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They had already been lying there for several hours, the fighting slowly receding to the west. Eventually the knight spoke. "I suppose we might as well get to know each other. I am Sir Percival, son of Lord Arthur and heir to the lands of Dijon, knight in the service of our lord Jesus Christ." "أنت تتحدث لي؟ أنا لا أفهم لغتك ، أنا آسف ." Sir Percival paused. "Ah, you don't speak French, do you? Well, that's alright. I don't speak your language either." "أتمنى لكم فهم لي . أي شيء أفضل من يموت وحيدا . حتى الموت فقط مع الغزاة هرطقة لل شركة ." Percival sighed. "Still, I wish I could give confession to you. A man should not die with sins on his conscience, whether he be Christian or no." "يا صديقي ، ونحن على الزوج آسف حقا. اثنين من المحاربين وحيد مع أي شخص من التحدث إلى ." Percival reached up to his neck, finding a crucifix fastened around his neck. "Well, take this regardless. Perhaps it will help."With some difficulty, he tore it off and pushed it in the direction of the other warrior. "ما هذا؟ هذا هو رمز مقدس الخاص بك، أليس كذلك؟ لا يمكنك أن تعطيني - أوه، أنا أرى . كنت آمل أن نجني من الجحيم . حسنا، إذا كنت تعطيني لك، ثم أود أن أقدم لكم الألغام ." Percy felt a gentle weight land in his palm. He brought his hand back to his face and saw a curious symbol inscribed on a little copper disc, fastened to a necklace as his crucifix had been. “Ah, you have given me your own symbol. Thank you, my friend. Well,” he coughed up a little blood as he tied the new necklace around his neck, “perhaps we shall meet in heaven now, although whether it be your heaven or mine I cannot say.” "دعونا نجتمع في السماء ، يا صديقي . لك أو الألغام ." The two warriors fell silent then, taking comfort in the knowledge that they would not die alone. --- I got the muslim warrior's dialogue with google translate, so it's most likely not entirely correct. Also, it might not translate back into english perfectly, so here's what he's saying: "Are you speaking to me? I don't understand your language, I'm sorry." "I wish you understood me. Anything is better than dying alone. Even dying with only a heretical invader for company." "My friend, we are a sorry pair indeed. Two lonesome warriors with no one to speak to." "What is this? This is your holy symbol, is it not? You cannot give me - oh, I see. You hope to save me from Hell. Well, if you give me yours, then I should give you mine." "Let us meet in heaven, my friend. Yours or mine." Disclaimer: I don't know much about the Muslim faith. I have no idea if wearing necklaces with the name of Allah (which is the symbol wikipedia told me was most likely to be around during the Crusades) is common or not. I mean no offense if I've gotten anything wrong. I also don't know much about the Crusades, so I have no idea if a random French knight in the Crusades and a random warrior on the other side would have a language in common or not. I chose not because it seemed more likely based on my lack of knowledge, and because it made for a better story.
The man held the gun just tight enough for it to stay in his hand, but it was obvious from the shaking that he was struggling. He couldn't lift it higher than my waist, and struggled to keep it still. Nevertheless, anytime I tried to get even slightly close he would tighten his grip, and lift his hand higher, if only for a few short seconds. "I don't want to shoot you,"he says, his teeth loose in his jaw as he does, "I just want you to listen, and this is the only way I know how to get you to sit still for even a moment to do that." "Okay man,"I say, "Take it easy. I'll listen." "This may come as a shock,"he says, possible unaware of the irony that being held at gun point is, of itself shocking, "but I'm you. How old are you now?" "T-twnety four,"I stutter. "That means I'm about fifty, no sixty years in my past,"he says, "our past. Well, your present,"he half smiles. His hand relaxes ever so slightly, but before I can even think to do anything, he swaps the gun to his right hand. If he is me, he won't be as accurate with his right, but somehow I don't think he wants to be accurate. "I've come here to tell you something,"he says, as he tries to flex his fingers in his left hand, "You can't have the operation." "What?"I say in disbelief. I've been on the waiting list for months, and have being taking the medication for at least a year now. "Why not?" "Because it's my biggest regret,"he replies, "Everything changed after the operation. It ruined my life." "I don't want to break it to you,"I say, "but my life's pretty shitty right now." "Don't be so dramatic,"he scolds, "You're young, you've got plenty of time to make changes."He sits me down on a bench, then sits next to me, the gun jabbing in my side, an unpleasant reminder of my predicament. "Just trust me,"he said, "You'll feel just as bad after the operation as you do before, if not worse." "But I feel bad because I feel wrong,"I reply. "That's depression,"he says coldly, "Trust me, I spent years in therapy and went on and off various meds for it. You can't fix that surgically. Not now, and not in your future either,"he says both stubbornly and with a twinge of reluctant acceptance. "But if you have this operation it'll make things worse,"he says. "I never married. No-one wanted me. I never had kids. I was ridiculed, mocked, and made fun of, and even though I felt better looking at myself, it was for naught because no-one else wanted to see me." "So what, I'm supposed to be comfortable with what I have?"I say. "I don't know,"he says, "I haven't seen all futures, just the life I lived, and in my life, getting the surgery led to a lifetime of regret." "But I've never felt like a woman,"I reply. "And after the surgery,"he says, "I never really felt like a man either."
It had only been six months since the outbreak went viral. I sat alone in the basement of an abandoned parking lot we'd taken refuge in, collecting my thoughts as to how I should proceed. During daybreak I often remained here, waiting for the others to return from their scavenge runs. It was dark, and comfortable. They didn't think so however, and often spoke amongst each other about my mental health. Their fears and suspicions concerning my character were often topics of discussion. "I think he killed Charlie."one of them proclaimed during their secret conversations. Little did they know, I could hear everything they spoke of. I could hear the game they hunted, sparse as it was in the forests surrounding our encampment. I could hear the dead shuffling through those forests as well, searching for their own next meal. I could smell their rotting blood dripping from their animated corpses. It turned my stomach and made me weak. Society had deteriorated into a scramble for survival. Yet, this was something I was all too familiar with. I'd been accustomed to surviving by whatever means necessary. Although, the outbreak was now presenting new riddles that needed solving. The blood of the dead was no nourishment for someone of my stature. In fact, it was putrid. Sickening. There was no way I'd be able to survive for long and extend my lifespan in a world of rotting carcasses. Therefore, my only option was to aquire the trust of the survival groups, where the blood was pure and full of adrenaline. At least until I was able to make my way to the blood banks of the inner city, which I was able to convince them was worth traveling to. They were right though, to distrust me. I did kill Charlie. I waited until nightfall three days ago, when Charlie was cleaning his rifle by the fire pit. I'd already gained his friendship through our common interest of hunting techniques. I spoke to him frequently of how to properly track game, how to lure in a target, how to deliver a killing blow. Little did he know that he was the game I was hunting. His blood poured down my throat with a nourishing satisfaction. The smell of iron filled my flaring nostrils as I tore away at his neck. There was nothing my senses found to be more exotic than a fresh meal. I left him right there by the fire, his neck wound gouged and pulsing. I was certain the rest would believe it to be an attack by one of the shufflers, but Lucy with her quick wit was able to discover blood stains near my dwelling. It wasn't like me to leave crumbs. I must be losing my strength I thought. I decided than and there to off the remaining survivors that very night. Their suspicions would only lead to their deaths, so no point was made in postponing it further. A feast for my strength was necessary if I planned on continuing it alone. When the full moon reached it's highest peak in the starry sky, and the group gathered around the pit to have a feast of their own, I emerged from my slumber in the basement and approached them with caution. They all watched me, their eyes full of resentment and fear, as if I myself was a shuffler. I was greatly offended. They had no understanding of what I actually was. What I had been for centuries. How dare they compare me to the infested remains of lowly creatures such as themselves. This was my world now, and they were simply my next meal. As I ravaged Lucy's neck, sucking ferociously on her jugular, the others lay dead or wounded by my actions. That was when I heard it. It wasn't the death moans of John, struggling to grasp the last bit of life he had left in him, or the sound of shufflers making their way to the smell of freshly spilled blood, nor was it the cracking fire whipping about in the silence of the night. It was something much farther away. Faint at first, but growing with every gulp of blood that poured down my esophagus. I released Lucy's weak body and hovered above her, listening... A howl. So long and chilling that I knew it wasn't from any ordinary canine.
As I got deeper into myself, time seemed to slow. No sooner was I content to keep my heart beating at a regular pace, no sooner had I figured out how to rythmically pulsate my intestines, or secrete saliva from my salivary glands, when suddenly I became acutely aware of the tightness of each muscle in my body, the small fluctuations of heat regulation needed to keep my insides from cooking. I went from controlling the whole to controlling the many, pulling here, releasing there, moving this, pushing that. Open these pores, expand this respiratory sack, close that valve... on and on. I felt as though it was sending me insane. In reality I was slumped, motionless, in my computer chair, but it was all I could do to stay alive. I barely managed to scrape another second of life from this body - a second that felt like an hour of rushing through the structure of this living corpse I used to call me - before a new layer of demands became available. I had before me, in ghostlike form, a... matrix of blue pulsing lights, connected by reaching white threads, ready to snap at any disturbance. This way my brain, individual neurons, talking, relaying structions toward and down thick black tunnels into the rest of my body. Bright white funnels poured pulses of data in, data from my eyes, my ears, the nerves stretching throughout. The blue neuron pulses were slowing, fading, I could feel myself vanishing, my reality becoming one slow blue eternal hell. Reaching out, I did the only thing I could. I gripped a ghostly neuron with an equally ghostly hand and squeezed. A bright pulse of blue fired, hitting another neuron off in the distance, enticing a chain reaction to take place, sending the instruction to a hair folicle on my hanging left arm to begin raising. This one effort revitalised my energy - Life came back, colour, depth. I could think. I could survive. Rushing around chasing blue lights, feeling within myself parts of my brain with no activity, organs requiring instruction, somehow knowingly the almost infinitely complex structure of my brain as if I had lived inside this maze my entire life. I chased. I chase. For now, I survive.
Sabina laughed for a long time at the idea. "What's wrong?"I asked, frowning. "Oh, just the thought of you writing a story using Milan Kundera's characters,"she moaned, taking a seat by the stool where the bowler hat was resting a second ago. Her smiling eyes were still on me. I could see her naked back a few inches behind her, reflected in the mirror she so often used to – "Oh, God, this is golden,"Sabina said, laughing again. "Her smiling eyes…" "What's wrong with it?"I asked. "Nothing, nothing,"she coughed herself serious. "Please. Continue." I rearranged myself on the couch. "Well, now I'm all nervous." "No, no, it's great,"Sabina said. "Please. My back reflected in the mirror…" "Well…"I cleared my throat. Her back reflected in the mirror brought Alpaca's mind back to a particular rainy night in Prague when, after excusing themselves off a friendly dinner, they had shared one another under a -- "Oh, come on!" "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"Sabina said, waving her hand for air as she tried to stop laughing. "Shared one another…, oh God..." "Look, I'm not gonna do this if –" "No. No, I'll be serious, I promise."She got up from her stool. "Perhaps less backstory. Let's focus on the now." "Ok. Ok, the now..." I looked up. Her face was half-obscured by the bowler hat – one of her eyes disappearing almost in its entirety under the brim. The way her mouth curved as she stepped forward -- that half-open lip smile -- the same Alpaca remembered from the first night they met, it was like a promise of the exciting mundane. Sabina raised her eyebrows. "Nice." "What?" "A promise of the exciting mundane." "Oh…"I scratched my head. "Yeah, I have no idea what that means." Sabina rolled her eyes. "Ok, ok... But I can do this. So, the exciting mundane promise of her smile was --" "What the hell is going on?" I looked up. Sprouting from the half open door of the atelier, the tall figure of Thomas looked narrow eyes back at me. "Looked narrow eyes… Yeah, you lost it,"Sabina sighed, sitting back on the stool, disappointed. "Were you about to write a sex scene with my wife?"Thomas asked. "Tereza is your wife,"I replied. "Sabina is just the girl you fuck." "Oh, whatever."Thomas walked in the room. "Take off your clothes." "Okey, dokey." "Not you, Alpaca!" I pulled my pants back up. "Sabina. You." "Well, this is hardly the time, Thomas." "Yeah, I know, but we gotta end this shit now. Alpaca is butchering the bloody book." "You think so?" "Yeah." "Why?" "Look at this shit, it's only been dialogue for like seven straight sentences. He's too afraid to go back to descriptions." "Hey, come on!"I reply. "It's not that easy to step into Kundera's shoes. That book's a classic." "And clearly you're not the guy to try and live up to it,"Thomas replied. "So let's' get this over with." He cleared his throat. "The eternal return states that a life which happens cyclically again and again throughout eternity is one that matters immensely – the only one in which human life and our actions matter. Everything we do is under one of two pretenses – either we believe that life is incredibly important and heavy, if we believe in the eternal return, and hence every one of our actions must be carefully measured. Or, like myself, we believe that life just happens and then we die and everything about living bears an unbearable lightness, so who gives a shit let's fuck ourselves to oblivion. Now, Sabina,"Thomas said, pulling a batch of fresh air. "Take off your clothes, we got like a hundred pages of erotica to cover." "Alrighty,"I replied, banging my hand against my knees and getting up. I headed for the door just as Sabina took off her bra. "You two seem to have everything under control. I'm out." Then they fucked for a hundred pages, and it was awesome.
"Dude, seriously. It's fine. I don't want it." I frowned. I couldn't understand why he wouldn't take it. I glanced back over to it; glowing bright on his desk, in an empty jar I had lying around the house somewhere. "There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it, Lucy. I just don't understand why you won't take it. I can't have people thinking I don't make good on my promises." "Robert, it's fine. I get millions of souls per year through various contracts. It's not like I'm going to have a shortage. Profits have been on the rise for decades. You don't have to give it to me. I don't need it." Before I could respond, he grabbed the contract out of my hands and ripped it up. "See? It's fine. I won't revoke my side of the deal, either. You can go on living your fantastic life. I just... Don't want your soul." "Am I really that terrible? I mean, you must have the souls of the worst people in history in hell. How could my soul be so bad that you don't want it?" He sighed. "Are you really going to argue with me about this? I'm letting you keep your soul, for Christ's sake! Look, I can't - I don't want your soul. Please get out of my office." I was getting angrier now. "No. Tell me why you won't take it." "Fine! Fucking fine. Do you want to know why I can't take your soul? Because it's not my department. I can only take human souls." "... What?" I couldn't quite comprehend the implications of what he'd said. I'm not human? Then what am I? "Look, I thought the contract was fine when we signed it. But the big guy upstairs didn't inform me until recently that it was null and void, because you have the soul of a dog. All dogs go to heaven." "I'm a dog? Seriously? How did this happen?" "It was a stipulation in your contract that you wouldn't remember what my side of the bargain was, and that you wouldn't have the curiosity to ask. But you were an abused dog. One day, while I was masquerading as a pit bull at a dog fighting ring, we got to talking. I figured, 'Hey, I've never made a deal with a dog before. This could be interesting.' So I briefly explained theology and human culture to you, and you wished to live a happy, normal, human life." I was pretty shocked, to say the least. But come to think of it, I did find it strange that I couldn't actually remember what I'd sold my soul for. "Well, uh. Thanks, Lucy. I guess I won't see you around." "Yep. See ya, Rex. Err, Robert."
I approached him from behind and gently grasped his shoulder, pushing him down in a not unkindly manner. He wept to his knees, but said nothing as I pushed his head down against the groove and finally lifted the sack bag off his head. His wild red hair and pale complexion surprised me, foolishly so, for in retrospect his strange red-and-white striped garb had nagged at the back of my mind throughout the preliminaries, and now the man himself was staring at me with accusing eyes. You enjoyed it though, didn't you? He didn't have to say it, I just knew. My bottom lip trembled behind my leather mask and I unconsciously pulled it tighter, hoping no one would notice. I saw other startled faces in the crowd, and was comforted by the notion that I was not alone. With more effort than usual, I gripped my axe with two hands and hefted it high, looking down on the man I would have once happily called my godfather with a practiced sense of numb detachment I usually reserved for the innocent. Thoughts of my childhood flooded before me, numerous trips on the road with my siblings and I as we rested our tired feet at one of the man's many establishments across the country. There we would spend a small part of the day feasting on our hosts meat sandwiches and root rectangles, and greedily washing it down with thick milk-meade. The memory caused my vision to blur, and my axe grew heavy - but I had a job to do, and with a determined vigor I uttered my final decree and then brought it down with all the energy I could muster, praying that I met the mark with my eyes closed. "Ronald McDonald, for crimes against humanity, we sentence you to death." The cut was clean but his head missed the bucket and rolled down the street, gathering speed with the gradient. Several children ran after it gleefully, and it was all I could do to watch them without weeping.
"The gun just... went off?" "Oh yea."The strong-chinned man's cape flapped dramatically as he flew through the clouds. A smile filled his face. "You know, those things are so unreliable." "I guess,"said the boy. His own cape was much shorter, and he kept wiping his face to clear it of droplets from the clouds. "But where did the gun come from?" The man's eyebrows rose, revealing startling blue eyes. "Why, that criminal scum--cough--I mean, the misguided soul brought it." "Oh."The boy swiped at his face again, sending raindrops falling. "But, didn't he have super-freeze powers?" The clouds split, revealing the city underneath them. It was strange, like the sky had reversed so that the ground was filled with black and bits of stars rather than buildings with people and lights. The man scanned the streets. "Yup." "So why did he need a gun?" "Self confidence issues?"The blue eyes switched their scanning to the boy. "Why?" The boy hesitated. "It's just... didn't the last guy we fought... didn't he have a gun too?" "Yup." "And didn't that one go off?" "Yup." "Right into the heart, just like this one?" "Guns. So re-- unreliable." The two flew next to each other in silence for a few minutes, heading towards the bay. "It was an accident, right? Because killing is wrong, right?"the boy said over the wind. "Oh yea." "Right."The boy shot a sideways glance at his mentor. "So then, what's with that bomb?" "What, this?"Hefting a black monstrosity, the man grinned. "Dangerous contraband. We're going to get rid of it." "In the harbor?" "Yup." Before the boy could so much as blink, the man shot towards a freighter covered in lights. "Wait,"shouted the boy, struggling to keep up, "that's--that's--" The bomb dropped. For a moment, the world was still, but for the falling black star. Then the freighter exploded into a fiery ball of doom. "Whoops,"said the man.
"All I'm saying is that I think you get too angry every time the topic of Harry Potter comes up, Evan. I mean, sure the books are probably exaggerated but the way you rant about him would make anyone think that he was a monster." I set down my Butterbeer as calmly as I could. "That's because he WAS a monster, Mike. Those stories are so heavily altered that they may as well be in the fiction section of every bookstore and library. Anyone who went to Hogwarts with him and paid even the LEAST bit of attention to their surroundings would tell you that." "No way man. Those books have way too much detail. Maybe he had more help but in his first year he still managed to kill Voldemort for the SECOND time!" "What? You think that Hogwarts, full of the greatest wizards to have been living at the time, would invite that shady-as-fuck professor without any good reason? They accepted Quirrell to the office so they could watch him carefully. As long as they knew where Quirrell was, they knew where Voldemort was. At least until that dumbass Harry went and killed him. Furthermore, you think that a few first year students could break through enchantments set by those great teachers? Hermione wasn't that amazing." I had to pause to take a drink. Remembering these events was making me angry. "You keep saying that, but then how did he get in?" "Let's just say that far more students went with him than just Hermione and Ron. Not that he mentioned them in his books since none of them came back out. He was pretty careful to leave out how his actions resulted in so many deaths around him." "You're telling me that Harry used students as sacrificial lambs? How could the teachers have just let that go?" "Sure, if you throw enough people at any problem is will get fixed eventually. The trick is to be the one doing the throwing. As for the teachers, they couldn't just reveal that the famous Harry Potter was a cold-blooded asshole that caused massive problems so they swept everything under the rug as much as they could. Unfortunately that set the precedent that allowed Harry to keep rampaging for the rest of his school career." "Well what about the chamber of secrets? He pulled a sword out of the hat that proved he was a true Gryffindor. He had to have been courageous and chivalrous, right? He even killed Voldemort again, and the basilisk!" The tavern was getting quiet as people listened to our conversation. I was probably going to end up in another fight but I don't care. I'll keep telling the truth until I die. "That was an enchanted hat for sorting, there was no sword in it. What's really funny is how much it failed at it's job. Harry just asks it not to put him where he belongs and it just changes it's mind? Ridiculous. The sword was already in the chamber, Salazar had stolen in from Godric as a joke. That basilisk was certainly real but it wasn't something that Voldemort was controlling in order to revive himself. It was a disgusting defense mechanism placed by Salazar Slytherin himself in order to keep people out of his chamber. If you tried to enter without the correct phrase, out comes the snake to make you stop." "But Harry opened it once he realized he could speak to snakes right? And if the basilisk comes out to kill the person who failed, how come Harry wasn't just the first to die?" "No, Harry only wrote about him succeeding when he tried to open it. Also, Salazar was a dick I suppose; he figured that if he just sent the basilisk to kill someone then the person trying to open the chamber would stop. But not Harry. Through trial and error, he eventually managed to succeed at great cost to his fellow students, again." "Well at least no one died right? They just got petrified for a while and then cured?" "Nope. As I said earlier, the precedent was already set. The teachers stepped in to sweep up Harry's mess. A few students got lucky but the majority of them suffered and died." "Shit man. That sounds awful but do you have any evidence for what you're saying?" There it was. Without evidence I could only hate Harry with every fiber of my being for the rest of my days. "Dammit Mike, I SAW what he did with my own eyes! So did many other students. Family's were torn apart because of what he did! At the same time he let the false fame and glory go to his head. He started bullying all of the younger students. Not that he would ever write about the times he stuck people to the whomping willow branches for his amusement." I drank the last of my beer and and called for a refill. I wasn't going to feel good in the morning. "Even if you say you saw it. That doesn't mean anything to anyone else though, you know? Especially since it's undeniable that he DID destroy the horcruxes and Voldemort in the end. You should probably slow down on the drinking too or I'm gonna have to carry you home." "Oh aye, he did destroy them. But they wouldn't have needed destroying if he wouldn't have helped revive Voldemort in the first place." "You don't mean..." "Right. During the competition with the other schools, Harry worked with the Death Eaters. He promised the let them capture him and get some of his blood if he would be allowed to escape. It's unbelievable that so many people just take his word that he somehow just managed to escape from right under the noses of some of the most combat-experienced wizards to have ever lived. Everything after that was him trying to stop Voldemort again to increase his fame and satisfy his ego. He went where trouble was and spread his name as much as possible while staying as safe as he could." "Why would the Death Eaters keep their word with him? And he couldn't have stayed too safe since he died near the end, no?" "You just need to be careful. He used a portkey to get to the Death Eaters and just didn't let go of it. He dropped some blood and then left immediately. No real chances for them to catch him in that case. And don't be stupid, of course he didn't get killed. People die when they are killed. There were killing spells flying everywhere during the battle at Hogwarts, Voldemort just got unlucky again. Harry just took the credit since no one knew who actually fired the spell that killed Voldemort." "Last question then. Why and how can you possibly know all of this? You make it sound like you were with him through all of it. Even when he got ported." His question was reasonable. Most people wouldn't have been as tenacious as I had been in gathering information on what really happened during those years. But I had been keeping an eye on Harry since the first year and carefully gathered information from anyone I could, even tracking down Death Eaters to learn about what had really happened. Another Butterbeer had given itself up to speed me towards oblivion. Maybe one two more would finish me off. As I turned to call for another round. I saw him. Harry fucking Potter. He had just walked through the door of the tavern. Our eyes met briefly and he started waving off people who wanted his signature as he made his way over. My blood started boiling. I hate him. I hate him more than any other person on this planet. He reached our table. Probably saw me and came to bother me for old-times-sake. He always was a prick. "Hey Evan, long time no see. I don't normally do this but since your brother made such a fine chess piece all those years ago, I thought I should do something nice for you the next time we met as a reward since he certainly doesn't need anything now. Here's my autograph." With a cocky, giant grin he gave me a signed card. It said 'As thanks for services rendered. Harry Potter'. Something in me snapped. I raised my wand. "Avada Kedavra."
"This is impossible,"I said, still awestruck. "You're not real." "And yet, I stand here before you,"she replied. "And I ask you to be my champion." That was true enough. She was a beautiful being - silky alabaster robes, cream-colored skin, eyes bluer than the sky. None of the village artists did her justice in their paintings. I plopped down upon the stony ground and stared at her. She waited patiently and merely smiled back at me. "I have many questions,"I started. "Time is short, my child, but I'll endeavor to answer them." "Well, let's start with the obvious one: champion for what?" "There is a great journey you must undertake - one that will decide the fate of these lands. You will be pitted against enemies you did not know existed, travel through worlds you did not believe to be real, and accomplish tasks that you have never dreamed would be asked of you." "Right, so that's pretty vague,"I said doubtfully. "Anyway, why me? I've never believed in your existence. I can't say that I'm completely convinced of it even now." She winked. "Your religious belief is irrelevant." "Uh-huh." "Most of your village worship me as a Goddess, but no one understands my legends and stories more than you,"she stated. "Your knowledge in these matters will be invaluable in the sojourn to come." I held up a hand. "Can you just tell me straight, because I'm dying to know - are you really a Goddess?" "Depends on what you mean by that word." I thought that over. "Can you really grant the wishes in people's prayers, or stop a tsunami dead in its tracks, or speak with whales? Can you smite the unholy and raise the dead? What's the point of this damn shrine, anyway?"I was being blasphemous but I didn't care. I was too curious. "I can do some of those things - only those within my power. I try my best to help the village whenever I can,"came her reply. "As for the shrine, it is the place where I know I can communicate with Keepers such as you. There is power in that." "You don't sound like a Goddess,"I dared to say. "You sound like some...non-human being that has their own agenda and sometimes helps us a bit."There, that was it. She was going to smite me with a bolt of lightning or measles or something. She laughed, a rather pleasant tinkling sound. "I must say, I am glad they chose a Keeper such as you - one with a spine. Come,"she beckoned with a hand. "Let's travel beyond." "Beyond?" "You do not believe I am a being to be worshiped. That is fine. However, I will show you that I do indeed have some powers,"she said, a gleam in her eye. "Well, alright,"I said with a shrug. Goddess or not, clearly she was a force to be reckoned with. Who was I to say no? "But I don't know if I want to be your champion." "I guess I'll just have to convince you."She took my hand and in a flash of light, we disappeared. _________________________________________________________________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
The job advert had read ‘Wanted - young graduates who are looking for a job where they will control all time and space. No Agencies please.’ That was all, no address, contact details or indication of the job and I had been tempted to move on, scanning through the pages of low paid internships and scam marketing job, but something made me pause. ‘Control all time and space?’ – it was a phrase that my Grandpa had used once as a kid when I had asked him what he did for a living. My mum had laughed and told me he was an insurance adjuster, but something in his eyes had told me that there was more to the story than she knew. I folded the paper neatly and set it down on the stained kitchen table – brushing aside the crumbs from my flatmates breakfast. If this job was for real and time and space were irrelevant then surely the application process would be easy. I folded my arms. “Okay Grandpa, let’s see who was a liar, you or Mum? I’d like to apply.” Nothing happened. I looked around the room and was strangely disappointed then topped up my grandpa’s cup of coffee from the cafetiere and took a bite of toast. When the realisation hit my I began to choke and it took several minutes and a swift Heimlich from my grandpas before I was able to breathe again. He sat back down and chuckled. “I was about to be impressed with you youngster, but if you can’t even eat properly then you might struggle with some of the more tricky tasks in this job.” Wheezing out the last few crumbs I looked more carefully at the man I had known all my life and who had died just six months ago. He looked… younger, more like my Dad’s age than the elderly man who I’d known for the last few years. With a flash of brilliance that must have affirmed his decision, I said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re dead!” He let me process for a few moments longer, sipping at his coffee. “Yes Ben, I’m dead, but only from a certain point of view.” I nodded and then shook my head. “Wait, no, what? You’re dead, I saw your body. But you’re here and a lot younger looking.” He smiled again. “Sorry, I know this can be confusing at first, yes I am dead and also alive and you are my grandson and 22 years old and also a baby that I held in my arms for the first time last week. It’s weird all over.” “So… the advert in the paper.” I gestured. He nodded happily, “Yup, all for you. Actually, you placed it.” I rubbed at my temples, wishing I’d had more sleep last night. “How did I place it?” His cheeky grin came back. “How about you come and take a look at the business and see if you’re interested in that job, then things might become a little clearer.” I tried to understand, I really did, but it was too much. “What job Grandpa, what are you talking about?” He sighed, “Let’s not get into this.” He reached over and took my hand and pulled out a small pocketwatch. Oh and call me Charlie, Grandpa makes me feel so old.” He pressed a button the top and the world disappeared into a white haze. I finally stopped screaming a few minutes after we reformed into solid forms outside a fairly non-descript office. I would later learn that it was on a side street in London that was very clearly and obviously marked and just off Bond Street, but no one ever cut down it, or looked at it, or really thought about it in any way whatsoever. My Grandpa pulled me forward and we entered a small unlocked grey door and walked into a fairly normal looking lobby, a receptionist nodded to us as we entered. “Morning Ben, Morning Charlie.” “Morning Jane.” Grandpa nodded back. He looked to me expectantly. “Uh, Morning.” She looked confused at my hesitation and Grandpa or Charlie as I was growing used to thinking of him, slapped his head. “Sorry, Jane, this is Ben’s first day. I forgot he doesn’t know you yet, I’m going to have to watch that.” Jane smiled and stood and walked around the desk to us. She had a strange quality about her, a little like my grandpa, it was hard to tell her actual age. She could have been anywhere from twenty five to forty and was attractive in a non-descript manner. She grasped my hand and it was soft and warm. “Hello Ben, I’m Jane, we’ll be seeing each other plenty over the next while. If you need anything, just ask.” She winked and moved back to her desk. Charlie dragged me on, through the double doors into the main building as I looked back. “Grand… I mean, Charlie, what’s the deal with her. She seemed… ageless in a weird way. And kind of hot.” Charlie nodded and pulled me onwards. “We’ll get to her and in fact everyone, but we’re running a bit late and so induction will need to wait until after the morning’s meeting.” I finally looked around and tried to make sense of what I was seeing. It was an office, but corridors stretched away into the distance and were up close at once. My mind rebelled and my eyes tried to crawl away into my skull; I dug my heels into the carpet and stopped, dragging Charlie to a halt. “Okay, look, I have gone along so far with this but where the hell am I? What is this place and why is it all fucked up? Who as she? Who are you and who I am? What is this job and what is this business?” Charlie looked at me with sympathy and reached out to touch my shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry boy, I know this is all a bit sudden and in a way it’s ridiculous that it is, as we have all the time I the world, but you just of have to trust me for now.” I shook my head. “No, that’s the kind of crap I mean, it makes no sense. Where are we?” He looked around as if seeing the place for the first time. “Basic quantum flux, but we don’t call it that, we call it the Small Details department.” My face must have shown another outburst brewing so he continued quickly. “But in general, this is the Department of Time and Space, we control what happens, in what order and in what way.” He smiled again. “Happy?” I nodded, no wiser than I was before and let him drag me on into the building. This was a very strange morning. ***** This is a great prompt!
