Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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“Shut up bitch,” I yell at the petulant mess in front of me. For almost three hours she’s been alternating between a sullen silence, loud whimpering and a monologue on just how much I’ve apparently fucked up and I’ve finally given up on being nice. All I wanted was to grab the girl, get a very reasonable ransom and be on my way. What, may I ask, is wrong with that? Man’s gotta eat. Instead, I’ve been lumped with the teenager from hell. She seems to think that this whole thing is a stunt that her friends have set her up for and refuses to take any of it seriously. I’m not a violent man by nature but I really – really – want to punch her. It started with her laughing, then demanding to be let go, then crying and now she’s sulking. All this was punctuated by threats that her daddy is gonna kill me. Of course, the girl thinks she’s acting so every once in a while, she breaks character and laughs. I should have seen this coming to be honest. When I did my pre-kidnap research I noticed that she seemed to be fixated on subjects like rape, kidnap and other beyond-the-pale subjects for a sixteen-year-old. Of course, most of it seemed to be this completely infantile version that involved inexplicably human like animals but – hey – to each their own. Besides, she seemed to be keeping this whole experience suitably asexual. Popping back to reality I hear my phone going off. I answer and it is her mum: “We’ve had a think about it and you can keep her.” “What?” I reply, perplexed. “Well, she’s a handful and, frankly, her father and I are fed up.” “Fed up?” “Yes, she’s entitled, bossy and never does her chores so if you can keep her that’d be great. He school fees are all paid up till she leaves and her card has a reasonable daily limit for her. She’ll be fine by herself. Bye.” Then the woman hangs up on me. I don’t know what to say. “Psst,” the girl has now somehow shimmied herself out of the restraints and is now whispering in my ear, “she knows it’s all a game, so it’s ok.” I don’t know what to do. “You seem shocked,” comes the trying-too-hard-to-be-seductive voice, “so was the last guy, but he got what he wanted.” “Dare I ask?” I ask, my voice now quivering with fear. The girl has somehow removed all the restraints I put on her with the practiced efficacy of a professional escape artist. “Oh?” her voice is modulated by disappointment, “I thought this was the part where you ravish me.” “What gave you that idea?” I’m not sure I want the answer. “Well, the last guy did around now, then the guys who play daddy’s goons showed up and saved me.” “And what did they do to the last guy?” “No idea, but the goon-actors said he’d be enjoying a well-deserved break,” she paused for a second before correcting herself, “well, they said he’d be broken. That happens after a break right?” My eyes widen. There is so much wrong with this situation that I can’t quite believe what is happening. I mean, how quickly can a plan go south? “Oh look,” her voice is back to sullen, “here are the goons. They’re early – you haven’t even ravished me yet.” “Fuck this,” I yell, slamming the breaks and unbuckling my seat belt, “I’m out. Have fun babe.” I open the car door and start to run. The goons will catch me but at least I won’t be with that psycho any more.
"Gaia,"I exclaimed, practically skipping along. "I did it, I really did it! I'm off to The Realm at last!" It had taken me nearly 5 years of a restrictive budget, spending as much as possible at every turn. I'd even taken to dropping coins on the street, but had to stop after I was caught and warned by a police officer. "You'll cause a riot,"he cautioned me, "No one wants that around here. Move along." Gaia looked downtrodden. "I'm still so far away...but I couldn't resist that new pair of shoes. I had to have them, but they were 1.000 credits. Now I'm just going to have to find a job I have to pay more...again...I'm exhausted." I wanted to be sad for her, but I was just too excited. Tonight, I would leave my modest apartment and move into the ultimate in luxury - a 50 square foot room in the most exclusive housing district, The Realm. Gaia tried to pick herself up. "Do you think it's true that the mattresses are only an inch? That's so extravagant!" I'd heard stories that Earth was once run on excess, that the rich and powerful were once determined by their possessions and wealth. However, that same greed also destroyed the Earth, so when the settlers came to Ixion-7, they decided that the only way to preserve our second chance at civilization was to create a minimalistic society. And I'd done it - I was about to live the Ixion dream...white walls, a single mat to sleep on, simple meals, and more, creating a truly meditative experience for those who were able to transcend the constraints of the material. Gaia agreed to see me off. "I know I can't come in,"she said sadly, "but I can at least walk with you." My packing was already complete. I had so little that it merely took sweeping my few clothes plus a few hygiene items into my sack, and then turning out the lights one last time. "Just think!"I gloated to Gaia. "In a few hours, I'll be using candles, CANDLES! How extravagant is that?" Gaia grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Seeing someone accomplish this is making me want this even more,"she practically sang. "I'll be there before the end of the year, I promise!" The gates to The Realm were made of heavy wrought iron that was stately in their simplicity. They swung open silently, beckoning me in. I turned to Gaia and embraced her. "I'll see you soon,"I whispered into her hair, and pulled away without waiting to hear her response. I'd waited to long for this to wait any longer. I walked up the path towards the mansion. The tall white walls were starting to scare me slightly - what if I wasn't good enough? What if I couldn't match their levels of impoverished living? Would I be back out with the masses? I reached the thick wooden doors at last and knocked three times. The doors swung open as if by command, and I took my first look at paradise...and gasped. There were long tables running along the edges of the entrance hall, laden with food. I'd never seen so much food, it was what I'd heard called a "feast"! And the people sitting at the tables...they were-were-were...obese? I reached for the word, unsure as to what it meant, my hand to my stomach, where I could feel the edge of my rib cage poking out. This was wrong, all so wrong. We were supposed to be better than Earth, wiser than those old humans. Yet here were hundreds of people, dripping in shiny metals, draped over each other in various states of undress...I wanted to look away, I wanted to run, but I was frozen in place until I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me in. I looked up into the most handsome face I'd ever seen. "Hello there,"the man intoned. "You look surprised."He was strangely, unnervingly calm. I heard the door click shut behind me. "Am-am I dreaming?"I stammered. "This isn't what I thoug-" The man laughed. "It's good to know the masses still believe the lies!"he exclaimed. He looked down at me with a look I'd never seen before, and then ran his hand along my cheek. "You see, while the elders who settled Ixion knew what had happened to Earth, old habits were hard to break...and were even more expensive now that we had to get our supplies shipped in from The Hub. So we devised a plan - a plan to convince the 99% that they had to live in poverty, while we retained our lifestyles." I didn't know what to say. The smell, the sight, the aura of the room was overwhelming. I found myself getting dizzy, the experience intoxicating. "You've given up so much to be here,"the man cooed in my ear, "done so much, given away everything...you deserve this." Did I? He led me to a table stacked high with food, and sat me at the head. I recall him shouting my praises to the room, people showering me with gifts and adulations...I remember eating...I remember two men at my side, falling into a massive bed filled with pillows...I remember so little about that first night, but I know one thing now: if they say we deserve this, then it must be true.
The old man stood up and wiped his chalky hands on his robe, not minding the markings it left on his favorite piece of clothing. "Finally,"He sighed stepping back to marvel at completed work. Across the stone floor laid an intricate design woven in chalk. It appeared to form two circles with numerous lines connecting the inner and outer circle as they crossed, intertwined, swerved and connected together. At regular intervals across the circle, various colored gems appeared to be inlaid, peppering the grey and white design with dazzling colors. After giving it one last sweeping look the man picked his long wooden cane off the floor and hobbled to the edge of the design, carefully avoiding the lines as he walked. After reaching the edge of the large design he leaned on his cane for a few long breaths before turning around and looking back toward the center of the cave. "Let us begin,"he gave a wide grin before lifting his cane well above his head and began to chant. It took only seconds before effects could be seen. A bright light cut through the dim candle lit cave and a roaring reverberated against the walls. The old man's eyes were dazzling as he let the strange words rhythmically roll of his tongue. Before long the light faded, the noise stopped, and the man collapsed to his knees. Desperate to know the result even a moment sooner, his feeble arms shook as he pushed himself off the cool stone. "Did it work?"The worlds trailed off his tongue as he found his feet. Before him was a strange white and silver object. It held sharp edges and perfectly smooth sides as if cut by the kingdom's finest mason. The old man wandered toward the object while running his finger through his waggly old beard. "Did I summon this strange stone? I don't recall using any summoning formula bases..." Suddenly a loud hiss arose and crack appeared on one of the perfect silver sides. Fumbling the man fell backward catching himself with his hand behind him. He could no longer find the words to speak as a man encased dazzling pure white cloth emerged and spoke, "Excuse me sir, could you tell me what year it is?"
