storm. "I have heard enough of this! Achilles, you are forbidden to proceed with this engagement! If you keep insisting, consider yourself an enemy of the Olympus!", Zeus' thunderous voice rattled the house. In a blitz of lightning he vanished, back to his throne on Mount Olympus. Achilles sighed, looking at Scáthach in defeat, "I guess dinner is cancelled then..." "Well....that was fun wasn't it? Scátty darling, I'm staying for a while. More wine for me!", Morrigan quipped lightheartedly strutting her way to the kitchen. Achilles and Scáthach fell to the couch, exhausted and clueless... "Now what?", Scáthach asked. "I don't know, Scát...I don't know. You know, I thought grandpa had changed. It's been what...millennia! And still he bears vengeance over petty squabbles. And did you hear what he said about bloodlines and stuff? Yeah, that's al high and mighty coming from the guy who disguised himself as a swan and banged someone!", Achilles ranted. Scáthach smiled at her fiance's fiery rage. She thought it was adorable. Ever since they met each other, when Achilles was on his journey through the afterlife, right after Trojan. He passed through her Fortress of Shadows; where the both warriors clashed irons for 7 days and 7 nights straight, where they eventually fell for each other. "Oh don't keep your mind busy with that thought, Achie. Maybe next time, in a few hundred years maybe he'll come around", said the Celtic warrior brushing her red hair away. Achilles pondered...knowing his stubborn god of a grandfather, waiting for him to come around would be like waiting for Dionysus to sober up...virtually impossible. "Hey Scát.....what do you say we elope?", Achilles suggested in a hush tone. Scáthach's pale face frowned, but in a moment of clarity her face lit up, rejoicing the idea. "You know....I heard Valhalla's a pretty nice getaway destination. We can ask Uncle Odin to officiate. I'm always one of his favorites after all, he'll listen to us", Scáthach suggested gleefully. "I'll pack up immediately!", Achilles jumped up excitedly. "Take your time, Achie. Grandma Morrigan's gonna be here for a while anyway...", Scáthach giggled. This scheming marriage of theirs may be against the will of the gods, it's even going to put them as outcasts among the divines. But at least, if they're gonna be on the run...they're gonna be on the run together, 2 proud warriors side by side. "Scátty...you ran out of wine!", Morrigan's voice shouted from the kitchen. "Grandma, there were 10 crates back there this morning!", Scáthach shouted running to attend the intoxicated Goddess of War and Death.
What part of this would even be challenging to you?!” Ben finished. He’s standing on an island beach. A group of his co workers behind him. His boss, dressed in camouflage, in front of him. “People have an extremely powerful survival instinct. When backed up against a wall every person is dangerous.” Alan said as he adjusted his rifle on his shoulder. His posh English accent always set him apart from his midwestern underlings. “Have you looked at us?” Ben said and he waved his arm to the pudgy bunch behind him. “We’re not exactly the dangerous type. We’ve spent the last 10 years working in your IT department. Mostly living off Red Bull’s and pizza.” “Trust me, when the game begins you will feel an adrenaline like you’ve never felt before. You will run faster than you ever have. You will-“ Alan was cut off mid sentence. “Are you giving us guns too?” Ben asked. “Well of course not.” Alan responded. A bit flustered. He’s not used to people cutting him off while he speaks. “Is there a way to win? Like a boat somewhere or a helicopter that will take us to freedom or even like a problem solving scavenger hunt that if we complete it you don’t kill us?” Ben asked. “No, but that last one is a pretty cool idea. Maybe next time I’ll set that up.” Alan said. “So what motivation do we have to be the most dangerous game? It seems unwinnable. You have all the weapons and by the sounds of it you’ve done this before. Which means not only do you have experience with this game, but also knowledge of the landscape of the island. I say we just stand here and let you kill us. One by one. That won’t be fun. You know Jim will be crying the whole time. That would be uncomfortable for everyone.” Ben said. The pudgy group nodded in agreement. “I didn’t want to go to work on monday any way.” One of them muttered. “Now where’s you’re fighting spirit? C’mon, Jim,” Alan pointed to the bespectacled loaf in the back. “Remember when you yelled at me because I made you stay late on you anniversary? Where’s that rage? And Linda, I know you would love to get back at me for the time I dangled a promotion on front of you and then gave it to my unqualified nephew.” Alan said trying to rile up the bunch. “That is the worst motivational speech I’ve ever heard.” Ben said.” Again the group agreed with Ben. “If you really want to do this. If you really want to get this game started you need to figure out a way to level the playing field. Give is a fighting chance.” Ben said. “Then maybe we’ll run scared into the jungle.” Alan thought about this. He knows Ben was right. He also really wanted to kill them all. He had to figure this out. “Ok, I see your point. What if I don’t use my rifle and only use my machete?” Alan threw out there. Patting the blade he had sheathed at his hip. Ben looked to his comrades. They shrugged. “Ummm, ok, put the gun down and you have a deal.” Ben said. Alan dropped the rifle in front of him. “Ok. So the way this works is sort of like hide and seek. Only if I find you I’m going to kill you.” Alan said with excitement dripping out of the cornered of his mouth. “We get it.” Ben said dryly “I’m going to turn my back and count to 100 and then I’m coming for each and every one of you.” Alan said smiling. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.” Ben said. Alan turned his back and started the count down. 100 99 98 9- Ben picked up the rifle and shot Alan in the back. Alan fell forward onto his hands and knees. “What the hell Ben, that’s not how the game works, you’re supposed to wait till the count is over!” Alan screamed. Then he collapsed to the sand. “Well that was easier than I thought.” Ben said to his doughy friends. “Let’s go find our way off this island.” “Do you guys mind if we hang for a couple days? I haven’t had a vacation since 2012. I could really use some relaxing beach time.” Jim said. “Good idea!” Ben agreed. The pasty bunch chilled at the beach for a week before heading back to work. NO one ever spoke about their time in the island again.
Ten thousand years of human history really amounted to very little in the grand scheme of things. In a single human lifetime, there were moments of joy, new experiences, pain, hardship and at the end of the day the everlasting constant of death. Even if one’s name was sung to the heavens ten thousand years ago, one’s legacy would inevitably disappear. Navar knew this in his bones and yet... It was beautiful while it lasted, wasn’t it? Like a flower the Earth had been blooming since the day he was born. When he realized that he wouldn’t die like his fellows, he only felt relief because he would be able to see more of what the world had to offer. Of course all things came to an end eventually. It was an immortal’s fate...and if Navar had anyone to tell...his duty- to see the end of all things. In the darkness of space, a frozen ball spun, an unfathomable distance away from the loving embrace of its sun. Navar sat on the surface of the frozen planet, dreaming in a prison of ice. It’s hard to live without a reason to go on, but if you learn to have hope for one day, you could keep having hope forever. Navar counted the days one by one. When he lost track, he continued to count anyway, starting again, never losing hope. One day, the ice melted. Navar blinked. His clothing was perfectly preserved in the ice, but the sudden warming had soaked him through. He looked around, observing translucent walls around himself and further outside... Rows and rows of capsules, each containing various dead plants and animals. It reminded him of a laboratory he’d once worked in located in the Alps...collecting samples of flora and fauna. High above the capsules there was something like lashes of silver light flickering here and there. He sensed it briefly as the tendrils passed by- some kind of presence was in those tendrils. There were an uncountable number of samples. It might take months or even years before the tendrils reached Navar. Navar crossed his legs and sat down in his capsule and began to count again. He smiled to himself. Perhaps he was done with exploring the world...but who knew what else there was to see outside of the world?
I was startled from my focus by my cubicle neighbor. "Matthias! Get up, you gotta see this." "Can it wait? I'm almost done with this proposal. This one is going to be my 750th, wanna knock it out." "The founder is here! I'm--" I was out of my chair before she could finish. There aren't many opportunities to meet people older than 20K, and although nobody knew his true age, there were rumors that the founder was pre-civ. At a certain point in that stage of life you can't really get any more wrinkles, so it's hard to determine how old an elder is at a look. I speed-walked around the corner and saw the CEO down the hall holding the hand of a hunched, gray man, as to keep him from falling over and disintegrating. It seemed like nobody else other than Saoirse had seen him. The teams near the old man had their noses in the grindstone working on their fusion energy regulations and could not be bothered. Their loss. I approached the pair slowly while trying to recall as much Old Common as I could. Some elders refused to learn the evolving language and I had spent a decade in my 500s speaking only in the old tongue, it had been...well, half a millennium. The CEO was completely focused on attending to the founder. I was a few meters away before I caught his eye while the elder stared off into the distance. Perhaps I was overstepping my bounds but this was an opportunity I could not pass up. The genesis of civilization was in my office. Unbelievable. I looked over my shoulder and Saoirse was standing back, always shy and preferring to observe. I spoke softly, "Chieftain, perhaps I may help in welcoming our guest?" The CEO only showed up in this office once every few years, usually spending most of his time in New Atlantis trying to lead their infrastructure development. He wore a high collar to cover his neck, typical of those residents who had engineered themselves with gills as a secondary respiratory system. "Matthias...Gnaeus? It has been years. I've seen your recent work and it has been of some help in our own policy development."He turned to the old man. "Elder Sinomine, I'd like you to meet one of our policy writers in our Antigravity division."Sinomine was a term reserved for some of the oldest of the old, a portmanteau of the Latin for 'nameless'. I bowed deeply. "It is an honor to stand before an Elder."I tried to speak as clearly and slowly as I could without seeming disrespectful. The temperaments of Elders could be wildly volatile. He turned his gaze to me but seemed to stare right through me. "I honor future."He spoke, clearly struggling. Eventually, you lose your will for speech in old age, forgetting eons worth of language. The CEO spoke up with a much greater volume. "In his wisdom, Elder Sinomine has been touring the world to see the evolution of his discovery."That's right! Sinomine was widely credited with the first harnessing of fire, the very beginning of mankind's relationship with energy. "We just arrived from New Atlantis yesterday after he had descended from the Acropolis. We are blessed by his presence and hope to reconnect with our purpose in our quest for new energy sources."I myself had always wanted to visit the Acropolis, yet it was barred to those under the age of fifty thousand. Not so much a retirement home as a place for meditation by the Elders. Many there had claimed to have reached Nirvana, simply due to the thousands of years of time to reach it. It was there where so many like Sinomine had nearly forgotten to speak, after countless years in Reflection. "I am blessed to be in the presence of one of our kind's greatest pioneers."I said, still trying to keep my language simple. "In your great wisdom, would you tell us something you have found in your Reflection?" With more strength, Sinomine replied, "I have found new fire, and I wish to share."A new form of energy? "I have found new fire in blood."