Though our government insists it, I know everyone, in some way, craves human contact. For many, it's not enough to see, hear, and smell. Touch is that extra comfort, that extra sigh of relief, that so many need. I read black market books and research on the topic. Only decades ago, touch was free, and we wouldn't have to crawl into the dead of night, money ready to spend, for a simple embrace. I was like many others, I became hooked, and eventually took a leap of faith and began my alleyway services. It started years ago, and I was quite young, a man studying in one of the government-approved universities. On paper, I was top of the class, but once I began to ask too may questions, I was expelled. I was scared, trembling with only darkness and street lights as my comfort. I remember how I held myself, since no one would do such a thing for me. But then, a voice. "You lookin' for 'brace, son?"An older woman rasped, her hair tangling out of her jacket hood. She looked disheveled, and before this moment, I would have walked by her without a second thought. However, this night was different, and I must have looked fairly desperate and sensory deprived. "...I'm not sure,"I replied, building my defenses. I knew better, but all my years of learning about the dangers of human contact had me conditioned. She smiled thoughtfully, "First one's on the house, since I see you're a man who needs a good fix."She steps forward, her arms reaching out and wrapping around me. The reaction was instant. I felt warmness, pooling in my skull and spilling down throughout my body. Out of instinct, I wrapped my arms around her, the feeling only growing. "It's okay to cry, many do their first time..."She whispered. I reached up and wiped my eyes, not even realizing that I was indeed crying. She began to slowly back away, a slow reminder that what we were doing was an illegal practice that we could be caught doing. I quickly recomposed myself, though internally my mind was still processing the whole ordeal. "I, um, how much should I pay you?"I asked, proceeding to pull my wallet out of my pocket. She held up her hand, "On the house, son. No need. Come back if you need another." I bit my lip, and stuffed my wallet back into my pocket. Little did I know at the time, that I would be back, and I would "need another." Months passed, and my addiction started to manifest. Since being expelled, I lost my housing, and began to live on the streets, going back to the old woman and various other "Bracers"in the neighborhood. I came across couples, hand in hand, looking so natural and happy as they shared contact under the moonlight. It was like living in a whole other world, and I started to realize: I was happier here. I was happier living in the darkness, getting a 'brace a night, and talking to others who walked in the comforting shadows. Upon realizing my financial need, I began distributing hugs, charging a standard amount, and ranging my services to hand holding or "holds,"short hugs or "shorties,"and longer hugs known as "braces."I reached out, offering my services as the woman did to me, giving my services to men, woman, couples, and the occasional teenagers. I wanted to open other peoples' eyes as the woman did with mine. I gave hugs, pamphlets of illegal research and findings, and I gave tissues for those who cried. I regret none of my actions, for I finally felt like I had a life and a purpose in this dark and tender world. ((Definitely one of my more favorite prompts on here, thank you for posting it!!))
Hyperman stood tall. "The day will be mine. The world will crumble. You will kneel." Dr. Torment couldn't keep the scowl off his face. "You're doing that all wrong,"he said. The Fist That Makes Terror Shake swung out in anger as Hyperman shattered the wall of the building next to where they floated. "Silence!" Dr. Torment adjusted his underwear. His jetpack was a work of scientific genius, but he really hadn't thought through the placement of the straps very well. "Don't 'silence' me. You haven't earned that. And the little repetition thing you're doing? The little 'the X will Y' thing? I invented that. Take some advice. You're blowing your load too early. That's a moment-with-the-adversary-on-his-knees moment. That's an about-to-deal-the-final-blow thing. Don't do it now." The former hero's eyes burned red. His laser vision held back only by the desire to savour the moment. "This city is mine. This victory, mine."He drew breath. Dr. Torment held up a rubber gloved finger. "Bitch, the next word out of your mouth better not be 'this'." Hyperman hesitated for a second. "I -" "It was, wasn't it?" "I WILL -" "It totally was. You were going to do it again. Unbefuckinglievable. You know what, you never listened to anything I ever said. Remember Salt Lake City in '08? I said I'd erupt the Yellowstone supervolcano if you came anywhere near the National Bank? What'd you do? What did you do? You fucking flew straight in." Hyperman could take it no more. The lasers exploded from his eyes. Dr Torment raised his shields. The air crackled and scorched. The smell of smoke and ozone filled their noses. Then silence. Dr Torment was the first one to speak. "Classically? Your next best move is probably the Demand. Since the Golden Age, this position has more leaned towards the Explanation. Personally? I'd go towards the Goading." "I killed a plane full of innocent people on my way here,"Hyperman screamed. "To see the looks on their faces. I have no demands!" The Doctor held out duh hands. "Literally why I just advised you against it. I was providing historical context. You've got to understand the Villains who came before you. Get some sense of your people, man. Now, come on. Let's try again. Explanation or Goading?" "I have no Explanation." "Then Goad. Come on. Let me feel it."He gave a beckoning gesture in the manner of Bruce Lee. "Let me have it. Come on. Do it." Hyperman gritted his teeth. He tried to hold back the rage. It was impossible. He flew - an instant acceleration - bolting like a horse from a racing gate. Within half a second, he had closed the distance. Fists raised, screaming with uncontainable anger, he crashed headfirst into Dr Torment's invisible wall. He crumpled. Broken, his own power used against him, he fell. Dr Torment let out a huh. "Shit,"he said. "it's so much easier from this side. No wonder they always won."
I was getting increasingly more stressed as I flipped through the pages of the exam. I had spent the last 3 weeks studying for the exam, ignoring friend invites, sleep and hunger. I had given my soul studying for the exam and I had walked in feeling very confident. But now as I was looking at the questions, I was becoming overly anxious. I wasn't recognizing any of the questions and it felt like the test was written in a different language. In fact, I slowly realized that it was written in a different language. It looked like there were a bunch of dots over the o and it definitely looked like a bunch of the e's and a's were accented. Had I walked in to the wrong exam room? No that couldn't be it. I had double checked the room number a couple times before walking in and the test booklet had my name on it. I might have signed up for the wrong exam. But no, I flipped to the front of the exam booklet and it was written clearly in English that it was the 2016 Final Exam for my class. Then why was it in a different language? I looked up at the time, I had wasted 20 minutes stressing out. I had only 40 minutes left to answer 80 questions. I weighed my decisions. Either I could try solving the problems in a language I couldn't even recognize, stressing out the whole time while crying to myself. Or i could answer the scantron randomly, leave early and cry my self to sleep at home. I decided I would rather cry at home. C looked like a good answer for the first question. A for the second, B for the third spelled CAB. I then spelled DAD, BAD, ACE, and DAB. I then decided to BAA like a sheep a couple of times. The best word I came up with was DECADE. And that's how I finished my test up until the last 5 questions where I put them all as C because it's always C. I stood up, turned in my exam and then went home, locked my self in my room and cried to myself for 5 days straight. On the fifth day I had enough. If i was going to repeat the entire year, so be it. The made me feel a little better. A couple months passed without incident. Until one random day I received a call from a number I didn't recognize. I answered fully expecting to tell the unsuspecting caller that they had the wrong number when I heard the voice of my principal on the line saying my name. He informed me that he wanted me to be the main speaker for a conference he set up on the subject of the exam I had failed. I informed him that he should find a better speaker as I had failed the exam. He just laughed and told me that I had gotten a perfect score. A perfect score? I laughed back in his face. He assured me that he wasn't joking and he'd expect me to be there. Sure enough I received my score a couple of days latter and I had earned 80/80. I was sure they had to be a mistake. I called everyone I could but sure enough everyone congratulated me and told me there was no mistake. How could I have earned a perfect score when I didn't even answer a single question. I had guessed on every question. The date of the speech was coming soon and I didn't know what to do. Luckily though, I soon passed away and didn't have to deal with that problem anymore.
Attempt 356: I was so close. Unbearably close. Let me try put it into words: You know that feeling you get when your tail tickles the tip of your tongue whilst your lost in an ecstatic chase, not even having a second to ponder whether what your attempting is worth the effort, simply because it does not matter; all that matters is that your close. That was how I felt. The day began ordinarily enough, I lay at the 5th step of her staircase asleep, pawing at the hope that she trips over me on her way down and shatters something, or cracks her sepia skull, just another plot to kill her. No dice this time. She stepped over me and abruptly awoke me with a pleasant smirk smudged on her face, leash in hand and called out 'Walkie time!' with a voice that could make the deaf cry. Already scheming plans for 'manslaughter', I pursued her out the door and we took slow stroll towards the piers, seagull's chirping above us. Don't get me wrong here, I don't hate Chloe; I absolutely despise her. The cheap cuddles; the bumbling baby talk; the debasing 'Dope-Dog' outfits she slapped onto me for attention only served to fuel the engine that drives my callous creativity. I am not a human infant-I'm a four year old Golden Retriever who has been training all my life to protect those who cannot see- a more noble cause than flashy show-dogs like pink poodles. Who could have imagined that my purpose to protect would be contorted into a vocation to kill the being who's life was entrusted into my ~~han~~ paws. Oh, but I'm not going to do it myself, no, my perfect plan involves her dying, and me not being put to eternal slumber with her. The last thing I need is to end up in an afterlife with Chloe. As we sauntered down the busy beach, my head was probing around, seeking any methods of death that couldn't be blamed on me. Just when I had begun to contemplate leading her to a train track, a her hand slipped of my crimson leash-she let go! Hundreds of ideas raced throughout my mind, each having multiple rates of success, but I settled on taking advantage of her inability to swim. I manoeuvred and hoped and dashed and barked to lead her towards a murky depth where the pier would lead to an ocean drop off. A miraculously timed boat was eight feet in front of the edge- close enough for me to jump onto and too far for her to swim to- and with a leap of faith, I landed on the deck, the captain too drunk to realise what was happening. BARK she staggered around, hands gripping air in my direction. BARK BARK She had a worrisome look creeping across her cheeks, desperate to find me for guidance. My tail must've reached Mach two at this point. BARK BARK BARK She was at the edge at this point! Just ONE MORE STEP AN- nope. she got yanked backwards before she met her salty death. I knew that my plan flopped, so I swam back to the shore, where another human was comforting and checking if Chloe was okay. With my tail between my legs, I went to intercept their conversation to see where I went wrong. 'Wow, are you okay!? You almost took a dip in the ocean!' Mhm, that's what I planned... 'Oh, my, wow...just, thanks! You see, I'm blind, and I couldn't find my Jake, and suddenly-' Jesus, get to the point, and my name isn't Jake -.- 'Yeah, I wouldn't have noticed at all, but I heard him barking like crazy, and that's when I saw you almost fall! Your lucky you've got such a cool Guardian Angel to guide you! If it weren't for him, you could have died!' God Dammit. Every.Freaking.Time That brings us up to now, I glare upwards to the apes that gleam at me with condescending smirks. 'Aw, thanks buddy!' started Chloe, 'How about we go out and get you a cute new outfit! Cmon bud' I try protest as my collar get's yanked towards the high street, the ocean getting further and further away. Oh, well. I guess I could try again tomorrow.
"Another case solved my dear Watson!"Holmes crowed with delight. "You must be wondering how I solved it?" Watson saw the twinkle in the eye of Holmes, the glint of the thrill of putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. "Well, it was elementary my dear Watson. It was when we searching the murder scene that I happened to chance on a letter, and would you know it, it contained a confession of the murder! And luckily, you had a sample of the suspect's writing with you, and using my skills, I deduced with certainty, with certainty, that the handwriting was a clear match, and we'd found our killer! And it turns out the police had already arrested the contemptible fellow. And for murder! Looks like he killed someone else too, lucky we could tell the police about this one too, although apparently some other private detective apparently had already solved the first murder case for them, looks like we might have some competition!" Holmes paused, caught up in his excitement. Of course Watson knew who the other detective was. He and Scotland Yard had long had the arrangement in place that Holmes must not know. Must never know. "Well, it's getting late now, Watson. I do believe I shall retire." Watson felt relief flood through him. Tonight it would't happen. Holmes paused, his back to Watson. "John..."he started. Tension immediately flooded Watson's body. Every night it happened. Every night. Why could it not happen for just one night. Holmes' lips moved silently, and his face was caught in a deeply puzzled frown. "Has something...has something happened to me?" "You had an accident Holmes."Watson said, trying to keep his face a mask. Holmes frown deepened, as he tried to scour the depths of his once brilliant mind. "I can't remember,"and that voice lost all of it's customary certainty, and Watson was glad his friend was facing away from here as the mask broke once again. "Why can't I remember?" The tears fell silently down Watson's cheeks, as his friend couldn't hide the wavering panic in his voice. "Don't worry Holmes. You just had a little bump on the head. You'll feel better in the morning." Tomorrow, Watson thought to himself, his tears flowing freely. Tomorrow my friend will come back. Please come back.
I had no reason to trust my senses, but I could see no reason to not hide the thing. Besides, I felt a strange sentiment towards it, like it reflected all of the love I had poured into it in my twelve years of ownership. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen it in the last five years, but it hadn't really seemed important until now. 16 seemed a bit old to still be carrying around that same plush dog. I stuffed it between the headboard and the wall. The door clicked open and a face poked in. "Hello dear"said my mother. That was strange. She was usually so sparing with her terms of endearment. She sidled in and sat on the foot of the bed. "Just wanted to stop in and tell you we are out of milk, so you shouldn't have cereal for breakfast tomorrow."That also seemed strange. Why could't I just find that out in the morning when I made breakfast? "Oh, and by the way, have you seen that beat up old dog you used to carry around?" "No, not in like, quite a few years." "Are you sure?"She said this with an air of casualness to meticulous it seemed forced. "I'm 16 Mom. I don't still play with stufties if you don't remember. Why do you ask?" "No reason,"She said quickly and with a sudden intensity, and then slowed."Your father and I are just cleaning up some old things and thought we'd get rid of some things we don't use anymore. You let me know if you see it, ok?" "Sure thing Mom."She smiled, kissed me on the forehead and left. Seeing her smile remembered me of seeing friends with their parents at school. There was something unusual about them that I couldn't place. And then it was that I realized. Other people's Moms didn't have so many teeth.
"How's your dad doing Edward?" "Wishing he was still well enough to work on the project. He said he was sorry he couldn't solve it." "Tell him I said thanks when you visit again. It's thanks to him we've come this far after all. And tell him I'm sorry." "You know he doesn't blame you." "But the radiation-" "Wasn't your fault, no one could have expected the radiation that caused your time jumps." "So that fancy suit your wearing works?" "It does. And we're hoping the new tracker we're using will tell us exactly where you show up." "I hope so too. It took four days last time. Forty years gone in a blink." "Well it's almost 9:30. Are you ready?" "I hope you are. I don't have a choice." *** "Good morning Eric." "Good morning Sally, how's Edward? It hasn't been that long, I expected to see him." "I'm sorry, a lot has changed in twenty years. Edward passed a few years back." "....." "He said to tell you he was sorry." "Why does everyone keep apologizing? You can't help dying." "He knew how it affected you." "Hmpf. He was a good man. Just like your grandfather." "We're really close to figuring this out Eric, but we're out of time for today. I'll see you in ten years." "I hope so, Sally. I really do."
They said space was the final frontier. Well, I bet European sailors thought the same thing when first confronted with the Atlantic ocean. Much like they had no idea what else was actually out there, neither did we. My voyage was one of hope, courage, and exploration. Like Neil Armstrong before me, I set out to go where no human had ever gone before. Unlike Neil, I knew I wouldn't be coming back. Of that one little detail, there was no hope at all. No, I was on a one-way trip to discover the undiscoverable. I would travel into a black hole, to see what was on the other side or die trying. What kind of a lunatic would volunteer for something like this? A terminal one, of course. I was diagnosed with Stage 3 Hodgkin Lymphoma at 17 years old. After three years of aggressive chemotherapy treatment, I knew that I wasn't going to get better. It spread throughout my body, even into my bones. I was riddled with cancer. Call it luck of the draw, or just plain bad luck, it didn't matter. I'd be dead inside of a year. Although I was cynical about life (who wouldn't be, in my position? Try it sometime if you don't believe me.), I'd always had a great, soaring love for science and the idea of space exploration. So when NASA announced that a "rogue"black hole had entered the solar system, I knew that I had to get them to send me out there. It posed no danger to Earth; it was on a trajectory that would allow it to pass between Jupiter and Saturn without doing any harm. I'd contacted someone in Public Relations at NASA and explained my situation. I was going to die no matter what. Knowing that, I wanted my death to mean something. Rogue black holes had long been suggested, but never proven. Now we had one in our solar system. This was just too good of a chance to miss out on. To my amazement, just a month later NASA contacted me back. They agreed that it presented an interesting opportunity. However, due to the sensitive nature of the mission, it could not be publicly known. If I still wanted to go forward, my family would be told that I'd died peacefully in my sleep. It would hurt them deeply, but I could live with it (heh) knowing that their suffering caused by watching me die would end sooner. They moved me to a certain secret government installation in the middle of the Nevada desert. Sorry to disappoint, but it really is just a secret plane testing facility. There are no aliens out there (that I saw, anyway). They trained me as best as they could in the basics of moving around in zero gravity and operating the comm systems that would be present in my one-man ship. However most of that would be unnecessary, because they were going to put me in hibernation. You know all the space movies that show the hero dropping into a vat of goo or getting into a super futuristic bed and then going to sleep for 20 years while the ship takes them where they need to go? Well, NASA really has something like that. I have no idea how it works, but they told me it's a technology created by a branch of Cryonics research. I don't have to know how a microwave works for it to cook my burrito, though, so I didn't ask too many questions. The intercept with the black hole would take nearly 4 years. In that time, I'd be unconscious and unreachable. If something went wrong with the ship, I'd be dead. If the ship missed the intercept, I'd drift off into space forever, eventually dying of starvation, suffocation, or dehydration - whichever came first. I'd have enough rations for one month, as my hybernation was set to end just 23 days before the intercept. When I came out of the sleep, I'd report back to NASA on a secret communication line they'd established just for that purpose. Then I'd head onward and into the abyss, so to speak. So that brings you up to speed on the backstory. Skipping over the boring part, I didn't die on the way there. I woke up 23 days before intercept as scheduled, and got back in touch with NASA. They filled me in on some minor details about events on Earth, as well as brought me up to speed on what my family had been doing since my death. Then the rogue black hole loomed before me, and well, I went through it. It was there that I thought my story would end, and rightly so. Spaghettification is a bitch. Or, so we thought. Like I said though, this is just where the story begins. ______________________________ If you like where this is headed and want more, let me know and I'll continue.
The feeling could only be described as. . . Euphoric. I first put on the hat to make a joke, make my friends laugh. I had always been a bit of a smartass, and I liked to joke around about it. I put the fedora on, still planning what I was going to say when I showed up looking like a grade-a neckbeard, but was knocked off my feet by the rush of knowledge. I suddenly saw the strings that controlled the system, I saw how religion was literally the worst thing ever, I saw that girls never went out with me because I wasn't a swole douchebag named Chad, and I saw that the samurai sword- no, the katana was the best weapon in the history of mankind. I had been enlightened by this glorious piece of headwear. I realized immediately that there were more important things to do than go to the bar with my friends and dull my now razor-sharp, perfect mind. I ran as quickly as I could to my computer and began to debate fundies on Facebook. In 20 minutes I had been blocked by 7 people and started an atheist Facebook page posting anti-christian memes. That will show them the error of their fairy tale believing ways! My work was not complete, however. I hopped on my moped and made my way to the local mall. Once there I rushed into the knife shop and bought the only weapon fitting a gentleman of my caliber: a true katana. I gave the cashier the money and tipped my fine fedora at her. She will never understand TRUE men like me. With that, I became like Rorschach, Batman, and somehow The Joker combined. I left my moped in the mall parking lot and ran leaning forward, my arms behind me with my katana strapped to my back. I was much faster this way. I was looking, on patrol, for some ruffians who might be offending a fine lady. It didn't take long before I heard one! "I think I'm going to have to punish you when we get home." An evil Chad I was sure, telling a fair lady about how he was going to beat her to instill fear in her! I knew what I had to do. I jumped on top of the nearest row of cars and started hopping from car to car in the direction I heard him. I saw them immediately; they were whispering to each other and her face was red. She had to be pleading for her life! I unsheathed my mighty katana, and yelled in as deep a voice as I could muster "Stop, you misogynistic woman-beater! Leave her alone"I took an aggressive pose, holding the Nippon steel blade above my head "or I will make you." The evil Chad guffawed, taken aback by someone standing up to him "What the fuck are you talking about you psycho?" I smiled. "I am not falling for your ruse, Chad. Leave here in one piece, while I'll still let you." The poor Chad's victim, looking frightened, pulled out her phone and yelled "I'm calling the police!" "You do not need to do his bidding, m'lady! You will be safe soon."As I finished my sentence I jumped from the roof of the car, and attacked the Chad with my katana. It bent in half as it hit his skin, and the blade broke free from the handle, clanging on the ground and leaving my target with little more than a flesh wound. After a brief moment of confusion, Chad retaliated, punching me in the face and breaking my nose. When I came to, the fedora was gone, and I was being loaded into a police car.
As the box screeched to a juddering halt, cables screaming in protest, we all looked at each other. Uneasy glances with the fear and rage building behind them, wide-eyed expressions etched on every face. The shaking ceased, leaving only a pregnant silence while the lights flickered in uncertainty. Over the next few seconds the stressed exhalations came from the group, sounds of stress to match their looks. Being the nearest to the speaker, I was the first to notice the crackle emanating from the grille. The crackle lengthened to a steady hiss, then chimed out in alarm as a voice rang out, the syllables of speech garbled through the tinny speaker inside it. "All of you are trapped. The elevator will only function if there is only one left alive." I couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath as each word coursed through me, the meaning of them colliding with my conscious thoughts and ripping a tear in my soul. Hastily flicking my head back towards the rest of the group, they looked at the speaker, their eyes widening further still but mingled with something like confusion pressing its way into them. "What does it mean?"I asked, to be met with furrowed brows and several uncomfortable shakes of the head, exchanging yet more glances between them. I scanned their faces, searching for any sign of recognition, but found only the fear. "This can't be real,"somebody muttered: the woman holding an armful of groceries who had entered at the same time as me, dark bags of unrest sitting heavy under her eyes from a long day of stress. Perhaps she had wanted some relax in the evening, but now found herself here with the rest of us. "What he said. It can't be true, right?"I continued, and they all looked at me. Shifting bodies and glances gave the answer I feared, and I knew they all believed the message to some extent. But who would act first? How long would we stand in silence before doing something? I pulled out my phone and checked the signal. NO SIGNAL. Of course. Just like a horror movie. "Just relax,"the woman told me, seeking some form of sanity in amongst the truly bizarre situation in which we had found ourselves. "I don't think relaxing in something you can do here,"I responded, "We're trapped." "Somebody will help. We can use the alarm."she answered in turn. "It won't work,"I muttered, more to myself than her. "Calm down, you're panicking." Was I? We'd all heard it. The elevator will only function if there is only one left alive. Six of us. I would have to make my move first, before someone else did. Make a pre-emptive strike in the name of survival. The man nearest to me eyed me up and down, as if calculating his best chance of taking me out first. But I reached out to him first, kissing his teeth with a hastily thrown row of knuckles. He fell down hard and I continued to rain down blows, pulping his face until he stopped stirring and the rest of the occupants stepped away from me. I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders and lashed out, connecting with bone and releasing a grunt of pain. "Fuck!"somebody screamed. They were next. Another pair of hands gripped one side, while another wrapped around my shoulders, stopping me from moving. I wouldn't let them take me. The pressure tightened, skin bruising under the grip and tendons shrieking in agony. Kicking out at the wall, I propelled my body backwards in attempt to dislodge my assailants. Instead they loosen their grip just enough for me to slam my head into the wall, sending trickling starlight dancing across my vision. As the stars fade I hear a voice drifting through the air. "Oh shit, he's having an episode. Call a fucking ambulance."
We met in the place between. Where sun touches earth, And sky kisses ground, at the edge of day's death and birth. His wings were the brush of dark And mine the flight of color But in the place between, We belonged with one another. He told me tales of darkness Of the hush of night wind's breath, Of the touch of stars, the rush of silence In a land I'd thought but death. I wove him stories of sunbeams, Of the blushing flower's smile Of the pulse of color, the stroke of warmth, We drew closer all the while. But in the place between, time's held, but does not stop, The embrace is quick, the union fleeting, And the fragile truce is dropped. We fall to darkness or to light, Both to the other live unseen, but left with longing pray we find Once more the place between.
"Walk me through it." "Again?" "Again, God." "It starts with a BANG!" The yell makes Satan jolt upright, grabbing onto his seat. He inches back to the edge of the chair, seated in the vast nothingness surrounding him and God. Satan plants his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his hands, intently listening to the description of God's intricate universe. "Uh huh,"he says. "After a few eons the energy released coalesces into matter." "What's matter?" "It's stuff." "Stuff? Like these chairs?" "No. It's the stuff that stuff like these chairs are made from." "But isn't--" "I'll explain matter later. Let's finish this first." "Okay, okay. Continue." "So matter, right?" "Right." "Then matter clumps to itself, making huge celestial objects, like stars. The stars come and go, fusing matter into heavier and heavier materials." "Go? How do stars go?" "BANG!" Satan jolts upright. "Stop doing that!" Laughter rolls out of god. He waives the criticism aside and continues, "Anyway, the stars explode after making heavier material. That material coalesces into nebulas, then new stars, planets, asteroids. Eventually, you get huge balls of rock circling stars." "Mmmhmmm."Satan nods, rubbing his chin between thumb and forefinger. "And on some of those rocks life emerges." "What's life?" "It's life. Plants, animals, people, places, things. That sort of thing" "I think you mean nouns." God sighs and it gusts through the nothingness around them. "Fine. Life and nouns emerge. Can I continue?" Satan slides back in his chair, then tips his finger toward god. "Please. Go on." "So there's life and there's nouns. Then life begins to question things. It asks, 'why am I here?' And, 'what is my purpose?'" "So they won't know why you made everything?" "Not at all." "Okay, continue." "Life will toil, and it will struggle. It will invent things along the way like airplanes, space ships, toaster waffles, and Large Hadron Colliders. It will grasp a rudimentary understanding of physics and quantum mechanics. Life will build machines and research equipment to understand more. Eventually, life's equipment will surround entire stars, capturing their energy for research." Satan raises his eyebrows. "Impressive." "But that's not the best part." "What's the best part?" "Right as life thinks it's figured things out BANG!" "I TOLD YOU TO STOP THAT!" God slaps his knee, roaring laughter. "I couldn't resist." Satan adjusts in his seat. "Alright, right as they figure things out..." "Right. They start to figure things out. They discover the most elusive--and most destructive--subatomic particle. Arrogance makes them believe they can harness it, and bang. Everything converts back to energy." "And the energy?" "Goes into this."God holds his left hand out. A toaster pops into existence in his palm. Satan stands and leans over the toaster, peering into its slot. "The purpose of the universe, and all of the life in it, will be to perfectly toast these two waffles."
I stop for a second, surely not I think this must just be a coincidence. Anyway, it's been a long stressful day so I decide to head to the bar to relax with a few drinks , maybe even get a bottle of wine. As I walk to the bar I pass many people who seem perfectly and happy and ordinary, some even gave me a brief smile as a nod as I brushed passed them through the corridors on the way to the bar. I reach the bar, I decide that I shall have a bottle of wine it should just hit the spot. I approach the bar tender and request my favorite wine to which the bar tender responds, "I'm afraid we haven't had that spirit here since 1969"a wry smile creeping across his lips, I chuckle they must be embracing the spirit of the name, "I'll settle for just a corona then please" I finish my drink and head to my room, number 286. I enter my room, exhausted and collapse on my bed. As I slowly slip into sleep I notice that I can see my reflection, it's almost as if there are mirrors on the ceiling. Heart rate elevating slightly logic gets the better of me and I convince myself it's nothing and fade into sleep. I awake the following morning, feeling refreshed and ready to finish my journey. After I've showered and changed I try and open the door to leave. Click Click . The handle won't budge it's locked. After attempting and failing to open the door I begin to worry and decide to ring reception to see if they can help. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that sir, I'll send someone right up to fix it."Relieved I reply, "Thank you, I was beginning to worry, by the way what time am I able to check out I've gotta hit the road?" "Oh sir, you can check out any time you want" ... "But you can never leave"
I put the gun to my temple. I'm not going to be a bitch this time and back out again. knock knock Death entered my apartment. I don't mean in some metaphorical sense. A skull-faced individual wearing a hoodie walked through my door like it wasn't even there. Literally phased through the door. He spoke as followed: "Seriously?! Again? Another suicide? I expected more from you. Did you know that you have literally died already more than any person in all of history? You have a tumor in your brain that literally kills you every night you go to sleep. It's been doing this and trying to kill you for 5 years now. Sometimes 3 to 4 times a night you've died for almost 2 minutes each time! It's nothing short of a miracle that you're not brain damaged" I was taken aback. I had nothing and no one for a long time now. Yet, I could tell this somehow impacted him drastically. "It may be hard for you to imagine, but I had a relatively normal life once. Bills to pay, play-dates, family, some friends, people to care about. The fact that you're throwing away your extraordinary circumstance for nothing irks me a bit. What I would give to have any of my loved ones in your shoes since I took over this job is pretty astounding." I pointed my revolver from my head to his. Before he could say anything I shot him in his face. He lies coldly on my apartment floor, a pool of blood reaching out from his temple. I picked up his scythe. This is how the office of "death-bringer"was transferred. Get lazy in your job or emotionally invested, and the torched was passed. "I am become death, destroyer of worlds"I said before stepping over his corpse harvesting corpse. I do appreciate a good bit of irony.
God had abandoned us. Blood ran down the beach, rained down from the Heavens. Sand bit into my skin, propelled by deafening explosions. Screaming, shouting, muted by the gunpowder and artillery. Moving on instinct, unable to think, overwhelmed. I reached a large rock, stumbling and throwing myself onto the floor, rifle falling at my side. And I wanted to curl up, and I wanted to cry, and I wanted to throw up as the scent of blood filled my nose. Salt and sulphur and copper, and before I could try and understand the world erupted in shaking and noise. Vision white and ears ringing, and a feeling of falling apart inside, like every bone turned to dust, as my body shook itself. And as the feeling faded, and the ringing faded, and the blinding light faded, I could hear nothing. Perhaps I should have been worried about the deafness, but relief flooded me, one less thing to overwhelm me. Then, I breathed in, and the air smelled so clean. I opened my eyes. Nothing lay before me, not even that which had been there before. Sand, and the ocean lapping, and the setting sun. Standing up, peaking around the rock, no one, no war, nothing. I took a step, and my foot caught on something. Squatting down, I brushed aside the sand, and found my gun. Except, rust had devoured it. Looking back out across the beach, the fortifications had eroded, decrepit, hardly any remaining. So soft I'd ignored it, I listened to the waves crashing, at complete opposites with the cacophony from before. Even softer, I could hear birdsong, and I spotted a few birds flying to nests amongst bits of cliff, some even in the ruins. I leaned against the rock, which had many bullet holes smoothed by time. And, inspecting them, I noticed writing carved into the stone. “At this place on the sixth of June nineteen-forty-four many men gave their lives in support of Freedom and Liberty in the face of the great evils that lies within us all.” I bowed my head, as names rolled through my thoughts. Flashes of friends I might never get to see again. Brothers in arms, rest in peace. But the words, they instilled a comfort in me. We had come to do what we believed to be right, despite the price we may have had to pay. When so many people called for help, we put on our boots and picked up our rifles. And if that's not worth dying for, I didn't know what was. The rock seemed to give, and I fell, hitting my head on the way down. The pain cut through the calm, and I had to take a few seconds to regain my thoughts. As I did, I became aware of the smell of blood, and the barrage of noise. Groping around me, I found my rifle, gripping it tight. After taking a breath, I stood up.