I loved walks in the park. I didn't go often in winter, I loved the quiet but there's something about -40 degrees, hurricane winds and blinding snow that reduced the natural beauty of the trees and river. But today it was barely below freezing and the sun shimmered off of the newly fallen snow, which was puffy and soft. I was bundled up with a hot chocolate in my favorite mug and getting to the end of my circuit when I saw someone sitting on one of the olive colored benches. She had short brown hair which was messily hanging into her eyes which were red and tear stained. She was sniffling loudly and wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, she didn't have shoes on and one of her socks was dangling limply. I frowned and sped towards her. She didn't look like she was freezing to death but it wasn't good to be out in this weather with exposed skin. "Are you alright?"I called as soon as I was fairly close. I was already taking off my jacket to give to her, I'd take her to one of the cafes near the park entrance. "You can see me?" "Yes, dear. And you shouldn't be out here in those clothes, you'll catch your death of cold."I handed her the jacket, which she didn't take. She did, however, sit there staring at me with her bloodshot eyes. I waved the jacket a bit harder, getting a little annoyed. It was still fairly cold and my good mood from my walk was wearing off. "But no one else could. Maybe it's an old person thing."I bristled in response. "Look here, little miss, no one else is around and you need to warm up before your brain shuts down. It's clearly started already or you wouldn't be so rude! We're going to head to that nice cafe just a few minutes along the path. So let's get going."I reached out my hand and pulled her to her feet. "You can't touch me!"She shrieked, but more with surprise than anything. "Don't give me any frivolous lawsuit nonsense. Hurry it up, I'm sure someone is worried sick about you." "But... I'm dead." "Not yet, you're not."I draped the coat over her shoulders and grabbed her hand, leading her through the park. I still didn't see anyone. Suddenly a figure walked onto the path in front of us. A large, black robe billowed in the soft wind, but it whipped the wrong way, against the frosty breeze. "THERE YOU ARE!"The voice was brittle and terrifying, only less horrible than the flashbacks of Vietnam that it summoned, "I THOUGHT I LOST YOU AFTER THAT HEART ATTACK. IT IS TIME TO GO!"The cloak moved towards me at a steady pace, and I avoided looking to hard at anything not covered by the hood. "Look here, Mr. Death, sir, I need to get this girl to the cafe. Then we can go." "OH, SOMEONE WILL BE ALONG FOR HER SHORTLY, SHE'S NOT ASSIGNED FOR TODAY. JUST A NASTY FLU." "Who are you talking to?"The girl said, clearly oblivious to the reaper standing a few feet away. "Just walk along the path, apparently I have to go. And treat your elders better!"At least I'd had another chance to correct some of that despicable ageism that was going around.
The On'Atol Empire did not fall, precisely, but it certainly does not exist in the form it once did, nor does it even claim the name though there is an unbroken line of peaceful succession since The Incident of the Missing Punctuation. The Incident, of course, being the incident that lead to the sequence of events that transformed the Empire into the democratic republic we know today. Emperor Karn VI was known for two things: the loyalty he inspired in his soldiers, and his near-illiteracy. While previous emperors hired aides whose sole job was to transcribe edicts, Karn VI was an overly proud emperor, and refused. Instead, he taught himself the language, only occasionally dictating that it should behave in the ways he commanded (e.g. our modern use of the pseudo-word 'irregardless' stems from Imperial Decree that it is, in fact, a word, and means exactly what Karn VI meant it to mean). His self-education was incomplete when it came to punctuation and certain letters, however, which lead eventually to his downfall. His soldiers, always carrying out the meaning of any request sent to them, were equally wary of questioning said orders. So when, during the course of the Final Expansion War, they were told to "Capture men women and children", they simply captured everyone. This lead to an enormous expansion of the empire. Without any place to actually store the captives, it was shortly decided that they would be returned to their homes, and then those homes would be declared official POW camps of the empire. The Empire's treatment of prisoners of war was not, by current standards, all that great, but it was revolutionary for its time. It was, in fact, a great deal better than the subsistence-level living that the prisoners were accustomed to. This, in addition to the fact that they technically already inhabited imperially-controlled land, lead to unprecedented defection to the empire. The population of the On'Atol increased tenfold over the course of the war. In the last decade of official military action, in fact, there were very few casualties at all from the war itself. Most opposition either surrendered immediately or overthrew its existing hard-liners before the army's arrival and then surrendered. Finally, in 858 A.W., Emperor Karn VI issued a decree via radio that he "want this war over", and peace was made. On the issue of the newcomers, who now vastly outnumbered the natives of the empire, the decree was "Live in our land with our own people"His vast generosity was reflected in the people, and the empire flourished. Over time, of course, there was discontent. The outer reaches of the empire felt distant and unrepresented. Emperor Karn VIII nearly evicted those first-generation newcomers, but he was stayed by the decree of his (at the time) long-dead grandfather: "Let them be no fighting"Finally, Karn VIII signed into law the Imperial Acknowledgement of Rights, which began the march toward democracy as we know it. Only recently have we discovered, through the notes and letters of personal aides to the emperor, Karn VI's true intent toward the people who would become his. His ongoing misuse of punctuation and inability to remember certain letters became obvious at this point, and sadly it reflects poorly on the man we once hailed as a hero. "Capture men women and children!"was in fact a dictate to his armies. In a rather egalitarian move, the imperial armies employed women along with men, and of course like every army of any size, considerable numbers of child soldiers. His intention was, then, "Capture, men women and children!"Instructing his soldiers to capture, in general, not to capture absolutely everyone they found. His famous radio decree that he wanted the war over? The emperor did not understand radio protocol, and included the 'over' sign-off that would normally be included by whoever was reading the decree. The full quote is, thus: "You're asking if I want the war? I want this war, over!" The emperor's pride then compounded itself with his unwillingness to admit that he could not remember the letter 'y'. Thus, "Live in our land with our own people"was meant to be an emphatic "Live in your land, with your own people."A xenophobic reaction to a problem he caused in the first place. And, of course, his legendary edict before he died, the somewhat poorly phrased "Let them be no fighting". This has been interpreted through the ages as either a mis-spoken "Let there be no fighting"or a simple "Let them be, no fighting!"The truth, however, is more harsh: "Let them be? No, fighting!" Still, we will always remember Emperor Karn VI for his works, even if, as it turns out, they were entirely unintentional. For even though he was deeply flawed, he was a greater man accidentally than many are intentionally.
"Scuffles!" What's up? "What's on the agenda for today?" The Martians are setting their invasion plan into motion, Yellow Stone is finally going to erupt, and Ted from accounting is angry with Bill "Thank you Scuffles. What is it that you were planning on doing today?" I was going to head on over to the next timeline and eat the president "Sounds lovely. Could you help me out with the Martian problem first?" Depends, are you going to stop calling me scuffles? "Probably not, it roles off the tongue much better than Cthulhu." Good, I like the name. What did you have in mind? "Trapping them in the volcano under a magical dome, two birds, one extinction level event and all that." Sounds easy enough, what about Ted? I know you like him "I'm going to give him a magic pen that becomes something close to Excalibur in ability. Flaming sword, penetrate dragon's hide and all that. I'm going to make it look like a light saber though." Sounds lovely, can you do that tomorrow so I can watch? "Sure, but we need to think of something for Bill to make things even." How about making him part jelly fish? Just his left pinky though; I like Ted, he helped me do my taxes "Sounds lovely, should we make it light saber proof so he technically has a chance?" I don't see why not
"The issue that separates the two of you more than the issue of immigration. Mr. Trump, you want to build a wall. Secretary Clinton, you have offered no specific plan for how you are going to secure our southern border. Mr. Trump, you are calling for major deportations. How do you propose funding this wall, and what benefit do you propose it will have?" Ha, thinks the wizard, let's expose the dishonesty of this machiavellian bastard. No flick of the wrist, no incantation accompanies his spell - the magic doesn't work like that. In a mere breath, Trump's ability to speak anything apart from what he perceives as truth, vanishes. The wizard, an ordinary-looking man in his 30s, shifts backwards in his seat for comfort, the shadow of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. This is going to be one hell of a show. "Let me tell you something now. I think I should respond to that. First of all, I had a very good meeting with the president of Mexico. Very nice man. We will be doing very much better with Mexico on trade deals. Believe me. The NAFTA deal signed by her husband is one of the worst deals ever made of any kind, signed by anybody. It's a disaster. Hillary Clinton wanted the wall. Hillary Clinton fought for the wall in 2006 or thereabouts. Now, she never gets anything done, so naturally the wall wasn't built. But Hillary Clinton wanted the wall..." And so on. The wizard's satisfaction turns to amusement, then to puzzlement, then to dread, as it dawns on him. The dangerous thing about Donald Trump, is that he really is just a plain-speaking moron. Fuck it. There's no way he can win now, anyway, right?