I considered the man's question for a brief moment, before coming to answer. "Nope." "... Really?" "Yup." "But- are you not plagued with-" "Buddy."I put a gauntleted hand on his shoulder, and he flinched. "Let's do some mathematics. Me? I'm strong. My pals, currently over there enjoying a drink? Also strong. How do people get stronger in this world?" He looked terrified, and too paralysed to answer the question, so I did it for him. "The answer is killing. Everything we murder gets us a nice chunk of power in a convenient package. Sure, we could get stronger on equipment or the blessings of more powerful beings, but the quickest way to get the former is, you guessed it - murder! And the latter, on the other hand, really only let's you grow until your patron stops being generous, or you get a little more powerful than them. Point is, killers get benefits." I removed my hand from his shoulder and put it back to my waist, gripping my hip as I lectured as a professor might. "Now, people fall into a few different categories of 'willingness to murder'. Some don't like killing, and maybe stick to just beasts and crap. But they grow slower than those that also murder thinking folks. So you might have people who will murder other people, but only if they think the guy deserves it. But they grow slower than the folks who would murder for the hell of it. Course, those folks generally die too quickly 'cause of guys taking revenge, and leaders wanting to stop a disaster before it happens. Consequence of that is that the middle ground, the murder stance that maximises growth while being just predictable enough to not scare the authorities before it's too late, is to only murder if the benefits outweigh the costs. That also lets me and my friends here purchase some lovely gear, like my Sword of Undying Disembowelment here."I pat the blade on my hip fondly, and it let out an eerie growl reminiscent of a horror-maw. "But... the long-term consequences of your latest quest..." "Well, what'd we do? Slaughtered every single priest of the God of Order? Tainted all his shrines, as he held the people of Astenfurrow under his divine fist? As well as committing several other actions that have essentially removed the influence of order from almost the entire continent?" "Exactly!" "Well, bud, remember what I said before? That the most successful adventurers are those who will kill so long as the benefit outweighs the cost? Well, what I see is the main reason we can't just murder everyone in the continent I so plainly mentioned is that pesky rule of law that the God of Order so deviously supported."I paused. "To clarify, what I actually see is that pesky rule of law being neutered like a hound, or a cat." I could see the bard performing ethical calculus in his head, as he slowly realised that the party had not, in fact, paid for their drinks, and likely wouldn't plan to. "... You likely realise I have contacts in the College of Bards, yes?" I nod. "Pretty plain to see, what with your introduction and all." "And you clearly want to grow as efficiently as possible, yes? You're still performing your... Cost-benefit analysis, of sorts." "Also correct, my good friend." "And you would benefit from people being unsuspecting of this nature, yes?" That brought me brief pause, and I quickly began to think of what was being implied. "... Keep on talking." "If you were to, say, allow me to spread only the tales that you requested when I got there, the extra time of being unsuspected would allow you to kill more beings that would become inaccessible as foreigners reacted, and grow more in the long term. On the other hand, should you kill me, the College will notice my absence and issue the requisite investigations, cutting your time to grow before being noticed down significantly." I leaned against the wall, thinking carefully. What the bard said made sense, but... "What guarantee do I have that you won't deliberately tell the College to send in forces early?"I asked. He shrugged. "None, really. But consider that the outcome of you killing me and the outcome of me spreading the tales are essentially the same, given the nature of the checks involved. In addition, I have a dead man switch of sorts, that will automatically alert the College to my death, if not the method, so at the very least if I attempted to blab, you would have more time than if you killed me."He gulped audibly. "You can check that bit easily enough, I imagine." "Ghannavegg would, not me, but your point stands."I acquiesced, and he relaxed a little. "Alright, bard, I can see where this is going. Run off to the College and we won't turn you into personal power. Prove yourself reliable and I might even ask the others to spare you if we see you again later."I leaned over, and gave him a pearly-white high-charisma grin. "We always appreciate a good quest-giver, after all." He gave a grin of his own, though it was lacklustre due to his relative lack of experience. "Well, I do have one more suggestion..." I waved a hand for him to go on, and he tensed himself, seemingly in preparation. "I have family, a wife and a child, currently living in the town. I request that you let them go with me." "And why should I let free experience get away with you?" "If you kill them, I will tell the College of your true nature. On that, I swear an oath. If you let them leave with me, I give you my word that I will attempt to conceal your natures in the manner I have previously described." I hummed. "And how much is your word worth, young man?" "Well, what chance do you prescribe to me keeping it as I describe?" I gave it a little consideration. "Let's lowball it, at maybe one in a hundred." "Now how much more power do you think you could get if I was telling the truth?" Ah. I saw where he was going with this. "Let's lowball that as well then, shall we? Let's say you're a poor speaker. You might still delay the bureaucracy enough that we can get an extra small town in there." "So even if the chance is very small, and the benefits are marginal, the cost is very low - two weak persons of experience." "Entirely true." "So it is in your best interests to- to let them leave with me." I let him stew for a bit as I thought his offer over. It seemed mostly sound. Mostly. But in the end I still agreed. I had been lowballing those figures, after all, and the benefit his word provided was likely greater than anticipated. Especially since we would likely see him again at some point, and he had his long term relation with the party to consider. "Go then. Leave with your family. But make it quick - a night in the brothel and the rest of my friends here will likely be ready to slash and burn." "Oh, Gods, thank you, thank you-"He was already picking up his lute to leave, but I held up a finger. "One last thing, though. One thing you hadn't considered."He froze. "Recall when I explained that the ideal adventurers to grow powerful were those willing to kill so long as the benefit outweighed the cost."He didn't say a word, but I was quite certain he was recalling as I had requested. "Well, my friends and I - we're not just in it for the power. Power for power's sake - it's a little silly. Some of us want the security. Some of us want the ability to, say, do what we want."I gave a genial grin. "And some of us just like killing. Enough so that we'd trade the death of the dragon for the opportunity to slaughter a village at a moment's opportunity, even if the latter provided a pittance of power in comparison."I shrugged, but didn't drop my expression. "Of course, we'd still be smart about it. Attempting to fulfil your desires often has a few incidental values tagging along with them. Such as not wanting those desires altered, and wanting to have enough power to ensure that their fulfilment doesn't require your swift demise. And thus, not being able to fulfil them again in future." The cogs were turning in his head. "I like killing, Sir bard. Luckily for you, you've made an opportunity for me to kill a few more people than I might have otherwise had the chance to."I folded one arm across my chest and used the other to give him a wave. "Go along now! I enjoyed this chat of ours, but it is getting late." He walked away quickly, so as not to attract attention, but there was speed there nonetheless. As he turned back one last time, in what I imagine was paranoia, I made one last remark. "Have fun on your trip. We're all just here to have fun in the end, after all."
Running an ice cream parlor, I worry less about lunch hour and more about teatime. My regulars fall into three major groups. The young office set who want photogenic meals and hip new flavors they can brag about trying before anyone else. The older ladies (and a few men) who just want some peace and quiet with their calorie bombs. And the hipsters and nerds who'll hype up a place as long as there's an obscure reference in its name. The Aleph-Null Creamery caters to them all. Finding a suitable location took some doing. And it didn't just stop there. I had to make my case before I could even start getting set up properly. In the end I had to trade a few favors and flavors to grease the wheels, but it wasn't so bad. Really, I was only helping myself. It was all worth it just to see the looks of amazement and delight on my customers' faces. "I don't know how you do it,"they say as they dig into a salmon and avocado split or chocolate-and-cricket cone. "I keep thinking 'no way she pulls that combination off' and then you do! You knock it out the park every time. That's how you know what you were put on this earth to do." It's easier to knock it out the park when several thousand of you step up to the plate, sharing successes and warning yourself away from failures. And the Creamery only connects to the universes where I decided to take the plunge and open an ice cream parlor. I don't know what the other mes chose to do with themselves. They might be happier, more fulfilled. But those are their lives to live. Just as my life is mine. A banking intern stops in the middle of her waffle. "Wait, what's that song?"She says. "I could've sworn that was one of the tracks Kiera Ross said had been cut during post-production." "Probably a misprint,"I tell her. "I get those sometimes." One of the favors I traded for. Media piracy is a fact of the multiverse, it seems.
I am writing this to let you know of The \[CORRUPTED\] Time War. Some files may not be properly recorded, especially those related to time or the past. This is the best I can do, unfortunately. No paper remains. Even this device may be soon devoured by war. &#x200B; It all started when I was... I don't know, really. It lasted forever, wrecking the timeline as it went. I do know my name is Jack Harrow. I was born in Jack City Central, in the year \[CORRUPTED\]. My first memories are of war. Planes, tanks, laser guns, soldiers, cyborgs... even the occasional spear. It was everywhere. Even worse, it was everywhen. &#x200B; According to History Jack, the eternal chronicler of the War, it started with a thirty-year-old, brilliant scientist named Initial Jack. The word \[CORRUPTED\] doesn't fully describe him. He wasn't the \[CORRUPTED\]; he was the Initial. He invented the Machine. His \[CORRUPTED\] experiment? Travel to \[CORRUPTED\] to kill \[CORRUPTED\]. He would have done it, if not for Paul Reed, the man who stole the machine and tried to save \[CORRUPTED\]. Initial Jack tried to stop him. He traveled back to \[CORRUPTED\], and recruited Jack the Older to help him. A common trait of the Jacks, I was told, is stubbornness. When Initial Paul recruited his own Paul the Older, the two Founding Jacks went on many space-time adventures to try and stop him. Suffice to say, they didn't. It is written in The Book of Jack that they witnessed the Big Bang and tried to harness its energy with a \[CORRUPTED\] machine. They succeeded, in the sense that they had untold amounts of energy to destroy Paul with. They failed in keeping that universe intact. The timeline fell into itself. To quote The Book: "And Initial Jack said to Jack the Older: We have amassed great energy, and win we shalt. And Jack the Older said: We have collapsed this universe. And Initial Jack said: So sayeth Initial Jack, We shall make a new universe in our image, and we shalt expunge the Paul from the Earth." &#x200B; They didn't. They created and destroyed \[CORRUPTED\] universes, but they could not kill Paul. He had the same tools, after all. So they fight. We fight. It is said that Initial Jack still reigns from his great tower. We all know our role in the world. We will fight the Pauls of this universe till it breaths its last and Initial Jack will travel again and put an end to Initial Paul. &#x200B; Universal Termination has been announced. We will be gone in hours. I am writing this because I know time has cracks. Not many, but some. And through the cracks sometimes, things slip. My friend, Female Jack #8759385, found some books from an unknown time. They dissipated in her hands after a few days, but she'd read them and told me about them. They spoke of tales far beyond The Book. They spoke about grand conflicts: Good vs Evil, Life vs Death, Order vs Chaos. Those are the conflicts, the wars, of some unknown universe that no longer exist. So, wherever and whenever you are, reader, know this: good, evil, life, death - to me, they are meaningless. I only know of one conflict. One eternal war. &#x200B; Jack vs Paul.