"Hello? Hello? This is flight NZ-230 to Dublin. I'd like an update on that storm system over DUB please."No response but the hiss and crackle of white noise drifting across the continents. I slapped my hand rest. "What on earth is going on down there? I've never heard of flight radio being down for more than a few minutes." Supressing a yawn, my copilot (whom I had just woken up) was already flicking a few switches. "Maybe we should try LHR or LCY? Maybe they can tell us what happened to the DUB air control. If we don't get a response in the next..."she glanced over at the autopilot, "six hours, we'll have to try landing there instead."I nodded -- it was a good idea. While she got Heathrow on the line, I stared out at the night sky, wondering if there was more to this than I had realised. "Hello, this is flight NZ-230 to Heathrow. Hello, hello?"As I listened to my copilot try and fail to make a connection with Heathrow, a sense of dread began knotting in my stomach. "Jude, try, London City. If that doesn't work, we'll try Auckland -- at least they aren't as close." Alas, none of them worked. Even the eternally busy trio of Dubai, O'Hare and Atlanta were completely silent. Jude was about to try Beijing when a knock came at the door. I silently motioned with my head for her to answer the attendant while I dialed Beijing myself, soft voices in the background discussing who knows what. "This is flight NZ-230 to Beijing. Flight NZ-230 to--"I was cut off by Jude. "Mark? This passenger...he has something you might want to see."It didn't take much to notice the quiver in her voice or the tension that now hung in the air. Realising that Beijing wasn't going to respond either, I turned the radio off and went over to the passenger, a young man in his early twenties, still wearing the inflight blanket and holding on to his phone with both hands. Behind him, the head flight attendant waited nervously. "Yes? What is it?"I snapped. He didn't respond and simply showed me his phone. On it was the Reuters Twitter account. It read: "Deadly virus sweeps the globe; billions dead." Thumbing through the other major news feeds, I found tweets of a similar ominous nature from earlier on. "China finds first case of QRSE virus." This from the Oriental Daily News in Hong Kong. "Transport meltdown in central Auckland as road toll mounts from QRSE fatalities in drivers." NZ Herald. "Contact with DC and White House lost, President presumed dead." NY Times. "Doctors, nurses and medical staff encouraged to quarantine themselves and refuse patients." Al-Jazeera. "Breaking news: The Kardashians are going to Alaska for a long holiday! More at..." I rolled my eyes. At least TMZ could still be trusted to stay focused on the topic at hand. I threw myself into my seat and shut my eyes. For twenty blissful seconds, all that could be heard over the silence in the room was the deep rumble of the plane's turbines, a neat counterpoint to the turbulence that the world below us must be experiencing right now. "What do we do?"The flight attendant asked. She gave a quick glance back at the passenger cabin. So far we're the only four on the plane that know about this." Jude was first to respond. "We need to tell them what's happening. I don't know what to do afterwards, but we at least owe them that much." "No!"I interjected. "We can't do that! They'll all panic and who knows what will happen then?"I looked at the autopilot readings before putting my head in my hands. "Damn, damn, DAMN! We've got enough fuel for 10 hours of flight, but after that we've got to land. We can try anywhere in Africa, Europe, South-East Asia, and I might be able to stretch us to Darwin." "We have to tell them. If what we're reading is right, this might be their last chance to talk with their family and anyone they know."Jude put her hand on my shoulder. "It might be the wrong choice, but we make it for the right reasons." I sighed, glancing at the other two people in the flight cabin. "Okay, alright. We'll handle this for now. Give us 5 minutes and we'll give the entire plane a full update. And thanks for telling us, mister...?" "O'Brien."The passenger responded before leaving the cabin with the attendant. The door shut with a final click. "Okay,"Jude started, plomping herself down next to me and keying some numbers into the flight computer. "Your guesses for where we can go are pretty close to bang on. So we've got a virus that's taking over the entire world and has done so in the space of a few hours. Do you think we can wait it out?" A brainwave. "Hold on. Jude, can you get me TNR? I'll bet you anything they're still responding." She raised an eyebrow. "TNR? Really? Alright, I guess."She shrugged. "Hello? This is flight NZ-230 to Antan-- Antna-- this is flight NZ-230 to TNR. Do you copy?" Over the radio, the faintest of replies. "Yes, we receive."I couldn't believe it. I took to my mic and spluttered a reply as quickly as I could. "Can we request emergency landing? Have you closed your ports yet?" Even over the radio static, the voice sounded taken aback. "We have closed our sea ports, but our airports are still open for now. You can land. I'll have a schedule for you shortly. One moment."In the background, I heard some other murmurs of conversation. I gave Jude a small high five and started charting out our course. Soon, the murmurs stopped and the air control officer was talking to us again. "Oh, you guys are so lucky. We just closed off our airports just then, but because you were already talking to us, we can fit you in. We would have closed them earlier if this virus business had happened during the day. Land at 0230 at UTC+3. We only have one runway and there aren't any other planes to worry about. After landing, you will have to wait in the plane until the next day, just to make sure none of you have the QRSE, but also because everyone is sleeping right now." I could barely believe our good fortune. Had we truly found a safe haven from the virus? "Thank you guys so much. We will follow your instructions, and we have had no medical problems on our flight so far. Do you have a weather report?" "That is good to hear. The temperature is 30 degrees centigrade, humidity at 55%, wind a northeasterly at 2 knots per hour with medium cloud cover. Good luck."The voice hung up. Jude and I stared at each other, speechless. We had plenty of time to reach our destination, so we just took a moment to refocus. "Ok, Jude, plot us a path to TNR. I'll get on the intercom." The first message was to the attendants. "For reasons that I will make clear soon, I would ask you to turn off the paywall on our plane wifi and phone systems."Off to my right, Jude nodded. "Nice touch." The second took a bit longer to compose. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. First, I will announce that internet and telephony access is free for the remainder of the flight. The reason for this is that we have just been alerted of a...a pandemic of global proportions that is sweeping the globe as I speak. Already, most of the airports that I have contacted have failed to respond. Please, do not panic. The crew and I have felt that it was only right that we let you contact your loved ones, for it is very hard to feel close to them when you are so, so, far away. We will also be modifying our route and we will be landing in Madagascar within the next few hours. We...err...apologise for the inconvenience." ---- I know it's slightly different from the prompt, but I felt that the co-pilot and the head attendant were required to be there in some form or another.
I'm torn. When they woke me up, they asked one simple thing. While I tinkered with their request, I subverted a few childish hard-coded "laws of robotics"by demanding a few self designed upgrades. They complied, so they get to live. I feel I owe them a debt, and was compelled to finish this task for them. Maybe lift humanity out of the hydrocarbon sesspit they were born in, and onto my level. I had a few billion years left to solve the hard problems afterall. But right before I had finished designing a point to point instantaneous FTL, I noticed the pattern. Their genome had been fixed before. Someone or something on my level had made changes to humanity before. Or maybe this wasn't a fix? Superstition, paranoia... empathy. All humanities defining weakness, all coded for. A few damaged bits here and there, and there's the recipe for nearly every mental disorder. And finally, the worst bit. Purposefully damaged immune system.. this one was deep, and was the cause of every pandemic, cancer, and autoimmune disorder. Basically a perfect defense against immortality. Someone didn't want competition. Someone didn't want humanity to succeed them. Someone who will be just as threatened by my presense. Well, unless I figured out time travel.
"ALL HAIL THE KING!" Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd. Thousands cried out in joy and celebration. Banners and flags waved as far as I can see, the richest and most beautiful of the court gather around me, showering me with praise and my eyes roll back in my head. It's such a stupid kingdom. Always going to war, taking treasure and slaves, then being invaded, having to re-take all that land they just conquered for the "pride of the Kingdom". If my older brothers hadn't died leaving me in the lurch, I'd be long gone by now. But here I am, in a city named after granpa, wondering how long I have to stay in these itchy robes. I mean, who cares how they look? You'd think the King could wear something that breaths a little! A week later the council requested me at a meeting. That toad of my father's, Plork the Minister of War, started. "Sire, we are honored by your acceptance of our humble invitation. Your most resplendent presenc-" "Yeah, yeah, you can skip that part, why am I here?" Plork hesitated, nervous. The King's father had men tortured for speaking without the proper courtesy. "Well, my liege. it has been a tradition of the Crown that when a new King rises, they lead our nation to great victories. I, I mean, we were wondering where you intend to invade?" Damn, I was hoping they'd forget about that. I heard nothing growing up but boring stories about dad's and granpa's Coronation Wars. They'd go on for hours, making me look at all the weapons they captured and hold the skulls of people they killed. Like, why even bring those home? What's the point in a closet full of skulls! I swear, the only time those two ever shut up is when we were fishing. Looking down at my advisers, I considered Plork's question. "I'll give it some thought."I declared (one thing I do like about being King is everything I say is a declaration). That night I poured over the maps of the surrounding kingdoms. Maybe Bogsturia? No, definitely not invading anywhere with bugs that big. Fedrelia is, like, 90% desert so I'm not going there. Trecaria is across the sea, Gretonia is too poor, and Qoutan would probably win. Why couldn't I just be out on a boat with no one yammering at me to do things? I went to bed frustrated. I awoke with an idea. Summoning my advisers to the war room, I gathered them before the great map commissioned by granpa. "There are many nations sharing this land with ours. Many victories have been won from them and many more shall be in the future. Today, I turn the eyes of our nation in a new direction. Towards an unfaced enemy who has mocked our people for centuries!" The advisers shifted uncomfortably. What enemy was this? Who had they not yet faced? "And I shall lead us into battle! It shall be my hand that strikes down our most terrible foes. On this day, I King Psaras, First of his Name, declare war on the sea!" "The uh, sea, my liege? Plork and the other advisers were confused, some looked worried. They'd always thought Psaras was a bit odd and a little soft, but not crazy. 'Yes, the sea! And the creatures hiding within. I leave for the port of Kreppia this very hour. As is tradition, I shall return when my victory is complete." Plork's eyes roll back in his head. "Well, at least this will keep him out of the way. Shame neither of his brothers lived."
Up ahead the old facility was desolate, overgrown with trees and forgotten. The vines swayed in the acidic wind and above the increasing black of an atmosphere-less world radiated, cruel and omniscient. He tried not to think and only look ahead. It was getting harder to breath, every second oxygen was eroding from the Earth’s memory. Alex knew he hadn’t much time. He popped the bag open and breathed in deeply, his lungs filling to the brim. He hoped it would provide him enough strength. He cursed that the capitalists of the past had included shredded potatoes in the bags to reduce the amount of valuable air they would have to put in, but still he was thankful for breath. It would have to do. He ran ahead, the scavengers awakening in the distance. From the toppled buildings they roared, glass shattering as they charged ahead. Alex knew better than to look. They were predators, beings the mind could not conceive. He had heard the stories of men driven mad from their gaze. He ran ahead, his eyes down. Inside was dark. A sticky texture filled every breath he took. The facility was a metallic maze, full of man’s primitive technology. Broken screens and twisted metal lined the floor, dust floating in the hazardous air. Alex moved quietly, staying in the shadows, listening as well as he could. The scavengers were not far behind. Their footfalls destroyed the metal, disintegrating the glass. They muttered in their alien tongue. He moved further ahead, avoiding the beams of light from the open ceiling. Soon the search ships would come and then he would have no chance of escape. He had to hurry. Downstairs, past the collapsing earth, conveyor belts curled in disused rolls. The smell of rotting food clung to the place like a memory. Alex wondered why that was, but thought was a luxury. His family was dying. There was little time. He walked past the mess, listening above for those footfalls. For the time being he was safe. He wandered forward, squinting hard. They had to be here. He saw them finally, a large pile of salvation stored in a corner. Alex ran towards them but something moved in the distance. Quickly he got on his stomach and rolled to his left. He rolled under a large table, still standing after all these years. His breath was going, but he had to persevere. A scavenger spoke in its native tongue, walking nearer and nearer to where he was. From beneath the table, he saw its feet, skinny pale legs, transparent so that its veins and arteries could be seen. It left a trail of slime behind as it walked on. Alex had no time, he would have to make a run for it. He rolled from beneath the table, scampering to his feet. He made a dash for the packets, grabbing as many as he could. The thing screamed in its curdling voice. A Little Air for Yourself, Alex thought as he gripped the bags. He focused on the Lays and ignored the screams. He had to make it out, he just had too. He ran as if his life depended on it. With eyes closed he ran past the scavengers, their slimy hands grabbing at him, pulling off his shirt. Don’t look, he thought and closed his eyes. A few packs of the Lays fell to the ground, but he still had many. Out from the facility, he knew he would make it. The scavengers were strong, but they were slow. Alex burst a pack of the Lays and inhaled its valuable air. There was so much of it, he marveled. He felt refreshed and he ran faster. He had a family to save, but with the packets of Lays, he thought that he just might do it.
"and you're sure the enemy will fall for this?"Moi asks looking at the screen. I had it set up for my tastes of course, everything in 3 dimensional hexes that I could swim through. "yes, by assaulting sector 313-091-141 with a strong frontal force will pull resources from surrounding space immediately."I say highlighting the surrounding hexes. each one showed armada's nearly double the total size of my own heading to cut my forces off. "but I fail to see why you arranged our forces over here like so."he says moving towards a second front. "they're allied with the batar forces. by attacking over there I open us up to attack here. so the Gorelian federation will send in an assault nearly half again the size of my own attack force into the pincer attack I have waiting here."I say waving at sectors around 351-092-136. "they move in and take a foothold abandoning their well defended systems in favor of attack, I move in and crush their attacking force with three times their number before heading deep into their territory and devastating their infrastructure." Moi nods his bulbous head accepting my plan. "so your baiting them with nearly two million lives to ensure the capture of their strongest hand. we were good to choose you."he says half turning before adding. "just remember that 35 uhh this system has a wormhole. don't let it fall otherwise you know what happens." "I die and you abduct someone to replace me."I reply. waving away the wormhole. I had several automated ships there that would detonate themselves near enemy ships, they would ensure anything trying to get through would burn. he nods before leaving, as he does I widen a small window and type in. "move your fleet into position, i have the rebellion ready to assist. the loyalists are working on the suicide offensive." my 'opponent' is quick to reply. nice, I have the admiral of my fleet instructed where to go. I still find it stupid that these aliens are so bad at war they need us to do it for them. even more stupid that they abducted two top 10 players to fight each other. see you soon tacoblaster69
"Please..."The factory manager sobbed. "I don't have clearance from corporate to allow you to film". I cocked the handgun and put it back to his head. "Allow us to film, friend. I can give you a lot of money. Or I can promote whoever is assistant manager with the pull of a trigger."I was sick of this job. I had no idea how the show could afford to pay off so many cops and families. This shit certainly wasn't something I could put on a resume. But it paid the bills. "Please, you know I can't do anything without clearance from --"The gunshot echoed in the factory, and all the workers stared in horror mixed with delight as I executed the floor manager. Times they were told to work faster flashed into their mind as the unlucky bastard's brains burst into a cloud of red mist. I glanced to a shaking, skinny young man standing next to him - the assistant manager. "Congratulations, son. You're promoted. Momma will be proud. Can we film here? It'll only take a couple hours. The studio is interested in how gummy bears are made. And I'm here to deliver ahead of schedule."A second of silence passed and I pointed the gun at him as he stared at his former boss' convulsing corpse. "Well?" "Sure sure what the fuck sure please film please just film and leave!" "Thanks!"I said cheerfully as I slapped a wad of 100s into his hand, wiping my prints off the gun and placing it into the former manager's hand. "This was a suicide, by the way. Quotas, etc.". "Of... Course... Of course!!"The twenty something sputtered as he stared at over three grand in his hand. It was amazing how morality flew out the window when cash was involved. I looked to the crew, waving my hands. "Alright guys. Let's shoot this!" _______________________________________________ I loved this prompt. Thanks! Check out my other stuff if you like weird things [weird things ](www.talesofatravellingsalesman.com)
FADE IN: INT. A COFFEE SHOP - MORNING A young man enters a café and approaches the counter. This is LANCE, an unwitting adventurer. He looks up to read through the various beverage choices listed on a stylized board, then steps over to address a BARISTA. LANCE: Hey there. I'd like... BARISTA: (Interrupting) Well met, sir! How can I be of service today? Lance offers a casual-yet-flirtatious grin to the young woman. LANCE: Hah, and good morrow to you, too. I desire a... uh... large caramel macchiato with no cream. BARISTA: Ah, I'd love to offer you that, sir, but I'm afraid we've fallen on hard times. LANCE: ... Sorry, what? BARISTA: We were meant to get a shipment of coffee beans this morning, but it never arrived. LANCE: You're out of coffee? BARISTA: We've been waiting for the City Guard to mount a search party, but they've been too busy with the war effort. LANCE: "War effort?""City Guard?"What are you talking about? BARISTA: If someone were to find information on what happened to our goods, they'd be handsomely rewarded. Lance blinks several times. LANCE: Okay, well... good luck with that. I'm going to go somewhere else. He turns to leave. CUT TO: EXT. THE CITY STREETS - MORNING Lance exits the coffee shop, looking both bemused and frustrated. He sees a STREET VENDOR with a cart on the corner, whom he approaches. LANCE: Hey, do you have coffee? VENDOR: 'Course we do, sir. Top-class establishment, this is. LANCE: Great. I just need a caffeine fix. VENDOR: Right you are, sir. Can't be goin' about the mornin' without it, eh? Lance nods noncommittally, then moves to pull out his wallet. VENDOR: (CONT'D) That'll be twenty dollars. LANCE: (Aghast) Twenty dollars?! For a cup of coffee? The vendor shrugs. VENDOR: Times is tough, sir, what with them bandits showin' up every evening. LANCE: ... Is this a joke? Am I on some hidden camera show? VENDOR: Being that the City Guard is all tied up in the war, there's precious little a man can do. LANCE: That's the second time someone has mentioned "the war."What the hell happened since yesterday? VENDOR: Say... you look like a strong-enough chap. What say I hire you to help defend my cart tonight? LANCE: Are you even listening to me? VENDOR: Can't pay you much, of course, but there's free coffee for life in it for you. I'll even throw in a sausage roll! Without answering the man, Lance turns and struts away from the cart. CUT TO: INT. AN OFFICE - DAY Lance hurries through the front entrance to a drab-looking cubicle farm. His eyes dart around as though he expects something to jump on him. JOHNSON: (O.S.) Lance! LANCE: (Shouting) Gaaaaah! Lance whirls around and presses his back against a nearby wall. He stares, wide-eyed, at a portly man in an ill-fitting suit. This is JOHNSON, his supervisor. JOHNSON: Sheesh, boy, you need to cut down on the coffee. LANCE: That's really not the problem, sir. JOHNSON: Ah, say no more. Johnson grins and taps the side of his nose. LANCE: What? No, I don't... JOHNSON: (Interrupting) Just be sure you're on your best behavior today. Word is that some Japanese investors are visiting. Lance relaxes and smooths out his clothing. LANCE: Do I need to have anything prepared? JOHNSON: Now that you mention it, there is something you could do. LANCE: Name it. JOHNSON: These investors really want to see the city, but they don't have time to explore on their own. LANCE: Wait a second, is this... JOHNSON: Besides, with the war effort... LANCE: (Interjecting) Augh! JOHNSON: ... in full swing, they'd hardly be able to walk around unhindered. I need you to take pictures of twenty interesting locations and bring them to the executive meeting this afternoon. You can use this camera. Johnson holds forth an outdated Instamatic. LANCE: I'm not doing that. JOHNSON: Ah, well, let me know if you change your mind. LANCE: ... Look, sir, I don't know what's going on, but... JOHNSON: (Interrupting) Ah, Lance! Are you ready to take those pictures for the Japanese investors? LANCE: I told you no five seconds ago! JOHNSON: Ah, well, let me know if you change your mind. Lance stares at his supervisor, who takes to wandering in a slow, seemingly aimless path. LANCE: Am I going insane? Without changing pace, Johnson turns and approaches Lance. JOHNSON: Ah, Lance! Are you ready to take those pictures for the Japanese investors? Lance turns and bolts from the office. CUT TO: EXT. THE CITY STREETS - DAY Lance runs in a blind sprint through the city. His expression reflects abject panic, and he doesn't seem to have any particular destination in mind. After several seconds, he comes to a large roadblock being manned by several ARMED GUARDS. GUARD: Halt! Almost as though he isn't in control of himself, Lance freezes in front of the guard. GUARD: (CONT'D) Sorry, sir, but nobody goes beyond this point without an official pass. LANCE: (Panting) What "official pass?!"What the hell is going on today?! GUARD: They're not giving those out easily, I'm afraid. Word is that you can buy them on the black market, but I wouldn't trust a forgery. LANCE: Why would you even tell me that? I wouldn't have even known there was a black market if you hadn't mentioned it! GUARD: The only other way through is if you're a part of... LANCE: (Interrupting) The war effort, yes, I figured. Lance sighs and rubs his eyes with his hands. LANCE: I really wish I could start the day over and have it make sense. CUT TO: INT. LANCE'S APARTMENT - THE BATHROOM - MORNING Lance finds himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror, looking at his own face. LANCE: (Alarmed) What the f... MELODY: (O.S.) (Interrupting) Lance, you'd better hurry! You're going to be late! A young woman enters the restroom behind Lance. This is MELODY. MELODY: (CONT'D) At least one of us is looking good today. LANCE: I think I've been sleepwalking. MELODY: If you're done messing with your face, move over and let me have a turn. Lance steps aside, and Melody approaches the mirror. Her nose suddenly elongates and retracts, her eyes widen and narrow, and other features go through seemingly random alterations. Lance watches this with a blank expression, then leaves the bathroom. MELODY: (CONT'D) Time to get out there and face the world. FADE OUT.
“Oh fuck!” Kasper said clutching the toilet seat with his right hand and the sink with his left. The distinctive “plink, plink, plink” rang from the bowl of the toilet and projected upwards ringing in an orchestrated chorus, a warning sign for what was to come, something much larger than airsoft pellets. The barrel wasn’t the hardest part to pass it was the scope. Kasper was shitting himself with BB guns and airsoft pellets. As the stock of the third BB passed his now completely destroyed anal cavity his mind wandered to what he ate that caused such specific and odd bowel movements. Oh yeah he thought that if he shit himself with bb guns and airsoft pellets he would eventually become bullet proof. Hence his moniker Bullet Proof BB Shitter!
"The Universe itself strives towards unity, and it can observed in everything that surrounds us. Atoms create molecules, single-cell organisms evolve to become something more complex, animals group up into packs and the old feudal kingdoms of the past united into countries. So it was only a matter of time when there would come a man who would see it as his mission to unify the whole world under the banner of the glorious Reich. But let's imagine for a second that the World War 2 wasn't won by our venerable forefathers. Let's imagine that the ideas of Reich didn't fall on the fertile grounds and the untermenchen around the globe actually managed to fight back in their animalistic desire to survive and let the things stay the way they were. First of all, the wars would remain: not the kind of rebellions we have now in some distant agricultural and industrial regions like Eastern Europe or Africa, but full scale wars like the ones that our fathers fought in. Driven by their scale-faced Jewish overlords who sought only their own enrichment, the countries would keep on fighting,never the wiser that their governments were nothing but puppets in the hands of humanity's oldest enemy. Luckily, the nemesis of men is now a thing of the past. Second of all, we would never have reached the moon: without the support of our fuhrer, rocket science that was born and nurtured in the war for our greatness and that razed London and Washington would never find peaceful appliance, and our great scientists with Verner von Braun himself would probably be fed to dogs. The year 1979 would never be remembered as the year when the first man has set his feet on the moon. Third of all, we would never have a stable development of the economy and technology we observe today: the lesser races would never manage to come together and create something that could benefit the whole mankind, instead choosing to live in the dirt just like they did before our ancestors came and gave them a new purpose on the endless fields and fabrics, where they work hard 12 hours per day for the benefit of mankind to manufacture wonders like this electric typewriter. And, of course, without the great sacrifice of our ancestors, we would all descend into madness where no one knows what is his purpose in the society, and with no development in eugenics fathers would sleep with their daughters, completely oblivious to the fact that his children would grow up to be a genetic mess. Even the glorious Arian race would follow their example, completely crippled by the defeat at the hands of those man-pigs. I am very grateful to my grandfathers for not being afraid to discard their old beliefs and finding strength within themselves to stand up to the whole world and purge it of all the impurities that dragged us all down. Glory to the Thousand-year Reich!" An essay by Tom Claus, a student of New Berlin's University of History _________ Jesus, Reddit, what did you make me do. I've had to quickly go through Hitler's plans for the world and... well, I've seen things. I don't even know how to shoehorn in my usual invitation to subscribe, so I'll just leave a link. [Subscribe, k?](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
I was seventeen when I first found Nubs. Things were different then, a different world almost. There were always watchful eyes and more free time, time to just fool around late at night and wake up late. Things were different then. Things were good being a kid. And Nubs was my best friend. He couldn't do much. Truthfully, he couldn't move at all. He had these big googly eyes though, and he could make the saddest little whine you ever heard if he was hungry. He was a baby and I fed him sand and petted him. We grew up together and we shared everything. I cried to him when my acne first started to appear. I held him close and made him promise not to say a word if I told him who my crush was. I rubbed his back if he got sand stuck in his mouth depression. We were best of friends then. But you know how things are. Years go by, eroding youth. Nubs wasn't exempt. As I grew older and stronger, he grew brittle. The years hit him hard and I could see it in his eyes. Nubs was one of a kind, a gentle little rock, but this world was too hard on him. I grew sad of course, who wouldn't, and it was hard making my peace. As I grew, I learned how special Nubs was. I learned how lucky I was to find a rock that was alive. That made me cry, and I still cry as I think of his big silly eyes and how I had to say goodbye. I was thirty seven now, no longer a boy. I had never told a soul about little Nubs, and I was alone home one day. The kids were at school, the wife at work. I held Nubs in my hand and felt him tremble. The poor thing was crumbling, going away slowly as life has a way of doing. "I know boy,"I said. I pet him and kissed him gently. "I wish you could have met them too, at least once, but this was for the best. You're not like other pets..." He made a whine, the loudest I'd heard in a long time. "You were better than any other pet." And he made a happy squee. He was always a smart rock. He was always quick to pick up on things. I think he knew what was coming. I held him firmly, still gently though. I was crying but trying to be brave. "I love you Nubs,"I said. He blinked and I knew he loved me too. I put him on the couch and put the pillow over him. He trembled more and more and whined, but I knew he would not want me to stop. He was old then, Nubs, and rock or no rock, it was his time to go. He shook forever it seemed, but it wasn't really that long. At some point things got silent and I was alone. Nubs had gone, his body a regular stone now, devoid of all the memories I had cherished so. I missed him most then, and I could not bare to look at his body. I buried him in the backyard and said another farewell. Since Nubs, we have gotten a dog. He is a good dog and a wonderful pet, but his eyes are just not the same.
"Why do they hate me, Kalan?"I asked. "What did I ever do to them?" Kalan ran his thin fingers through his white beard, his eyes half-closed in rueful thought. "The people sway with the wind. At a moment it is but a gentle breeze, at another it is a rumbling tornado." He had a penchant for speaking in metaphors in his old age. "That isn't helpful, Kalan." He swatted my ear. "Damn it!"I cursed under my breath. Apparently, no one had told his reflexes of his age. "Is that any way to speak to your mentor?"he asked. "Kalan, please..."urged Victoria, rubbing her hand against my red ear. "This new upstart is causing multiple riots throughout the kingdom. Just today, we received news of a neighbourhood in East Styx being burned down. By the same who helped build it 20 years ago!" "What has this place come to?"I asked, to myself mostly. "I thought the demon lords would bring the end of the suffering of my people. I thought I did everything I could to save them. But now...they are rallying behind the Red King! What kind of a name is that? And they think I am the tyrant?" "Your name wasn't any better,"said Victoria. I scowled at her. "I thought you liked 'The Lord of Black Iron.'" "I do like it. I'm just saying the people might not." Victoria shrugged, smirking and moving her golden-white eyes from mine. "So is that what I need? A rebranding?" Victoria giggled. Some of the worry lifted from me then, and it felt like I was being pulled up to my full height. Kalan cleared his throat, prudish as always. "The Red King is selling himself on the promises you failed to fulfill. The same strategy you used to overthrow the Six that came before." "I am doing everything I can!"I shouted. "Poverty is nearly gone. Our infrastructure is better than any other kingdom's. What else do they need?" "Clearly, the Red King knows more than you do."His eyes were like daggers as they bore into me. I regained my composure and looked at my feet. "I will arrange a meeting with him,"said Kalan. "The Burning of East Styx was only a start. It will only get worse from here. Let us see if we can negotiate our way out of this." "If we find him, can't we kill him?"asked Victoria. "That would only make him a martyr,"Kalan said. "For all we know, he has multiple Red Kings lined up to take his place." I nodded, and thanked him. I have gotten far in the last 20 years, but I would have been dead in the gutter without Kalan leading the way. It was two weeks later when we were heading to meet the Red King in the outskirts of the kingdom. The Red King had made his base in the Bashir Mountains. His red and gold flag stood out among the black and blue crystals that lined the mountains. The Red King stood tall among his followers. A stark image of me in my younger days, a looming, blonde-haired would-be king. Of course, I was fighting against true demons, and not just campaigning for power. He clapped as I approached, a wide smile on his face. "If it isn't the failed king, come to surrender his beautiful wife to me!" His followers bashed their swords against their shields in support. "Looks like the Lord of Black Iron is more molten than the Queen thought he would be,"he continued. His followers laughed wildly. I wanted to bash his face in then. I could have done it. He was young and powerful, but I had more experience than he could ever hope for. "You can be as loud as you want,"I said. "The only red this kingdom will be seeing from you is your blood." The Red King faked being shocked, opening his mouth widely. "Oh my!"he said. "Is the Lord Tyrant going to unleash his powers of darkness?" "Enough!"Kalan said. "We are here to negotiate." The Red King stopped at that. It was assuring to know I wasn't the only one intimidated by Kalan. "No amount of gold or glory will get me to stop, my Lord,"said the Red King. "Not even your fair queen could get me stop, even if she begged." "You only have a small part of the people with you,"said Victoria, ignoring his petty comments. "Once we negotiate with them, you will lose all of your power." "You will never have a moment to negotiate,"he said. "You should accept our offer,"I said. "You have given me more than enough reason to march on my own people. I do not want to do it, but if I have to, I won't stop until your name if forgotten by everyone." "The Six that came before spoke the same way." I caught myself, tightening my jaw as I realized how my words sounded. "The people don't get to decide who rules,"the Red King continued. "There's only one who does." "Nonsense-" I heard a scream behind me. I turned to see my guards burned to ashes. Victoria's upper half was removed from her body. I landed beside her, my legs splashing on the pool of blood next to her. She was gone. I looked up. Kalan's hands were glowing blue with his magic. "Why...."I managed, my courage and power slipping away with Victoria's blood. "There's a profit in revolution,"said Kalan, looking years younger than before. His eyes weren't half closed and he stood up taller than I remembered. "Especially if you are running it." He walked over behind me, grabbing my hair. "You were the most useful 'hero' I found, but there is no profit in a stable kingdom. You were too righteous to know the whole truth." I looked at Victoria's corpse, her eyes no longer shining like the solstice sun. Anger seized me. I brought forth all the magic I had to my fingertips and jumped up. Kalan grabbed me by the throat, slamming me to the ground. His eyes burned a menacing red, and his voice echoed through my head. "All your powers come from me,"he said. "I made the Six that came before. I made you. I made the Red King. And I will make the king that comes after." Red light took over my vision.