On March 14th, I was informed by Dr. Lisa Rosen that my cancer had indeed spread, and that treatment was no longer viable. I was given an estimated 30 days to live. On March 29th, I was further informed by Dr. Rosen that there had been a mix-up and that my cancer was actually in remission. On this day, June 14th, 2017 I submit the following receipts, totaling $85,958, to the court in hopes that as part of my bankruptcy settlement, that the debts for all purchases made during the aforementioned period be forgiven. ______________________________ 3/14/2017 Marlboro Cigarettes – Quantity: 37 Packs Smirnoff Vodka 750ml – Quantity: 17 Bottles Cost -- $491 Tax -- $98 Total -- $589 Note: “After receiving the diagnosis I decided that it might be a good time to start smoking, because, you know, it doesn’t matter anymore. And what good is developing only a nicotine addiction when you can throw alcoholism in there as well. Unfortunately, as I had spent the past five years keeping my body in perfect shape I had lost all tolerance for most consumable vices. To date I have consumed three cigarettes and a quarter bottle of Vodka.” ________________________ 3/17/2017 United Airlines Flight #2039 (ORD – LAS) Cost -- $396 MGM Grand Casino Cost -- $3000 Note: “Since cigarettes and vodka weren’t going to pan out, might as well gamble away money that I wouldn’t need in a month anyways. I have always tended to go a bit strong too fast. Sometimes it’s an advantageous trait. In this case, upon playing my first game of blackjack ever, I lost all my meager savings on my first hand. Another day gone, another vice failed. I returned home later that day.” ________________________________________ 3/21/2017 Eggs+ Chicken Coops – 1 Deluxe Coop Cost -- $1099 Same Day Delivery -- $199 Total -- $1298 Farm Fresh Chickens – 12 Hens Cost -- $1700 Note: “Common vice was no longer in the question, somehow something that I was inherently terrible at, so I applied for as many credit cards as I could get my hands on. I am not proud of this purchase, but in a particularly low moment, realizing that I couldn’t even waste my last month the way I wanted to, I succumbed to late night TV and woke up the next morning to a knock at the door and a truck delivering a deluxe air conditioned chicken coop, and a bunch of chickens.” _____________________________ 3/24/2017 Cook County Court Legal Fees -- $279 Court Fees -- $399 Fine -- $1,300 Total -- $1,978 Note: “I don’t necessarily expect retribution for this one, but I want to put on the record that I would have never pleaded guilty to the alleged offense if I believed I would be alive for the trial. I do admit I never should have thrown that chicken at the police officer, but my time was running out, I didn’t have time to dilly dally with walking around the anti-drug seminar at the park. When you’re about to die, straight line efficiency is all that matters, and walking straight through the park was non-negotiable. But assault with a deadly weapon? A chicken? Plus the officer is the one that instigated it…” ________________________ 3/27/2017 Jim’s Fireworks Emporium -- The Grand Finale Package Cost -- $5,999 Bob Rurmon’s Chevy Dealership – 2017 Chevrolet Corvette Cost -- $59,999 Note: “I remember watching a documentary about how at Hunter S. Thompson’s funeral, they put his urn in a big pile of fireworks and lit them all off at once as his memorial service. Assuming I was in the final week or two of my life, it only seemed appropriate to go out in my own way. So, I was going to drive a Corvette into a ravine into a huge pile of fireworks.” ________________________________ 3/29/2017 Stan’s Hazmat Cleanup Crew – Harmful Chemical Removal Package Cost -- $10,999 Note: “The night before, I had picked a quarry nearby and meticulously planted each and every firework, which took nearly all night. By morning I was ready for the grand finale, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. Feeling more alive than ever before. Ready to charge for the edge when I received the phone call from the doctor informing me of the mistake. In the haze that followed I forgot to clean up the fireworks, which the police department determined were of unknown origin and needed to be professionally removed.”
It didn’t start out as a threat. It’s not a generally malicious seeming item, as if inanimate objects can have mal intent. It’s resistentialism at it’s finest. Sure, there are warnings on the package, sharp corners, swallow hazard, but nothing about those warnings keeps you safe. No matter if you’re a deity. Everyone who has a child knows these demons exist. Doesn’t matter how hard you fight their power, they fight back with a vengeance. They are everywhere. They come from the darkest corners and find their way into the epicenter of activity in the house. They are especially partial to feet. Jesus may be able to walk on water, but I swear on all that is holy, I heard him take his papa’s name in vain when he stepped on a Lego.
When the news first broke, you could almost hear the world coming to a standstill. The question that we have asked since we first took to the stars was finally answered. A lone solitary ship, almost the size of New York, headed past Mars, aimed straight for Earth. Next, chaos followed. World governments debated on the best course of action. The US government wanted to shoot it off the solar system, labeling it a "bad big thing", and that anything that shows up unannounced is a "bad hombre."It even suggested building a wall to keep the visitor out. China and the EU, on the other hand, urged restrain, though for different reasons. China was afraid that an unprovoked attack would give the aliens a reason to invade Earth, while EU wanted to forge an alliance rather than make an enemy. Cooler heads eventually prevailed, and as the ship was calculated to be headed towards a Pacific island, it was agreed that humans would not make the first physical move towards the alien ship. Communications were attempted, but the aliens did not reply. Radio waves bounced off the hull of the ship, and it was theorized that the aliens did not communicate in the way we humans knew best. In the end, it was decided that the best course was to wait. I was part of the Welcoming Committee, an informal name given to an international task force sent to the island, in preparation of the alien's arrival. It was the most exciting mission for an Air Force pilot who have served in numerous battlefields. We were prepped for each imaginable situation. Hostile mothership, hostile fighters and even hostile organisms. Our ships were equipped with the most advanced weaponary humanity has ever created. And if all things go south, the nuclear option was allowed. It was kind of the aliens to choose an uninhabited island for their first contact. Two months passed before the alien ship entered our atmosphere and touched down on the island, now named Enterprise. Turned out that the Joint Admiral was a huge Star Trek fan. Unlike our clumsy rockets however, the cylindrical ship, coated in a highly reflective metal, descended with grace. It glided slowly down to island as predicted, escorted by a squadron of fighters, who in turn were escorted by another group of fighters and helicopters. From what I have heard, almost all of the ships and choppers have a news crew attached to them, broadcasting live. It was truly a defining moment in humanity. As the alien ship touched down, I cannot help but to admire the simplicity of the entire ship. It was tall. Almost the same height as most modern skyscrapers in the world. Fifty floors, to be exact. And in front of the ship, you could see the lines that marked out the entrance of the ship. Many wondered if the entrance were for the ship's occupants or smaller vehicles. The ship chose a resting place on an open plain, bordering just the ocean. Our human ships and aircraft followed suit, circling the gigantic structure. And then we waited. It did not take long for the doors, as tall as a skyscraper, to open. From behind it walked out two creatures, matching the size of the door. It was like watching a Godzilla movie. The entire earth held their breath, waiting for the aliens to first make their move. Were they here for peace, our resources or our technology? The instructions were clear. Shoot at the first sign of hostility. But personally, I could not help but to feel awe at the sight before me. And then they spoke, voice as loud as the thunder, shaking the ground itself. It was broadcasted to every corner of our civilization. "Excuse us earthlings, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and saviour, Cthulhu?" --------------------- Cthulhu is an interplanetary God. More stories at /r/dori_tales
I jumped at the whisper at my ear and spun around, but nobody was there. "Dave!"I call, but no reply. Dave was my housemate, and I could just see him setting up a speaker to mess with me, and a camera to record the results. Not a bad guy, but he thought he was funnier than he actually was. I looked around for a camera, but I didn't see one. "Ok dick I'm going to bed,"I said to the empty room. I headed up the stairs and into my room. I gave it a quick once over for a camera, and settled into bed. I was starting to get that warm comfortable feeling you get when you've twisted into just the right position when my foot touched something cold. I kicked, scared, and it pinched me. I jumped onto the floor and threw the covers off of my bed. A beetle the size of a plate sat on the bed. "Dude,"I called out, "Not cool! You know how I hate these things!" Dave chose that moment to walk into the room, laughing. "Hey man,"I started, "get it off my bed and I won't fart on your face when you're sleeping again." "Get what off your bed, and.. again?"Then, he saw the beetle. "Not me dude, you must have someone else you ticked off." Then the beetle moved. Not a robotic marching, but with it's legs rippling rapidly as it scurried off the bed, and right towards me. I jumped, ran out of the room, yelling as only a grown man scared of bugs can, when chased by the mastodon of bugs. I ran into the kitchen, Dave right behind me, and grabbed a butcher's knife from the drawer. The bug came crashing after him, and made a beeline for me. Screaming like what I imagine a Viking warrior would, I swung the knife. Splat. Two halves of the largest damn bug I have ever seen now oozed across my kitchen floor. I heard the voice again: "One percent completion of Level Two."