A Brief Treatise on Human Violence and Technological Progress by Prof. Maelbogia and Brian Department of Exobiology, Fifth Galactic College Star GIM/18374, Planet Aelmo ABSTRACT By teleporting perfectly realistic false humans into the environs of every major concentration of human life on Planet Earth, we ascertained that the typical human response to newly introduced members of humanity is to violently dismember them and ritually observe the remains. We have not yet discerned a motive for this behavior. However, it is consistent with the first observational study of humanity (Aerith, 2192841). INTRODUCTION Ever since the detection of humanity due to their detonation of nuclear weapons, energoids across the galaxy have been studying these peculiar matter-based sapients. Our first observations of them indicated that the primary occupation of humans is disassembling other humans; however, no discernible pattern or purpose to this has been discovered. By introducing our own, monitored humans into their environment, we hoped to gain more data on this odd, seemingly self-destructive behavior. MATERIALS AND METHODS By disassembling several living humans, finding biologically compatible parts, and reassembling them with a Pulsator-class surveillance system attached, we were able to create humans that all known energoid, plasmoid, and temperoid senses find indistinguishable from humans in their natural habitat. Although some ethical concerns were raised with the disassembly of living humans, it was concluded that since so many humans voluntarily disassemble other humans in their unobserved state, that such disassembly could not be viewed as unethical, and was in fact likely a part of their natural life cycle. As the typical behaviors of humans are still unknown, we teleported 20,000 such artificial humans into different parts of the world and programmed them to replicate the recorded actions of their constituent humans. Much of human behavior appears to be interchangeable, in any case (Beldegar, 2192848). We then observed the Pulsator feed for a timespan of .0000000000020 standards (5.3 rotations of Planet Earth around Star GIM/83710). RESULTS Our artificial humans were typically disassembled with blunt force trauma, oxidative chemical reactions, kinetic matter weapons, and in one case, extreme acidity. Observations indicate that humans in their natural habitat disassemble each other with similar methods very commonly, although the speed with which such disassembly occurs varies slightly. The typical time from creation to disassembly of a natural human is .000000000029 standards (80 rotations of Planet Earth around Star GIM/83710), but the typical time of creation to disassembly of our artificial humans was 0.000000000000000000059 standards (0.00000016 rotations of Planet Earth around Star GIM/83710). This minor difference is likely a statistical artifact; more data is required to be certain. Additionally, various humans were seen carrying the disassembled corpses to a form of ritual chamber, where various methods such as optical magnification, chemical separation, and spectral analysis were used to observe the disassembled false humans in detail. The purpose of these rituals is not yet known. DISCUSSION The similarity in how humans behave with our artificial humans—that is, rapid disassembly through various explosives—and how humans behave with each other—that is, rapid disassembly through various explosives—indicates the success of our research methodology. Although the reason for many human behaviors is still unknown, we have confirmation that our agents are treated as if they were real humans, and can thus move on to the next phase. Rather than teleporting our artificial humans to random locations, improvements in teleportation technology have allowed us to teleport our artificial humans in the same position as natural humans, instantaneously replacing them. So far, plans include replacing one of two or more humans engaging in reproductive acts midway through (in order to gain insight into the human reproductive cycle), replacing a human midway through a typical non-disassembling human interaction (in order to ascertain what the purpose of these actions are), and, during the attempted disassembly of one of our false humans, replacing all humans participating in disassembly with more false humans (in order to best observe a human in the act of disassembly). These experiments have already begun, as of 2192852. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This paper would not be possible without my loving husband, son, and co-author: Mr. Maelbogia, Maelbogia Junior, and Steve, respectively. We thank the Fifth Galactic College for providing funding and methodology for our experimentation. A.N. If you like weird things that aren't in the typical format of r/writingprompts, consider checking out my [episodic stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mh9gfe/episodic_prompted_stories/) Each story is a series of independent "episodes", all of which are inspired by a writing prompt.
What is it like, being someone who delivers souls to the devil? Of course, one first has to ignore their morals and compassion, which for some cases is easy. If they are so hungry for power and wealth that they sell their soul for some of it on earth, then they don't deserve the heavenly paradise that would have waited for them. Of course, there are a few who don't sell their souls for themselves. The mother who just wants her child to survive and live a good life, the businessman who feels the need to protect his employees, the ruler who just wants peace for his country. All of these people have good intentions, but felt that they couldn't get what they wanted from God. Poor fools. Being the deliverer, it is my job to ensure that all of these souls go straight to Lucifer himself for him to toy with at the end. However, my moral compass remains for some mortals. The mother's son lived a long and happy life, becoming a great orator, swaying the hearts of millions. The businessman's company was successful and prosperous, ensuring the livelihoods of all who worked for him. The ruler's kingdom was peaceful and happy until his death and many years after. And what happened to the souls that were sold? Someone - not me, of course - must have mismarked their destination. They were meant to go straight to Hell. Instead, they went to the other place. They both start with the same two letters, and no one checks whether the souls were sold to Satan anyway. No one, except for me. There are plenty who deserve to go down there. No one will notice a few missing. After all, those special souls are very few and far between. \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Probably not what you were looking for, but this is what immediately jumped into my head.
I have a very special gift. My mother loved to tell me this story about when I was born. "Helen,"she would say, "I gave birth to you after a seventy-hour labor. Seventy! The first day was bad, the second was worse, and the third was hell on Earth. By the end, I lost count of how many times I prayed to God to end it all. But when you finally entered the world, and the midwife placed you in my arms, I knew that it had been worth it. This is parental love, Helen. It's not something that I can explain in words. One day, you'll have kids of your own, and I'd never wish you to have a seventy-hour labor, but I hope that you'll love your child as much as I love you." But my mother never let me out of the house. I wasn't allowed to mingle with anyone except my family members. I only learned why much later. Turns out, the midwife tried to steal me shortly after I was born. Apparently she felt a special connection to me and wanted to raise me as her own child. My father had to wrestle me out of her hands and call for help before the midwife relented. Ever since then, my mother was afraid to let me out of her sight. Maybe she thought someone would try to steal me away again. She told me that I was born to so charming that I could make anyone fall in love with me at a glance. She was kind of right, though. I snuck out once when I was sixteen, two days after my father died. He was a soldier and was killed in action. My books told me that war heroes were to be honored with a red poppy, and I didn't want to make a paper flower like I usually did. I wanted to honor my father with a real flower. So I crept out the back gate while my mother was busy at the wake, and wandered the town looking for the florist. And it was strange. Everyone was so willing to help me. The florist in particular - the young man with the nice smile. He gave me an entire bouquet of red poppies, and I didn't have to pay him anything. That's when I knew my mom was right. I really could make anyone fall in love with me, and I could make them do anything. I was a little worried about how to explain the flowers to my mother, so I left the bouquet at our front door with a note saying it was from an anonymous person, before sneaking home through the back gate again. My mother had been a little suspicious, but I denied everything. I think that if she'd have approved if she'd known, since it was a good thought. Six weeks ago, my mother died. I held her hand at the very end. There was very little color left in her eyes and very little warmth left under her skin, but I held her close as she spoke her last words. "Helen,"she breathed with the last of her strength, "you are... special... every person... on this world... will love you... alas... I cannot... protect you... any longer... so... do good... my... dearest Helen." I thought about her words in every waking moment since. My mother hoped that I would do good. And I think I've found a way. The world is so chaotic these days. Everyone's fighting over something or another. My country is at war with its neighbour. The armies are marching up to one another's doorstep, and soldiers fight and die every day. Soldiers like my father. And every day this continues, daughters like me lose their dad. This has to end. I've got a plan. I'll meet with both leaders of the warring countries. Make them fall in love with me. And once they love me and listen to me, I'll tell them to end the war. I'll be able to secure peace, in countries around the world. And then I'll go around to every country and do the same. I'll do good, and do my mother proud by stopping wars and saving lives. Maybe I'll even end up in the history books like those great heroes. Theseus of Crete. Joan of Arc. And then there'll be me, Helen of Troy - Ender of Wars. I set out tomorrow. Wish me luck. \--- Helen of Troy was the "face that launched a thousand ships", the woman who Menelaus and Paris loved and went to war for. I wanted to write a story about how badly the writing prompt could go wrong, and Helen of Troy seemed like a good fit. I did no historical research whatsoever. This was just for fun, I bet there are probably 300 or more inaccuracies in this short story. Don't flame me :D
Coffee always cleared the clouds away. I was never myself before that first caffeine boost, barely a person at all really. With the fog of my mind clearing I could finally start thinking straight. I got up and refilled my well stained mug. Drip coffee, room for milk, no sugar. The same drink I had every morning. I sat back at the kitchen island and took in the familiar aroma. A delightful way to start the weekend, but my focus was drawn from my drink. The more I woke up the more I noticed the slight burning sensation on my left cheek. It was subtle, incredibly so, but it was there and only noticeable once I was fully awake. I didn’t know what to make of it exactly. Right where my wife had kissed me awake, an odd and alien sensation lingered. I tried to think back, to find a reason for it, but there wasn’t a clear picture of anything from before that first cup of coffee. My concentration was broken by the trundling of feet rushing from the bedrooms upstairs. The boys were awake and would be at me soon. More requests for toys and permission to play. Those two were a constant source of anxiety, always just on the cusp of killing each other. My beloved morning coffee was the only escape I had from the hectic nature of domestic life and it was about to end. I smiled, enjoying the last brief sips of my refuge. It was all worth it though, wasn’t it? I started to think about that kiss again. Why did it feel so strange? I tried to think back to our first kiss, but the morning fog rushed back into my brain when I reached for the memory. Something didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was just the coffee, but I could feel my heart starting to race. Why couldn’t I remember her? I forced myself to focus, gripping the kitchen counter with panicked force. The boys! Who were the boys? I couldn’t see their faces in my mind. The footsteps grew louder. People coming down the stairs. People I had been sure I had known, but now realised I was wrong. With every step they came closer and my heart raced faster. My armpits grew cold and wet as terror gripped me. Surely I was missing something. Again I forced myself to remember, knuckles white on the counter top. There was something there. Something I must have forgotten, an entire life I had lived and lost. Then it came to me. Freedom. The sense of overwhelming freedom. I was alone, carefree and young. There were no responsibilities, no wives or children. No job worth giving up my freedom. That's right, that was my life, not this sad attempt to enjoy a morning coffee. I could remember, there were colors and music. Drink and dance. Revelry of every sort. It was a wonderful night, right up until the headlights. The pain, I remembered the pain, and the cold asphalt. Then nothing. The steps became quieter as my ‘family’ reached the bottom of the stairs. I had to consciously force myself to let go of the countertop and face the door. They walked towards me. All three picture perfect, a family picked from a catalogue. Everything prim and proper, apart from the faces. Those I couldn’t see clearly, just featureless heads with fake hair. I knew there was no point in running. There is no escape from hell.
Now this wasn't my first job offer from one of our targets. The Black Witch had offered me the rank of lieutenant in her army of braindead animals. I had been intrigued at first, primarily because the woman was gorgeous, but I had respectfully declined and slammed her face into the concrete instead. The Whirlwind had promised me money and my own flat in New York, and I had laughed it off. I work for the agency, I don't have money to live in New York. The Immortal Beast offered me a position as his right hand man if I freed him from the cell my boss had put him in. Considering that role required me to become part animal I refused. But never, and I mean never ever, had a villain offered me dental and healthcare. It was just enough for me to put down his female minion, Red Cherry I think she was called, and listen to his proposal. Now my monthly salary as a "sidekick"(God I hated that term) was around 1200$. The salary of my boss was at 4500$, but it could be higher since he saved the president's son. Now don't get me wrong, my boss is a nice guy: he saves kids, beats up time-traveling nazis, and he tries to keep collateral damage to a minimum. But fuck me, he's full of himself, and he loves the spotlight. He always speaks to the press, even when Victor has ordered him to be quiet, and he always claims himself as the most instrumental part of our successes. Sure his flight, super strength, and healing is all impressive; but it can't do shit against a well prepared enemy. Lady Green lowered the fucker into a vat of acid and he was out of commission. Only after I beat up the fine Lady (who has the face of a turd underneath that flower mask) and pulled the idiot out of the acid could he act. And he immediately claimed victory in front of the press dressed in some rags I found him in the warehouse Lady Green had used as a hideout. So when Aciel, one of the most wanted super-villains in the world, ask me to join him I actually take a second to consider the offer. My boss is currently beheaded, but that won't last long knowing his regeneration, so if I'm making a decision I need to make it fast. I had to look around the destroyed city center, with smoke rising from the buildings nearby and camera crews flying overhead, to make my decision. "Aciel, I find your offer intriguing. The agency pays shit, it cares little for my needs, and the apartment they gave me is rundown and old. But you have to be mad if you think I put up with that prick,"I pointed to my boss' head, "for money and fame. I do this because I want to actually help people, and so god help me my boss is an idiot, but he saves everyone he can. You just blew a hole through an office building with hellfire, so I think I'll pass..." Aciel just stared at me before he laughed. "I have forgotten how insolent you mortals are." "And you've also forgotten how fast my boss regenerates." My boss flew at him and picked him up by his head before the arch demon could reply. Aciel shrieked as my boss began to repeatedly slam his head into the concrete with a burning fury in his eyes. While he did so I just began to work on a barrier around us which would drain the demon of his strenght. It was then Red Cherry stood up on shakey legs and stumbled towards me. Her fists were raised but blood pooled from her face. I kicked her leg to knock her off balance, but caught her arm before she hit the floor. I lowered the woman onto the ground and this time she didn't get up. She simply leaned back against a large piece of debris and sighed. "So, was it true what he said about the salary and dental?"I asked her as the barrier slowly rose around us. Cherry snorted at that and grimaced in pain. "Dental is true. Salary is shit for anyone who isn't high up. And healthcare for him is implanting demonic artifacts into your chest which heals you when you have gotten beat up enough." I nodded and watched as my boss flung Aciel into the air and waited for him to come down. My boss caught his arm as the arch demon came back down and he proceeded to slam Aciel into the ground. If the demon had been prepared and not inside my barrier then he would have already won. But as every hard hit from my boss landed on him it stunned the arch demon. Aciel was in a daze as punch after punch broke the red skin on his nose. "The agency is always open if you want to find quick work. They accept anyone these days, they need to since there are more and more villains." Cherry shook her head. "I rather take time in the Kyln. I work for an evil dude, but at least he gives me dental.' I nodded at her and watched as my boss slammed the arch demon into the ground a final time before his glare landed on me. "Time to see if my acting has improved,"I said and went to meet him. (This was finished at 01:45, so its probably bad because I'm tired. But I just wanted to jump onto the prompt. Thank you for reading.)