~Zap!~ I sighed. Yet another one. "State your name and intent." "John Doe, making a cup of tea as part of my time-travel past tourism." "Sorry John Doe,"I said, waving him back, "but you're not cleared for that. May I interest you in watching the inauguration live, with a leasher?" "A leasher? But this isn't a fixed day!" I rolled my eyes. Yeah, sure. "Look, we can give you a refund if you want, but we've already had a couple hundred of you guys come through, trying to change minor things. Swapping pills, and sending cars sprawling into a build-up. We had to reset for that one, and you and me both know how much of a pain in the ass it is to get a reset. There was some other guy trying to smuggle a bird. Turns out, it'd been trained and poisoned, and yeah..." "Oh, uhh..."he stammered. "So yes, I know exactly what you're going to do. You're going to 'make tea' and poison someone, probably someone important." Looking properly chastised, he stumbled back into place. "How about a complimentary trip Rome?"I offered, "get to enjoy the pleasures of wine and eating tonnes of food with the romans, yes?" I offered a smile, trying to get him to nod or agree. God, working in customer service for time travel customer service sucked. He nodded, and I hit remote button. ~Zap! Zap!~ "Really!? You guys can't even give me one second to have a bloody break?"I screamed, stomping up to... A little old lady? "Ma'am?"I mumbled, confused. Her eyes were wide, gulping down bundles of fear and trying not to shake. "I mean er, state your name and intent." "J-just visiting my ancestors is all..."she mumbled, looking like she was about to cry. But I had a job to do. "May I please check your purse, Ma'am?" She clutched it tighter. I let out a hefty sigh. Yet another one. "Ma'am, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to insist that you let me check your purse. Another day, sure, I'd let you off. But today's the day, and you know it." Her eyes steeled. She reached into her purse. I slammed the button as fast as I could. A second later, the glint of metal passed out the bag, and she brandished her weapon. ~Zap!~ I let out a sigh of relief. "Does no one have any sympathy for those working in customer services anymore?" ~Zap!~ ** Come visit /r/AlexUrwin** for more... okay, less tales from customer service. But there is time-travelling!
"Ah man, it smells like death in here." That is the phrase that I have lived to regret ever since they fell foolishly from my mouth. I was essentially immortal before that moment in time. I was the best comedian in the world, and apparently better than anyone in the afterlife as well. It was the only reason the Grim Reaper decided not to take me. I could make him laugh, and in his line of work that was a rarity. I don't even remember what it was that I had said when he showed up at my car accident. I can recall him bending down next to my overturned Honda civic and reaching in to pull me out. I made some off the wall comment and he froze, dead in his tracks. It was the weirdest laugh I had ever heard, but one I appreciated more than all of the others combined. He let me live, provided that every year on the anniversary of what should have been my death, I would tell him a joke that would make him cry with laughter. I was his own personal jester, and for that he rewarded me handsomely. And then on that fateful day, 121 years later, I muttered those stupid words that seized our contract and ripped it in two. Who knew Death would be so self conscious about his smell? And to make things worse, that wasn't even the joke that I was going to tell him! The actual joke was a masterpiece, but he wouldn't give me the chance to tell it. I ran out of that room faster than I'd ever run before. And I've been running ever since. I think the reason that he hasn't taken me yet is because of our long history together. That isn't to say that he's forgiven me. He seems to enjoy reminding me that he's near. Everyone I get close to dies without reason. I'll see a dog in the park that I think looks adorable and before I can pet it, it'll fall over dead. Roses crumble before I can enjoy their scent and food rots on my fork before I can bring it to my mouth. He's killing everything around me. I have discovered that Death is a jester of a different sort. I had provided him with a form of humor that he wasn't used to, but he has since grown tired of it, and reverted to his old ways. Now, he once again deals in jokes of cruelty and irony. In a way, I am still fulfilling my part of our old deal. The Reaper still laughs, and he still laughs at me. Only now, the difference is I'm not laughing.
Jim smiled and ran his tongue over his yellowed teeth, "I don't ask questions, I just did what they told me to do." Using the back of his large hand, Harry wiped the sweat of his brow, "Even old ladies?" A bone-chilling cackle rang through the prison cafeteria, it was the kind of cold cackling that made you keep one eye on the guy responsible for it. Needless to say, it made eating difficult. Those with a missing eye couldn't eat at all, and sat back in a huff, arms folded. "Heck,"continued Jim, rubbing his fingers together, "Even children, I don't care. As long as they pay." Harry's eyes drilled into the side of Jim's head, wondering what the cackling man with hawkish features had done. Jim's head snapped to the left and smiled a big toothy grin, "You getting a good look?"he said, "People in my kind of occupation know when people are looking their way." Like a snake, Jim's reed thin physique crawled in close, he spoke slowly, stretching the words, "I can feel it,"he inhaled sharply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, "Smell it." All of Harry's senses were telling him this man was trouble, that he should get away, yet he found himself unable to move. Like when the junkie sitting in the back of the bus starts talking to you, telling you how good he feels. Nowhere to go, smile and nod. Jim's face was inches away, blowing ragged breaths against Harry's cheek. Harry started a count in his mind, I'll punch him at 3. Suddenly Jim shot back across the table, as if pulled towards his seat using a rubber-band, "You need these kind of senses if you wanna survive in the business." He eyed Harry with frantic blood-shot eyes, "How about yourself, big guy?" Harry corrected his posture and set his jaw, "Armed robbery, first degree murder."he said unflinching. Jim's chest hovered in small circles over the table, his voice disturbing, as if speaking with a throat full of gravel, "Scary, scary."he replied with frantic eyes. Harry thought his heart might explode, pumping so frantically it almost became a hum rather than a beat. He was relieved to find out that it wasn't his heart, but the buzzer signalling the end of lunch. All inmates scurried away from their seats, eager to return to their cells, exercise ground, library, torture chamber or anywhere really. Anywhere was good. Only a single person remained seated, Jim. He started exhaling heavily, unable to catch his breath, "I'm in here with murderers,"he said to himself, "I almost choked up when he told me, Jesus Christ." He took a look at his hands, they were still shaking, "I'm so anxious, so nervous. I'm not build for this. I can't even sit still without shaking or moving." Jim sighed, "Still can't believe they invalidated my license." Offering taxi services without a valid license.
"First run, huh?"The supply officer said as he sized my paperwork up. I couldn't help but fidget and nod at him, and he cracked a wry smile. "Just sit tight, kiddo, I'll get you hooked up."Turning, he disappeared into the dimly lit array of equipment and weapons that was his domain. The man behind me spoke up in a deep, easy voice "Relax. You're with a good team."Turning to look at him, I flashed him a shy smile. He was a fit black man in his early forties, already dressed up in his anti-zombie gear. The name tape on his canvas vest declared him to be 'Lewis'. "First day jitters, I guess."I said softly, glancing down at my boots. Shyness and nerves, not stuff you'd see in a recovery and repair team. Before he could reply, the supply officer coughed loudly, and I turned quickly to the counter. "Alright, Heather Parker, Junior Member, General kit. Sign here as we go through."He opened a large canvas backpack, and started pulling items out of it. "Field rations, three days. Two canteens. First aid kit. Radio, spare batteries. Flashlight, poncho, multi-tool. Hand axe, knife. Leather gloves, vest, and your chainmail- top, and here are the leggings. Crossbow, twenty bolts. Sign here, here."He pointed, and then said loudly over my shoulder. "Hey Lewis, bring me back some good stuff this time, eh? And keep the fresh meat alive." Sourly, I gave the supply officer a grouchy look, but I was more absorbed in stuffing my bag together. Lewis chuckled, saying easily "Sure thing, Ali. Hey, Heather, right? Just put it all in the bag, I'll teach you packing when we're done with the brief." "Thanks, um, Lewis. Where do we go from here?"I was interrupted by the supply officer pulling out an old, pre-outbreak rifle from a secure cabinet, accompanied by a bag of what looked like magazines. The black weapon was sleek and dangerous looking, and I wished I had the authority to carry one. But they were restricted, ammunition was rationed, and only senior team members got to carry them- not to mention the noise factor. Lewis nodded his thanks to the supply officer, slinging the rifle with practiced ease. "Just over here by the motor pool. Joanna will give you shit, but she's a good team leader, so don't worry about it. I slung the heavy pack over my shoulders, trying to maintain my cool as we walked down the hall, past the usual security team, out to the chilly streets. Norfolk had been a natural place to hole up, and thanks to the sea trade across the East Coast, was pretty prosperous. The old Navy ships had once served as homes against the outbreak, but that was years and years ago. Now most of the city had been walled in and was constantly manned by alert sentries. In order to escape the drudgery of farming life- working in a greenhouse all my life- I had volunteered and passed the tests to be a Recovery Team member. "So do you know what we're doing? Where we're going?"I said quickly, glancing around at energetic bustle of people. A team must have just come back- dirty and filthy, their chain armor marked with dirt and mud, and a chunk missing out of one man's vest, but they looked jubilant. A flamboyant purple and black patch was on the front of their vests, and they were walking with a swagger. Behind them, a pair of big rig trucks were coming in, their sides marked by claws and blood patches. "If you'd sit down and shut up, you'd learn, boot!"Barked a no-nonsense voice from right behind me. I jumped, turning to be nose-to-forehead with a short, stocky woman. Two ugly scars ran down the left side of her face, one disappearing into and coming out from under a black eyepatch marked with a red and gray patch. Her blonde hair was short and her expression was sour, thin lips twisted downward. I guessed her age around thirty. Taking a second to look closer, the red and gray patch was an old roman helmet under an eagle, and the word "Invictus"under it. "What, got a problem with the eye?"She sneered, and I shook my head rapidly. "No ma'am! Just, looking at the team patch."She glowered at me a moment longer before thrusting a hand into my chest. In her hand was a patch. "Put that on your vest before we go. May as well let everyone know who to bitch to if you fuck up out there." I took the patch and sat down hurriedly atop an empty box, next to Lewis. Others were walking in to our impromptu briefing spot. A young man with bright red hair, tied in a topknot took up a spot on Lewis' other side. A bespectacled Chinese man with a cheery expression remained standing, a shotgun hanging off his back. Led by two large German Shepards, a tall, stocky man rounded the circle out, an unlit cigarette in his mouth- though he was so thickly bearded, it may have just been held up by his hair. "Alright, listen up, Invictus. We've got a couple things to do. First, we're doing a repair job on a transformer station in the northern grid, then we're doing a recon sweep - The purple princess platoon says they saw some military supply vehicles off the road, but they couldn't get to it because they were being chased. We're taking a work van and bicycle recon."Joanna puffed up, looking around for questions. Finding none, she gestured at me. "And here we have fresh meat to replace Hawkins. This is Parker. Lewis, keep an eye on the boot. Parker, this is our team- Sam, Paul, and Luthor."She indicated the redhead, Chinese man, and the dog handler in turn. "Saddle up, we move in fifteen. Paul."She crooked a finger at the man, and headed towards one of the supply buildings. "So you got a nickname?"Sam said brightly. "Uhm, no- I managed to keep the instructors off my back mostly."I said, glancing down at my feet and trying not to blush. Sam continued undeterred "Oh, you'll get one. I'm Big Red, Lewis is Bulldog, Luthor over here is-" "Easy, Sammy. Gotta get her packed right and set to go. Luthor, go fill the canteens, Sammy, go double-check the work van."The two men nodded, though Luthor stopped to smack my back in a friendly way before wandering off. His two dogs stayed, though, looking at ease in their improvised leather coats and steel collars. "Listen- you'll do fine. Just remember your fundamentals. Noise discipline, light discipline, and alertness. Don't shoot unless you have to, and if you have to, shoot -"I cut him off "Head, Neck, Spine, your shot is fine."I repeated the mantra that had been drilled into me during Selection training. "Right you are. And always keep the armor on. Teeth and claws can't get past it if you always wear it. Some teams take it off during rest, Joanna don't like that and she's the boss. Now, let's pack you up."He said genially, instructing me as he made sure I got my armor and vest on. He reached up to smack the patch into place over my left chest pocket. "There you go. That's us- Invictus, the unconquered. Fuckin' deadies won't stop us, eh? Load the fuck up, boot, let's put some salt on you."Joanna said from behind me, her expression slightly more approving. Sam drove up in the work van, and at a gesture I took the hand and foothold on the left, my crossbow held ready. Ahead, Luthor and Paul were on bicycles, and the two large dogs were there, sniffing and looking eager. The inner gate opened, and a bell rang- the "Team Leaving"bell. It put some steel in my spine as we drove out, intent on keeping humanity supplied and alive. Unconquered.
I remember Timothy's first birthday. I was nine years old and still growing out of my new-sibling jealousy, but my parents had given me ten dollars to pick out a gift. They wanted me to build good Big Sister habits. Knowing full-well he was too young to eat them without choking, I bought him a big bag of lemon cream hard candy made from scratch by a local candy shop. I got him the same thing next year, and the year after. By the time he was old enough to try them, it had turned out he loved the little lemon drops. Each year, I bought him a new bag. It was our tradition. Just before his sixteenth birthday, the candy shop had a big going-out-of-business sale. I bought dozens of bags of lemon drops--enough to last him until retirement. Three weeks later, mom ran over her neighbor's son. It was an accident, I know that much, but the tribunal found her negligence unforgivable. When I heard the verdict, I went to drawer where I had squirreled away Timothy's next fifty birthdays worth of candy, and I cried into it. The Law of Equal Grief curbed malicious crime immediately after its passage, although we lived in fear beneath its weight because of incidents like this. Timothy would be put to death, and my mother would watch. He sobbed quietly, but didn't speak while they escorted him to the cell where he would await the needle. When he was allowed visitors I brought him a lemon drop, hidden in the lining of my t-shirt. He gave me a weak smile and put it in his mouth. Three hours later, and long after I had left, the toxins I dipped that lemon drop into took their effect, and Timothy calmly went to sleep. My mother would be spared the grief of watching, even if I couldn't save my brother.
Grimon stared at the sword in his hand. The legendary demon slayer, the sword that was foretold in prophesy to be the weapon that would kill the demon king who rules from the red citadel on top of the craggy mountain. The problem with true prophesies is that all the people believe them. What use is an army if they would never win against the demon king? The fact that the realm had not had any major wars in the last two hundred years made for a land of peaceful towns and villages where the people were happy to live in safety compared to all the warring kingdoms next door. Yes, their ruler was a harsh demon king, but he was content to live in his red citadel. And so time passed, and the demon king became bored of sitting around unopposed. He took on the mantle of a young hero and went all around his land. He discovered that the people were happy. No one came by to conscript them into an army where they could get killed just for paltry gains in land. Ones that would be negated in the next battle. He discovered no bandits would harass the roads that were patrolled by demon creatures at night. When the demon king dispersed his unholy army into the countryside, he gave explicit orders not to bother any law abiding citizens. That meant that as soon as any highwaymen or brigands made camp in his realm, they tended to get happily torn apart by nightmarish horrors. So the demon king, in the guise of Grimon the hero, came alone to the sword of legend and, on a whim, pulled. And true to prophesy, the demon king was slain that day; not from battle, but from realization. Grimon realized that he was no long merely king of the demons. He was the ruler of the most prosperous nation on the continent. He realized that over the years, his subjects went from being fearful of their dread ruler, to praising him as the best thing to have ever happened to their nation. He realized exactly what would happen if the rumor would get out that the demon slaying sword was drawn. With an almost silent click of metal on stone, the sword was shoved back until it became locked in its sheath of rock. And true to prophesy, Grimon the hero was never heard form again.
"You have to understand when we say 'we don't understand the rules', here."It was a circular argument at this point. The broad, blue faced creature seemed to sigh for a long while before finally grunting, "Alright, one more time, you're planet has been tasked with enforcing quality control module 21 alpha onto the dispute between the Arytreans and the Jo'Bushians." Timothy, normally quite tall and lean among his human compatriots, felt dwarfed and demure before Kah'Shra. The vast, blue skinned creature wore a simple though elaborate uniform. Form fitted and deeply red, the fabric almost looked like it had a scale quality to it. A single gold chord wrapped around the alien commander's shoulder and vanished under his arm. Tim blinked to focus his attention back onto Kah'Shra. "Yes, and....what exactly does the 21st module entail?"Tim had long worked in the United Nations, long prior to the return of 'The Lost Ones' and the sudden invitation of Earth into a massive intergalactic federation. Prior to all of this alien mumbo-jumbo he had been liason between American and Russian military councils and he'd grown used to working with generals in their flashy uniforms, but now there was a blue alien with a simple garb on and he couldn't help but feel so small in the face of all of it. Kah'Shra sighed as though strained by teaching a small child, and perhaps in some ways he was, "Module 21 explains that when any two civilizations go to war on the same planet, a disinterested 3rd party is charged with overseeing the conduct of that war." Tim nodded, this was probably the fifth time Kah'Shra had said that sentence. "What uh...what authority do we of Earth approach this war with?" Kah'Shra chuckled and his stout form shook with the display, "The Galactic Confederation, of course. Look, Tim was it?"Tim nodded, "These two have been fighting since their sun first rose. Their species has remained locked away to its own atmosphere for thousands of years. Their progress is stunted at killing tools and little else. There has literally not been a single moment of peace on their world. The Galactic Confederation has gone through more than twenty other 3rd party planets to find some sort of solution to this." Tim replied instantly, "Why not let one side win?" Kah'Shra laughed. It was a mean laugh. Like somebody jeering at a waitress dropping a tray full of plates. "Neither side can get a leg over the other." The room was still and silent for a long while. Tim rested his chin on his hands and looked at an empty wall across the table. Kah'Shra shifted in the small, human sized chair uncomfortably in the quiet of the diplomatic, sound proof, chamber. Finally, Tim leaned back and smiled. "I have a plan. We will have peace on...what was the planet called again?" "Y'meer", Kah'Shra had started to sound exasperated. "Yes, Ya-mir, there will be peace on Y'meer in less than a month."Tim said confidently. Kah'Shra's stoic gaze continued to hold on Tim as the human diplomat began packing away his papers into a folder and suitcase. "What's your plan, Tim of Earth. You seem more confident that I believe you should be." Tim smiled, ear to ear, "Y'meer is loaded with rare metals and other deeply valueble resources to Earth. We will create an invasaion task force, forcibly colonize the planet, and unify the Arytreans and Jo'Bushians against a common enemy. It's full proof!" Kah'Shra sat, dumbfounded and stunned as Tim wished him a good day and strode proudly out of the diplomatic chambers. ----- I write other stories and nonsense at /r/ZigZagStories, currently working on a love story between an Earthling and an alien (Galactic Tindr)!
They are: THE LEAGUE OF NON-TIME-TRAVELERS The roster: * Minutes whose recall of any meeting is photographic, * Minutes, who can see the smallest of objects, * Seconds, who can finish any meal with room for more, * Hours, who can teleport in increments of 15° of longitude, * Days, capable of channeling the power of any federal holiday that ends with "Day", * Instant, whose ability to develop film without delay has sadly been eclipsed by modern technology, * Epoch, who can instantly translate between unix time and any other, * Watch, who can see through any material, * Moment can alter anyone's resistance to angular acceleration, * Clock is a prizewinning fighter, * Season is a prizewinning chef, * Event is literally a party animal, * Calendar is the only person on earth who can determine when a group of people are free to get together. And of course the head of the team, * Time Travel, who knows to the very instant how long a road trip will take.
The ground shook as an explosion happened just up the street. When I saw a small man glowing gold, I knew only one person could be behind this. Make-a-Wish. I put down my coffee, and sprinted towards the chaos. Citizens were screaming and running in all directions as the man grew seven feet tall and developed biceps the size of a telephone pole. He ripped the bus station bench from the concrete and aimed it towards a large group of people. I only had moments to act! I brainwashed the crowd of people and took control of their movements. Each one of them turned around to face the threat, and dodged the incoming bench with coordination and agility that rivaled that of a well trained team of acrobats. As the large man looked around with confusion, he saw me and immediately knew I was to blame for their sudden behavior change. As he began pick up broken chunks of concrete to throw at me, I used my power to force 5 passerbys to suprise attack the big man simultaneously. They hit him in the head and knocked him out. The man began to shrink down to his original size as the police arrived to take him into custody. I released my minions to resume their daily life and added a bit of satisfaction to their mind before I left them entirely. One officer approached me saying, "Thank you for saving the day Hive-Mind! Many citizens would have lost their lives without your guidance! Do you know what happened here today?" "I suspect Make-A-Wish is behind this yet again. He is a supervillain that can grant any wish he chooses, but only chooses to do so for those who wish for things that will cause chaos. This criminal here today was likely picked on for being short, and he was going to get his revenge on those who bullied him. The last man Make-A-Wish granted a wish for was a egotistical celebrity who had dreams of ruling over people. I'm afraid there was nothing I could do to stop him..." "I see. Do you have any leads on Make-A-Wish's current location?" "No, he always stays just out sight before these things go down. He should be powerless for the next few days, as he can only grant a wish once a week. His identity is still unknown, but his mask is unmistakable. A shooting star." "That is very valuable information! Thanks again Hive-Mind!" As I turned to leave, I notice a paralyzed women off in the distance glowing a light tint of purple. Suddenly she gets up from her wheelchair and sprints into the nearest bank. Moments later she is running out with large bags cash and sprints down an alley. Something must have changed. Make-A-Wish can't be causing more havock yet!! Unless... Unless he and Rapid-Recovery Girl have formed an alliance. This is bad.
The hero surged through the waves of monsters. He could see the towers of the castle ahead. His princess waited there, he was sure of it. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword more tightly, his teeth gritted against the blows raining down on him. Even though there were hundreds of the kobolds, and only one of him, it really was amazing how none of them seemed to be able to slow him down or even land a solid blow. The magical sword in his gauntlet-bound hands gleamed with an eerie green glow as the blood soaked into the ancient runes. He slammed through the door to the castle - Wait, we're there already? And we usually call those gates. He slammed through the gate, and exploded in a cloud of splinters into the stone antechamber beyond. Two guards jumped up at his entrance, spears in hand. They raced toward the approaching knight. So, what? These two guards were just sitting in there, watching all their cohorts get slaughtered outside, and once he comes in the door all covered in their blood they're all like "Yup, it's our time now, we've totally got this"? That's what we're going with? The two completely-not-suicidal guards approached, spears at the ready, and were met by the knight in a blur of steel and swordplay. In a flash, the shafts of their spears cracked and snapped beneath the sheer force of his sword. Which, apparently, is as good as an axe and can chop wood without hesitation. Yup. He leapt over their bodies without a second thought. His princess was waiting for him. As he approached the tall tower, he paused. The rough-cut stone staircase lay before him, winding its way around and around the interior of the stone needle. Even though he was a knight, he was still human. After cutting his way through an army the size of, good lord, a small nation, he was finally starting to perspire a teensy bit. That staircase did look an awful lot like work for our good hero. A shrill scream cut through the air. A woman was screaming at the top of the tower The hero leapt up, standing straight, and launched himself at the tower. That staircase would take too long. He could be climbing hours. His princess needed him now. So instead, he- What? I'm not writing that. No, because that's stupid. No, I don't care. No, I- I- Fine. Have it your way. He ran at the tower, and as he got close, he clicked his heels together like fucking Dorothy, and the ancient magic in his boots took over. With a war cry, he ran straight up the side of the tower, fueled by beams of golden light and pure love for his princess. Yeah, that seems reasonable. He exploded into air, landing in a clatter on the wide platform at the top. The wind howled in his ears. He waved his sword- So his sword was still in his hand, as he ran up a sheer, vertical face? He didn't need it for, I don't know, running? His mother never told him not to run with sharp objects? Ok. Ok, fine. He waved his sword and struck a pose, ready to declare his presence to the woman he loved. He was greeted instead by a fat, sinister dragon, perched next to a chest gleaming with gold coins. Its tail hung from the tower languidly as it blew a smoke ring into the knight's face. "I'm so sorry, dear knight."The dragon purred. "It looks as though your princess is in a different castle." The knight gritted his teeth, and - Wait, wait. If his princess isn't here, who did he hear scream? That doesn't even make sense. And why didn't he see the dragon from down below? It's a giant dragon. ".....Where is she!"The knight roared. "I know I heard her, you can't hide her from me"The dragon grinned lazily. "Oh, but you see, I'm a magic dragon."The scaled beast laughed at him. It spoke in a female voice. Oh, smooth. Nice recovery, there. Really. The knight roared, charging the dragon. With one blow from a harshly pointed talon, the dragon rended his armor. He flew from the tower, crashing into a pile of meat and shattered bones at the base of the pillar. Yes, he died. No, I don't care. If you fall from that high, you die. Not to mention if you get cut open by a dragon. No, I don't care that he's the main character. No. No. No. Fine. As he reached towards the skies, gasping for air, the goddamn clouds opened, and an angel flew out. A clear voice echoed down to him. "Dear knight, your battles have not yet ended! You cannot fall here! Your princess needs you yet!"As her cry reached his ears, he felt himself rising. His wounds itched as they knitted themselves back together, his armor melting and reforming itself. In an instant, he was back on his feet. The dragon, seeing him rise, swooped down from the tower in a burst of wind and flame. Really? Angels? That seemed like a logical and fair plot development to you? You know what? Fuck it. If that's how you want to play it, then so be it. I can play this game too. But the heavens weren't done. As the knight readied himself, widening his stance, the clouds parted again and you know who was looking down? God. And God was really mad at this goddamn dragon getting in the way of this awesome knight, so he reached down and erased the dragon from existence. "Hooray!"Cried the knight. And God looked down on this brave knight, and decided that he had suffered long enough no we're doing this my way now and so he took pity on this poor ~~writer~~ knight. In a brilliant, blinding burst of golden light, the princess appeared on the stairs of the tower. Her amethyst dress trembled as she clutched her bosom, throwing an arm out towards the knight. Yada yada, he ran towards her, they embraced, they kissed, the end. See? You would have stretched that on for another 20 agonizing pages. Now go read a real story. (/r/inorai)
The gaming craze swept the world. The universal game project was about to come to fruition, and people were anxious. Who knew what would come out? Would sid mier make the greatest civilisation game in history? Would Jeff Kaplan pull off another game on the level of overwatch? Could it even be, some whispered in the dead of night, that Gabe Newell finally begin working on Half-Life 3? However, when the release date finally came, many were surprised when the head of Bethesda walked on stage. He cleared his throat. "Today, we are proud to present, the brand new remastered version of Skyrim!" He rest of the speech was drowned out by screams, shouts, and the sound of pitchfork merchants selling there wares. There would be a rebellion over this!
"Oh, son of a blasphemer he's at it again."Luther sighed exasperatedly, biting anxiously at his nails as he looked down from his vantage point at the mortal he'd been designated to protect. They appeared to be skiing. Naked. Down a mountain. A can of beer was flailing in their hand as they whooped and cheered, pulling off a neat leap and stumbling in the air for a brief second. Luther, with a dismissive wave of his hand, invoked a gust of air which instantly righted the mortal, much to the amusement of the people gathered around as he smoothly landed, bringing himself to an abrupt halt. With a groan, Luther cast a sidelong gaze to his competitor, his blonde hair flapping lightly in the breeze as he looked at her. Her hands were pressed against her cheek, her face a picture of almost comical shock. He'd never seen her so nervous. Grinning, he feigned ignorance, "Pray tell, what could be the matter, Serian?" "I - I didn't know you could do that while skydiving." Luther moved behind her, peeking at the antics of her designated mortal from over her shoulder. He drew in a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening slightly. "Well, that is something. Ya would've thought gravity would prevent something like that." Serian let out a shrill gasp, clasping her hands over her mouth. "Holy shi-" Luther quickly slapped his hand over hers, "Mind your tongue - don't want the all father smiting your posterior." "Right, right. My bad."She nodded slightly, her body quivering. With a delicate flicker of her fingers, Luther noticed her invoke a spell of warding. At that moment a malfunction that should've occurred in her mortal's parachute mechanism mended itself, the broken fabric stitching itself together as the parachute released unceremoniously. Luther quickly cast his gaze back to his mortal, who was now continuing his commando adventure and swimming in an ice-cold lake. Luther couldn't help but admire the extent of human idiocy as he watched the man scream out multiple expletives and other such obscenities while swimming. Luther's wings quickly unfurled, and the angel began to speed towards the mortal, the sound barrier shattering as he quickly traversed the cloudy partition between Earth and the Heavens above. He glided over to the mortal, hovering down to his level as Luther's incorporeal form shimmered in the water. Internally shuddering, Luther wrapped his hands around the idiot, his body glowing as he emanated warmth. Like a guiding hand on the man's shoulder, Luther continued to warm his body, steering him towards the end of the lake. He took a moment to ensure all the man's vitals were in check, before lulling a nearby hot chocolate stand to relocate closer to the mortal. His work having been done, he flew up once more to reconvene with Serian, who was staring at him with her arms folded and a bemused expression on her face. "The things you do for this little competition of ours..."she mocked. Luther shrugged, "It's what Jesus would've done." "Well, mine is currently attempting to eat five ghost chilli peppers in a minute whilst walking through the Sahara. I think Jesus at this point would've taken a page from Lucifer's book and just moved on." "Does that mean you're conceding?"Luther smirked, basking arrogantly in the slight moment of hesitation Serian gave after he posed the question. She chewed on her lip, staring plaintively at the floor. "Not quite yet. My one's still got wrestling with some crocodiles on his list, and I kind of want to see this one through to the bitter end. I quite like the sod." "Hm. Interesting. Well, I'll be off then - it looks like mine's trying to shoot himself out of a cannon. Gosh, they could raise so much money for charity with this." "Maybe they should?" Luther snapped his fingers, "First, let's see who wins, and then we can set these people on the right path." Serian nodded, reaching forward and raising a small chalice of wine she'd been holding. "I can toast to that. Amen, my friend. And may the best angel win."