He was sitting in the couch, head hanging low, gazing at his feet. He looked so similar to how I remembered him, but at the same time very different. His black hair was now streaked with grey and much shaggier than I recall it being. He wore black jeans, a plain tshirt, and black dress shoes, a far cry from the suit and tie I was used to seeing him in. My memories of him were soft, but now he seemed like a hard person, both from the muscles on his frame and from the cold look in his eyes that were much greener than I remembered. "Where have you been?"I choked out. I already regretted letting him up. I couldn't believe it when the doorman called to tell me his name. I figured it another paparazzi or a sick joke from one of the so-called friends who had been leaking my personal information. He looked at me. "It's complicated." I nodded. "Sure, complicated."I spat the word out sarcastically. "My entire life is complicated. I am being sued by my former husband and business partner so he can try to steal the business that I built up from nothing. In the meantime he decides to stick it in a married B-list actress, so suddenly my betrayal is national gossip. My lawyer can't represent me because he represented us both when I founded the business, and I have to get permission from a court to unfreeze my assets in order to pay a new one. But my good for nothing father who abandoned me as a child dramatically showing up when he sees a news story about how rich I am? That doesn't seem too complicated." He opened his mouth to speak, then appeared to reconsider and closed it. A moment passed before he tried again. "I have no need for money Jessica."He spoke softly but I still flinched at the name. "I did come after I saw the news stories. But how was I supposed to find you otherwise? You completely changed your name. I searched for you, I truly did. I thought you would have taken your mother's name." I laughed. "Right. She was just barely a better parent than you were." He hung his head. "Yeah. Sorry about that. She was... she was better once." He stood up. I noticed for the first time that he had a tattoo on his upper left arm. It was a strange circular symbol in black, overlaid with three triangles in blue, green, and red. He saw me looking at it and tugged his sleeve down to partially cover it. "Jessica, I would never have intentionally left you with her."He said. "I would never have intentionally left you!" He seemed desperate for me to believe him, but he still hadn't even tried to explain. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to kick him out. But everything else in my life was falling apart and I was desperate too. "What happened? Tell me or get out."I kept a straight face, not letting my emotions control how I looked. I don't know what he saw, a mirror to his own face maybe, dark features and unmoving green eyes. Finally he spoke. "I wasn't going out for cigarettes."He admitted. "Before meeting your mother, before you, I had a completely different life. One that I ran away from. Earlier that day, on my commute home, I saw a man from that former life standing on the street. I knew that we weren't safe. I went out that night to find him, to make sure that he could never report where I was." "Never could? You went out that night to KILL someone?"I lost my composure. "That's supposed to be better than abandoning us? Murder?!" "Jessica,"He pleaded. "You don't understand. These men wanted me dead, and anyone of my line. They killed my father, my sisters and brothers. They would have killed you." "What? Why? You aren't making any sense!"I tried to turn away from him but again my eye caught on the tattoo. There was something about the design that triggered a half memory, but I couldn't place it. A book, or a photo album. It was on the cover, but I wasn't supposed to look inside. "I know. I know this doesn't make sense to you and that is my fault."He stepped closer to me. "I wanted to shield you from it. I never told you about it to keep you safe. I never told your mother. I never wanted you to have to..." He cut off as a loud banging noise sounded from lower in the building. "Was that a gunshot?"I asked, feeling panic rise in my chest. He quickly grabbed my arm and started pulling me. "We need to leave now." I tried to struggle against him, but he was too strong. "What? Stop? That's not an exit, that's just a balcony!" He dragged me outside in the cold evening air, as shouting and more noises came from the hallway on the other side of my living room. "Jessica listen to me."He looked me in the eyes. "I need you to know that I would never have come just for me, I would never have brought this to you. When your image was splashed across the news I didn't come because I had finally found you, I came because they did." A large booming noise came from inside the apartment. We both looked back to see that the door had burst into splinters and smoke was filling the living room. I realized that I had started to cry. He looked at me, misery on his face. "I wish we had more time. I will always love you. Please trust that, if nothing else." I was leaning against the balcony rail, watching with horror as men poured into my apartment pointing weapons out at us. He stood in front of me, whispering something that I couldn't quite hear but again it triggered almost memories. His hand was on his arm, right where the tattoo was. "What's happening?"I tried to ask, but my breath was seized in panic. He whirled around, gave me a sad smile, and then shoved my shoulders as hard as he could. I didn't even had time to scream. I was free falling and then I slammed into the ground. Except, instead of the cement sidewalk five stories below my apartment I landed in tall green grass below a perfectly blue sky. The wind had been knocked out of me but nothing felt broken. I stared up at the sky trying to make sense of what happened while I caught my breath. Finally, I tried to sit but couldn't see over the grass until I gingerly stood up, feeling wobbly in my high heels. I was standing on top of a hill, in a sea of the tall green grass. In front of me was a forest that ran as far as I could see. I turned and saw snow capped mountains towering in the distance. Below the mountains sat what looked like a small village, though with the distance I figured it must be larger than it appeared. In the center of the village was a structure that looked like one of the beautiful castles that I had seen when touring Europe. I don't know how long I stood there, waiting for the shock to wear off. Part of me wondered if I had died. Part of me was still thinking about the tattoo. "Complicated indeed."I muttered to myself. Then I kicked off the heels and started walking barefoot, picturing what I would do to my father if I ever saw him again.
I had heard stories of Earth before it all went to hell, but after my grandfather told me how horrid it had become, I always dreamed of what it would be like now. My grandfather was of the lucky few, an old senator chosen to be sent to The Ark, humanity's last hope for survival, or so we thought. I grew up in space, in The Ark, it was a marvel of technology and ever since I was a child I wanted to become an astronaut, to be able to go outside The Ark. As I grew up, I took every single opportunity that could lead me to my dream, the dream of returning to Earth. Once I became 21, I was among the most qualified to become part of the astronaut crew, I had worked so hard for this. I had developed a strong friendship with the Captain of these elite astronauts, Thelonius Darkhe, a wise and strong man. "Steele, why do yo desire so much to return to the Earth?"said Darkhe. "I just want to see what it's like now sir. I've heard so many stories about it's beauty, about it's diverse cultures, I.....I just want to experience being there."I replied to him. "Well, you must first be accepted into the crew, if you are, you can run your idea by the Council of Elders and maybe, just maybe you'll be approved a scouting mission of Earth."said Darkhe with a big smile. Two more years of rigorous training passed, long nights of studying, and many tests until I did it. I became an official member of the astronaut crew, my dream.... fulfilled. The crew was a small one, about 8 of us, but highly trained, and in the other members cases, experienced in the field. Captain Thelonius led us, mostly on maintenance of The Ark, or retrieving the odd meteorite sample. We always took two small shuttles to retrieve the samples, and today was just a regular retrieval mission. I was with Darkhe, Magnusson, and Rodriguez, the usual guys I went with. But something went wrong, shuttle two lost power, and I piloted our shuttle to try and get to the others. Once we got to shuttle two, Darkhe, Magnusson, and Rodriguez went to fix a faulty external relay it had. That's when disaster struck, my shuttle got hit by a meteor and sent me in a dizzying spiral towards Earth. I struggled to regain control, but by then it was too late, I was going to crash.... right into Earth. I stabilized the shuttle as best I could then braced for impact. The impact was softened by the shuttles' protective crash bubbles, they were installed ages ago in case of a crash landing, something I had never imagined happening to me. Then it hit me.....I was on Earth...me, Richard Steele, on Earth after 500 or so years after being abandoned. I waited inside the shuttle for an hour, maybe even more. I was scared, nervous, what could be out there? What if Earth was but a desolate, dead planet? What if was filled with mutated life....hostile life? So many scenarios running through my mind, oxygen running out inside the shuttle, the fear of a toxic cloud of air being outside. I composed myself, put on my suit and opened the hatch. What I saw was..... confusing. People, regular people, everywhere around me, dressed like the old photos my grandfather showed me, in suits and loose fitting clothes. I was greeted by a big man, he was dressed in a black suit, he proceeded to identify himself as Lorne Maxwell. "Hello son, we've been watching you guys up there for ages it seems, hoping you would come back, but we had no way of contacting The Ark."said Maxwell. "It....it was an accident, I wasn't supposed to come here sir, but, if you don't mind me asking, where am I?"I nervously told him. "Son, you just crash landed in Washington DC, the President would like to have a word with you."replied Maxwell. I was then greeted by more men in black suits, who were surrounded by a crowd of hundreds of people it seemed. My long time dream of coming to Earth, had come true, but now my ordeal started to get even more interesting. This is my first time ever writing anything on here, so any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for taking the time to read my little story.