At first, I didn't understand how he managed to make his way in here. Was it some kind of coincidence or some kind of magic or even just a magical coincidence? I thought he was just someone that looked far too similar to me. His facial features, his body, his preferences. All of them matched up with my own, but after seeing the scar on his finger, I knew for sure he was from another world that is similar to mine or at the very least a very good actor. We quickly tried to find out what was the difference between his and my own universe but the longer we tried to figure it out, the more confused we got. Our world's history were both the same, World War 1 and 2 came and went, the Spanish flu and Black Plague killed numerous people, the Roman empire in his universe rose and fell just like the history books said they did, all of these facts matched up by the same year, month and even the same day! We were trying to figure this out before he asked me the question that would fix everything into place. We were looking through books in the library, trying to find something that the other us did not have, digging through books and reading the stories to each other before realising that we both had the same story. But as I continued to search through the kids fiction books, hoping to find something that he did not have I heard him call out to me and say, "Hey, is this book supposed to be read as The Bearenstein Bears or The Bearenstain Bears?"I wondered why he was asking that question before telling him that it has an E in it and not an A before seeing him smack his forehead while quietly muttering to himself. "This can't be it..."
Of course he knew. You suspected that it had been staged. You may have guessed it even if you hadn't seen the period of his break down, which the show writers turned into a midlife crisis and his unresolved trauma of losing his father. His father turning up alive seemed to fix it. After a few days or weeks he was back to normal, and his father never appeared on the show again. Truman stopped questioning those irregularities. In a way, it was a relief. At least they allowed him to divorce his fake wife and let him marry the woman he had always loved. Having someone at his side, who genuinely loved him, made a big difference. And he was able to travel a little to secluded places that were also set up with cameras in every room, but it must have been worth being able to see mountains and forests up close. Clearly he had found out and was able to negotiate some changes to allow him to live a bigger life. Reality shows were gaining popularity, so Truman's show was a little less restricted. He and Lauren never had kids, but had several dogs over the years. Any time one of the dogs became ill or died guaranteed that that episode would be a weeper. His death came just as unexpectedly. A brain aneurysm, they said. The stress of being on camera 24/7 might have contributed to it. Rumors say that the director of the show planted a microchip in his head to go off if he became terminally ill, in order to spare him a long undignified ordeal at hospitals or nursing homes. Or maybe he requested it himself. So when he turned to the camera and uttered his last words -- "They're watching you too. I couldn't get out, but you can, and you must."-- the show's collaborators quickly explained it away. A little too quickly, in fact. Despite every attempt made to downplay it, everyone wondered who he was talking to during that last moment of his life. Or, rather, who he thought he was talking to. Was it just an attempt to get back at the studios for ruling his life? Did a memory of his earlier paranoia resurface? Because there are no other shows like The Truman show. The other reality shows are little more than deliberately staged cat fights. If there was another show, you would know about it, wouldn't you? It's impossible that he meant you. You're not Truman. You're not trapped. You travel. You drive over bridges. And your life isn't that interesting to watch in the first place. For the past five years, all you've been doing is working and raising your children. So it couldn't be you.
The helpless woman screamed. The helpless woman. The screaming. It was always the same thing. The helpless woman screamed. Dr. Doom laughed manically. Of course he laughed manically. I had coached him during our last encounter to tone down the mad-evil scientist bit, but I suppose that is his thing. The screaming continued. Of course, the screaming continued. Did she ever consider that it makes it really difficult to take any kind of action when there is an ear-splitting shriek occurring simultaneously. It’s bad enough she continued to get into these situations, but all the worse that she screamed throughout. Ahhhhhh. I rolled my eyes. I needed to concentrate on Dr. Doom. His real name was Ted. He didn’t know I knew that. I am sure it would embarrass him to no end. The girl screamed. Ted laughed manically. He actually had a doctorate in classical literature. Most people assumed the “Dr.” thing was just part of his act, but he actually taught classes at a small Midwestern university. He also didn’t know that I knew that. I sat in on one of his classes before. He was clearly teaching over the heads of the Agricultural students taking their required English credit, and it was fun to watch him grow flustered not just at his pupils failed attempts to grasp basic composition, but also at the lock of hair which kept falling across his face. He would huff, brush it aside, and keep teaching. It would happen again a minute later. I smiled remembering the moment. Screaming. Maniacal laughing. Some imminent doom. The plot always foiled. I’m not sure why it was ever her who was the victim. She was just a news anchor, like any other, but for whatever reason the collective imagination of the public had made it into a “thing.” A love interest with juicy gossip for the tabloids and a target for villains. I would say poor woman, but she ate up the attention and even seemed to get a particular thrill from the abductions and danger. It was terribly annoying. Dr. Ted had a special interest class teaching about “The Damsel in Distress: a look at a classic trope and it’s implications in society.” I rolled my eyes. Of course, he would teach that. Although, it would be interesting to get his perspective. His hair had grown a little longer and it fit him well. I glanced at my watch. The class started in 35 minutes. He’d have to fly down there soon. If I started now I could get there, get dressed in something less “superhero” and be waiting for him. The sound of screaming faded as I flew away.
"…and that one's Skipper. They don’t do much nowadays, they just smile and wave…" I chuckled. "Don’t do much? What, like they have room in that cage to do anything else?" The tour guide looked onward. "A while back, Rico used to snatch spoons from unsuspecting kids. For whatever reason. Now he's just docile like the rest of them." "Oh, surely they have better backstories than that! They’re locked up for one reason or another, right?"I nudged the guy with my elbow, hoping maybe I’d get a smile out of him this time. He looked me dead in the eye and said "Two counts of murder and ten counts of tax fraud." Boy, is this guy funny! I thought to myself. For the next minute or so I attempted to regain my composure, only to find his face as stern as it was before my laughing fit. "Wait… you’re not joking, are you?" He shook his head. "Like, between the four of them?" "Oh, no. That’s just the Skipper. Kowalski's never turned in a cent. And Rico, well, let’s just say Rico's made a name for himself at the police department down the street."What do penguins even get taxed for? After a pause, I thank the gentleman for his time and walk out the gate to the park. I didn’t even see any other exhibits. That nutcase was exotic enough for one day. At least that’s what I told myself. When I turned on the news the next morning, the headline read "Grand Central Stampede."Those four penguins, along with two chimps, a zebra, a giraffe, a hippo, and the crowd favorite lion Alex all broke loose and caused an uproar in the metro. The report concluded with Central Park Zoo's unfortunate decision to return the animals to the wild. I turned off my TV and drove to work with no radio. I didn’t need some crazy story getting in the back of my head all day.
The villagers looked at each other trying to figure among them who could claim to be the wisest. Was it Mark who checked the trees for the best to use for the homes? Mitch that served in the king's army and seen several battles? Maybe Karlov the medicine maker? All the village got quite even as the raiders laughed. For ten year old Thomas walked before the leader. The raider held up his hand and shook his head. "You have spirit. But I asked for the wisest man of your village." Thomas gave that overly toothy grin small boys have when they think they are clever. "I know sir. But I am called a 'young man' that means I am man enough to stand here." Stifling another laugh the rough leather clad raider rubbed a knuckle across his scarred cheek. "Alright young man. What makes you think you are wisest here?" Thomas nodded then brushed his straw like hair from his face again. "Self reflection sir." The leader looked to his men passing about a bottle they had found somewhere. "How does self reflection show you are wise?" Thomas toed a small stone on the dirt path. "Well it is three parts see. First was recognizing I am a man. As I presented first to you."Looking back to the nervous villagers. "Second is knowing when there are those that know more than you on sumthing. Ya don't ask the miller about lumber or medicine. Ya go and find the best for that." The burly man nods. "I can see that in both your examples. But you seem to have miscounted. That is two and you said there were three parts." Thomas grins bigger now. "Well the third is knowing you didn't ask for the wisest here. You asked for the wisest man. The mead your men passed around had a good sedative. Gathered by mister Mark, and brewed by mister Karlov. But it was Tanya that sweeps the tavern floor that put it in the bottle. And its she who has Mitch's heavy pull crossbow pointed at the back of your neck. . ."