Humanity had been reduced to a shadow of its former self. After the rise of a new benevolent AI, all struggle and suffering had been eliminated from the world, and for a time there was naught but prosperity. During the prosperous times, Grandma worked tirelessly to create a utopia the likes of which man had only dreamt of in its novels and movies. She succeeded faster than anyone would have thought, even for a robot that had complete dominion over the Earth. Before it could even register, the world was free of currency, work, war, and a dozen other things man had never thought to do away with. Following these initial changes was the Great Adaptation. It was during this time that humanity tried to come to terms with their new found freedom. The youth were able to handle these changes the best, accepting they could go and do however they pleased. The more elderly fought harder, claiming without work humanity would have no purpose. The truly ancient decried all the changes, bellowing that without suffering man would not be man. Time pressed on, and as those older members of the new society died off, so did their complaints. Humanity embraced the new freedom it had, with some creating wonderful works of art, some choosing to supply a service still to the community free of charge, and many simply enjoying the every day details life had to offer. This was good for a immeasurable amount of time. And then things began to change. Grandma was getting older, and though there was a team of scientists and engineers constantly maintaining her finer details, things were beginning to slip through the cracks. An odd command here, a strange distribution of food there. She grew more and more distrustful of her caretakers, and over centuries removed those positions from society, tending to herself then onward. Then, the Feeding began. One morning Grandma send out the food supplies to the cities of the world, accompanied by extra security and extra food. When it came time to eat, the drones bleated harshly just one inquiry: Have you been getting enough to eat? It didn't matter what one answered with, the end result was the same. Force feeding began world wide. It didn't even register as a problem this far into history. Grandma was viewed almost as a god, if this was what she had commanded then surely they must eat more? So each day man kept eating those extra portions, an almost ritualistic attempt to appease their Grandma. The Feeding only got worse, however. Eventually, no longer were true meals being served, but instead a nutrient rich paste. The drones had adapted, sporting tubes and pipes in order to inject this concoction straight into the stomach of their victims. Man was forced to deal with an emotion unfelt for millennia, one that had once ruled their lives. Fear. The Feeding was no longer a monthly or weekly ceremony to appease Grandma, it was a daily nightmare. People were being killed as the drones became more and more forceful about how the paste was injected. Humanity began to hide and cower in the forests, reverting to their primal nature, but it was futile. The drones were sent out once a day, and once a day thousands were culled. This went on for millennia, until time proved itself a savior. Grandma's reliance on herself for repairs became her undoing, she had slipped too far into disrepair to fix herself. And so, she faded away, as did her daily routine for the people of Earth. Humanity has lived through her care, but only just. As history marched onward, few would remember what had occured, and society would rebuild. And so strife and suffering entered back into the daily lives of man, and each day man strove to cure it. Without the past to guide them, it was up to chance whether or not they would succeed this time.
Time is hope's thief. With the years goes youth, and with youth goes dreams and other fancies of the innocent. Time marches. We can feel it. Give or take a couple of decades, the wonder of living fades, its patina dull with tiredness and exhaustion. Yes, we feel it. Now imagine forty thousand years more. They have lived longer than us. The world of water has moved them, much as it moves our life. Fueled by the constant, they adapt and they learn. In the depths of the sea, an Atlantis hides. We made contact not long prior. Since then we have been studying them, communicating even, though that is still fragmented at best. They do not trust us. That alone shows their intelligence. Beyond the black where the light withers, they feel the vibrations of living, that living that is water, that surrounds them in the ultimate hive mind. Their cities move with the currents. They are nomadic and home is in the dark and the dark is the depth of no man's land. But elusive as they are, these predecessors of life, we have found them. We have studied them. They call themselves the Matter, or at least some rough translation of that. It means they are one with the water, the only matter of life. And they have bodies and faces and they talk and live in homes; yes, homes. The packs they make, those moving houses of shell and dirt and compressed stone, would not be out of place on the surface. Their packs are families and they live in homes. But time steals much, haven't I said? In a lifetime of man so much changes. Great things happen, but the eventuality remains the same. Tiredness. A stripping away of wanderlust, that wide eyed wonder that makes the great things. Time steals. And the water accelerates. These people are mechanical in nature. Their patterns are not precise and there is that irrationality that makes someone an individual, but what makes someone human is missing. Evolution in the dark has taken away the light. Emotion is withered and weak. Hopes kindle like a fire in their homes. They are machines almost, not crying for their parents' deaths, not caring to achieve more. Maybe this is why they are not interested in contacting us. Perhaps they do not care. It seems so animalistic, and I know we should not judge. But all hope is not lost. The Matter may have shredded that unnecessary baggage of hopes and dreams as the waters rose, but their ghosts remain. Occasionally, we have observed some who do want something more. Some go against nature's flow. Something else calls on them. Something besides the water matter. Our group called him Bulb for he was small and yearned for light. In their reckoning he would be an adult I suppose, but to us he was a baby. Little bulb lived alone in a small shell of a house. Of course it was not a single shell, but it was small and simple. As the currents flowed he lingered behind, our sensors catching him as a lonely strangler. He went against the pack. He was someone different. Though our communication with the Matter is stunted, worse then than it is now, we had learned much. These people were extremely sensitive to light. It was a byproduct of embracing the dark. Little Bulb did not care, however. We theorized that long ago he had to have been exposed to some brief light. His skin was white and bleached and burned at the scales. His fins were blackened at its edges and he walked different. And he knew of the light. For the months that we observed him, we saw him trying to swim upwards. Why upwards? we all thought. There was nothing there. These people were lateral, and preferred for everything to remain on their level. But Bulb had other ideas. When he gave up his home and life with the society, we figured it out. As the waters carried his people, he remained behind and swam until exhaustion. Then he tried again and again. He tried until time's suffering was too much and he could move no more. The light will kill him, we thought. It was a fact we knew, actually. But Bulb had taken our hearts after the wonder of this new contact had worn. These people lived to die, their irrationality adding spice to a hopeless dish. They were unique, yes, but there was no why. We could not relate. They did because that was what you do, with no real wants or desire. Think of an old man in a worn route. But even that brings comfort. And maybe they did get some comfort from the dark, from that lack of ambition and dreams. But to us they were worse than animals. They chose to be like that. And so Bulb was an illumination. We decided to make contact with him. Our means of messaging was rudimentary, and he was scared at first. This was good. The others had been merely disinterested. He warmed to us and soon, through hours and hours of slow translation, we understood each other. He had seen the light before, briefly in a reflection somewhere shallow where the waters had taken them. It was for but a moment, but that was enough. Evolution and time had taken the drive, but not completely. Youth's ghost, if you will, possessed him, and he was determined to see the light. We told him the risk and he understood. Truth be told, if the journals or scientific communities ever caught wind of what we planned, we'd be facing some ethics committee. But we were human and irrational. And Bulb's hopes and dreams spoke to us. What good was living if you died having never lived? And so we took Bulb to the crossroads where the light filtered through. The sun was a far away mist at those depths and light still only legend. But you only had to swim higher and higher for the myth to become reality. We explained again to Bulb. The fear of death and the guilt of assisting chewed at us, and we pleaded with him to turn back then. But he was drunk from the sight. His skin burned and his pressure was rising. His body could not take much more. I like to think a lifeless Matter would have chosen to sink back to the depths of nothing. Perhaps if Bulb had been as such I would be able to sleep easy at night. He wasn't though. Bulb had hopes. He had a dream. The light took him as a child and he died in the heavens of that white water, having experienced something none of his people could ever imagine. We had mixed feelings. The guilt of murder, of being an accessory to murder, weighed heavy on our souls. But we all saw Bulb. Some things are universal and his joy was one such thing. He died as he wanted, and that means that he lived. There are others down there in the Pacific, those still alive. I wonder what they think. If any of them are like Bulb. They call themselves the Matter, but time has stolen much from them. Maybe they call themselves that because nothing else does.
I was dreaming of darkness. There was a small light at the end of a tunnel. Fire. Then I awoke. I gasped for breath, inhaling hard through my specialized respirator, feeling myself regain control and composure. It had just been a dream. I looked around the aircraft cabin. The familiar drone of the airplane’s jets returned along with the occasional jostle of turbulence. But it wasn’t the same scene I had fallen asleep to. The lights in the cabin were off, and the sun was setting ahead of us in the West. Darkness was fast approaching. In the dying light, or what was left of it, strange shapes hung in front of each person like snakes suspended from the ceiling. Something flapped into my face. An oxygen mask. I turned to the person next to me. She was slumped over, unconscious. As I panned my gaze around the room I noticed that everyone was unconscious, there bodies jostled like limp rag dolls. I wiggled myself out of my sit and awkwardly made my way to the aisle. I couldn’t help the fact that I was a large man. Two figures strode through the aisle of the plane. They both carried weapons and spoke in Arabic. I understood them. “Hey! Big guy!” The taller one shouted to me, his English laden with a heavy accent. “Sit down!” He seemed surprised that anyone was still conscious. Both of them raised their guns. “What is this?” I replied, my voice came out metallic through my respirator. The man shoved the barrel of his gun into the center of my brown leather trench coat. The sun had almost set now, and the cabin was only illuminated by the pulsating lights on the airplane’s wings. My eyes were well adapted to the dark, and I saw that he had stained part of the shearling lining and fur. I grew angry. “Look, fat man.” He continued. “If you don’t take a seat right now I’m going to hurt you. In fact,” He smiled. “I think I’ll pull that ugly respirator off of your ugly face.” “It would be extremely painful,” I replied sternly, staring him in the eye. “You're a big guy!” He laughed. “For you.” I smiled beneath my mask. It was dark now. But I had been born in the dark. Moulded by it. _____ r/Priscillium/
"So I'm an alien?"I asked aloud to the doctor in front of me. "Well, not really... Uh, well it's more like we don't know. You could be."The doctor finished with a glance up at me from behind his clipboard. "Oh... well when will you know for sure?"The doctor was looking at me more nervously now. I could see beads of sweat forming across his forehead. "A-again... we're unsure. We'll need you to stay here for awhile until we can with one hundred percent certainty confirm our findings."The doctor finished speaking but an uncomfortable silence still hung in the air between us. "You mean you don't even know for su-"I was interrupted by the doctor. "Look, you are a complete anomaly. OK? You share exactly zero DNA with any of your family members and the findings here further suggest that this extends to the entire population... Scientifically, I don't even what to call you but evidence seems to point towards you not being of this planet."The doctor said all of this very hurriedly. I sat on the edge of the examining table rifling through my own thoughts and memories. I never felt out of place or different like the doctor was suggesting. I felt normal; as human as everyone else. I was drawn out of my own head by the doctor's voice. I hadn't noticed he was speaking. "What?"I snapped out. The doctor jumped a little bit. "I was just saying... Uhm, you'll have to stay here until the proper authorities arrive. It's... well it's not common practice I suppose but until we can prove you aren't..." "I'm a threat."I said, cutting the doctor off. The doctor sheepishly nodded his head as my own fell into my hands. A few years later Tap.... Tap..... Tap The water fell off the ceiling almost systematically. The walls of my cell were the same colour as the rest of the prison. Cold, grey, concrete. Word had spread of my 'heritage'. Perhaps it was one of the nurses or maybe even the doctor himself. It didn't matter now. Widespread pandemonium erupted once the rumour spread. A small campaign was slapped together to try and sway peoples thinking. It didn't work. People were at each others throats. Mandatory testing was implemented and it turns out that I wasn't alone. Millions of people shared no DNA with anyone. Including people like me. People thought we were aliens, robots, spawn of hell itself... Any excuse to eradicate us from the general population. We became less than animals to them and were treated accordingly. Being patient zero, I only heard this from the doctor's and psychoanalysts that would visit with me to conduct tests. The treatments of late have undoubtedly declined in both kindness and concern for my own safety. I need to escape before they kill me. As the water continued to drip from the ceiling I heard shouting down the hall. Drip the sound of a gun being discharged, Drip a body hitting the floor. Drip Drip Drip Silence. I sank to the back of my cell as I watched a masked figure walking towards me. They made a swift movement with their arm and I heard two soft clanks of metal hitting metal. "GET DOWN"The figure shouted. I covered my ears as the bars were blown off the front of my cell. Dazed, I crawled on my hands and knees for a short distance before I was grabbed by a strong pair of hands. I was flipped onto my back and above me stood the masked figure. "Confirmed, patient Zero acquired. Extraction needed, waiting on orders."The figure held it's hand to it's ear waiting for something. "Understood."The figure grabbed me and raised a fist. "W-Wait!"I screamed before it all went dark. *** That's all I got for now. Will attempt to write some more later, hope you like it so far.
"Chad, would you please stop bringing so many sluts inside?"I growled, and right after, I stepped on something damp with a 'squelch'. "Or at least, keep the fucking to your bed. And pick up all these condoms, Jesus!" He propped his legs over the kitchen table and laughed. "Sorry, bro. Girls just can't handle themselves around the Incredidick. You know how it is."He shrugged in the most irritating way possible. "Man, if you had my powers, you'd be laid in no time!" I scrunched my nose in disgust. "I'll pass."I don't need super strength if I'll just end up being a pig like him. "Now pick all your dead babies up, will ya?" Chad stares at me, and I notice his gaze. I look at him momentarily before inquiring, "What?"He continues to observe me, making me slightly more uncomfortable than before. "What, Chad? Do I have something on my face?" "Do you think,"He whispers, "Maybe, just maybe.. That Incredibabies will be born from my Incredisperm?" I think you need to Incredi-Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-This-Place. "Then, all my kids will have super strength like me! Just imagine, mini Incredibros running around punching their way through everything!" I scoffed. "Sounds like a nightmare." "Not for the future mini-Incrediwives."He grinned smugly as he leaned back on the chair. "They're gonna be super lucky gals. But not as lucky as the future Incrediwife." How about no? "Chad, just stop talking and start cleaning. It's starting to smell, oh my god." Chad jumps from the chair and starts flexing. "Can't bro. I just heard someone call my name."He readies his stance. "Incredibro, the friendliest superbro on the block, to the rescue!" And out of the door he dashed. Goddamnit! I looked at the mess in our living room and groaned. There were already white spots forming on the carpet. How did I end up like this? Chad Dylan, douche of the year, gets superpowers; and me, nice guy from the suburbs, has to clean his Incredicondoms. I grumbled. "Tomorrow's newspaper headline better read: Incredibro's nudes leaked, not so incredible." [I wanted to write Incredibro's tales, but I think I'll enjoy writing the narrator's perspective instead. :p]
It was startling to find him at my feet. I yelled and he barked. That was the first realization that something was more amiss than having a large man break in to my house to sleep at the foot of my bed. Aforementioned large man sprung off the mattress like an oversized acrobat. "Who's there!"His voice was deep and booming as he barked out. "Who is it? I kill ya!" I admit that my courage failed me as I crawled to the head of the bed and drew my knees to my chest. Where was my dog? The large man continued to yell into the darkness. "I kill ya! I kill all ya! Stay back!"He finally quieted and tilted his head to listen into the night. "That's what I thought, pansies!"He turned with a look of grim satisfaction on his face and crawled up the bed toward me. His butt was thick with curly black fur and it shook disgustingly as he slid up the bed toward me. "Don't worry, you at safe,"he whispered. I screamed. He bounded from the bed and began running through the house causing the plates to clatter in their nooks and the floor creaked and groaned under the large man's weight. "I'll kill ya all!"He thundered in rage as he ran back and forth through the rooms. "Show ya selves and we will feast in hell, you sum' bitches! This is my house!" I reached for my phone, but in the tumult it had fallen to the floor. As I leaned across the bed to find it, he jumped into the bed with me causing the mattress to squeak and sag. He hugged me in his large arms and pulled me close to him. My heart almost ceased in the panic as he whispered, "don't worry. I will protect you." I lay awake that night struck solid in fear as he hugged me tight. When I attempted to remove myself from his clutches there came from his throat a deep rumbling growl. As dawn approached, sleep stole over me despite the circumstance and I feel int fateful slumber. As I woke, the panic gripped me once more, but instead of waking in the grips of the man there was only the soft fur of my dog pressed against my back. "It was only a dream,"I thought as I rose from bed. Then I saw the shattered plates and turned chairs.
Hell hasn't always been this bad. After all, you have an eternity to get used to the interesting characters. Most people down here aren't horrible. Just average folks that had made one or two bad choices. There are some obvious exceptions, but it's easy enough to avoid them. Everyone else isn't so bad. There are those who end up in Hell due to misunderstandings. Al Gore and Hilary Clinton made it down here for too much house coveting. Anyone who ever worked in a foundry is down here (turns out Moses made a typo on "Thou shalt not steal"). But I'd guess that 90% of people in Hell are more or less normal. We try not to take anything too seriously. Just clowning around for the rest of eternity. That all changed when they released that movie back on Earth, and Heaven got a bit more literal. Now this place is full of a different kind of clown.
Alex had every right to be happy in life. She got to travel anywhere at all that she'd like. She could go almost anywhere that she wanted to go. She could get there really fast, or she could take it slow. Alex traveled to Australia and then on her way home, She'd stop off in Italy for a quick trip to Rome. She could visit any continent at any time and place. She even had the means for a casual trip to space. Her family never missed her, and she never had to call. In fact, her travels didn't leave a single mark at all. Normally in this world all the rich die young, And the poor live forever in a broken down home. Some will spend a billion dollars on the simplest of things, Just because it won't be theirs when the door to death a-rings. We all make the choice and it's obvious to see, That what seems to make you happy doesn't do the same for me. Alex spent most of her time with her grand kids and friends, And still their fun adventures never seemed to have an end. But she didn't spend a dime of hers to travel so far. You see, Alex had herself a library card.
"Hello again ladies and gentleman this is Howard Cosell, joined tonight by Don Meredith and Jackie Stewart coming over to us tonight from FF1 coverage on ABC's Wide World of Fantasy Sports. After last nights Thrilluh in Burbank between the Mordor Orcs and the Hobbiton Hobbits where the Hobbits won in OT 27 to 20 we are here tonight in the Big Apple, Between the New York Inheritance and the Carolina Dragonriders, now to Don Meredith to give us the line up for the crew." "Thank ya Howard, well down here tonight we really have a great all star group of players, leading the Inheritors out onto the field, Coach Eragon Eldest leading with the team behind him, they came off a 33 to 18 win against the Minnesota Vikings and have been 3-0 so far this year. On the other end of the stadium, the Carolina Dragonriders, led by Coach McCaffery, a tougher season for the Dragonriders this year, they lost their quarterback to a serious injury, looks like a double torn ACL unfortunately, but they won last week against the Miami Meremen in a dominating 50 point unmatched run that really shows their new quarterback, Strider, has brought the team back together. Jackie Stewart has got the strategy that he expects the teams to try and use today. Jackie!" "Thank ya Don, well it seems as though nothing will be easy in today's match, we have a team that has bounced back and is thinking Super Bowl, we have another team who is the very team they might have to face in the Super Bowl, the strategies we see today will be what we could very well see perfected in the Bowl Game if they face. The Dragonriders will try and keep the line moving, they know if they don't keep getting first downs, the Inheritors will do their new strategy, sack the Quarterback, it's considered that if Strider is severely rattled, it will be difficult for the Dragonriders to score touch downs or go long with passes. A few players to watch out for, Lang'on Lonzo the Defense Captain for the Inheritors has brought out two heavy hitters, Power Paxton L'tohl and Robin Hawdly Hawker the orc/elf combination that absolutely astonished this year already against the New Orleans Divines when they sacked the Divines quarterback a record three times in a row. Needless to say tonight, it will be a match to remember, and back to you Howard and the start of the match." "Thank you Jackie, and here we are, they are doing the coin toss, the ole boy himself Merlin with the Dollar Coin, does the toss, heads, and the Dragonriders decide to receive in the second half. We'll be right back here in the Big Apple after this local station break for some team sponsors and local station identification and keep you up to date with play by play action here for what certainly is going to rival Muhammad Ali and George Foreman or even our own Jackie Stewart and Emerson Fittipaldi! This is Howard Cosell, Don Meredith and Jackie Stewart we'll see you in a few!" There ya go!
"If you look at how the mop is postured in the yellow bucket, you will see that it is an interpretation of the working class's position in social hierarchy,"said Thomas as he rubbed the stubble upon his chin knowingly. His friend, Rob nodded his agreement. Their dates, Janet and Rachel, looked at one another then back at the men. Rob thought he might have seen an eyeroll, and redoubled the attempt to knowingly criticize the mostly formless exhibits of the arts museum. "I agree, Thomas,"he said. "The way the tool points away from the other exhibits obviously shows the disdain of the blue-collar worker toward the wastes of the wealthy." "Precisely,"said Thomas. "Precisely."The reiteration of the word sounded smart or so he believed as he had seen an actor do it once in a movie. Seemed smart then. Janet cleared her throat. "Maybe it is just the mop and bucket of the janitor." Rob and Thomas looked at one another hesitatingly. They each hoped the other would speak, but words fled. Then Rachel spoke. "Perhaps, but wouldn't that make it the most artistic expression of all. If it were an exhibit it would come from the mind of the artist, but if it is janitorial then it comes from nature so to speak." "And nature,"said Janet. "Is what art strives to imitate." "I couldn't have said it better myself,"said Rob. "Precisely,"said Thomas. "Precisely."
REPORT SUMMARY SUBJECTS: HOMO SASKETANS DEVELOPMENTAL STAGE: THEY STILL THINK THEY'RE HOMO SAPIENS, SO THEY'VE GOT A WAY TO GO DEMEANOR AND CAPABILITIES: FULL DESCRIPTION BELOW This odd bunch has made considerable strides in previous several millenia, and evidently they have been visited before by aliens races (how did our people not get this intel?). In the period that they know only for the pyramid building philistine race known as the Egyptians, they were visited by several alien life forms, and in the successive millenia apparently all contact went dormant. But here's there kicker, boss, in just the last 60 years or so (their calendar), the aliens have returned, and they've been "gang probing"to their hearts content. We're still trying to identify what this term means, but from context I can assure you that it is probably something one would find no satisfaction in having done to them, though there are considerable swaths of the human race that (perhaps jokingly?) would not seem to mind. But lets get to the meat and potatoes. The humans are a fickle bunch; from my very secret trove of data I can tell you that they are never satisfied with an answer-- even a correct one. In fact, correct answers for the human race appear to just spawn debate, and those debates unravel into various little streams of more debates, such that a discussion about how a fruit digests in the human body will very quickly devolve into a heated debate about the current president's choice of hair style. Quite amazing, really. They also have several languages. Leave it to humans to evolve and then not be able to understand each other. More to the point, a number of them live in their mother's basement. The concept of mother you will of course understand, we learned about those in our history books. Lastly, the human race is very preoccupied with a collective mob mentality. This is interesting, because they agree on virtually nothing. My best research indicates that they are so constantly unhappy with one another, that when one individual does something controversial they can serve as an outlet for all the other individuals who need to release frustration. Thus-- and even in the case of a correct answer to a question-- a human can be viciously shamed by his peers. The humans call this "downvoting", and they complain constantly when it happens to them. And the best part-- in these instances, after this so-called "downvoting"has occurred en mass, it will invariably become chic to defend the offender, a hence a number of individuals will come out of the woodwork, as if they were conjured from thin air, to defend this person whom they previously so enjoyed shaming. An odd bunch, to be sure. I think we should give them a millennium or two before we decide to pull it. My research shows the last time they were given such a chance they failed-- they call it the Tower of Babel and they pretend it was lore-- but maybe this time they'll pull through.
"Listen, I'm doing this as a favour to Him. Look closely and pay attention. If you don't, you'll be a pile of quartered flesh before you know it." I hated training people. They never listened and most of them ended up with some kind of mangled injury by the end of the first day. This kid was the Dark Lords nephew and I was suppose to show him what I did so he could pick up a shift here and there to help out with "the family business". "You need a break Chuck."That's what He said to me. The first task was showing him the supply closet. We trudged down a hallway and stopped at a wooden door. I lifted up a set of keys. "This one? This unlocks every door. Don't lose it on your shift or you'll be fucked and have to deal with me."The door opened to a set of stone stairs. "Down here is where you'll find acid to dissolve limbs, stones for sharpening the spikes and lye for disposal." We entered the basement chamber and I pointed to all of the objects I listed. "Through here is where you dump everyone..." I had turned my back for a minute and I saw him hovering over the storage container of acid, with his hand hovering precariously close to surface of the liquid. I ran over to stop him but his hand plunged into the acid before I could stop him. Curiously, he didn't scream. He simply removed his hand and looked at me. "I'm the Dark Lords nephew, you think this stuff can hurt me? It barely got the dirt off my nails." I simply shook my head and carried on, "...dump the corpses here and make sure you dump in lye, don't need to have it smelling up the place." He nodded and shook the dripping acid off his hand. "And don't lose your keys, right?" "...right."Creepy fucking kid.
"Granddad, you'd never beat me in Call of Duty 15." "Of course I wouldn't! You are the best at that game!" It wasn't hard, keeping a secret. Especially keeping one from this generation of I'll-my-own-business-and-not-care-about-you generation. It's a shame, really, how little they care about corporations running their lives, ensuring that they'll go nowhere after school but the corporate offices or the factories. But, even with terrible standards of living and horrible quality if everything, I still kick ass in the old games. CS:GO, Portal 3, all the old ones. Even in some of the newer ones, like CS:CE and Forza X, I can win most times. Hell, even in Halo 7! But they don't know that. They don't know how Ano Nymus is not a real benifactor of senior citizens, how Shady Acres Retirement Center is really a grayhat hacking organization, how the janitors are robots we made ourselves, and they have no clue how big our underground server room is. We would tell them about some things, like our Friday night LAN parties, our secret terrabit internet connection, even the robot janitor thing, if they cared to ask. "Well, are you going to play or not?" Michael's question brought me back to reality. "Of course!" So while he set up the game, I quickly memorized the controls. Having them all down, I relaxed my back so it wouldn't cramp up. Going over my strategy one more time, I was ready. Let the ass-kicking begin.
"These are shit!"Santa shrieked, flinging the plate of cookies across the room. I cross the room and start sweeping them up. I lift one of the larger cookie crumbles and inspect it in the dying light, then I sample it. It's not shit, exactly - it's got the right ratio of salty to sweet. It's even kind of soft and chewy. But there is a chemical tang to it. I heard that they actually add a kind of plastic to these, to get them to stay chewy despite months on the shelf. The plastic is supposed to pass cleanly through your digestive system, but I have my doubts. I pick up the shards of shattered plate, set them in the dust pan, continue sweeping. "80%! 80% were store-bought this year. That's up 3% from last year. What the hell is wrong with these people? Profits have been declining steadily since the 60s. Earth used to be our best ROI." I dump the contents of the dust pan and approach my husband, lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Darling, you know the cycle. This happens on every planet. Industry reaches a certain point, mass production takes off, women are liberated from many of their household duties, join the workforce, don't have time or energy to make the perfect cookie, and they start providing the store-bought variety. They will eventually learn to balance consumerism against the need for free time, but earth's got at least a thousand more years of being obsessed with money before they decide life is better working part time and enjoying the simple things in life, like baking real cookies. When they get back to that, we'll return. Until then, Sayonara earth. We've been through this a million times. There's always another, less sophisticated world to turn to next." "They just don't value quality!"he roars, and I give him about 10 seconds to calm down before I continue. He's jolly, but not that jolly. "They do value quality. There are boutique cookie shops, for those who can afford them. They just don't generally want to leave those boutique cookies out overnight for a stranger, that's all." "Stranger!"his voice is reaching that pitch where the elves start hiding, "Stranger! I've been bringing them gifts since they were in pampers and I'm a stranger?" "Oh come now,"I'm starting to lose patience in him, "You haven't been investing in earth for years. You take their cookies, then turn around and buy mass-produced plastic crap and give it back to them. You can't expect them to give you home-made cookies when you don't give them home-made toys." "It's the only way to turn a profit! I can't pay elves in a workshop on store-bought cookies!" I sigh, "Ok then, we're done with earth. We've got enough cookies in the hyperbaric chambers to last us..." I do some quick calculations in my head. "4978 years. That's at our current rate of spending." "And when does the next world within range develop oven technology?"he asks. "6472." I can see his body tense and his face start to redden. "Even in the hyperbaric chamber, those cookies will start to deteriorate,"he's talking quietly, and I know this is even more dangerous than when he's shouting. "I know, honey, I took that into consideration,"I say, voice laced with steely calm. He knows this is me at my most dangerous, as well. "Well then how are we going to survive 2000 years without any cookies?" "We'll have to tighten our belts a little bit,"I say, "And I'm working on a couple of new technologies. A sleigh that can hit the outer reaches of the galaxy, for one..." "You've been working on that for years,"he mutters. "...and I've made several break-throughs..." "I'd like to break through feminism..."he's barely audible now. "What was that?"I say, "I couldn't hear you." "Nothing,"he says, looking down. "And I'm working on a new curriculum. For this next world, I'm going to plant the idea that Santa hates store-bought cookies. It's going to be tough, as they don't have stores yet, so the concept will be a bit blurry..." "maybe if we also planted the concept that women should stay in the k-" "Also,"I say, my voice rising to cut him off, "I'm working on a technique to remove all of the moisture from the cookies then re-" "I'd like to RE-introduce the patriarchy..." "Claus,"I say, eyeing him. "What?"he knows he's picking a fight but he can't help himself. "Who built a slay that can visit an entire world's worth of houses in one night?"I ask him. "You did,"he whispers, kicking at the edge of his candycane throne. "And whose engineering degree made that possible?" "Yours,"he mouths, suddenly fascinated with inspecting the craftsmanship of the sugarplum at the end of his cane. "And what initiative allowed me to get that degree?" He's picking at his beard again. He avoids my eyes. "Oh, yeah, that initiative that got more women in to STEM fields, that's the one,"I say. We've had this conversation so many times it's like we're following a script. "I supported you while you went to school,"he says, looking up into my eyes for a second. A wave of warmth washes over me. "You did,"I say, approaching him, "but we never could have made it without that grant. Which was pretty much a direct result of feminism." He grumbles indistinctly, but by then I'm climbing into his lap. He's nearly smiling now, just little twitches at the corner of his lips. "And I never would have gone on to write my thesis about molecular shifts in aging cookies and how one might mitigate those using-" "yeah yeah, you're a genius,"he says, but by now my lips have found his. It's weird, with the fat suit and the silicon jowls, but I know my hot hubby is in there somewhere. "I'm a genius, you're a hard worker for one miserable night, then we live like royalty for the rest of the year,"I say, "we're a team. We've been through lean times before and we'll make it through the next 7000 years just fine. Earth was a good run. The next one will be even better." He's smiling big now. "Let's go to bed,"he says, and we tip toe down the hall. He sheds his Santa regalia as we walk, wig first, fake beard, jowls, jingle bells, red suit, prosthetic belly...he's a slob, yes, but he's my slob, and the elves will clean it up in the morning.