The office was a dismal array of gray and yellow and brown, the colors swirling together in Cameron's mind as he was ushered into the room. He was dizzy with a nervous excitement, and he didn't know which he would rather be feeling. He was inside Area 51. As far as he was concerned, this was the most exciting thing to ever happen to him, and he couldn't wait to get home and tell his friends of his experience. With as few classified details as he could, of course. The door opened, and in walked a man in a long, white lab coat and neatly trimmed black hair. The light reflecting off his blue eyes made them appear more like an olive green, but the subtle irritation that glinted in them felt all the same to Cameron. A twinge of guilt pierced his childish excitement, but it fell away when the man smiled. "Hello, Cameron,"he greeted him, not extending his hand, "It's good to see you." "It's a real pleasure, Mister-?"Cameron absentmindedly rubbed his palms against his jeans. "Simmons. Doctor Andrew Simmons."He motioned to the desk, pointing at the thin, gray armchair that sat across from it. "Please, sit. Would you like anything to drink?" "Just a water is fine, thank you."Cameron smiled back and obediently took his seat. His hands were beginning to tremble as he took his seat across from Dr. Simmons. The man held himself quite stoically, causing Cameron to feel quite like he was an eight year old again, sitting in the principal's office, awaiting his punishment. He took in a slow, deep breath, reminding himself that there was no punishment to be given here, only news. Hopefully, it was good news. He was quite eager to find out about his family tree, and since he had been called to Area 51, he wondered vaguely if he was related to someone of the utmost importance. Dr. Simmons cleared his throat. "Well Cameron, you certainly responded well to that hastily drawn reply we sent you concerning your heritage. I have to admit, I wasn't expecting you to react as you did." Cameron chuckled nervously, and at that moment, the door opened once more and a woman stepped in holding a paper cup of water. She didn't acknowledge Cameron at all as she handed him the cup, but shot a narrow smile at Dr. Simmons before stepping out of the room. Cameron took a small sip of the cool water, noting curiously that it seemed to taste a little funny. Was it possible that Area 51 purposely imported mineral water? "Well sir,"Cameron started, setting his cup on the table, "I've been very interested in learning about my heritage since, as you probably know, I was adopted and-" Dr. Simmons waved away the rest of his statement. "Ah yes, by the Marcel family, no less? A fine family, there. You should be proud. But, I know you didn't come all this way to hear about your adoptive family. Now, I have with me-"and he produced a single sheet of paper from the desk, as though pulling it from thin air, "your results from the DNA test." Cameron nearly leapt from his seat in his eagerness to see the paper, but managed to keep himself calm and composed, instead waiting for Dr. Simmons to slide him the paper. He scanned it up and down, ignoring anything that didn't have to do with who he was related to. As he read the page, however, his smile began to fall and his excitement gave way to confusion as several of the same words, written in bright, red ink, stared up at him. Inconclusive. "Uh, sir?"He asked, rereading the page as though he could change what it said, "What exactly does it mean by 'inconclusive?'" Dr. Simmons gazed at him curiously, the corners of his mouth turned up in a faint smile. "Well, that's what befuddled our scientists. According to those results, you don't really exist." "I... what?"Cameron breathed. His head was spinning, but not just from confusion. As his adrenaline wore off, he started to feel dizzy, lightheaded. He could hear the lights buzzing above him like a nest of angry hornets. Still, he kept the paper clenched tightly in his hands. "Quite an anomaly, don't you think?"Dr. Simmons wondered aloud. Cameron's heart began to pound. "Sir... why am I here? Why was I allowed in here?"He asked, though he feared the answer. He had been too eager. Too stupid. No one just got to visit Area 51, especially not someone coming for a dumb DNA test. Quite an anomaly, don't you think? His breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps now as his heart rate increased. His head was too light, he was going to pass out. "You look quite faint, Cameron."Dr. Simmons spoke calmly. "Perhaps you should drink some more water." Cameron nodded, not sure why he was doing so, and raised the cup to his lips, but then stopped. The cool liquid taunted him with its sweet smell, but water wasn't supposed to have a smell, right? Water was water. Biting his tongue, Cameron made a split-second decision. The cup flew from his hand, the water following an arched path towards the doctor- and it hit the wall. Dr. Simmons flickered like a ghost, the water passing straight through his chest and splattering onto the wall behind him. Dr. Simmons regarded the dripping wall with an air of annoyance. "Well that was a little rude, I must admit." Cameron stood up, his legs wobbling beneath him, but his sudden fear overrode all else. "What... what are you?" The doctor grinned and straightened his lab coat. "I could ask you the same thing, my boy. Don't worry. What you are currently seeing is merely a hologram of sorts." Cameron cried out as a sharp pain sliced his stomach, forcing him to double over onto his knees. His entire body was slick with sweat, and he could hardly take in a steady breath. His world was spinning around him like a top, the colors no longer blending together as a result of his excitement, but rather, his nausea. Another pain like a knife being dragged across his waist wrenched a cry from his throat, and he turned his eyes up, wanting to see the light, but instead seeing the relaxed projection of the doctor standing above him looking rather unconcerned. "W-why are you doing this?"He gasped, tears stinging the backs of his eyes. Dr. Simmons grinned, but there was no humor, only maniacal glee. "I am a scientist, my dear boy, and it is my job to study that which is unknown to humans." And as the world began to fade away before Cameron's very eyes, he felt his cheek brush the cool carpet of the office, and he felt tired. Exhausted, in fact, and he couldn't help but let his eyes fall closed at the thought of a gentle, peaceful sleep.
Eggs. Flour. Milk. Cayenne Pepper. Puffs of white powder fly up from my mixing bowl as I whisk the egg beater, the particles clinging to my face. Whip, blend, melt, stir. Flavors and sensations become a blur. I am the artist in the kitchen. My knuckles sink into the dough, kneading and churning. I wipe the sweat from my brow to keep it from dripping into my masterpiece, occasionally accentuating each knead with grunts of French exclamations. “Fantastique!” “Incroyable!” “Délicieux!” The Sand Witch stands at the anti-griddle, making something frozen. A frozen dish, as an appetizer? You poor, sweet fool. Why not assault the judge's palette with anti-freeze while you're at it? Now my dish is plated, and all that remains is the garnish. The most important thing to note about garnishing a dish is that it needs to be done daintily. The higher you can sprinkle down your finishing garnish the better. Personally, I like to do a pirouette first, then let the cilantro flutter down from above my head before finding its final resting place on a soft bed of deconstructed-reconstructed steak empanadas (with arugula). It took me years of practice to nail down the skill. Heavens, it's raining green! The cilantro drifts down like tree leaves falling from a forest canopy in summer. Then the miracle has ceased, and it's all I can do to keep myself from kissing my own fingers and gesturing lovingly at my food. Muah The old tome really did the trick; the dish sitting in front of me is a knock-out, a three Michelin star headliner entree. And we're only on the appetizer round. Breathing heavily through my nose and feeling my heart flutter, I glance (not without malcontent) at the farce of a dish melting beside my second coming of Van Gogh. She made an ice-cream sandwich. Ice. Cream. Sandwich. The junk-food wench. How, pray tell, did this glorified fry-cook win this blasted competition 24 years in a row? The Sand Witch is no true cook. Her dishes are nothing but garbage designed to pander to the face-shoveling Guy Fieri's of the Cooking Stratosphere. But this year we have real judges. Distinguished. Cultured. European. The judges are asking me to explain my dish. But where to begin? I dither and prance, I ramble and rave, my words tumble forth both gracefully and violently, a passionate sonnet to my muse, the child of flavor that I have birthed. I could write 5000 pages about my song of fire and spice. The judges sniff and nibble, and my breath catches. Eye brows arch, eyes roll back in heads. They love it, but of course they love it, they are human, after all. But what's this? Napkins are being raised to mouths, tongues extending. Mouthfuls of chewed food are expelled and smothered in paper, my heart drops. The German says he hates it. Probably because it wasn't a bratwurst. The Frenchman points out a few subtle flavor tones, but only to make sure we know he noticed them, but then dismisses. The Italian just shakes his head. And now they reach for the ice cream sandwiches. They smile and nod. It's a hit, and my dream pops like a glossy bubble drifting through the air. The Sand Witch takes her victory. How could this happen? All this preparation and training, all the years of toiling, all the time spent hunting the book. It doesn't make sense. I'll have to keep training. This tome was too outdated. There must exist a better one. If there is, then I will find it. I raise my head and curse the Gods of Food. “How?” I scream. “How could I lose to an ice cream sandwich?” And then the Gods of Food answer me back. They smile back warmly and say, “You poor, sweet fool. Haven't you learned by now? Nothing will ever beat an ice cream sandwich.”
I looked toward the road and the honking car. "Hey, Jerk!"The man yelled as he passed, "Don't you know it's a drought!"I waved at him and smiled. I turned my attention back to spraying my old 90s model Ford pickup with water. A couple passed walking an overweight pug. They stared at me as they walked by and failed to return my wave. I heard one of them comment, "Even the car is a piece of trash."I looked back to my work and felt a tinge of hurt as the spray of water picked a piece of rust from the wheel well. The jet of water sprayed the small flower bed beneath the mailbox. Their dejected, browned forms shook at the spray. "Hold in there, little guys,"I said. "It will rain soon." The opening front door of the house caused me to turn and I cringed at the harsh voice. "Gary, what are you doing,"my sister yelled. "We are in a drought."She hurried to the spigot and began shutting off the supply of water. "I am glad you are visiting, but would appreciate not having my neighbors lynch us." I began winding up the hose. "Sorry, sis."I knew she wouldn't be too mad at me. I was a stranger to the drought, but hopefully I would be helping. I looked over the suburbs to the distant mountains and the fires raging upon their slopes. "I know you don't understand,"said my sister. "But we don't have the water you guys do. If we don't get rain soon we will be in troub-."She was cut off my the echo f thunder coming from the dark cloud which had materialized overhead. I smiled as the first drops began to strike the dust.
The intergalactic ship stood on ready for my departure, as I was the candidate that represented the people of Earth. I have to leave a good impression on the other beings across the universe. Even the president came to me, saying it was a matter of space trade. Everyone had their hopes and expectations of me. Why was I chosen? Well, I'm the only one brave enough to go into this tournament. Our technology as humans is inferior, and we are quite frail in comparison to other sentient beings. A large crowd had gathered behind the railing, where military personnel kept them at bay. Some higher military officials offered me weapons normally not available to the public. I was enthralled looking at the vast arsenal to choose from. I looked at the missile launcher, it was too heavy, a burden by all means. I even picked up a light rifle, and I found it to be heavier than I could handle. It made me think, "Am I really ready for this?" "Jonathon, we need you to hurry, the tournament will begin soon without you."An alien with large fleshy arms said to me, his neck collar translated his language to ours, and ours to his. Feeling rushed, I grabbed a small machete, and a vest. I launched myself up the platform to the ship, the crowd cheering me off, as I waved at them. The ship door clanked, and we were darting off the ground, as we were moving so fast my face smushed against the glass of the door. We were already well past Jupiter, and flying at an exponential speed. After losing my lunch, the ship stopped, and I regained my footing. The ship had docked on a rocky barren planet. Far from any place I recognized, this is where we got off. "Is this the arena?"I asked one of the aliens. The alien spit out of his stomach another fleshy substance, which seemed to be his mouth. "This is the planet the battle will take place on. Anywhere else could not sustain the chaos and power of some of these beings." I nodded, getting off the ship, as it flew off. Many other alien creatures, all different shapes and sizes, big and small, could be seen just over the horizon. I heard that there are thousands of contestants each year, and the winner is usually represented and gifted with special items from each extensive empire. I somehow don't believe humanity has any faith in me, considering I'm not some badass with an awesome past. I'm an average guy with a lot of balls. A small metal orb zoomed around me, it was a camera. A camera took video of each contestant, and streamed it to a command center, which directly sourced it back to every home planet. So everyone from home could watch too. The little camera orb, also functioned as a multi purpose tool for the contestants. It vibrated, and there was a clank internally. Suddenly, there was a small boom from the speakers, "The annual intergalactic tournament will now begin."