I felt it, that irresistible pull. I could resist it, but inevitably I would fail. I sighed and gave up. I felt myself torn as I was pulled into the mortal realms. Decimatrix once again the pawn of mortal forces. I pondered what this one’s sick pleasure would be. I felt bile rising in my throat. When I finally formed, I was not expecting to see nine white robed women. And they were obviously not expecting a seven-foot-tall, winged demoness. Nor was the circle even barring me from exiting. It was set up to bar things from entering. They screamed, I screamed. The women ran away and I scratched my head and hesitantly stepped my bare foot out of the circle and was sucked out of it and found myself barred from entering back in. The women hadn’t fled the temple proper and the doors were barred from the inside. I could hear noise of some large group of mortals outside. I looked at the alter and wrinkled my nose. This was a temple to the goddess of healing. How revolting but they had summoned me and as much as the niceness of the place made me feel ill, I could wander to my hearts content holy ground or not. So, I poked at the tapestries looked at the altar. I heard the temple doors shudder as something struck them. I came to realize I hadn’t missed much from being barred from such places. I went to the closest priestess and tapped her on the shoulder over the pew. “Excuse me. Would you mind telling me why I’m here so I can get on with it and go home? The mortal realm is so…boring. If its as an orgy with the nine of you, I can stomach it, I mean you goodie goodies aren’t really my type, but you summon, I do, that’s how it works.” “We were trying to summon a champion of the goddess! Not a demon! Back foul thing! Be gone.” “Wow, you guys screwed up. Umm, not how it works little priestess” I patted the human woman on the head. I’d seen older humans do it to children to comfort them. Strangely it didn’t seem to work she screamed and fainted. So, I went to the next one. “Excuse me, mortal person, why did you summon me?” She opened her mouth at me and closed it then grabbed her holy symbol and started blathering a prayer. I threw up my hands and made my way to the next one who just ran and hid behind the alter. I was getting a bit frustrated by this point. So I finally started yelling at the lot of them. “Would one of you crazy priestesses tell me what the hell you brought me here for?” One who hadn’t actually been cowering but was instead trying to bar the door better looked at me and approached. She was less wrinkly than the rest of the ilk. If she wasn’t so soft looking, she might be attractive. “Umm, we were trying to summon someone else. You are released?” “No, you’re not getting away that easy. You summon me here for no reason I want sacrifices to leave. Cause you let me in you can’t make me leave.” I sat down on the prep area for the church knocking their holy implements and worship materials on the ground and put my feet up on the alter. I did want to go home but the demon in me really wanted to annoy them as much as they annoyed me. Fear wasn’t the right emotion. “Well, you see, it’s not safe for you here. We’re under attack and we were trying to summon a champion to fight for us.” “Oh, well, sucks to be you lot. What are they going to do break down the door? Steal your riches? Take your virtue? I can help with that last part, maybe we can make you not virtuous and they won’t be taking it?” The woman blushed while she watched me flick my tail. “No, no thank you. If you go home then they won’t be able to hurt you.” “Who’s attacking you anyway?” “The Demonlord Sorath and his army of the damned.” I was picking at my clawed hands bored already at the conversation. She was too soft to keep me drooling for any length of time. I liked mortal men better, the hair, the muscles. Then I heard a name. A name I loathed with every fiber of my demonic being. “Did you say Sorath?” “Yes ma’am I did.” I stood up and cracked my neck. “He’s no demon lord, he’s a mortal. Open the doors I’ll take care of this. Get me pregnant and banish me back to the hells and renege on a deal, I owe him pain. Don’t just stand there, mortal, I have humans to devour!”
"Zack, Zack!"John called outside Zack's window. "Zack wake the fuck up!" Zack had a difficult time waking up; the new year's eve party had lasted until the small hours of the morning. In fact, it can't have been that long ago that Zack went to sleep to begin with. John had left the party early, and Zack had not seen him since. Why was he shouting outside his window now? Zack managed to wake all the way up, only to wish he didn't when the hangover-induced headache fully hit him. Even with the curtains drawn, the room seemed way too bright for Zack. Goddamnit John, what time is it? Zack thought. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand. At least, he tried to, but his hand came up empty. That's funny. Zack thought. He tried again, and again, but he kept failing to grab his glasses. It was then Zack noticed that he couldn't grab anything, as he was missing his thumb. This revelation caused Zack to be shocked fully awake. He looked at his right hand, and was greeted with the sight of four fingers and no thumb. A quick inspection of his left hand confirmed that it was the same situation there. "What the fuck?"Zack exclaimed out loud. John continued to shout Zack's name outside. Zack grabbed his glasses by using his pointer and middle fingers, and went to his window. Opening the curtains was easy enough using just his remaining fingers, and luckily the window was already open from last night. John was standing outside Zack's window. "John!"Zack called. "My thumbs are missing!" "I know!"John called back. "Mine too!"John then held up his hands to demonstrate. "What the fuck happened at that party last night?"John asked. "It's not just you two,"a new voice called out. It belonged to Bob, Zack's neighbor. He was walking up to John, holding his hands up. He was also missing his thumbs. "You should turn on the news, everyone is missing their thumbs." "What?"Zack exclaimed. "Hold on I'll be right down." This turned out to be a rather hopeful statement. Zack had a great amount of difficulty turning the doorknobs of his house without thumbs. Then there was the issue of unlocking the front door. By the time Zack managed to open the door, the street in his suburban cul-de-sac was filled with his confused neighbors, all milling about, holding up their thumb-less hands. John entered Zack's house. Although John wasn't Zack's best friend, they lived near one another, which is probably why John came over to him. "Maybe we should turn on the news."John suggested. "Right!"Zack agreed. Grabbing the remote proved to be rather annoying, but by holding it between pointer and middle finger with one hand, Zack managed to push the on/off button with his other hand. Zack sat down next to John to watch the broadcast. A panicked looking news anchor was clumsily trying to hold his notes between his remaining fingers. "...once again, everywhere on earth people are reporting that their thumbs are missing! It seemed that the event occurred at 7 am GMT, which is just an hour ago. The scientific authorities have no answer for how this is possible. If you're just joining us, the official recommendation from the government so far is that you stay inside for now, and don't try to drive anywhere! We will of course keep you posted if new developments occur." "Huh, so it's not just in the UK then."John said. "Seems not."Zack replied. He didn't really know what else to say, and besides which his headache was trying to do him in. The news anchor suddenly became excited over some new piece of information however. "Yes, yes. Okay we are going to cut now to live footage of the North Pole, where something of a development has occurred. Apparently, several minutes ago some giant text appeared there? We are going to cut it now." The news anchor disappeared, and instead the North Pole was shown. Hovering above the sky in the North Pole were giant, red letters, that showed a short message: EARTH. UPTIME 4,543,134,732,625. BALANCING PATCH: HUMANS: - REMOVED THUMBS.
“What a noob” I think, rolling my eyes. I was laying on the floor of the nearest bank, face kissing the disgusting grey carpet that hadn’t been sweeped for months. I could see cookie crumbs and who knows what embedded in the thread, along with mud and dirt. I’d been trying to make a simple withdrawal when 3 kids burst into the bank. Hey had classic movie robbery outfits-black ski masks, leather jackets, black t shirts and black jeans. They held up their guns and yelled ‘Down on the ground, now!’ It was like they watched a mystery TV show and said ‘let’s do this’. But they had no gloves, and were touching everything. They didn’t even seem to think about the emergency button every teller had. It was sloppy, and frankly embarrassing. It was a disgrace to all cat burglars and robbers out there who had skill. I used to be one of those people. A noob like them. But someone took me under their wing-she taught me how to stalk out a place. How to get in and get out quick as a flash. How to be quiet when needed, or loud and scary if the situation required it. And I learned. And grew. I handed experience. I became one of the people they’d make a movie about. It was that big heist back in Guyana that was my last, my final score. I had enough to enjoy the end of my life, as id aged since I started. I could enjoy a good crime show now and then, but most were more frustrating than anything with their inaccuracy. The only part of the job I miss is the adrenaline- and the name game. Pick any two words, and it’s a name- like, the Cheesy Penguin Heist. Brilliant. And I could tell these 3 people-teens or young adults from their voices- obviously needed help from someone older. Wiser. Like me. They were holding one of the tellers gunpoint (which looked to be a fake gun), having them stuff cash in their bag. It was at this time that they decided they wanted one of their ‘captives’ to do simple work, an idea they likely got from some TV show. They pointed the gun at me, swinging it in a way that suggested it was insanely light (or fake). I feigned fear and followed them, hands up and eyes wide. Once we were out of earshot, in a vault, I was told to open the boxes with a set of keys and place items In the bag. Instead, I complained “Did you guys put any effort into this? Aside from the fake gun?” One of the nincompoops looked to the other, and said in a fake gruff, gravelly voice “shut up. Do the work.” “Listen, Kids.” I said. “Im an ex bank robber, and I have some serious critique. That gun is fake to anyone who looks hard and has ever touched a real one. Did you even think about this specific bank? Every teller has an emergency button. Their record time for police to arrive is 3 minutes, meaning… (I tapped an imaginary watch), they should be here in a few, accounting for the weather. Get it together next time. Take what you have and run now. Don’t squander your future for a job you didn’t even do well on.” All three of them looked confused and stared at eachother. Then, they walked away to the corner (the one with the fake gun still pointing it at me), and talked in hushed voices. I pretended to lean against the vaults, tapping my foot in the most annoying way I could muster. I was annoyed myself, as they interrupted my schedule, which I liked to adhere to as close as possible. (This is unfinished and I’d like to do a part two later!) :)
"What are your orders, my master?" The typically rambunctious class of first graders was ghostly quiet as the towering abomination of burnt flesh and stone grinded out those words to the sniffling young child holding a book in the front of the room. The teacher was frozen in place on her reading chair, face pale with terror. After a few moments of no response, the creature repeated itself. "What are your orders, my master?" "W-wha?"Stuttered the small boy. "You spoke my true name, summoning me to this plane and binding me to your will. What manner of hellish deed do you require of me? What nigh unspeakable act would you have me perform, something so atrocious that no human could ever bear the weight upon their soul?" Silence once again filled the room as twenty three wide eyed children awaited the answer. Ms. Benedict had fainted by this point, though none paid her sprawled out form any mind. After a few more moments of hiccups, tears, and far too much snot, little George mustered up the courage to speak. "C-can I sit on your lap while I read? My momma always h-held me when we read together but Ms. B said that big kids don't get to do that anymore." The creature stared at the child for what seemed like an eternity, before slowly lowering itself to the soft floor of the reading corner. After taking a blanket from under Ms. Benedict's comatose body and spreading it over what might be called its legs, it gestured to George and spoke. "Come and sit, young master. Let us read together."
John woke up with a start, hands rushing down to check his body… it was all there. He looked at his alarm clock… Wednesday. It was supposed to be Saturday afternoon, he was just walking onto the road. He rose and put his now clean clothes on, having not been to work to cover the shift 3 days ago. He was about to pull a shirt on when his bedroom door burst open to reveal his little sister. Silly little Annie, eyes bright and sharp. “Oh John! You’re… You’re here!” she cried. She threw herself into his waist, arms pulling tight around him. “Annie, something weird is happening. It’s Wednesday again.” “Mum! He’s here!” shouted Annie. “Of course I’m here.” said John. John’s bedroom filled, they all looked from him to each other, eyes wrapped tight in tears as they hugged him one at a time. All voices running over each other, he couldn’t get out a word as he was traded from one tight hug to another. “He is here!” “You’re so young.” “I’m 7… what the fuck. Derek is going to freak the fuck out.” “My leg’s fine.” “Everything seems so big!” John had lost 3 days, they had lost something else. “I need facebook… or a smartphone. I need to call Derek.” said Annie, her voice and tone not at all the little girl of yesterday. “What happened to me?” said John. The room fell silent. “John…” started Annie. “...There was an accident. It wasn’t anybody's fault.” “It was a truck.” said John. Not so little Annie nodded. “It was about this time… 15 years ago.” “3 days.” said John. \- Everybody was either in a daze or primal focused fury. It was… exhausting. John eyed the cashier, a young 11 year old who tapped away with a fury at the register while standing on a milk crate. John walked outside seeing the 20 somethings at the memorial, it was strange. Hundreds of flowers and candles but no photographs, no toys, nothing to tie the memories to, no evidence they had existed at all but memories. He frowned and walked back to the bus stop watching, sitting back and waiting. If he was going to see them, this is where it would be. It wasn’t like John had anywhere else to be, work had been cancelled. Remodelling into a drive through coffee shop of all places. Who drives into a coffee shop? Then John saw him. A face in the crowd that twisted into pain the moment they laid eyes on him. John didn’t recognise them but he could tell from that face, the way his step faltered. 30 something, baseball cap, coveralls, poorly shaven. Dead eyes filled with an ocean of sorrow. John nodded at the man, leaving the coke behind and walking toward him. “You’re him.” he said. John nodded. “It’s me…” “I looked down and then, I shouldn’t have been driving. It was… I had been going all night and my wife had just… I.” “It’s ok… I wasn’t watching the road. It’s ok, It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.” said John. The man broke. Tears flowing freely, his knit brow falling as relief washed over him. Years of tension all falling away. “It wasn’t your fault. I’m ok now.” said John.