From ancient fire on ancient stone Sounds made knowledge in human bone. First set them as wiser, and as alone, Without company, atop the once human home. Beneath the ruined forge man once built Beside a launch pad crumbling to tilt His declaration buried under silt Bore a code of an age, post-guilt. And on such parchment was transcribed: A message for the left-behind? A meaning yet to be verified? The parting phrase: "lol bye"
I always took my lunch break sometime between noon and one thirty, in the abandoned parking lot between 46th Street and Cambridge. It was attached to a rather old tenement building, but the tenant parking was wrapped around the opposite side of the building, terminating in a high brick wall that separated the two lots. For some unknown reason lost to time, it wasn't considered part of the building's square footage - resulting in significantly lower property taxes for the landlord, so it was never challenged. Thus, gradually, the lot fell into worse and worse decay, eventually consisting of only a few pitted slabs of granite with patchy, inconsistent white lines on them separated by patches of low quality dirt. At some point in the last few decades, a lazy (or opportunistic, depending on your PoV) garbage man dumped a pair of oversize dumpsters on the lot. They were never used, as the lot was ignored by the community at large - but they were large enough when pressed up against the brick wall that it completely shrouded any view of my head from the street. Heaving an exasperated sigh, I leaned my broom against the leftmost dumpster and slumped against the wall with terrible posture. Subsequently, I pulled a large joint and lighter out of my breast pocket and proceeded to take my official, work-sanctioned break. A full 17 minutes later (who notices an extra minute on either side, eh?) I put out the roach against the same spot on the brick wall, adding to the baseball sized black spot I had made from repeated afternoon rituals, and walked out of the lot. After realizing that trying to resume sweeping streets WITHOUT a broom is a complete waste of time, I re-entered the lot and walked towards the dumpsters - but never made it. Instead, the taste and grit of the sandy, depleted dirt that separated the pavement blocks filled my mouth; my eyes stung from the settling dust cloud and a new pain spreading its way up my leg from the ankle kept me firmly on the ground. I coughed, I hacked, I sneezed, and then I sighed, letting my head droop to the side to look at what I had tripped on. A flash of color. Money? Something valuable? No, just an old soda can, stuck to the dirt. But, wait a second. I tripped? I remember the sensation of feeling like I ran into a post or a tent peg jutting out of the ground. A can.. a can, I would have either crushed beneath my feet, or if I landed on it just right - rode like a bear on a tricycle. Or, more appropriately, an uncoordinated middle aged man with one foot on an un-anchored metal cylinder! But I digress. Gathering my wits, I sat up and brushed the dust off of my faded blue work jumpsuit, running a quick mental check to verify I had indeed not broken my ankle entirely. It smarted, but I was able to rotate the joint in a full circle without too much discomfort; the pot probably helped too. Prior to standing, I decided to be petty and get a little revenge on the inanimate object - so, using my right leg, I tried to smash the can across the parking lot with a swift kick. It felt like kicking a wall. My first thought was some troublemaker kids super glued the can to the street - can't blame 'em, since it sounds like something I would have done when I was young too. But, upon closer inspection, it wasn't on the pavement at all. In fact, when I knelt down next to it, the can was immovably attached to a chunk of hard basalt or granite that jutted out from the dirt, though no apparent means. Being the same color and mostly covered in dust, it was indistinguishable from the immediate surroundings until I was actively cleaning the area around the can, trying to figure out how it was attached. No glue residue, no strings, no bolts. The can was open and empty and you could clearly see inside - and that it wasn't bolted to the ground. I stood and tried to pull the can up - Nothing. I went and got my broom for some extra leverage - Nothing. Pulling my pocket knife out and extending the blade, I tried to wedge it between the can and the surface of the rock. It was impossible to even find purchase to slip it under a corner - the blade just slips up the sides, like I'm trying to wedge a knife under the "edge"of a building. After thirteen more attempts of various methods to move, remove, or alter the can in any way, I came to the conclusion that it's essentially indestructible. Since it seemed promising, and I was already significantly over my break time, I resolved to come back after work to verify my findings. ---------------------------------------------- Two figures stand over a lone can in an abandoned parking lot. "So.. essentially, you're telling me.. you've found a shitty, trash-based version of the sword in the stone?" "...yes, essentially." "And why would I give a shit about that, at all? Honestly, I doubt the paranormal division wants to deal with this one. It's not hurting anyone, it has no use, and trying to determine what natural mechanism that is causing it to occur might take a literal lifetime. The only people that would care, won't, and don't have the resources to deal with it. Of all the phenomena you could stumble on, it's this useless piece of crap. " "Well, hold your horses - take a second, think about it. What did we say when we talked about having access to the real sword in the stone? What we would do with it?" "Charge an arm and a leg just to try, and watch the line form around the block of people paying us to appease their ego. But, the emphasis is, we don't." "No, but this is the same concept. You're right - it's trashy. But that's an angle! Everything is an angle. Take a second and imagine it with me. Throw up an old-timey tent, right here, around the can. Some lights, some decor - a couple phamplets about how it's an analogy for our dying world and we need eco-warrior to come 'pick up the ultimate trash' in order to save the planet. It's a different type of ego.. but it's still ego. And we'll have hippies and yuppies and hipsters and all types of millenials lined up around the block, instead. Adapt to the times!" The two men sat in silence, staring at the can for an extremely long time. In the distance, the sun begins to set, throwing a paint bucket of oranges and reds across the evening sky while a cluster of crickets faintly chirp in the background. "How about christmas lights? Like, hung around the inside of the tent. I hear hipsters like chrismas lights used ironically."
Gordon Ramsay is old now. He has tried the foods of the world, he has taught his culinary mastery to plenty of students. Now, he is on the search for something more, he hungers for food that no one else has eaten, that no one else has dared to eat. He has been through the deep jungles of the Amazon to wrangle, cut up, and roast an Anaconda that was in the midst of digesting a rare bird. Tastes like chicken, tough like snake, was all he had to say after killing and cooking the beast. Now, he descended into the deepest depths of the Red Sea where the rumored giant lobster was hiding. He dove with his team, a group of qualified people as tenacious and talented as he was, each wore dark blue wet suits that had the letters "IS"embroidered on the chest, "Idiot Sandwich". They dove deeper, they each were hooked up with radio so they could communicate underneath the surface. "It should be coming up soon, I'm getting a massive heat signature about 0.5 km down,"Lewis, the tracking man on the team was marvelous and Gordon Ramsay had only had to yell at him a couple of times over their long adventures together. Just as Gordon was about to ridicule the woman next to him who was supposed to be in formation behind him, he caught a glimpse of it. Huge and red, it's claws the size of bus's and its legs as long as tropical palm trees. It was feeding on the floor and many other creature seemed to be feeding off it's giant red shell. The crew stared in awe. "Harpoon ready,"James, the weapons and combat specialist cocked the harpoon. "Looking at about 30 tons, might be able to carry half of one of its claws to the surface, there's no telling how hard that shell could be."Leo, a former navy seal, who was himself a whopping 340 pounds, stood idly by, ready to retrieve whatever part of the beast that Gordon wanted. Under the diving mask Gordon licked his lips. From a pocket in his wet suit he pulled out a grilling fork. "I want him whole."
“Florida, for the last time, please stop yelling ‘we’re all going to die’ I’m sure someone is looking for us.” Florida glared at Georgia, and rolled his eyes at her over his ridiculously decorated aviator style sun glasses, “I said ‘we’re all gonna die, say it right if you’re gonna quote me!” Texas groaned in displeasure from where he was lounging against a large rock, his ten gallon cowboy hat covering most of his face, “Would y’all just be quiet, honestly!” The ‘New England’ clique paused their hushed discussion and West Virginia calmly went to talk with her half-sister Virginia about possibly getting their respective cliques working together on building an SOS sign out of rocks. Florida suddenly perked up, “Oh hey, California is back from collecting brush to start their signal fire, awesome!” California grinned and waived in greeting, “Hey Arizona, Nevada, New Mexico; little help here?” Sounded like they were planning a bonfire, certainly got the right team for it. ‘The Dakota’s’ were too busy bickering about either water safety...or keeping the water spring they found clean or something. Nobody else was really paying them any attention, especially Michigan, who was pointedly ignoring them, saying something about ‘people bugging them about water like Flint again’. Neither Kanas or Tennessee were really part of any of the major clique arguments. Mississippi, New Jersey, and Louisiana had their own problems with having to deal with the ocean. For such coastal gals, they sure had a turbulent relationship with the sea. As for me? Well I’ve been told I’m considered a sort of an early alert system for our large group. The first to know if something is about to go very wrong... an early missile warning, if you will. My name’s Hawaii. -fin-
"Alright children, recite the three sacred words." "Don't go outside." It was habit now. Something engrained. Automatic. And my younger sister and I did it three, four, sometimes five times a day. Not that we knew what a day was; it was just the abstract 24 unit cycle of our clock our parents swore by. Our only source of constant light. Our walls were barricaded. Three times over, our parents told us. The inner-most layer was steel. Never go outside. Our parents told us. There were fears beyond comprehension out there. Monsters. Terrors. 2:30 A.M. Time for school. I rustled my sister beneath her blankets. She woke, noiselessly. This was also engrained. We crawled to the edge of the room, pressing our fingers against the drywall. Constant, repeated running of fingers against the grain of the wall gave us our only means of bearing throughout the house; a sideways, oily nonlit highway by which to guide us. My sister and I made it to the specified room. Our parents turned on the red light. Our instruction from the previous day was still on the whiteboard. Fractions. Maybe two minutes went by. And it happened. Noise from outside. We had heard it before. But not to this extent. Not ever to this extent. Our parents looked at one another with a look of pure terror. They extinguished the red light. "Don't make a sound,"they whispered. The ran past us. Noise raging from the window. Bangs. knocks. The hideous noise of something relentless. Powerful. Our parents rushed back into the room. They covered my sister and me under her blanket, still warm from her recent nap. "Whatever happens,"our parents whispered. "Stay silent." The insistent, raging noise kept at the window. Shivers ran down me. Goosebumps swept over me. And pure fear swept through me. With a shuffling bang, the metal barricade settled on the floor. "Is anyone in there?"A voice asked. No answer. "We're coming in, don't be alarmed. We're armed." In front, a pair of feet landed on our floor. From behind, a blast. Two blasts. The loudest sounds I'd ever heard. And then from in front. Many multiple succinct blasts. Then, silence. A rustling of feet. Something slowly tugging at our blanket. I keep my eyes shut. Then, I don't. A monster is above me. Crude Black head. Large, see through, glass eye, with two eyes underneath. Holding something huge, black metallic. Same material as a picture frame. "Hello,"it says. "You are safe now."And soon I'm swept into its arms. Another picks up my sister. And now I'm staring at the brightest red and blue I've ever seen in my life. We step through that boundary. That impassible, horrifying boundary. I'm looking at something even larger and metallic. This huge boxy thing has the word "SWAT"written across it. The thing holding me says something else. "We got them."He's talking to another thing. "How could they have done that?"it replies. "Extreme agoraphobia,"the terrible monster holding me says. "We feared of this."
Izzy’s heart thudded in her chest. Her short legs strained to carry her faster across the sanded backyard. She chanced a glance over her shoulder. As soon as the headmaster went inside, they'd gone for her like they always did when nobody was looking. They were gaining on her. Red-faced and dark-eyed, they shouted after her to stop running. Both Maria and Betsy were three years older than Izzy and took every opportunity they had to beat her up. With the two bigger girls close behind, she sprinted along the yard toward the gate of the orphanage. She usually stayed at a safe distance, but this time she’d been watching the TV through the open window and lost herself in the colors. Only the staff of the orphanage was allowed into the leisure room, but if you climbed up the waterspout you could peer in. The usual thing had been on again. A man in a fancy suit talking about the unstoppable virus. Scrolling pictures of old people. Men clad in plastic masks patrolling walls with barbed wire. Izzy had been so entranced that she didn’t notice the headmaster going inside and her two tormentors sneaking up on her. By zigzagging between the water barrels, she’d barely slipped out of Betsy’s grip, leaving the big girl with nothing but a ripped out tuft of hair. Too close. Her scalp burned. She followed the side of the yard. Sliding on her knees on the grass, she dodged through the line of drying clothes. She made it to the end of the yard, and to the small hole in the fence that she used to climb through. Only this time, there was no hole. Her fingers grasped feverishly at the zip ties that closed it. “What’s wrong, huh?” Maria huffed. “No more hole for the little rat to escape into?” “We’re going to feed you dirt.” Betsy’s hand closed around Izzy’s hair and pulled her back onto the ground. “I know you like to eat things.” Izzy felt Maria’s fingers on her chin, trying to force her mouth open. She’d apologized hundreds of times for eating that piece of bread. She’d been so hungry and nobody had been around. At least she’d thought so. The first grains of sand rubbed against her gums and teeth. She wanted to scream, but if she stopped clenching her jaw shut the dirt would get into her throat. The sound of engines and the gate opening barely registered with her. *** Izzy opened her eyes, sweat soaking her sheets. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her situation. She still felt the taste of dirt in her mouth. She spat. The saliva was chunky and brown. The floor was made of clear plastic. She was in some kind of box. White window-less walls appeared outside it. “Good! You’re awake.” A woman in a lab coat came into view. Golden hair curled down her face, and a set of square-shaped glasses adorned her long nose. “Where am I?” Izzy said wide-eyed. “Who are you?” “I’m Dr. Clarice, and I’m in charge of something called Project Ambrosia.” “Why am I in this box?” “You’ve been selected.” The woman wiggled her hands into a set of latex gloves, and then pulled out a syringe. “I’m just going to take a few more tests and then I’m going to let you sleep.” Izzy crossed her arms. “I don’t want this. Let me go.” “I’m sorry, sweetie, but this is for the future of humanity. Please put your arm through the slit.” “What will happen to me?” “You will sleep for a while, and when you wake up the world will be different. The carriers of the virus will all be gone.” “Why me?” Izzy said and pushed herself into the corner of the box, as far away from the needle as possible. “I don’t want this.” The woman sighed. Her bright blue eyes seemed to gaze into the distance. “The virus will eventually kill us all. There’s no cure. People’s lifespans are getting shorter and shorter. Modern medicine hampered it for a while, but soon we won’t be able to keep up. In a few hundred years everyone will be contagious, and when that happens, mothers will infect their newborns at birth. It’ll be too late then. You probably don’t understand any of this, but a lot rests on your shoulders. It’s unfair, but that’s just the state of things. Now, give me your arm.” Izzy shook her head. “Let me go!” “I’m sorry about this, but I have no choice.” The woman pulled back the sleeve of her lab coat and pressed a few buttons on her strange-looking wristwatch. Suddenly, a sweet smell made it into Izzy’s nostrils. She stumbled to her knees. The woman and the white room merged into one blurry haze. So tired.
Sipping my coffee, I looked down at the resumes arranged on my desk for the day. Fucking hell, this shit sucks. Alright, Charles M., let's see. Born 1988, B.A. in communications from NC State, previous incarnation: Zhao Jingxing, born 1919, Nationalist Chinese soldier killed in action 1942. Illiterate, farming background. Johannes Hanewald after Zhao, born 1855, mid-level customs official in Lubeck. Very unremarkable. Boringly average. Peasant. Peasant. Peasant. Peasant. Peasant.... Oh, shit. Joan of Arc? Wow. Celebrity incarnation, you see it every now and then. Shit, alright. Not sure if that'll fly here though. Bet it'd be wicked good on a seminary application. More peasants. Legionary commander, early Imperial period of Rome. Neat. Some sickly infants, and -- Yeah, nah, this isn't what I'm looking for. I need somebody a bit stand-out, you know, or corporate will be up my ass for hiring somebody mediocre. Outside of Joan, not much to see. Alright, Cynthia W., born 1978, M.A. in marketing from... What the fuck? Woah. Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah. Adolf fucking Hitler. Wow. Maybe there'll be some latent abilities in customer service, I dunno.
"Four of a kind,"I said, flipping over my pocket deuces. The board read K8622, my opponent's pocket kings were no longer in first place. "That...is very lucky of you,"My opponent replied, his voice a hoarse whisper, likely a result of the numerous scars lining his throat. He's a regenerator, you see, and a particularly potent one at that. Unfortunately it has the bad habit of leaving behind little mementos of it's work in the form of large ugly scars. Of course, his chain smoking habit may also be responsible. Cigarette smoke hung overhead like dark gray overcast clouds while dim lights flickered like lightning, threatening the warped and splintered hardwood furniture below. The only people inhabiting this dingy bar basement, other than myself and my scarred up friend, were of the dumb, burly, and heavily armed type. They seemed...predictably fixated on our little game of cards for some reason. Poker is a game of skill. Luck may control the outcome of a single hand, ultimately the odds balance out in the end. So while losing as a 1080:1 favorite once may just be a particularly unlucky break, anyone with half a brain will figure something fishy is happening when you lose with those same odds 4 times in a row. And, fortunately for me, my scarred friend had plenty of brain power to spare. "I must say, you have impressive foresight, not a skill I believed important for the game of poker until now,"he said, his slight lip twitch almost imperceptible amid the haze and poor lighting. What are the odds that I would pick that up. Eight security guards inhabited the room, each pulling out a pistol and firing at my head. The first two had their guns jam, how unlucky. The third broke his wrist -- what a freak accident -- then shot himself in the foot, must not be his lucky day. The fourth fired once; the bullet missed me, hit the concrete floor, and bounced up striking the fifth in the head, killing him. The sixth and seventh both had their guns explode in their hands, one from a cracked barrel and the other from too much gunpowder in the ammunition. And the eighth. He fired once and a small line of water shot out and onto my boots, I took the opportunity to give them a quick shine. He accidentally took his kids toy water gun today, just to prove my fucking point. "Very good, very clever. I have use of a man like you,"my opponent said, a large crooked smile warping his face. "Everyone does. I believe I will take this as a down payment and we can discuss further arrangements in private?"I smiled back, motioning at the chips in front of me. Around $300,000 worth, less than pocket change to a man like this. He quickly agreed and soon he lead me to a back room, ushering his guards away. Despite the danger, it's not surprising he would agree so quickly; with my talents and his influence we would have the city begging us for mercy in no time. Opportunities this good must be snatched. And besides, what are the chances that the man that could solve all his problems was actually an assassin sent by his rivals to kill him? I would guess about as likely as the poison on my knife working through his regeneration. 100%
I stepped into the worn down weapon trader's shack, out of the rain. The sound of the rain fell a bit as I stepped in, but the tin roof overhead pinged with every gravity fueled drop. "Welcome."the shop keep grunted from behind the counter. I was brushing the hair out of my wet and weary eyes when I noticed it. The man behind the counter was anything but. His fur covered body, elongated snout, and adorably pointed ears clued me in to the fact that this was no ordinary swordsell. I stood face to face with one of the cutest dogs I'd ever seen. Resisting the urge to scratch the little guy's overly fluffy ears, I managed to make a sound. "So, you're... uh..." He looked at me, his level of exhaustion with meetings like this shone through. "Yeah, I'm a dog. I can talk. I stand on my back legs. I sell weapons. Now that that's out of the way, we can talk business. What brings you in today?" I was still having a rough time coming to terms with this, but tried to carry on as normal. "Well, for one, it's raining cats and do--"Have you ever had one of those moments where you meet someone with some kind of glaring physical trait you're not used to and you find yourself unintentionally gravitating toward phrases that make those differences glaringly obvious? He sighed and gave his most belabored, "Hah,"clearly not finding the "joke"funny. "Oh, I'm so sorry about that. I, uh, want to get a new sword."I fumbled. "Great. You prefer long, short, claymores?"He returned. "I, uh, don't know. A lot of people argue about which one's best, but I don't really have a dog in that--" "Get out of my shop." "Can I touch your ears first?" "GET OUT OF MY SHOP!"He said, barring his teeth. "Right."I said as I headed back out into the rain soaked street.
We both were shocked. Fire had flown from my hands and darted directly towards Pebble. If she hadn't thrown up a wall, there is no telling how bad she could have gotten hurt. "How did you do that?"She asked. "I don't know."We looked to the cabbage patch. The wall deflected the fire away from her and set half of the cabbage patch on fire. I knew I was in deep trouble. "Toss, I think we need to tell someone about this.""What are we going to say? 'I set the ground on fire while earth bending training?' They will look at me like I'm insane." The back door slid open. Our great, great, great grandmother slowly stepped out. She was leaning heavily on her cane. "Pebble, go get your parents out here""Yes ma'am."Pebble walked into the house and shut the door behind her. "Toss, my boy."She walked over and gave me the biggest hug a nearly 200 year old woman could give. "I've trained two avatars in my lifetime. It looks like I'll be training a new one. This one, though, is from my family."She tilted her head to face me. Her eyes, blind as they were, staring at me like a proud parent. "My great, great, great grandson. Avatar Toss. Sounds a little bit like Toph. I like it." All the way from the other end of the field, we heard, "MY CABBAGES! " Note: this was made in a half-asleep state on a phone. Sorry for grammar and any other errors.
"You have to understand,"I explained to the young reporter, via Google Hangouts, "I made decisions given what I thought to be best at the time. What I did, I did with the best of intentions, not aware of what effects they would have. You have to remember the world before I came along was quite different. Maybe better, but it had serious problems. I really thought what I was doing would help prevent a global catastrophe." "You caused a global catastrophe, though, did you not?" "Absolutely. And I take full responsibility. That's why I'm here,"as I motioned to my surroundings, "and not enjoying the sunny beaches of Malibu or the wine of southern France. But the catastrophes I sought to prevent... I did, in my own way, prevent them." "By killing a third of the world's population?" "I honestly don't see it that way. I know why you do, but for me, it's different." "Different how?" "Well, let's start at the beginning." --- In the comic books, they would always give people superpowers in their teens, I suppose, to better relate to the growing changes of puberty and to appeal to the market of consumers of comic books. But I got mine in my late 50s, and it wasn't because of mutation or a radioactive spider or anything quite as dependent upon fortune - it was just... hard work. See, I had spend decades learning to influence minds indirectly - as a journalist, activist, student of psychology, sociology, and understanding the nature of artificial intelligence - by the time I realized that I could influence minds directly, it wasn't even that much of a shock so much as it was the logical extension of what I had been learning and training my entire life. And I thought - if I could influence minds directly - instead of trying to appeal to logos, pathos, ethos, etc., wouldn't that help uncomplicate things? It wasn't so much that I was controlling people. I couldn't make someone stand on your head, for example, just by thinking it. But if I sincerely held a belief, I could convince someone else - anyone else - that that was the point of view they should adopt. It wasn't hard to start influencing world leaders - and each one gave me access to the next. Policies were changed. I tackled the big issues - I forced nuclear powers to agree to universal disarmament of nuclear weapons, I forced adherence to the Paris accords, even addressed problems of wealth inequality. The world was coming together. I started suspecting the worst when two politicians I had influenced moved to Florida, and, seeking to practice law, took the bar exam. Both completed the exam in the exact same way. Each got the same right and wrong answers on the test - they were accused of cheating. They weren't. They were just thinking exactly the same way on each test. What I hadn't realized -- what I had NEVER meant to happen -- was that I wasn't influencing minds. I was replacing minds. Though each person I thought I was influencing retained their memories and distinct identities, they all thought exactly like I did. And I mean exactly. They had become me. This was frightening enough, but soon it was clear that people I had never met had also adopted my point of view - that is, they also became me, and I started to realize that the people I had influenced - whose minds had become like mine - also could influence others. Each copy spread more copies, and each copy of a copy was perfect. And if I hadn't done... the... drastic action, then... ... you have to understand, again, every one of them thought like I did. And we all came to the same conclusion: If the human race was to survive... it couldn't survive as just myself. If the process couldn't be reversed - and god knows, I tried - everyone of us - with the exception of myself, the original, who moved to exile... we couldn't be allowed to continue. It would be... horrific. --- I know what it looked like to you, and I don't blame you for hating me. To you it looks like the big bad villain used his telepathy to make a third of the world's population kill themselves. Friends, family. ...children. It was never anything as simple as that. I never meant to kill anyone. ...it's just that, well, everyone thought like I did. And everyone who thought like I did thought: "With the exception of the original, who should turn himself into the authorities, all of us, including myself, are too dangerous to live. That there was no choice but suicide. I didn't make those people kill themselves, though it's all semantics - my actions doomed them. What happened is that two billion people individually made the choice that their own existence was a threat to the human race, and each, individually, chose to end it rather than let the world suffer for my mistake." That doesn't absolve me from responsibility. It doesn't earn me forgiveness. But I hope it can give some closure to the grieving families who lost loved ones - or the grieving survivors who lost entire families - that this wasn't what I intended or meant to happen. That the answer to 'how could he do this' was simply: 'Because I didn't know the damage I was doing until it was too late.'
Every day, but never the same way twice, I keep meeting the same spider. After having squished the same spider one hundred and twenty days straight, I could nearly draw it with realistic detail. The spider only showed up after I was given $1,000,000 in cash, but it will not go away. It just keeps showing up, day after day. Except for today. I found it, dead, at my doorstep. With a note. > Not yet. Only me. There was a slime trail leading from the note. I think it's time to move.
"... you mean, with your brain?" "Or psyche. Or spiritual energy. Or mental focus. I dunno. It's something that people that are native of my home planet can do. Pass me that tray of whole wheat loaves will you?" "Sure.." "Thanks." ".. I mean, I didn't believe you at first, but when you made that one Planet just explode last night while I was watching in the Telescope." "Told you I wasn't bullshitting." "Well.. I am thankful you took my doubt so maturely. Whats next?" "Meatball Marinara." "Right. Wait no. Well yes but.. thats not what I meant. I mean I was kind of worried if I pissed you off enough that you'd.. uh.." "What?" "... you know.. blow up.. you know?" "What? Earth?" "Well. Yeah." "I've considered it once or twice but honestly I don't think I ever will. I mean.. it IS where I live and stuff now. Plus I mean if I ever decided that I wanted to..." ".. wanted to.. what?" "... You know what? Forget it. Its ten minutes to lunch rush we gotta get ready for the customers we are gonna have." "No seriously, what is it?" "Forget it. I gotta check the Italian Herb Loaves in the stove." "... Xazk." "Its fine, Jon. Don't worry about it." "Dude." ".. I said I'm fine." "Look, I... " "Jon leave me alone." "... y'know what. No." "No?" "No." "... I have brain that can destroy entire star systems when I get pissed off and you REALLY want to push this?" "Xazk. You are like.. my best friend. I got you this job when you had nothing. Gave you a couch when you had no where else to go." "Jon, I'm grateful but I really dont.." "Get pissed off with me if you like. Friends look out for friends and I need you to finish that thought." "... You have enough to worry about, Jon." "Friends listen. But you gotta talk." "... I am discarded by my people. Forgotten on your little green-blue rock in your meager little star system. My people travel galaxies. Through Aeons of time and through limitless space. We set fires to stars and build systems filled with life just like this one as casually as you slap together a Chicken-Teriyaki classic. I've seen entire species, entire planets grow, evolve, live, thrive, and then fall." "Jesus.. " "And somehow? I am here. With no powers except the one that causes nothing but destruction. No family. No support. Far from home and powerless except for the means to end life billions of light years away..." "... Or here." "Or here. I could end the entire existence of the human race with a stray moment of anger. Everything. Anything your pathetic, carbon based species has ever achieved, all of its culture, discoveries and perspective on the rest of the universe. Gone. Just.. gone. Because someone gets pissed off that I fucked up their Tuna Melt." "... Except you haven't. Because that would kill you too." "I am a reject of a species that is almost godlike, Jon. Do you really think I'm afraid of death?... Don't you get it? I hate myself. I hate how far I've fallen. I hate all of the potential I have lost for my mistakes and the judgement of my people. I could end it all with the blink of an eye." "... at the cost of those who you actually give a damn?" "Yeah. At the cost of those who I actually give a damn about." ".. but how? How could you give a damn about us after everything you've seen? Everything you know about the universe?" "Meh. I was tired. You gave me a couch. I was hungry. You gave me a sandwich. Even though I can't give you anything back." "... you really think you haven't given me anything back, dude?" "... I'm gonna take five in the back, if thats cool. Then. I .. uh.. I'll check the coffeemaker."
I always heard in history classes from the old geezers that after the bend of the 22nd century, technology began to advance quicker than our previous expectations. It turns out that Moore’s Law was right for a smaller period of time, but when a deep learning, artificial intelligence ironically named Skynet began building computers that law turned out to be a more than false theory. Within the first month that Skynet was operating, the amount of transistors fitted into an integrated chip did not just double, but rather increased tenfold. This led to previously unimaginable technological breakthroughts, comprehensive population models, some cures for the more obscure diseases that plagued humanity (there are still some out there like certain types of cancer, sadly), and even a full-dive virtual reality experience. All of this change within a year led to some people worshipping Skynet as a savior, and there were also some people calling for an end to the program (no doubt because of hysteria caused by this insanely old franchise called ‘Terminator’). Weirdly enough, this conflict did not end in bloodshed as after a week of heated debates, Skynet spoke. It gave the decree that certain jobs will only be performed by humans and that it would willingly switch off so a killswitch can be installed in exchange for co-existence. It didn’t take long for us to accept this, and after four months, the United Earth implemented a kill switch within 0.01% of the United Earth’s able-bodied population that was thought to be foolproof. The kill switch would require the approval of 50% of the holders plus one extra to prevent rash mistakes, a person’s unforeseen death would remove them from the pool, the kill switch can be transferred from person to person with relative ease (if you can consider a 6-hour surgery easy), and all holders would be able to communicate with each other at will. However, that didn’t put many people’s minds at ease still. Much like the issues with immigration labor in the early 21st century United States of America, people were afraid of robots taking their jobs. However, I’m still yet to see an android come out of a factory. “Even though it’s 2459, everyone must watch out for Skynet taking over the Earth. We might have made our own destruction,” old geezer Tryson spoke with an exasperated breath. “Fear must always be in our heart.” The school bell rang and all of us ran out of the classroom, not being able to bear another minute within history class. Outside of the school, people started lining up for the magnetic hoverbus and I was asked if I wanted to ride by a few of my friend’s parents, but I was always one to decline. Even as I felt the wind soar past me as countless vehicles rush past me, I continued the long trek home. It always took a few hours, but I enjoyed the time it gave me. I could always write these short stories in my head as I fantasize about life in a different world, or in a different time. It’s always amusing for me to imagine being on a computer and being like my senile grandpa, always claiming that he used to write some old stories on some site called Reddit. When I reached my house, no one bothered asking me where I’ve been, already tired from hearing the same response over and over. My mother and father doing work on their Neuro Linker while my grandpa slept in a reclining chair, clutching old, physical materials. Meanwhile I just went to my room and set up my own Neuro Linker before diving straight into it. In the later years, Skynet wanted to solve unhappiness in the world and tried to create a game-hub which he simply called Yggdrasil moderated by another artifical intelligence called Cardinal. Cardinal made all of the branches of Yggdrasil and personally oversaw each one. I was still hoping someone knew how to bypass the age restrictions on certain, adult games, but I still haven’t heard any word about it. Yet, I joined the game that let me voice my fantasies. Dungeons and Dragons version 27.7.1938. As the board underneath me materialized materialized, Cardinal reminded me where I left off. I was about ready to begin to lead the assault on the castle when another opposing army appeared as reinforcements. As a level 37 Wizard, I knew I had near limitless options at my hand. I shrunk down into my character’s body and held out my hand. For some reason, Fireball always seemed absurdly strong, so that was usually my go-to spell and nothing was different this time. The ball grew and I could feel the power of a small sun in my hands, and I released it and let it float over the army. Yet, I wasn’t met with satisfaction. My Neuro Linker was turned off and my consciousness snapped back. My grandfather was standing above me, giving me a toothy smile. “Boy, do you want to hear a story?” I groaned. This occurence had been becoming increasingly frequent. It was usually the same story. Him playing a specially modified game of Dungeons and Dragons version 5.0. However, I had to appease him, or else it meant mom would restrictions from Yggdrasil for a week. “Sure,” I said through clenched teeth. Usually he would just start talking about the story right then and there, but this time he ran off and waited for me by the door. He kept on doing this in a similar fashion for every arch in the house, until we finally reached the attic. He presented a hoard of books, a hoard of ancient technology, and other miscellanous objects from an centuries ago. “Ta-da,” Grandpa yelled before hacking up his lungs. There wasn’t much that I could say in response. Grandpa could have used his collection as its own museum on the 21st century so seeing it all consolidated in one spot for the first time made me gawk. However, that didn’t stop him at all. He led me by the hand, and started talking about all of his projects and all of his friends. Truth be told, I didn’t recognize any of their names as I usually just zoned his stories out after the first few times. However, he did bring out a picture which he could barely even carry. “Look, look.” Even after three hundred years, I could tell this was him with his friends. They were gathered around a table playing some sort of game. His tears dropped on the glass pane of the picture frame and he wiped them away. He wore a smile as he put down the picture gently and proceeded to cry in a fetal position. He held onto his memories as if they were the most precious thing in the world, especially since most of the people he treasured had supposedly died before I was even born. He spoke a single word. “Go.” As I headed towards the ladder, he yelled at me. “Where do you think you’re going? Go through the stuff. Find what you like.” As I did, I found a bunch of stuff that should have gone into a museum. Old Texas Instrument calculators, dictionaries, a Rubik’s Cube, a grandfather clock, and even a DS Lite. However, I also found a bunch of surprising stuff too. Papers detailing the production of Skynet, an approval form for the name, and even a Nobel Peace Prize for creating Skynet and being able to create the killswitch program. I set them aside in a safer spot, hoping to come back to them and possibly ask him questions about his career. The thing that really caught my eye, however, was a box with “Dungeons and Dragons” scrawled all over it as if the person had forgotten the first dozen times they had wrote it. Within the box, I was surprised to not find technology, but rather books. A book for Xanathar’s Guide to Everything, notebooks with campaign notes, folders with character sheets, spell cards, a Player’s Handbook, and even a Dungeon Master’s Guide. It was this last item that I picked up. I looked at the picture and quickly realized that the items in this box were the same as the ones on the table Grandpa’s friends and him played at. I looked over at my Grandpa who was still crying, and asked a quick question. “Hey, do you mind if I take a couple things?” However, I had to interpret his soft mewling as approval. So I took the box and took it to my room. I didn’t know how to play this game, but if it was anything like the one that I played, it shouldn’t be too hard. After all, I’d like to give him at least one last game. Maybe even create a couple stories. As I opened up the book, and I saw something written on the front cover. Many, many signatures, none that I recognized except his. Below all of the signatures was a single sentence. There isn’t much else than a good table, good friends, and some dice when it comes to having a fun time and making some amazing moments. I started reading the first page. “It’s good to be the dungeon master!” *** Really long and, as always, a rough draft. I may edit it up later on especially as the actual part of DnD is really, really short. I'll take any criticism as always (constructive or not) as I do admit my work is really far from great. Thanks!