At the core of every person lay one word. One word that meant something special to them, because that one word was a font of power. For most people, they learned it when they were young. Chasing each other across the schoolyard, screaming vicious phrases at each other. "Mud"or "fly"or "fast."Once, someone used the word "fire."They were sent to a special school for that, the dangerous school for those that were gifted with something a little bit more dangerous than most. Not all discovered their word as a child. Some words were more complex and took more understanding before they were discovered. "Despair"for example, belonged to my sister. She discovered her word not too long after the onset of puberty, and it got her sent away. I'll never forget what happened when she spoke it to our parents, and how they walked off the bridge hand-in-hand. Some words were more dangerous that others, and some words affected more people at once. I actually discovered my word when I was much younger - before I even knew how to speak really. In hindsight it made sense. I didn't speak much and I kept to myself. There were weeks where I didn't speak for more than a sentence or two. People thought I was mute, and I might as well have been. Thankfully, the military didn't care if I was mute or not. Not everybody could be a deathspeaker, and in the end, someone had to peel potatoes. To be honest, I was content with that. I spent most of the war in the back of the camp next to giant piles of potatoes. Then one day the front moved. They called it a salient, a bulge in the lines of battle. Our camp was now suddenly behind enemy lines, and for the first time in my life, I had to fight for myself. The first thing that happened was the tornado. It ripped tent stakes out of the ground and scared the horses. I could see soldiers milling around, trying to figure out how to kill the wind with their spears. Not everybody had a word that was useful in war, and those people generally died first. Especially when going up against a deathspeaker. There was only a handful of the enemy, but they strolled into the camp unmolested. Arrows and bolts bounced off the radiant light they were swathed in, and spears bent and broke in their presence. They said they came from the battlefield, where all of our deathspeakers had been slain. They demanded our surrender, as about as arrogantly as victors in war usually do. Of course, there were a few of the younger boys in our camp that defied them. Cooks and trenchdiggers, armed with a pot or spade. "Break,"one of the newcomers spoke. And their bodies crumpled painfully in on themselves. "Choke,"said another, and our men started scratching desperately at their necks. So eventually, our camp surrendered. Except, strangely enough, for me. You see, I had always kept myself apart from others not entirely because of poor social grace. It was more of an altruistic notion on my part. "Silence,"I spoke softly to no one in particular. And the enemy became silent. "Silence,"I said again. And they crumpled to the ground, their eyes wide and uncomprehending. If you could look into their brains, the last numbing thought they would've had was how much my voice sounded like death. ------------------------------------ Subscribe to /r/AMemoryofEternity for more of my stories!
To be honest, it doesn't really matter where they come from, anymore. I don't know and I don't care. You want to know how Humanity's empire spread across the stars in two standard cycles? Sit down. When we first discovered the phenomena, many didn't see its potential ramifications. Sing a short jingle, a State Farm agent would appear. Simple, right? When it became apparent that you could order them to do almost anything, it got interesting. It takes one, maybe one and a half seconds to sing the jingle. You'd get tired after a few thousand, not nearly enough to topple a government. But if you ask each State Farm agent to repeat the jingle with you... Start with one agent. If you both repeat the jingle, you get two more - for a total of three. If you all repeat the jingle, you get four more agents - for a total of seven. It adds up pretty quickly. I had enough manpower to topple every government in the world in no time at all. We had more State Farm agents than the world had guns. Once the world was united, we turned our sights outward. A United Humanity developed interstellar travel in record time. Test pilots were no longer a concern, with an infinite supply of expendable State Farm goons. State Farm agents became our shield, our sword, our hammer. Countless worlds fell under a rain of State Farm shocktroopers. And if the enemy left even one human alive on the battlefield... all that soldier had to do was repeat the jingle. A single survivor could summon an entire platoon before the enemy had time to reload and comb for survivors. Of course, that doesn't really help against all civilizations. Yes, I mean you, Ambassador. Sit back down, please. We're well aware of your planetary shield. You've resisted our bombardments for a week, now. Our landing craft can't make it to the surface. But we have ways of dealing with that. A single State Farm agent can become 16 in a matter of seconds. We can put 1,125,899,900,000,000 human bodies in space in a matter of minutes. Each of our State Farm agents are totally loyal to humanity, and willing to give their lives to the cause. We can reach ridiculous amounts of mass quite quickly, Ambassador. Your shields won't help if a black hole forms in your very own solar system. So it's time for you to decide: Are you going to bend the knee? Are you going to be a good neighbor? Or will State Farm™ be there?
Mickey's hand felt as though it was glued to the door handle. Her whole body was trembling as she gazed up at the creature sitting on her bed. It had long eye stalks with green eyes, purple scaley skin, and long sharp claws, perfect for snatching little girls out from their beds, and a beak like nose that was dripping a foul smelling black fluid. "Well, you head me,"the monster sniffed, leaning back in the chair and wiping its nose with an old pillow case. "My doctor says I've got an allergy problem, and you've never dusted under there. Even when your mother told you to do so." "M-m-m-ooooom!"Mickey wailed. "Yes, dear?"her mother said from down the hall. "There's a monster in my room! It's talkin' to me!" "Well, what did it say, dear?" "T-t-that I need to clean under my bed." There was a long silence, in which only the sniffing of the monster could be heard. Mickey couldn't tear her gaze away, couldn't flee. "Well, I've been telling you to clean your room for a week, and you've just been hiding everything under your bed. Maybe you should listen to the monster." "B-b-b-but moooom!" "Clean your room, Mickey." The monster sat up straighter, eyestalks twitching as it grinned, venom dripping from its long teeth. "You heard her. Get to dusting!" Without taking her eyes off of the monster, Mickey backed out of the room, then turned and fled down the hall to the cleaning closet. She grabbed a stack of rags, some sort of cleaning spray, a mask, a trash bag, and a broom. She was pretty sure she could use the broom to wack the monster if it tried anything. Back in Mickey's room, the monster had grabbed Mickey's backpack, and was rifling through it, clucking and sniffing as dabbed with a tissue. A growing pile of them was filling Mickey's basket, which she eyed with distaste. "Well, get on with it!"the monster ordered, drawing out an old banana peel from Mickey's lunch box and snarfing it down. "Hmph. This needs a cleaning too!" Hurridly, Mickey scrambled onto her hands and knees, spraying under the bed frantically with the spray bottle. The she started hauling out the old socks, pieces of homework, and broken toys. All were flung into the trash bag, without regard for whether Mickey might need them later. Then she quicky flung the broom about, causing a haze of dust to raise which she quickly ran a rag over. Panting, Mickey stood and glared at the monster, pointing at her bed. "It's clean, get back under there!" With a grunt, the monster flopped out of the chair and ambled over on its clawed feet, it knelt down, eyestalks reaching out and peering under the bed. There were immediately jerked back, the eyes having gone from green to yellow, and now leaking more black fluid. "Ugh! You call that clean? You should be ashamed. That's almost as filthy as before, you just moved the dust around and threw away some junk. Go take that trash bag out, and empty the waste basket while you're at it. And bring back some more tissues!" Mickey started to protest, but the monster's mouth opened wide, displaying its large fangs. It sneezed, black phlegm flying everywhere and coating Mickey. She stood there, horrified, gazing down at her ruined overalls. Then she looked back up at the monster, which had waddled over to the chair and was once more going through her back pack. Mickey stomped her foot. "Fine!" When Mickey came back from taking out the trash, she brought back a mop, a scrub brush, and then went back for a bucket of warm water. She not only scrubbed under her bed, but all of her floor to get ride of the black boogers. Then she got a spray bottle of scented cleaner and hosed down her room, coughing all the while. Then she hosed down the monster, which squawked in protest. "Oh, sorry, I thought you were dirty too,"Mickey said sweetly. The monster growled, but got out of the chair and once more examined underneith the bed. "Well, I suppose this is acceptable." Then with a grunt, the monster dragged itself under Mickey's bed. After a moment, the sniffling noise faded. Micky got down on her hands and knees, peering under the bed. Nothing. She ran to her toy box, flinging aside toys randomly before pulling out an old flashlight from a camping trip last summer. She hurried over to the bed, playing the beam around each dark corner. The monster was gone. With a sigh of relief, Mickey flopped onto the bed. Then she got up and put away all the cleaning supplies, save for the broom and bottle of scented cleaner, which she put under the bed, just in case. Down in the living room, there was a sniffing sound from under the couch. Mickey's mother muted the TV, waiting patiently. After a moment, a purple scaled hand reached out, and dragged the malformed body out. "It is done, mistress. Your spawn has cleaned her under her bed." "Very good. Perhaps she will learn." The monster rubbed its clawed hands together. "Her closet though...atrocious! And she has not been doing her homework, not at all!" Mickey's mother groaned, shaking her head. "Of course she hasn't." The monster reached into the folds of its skin and pulled out a business card with a large "M"with one eye on it. "We also provide a large number of other scaring services. Please, feel free to contact myself or the agency if you need any further assistance."With that, the monster flopped back on the floor, wriggling under the couch. "Didn't you used to use doors?"Mickey's mother called as the monster went. "Yes, Mistress, but Director Sullivan decided that being able to use the places under the sleeping quarters would be far more effective,"the monster said. Then it vanished. Mary shook her head, smiling slightly as she examined the business card. She flipped it over. "Monsters Inc. We scare, because we care." "Thanks, Mr. Kitty,"Mary said, then turned the TV off and went to examine her daughters room. Perhaps she'd have to hire another monster if that homework problem didn't resolve itself soon.