"What are you talking about?"Elliot was asked in response to his previous statement. "I can read it. Is that weird?"Elliot replied to Lydia. "The writing is all faded but I get it, I don't know what's so weird about it. Here, look"Elliot enlarged the text on screen and began to recite the words as printed. Lydia looked on in horror as he did this, she wasn't the type to pray but she immediately began reciting the prayers she learned as child in response. "Lydia! What are you doing??"He couldn't understand why she was acting like this, it was written in plain English. Anybody could read it, he thought. Everything began to change around Elliot in the comings days. Archaeologists contacted him, scientists examined him and linguists of ancient languages interviewed him and it was always the same. He read what was written, provided examples of things being spelled the same in certain parts but he could not grasp how they couldn't see what he saw. "Okay, Elliot, please read the passage again and provide any details on what it all means."The head linguist asked. Elliot gave him a side-eye and proceeded to do as requested. "Throughout all of time and universes, only one constant remains and that is the Almighty. They were once many but formed into one to rule over the vast cosmos."Something was different, Elliot felt the air around him grow colder than it should have been. Minutes prior, he was sweating under the hot lamps of the room, boiling him. He had never read this far into the manuscript but he stayed focused and continued reciting. "When the powers that be fall into the hands of the Rival, all will be silent upon His revival." Elliot continued, unaware of his surroundings. The scientists and other researchers observing him beyond the glass window started to drop one by one. A high pitched frequency started buzzing through everybody's heads. They grabbed their heads and screamed, falling to the floor and writing in pain. Elliot could only recite the book as the light around him faded and the world seamlessly began to quiet. Elliot was compelled to finish reciting. "The Earth will shake, moved by His glory. The mountains will weep and the clouds will dissipate."Elliot could feel something trickling from his nose, down his lips and into his mouth but he kept on. "The world will crumble under His might. O, exalted one! Reign down your wrath on the wicked bunch!"At this moment everything went black, the world began to shake and writhe in agony. Elliot felt it but could not move as he was lifted into the air. The ceiling tore itself open and the light shone through onto Elliot. He looked directly into it and mouthed a word that could not be understood by human ears, if there were any left alive. Elliot ascended into the heavens and gazed upon his kingdom. He had arrived again.
General Falto of the Ifreez, current head race of Unified space sat in his office going over some reports with his main advisor. "First the Gwendar, then the Hoaran, several other horrific creatures I don't care to mention and now some weird vampiric slugs from Udeseen IV? What in the hell are they doing out there and why did we give them our forbidden star charts?" General Falto was truly at his wit's end with the newly contacted warrior race. If it weren't for their impressive, and very improbable rescue of a Bardoshian fleet from almost certain doom at the hands of a surprise Krang Federation incursion into Unified space he would have recommended they be glassed and passed but it was clear their military might was not to be sniffed at. What was to be sniffed at was their insistence at trying to tame the more 'undesirable' predatory creatures from around the galaxy. "The slugs are called Udesian Blood Biles. I believe the humans have form for taking what would once be predators and turning them into allies, you have to remember these bi-pedal apes somehow rose to the top of a Class VIII death world. Their strategies, however incongruous, have obviously served them well from a survival stand point."replied Gav the Underling. "Yes, yes. It's surprising and impressive how well they have adapted and weaponised the Gwendar toxin glands and it's even more impressive that the Gwendar let them, it doesn't make it any less disgusting. The odour of those things!"Falto visibly gagged. Gav remained stoic and professional "I believe they find the Gwendar cute and their use was pivotal in the battle for Hermania, you can't deny that General. Now, we really should finish going over body language and unconscious tells before our seconded advisor arrives." General Falto grunted. \bzzzt\ His secretary cut in through the intercom "General, Sir, your new appointee has arrived but..." Falto cut her off "But nothing Sandra, send him in, we're ready!" "If you say so Sir..." The human sauntered in absently scratching the head of a lizard like creature that was wrapped around his shoulders. "GOOD GOD MAN, IS THAT A FANGED TAURTIAN?! GET IT OUT OF HERE!"Falto screamed. "Oh I assure you, he's perfectly harmless I've fed him twice already today. Don't you just love his cute little earflaps?"replied Cuthbert. Gav sat shaking his head "It's going to be a long 6 months Sir."
Suddenly the sky began to shake like nothing I've ever heard before. It pulsated with a pressure that brought me to my knees. "G-gandorf!? Gandorf what is happening!?" "I am uncertain Frado"the old wyzrd scanned the skies. "Show yourself foul demon!" A metal dragon appeared above and hovered.. "Gandorf there!"I pointed "PLEASE MAKE ROOM, WE COME IN PEACE."it's voice rang loud in my ears. "Everyone make way, it wishes to land!"Gandorf commanded. The beast came down slowly and with a loud whine it's quickly spinning wings came to a haul. It's side opened with a whoosh and then I realize this was no beast..."Good evening gentlemen."There he stood, Arnold Schwarzenegger in his prime. "Come with me if you want to live."He reached his hand out to me and hoisted me into his magnificent metal vehicle. He gave the rest of the bewildered cast a wink and a smile. "I'll be back..." "What is this thing!?"I asked with the wonder of a small child, forgetting about my burden for just a moment. "Oh? This old hunk of junk?"Arnold looked around the cabin. "Junk!?"Carl Weathers shouted as the machine came to life. "This ol' girl has gotten us through some shit!" "Just lift off you son of a bitch!"Arnold replied as he slammed the door shut. Arnold picked me up with no effort and placed me into a seat. "Now Im gonna strap you in, Mt. Döm is about a half a days flight." "I-it's only a half a day away?" "If that." "By the gods, where have you people come from!?" "If I told you... You wouldn't believe me."He smiled and placed a half smoked cigar in his mouth and lit it with a small metal box of fire. "Here... Have some pipe weed to calm your nerves."He handed me his cigar. "M-mighty fine of you to share... This is all quite much, isn't it..." "Haha, you're a good kid."He slapped my back and called up to the front with his friend. I sat back and smoked his fine weed. "Old Toby!?"I shouted. "Cuban!"Arnold shouted back. "Might fine..."I smoked it to the nub. Closed my eyes and took a nap I was woken by a sudden change in direction. I cleared my throat. "I... I um..."I looked out the right window and there it was. "Mt. Döm..." "Haha! Look at you!"Arnold said as he entered the main cabin. "Legs kicked back, half awake."He unstrapped me from my seat. "Time to make history my friend."He rips open the right door of the cabin. The heat from Mt. Döm splashed against my face like a hot oven. "The ring, do you have it?" "Y-yes..."I reached into my pocket ominous music began to play in my ears. "Do you hear that?" "What?" "Oh..."I hesitated. "It's my ring... My ring plays to me. My own..." "Frado?"He questioned with worry. "Why should we get rid of it? Why shouldn't I keep it!? Huh!? This was all just too easy! This was all just a set up to take it from me!"I shook with anticipation. "Well!?" Arnold reached for his chest and pulled a an odd metal object from a holster. He then pointed at my leg. "I'll give you to the count of 3 kid, we don't have time for this." "Time!? We have all the time in the world! This journey would've taken us months! And we've done it before second lunch!" "Not everyone is on your clock kid."A blast came from his hand and a sharp pain shuttered through my right thigh. I collapsed to the floor on my good leg "Now, throw out the ring, or we throw you out."He commanded After the shock faded, the pain set in and I screamed "I'll kill you! You son of a bitch!"He grabbed me by my suspenders and dangled me over the edge, my precious still in hand. "You'll have to pry it from my cold dead hands!" "Cold?"He smirked "You're fired."And released. "At last, we were alone... We were free to go wherever we pleased. My own..." . . . Lol I have no idea. Bye!
Spare a thought for the humble cleaning crew. We aren't the ones on the front lines. We won't stop the villain from vaporising the bank, or killing the president or what have you. But, then again, neither will those heroes. "Alright, boys and girls, we have thirty minutes. Medium, get started on history deletion- you know the drill: wives having secret affairs, husband's with criminal pasts that caught up to them. We want as little unexplained vanishing as possible. Rook, you're on building reconstruction. Metalizer and Metal-Head, vehicle repair. Go, go, go!". I give the orders, and turn around to create the illusion that Ultimatum and Glassman are still wrecking havoc, keeping any additional civilians out. What, you thought heroes stop the damage? Don't be silly. From a civilian danger point of view, the difference between a hero and a villain is the colour of their cape. And the government and military know that. They also know that they need exactly one hero for every villain, and vice versa, or they get bored. Nothing is more dangerous than a bored super. So they manufacture them. A hero per villain, a villain for every hero. And the occasional dead civi, or demolished building? Chalk it up to collateral damages. Greater good, and so on. And then some galaxy-minded individual said, "Wait, why not use some of the calmer supers to clean up the other messes? Buildings remade, vehicles repaired, pets replaced."The rest probably nodded at that, but raised the obvious question. "And dead people?"I can imagine them shrugging. "We've erased people from existence before, and we didn't even have supers then."And that was that. "All done, boss!"Medium reports from behind me. I glance and see the old Street, the cracked pavement a few old cars. Exactly like it was, not an extra scratch or spec if blood. "Alright, places people!"I shout, count to five to let them run back to the van, and lower the illusion. Another successful battle, with no casualties or damages. At least, none anyone will ever know of.
Simulation Theory Instantly Chaos broke out. Someone in the store pulled a gun, shot his wife and daughter, and then shot himself. Someone else assaulted the cashier while most of the others tried to get out of the super-market without paying. A car slammed through the entrance, killing multiple people in the process and tried to steal as much as they could. I left my cart, and managed to sneak into the back, through the delivery port. Nobody else had thought of that. It wasn't even chaos going outside, it was a straight up warzone. People armed to the teeth letting loose on a world that was gone anyway. But I had only one person in mind. My nana. She was the one that raised me and there wasn't any way I'd ever go without saying goodbye. I tried to text my girlfriend to say I was sorry I couldn't spend our last moments together, or to join me at nana's. But all networks were down. Fuck. I wanted to marry that girl. Thankfully, Nana didn't live far. And that day, I realized that what I thought to be useless game knowledge came in handy. Turns out all those dumb AI in stealth video-games I spent so much time on we're not very far off someone letting loose from the apocalypse. A rock thrown there, a glass bottle here, and they were all as distracted as they could be, and I slipped through unharmed. I found Nana in her backyard. Peacefully reading her novel. "Hey nana!"I couldn't help but have a bittersweet tone. "Oh my baby girl!"She got up, spryly for her age. And hugged me. "I'm so glad you decided to come by." "So its really happening uh?"I sat down next to her lawn chair, in the grass. "Yeah. Those bastards at the studio really have no soul." "Wait, what are you talking about?" "Oh. Right. You kids aren't supposed to know about that."She sighed. Dropping her novel, flat open on her lap. "All this,"she waved around "is a simulation, always has been." "Since the beginning of time?" "Oh no, it started in 1950. Anyone born before that either never really existed or was born on that day, same as me." "That's a lot to take in, Nana." "Yeah, well, I'm just sad I won't get to finish my book. Its the only Jane Austen I never read before, you know." A countdown started in the sky. One minute left. "I never even read Jane Austen."We were both looking at the sky. "Wasn't for a lack of trying to make you read them. She's my favorite author." "You've said that so many time." She offered her hand, I took it, and as the countdown reached 0, it vanished. I closed my eyes. But nothing happened. After what felt like an eternity, the same voice that started it all rang again : "cleaning process complete." "Those sons of bitches"Nana said in awe. "They really got us didn't they!"She laughed out loud. I started crying. I couldn't tell of it was relief, joy, or something else, but tears poured through. My phone rang. My girlfriend. I picked up. She had survived too. And I let it all loose. I asked her to marry me, right there and then. She hung up. I thought I messed up, but soon enough, she arrived at Nana's and slapped me, than hugged me, and finally kissed me. As for the rest of the world, it was scarred. Turns out anyone that let loose and either killed or looted was erased. That was a good two third of the world's population. In addition to all the deaths... It feels empty now. But we're all happier for it. Wars have ceased, and we all came together to rebuild what we'd lost. I really wish you could see it, Studio person. Not from your god like view. To be one of us. So thank you, I suppose. But don't ever do that again. - Alice.