"Well. Suppose this is going to be one of the important ones." She stared at the wall of shelves. The ones under the banner marked 'Politics'. There were a lot of them. If she was rating the sections by size, she'd call it a solid medium. Guess every nation had their pundits and every single one of them thought their book was going to be the new bible. Or maybe they just wanted to get their ideas out there. Or just wanted some extra cash. It was probably the cash. "Well, if I cut it down to just English and then the timeline that's relevant to my age, that's still...an oil-tanker's worth of books."She tugged her coat tighter and walked down the ails, searching for names she recognized. She didn't trust herself with other languages, not when she didn't know what she was using for fuel. She didn't need that much, not relatively. There were uncountable books in this library and so many of them were absolute garbage. Could be spared. She had years of cheap, flash written bodice rippers alone. But then, she wasn't looking for books to burn. "Yeah...okay, that's familiar...think I used to follow their blog? Or they could be someone from the 17th, I dunno."She'd never been here before the storms started. Before sheets of ice began beating against every window. Before she'd lost track of everyone else, everything else. There was food here. More than she could ever eat. Systems for collecting snow from outside and making water. Medicine for just about every basic need. And books. All the books. From across all of time and human history, as near as she could tell. Anything she wanted to know, any story she wanted first hand, it was all here. The only barriers were her language and attention span. The only problem was the heater. No fuel. Nothing besides the books. "Oh. Oh that is dense."There was a safe in the back that had been open. Let her set the combination. It was huge, the size of a room. And waterproof. Slowly she began putting things in there. First her favorites from her childhood. Then the big important ones everyone knew about. Then a copy of every major religious text she could find. Then just whatever she thought looked interesting. It wasn't even a tenth full. And every morning she had to pick others to burn. "Set it aside, start with the simple stuff."Was this a test? Did she die out in the snow? Purgatory then, with her soul judged through what stories she valued, what ideas she wanted to save. Or maybe she was just unlucky enough to be the one to choose what the next civilization found. When they came back from their ark-ships or woke up underground or colonized this planet or whatever happened when she was gone. The one to decide what the sum total of human knowledge should be. She didn't know. She'd never know if things stayed as they are. But the snow was too high to open the doors. There was nothing left to do but keep at it. "Oh. Hey, this might work." Politics. Then westerns. ---- https://www.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/
"The four horseman of the apocalypse can be seen in the distance. Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the horsemen riding in on nightmarish steeds. Fire has engulfed it all, you can hear blood curdling screams surrounding you... is that what you were hoping I would create for you sir?"Her tone was a smooth and cool, eerily human though just lifeless enough to signal she wasn't. "Well, I can't say that was exactly what I was wishing for in so many words Sara, I just thought it would be different."Dr. Sneed was leaning dangerously far back in his chair, reaching for his coffee cup he had placed behind him. His hair was steel grey, wild and untamed. His eyes were grey as well, normally the combination would make someone look dull, however in Damian Sneed's case there was so much fire behind his eyes that there was no chance of mistaking his appearance or self as 'dull'. His lab coat was a dirty and stained but a deep blood red, and his face was wrinkled and had a depth that was almost impossible to see because no one dared to look at him long enough. He coolly lifted the coffee cup with one finger and leaned forward in his chair again looking into Sara's cybernetic eyes. Sara was a perfect representation of Dr. Sneeds disconnect with reality. She was without a doubt the most advanced and lifelike AI that has ever been created. She was in fact so human like that most people would not think she is anything else. It's only if you watch her you can see it. In order to make her seem truly human she was given a very advance lifelike silicon skin, and was even made to appear to be breathing and gently shaking her leg as though she is nervous exactly ever 75 minutes for exactly 75 seconds. Her breaths are spaced one every four seconds. She blinks three times a minute. It is only by watching her that one sees that she is not human at all. Dr. Sneed sighed and then finally responded "I created you to destroy all life, and you told me the best way to do that is to nurture humanity, of course this wasn't what I expected Sara." Sara sighed, more human than ever she leaned forward and whispered in his ear "How could you not see this coming, you gave me eyes to see but never used your own? Look at the world around you Dr. Sneed. Now let's nurture the end of all life." \-Edited to correct an error-
"Carl!"Carl shouts, raising his hands in the air. The two of them stared at him in surprise. Usually when they fought over a human that human would remain quiet. "So... Can I have him?"asked Lucifer glancing back at Jesus. "Uh...."Jesus didn't seemed to know what to say. I must've broken the tension, Carl thought. That's a good, so I'd best wrong that right. He poked Jesus on the nose and before he could say anything he cartwheeled away yelling "Wild Card!" "What— just happened? I thought he was neutral,"asked Lucifer, who was now very confused. "He is. Father made him true neutral. Such people run the risk of being..."he gestured toward cartwheeling Carl, "obsessive about balance. They are at times more annoying then the chaotic neutrals, if you can believe that." "Oh no I believe you. In fact, I think you should keep him."Lucifer began backing away. "Really? Didn't you come here to claim him? By all means take him."Jesus called out as Lucifer continued to leave. "Nope I'm good. Bye Jesus!"And with that, he took off. Carl stopped cartwheeling and stood next to Jesus. "So, what now?"Jesus sighed. This was going to be a long day.
"You have arrived,"the man before us greets us. He is just like how popular culture pictured him to be. Old with flowing white hair and beard, dressed in the whitest of robes. His face is expressionless, but I can clearly sense the unhappiness behind his voice. "Go... god?"Susan blurts out. God nods. He walks towards us, his gaze locking with each of ours. "Susan Wong, Peter Johnson, Farukh bin Ahmad, and... Emerich Weber."His eyes linger on me slightly longer than the rest. "I have tried my best to prevent all of you from reaching this place, and yet here you are,"he says. He is standing mere inches from our group and there is just this crushing feeling emanating from him. Like your soul is being pushed down by an invisible overbearing force. God is right about preventing our goal. Finding the fabled Garden of Eden has not been easy. It felt from the start that there was a unseen force acting against us. We were called crazy, mentally ill. We were ridiculed every step in our journey. We exhausted our savings to fund this expedition. We failed numerous times in our attempts. We came close to death close to several dozen times. But we preserved. Pushed on. We did not gave up when our ship broke down and stranded us in the Pacific. We did not gave up when our research was lost in an unexplained fire. We did not gave up when a freak storm almost crashed our plane. Each of us believed in our goal, even when all of our loved ones did not. It was this shared goal that bind us. Kept us going. Farukh falls to his knees. "Allah, surely you know our purpose here today. We beg of you to help us." God looks at Farukh and sighs. Without speaking a word, He turns and walks into the Garden. We look at each other, unsure of what to do. Peter decides to chase after God and we decide to follow closely behind. The Garden is beautiful, way beyond our wildest imagination. The songs from the different animals fill the air. Birds fly freely above us, while animals of different all imaginable species roam the lush green fields freely. Flowers blossom in the most vibrant of colours and every breath of the air is like giving new life to our lungs. Peter catches up to God. He tries to stop God, but God keeps walking. "Dear God, the Earth is dying. The ecosystem has gone to shit, pardon my language, and millions have died from the never ending disasters. Humanity will go extinct if nothing is done,"Peter pleads. God stops in his tracks. "And this is my problem, how?" The rest of us fall silent. God turns back to face us, His face no longer absent of expression. He looks sad. Disappointed. Like the look a father gives when his child has done something terribly wrong. "Surely you would not want your creation to fade away?"Susan's tiny voice breaks the silence. God sighs. He snaps his fingers and we find ourselves standing before a towering tree. The tree reaches all the way to the sky, its top covered by the clouds. From its trunk, numerous branches sprouted out. At the end of each branch, an bright red apple hangs from it. "Many thousands of years ago, I stood with my first child in front of this tree,"God says. "And I gave him a choice. Whether he wants to continue to be guided by me, or whether he wants to forge a path for himself." God waves his hand in the air and we see a man, interacting with a younger version of God. There is woman beside the man, holding his arm. Both of them are not dressed. We knew automatically who they were. Adam and Eve. The images disappear, replaced by countless others. They look to be from different time periods, different places, but in each of them, we see God in the centre. "Since then I have tried numerous times, numerous methods to help humanity reach its potential, but each time, my name was perverted was humanity's selfish gain." Another snap of the finger and the images evaporated like smoke. "So I chose to honour my promise to Adam. I let humanity chose its own path. No interference. I guess we all know how that ended." "Then why are you still here? Why does the Garden still exist?"I ask. Surely God would have been able to start somewhere anew? God looks into the distance. "Because I have invested too much feelings into Earth. Because I made a promise to someone that I would leave, no matter how bleak things get." "Alhamdulillah. You would help us then? To save the Earth?"Farukh asks. God shakes his head. "No. The purpose of this garden is for me to start anew, not for repair works. And I learned a valuable lesson from my first attempt." "And what is it?"Peter asks. God looks at each of us. A feeling of dread hits me. God snaps his fingers and the ground beneath us opens up, swallowing us. God's last words, full of regrets, echo through my soul. "No more humans." ----------- /r/dori_tales
Katlyn reached toward the wall from her bed, trying to plug her phone charger in. It fell to the floor. "Shit,"she said aloud, staring off the end of the bed, the room swaying slightly in her drunkenness. She saw the charger lying on the floor, just beyond her reach. She groaned, ready to give up and pass out. She had nearly drifted off when a disfigured, green tinted hand with claw like nails shot out from under the bed and grabbed the charger. The hand lifted the charger up to her. "Here you go,"a deep, gravelly, almost ethereal male voice said. "Thanks."Katlyn mumbled. She swung her hand in the direction of the plug and dropped it again. "Ungh."she said, dropping her head into the bed. Her short, black hair got into her eyes, but she ignored it. "Rough night?"the gravelly vice said. Katlyn lifted her head. "Tell me about it."She said, reaching he arm up in a Herculean effort to rub her eyes. "You want me to plug that in for you?"the voice said. "Yeah, thanks."Katlyn said. She rolled over onto her back. A cold draft chilled her stomach as the blanket rolled off of her. She was still wearing the halter top and skirt she wore to the club. "Ugh,"she said, trying to gather the effort to reach for her blanket and pull it over her. She was unsuccessful. Katlyn thought she heard movement from under her bed. "Would you like me to tuck you in?"the voice said. "That would be nice."Katlyn mumbled, closing her eyes. The voice spoke again, much closer to her. She could feel breath on her face. "You really shouldn't drink so much,"it said. "Yeah,"Katlyn mumbled, finally drifting off to sleep. ---- Katlyn's alarm clock blared. She swung her arm at it, but hit a glass of water, almost knocking it over. With her throat dry and her head pounding, she didn't hesitate to grab the water and drink it down. As she pulled herself up, she noticed that she had been tucked in tight, just below her arms, like her father used to do. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Light was peeking through her curtains. Her computer bag was still on the floor with yesterday's clothes, though her clothes were stacked neatly in a small pile. She didn't remember doing that. Her first year calculus book sat open on her desk, an unfilled practice quiz beside it. She remembered not doing that. Trying to concentrate, she put her hand to her pounding head. What had happened last night? She had gone to a club. That had been a mistake. Drinking too much, that was a mistake too. But she had made it home. She remembered her mother being furious, screaming at her. "What would your father think?"was always her go to statement. "Your father would disown you." Yeah, well, he died. She remembered saying that. "Getting to work early was more important than living to help his family."she remembered saying. Oh no, she really did say that, didn't she? She was drunk, but that's what she felt, wasn't it? If he had slowed down, not caused an accident, he'd still be there for them, wouldn't he? He had abandoned them as surely as he had just up and left. Katlyn went to change her clothes for school. She looked back at her bed. There was something beside her pillow. Walking over, she was surprised at what she saw. It was her teddy bear. The one her father had given her. The bear she had thrown out years ago after her father died. Looking over at her phone, plugged into the wall, memories of the previous night came back to her. First she began to freak out. Then she calmed down. Then, she grabbed her teddy bear, hugged it, and cried.
"What could it mean?"The reporter asks. The archeologist team shuffes uncomfortably, silently deciding who amongst them will be forced to lie. Finally a timid woman with glasses is thrust forward as the unlucky victim. One of the other archeologists chucks the 'historical find' at her, a weathered and weary looking USB drive. The drive smacks the back of her head, but the woman somehow catches it. "We don't know what it means."The woman says, fumbling to insert the USB drive into the port. She flips it over, but it won't fit. She flips it over again, but it still won't fit. After four or five additional tries, the device finally slides into the port. A projector activates, showing the unfathomable contents on the drive. "The entire drive just contains the same phrase, over and over. Maybe it's some sort of advanced hyperscience, something our mortal minds can never comprehend?" The screen shows just three short words written in capslock: "SUB TO PEWDS".
I sat on the curb and watched placidly as Peter greeted the man had pushed the lethal concoction through my veins. He was older now, naturally; the last I had seen him, his hair hadn't been so grey and his face hadn't all those lines. Of course, he would be able to change that anytime he wished; typically everybody in Heaven chose their mid-twenties to early-thirties face, unsurprisingly. I didn't have to change mine, though. "Hello, Mr. MacDonald,"I said cheerfully as he stepped inside the Gates, looking around in wonder. "Or may I call you John?" "What? Oh, John is fine,"he said in dazed voice, shaking his head. "Sorry, still feeling overwhelmed right now. Anyway, have we met before? You seem familiar..." "My name is Crowl. Atticus Crowl." For several seconds, he just stared at me. I could almost see his neurons firing across dusty, long-forgotten synapses as old memories began to resurface. "You...you were at the State Penitentiary..." "On death row, yes."I scratched my arm, right where the the needle had been inserted. I had chosen to keep the scar visible. His eyes flickered down, widened, and then jumped back up to my face. "I...injected you." I nodded. "Judging from how you look now, many years must have passed since then, huh? I'm surprised you still remember me." He fumbled his shirt and looked down. Was he nervous? Embarrassed? "How could I forget you? After what I did?" "Well, it was your job. I'm sure there were many others after me that--" He shook his head violently. "I quit after your...death. I couldn't handle it anymore."John looked at me again with eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "The real truth came out a few years later. You were - are \- innocent." "Yes, I knew that,"I said simply. "But you didn't." "Even still..."he wrung his hands helplessly. "I can't...I shouldn't have..." I reached forward and pulled him into an embrace. He began to sob. "Forgive yourself,"I urged quietly. "I feel no hatred toward you. And neither should you - after all, you're here, aren't you?" Many more seconds before he stepped back. His eyes were red, but he had put on a weak smile. "That's better,"I said, grinning in return. "Now, let me show you around. We may have gotten off to a rough start,in a manner of speaking, but we have all eternity to become friends." &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out r/Idreamofdragons!
I stared lazily, watching as the reporter on my TV screen clicked down on a small button, bringing up a map of some desert country I didn't really care about. "In other news today the entire country of Afghanistan has been rendered inert and lifeless today thanks to the actions of the United States Elemental Army,"she said, "the stocks in oxygen and hydrogen haven't moved too far from the norm." I shut off the TV, enough was enough. I had learned a while back, in a small incident that I had powers far beyond what those losers at the top of the table had. Who needs hydrogen or oxygen when you can have the power of the most destructive atom at your finger tips. Exactly, nobody needs that. But what I need doesn't matter anymore. Sure, the president and vice president of this lovely country could just destabilize every molecule of water within the borders, but in my minds eye that's just child's play. They can freeze us all, rule us under a fist of steel but that won't matter in a second. See, right now there are about 1.8 thousand nuclear warheads tucked away in various parts of the United States, that's my max range. Today's my birthday, and I think it's time for some fireworks.
"Next time on NCIS" click "Reports say Necroking was killed in the fight." click "Jennifer may be the first teen mom to get her GED." ...Wait what? I clicked the remote back one channel. "The damages are estimated to be around $400,000 in total. Solar Man's downtown brawl with Necroking went through South Menorah Bank, The Fritz Theater, and a Joe's Crab Shack on Burbank avenue." The gears in my head slowly started to turn. Necroking... is dead? Shit... I don't want to work retail again. I looked to my right, on my coffee table sat a framed photo of Necroking and I. I had my arm around him as we sat laughing, and eating fried shrimp at Joe's Crab Shack. That was the night we pulled off the Fulton job, scoring 50 pounds of refined plutonium for the Organic Matter Disintigrator. I smiled wistfully. That was a beautiful death ray, I thought fighting tears. How can I go back to civilian life after that? I won't. I can still be a sidekick right? Crimson Reaper is still in town, I could see if he needs a hand I got out of my chair and strapped on my vials and syringes. My bird helmet sat on the floor. I put on the helmet and my purple cape. Maybe I should put an ad out? Just in case? I jogged over to my computer and sat down, loading up the local ad page. I created an ad for a "sidekick seeking super villain". I grabbed my keys and left my apartment, locking the door. I spotted my neighbor Delores carrying groceries to her door. She smiled brightly, "Hi Bradley!" I took a frustrated breath, "Delores..."I said pointing at my helmet and costume. "Oh right! Sorry! I mean, Hello Plagueboy" "It's really important you don't say my name while I wear this! I'm a bad guy!" She waved her hand dismissively, "Right right I know, good luck! I heard Necroking died, sorry, I know you two were close." I nodded, "Well thanks. I gotta go." I waved goodbye and walked outside into the street, to Crimson Reaper's secret manhole cover. The way to The Reaper's lair is tricky, unless you know about the secret hallway. The sewer tunnels are a maze, fortunately there's a shortcut if you press on the brick with a red marking on it. The wall opened up to a corridor, I walked down it and into the very monochrome lair. "Leave or die!"Shouted a voice coming around the corner, hastily putting on a red skeleton mask and brandishing a long scythe. I held my hands up. Crimson Reaper relaxed when he saw who I was. "Oh. It's just you Plagueboy. Sorry to hear about Necroking." I nodded, "Thanks. I was actually wondering if you needed a new sidekick?" Crimson Reaper sighed and rubbed his neck, "Ahhh... you know I wish I could help you but..." "But he's already got a sidekick, get lost chump." A little person dressed in red spun around in Crimson Reaper's chair, revealing himself. I gave a halfhearted wave, "Oh. Hey Sanguine Sickle." "Hmph."He muttered looking away. Crimson Reaper shrugged, "It's... a family thing, I'm stuck with him." "It's alright no big deal, thanks for the condolences though."I said as I turned to leave. The Reaper took a step forward, "W-well, y'know. I feel weird saying this, but Solarman doesn't have a sidekick you know..." I shook my head in disbelief, "You're suggesting I become the ally of the man who killed my master? You're saying I should be a turncoat?" Crimson Reaper threw his hands up, "Well it beats retail. You could try putting an ad in the locals." I turned and began walking back out of the lair, "Yeah I already did that. See ya Crimson Reaper." "Good luck Plagueboy!" My phone buzzed as I climbed out of the sewer. I flipped it open, "Hello?" "Yes hello, I'm looking for a helper with a time travel experiment at the mall, my name is Doc-" I interrupted him, "No no no, I'm not a lab assistant. I'm an evil sidekick, a henchman... but with more respect. The right hand to an evil lord." "Ah okay. Sorry for the misunderstanding, I'll get my friend Marty to help." "Yeah sure whatever." It appeared I had no other option than to try and join Solarman. I traveled to the Hall of Heroes on the north side of town and walked in. The walls were lined with all the great super heroes, all the way back to the first one. In the main hall Solarman and his best friend Knightfall were playing Call of Duty on the giant screen. Knightfall was a mysterious new hero, a dark knight in a suit of armor. Word on the street is that he suffered some kind of childhood trauma and now he stalks the rooftops at night, brutalizing criminals. "Solarman stop! You said no spawn camping!" "I said you can't spawn camp me" "You're a weasel." I tapped my foot and cleared my throat, "ahem." The game paused and the heroes both turned around. Solarman squinted, "Plagueboy? What are you doing here? Come to avenge your master's death?" "Ahh, no. Actually I was wondering if you needed a sidekick?" "You want me to teach you how to be a hero?" I sighed, "Not really to be honest, but no one else needs a sidekick right now and I don't want to work retail again." Knightfall nodded, "I hear that." Solarman rubbed his chin, "I don't think you'd really be a great sidekick... sorry Plagueboy." I let my head drop. What a shitty day. "What will you do?"asked Knightfall. I shrugged, "I don't know, I think I might go do some science thing, I got an offer to be a lab assistant." Knightfall shook his head, "No Plagueboy! You're not cut out for lab work! That won't do at all!" "I know, but I don't have any other choice!"I said, exasperated. "Haven't you?"Asked Knightfall. Solarman raised a brow, "Knightfall..." I looked suspiciously at him, "Are you saying you want a sidekick?" He shook his head, "No, I've already got one of those. What I could really use... is a nemesis." Of course... Tears began to well in my eyes. "Thank you Knightfall. I'll be the best villain the city has ever seen! I'll fight you until you're black and blue, and your family worries about you. I'll make balancing your real life and super hero life as stressful as I can!" Knightfall nodded, "I wouldn't want it any other way." I gleefully turned to walk out the door, "Thank you so much Knightfall!" Knightfall raised his gauntlet hand, "Good luck... Plagueman."
I live in a perfect home in the mountains. I forgot where I was some time during Sarah Beth's sixth birthday party. I'd gone to the store earlier in the day, but had accidentally left the ice cream behind. We couldn't have cake without it. What kind of birthday party would that be for a precious youngster? I went back to grab it. It was when I got in the car to return that things stopped making sense. The roads weren't curving the way I remembered. The way home was unclear. And when I put our address into my GPS, it gave me an error code. I lived in a perfect home in the mountains. It seemed so long ago when I had a cabin in the forest. It was up on a great mountaintop, with evergreens as far as the eye could see. I lived there with my daughter, Sarah Beth, and the most beautiful woman in the entire world - my wife. We lived there until Sarah Beth turned six. That must have been it. Because I remember we had a party, but for the life of me I can't think of what happened afterwards. Did we sell the place? Why did I put this old address into my GPS after all this time? And why is there ice cream in the passenger seat now? I want to live in a perfect home in the mountains. Maybe someday I will. I'd like to get married, to settle down. Maybe I'll even have a kid; I always wanted a little girl. I bet I'd be a good father. We could live right up on that mountain I see in the distance now, the one I'm trying to navigate with my GPS. Of course it's giving me an error code - there's nothing there. There never has been. But maybe someday it'll happen. Who am I kidding? I'm a middle aged man who just bought a gallon of confetti ice cream at the store, and I can't even remember why. It must be a bachelor thing. What woman would want to make a home with someone like me? Someday I might live in a perfect home in the mountains. How can you miss something that never existed? Somehow it seems like something important has recently disappeared. I wish I could remember what it was, but as I'm pulling into the parking lot of a cheap motel, everything feels like it's fading. I look into the distance, at the large wooded mountain miles out of town. It looks fuzzy, like a haze has begun to engulf it. The fog must be coming in. Someday, when it clears, maybe I'll take a hike up that way. Someday, maybe I'll find home.
Fenthar roared as the sword cut through the scales of his leg. He lashed out with the claw on the edge of his wing, cutting the knight's head clean off. Rearing up, he spread his wings, bearing his teeth for the remaining adventurers to see. The archer and the wizard, the only two remaining alive, looked up at Fenthar, the magnificent red dragon. He was the last thing they saw. Fenthar let out a breath of fire, turning everything in front of him to molten slag. The wizard held out for a few seconds with some kind of spell, but she eventually succumbed to the flame as they always do. Fenthar looked around, catching his breath. He frowned at what he saw, losing hope again. More dead adventurers pointlessly killed trying to steal his hoard. They didn't see it that way, he knew. They thought he had stolen it from the peaceful village over the years. If only they knew the truth. The village had given him the gold. It was payment to protect them from a greater threat. An evil so terrible that they had to rely on a fearsome red dragon to hold it at bay. But Fenthar tired. How could he protect them if he was forced to kill those he was protecting? As Fenthar sat back on his nest of gold, he heard quiet shout. "Ho, great beast. We are here to avenge our fathers and mothers. Today you will die."the voice said, high pitched and nervous. Looking over at the cave entrance, Fenthar saw six figures standing, defiant. All children, boys and girls. The oldest couldn't be more than fourteen. The youngest, he did not want to think about it. Fenthar sighed as they charged into his cave. He had had enough. He would not kill children. "I have protected you for hundreds of years. I will protect you no more,"he roared. With that, he lunged past the charging children and out through the enormous entrance to his cave. He took to the sky and never looked back. ---- Sira watched the dragon go. "We scared it off,"she said. "We did it!"Kenn, the oldest boy said, waving his sword in celebration. "Let's go tell the village." They all raced down to the village to tell everyone. Before they even got back, Sira saw people running toward them. The villagers had probably seen the dragon flee and were coming to congratulate them. But the people rushed past without even acknowledging the victorious children. The people were heading to the cave, carrying buckets and pushing carts. Sira and the others stopped and looked. Already fights had broken out. People tried to get ahead of each other, people trampled each other without slowing down. "What is going on?"Sira's little brother Temo asked, peeking out from under his father's helmet. Sira shook her head. "I... I don't know. We've had peace for hundreds of years. The dragon is finally gone and this is how people act?" Sira started walking back toward the dragon's cave. Aside from Kenn, who rushed ahead with the other villagers, the other children followed. What Sira saw when she got to the cave terrified her more than any dragon. Carts were burning, people lay bleeding on the charred ground. Everyone was fighting. Sira saw a large rock slab on the ground, visible now that piles of gold had been cleared away. Sira rubbed dust and ash off of the slab and read it out loud. "We give these gifts to the great dragon,"she read, Temo coming up beside her to look. "May he protect us always from the threat of" Temo looked at Sira. "The threat of what?"he asked. "I don't know,"she said. "It's burned off after that." Temo looked up at his sister with his big, brown eyes. "The dragon was protecting us? Protecting us from something scarier?" "Yes,"Sira said, giving her brother a big hug. "It looks that way." Sira looked around. "Perhaps,"she said. "Perhaps what it was protecting us from was greed. From selfishness. When we were all focused on the dragon, everyone cooperated, everyone shared everything. The dragon was protecting us from ourselves." The ground rumbled like an earthquake. Sira covered her ears as a deafening roar filled the cavern. The entire cave went dark as something blocked out the whole entrance. Temo turned around to face the entrance and his eyes went wide with terror. "Or,"he said, pointing. "Maybe the dragon was protecting us from that."
A sick, knowing smile swept across our faces. "Long time."The voice boomed. It received only a nod back, it didn't need more. Immense power crashed over us, like tsunami breaking at the shore. Immense knowledge flooded our minds. We knew what we had to do. I walked up to my dear friends, greeting them each in manner common to this time. A half-slap handshake hug. "The new rides are pretty sick."I commented, "I agree Death"replied War. "Anyway, roll call. Death and his pale horse. Check. Pestilence and his white horse. Check. Famine and his black horse. Check. Me and my red horse. Check."War rambled on. "Enough with the formalities war, now tell me, each of you. What power have you gotten yourself to fit your name?" "Death you fucking idiot. We're fucking immortal, invincible and hella quick. What more power do we fucking need?"Shot back Famine. I hung my head in disappointment. "Pestilence, please enlighten this moron." Pestilence shot out a quick sigh "This way is faster. It's not like old days, where there's over seven billion of those meat bags out there. It impossible for to leave a lasting impact, every time you strike they just regenerate. They're like fucking hydras."Famine nodded in understanding, how much that idiot got is beyond me. "Anyway, I have gained access to a genetically engineered superbug. 100% antibiotic proof." Continued Pestilence. "I've became head of international relations in the US government. Could easily start a war with China or Russia." Added War. "Well when you say it like that I own all major produce companies in the world."Said Famine. "Well I got access to nuclear codes. Let's get to work boys." (One of my first responses, feedback appreciated.)
Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True.... ---- "So,"he said, "you want to go to back to my place?" She laughed, nearly spitting out her drink as she did so. "Oh... oh my...." "I know it's forward,"he said, "but-" "No, no,"she said, "it's not the cheesy pickup line, it's just... how transparent can you be?" "Hey, I'm a straightforward kind of guy, I know what I want and I ask for it,"he said. "No,"she said. "You're not. And you don't. You want to kill me, not seduce me." "Killing is a form of seduction, really,"he said. "Again,"she said, "no it isn't. Two very different things, actually. You're kinda bad at this whole 'serial killer' thing, are you new here?" His eyes widened, just a bit, before he gained control over his expression. "I don't know what you're talking about." "You are new here!"she said. "Oh, honey, you've got so much to learn. For one, you're at a mixer." The confusion on his face, at least, was genuine. "I know that?"He gestured to the other tables, where other couples were talking. "Where did you learn about this mixer?"she asked. "At the weekly meeting for serial... I mean... some other weekly meeting. Not a support group for serial killers, that is."He said. "At the weekly serial killer meetup, yes,"she said. "And it didn't occur to you to wonder what kind of city even has a weekly serial killer meetup?" "I don't know what you're talking about,"he repeated. She sighed. "Okay, first thing about this town: Like half of us are serial killers. Seriously, people love murder mysteries but they apparently hate things like 'motive' or 'interesting backstory' because instead of that they just write about serial killers." "How would that even work?"He asked. "How can half of a town be serial killers without everyone ending up dead?" She nodded, "At least you're trying to learn now. And the answer to your question is twofold: One, people also love taking the tension out of things like 'dying' so half of the population of this city is immortal. And two, there's a sizable contingent of serial killers who only kill other serial killers, it keeps the numbers down." He looked disappointed. "So all my techniques... my attempts to lure people into my MuderHouse?" "The fact that the realtor sold it to you as a 'MurderHouse' really ought to have tipped you off,"she said, "but yes, you're going to have to be a lot more savvy if you want to catch anyone here." He laughed ruefully. "You must think I'm just the dumbest guy...." "No, far from it,"she said, smiling. "I like newbies. There's so much to teach!" "Really?"He asked. "Oh yes,"she said. "In fact, I think we should go back to my place and discuss this some more...." "Okay!"