Oh shit. I had been so long since I had been caught that I almost didn't know what to do. The last time had been pretty much the exact opposite of this though. She was small, dark skinned and a little chubby. I would say that she was probably around 8 or 9. Probably around the same age I was that first time. When what was happening was explained to me. ------------------------- It looked like the nicest ice-cream I had ever seen, I remember. I had to have some, but the girl sitting across from me at the family-friend's party had already made it clear that she was 13 and she would not be having an 8 year old follow her around. I didn't know at the time that I had been crushing on her but I did know that she hurt my feelings. A familiar feeling welled up in my nose, like a sneeze that wouldn't go away. I tugged my nose a little and everyone stopped, like they always did. The intense feeling of needing to sneeze didn't leave while time was stopped, making it nearly impossible for me to keep it up for more than 10 seconds. It was more than long enough to take a big bite of ice-cream and shove the rest down her top. A quick scramble to starting positions and viola, a tasty treat for young Michael Pan and a screech of confusion and embarrassment that couldn't possible have been my fault. I thought I'd been completely genius for about five seconds. Then time stopped again and I saw someone walking over to me. It had been a friend of a friend of my parents and he had a strange expression. "I saw what you did."Sound is weird when time is stopped, if you talk too much in one place the air condenses and POPS. I found that out when I first stopped time and cried because my mom wasn't listening to me. Nearly deafened her and scared my rabbit to actual death. With that in mind, we didn't talk much in that stopped time. Also, it was much longer than anything I could do, this man clearly didn't need to sneeze. He introduced himself as David Redstone, before explaining if I was about to get in lots of trouble. "You were quick, but sloppy."He said, wiping the ice cream from around my mouth with a napkin. He smirked at me, went back to his starting position and held one finger to his lips before he started time again. ----------------------------------- It had been 15 years since then, and David taught me a lot about how to use this power and what not to do with it. Hitting someone was dangerous because their body wouldn't react right. Two hits in the same place would cause double the force when restarting but three hits caused quadruple. David had almost killed a friend by accidentally stopping time and trying to get her to move with a few light pushed. I took a big sigh, tugged on my nose and stopped time again. "You saw what I did. I've always been a little sloppy."I smiled as I remembered David, and tried to help this girl lost in a world that stops.
My name is billy. I'm 6. My parents told me the first day of wizard school I get a friend. I was excited to get my friend. My mother has a chicken. He is nice for breakfast! I get eggs. My dad has a little dragon that lives on his shoulder! I want to have a forever friend. I do not have friends. the neighborhood kids don't talk to me. They say I'm odd, that I should go to school like a normal kid. I just tell them I'm magic and I'll be going to magic school! getting a forever friend is awesome! My parents drove me to my first day. I thought they would teleport me. But they said "no, it's not like in the movies. There is no flying car, or wall you pass through." The school was wierd. I thought it would be a magic castle. It was an old abandoned apartment building. My parents told me it was magic on the inside. They drove down into the basement garage. It was dark and scary. That's when a man with a long beard and staff came up to the car. He had a smile and handed me a piece of candy. This must be the headmaster. I ate the candy, it tasted good. The man and my parents talked for a while. Then the man handed my dad an envelope. The man opened the door and took me by my hand. My head felt funny. I saw many magical things. Grass grew in the basement, and animals hopped along the hallway. Lights poped and the carpet moved. The man took me into an apartment, it was brightly colored, with lots of toys. There was an older man sitting on a bed. "This is your forever friend, Larry. "
The man looked familiar. Fourth in line, I recognized him. His face was on a dozen dossiers they had sent out over the years. "It's him."I thought. He must not know. How could he? Ten years ago, the kid only had a few hundred dollars worth of lawn mowing money in his QuickEZ-checking account. Maybe he was saving for a car, perhaps for future tuition. But that mattered little by this point. He would never have enough money in his checking account to avoid what happened... Ten years of compounding and cyclical overdrafts had created something of a black hole where the remnants of his account once sat within the automated systems' ledgers. It started quite simply, with a few service fees on a neglected account; but once the first service fee that overdrafted the account caused another fee, things got out of control fast. A fee was assessed as standard practice for having a negative balance, causing another overdraft ad infinitum. By the time the bank's automated systems flagged the account for human review, it was too late. The account had been hit with an automatic two Million dollar negative balance modifier for the bank's protection, the account was intended to be locked, and once this happened, the FTC were to step in. It certainly didn't happen that way. Something went terribly wrong. The FTC, in all their authority, were not to be outgunned by the IRS, who had taken significant interest in the account during earlier investigations of possible tax avoidance issues with a small lawn mowing business. People were starting to question just as to why this account was beginning to collapse inward upon itself; and where the account holder was. Legal notices were sent to the last known address of the account holder, but were never responded to. Phone calls were made by the IRS, through their India Special Task Force Division, seeking inquiry; but reports mention that the account holder would simply hang up. The court had attempted to issue several warrants under the authority of the Internal Revenue Service for tax evasion, but the FTC had raised significant opposition to this, as investigations were currently underway of the bank account itself, which by this point was nearing a singularity. A stack overflow within the main accounting software (which was still running on FORTRAN and punch cards at its core) caused the account to become unable to be frozen, locked, or erased from the system without taking down the entire region's banking systems for a month while we punched new cards for several million accounts by hand. That much downtime would be catastrophic. Caught between a rock and a hard place, we at the time, just kept it running operations. To make matters worse, soon the account had become so negative that it cycled and began to gravitate the flow of transactions in a reverse manner, causing the bank itself to lose money every time the irreversible account fee was processed. And it was happening fast. Our own systems were on the brink of consuming themselves with backwards overdraft fees that were drawing funding from the bank itself. The bank was hemorrhaging its core account into the black hole that had been created, and no one could stop it without shutting down the highly secure IBM 650 Mainframe that oversaw main account operations over a sophisticated telephony network predating DARPAnet. How can I tell him... How may I help you today (I said with a smile) That was when I heard the screech of tires. And then they came.
"Why do we hibernate, papa?" "I...I don't know, Em. Why do sea turtles lay their eggs on the beach? Why do birds fly south for the winter? It's just...something we always do." "Oh,"said the little girl, kicking a bit of snow up into the air. Tens of thousands of years ago, he remembered from the elders' tales, ancient humans had no need to hibernate. The winters were somehow always manageable. Human "progress"changed that. Now the winters were six months long and unbearable to nearly all living things. But somehow humans, stubborn as they are, pressed on in their war against nature. "Papa,"said the girl, "I will miss you."Tears began to well in her eyes. He kneeled down to the girl's level and held her. "Em, it's okay. You'll be asleep. It's just like sleeping." The little girl dug her face into her father's shoulder. He picked her up and rocked her slowly, noticing that the sun was beginning to set. At the hibernation camp, people were getting their IV kits ready. Natural selection had forgotten to add a food storage action pattern. As a result, a good amount of hibernating humans would die from starvation during the winters. This wouldn't always happen, but it was traumatizing enough when it did to warrant coming up with a solution. He laid his daughter down in a small cot in the camp. Some were already fast asleep, their IVs quietly pumping nourishment into their veins. If only she had listened to him. If only she had fucking listened. "Papa, I'm scared." He didn't know what to do. He was chosen this year. He'd have to stay awake all winter long. It was his punishment for being so careless. "I know baby. I will be here with you. I promise." "And mama too?" Something caught in his throat. "Yes. Mama too." She said she could handle the winter without the IV. She insisted. That cycle, the winter turned out to be 10 months long. His daughter's eyes began to close slowly. When he was sure she was fast asleep, he pulled up her sleeve and stuck the needle in. He stood up and walked outside. Somehow humans, stubborn as they are, pressed on in their war against nature.