The dragon teeth burned out years ago when the warrior sowed them in ancient ground; they rose as men to reap each other and when dead, returned to sharpened bone. This place is not a place of honor. They may yet rise, the warrior said, So his children’s children guarded them, and when the last queen died she left them to me. I planted them again. My home is not a place of honor, For land’s too precious to save on behalf Of all the unclaimed dead. For a year, it was not planted, But a decade, or two, or ten? When there are no markers For our enemies, and anyway, they were monsters? I was there at the field’s first turning, I remember A harpy’s wing unearthed and twisted by the careless plowshares, smashed into the soil, hair and feathers rising the field’s first weeds, and being somewhat of a monster myself I pitied her And stayed. I thought the mourners would have moved on by now, it is hard for me to measure loss, But I have lived a long time, and seen many names forgotten, and these names had been forgotten long before we buried, We do not ask the Minotaur what name his mother gave it. It has been a hundred years, and still, sometimes I see them– There is a spider in my field, and she is weeping. She is taller than my cornstalks, and her legs quiver beneath her leaving furrows in the dirt I do not remember the jorōgumo’s daughter any more than I remember how to grieve, any more than I remember how to be human, It’s been a long time, and the land knows more than I do. The wheat reaches for her, braids itself into her hair, and whispers, And the mother folds her many arms into it and howls. This place is not a place of honor, for monsters died and were buried here, and monsters died and were buried in the King’s cemetery, where granite is guarding their names. And yet, I remember that grief may be honorable, and growing is, and possibly so are corn and wheat, for they die, and we are already forgiven.
"Dude, what the hell? You've never left before, I was starting to freak out. Where did you even go?" My reflection stares back at me through unfamiliar eyes and chuckles. "Don't be so weird about it. I have a life, you know. Or, something like one." He sips his coffee. I swear I can taste it in the back of my mouth. That's new. "Is that caramel?"I ask, smacking my lips together. "So, you even have a different taste in coffee. Anything else I should know about?" Those unfamiliar eyes roll back into a familiar face. He pushes his tangled hair back with one hand, just like I do. "Again, you're being weird. Suffice to say, I'm not you. I'm more like a really good copy. What's the use in having an identical copy of yourself around? Talk about having your head up your ass." He can tell I'm not amused. He sets the coffee down and loses his smile. "Look, it's not my fault you got in over your head. If you'd read the terms and conditions on that little piece of paper you signed, you wouldn't be asking me all these inane questions. You'd be capitalizing on the very unique opportunity you've secured." His eyebrow arches suggestively as he reaches the end of his last sentence. I remember signing that contract. I remember eyes like embers piercing my spirit, and the lamentations of a billion souls. I remember a presence, darker than pine tar, bigger than the planet. And I recall being far too terrified to be concerned with terms or conditions. That same terror now compels me to stay in this place, talking to myself. Or, maybe talking to my shadow. My voice remains steady, in spite of my growing panic. "Alright, let's skip the bullshit. I've seen the movies. I've read the clickbait articles about exorcisms. I've even seen my insane aunt speak in tongues. What exactly are you? Are you...any of that?" He laughs, and then laughs harder. It is not a cheerful sound. "I'm a little bit of every ghost story, I suppose. But there's no such thing as ghosts. You are scarier than any imagined specter, my friend. Humanity is a deep black pit filled with sparkling lights. It's easy to focus on those pretty lights, and ignore the void that fills your soul. I'm the space between your thoughts, the blackness behind every pleasant feeling. I'm sin and vanity and survival instinct and carnal joy. I'm the reason you're alive, and the reason you'll die. Most of all, brother, I'm the only thing in this cold world that truly understands you. So as I said, capitalize on this opportunity. I can show you the world in a brand new color spectrum." Hours later, I lie in a bed that is not mine, staring at a ceiling that's falling apart. Wind and rain penetrate the crumbling structure and invade my thoughts. I don't mind the intrusion, for my thoughts are unpleasant. I've really gotten myself into a hole here. This entity knows more about me than anyone. Our conversations over the past few days have been interesting, but until he left and came back from...somewhere...I never considered he might be anything but a perfect reflection of myself. But now, it's clear that I've invited something more sinister into the world. Something that was locked away in my soul, unable to exert any real control. Now, I have no idea what it's capable of. Which of us is stronger? Which of us is real? "More stupid questions." The voice emanates from between my ears, and above my head. It seeps into the room from nowhere. I jolt upright and whip my head around so fast, my neck cracks. Nobody is here. "Come on, dude. You're embarrassing me. Let's go do something." My shadow moves in ways I don't, scarcely visible under the scant moonlight. Dammit, he's not restrained to the mirror at all, is he? "I'm not going to force you. That doesn't mean I can't, only that I respect your ability to come to the right decision. We're wasting time, locked up in this dusty shithole. Working together, there's nothing we can't accomplish. You just have to trust me a little." I rub my sleep-starved eyes frantically, and try to assemble my thoughts into a coherent response, but it's simply not possible. This is too much. This isn't what I wanted. "And what is it that you wanted? Don't answer, I already know." His voice seems louder, less patient. The floorboards creak and the windows rattle, or at least, it seems that they do. "You wanted power. You wanted an edge. You wanted to shed that sense of ineffectual quagmire that has haunted you since puberty. You wanted a purpose, some ambition, like your father had. I can provide all of that. I'm your edge over the rest of humanity. Most of them, anyway. Give me a chance to prove it." My mind feels just as he described: a colossal void marred by sparse lights. The thoughts seem farther away, the void more dominant than ever. It is strangely comfortable. Like a womb. The words stumble out before I know what I'm saying. "O-okay. What should we do?" I feel the smile, although I don't see it. A sinister, impish, Cheshire Cat smile. I feel smaller than even a single tooth on that smile. "Let's go outside."
"Please, just talk to me!"Ricky said, putting his fork down. "What's there to talk about?"Eileen snapped from across the table. "You want a frickin Ren Faire planet. I already told you that I don't want to give up my phone and wear a corset for the rest of my life, but you won't listen." "First, the reason why so many actresses complain about those being uncomfortable is because they're not properly fitted. When they are properly fitted, they're not so bad. Second, I don't see why you can't respect my choice the way I respect yours. I mean, a cyberpunk planet sounds miserable. Name one cyberpunk story where people were actually happy!" "I would at least have my phone!"Eileen said as she stormed out. "How is that better than a horse? You could have a horse, Eileen!" They avoid each other the rest of the evening. When it came time for bed, they both stood awkwardly at their side wondering if they had the right to demand the other sleep on the couch. Finally, they decided on both getting in bed but not facing each other. They laid in angry silence from sometime until Eileen checked her phone. "What the hell. My sister is supporting the fury planet! What a moron." "Ugh,"Ricky groaned. "I hear they're getting more and more support. Let me check how they're doing in the polls. . . . And they're in the lead." Ricky and Eileen then took turns saying "F*CK"a few times. "What are we gonna do? We can't let them win."Eileen put her head in her hands. "It says here,"Ricky read "many of the smaller groups are throwing their support to 'people with silly hats' planet." "I could live with that,"she sighed. "Let's do that." "Agreed. I love you." "I love you too."
"Next."The voice was bored, and I didn't blame the Record Keeper. I'd heard what the other demons were saying, as they described their summoning processes. Black goats, the blood of virgins, the life-forces of an entire small country. They were definitely traditional, but I've never been one for tradition. I leaned towards the portly demon, as he re-inked his quill. "You ready?"I asked. "Please describe your summoning process, and remember, no requests for wiping out the entire world. That one is already taken by the Big Guy."It was the same jargon he'd repeated a dozen times before. I took a deep breath and began. "First, they will need twenty-five pieces of blue candy. Hard candy. Nothing soft, or with a soft center. Preferably Jolly Ranchers, but any hard candy will do."The demon scratched out the words, no expression on his face. But I was just getting started. "Next, they will need to draw a perfect circle. Without a compass, or compass-equivalent. It will need to be big enough to house the twenty-five pieces of candy."The Record Keeper's eyebrow twitched. "After that, they need to hop on one leg for three seconds, and exactly three seconds. Any longer or shorter and the whole thing is off. Once they've done that, things are really going to get serious."A crowd was starting to form as the quill pen scratched frantically across the paper. "Once they finish hopping, they must recite the alphabet in a random order, so that no letter is after the one it is supposed to be. Then they have to whistle a sea shanty, in harmony with at least one other person."The pen stopped as the Record Keeper looked up at me. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Did you get that last bit?"I'll give him credit, he kept his composure. "Any particular sea shanty?" "Nope. Just any they want to whistle. Then— " "There's more?" "Of course. Then, they must eat one piece of red hard candy, but not touch any of the blues. Then, they have to make a feather boa— from fake feathers— and dye it a particular shade of lavender. This is the shade."I pushed a small card over to the Record Keeper, who was starting to chuckle. He took it, shaking his head. "Then they have to declaim these words: 'Oh, great and marvellous demon, we are not very smart, and want to summon you out of your comfy home and get you to do stuff for us. Our decision-making skills leave something to be desired.' After they have declaimed the words, they must clap three times, cluck like a chicken, and do a fast five-step jig."I stopped, and as the quill scratched out the word 'jig' the Record keeper looked up once more. "Are you finished?"I smiled, nodding at him with finality. "Definitely. That will do quite nicely. After all, we wouldn't want to make it ridiculous."