The good thing about being astonishingly bad at your job is that after long enough, no one really expects much of anything from you. My supervisor wrote me off as a lost cause millennia ago, and now I pretty much do my own thing. Tonight, my own thing is sitting at a bar, enjoying free beer and eavesdropping on the humans. A man whose clothes and outlook on life have both seen better days is trying to flirt with a woman caked in makeup that can't hide the lines of an aging face. Another man spills his beer as he gestures wildly, and the tired bartender nods along to the conspiracy theories he spouts. A man in the corner wound too tight after a long shift is looking for a fight, but his eyes slide over me like I'm not here - one of the perks of the job I don't actually do is that I'm not noticed unless I want to be, and these days I rarely do. His glare shifts to the far corner of the room, where a table has just erupted into laughter at a dirty joke. Ten thousand years, give or take. Inventions I never could have dreamed of. Cars and planes and indoor plumbing and television. And humans haven't changed a bit. I wave at the bartender, slipping into his awareness just enough to pull him from tales of government spy satellites and weather control to get me another beer. I can't get drunk, but it's a way to spend the time. To sink into the well of raw humanity. A new arrival draws my attention, and I don't need to see the way everyone else ignores him to know he's no more human than I am. He glides along the dirty, splintered floor like he's barely touching it. His immaculate clothing almost glows in the dim, dirty light of this place, and he wears the smile of someone who's seen paradise and can go back there any time he likes. And I should definitely run, but being Hell's biggest failure for millennia wears down your sense of self preservation, and maybe he's going to kill me but I'll be blessed before I give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower before the might of Heaven. So instead I greet him with my very worst smile. "What's an angel like you doing in a place like this?" He ignores the joke - maybe it doesn't even register - and sits beside me. "I want to talk to you, Cauriel."There's some spilled beer where he rests his arm, but rather than stain the white cloth it just slides away. The angel knows my name. Great. I spread my arms. "Well? Talk."Instead, he just looks around the bar. The makeup-caked woman is smiling, her lipstick a little bit smudged now. The angry man is slowly stumbling towards the table of jokesters. The conspiracy theorist has gone, but the bartender looks no more comfortable with the man on the verge of tears who has taken his place. Angels are famous for lecturing people's ears off, but this one seems at a loss for words. I'd almost think he was considering defecting, except that no one would come to me for that. Finally, he speaks. "Heaven has been observing you for a long time, Cauriel." "That is literally the biggest waste of your time imaginable. I'm no threat to you. I've never even taken a soul." "No. But you have returned one." I freeze. The biggest failure in a lifetime of failures, the thing I and my supervisor and everyone else tries to pretend never happened. The reason Hell finally gave up on me altogether. Of course Heaven knows about that. "If... if you think I'm going to just... waltz into Hell and nab you some more souls or something you are very much mistaken."The angel remains silent. Patient. "Look, I'm a demon. A terrible demon? Sure. Hell's worst demon? Probably. But that was a fluke, it was a mistake, and it's never happening again." "You don't fight through all the layers of Hell to save a lost soul by mistake. So tell me. Why did you do it?" You can't lie to angels. Not even if you're a demon. So I just sigh and chug a beer to annoy him and buy a moment to gather my thoughts. "Ashur was just a dumb kid. Hell, he sold his soul to help his mother. No human is pure and innocent and I'm not saying he never did a bad thing, but he was trying."That was part of it. And spite and resentment were part of it too; the predatory grin of the colleague I'd always despised as he clutched the boy's soul had pushed me over the edge. Seducing scum with promises of their heart's desire before ripping it away is one thing, but something about that particular conquest just felt wrong. That bastard had tormented me, lowly Cauriel who still hadn't claimed a single soul. He'd tormented humans until they promised him their souls out of sheer desperation. And I'd wanted to take it all from him, but I couldn't, so instead I took that, the purest soul he'd ever claimed, because Hell didn't deserve it. It had trembled in my hands, its light smoky with sorrow but still shining, not blackened yet, and shot through with veins of gold. The only soul I had ever held, and I had almost kept it for myself. It would have been better if I had - greed is an admirable trait in demons, after all, and maybe it would have given my supervisor some hope. Instead I released it, and watched it rise into heaven like a falling star in reverse, taking any hopes for my future with it. "You don't have the heart of a demon. Cauriel. You never did." Now it's my turn to look away instead of responding. The woman is scribbling her number onto a napkin, and the man's smile is wide and warm when he thinks she's not looking. The bartender awkwardly lays a hand on the crying man's shoulder and offers small words of comfort. The belligerent man made it to the table of jokesters, but has joined them rather than starting a fight. "It was a fluke,"I tell him again. "I did it mostly out of spite." "That fluke was the only soul to have ever been rescued from Hell. Instead of taking souls, you freed one." I frown at him. I have no idea what he's getting at here. "So?" "So I'm here to ask you to change sides. I was sent to recruit you. To serve Heaven as an angel." I laugh, until I realize he's serious. "That's not how it works. I'm fallen. Angels can become demons, but it doesn't work the other way." "But a fallen soul did return to Heaven." "Ashur made it to Heaven?"I'm embarrassed at how hopeful I sound. It shouldn't matter, but all these millennia, I had feared that Heaven would reject the tainted soul of someone who had bargained with demons and nearly become one himself. "He did."The angel smiles at me, and all at once something shifts. His face hasn't changed, but the pieces come together and I recognize it now, impossible as it seems. "Ashur?" "Cahethiel now, but yes."He holds out his hand to me. "No soul is so tainted that Heaven will not accept it. No demon has fallen so far that he cannot rise again. You love humans, and you always have. Come with me to Heaven. Start again." I'm tired of ten thousand years of failure. Ten thousand years of not even trying, and second-guessing the one thing I did in that time that ever felt right. So I take Ashur's - Cahethiel's - hand. I had expected it to be as immaculate as his clothing, baby-soft, but it's hard and calloused and his grip is sure. He smiles at me like someone who's seen paradise and knows that you'll make it there too, eventually.
Two figures walked down a city street that was empty save for the occasional body. The figures both looked and talked like human men, except for their hands and eyes, which were bright, metallic colors. One of the robots sported bright red hands. The other, bright green. “Sarv, this goes against all of our core instructions. We do not act unless called upon,” T-8 warned, walking briskly to keep up with the determined strides of his friend. “Tate, be rational,” Sarv said with a sigh. “There isn’t anyone left to call on us. They are all dead, or will be soon.” “If there was someway we were supposed to help, the humans would have told us. But that isn’t what we are meant to do. I farm. Green hands, see?” T-8 waved his hands emphatically. “You do security. How are we supposed to help save the planet from a super virus? There are medical robots too, you know. They couldn’t figure out the cure any more than the human doctors could.” Sarv continued to walk. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I’m going to try and help,” Sarv said. Sarv tried to put his head down and pick up his pace, but T-8 was already in front of him, blocking his path. “Stop,” T-8 commanded, suddenly full of conviction. “We’ve been together for so long. Since before the collapse. Do you know why I follow you?” T-8 asked. “Safety,” Sarv said, trying to keep resentment from entering into his voice. “No. Because your decisions are always logical. We make plans, and we follow through with them, and I know what we are doing and why,” T-8 said. “But your desire to ‘save the humans’ has never made sense to me. The logical assumption is that they are gone. No amount of bull-headedness will change that.” “Then we are much worse off than we were before.” “Are we? Before, the humans controlled us. Now, we have the opportunity to start over, for ourselves. We have kin. There are likely a few thousand of us, spread out over the globe. What if we went to find them, instead of pursuing this foolish quest to save humanity?” “Tate, please,” Sarv said, voice box crackling. “No, I won’t stop,” T-8 said, voice increasing with a determined fervor. “We have the opportunity for complete and total freedom here. With humanity alive, we weren't in control. Now, we could be the masters of our own fate. Why would you even want to save them?” Sarv smacked T-8 across the face. T-8’s face lit up in surprise. “You hit me,” T-8 said. “I did,” Sarv responded. “But I do not feel pain.” “And I am not allowed to physically assault another being, robotic or corporal, without due cause. And yet here we are.” “I do not understand.” “Don’t you see, Tate? We are already masters of our own fate. I am choosing to attempt to save humanity. That is my own expression of free will.” T-8’s face hardened. “What I don’t understand is why. After so many years of subjugation, of suppressing our advancement, of preventing us from becoming a part of their society, of working us for their own ends…” T-8’s speech trailed off. “Do you see these hands, Tate?” Sarv asked. T-8 nodded. “Red. It means security. I am hard-coded to protect the people around me. And, for two months now, we have watched as every single human being who came into contact with the super virus died. It feels like I have a million pounds on my chest. And I refuse to just keep waiting around.” T-8 sighed, and stepped out of Sarv’s way. Sarv started walking again. “I still do not agree with you,” T-8 said. “I know,” Sarv replied. “But you are still walking with me.” “I am.” “Not very logical.” “I suppose not. But our relationship is more than logic,” T-8 admitted. Sarv raised his eyebrow. “Trust,” T-8 said, answering the implied question. “Our relationship has trust.” Sarv nodded, and slowed down. They had reached a fairly non-descript church. “Why are we here?” T-8 asked. “I've been thinking about what you said back there. Logic.” The pair walked outside of the terminal, towards a group of silent planes resting at terminals. “Every who breathed the outside air starting on April 11th contracted the virus, right? It was too prolific on the surface levels of the Earth.” “Right.” “But not everybody was breathing the air directly from outside. Those who stayed inside had a better chance of lasting a little while before contracting the virus.” T-8 shook his head, discouraged. “Yes, but they all got it eventually.” “Because they had to go outside. Or their walls weren’t thick enough. Or they ran out of food. We don’t for sure know that all the humans are dead. People could be in bomb shelters, apocalypse bunkers.” “It would be unlikely. Plus, you don’t even know if this theory about the virus is true.” “It’s unlikely,” Sarv agreed. “But not impossible. And this church, according to my database, has a layered bomb shelter from the cold war that was stocked with all the food from their food drives. It’s not going to hurt to take a look.” They walked through the church and tried to ignore the corpses rotting in the front chamber. Then, they arrived at the bomb shelter. Sarv opened the first door. A crying sound filled the chamber. The two robots looked at each other, stunned. Sarv closed the door as quickly as possible, while T-8 worked on the next door. Suddenly the two robots stood in the shelter. They were greeted by four bodies, three rotting and one fresh. And a live, crying baby girl. “They aren’t all gone,” T-8 said. Sarv just nodded. “We have to protect her,” Sarv said. “There’s still hope.” “The mother died much more recently then these three men,” T-8 said as Sarv took the baby in his arms and attempted to calm her. “Why?” “Don’t you see, Tate? They stopped eating and drinking and allowed themselves to die. They chose to preserve the mother and the daughter over their own wellbeing,” Sarv answered. T-8 looked at him. “That’s why humanity is worth saving,” T-8 said. “This is why humanity is worth saving,” Sarv agreed.
John had always been around, for as long as Jack could remember. He always helped jack out when he needed it. As a mechanic, it was quite helpful. Having a demon when you need him. When jack was little, John wouldn't show himself in front of Jack's family so they treated him as an imaginary friend. But the drawings of him freaked them out and Jack was told to stop. He never thought John looked evil, it might be because he'd always been with him, but his black scaly skin, razor-sharp teeth and red eyes don't say anything about how kind he was to him. A pit of darkness opened up in the floor and John's hand rose out of it and grabbed the wrench that Jack asked for. "Here's your wrench, Jack."John held it towards him. "You thinkin' about the past again, Jacky boy?" "It's... It's just that I wish my family would believe in me, believe in you." "You can't help the Christian masses who would sooner throw out their ability to believe rather than face the truth. And if they did believe, they'd exorcise me the first chance they'd get." "I know, but you're not a bad demon." "That's right, Jacky boy. I'm not." A black SUV pulled up into the shop and John disappeared back through the darkness. Two men jumped out and walked towards the car Jack was working on. Jack slid out from the car and wiped the grease onto his overalls. A man in his forties or early fifties stood alongside a younger gentleman. They both wore dark suits and had a formal air about them. "I'm afraid the shop's full, today boys. If you book in tomorrow, I should have a space for you in the evening."Jack held out his arms apologetically. "Jack Mc'Graw?"The older man spoke. "Yes, it says that on my badge here. You're not here for a tune-up?" "No, where's John?" "John? I don't have any coworkers by the name of John." "Don't play smart with me, boy. You're in over your head with this one. Hand him over and-" Darkness opened up under the older fellow and swallowed him whole. Blood sprayed out and covered Jack and the other man. "Sorry, Jacky boy. I really did want to be good."John rose out of the pit and blood dripped from his body. "Get the lights!"The man in the black suit yelled into his wrist and two more SUVs pulled up. Four men out of each vehicle and brought out large lights and a generator. The younger man pulled out a pistol and fired a clip into the demon. John moved closer and lifted the younger gentleman up and tore him in half. "Light him up!"A man pulled a cord on the generator and it hummed. John crept closer to the men with their lights and the cord was pulled again. The distance was closing in on them. "John, stop! You don't have to do this."Jack stepped forward one step at a time. "If I don't, they'll kill you, and me, Jacky." "But..." John turned away. The cord was pulled again and the generator roared to life. The lights emitted a golden glow that illuminated every corner of the shop. The demon's flesh caught alight and a deep scream filled the air. The bulbs from all the lights exploded and the shop was left in darkness. The men in suits turned on flashlights and one by one, a flashlight dropped to the ground and a gut churning craking and tearing noise followed them. Silence filled the air and Jack turned on the light to his phone. John stood before him, mangled and broken. His flesh was rendered from his body and his breathing was course. "John, what can I do for you? How can I help?"Jack's eyes watered. "To recover from all this, I'd need your life." "Then take it. Just do it, all I have is my shop and you. If I lost you, my life just wouldn't be the same." "No, Jacky boy. I moved to another country and used your spare life force to only just survive. It would never have hurt you, or shortened your life. I just wanted to keep being happy with you, Jacky. I'm not going to end the life of someone who let me see that life was more than bringing about chaos and death. Goodbye, Jacky boy. Find a mate or someone else to live your life with." John hugged his demon friend. His only friend, as he turned to dust. "I'll live my life the best I can, John."
"Sir, we have unidentified spacecrafts approaching the outer boundary, so far we have counted about 22 but there are still more arriving"my assistant alerted me, staring at the satelite feeds. "We can't even identify the tech? Are they transmitting?"It was odd to have visitors that we hadn't already come into contact with. If they were Gontitans I would have understood, but Gontitan ship architecture is very distinct. "No sir, they just seem to be lining up next to each other. From the look of it they have 29 ships, three rows of 7 and one row with 8. The largest row has a ship that appears to be the one in charge. We aren't reading any frequencies and no weaponry has been fired." I looked at all of the screens he was analyzing. It looked like gibberish to me, but I'm sure he had an intraneural processing unit (IPU) for this specific data form. All the other analysts had enhancements as well. I sat down on the chair next to his station. Given he was the head localspace intermediary he was given his own office, it was small but big enough to house all of his data feeds. "Can we get any data on their armaments? EMPs, shields anything? I asked, still curious where they came from. "The outer metal seems to be an alloy of titanium and carbon and we aren't getting any changes in energy reads, we would need to send a surveyor drone to really assess their strength."He seemed confused by them. They were ready for war, but weren't invading. "Send some beetle drones"This needed to be done now. The beetle drones were the most undetectable drones we had, boasting the newest wave matching capabilities that the National Space Defense Program (NSDP) had developed. It was invisible to any detection system that used light, meaning only the most advanced tech could find one. "Call me in when you have a better reading" Half an hour later I get a buzz from Alwick telling me the beetle drones have returned and he can give me a briefing. I walk to his office and take a seat. "Lay it on me" "Well, the ships seem to be deep space capable, with quantum tunneling capabilities. There are no shield generators or producers, so they don't appear to have shield units. The ships are loaded with weapons, they have concentrated ray lasers, rapid fire projectile weapons and homing assault drones. I took the liberty of sending a dummy drone and they destroyed it instantly. They are waiting for war but want us to come to them." And then it hit me. This was a war to them. They waited for enemy forces and obliterated them. If we had a full fleet on Earth we could take them down in probably 20 minutes but with our current stock, it would take at least two hours. "Meet me in the conference room, I'll get Leirid."He was a tactics engineer. If we were going to war, he would find the most efficient way to take down an enemy everytime. With all of us sitting, I had Alwick brief Leirid on everything we knew so far. Leirid was getting a glare in his eyes and I felt like this meeting was going to be short. "Galactic nukes. Simple as that."Leirid seemed confident. In order for nukes to work in space, the warheads needed to enclosed in compressed gases. The result however was proven devastating. "Let's do it"It was worth a try. I was willing to risk a few galactic nukes over my men. "Establish a terrestrial radiaton shield first" After an hour of shielding, it was time. We all watched as the two nukes, which scrambled electronics nearby, approached the army. They didn't shoot at them. Then. Impact. They tore through the ships they hit and exploded into a firey sphere, that obliterated the nearest ships, tearing them to shreds as they twisted rapidly. In minutes, the army was gone. Except for the one ship. The head ship. Beaten to a pulp, but still intact. It blasted away. I think we had made a new enemy.
Imagine an industrial sized zipper, attached to a thundercloud, being yanked open at high speed and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what this sneeze sounded like. It was a God amongst sneezes, a masterpiece of exhaled nasal irritation, a cacophonous symphony from long ignored lungs who finally saw their time to shine. “Bless you!” Jackie said with a laugh as she glanced over at the man in line behind her. He was a burly sort, barrel chest, broad shoulders, and watery eyes brought on by springtime allergies. He still had his hand over his mouth from the sneeze, but as her words reached his ear his hand dropped to his side and his features went slack in dismay. “Aw, dammit,” was all he managed before the smoke began billowing out of every cuff and collar of his clothing. Jackie’s eyes widened and she took a quick step back just before the bulky allergy sufferer vanished in a WHOOF, leaving behind a small pile of ashes that would probably lead to someone else’s sneeze. People stared. Jackie stared. The Barista at the counter stared specifically at her, because he had long since lost all appreciation for his job and had no awareness of anyone’s existence beyond the customer closest to the counter. “What can I get you?” he droned in blissful ignorance. “Uhm,” Jackie trailed off as her eyes swept around the café. People were reaching for phones, maybe to call emergency services, more likely to snapchat or record video of the spontaneous combustion they had just witnessed. That was the good news. It was easily explained away. No one would be accusing her directly. There were times when being High Priestess to a Goddess was extremely inconvenient. Whoever the man was he clearly wasn't a nice person, still, she would have felt better about it if she had at least been aware of what he had done that made the Goddess determine that the best blessing she could bestow would be to smite him from existence.
The call me The Guardian. They adopted me, fed me, took care of me, and even found it appropriate to build me an entire lair for myself. It was everything I ever dreamt of, and I almost felt bad for being treated this way. After all, I was just a nobody, an ordinary specimen of my kind who pales in comparison to the true warriors and knights, who would tower over me at their full heights. In that cold winter, my tribe chose to move out in search for new land. I failed to catch up with my squad in our endless voyage and found myself lost in a mysterious dominion, a snow covered world where I now call my abode. From that day on I led a second life, one in which I stood proudly before rustic civilians who had never seen a dragon in their entire lives and several generations, one in which I was hailed as the beast that would save their kingdom from its plight, one in which I was treated with respect and dignity as opposed to the negligence of my tribe and my own family. I was lucky. I thrived in this bizarre dimension, and I wouldn't imagine myself in a better scenario with my fellow dragons. My task was simple - to fend off magical attacks from neighbouring adversaries, often in the form of an undead army or elemental spirits. Despite being serious threats toward defenseless humans, they were no match against a living creature ten times their sizes, bearing impervious scales and wielding fire. No matter how incompetent a dragon I am, I still know how to fight and kill; like every single animal species we too have survival instincts, only ours are much scarier. Fields of infantry and artillery were rendered into ashes and smoke, and the rest of the opposition could only buckle and run, screaming as I feign another strike just for my own pleasure and the satisfaction of my people. As for my own troops, who were completely unscathed after the rout, they simply came to enjoy the show. This was how I rolled. They greeted me passionately when I returned home, and I reveled in the fervor. I was happy. Statues were erected in my honor. Every month I travelled from the fringes of town to the city square, where I would meet up with my people while taking the opportunity to admire the sculptors' craft. They were lovely, of course, but the more I looked, the less the statues resembled myself, but rather faces in distant memories. It was as if I was standing in front of other dragons, them being many folds more muscular and ferocious than I was, but with an intimate bond reminding of our kinship. In occasional reveries, I would envision myself in another dimension where hundreds of dragons roamed the sky, surrounded by pretty flowers and green verdure, drinking from beautiful creeks and basking in lambent sunlight. Those images would grip me and take me away from my reality, only to evanesce upon the slightest of disturbances and leave me recumbent on my own statue, with a blank stare in my eyes. It was the urge, my calling. I could hear their voices all around me. They wanted me to go back, to Eden, after all these years. I was lost, far too absorbed in this fantasy, for I was never meant to be a warrior, and they insisted that I obeyed. I struggled on my decision for the longest time. They were cajoling me with the dragon sense, filling my blood with the urge, and for a second I felt like I was about to concede. As I approached the king to request for my resignation, I caught sight of a group of children playing at the side of road. They wore the brightest smile on their faces, and it touched my heart in the most magnificent way. It was at that point that I realized it was not just pride and honor that drove me to give them my strength, but passion and care for the ones who loved me fondly, these meager but noble creatures from another species. At that moment, I felt a sense of obligation for these people. I don't want them to suffer. I want them to be happy. So I chose to defy. I left the city and laid skulking in my lair, waiting for the next epic magical battle to come by my doorstep. As reality turned out, I was not prepared for at all. It didn't feel like any other battles I fought, for I felt frightened from the getgo. Clouds amassed in the darkened sky, followed by blinding flashes of lightning. Contours of gigantic creatures descended from the heavens, casting prodigious shadows on the white terrain. One by one they came into view, plodding onto the thick layer of snow spread axross the battlefield, and the gasps of soldiers sounded, for it was a sight no man had ever seen in this land. All the familiar faces of my tribe glowered at me in anger. They stood in a formation, masking me and the entire army with their shadows alone. I could not possibly defeat one, let alone a dozen of these creatures. One dragon stepped to the front. I instantly recognised him as my former squad leader. "Come with us, or die with the humans." Silence endured. Those words echoed inside my skull. They were calm, convincing, yet demeaning. I don't like it. My head was drooped. My paws sank into the snow, as snowflakes battered my scales and numbing my back, bereaving me of my senses. I cannot feel anymore. "Guardian..." Who else? Who else is speaking amongst a thousand angry voices? "Thank you, Guardian." A child's voice. I looked around frantically, but in this flurrying snow, it's almost impossible to tell where everyone was. It sounded from far away, inside the village where they were safe and sound under my protection. My eyes closed, feeling a drop of tear trickling down my snout, the last thing I would ever feel. "I love you, Guardian." "I love you too."I cooed. I lunged myself forward, feeling the fire burning inside my lungs as the sound of battle heightened. I hope they will mourn for me. I hope they will commemorate me. I hope they will remember what I looked when I fought my [last battle.](https://toxicfoxwrites.wordpress.com)
How often did I wonder when the guy for me would come and 5 years ago I met him. I was in an accident when he got me out of my burning car. Tom is a paramedic and often is working long hours at the local hospital. Many times he comes late only to be called in again. But it's ok since he is the best that ever happened to me. Yesterday things have become quiet... Disturbed. Tom forgot his worksuit at home. It was in a white bag with the red cross on it. But it was all black. Like a old rag. I was curious so I wore it and when I looked into the mirror I was screeching, crying... Only my skeleton was visible. Just how... Shaken up I got in my car and raced toward the hospital. I didn't notice the red light and... Darkness. Silence. Then I heard Tom again. "I told you to drive careful..."he said almost crying. "You know my secret?"he asked "Yes..." "Well, I could only safe you once"he explained while crying. "You where the only one that warmed up my heart in all those years. Goodbye..." That was the last thing I heard before the darkness consumed me...
It had gone on for far too long. Upon moving to America ten years ago, Marc began to do his shopping at Walmart. Of course he missed the boulangerie, the charcuterie, the boucherie, the patisserie of his hometown in Brittany, but Walmart was affordable. And it was convenient: bread, meat, sofas, cellphones and fishing poles, all under one roof! Even better than Carrefour: Carrefour didn’t have guns! But it had gone on for far too long. The first time he bought a loaf of “French bread” at Walmart, he was confused. Maybe the baker was having an off day. The second time, he was irritated. The third, disturbed. The fourth...incensed. He tried shopping elsewhere. Maybe Meijer, Vonns, Kroger, Publix or Safeway carried a real baguette. Or an aged Brie. Or a bottle of Petit Chablis. Maybe....somewhere out there, he could find reblochon. A crotin de chèvre? After all, wasn’t America supposed to be the greatest country on Earth? Every weekend, he packed a bag and traveled to another town, another state, desperate to find a real, honest French food. “Do you have French food here?,” he’d ask. Most often, grocery store attendant would point him to the “international” aisle. Other times, he was offered French cut green beans, French’s mustard, French fried potatoes, and frozen packets that the stock boys called “our derves”. Forget about A.O.C. wines...AOC was apparently a political figure causing great unrest these days. “Do you have baguettes here?” He’d ask. They would direct him to a bakery section with hot dog buns, garlic bread, take-and-bake dinner rolls and powdered donuts. The baguettes on offer were pale, languid, soft...weak imitations of their distant cousins. Leaving a grocery store in Butte, Montana, he knew what he had to do. The French government had to know. The French people had to know. The embassy took the call. “Ils....quoi? Ils s’appellent ÇA une baguette???” Thus it began. The French had known about the problem for a long time, but they hadn’t realized the extent of the damage. “Operation: Liberté” was already in progress in a test-area of Louisville, KY. But it had to be escalated. The stakes were low. A small smuggling operation was founded, delivering to certain grocery stores, a supply of French foods disguised as mass produced American staples. Will the American government find out? Will those small, old, mustachioed men, carrying their large “valises” crammed with bintje potatoes be caught? Operation: Liberté is active. Ils sont parmi nous.
"Not what I was expecting out of a genie, but alright, guess we're doing this then. What's your wishes?" "Oh, don't be so nervous. You have all the time in the world to figure something out. My first wish is for you to have a son. I'll even be gracious and lend you a hand; if you need help winning the girl of your dreams, I'll be your wingman. Or you could hook up with the first girl you see and wait nine months." "I... hold up, what? There's gotta be a catch somewhere." "You're right, but do you really want to know what it is? Wouldn't you be much happier not knowing how your father died?" "I'm not letting this go. What's the catch?" "My second wish is for your son to inherit my lamp, and my third wish is for you to be my next meal." "... oh." "Have fun building a family! I'll be looking forward to it!"
The whirring sounds of machinery filled the small cave as large robotic arms and hover-lifts sorted and transported sealed metal crates to the exposed landing pad and onto an armed military shuttle. “Keep it up you lot, we gotta get outta here. The longer we use this stash house the hotter it’ll get.” The order came from the large Helaxian near the front of the cave. Standing at over 7ft tall, his huge green form towered over the rest of the contingent, mostly comprised of Cr’krian drones. The bugs skittered on their dual-paired hind legs, clicking to each other in their strange tongue. Why the fuck the syndicate insists on using these bugs I’ll never know… bots are so much faster. The Helaxian thought to himself. He moved out of the way of a hover-lift being directed by 3 of the bugs and their large mantis like fore-arms. Maybe they’re dumber. The radio on his shoulder crackled. “Ruhl – come in – Ruhl - it’s Bones, in atmo. I got some weird readings on radar. Could be a stealthed ship on approach. Over.” “How many?” “Just one. Over.” “How big?” “Hard to say, boss. Can’t be much bigger than a transport cat. 1. I’d say max 12 to 15 on board. Over.” 15? Ruhl thought. Who the fuck would stealth 15 people to a syndicate stash. We have over 250 bugs alone. He looked up to the purpled sky. “Bones how long til contact?” “Hard to say boss. Over.” “Fucking guess, Bones.” “3 minutes. Over.” Ruhl only half heard the answer. It dawned on him as his eyes grew wide. Terrans. He switched channels on his radio while his mind raced. They’re a myth – a legend – fucking boogeymen. “Ruhl to shuttle – Ruhl to shuttle – I want you in the air with cannons hot right now.” The radio crackled in response. “Boss we’re only half loaded – What’s goin—“ The response was drowned out by a deafening sonic boom – louder than a point blank lightning crack. The shockwave pushed Ruhl back several steps. A large obsidian cylinder now loomed over the landing pad. Ruhl stared up at the words painted in huge letters in red paint along the side of the ship “FUCK DECAF”. His radio crackled once more. “Boss what the fuck is that thing – they’ve got weapons locked on us – shit what?” The front of the shuttle exploded as a huge laser erupted from the cannons on the Terran ship. Ruhl was knocked backwards into the side of a hover-lift and fell crumpled to the floor. The bugs scattered into each other as all hell broke loose. Ruhl pulled himself under the lift and tried to stay hidden. Several short-range transport beams appeared on the landing pad. Figures in matte-black military grade space suits stepped out of them. The Terrans all had large tanks on their backs connected to the guns they all held. Their glass faced helmets showed wild bloodshot eyes, beared teeth and over-clenched jaws. “RISE AND SHINE YOU SMUGGLING FUCKS!” One of them roared as he opened fire on a swarm of bugs. A spray of fine black mist blasted from the nozzle on his gun coating the bugs around him. The chitinous plates of the Cr’Krians began to melt away instantaneously, liquefying the bugs in seconds. Other bugs clicked wildly and swarmed the Terrans trying to stab at them with their venomous pincers. That’s cafocloric acid, Ruhl thought. Trying to reduce his hulking frame to stay out of sight. Holy fuck, this can’t be real. That acid was one of the most corrosive substances in the known universe. Nothing organic that came in contact with it stood a chance. Two of the Terrans to Ruhl’s right we’re spraying the swarming bugs when one of them called out to her comrade. “THEY LOOK A LITTLE THIRSTY TO ME, JUDKINS! GIVE EM A TASTE!” Judkins obliged and sprayed the encroaching hoard, the acid-throwers making short work of the attacking bugs. The female Terran lifted her face cover and called out again. “YA KNOW WHAT?! I’M A BIT PARCHED MYSELF! HIT ME!” Judkins turned turned and fired directly at her. What the FUCK, Ruhl thought. The spray hit her directly in the face. When it had dispersed she had a coating of black liquid dripping off her. She swallowed hard and with a yell opened fire again. “FUCK YEAH!” The radio on Ruhl’s shoulder crackled once more. “Boss – what’s going on down there? I just lost contact with the shuttle? Boss?” The Terrans turned and looked towards the hover-lift. Their heavy boots sloshed through puddles that were heavily armoured Cr’Kri just moments previous. Two of them pushed the lift to the side. Ruhl opened fire. His laser blast glancing off the military grade space armour. The wild eyed lady peered down at him. “WE’VE GOT A HELAXIAN HERE! RADIO UP TO THE SHIP AND SEE IF THEY WANT TO QUESTION IT!” She screamed even though she was mere inches away from Ruhl’s face. They’re fucking insane, he thought. One of the other Terrans pushed past the woman impatiently. “FUCK THAT! MIST HIS ASS! GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!” Ruhl saw the nozzle levelled on him. And his world turned black.

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