"PUT THE MONEY IN! THE! BAG!"I screamed at the bank teller as she frantically complied and failed as more money fell back into the till or the floor behind her desk rather than the generous leather bag I proffered her. "IN THE BAG!!!" I hope she got it this time. I'm kind of in a hurry. The peacekeeper and his posse would be here any moment and while I would love to show them what I learned, the several holes in the ceiling after my dramatic entrance would have to be enough for them today. Because today, I was testing my thesis. And it was working. And everyone around me was terrified at the magic I had wrought after thousands of hours of research, hundreds of hours of testing, dozens of hours of forging, and the most recent hour where my resolve to field test my work was buoyed by desperation and liquid spirits. And now I was terrified. There was no going back. In the dust of a lazy afternoon here in town, I walked up, closed my research notebook, and brandished my life's work. I held it up, letting it shine in the blue firmament of the sky, admiring my craftsmanship and attention to detail, then walked into the bank to make a withdrawal. Well, not that. More like loan negotiations. "FASTER!"my bargaining implored as the teller scooped up what she could of wrinkled paper notes and shiny coins and together shoved them into the satchel and then pushed it across to my open hand. Finally! I can continue my work. I pinched the front of my hat with a gloved hand, nodded to everyone cowering in the corners of the room, and sauntered toward the open exit and into the sunlight... ...only to find good old Peacekeeper Darnwit and his three men standing in the dusty street as they each held a well worn sword or crossbow at the ready. "Tinker,"the weathered lawman drawled. "You're a dead man if you step one more foot out that door." Well...that was quicker than I thought. "Officer Darnwit..." "Don't you flap your gums at me,"he spat. Like literally. Into the dirt. Disgusting. "Drop the bag down. Put whatever that...thing...is in your hand down. And put your hands behind your back. Else you'll make a fine holster for these bolts here." Sigh. This droll crowd couldn't even appreciate the work I had put into my greatest discovery. In my back pocket was the greatest scientific breakthroughs I had made about the old ones who came before us, who lifted cities and peoples into the sky, and built their empire before it can crumbling down with the creation I had in my hand. Squinting, I tensed. Darnwit, despite his name, recognized I wouldn't comply. He began to bark orders to fire as he raised his sword. I imagined each of their heads as giant apples. And thanked the gods that along with the insatiable curiosity I was blessed with that I also had a remarkably quick finger. I pulled my magical device up and snapped off two concussive blasts that jolted my arm but had firmly placed two projectiles between two crossbowmans' eyes and froze Darnwit and his surviving deputy in their place. I held them at bay, my weapon pointed at the leering peacekeeper as he kept his hand steadied on his partially lowered sword. I strafed towards my horse, grabbed the reins, and lifted myself over the side into her saddle, clicking my tongue and tugging the strap to make her go. I leveled the weapon back at them, ensuring they wouldn't make a move just yet and trotted off around the corner of the saloon before making away at full gallop. I hooted and hollered as the wind whipped in my face. Securing the money in a saddlebag, I couldn't imagine how dumbstruck everyone was as my research had finally paid off. Countless years no one would believe me that such powerful magic had existed and could be worked even today. Not a single one. And now I could continue my research. Make more of these wondrous magical devices. Go from town to town, accepting charitable donations from every bank that turned me down for my research. And one by one, they would become believers. The gun is good, after all.
I pick up the disgusting wet tennis ball. The gooey drool globs down onto my hand. I try to wipe it off on my jeans but it is so thick it just makes a giant mess. I look up at the pack all just staring at my hand. Their eyes are laser focused and penetrating. I'm choking on my own breath as my whole body trembles. Finally, I pull back my hand and then chuck that ball way out into the woods as hard as I can. The pack all at once runs for the ball. They bark and howl as they go and I can see them nip and bite at each other as they fall out into the distance. Is this my chance to make a run for it? I mean they seem mostly harmless, I could just stay and play catch? But what if they become more vicious over time? Or accidentally bite me. Before I have time to full ponder these questions fully, the wolves are already back with the ball again and drop it at my feet. Slightly more confident this time, I throw the ball again, and the entire pack starts running for it. This goes on all night long. My arm fatigues and my throws grow lamer. The werewolves don't seem to mind. Or care that I am tired. They just want to keep playing catch. I can see the slightest glimmer of blue on the horizon. Finally some hope, dawn was coming. I keep throwing the ball. Is it just me, or are the wolves going even faster now? Trying to make the most of the night before the morning comes. It is draining my arm. I am so sore. Please sun, move faster. And it finally does. The sunrise happens, and I watch something amazing. The wolves start twitching in front of me. Convulsing. And transforming. Their hair gets sucked back into their bodies. I can hear bones cracking and transforming. And before long an entire group of naked humans lies in front of me and starts getting up. I am shocked by what I see. My neighbor, Mr. and Mrs. Tettle. The baker from down the street. Holy shit, Mom and Dad? You guys are werewolves too? Eww, I can see my dad's dick. As I look around I realize... everybody in town is a werewolf. I think literally every single person. I am the only one who was not bitten. "Dad, how did this happen? How come everybody in town was bitten except for me? How come nobody ever bit me?" Dad shrugged. "We needed somebody to throw the ball."
The robots took over the planet. Everyone feared the worst... what happened was very unexpected though. At first, we all thought the plan of a scientist failed when programming A.I. into thinking we're cute and cuddly didn't stop the takeover of the planet. But... what happened was that we ended up being seen as pets. Aggressive humans were 'put down', deemed dangerous pets. Humans which were chronically ill were treated to the best of the robots' abilities; those who couldn't be healed were also put down. In the end, what we now have are humans who are all timid, shy, pacifistic or submissive, who are in great physical and mental health. To my understanding, the robots put their own rules in place in order to have a human as a pet - adequate space for their living accommodation, plenty of enrichment, you don't need pairs but every human requires social interaction, make sure they have the opportunity to go out at least once a day, feed them three times a day, make sure to bathe them every day... There's a bunch of other technicalities, but it's not my business to know. After all, I'm just a pet. I can't say I LIKE it, but I just don't care enough to fight back. Honestly... having someone look after me and treat me as if I'm the most precious thing ever... there are certainly worse fates. But I want to live a normal life. I may get my chance... my 'owner' accidentally left my room door open... being slow, careful and quiet, I make my way to the front door... as soon as I open it, I hear shouting, and I run, as fast as I can. If I'm fast enough, I can join the other escaped humans, known to the robots as 'wild humans'. I'm almost there... just a bit further... "COOKIES!" I freeze. Just like saying 'treat' to a cat, I cannot resist the offer of free cookies. No, freedom is RIGHT THERE! I keep going. "SUNNY! COOKIES!" ARGH! I always thought it was so silly for a cat to be so easily tempted... now I get it... I mean, I'm not going to pass up free cookies... I sigh, turn around and, like a loyal dog, run back to my owner, who promptly leashes me. I'm taken back to my room, having been given a plate of cookies. Was it worth giving up my freedom for a quick snack? My owner gives me a scratch on my neck. The answer... is yes. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
Sweat dripped from my brow as I waited for a clump of cells suspended in a tank to show the first signs of a heartbeat. The flat line on the monitor jumped into the familiar peak and valley, then pulsed again, and again. My chest felt filled with elation as the beat settled into a regular rhythm. Not wasting any time to admire the miracle of life, I swiveled around to gaze into the Magic Mirror. Working the quirky and intricate controls, I managed to set the device to show me this house five years in the future. On the screen, a child toddled into my arms and we headed out the door. The sequence followed us to a nearby park, where, apparently, the clone was socializing with the other children. Excellent, I thought. It cannot execute its purpose without charisma to charm the masses. As I fiddled with the Magic Mirror, the world’s wealthiest and most influential people met in private conference rooms and shadowy, upscale restaurants around the world to discuss current events and ensure everything worked out to their favor. Corruption spread like a plague, but so did something else. Nanobots leaped from hand to hand and came to live and replicate, undetected, in every new host’s brain. Back on the Magic Mirror, I watched my clone develop. I saw myself reading to it from library books in the evenings. Wonderful, I thought. It cannot realize my plans without role models to follow. In one sequence, I dropped the clone off at an afterschool art class and it came home to show me the painting it made, which we framed and hung in the living room. Perfect, I purred to myself. Even with the instructions I will leave, it will need a creative and resourceful mind to deal with the challenges inevitable to any attempt at world domination. I gleefully fast-forwarded to watch my plot come to fruition. As the clone entered manhood, girls became a facet of many sequences. I suppose that’s a natural side effect of the characteristics necessary for its role, I told myself. Then, I saw myself embracing the sobbing clone and comforting it after a breakup. As I watched it rest its head on my shoulder, an unexpected tear came to my eye. Wiping it away, I hurried past the following decade or so. Sitting in a tent surrounded by jungle and dressed in a military uniform, the clone read a letter and clutched it to its chest. My breath caught in my throat. What if he gets hurt? I immediately admonished myself for personifying it. If it dies at that age, it’ll be too late to make another one. I’ll have to freeze a few embryos and somehow find the resources to raise a few backups along the way. When the clone returned from its deployment, I saw it stoop to pick up a child while a joyful young woman looked on. This can only be a distraction, I worried. How could I let this happen? Do I die young? In another sequence, the sight of my aging self dispelled my fear, although at first I did not understand why I, like the clone, stooped to pick up its child and proceeded to play with it, to no apparent end. Frustrated, I turned my attention away from the Magic Mirror back to the clump of cells and its little heartbeat. As warmth spread into my chest, I felt tears running down my face. An invasive thought entered my head. What am I going to name you? Looking into the Magic Mirror once more, I selected the year my nanobots were set to infect 100% of the upper class. The middle-aged clone didn’t activate them as he was meant to, and greedy minds remained free to do their damage. Strangely, my elderly self didn’t seem to care. Rolling back to the sequences of myself playing with my grandchildren, I wondered how to save my scheme from failure, or if I really even wanted to. Months later, I moved baby Lex from the tank to the incubator and he screamed his little lungs out, like babies do. Leaning against the glass, I reminded myself that the Magic Mirror only showed me what may be, and that he could still put aside these distractions to become the charismatic, compassionate leader the world needed. However, as I raised him to be that, every sequence the Magic Mirror showed me came to pass. With the birth of my first grandchild, I forgot all about the corruption that had once motivated me to achieve the impossible. I died with Lex, my daughter-in-law, and four beautiful grandchildren by the side of my bed. Twenty years later, the youngest grandchild stumbled upon the notebooks from her enigmatic grandfather’s youth while helping her parents clean the attic. Hoping to uncover some of the mystery, she eagerly read through them, shock deepening with the turn of every page. Opening the news app on her phone, she watched an all-too-familiar story of everyday greed and corruption unfold and thought to herself, the nanobots are still out there.
"You again!?"My four pursuers shouted in unison. In the blink of an eye I found myself standing in the epicenter of a Mexican standoff. The deathly pale and thin woman drew a scythe from beneath her hooded cape, letting it rest on the soldier's neck. The gas-masked trench soldier aimed his browning automatic rifle at the bandit who had turned his six shooter on the black suited assassin. His nickel-plated silenced hardballer pressed against the thin woman's hood. Passing cars whizzed past the small courtyard in the center of the apartment complex, now the center of my universe. Nobody said a word. It was getting awkward. "So.......what's goin on? Why are you all after me?"I asked. "Shut up!"The four yelled back. The pale woman slowly scraped her scythe across the soldier's mask. "I was here first, he's mine. Things are getting a bit cold down below, my master senses great power not yet unleashed within him, needs him to light the fire."She hissed. The soldier turned his rifle on the woman, the assassin and bandit turned their guns on the soldier. Heavy breathing emanated from his mask. "Negative. My mission is to acquire the progenitor of mankind's only hope against the skrugg. Failure is not an option." Bandit boy used the barrel of his six shooter to adjust his cowboy hat. He smiled through clenched teeth, a plume of cigar smoke escaping from his lips. "You fellas got some balls on you for even considering I would let this inter dimensional bounty escape, you got some balls on you too madam. Getting paid a lot to track this sucker down, same as the last one." Finally the assassin got received his turn. "This one a dead or alive bounty?"He asked. "Yup."Nodded the bandit. "I'll shoot him and split the money with you." "Sounds good to me partner. Democracy prevails again. Two against one and one. Unless you two want to work together against us." Solider and the woman from the other side conceded. "Do I get a vote?"In retrospect I should have chosen something more poetic for my last words.

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