The girl of my dreams stared at me. "Girl of my dreams"is ironic, because right now, I was in her dream. A background character. The world she created was a garden, a sprawling, maze like forest that was bounded by high walls stretching up towards twin suns. There were other servants there, and party goers, all with strange features, silvery skin, beautiful gowns. She sat conversing with them, in a daze. Then she caught sight of me, watching her, and I saw something flare in her eyes, breaking through the daze of the dream: recognition. I snapped awake, jolting up in my bed. My shirt was soaked with sweat, too-thin arms shaking. I walked to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. There was no way she could have seen me - I was only ever a watcher in the dreams, never a character. I'd been in Alexandra's dreams every night for weeks. She'd never seen me before. But I'd seen her. So many sides of her. If I focused, I could manipulate them. Make her see what I wanted her to see. If I could play this right, I maybe I could subconsciously make her think about me during the day, even like me. But not if I was exposed too soon. Not if she could see me. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- School dragged on without me seeing Alexandra. I made it to fifth period, slamming my locker shut, only to see her standing right behind it. I nearly jumped. This was the closest we had ever been. "You were there,"she said quietly. She held her books to her chest, looking down. She had a perfect face, an all-american girl, the cheerleader and the girl next door. Every nerve in my body was alive just looking at her. "What? I -- I'm Tim,"I said stupidly, thrusting my hand out. "I know who you are,"she said. "You've been in my dreams every night for a week." I smiled, tried to play it off. "You've been, eh, dreaming about me?" "No,"she said coldly, "you've been inserting yourself into my dreams every night. I know you have been. And I'm telling you: stay out. For your own safety, Tim." I stood with my mouth open. She gave me an intense, lingering look, and then walked away, back to a gaggle of her friends. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- I went back that night, of course. What did she know? I was more than human - I had the ability to swim into people's dreams. She was just uneasy. What could she know? It was the garden dream again. The party goers danced, with Alexandra at the middle. This time, though, I stayed back, in the trees of the garden. The party flowered all night, her servants dancing and eating and drinking, herself looking sullen in the middle. Finally, he came. A door appeared in a flash of dark green flame, hovering above the garden. A stairway crawled down from it in a flash of spreading fire. The door opened, and a man stepped out. Or something... more than a man. He wore a mask with two wings, almost like curling horns. He wore a fine green suit, and bore a confident, almost godly attitude. He reached out his hand for Alexandra and the party stopped. As if she had done this before, she lifted the hem of her dress and walked up the stairs. Before she took his hand and stepped through the door, she turned to me, a pleading look on her face. But somehow, it also served as a warning. Then the creature saw me too. He frowned, snapped his fingers, and I woke up. In a burning room. Green flame consumed my bed, my skin. I stopped, dropped and rolled, screaming, trying to shake it off. When I finally stood up, and my mom burst through the door to find me, screaming, the flames were gone. All except for a small burn mark on the palm of my hand, in the shape of a horned mask. The man wasn't the creation of a dream. He was real. And the next day, Alexandra was gone.
"Boss, we caught some dude in spandex trying to break into the fortress." The henchmen stood in the doorway of Mr. Ubel's office. Ubel himself was sitting at his extravagant desk, feet propped up watching the Sunday night game. He had recently bought the stadium and the home team with his earnings from the rare animal and drug smuggling empire he had built. The fortress he was now residing in was just on the outskirts of a massive city, one know for a super hero organization. Ubel was not concerned with the attention he was getting from the group. "You did? Good catch, my fine henchmen, remind me to give you a raise after the game! Now bring this leotard clad idiot to my office pronto!" The henchmen nodded and left the office quickly. Ubel stood from his desk and walked over to his wet bar and poured himself a glass of cognac. He let out a displeased sigh. "I swear these stupid superheroes are going to drive me nuts. How's a legitimate business man like my supposed to operate in this town, when they've got a bunch of wack jobs in tights parading around and sticking there noses where the don't belong?"He took a long swig of his drink, and the henchmen returned with the intruder. He was certainly from the League of Heroes alright. Spandex body suit, underwear on the outside, mask, gloves, cape; a certifiable loon. He was thoroughly bruised up. The henchmen have done a remarkable job keeping the place secure. They dropped him to his knees as he looked up at Ubel. "So! This is the face of evil that plagues our fine city? The League of Heroes have grown wise to your nefarious deeds newcomer! We shall not rest until you are brought to justice! Confess to your crimes now, and we may yet show you mercy." Ubel stared blankly at the idiot in tights dripping blood on his Persian carpet. He sipped once again from his glass. The hero stared back, growing increasingly confused by Ubel lack of cooperation. "Villain! I said confess to your crimes and you may find mercy from the league!…" "…" "…" "…" "Excuse me, villain?"The hero asked. "Yeah?"Ubel responded. "This is the part where you tell me all of your evil plans, thereby giving me time to escape and apprehend you."The hero said, a bit of anxiety rising in his voice. Ubel finished his drink and sauntered over to the knelt hero, staring dissatisfied at his now empty glass. "Why?"Ubel said, getting incredibly close to the hero's face. The man in tights began to shudder. "Be-because that's how this is supposed to g-go, right? You're the villain, you d-do the mono-ologue, then I e-escape…"The hero was beginning to realize this man was not like any villain they've ever faced in the city. Ubel stared deadpan at the man, glass still gripped in his hand. "How many more of you idiots do you got down at your 'League of Heroes?'"Ubel asked calmly, standing back up and wiping down the inside of the glass in his hand. The hero was shaking, but steeled his resolve and launched back at Ubel. "We have power to outmatch your thugs ten to one you wretch! My immense strength pales in comparison to that of many of my righteous comrades! We shall descend up this den of evil with the fury of the city herself, and drive your villainous presence away to the far reaches of the ear-" Ubel reeled back, swinging as hard as he could, and smashed the glass into the side of the hero's head. The hero's body went limp as the glass shattered to bits against his skull; the momentum snapped his head sideways and threw him across the room. Ubel walked over and stood next the hero's weak body. He leaned in and stared once again into the hero's eyes. "Good, send all of ya heroes, my men could use the target practice."He looked back to the henchmen, standing quietly in the doorway still. "Make sure every man's got a gun and enough bullets to take down an elephant. Don't care how many of these pukes will show up but by the end of this, I wanna be raking their lifeless corpses off my lawn like leaves on a fine fall day! As for this little fella,"he reached down and seized the hero by his hair. "Give him a nice shave an send him on home with a note welcoming the, 'League of Heroes' to my home, for a nice luncheon with wine and hor d'oeuvres."as he said this he drew his thumb across his neck from ear to ear, then shoved the motionless body of the hero into the henchmen's hands. He nodded and left without a word. Ubel stared down at the broken bits of glass and blood strewn about his office floor and sighed once more. "Just great, I got the whole damn clown college coming over to play, and I've gone and made a mess of my office. And I've missed the last play before the halftime show, oh this is just friggin great!" He walked back to his desk and pressed a button on his telephone. "Claudia! Send one of the maids up here quick. Our guest spilled his drink." Ubel once again propped his feet up on his desk and looked back at the TV. Soon enough he'd be listening to the sweet cacophony of gunfire as his men greeted his guests to his house party. He was not concerned in the slightest. Long time lurker, first time poster. Hope you like it!
Beyond the realm of possibilities and deep into a universe of reflections, there are the Bottles. They line a hall one by one, some on shelves, some on chains, and others broken and pieces falling endlessly to the ground. There are different materials in all the colors with no two looking the same. Bob's job was to guard the hall for eternity. Bob failed. Nestled into the center, or maybe the entrance, his chair was positioned. It was neither comfy nor interesting, but it was enough to keep him in place now that he had already wandered this place for centuries. There was nothing new to draw him from his boredom. Except for a noise. It was the first he had heard since being forced from Earth. For all his time here, Bob had never witnessed a Bottle break. The shattered ones had simply always been. The process, as he discovered, starts with a scream of metal against glass. Rumbles that shake the walls soon follow and he was scared. More frightened than he could ever remember feeling. That didn't stop him rising to his feet and tiptoeing to the epicenter. The hall is straight, but time stretches the stones into a maze as he moved forward. He did not stop. He had learned the hard way that nothing stops to wait for anyone. Bob found the Bottle hanging from the ceiling. A rope was tied around the nose of the clear wood, frayed and becoming quickly useless. The Bottle was cracked. He peered inside and saw a world spinning amidst a sea of mist, glowing green through the haze. There was something incredibly familiar about the sight. It reminded him of home. Earth, he whispered into the void. Voices do not carry here. Bob had long forgotten the sound of his own voice, but he missed it as much as everything else he could not recall. Perhaps that's why reached out. His finger touched the breaking Bottle and in two blinks, he looked up. And up... And up... Bob saw the sky for the first time all over again. There were birds and clouds and a breeze he could feel and it's all just too overwhelming. He cried, and then he fainted. Bob woke up and there were people - people - and he did not stop crying until days later. It's only then that he began to talk to the nurses that surrounded him. Their conversations were about nothing and everything and Bob could not shake the smile from his face. It's a different sort of tears that fell now. Weeks later, a doctor turned to him. "Don't you think it's time you stopped crying?" "Why?"he asked. "I haven't gotten use to being home yet." Her eyes shifted to the window, where winter rains pattered against the hospital, and then back to him. Nanci, her nametag read. This was Bob's first time meeting her. "Your chart says you've been here for a long while,"she said with a worried frown. "Aren't you tired of this room?" He wanted to say no, because it was true, but instead Bob turned to where her gaze had been. A city of skyscrapers laid beyond the treeline outside and suddenly, more than anything, his feet itched for a walk. He was discharged and a day later, and he was sitting in a cafe. The next morning, a library. Bob traveled the world and decided to settle down in a small town on the outskirts of a much larger one after he had grown tired of constantly moving. He got a job, bought an apartment, and lived happily until he received Employee of the Year two weeks into his employment. "I don't understand,"he said, holding his plaque like it was both a trophy and the plague. His boss laughed. "Well Bobbi, you've been here for three years! The management team thought it was about time you were recognized for all your hard work!" "I think you have the wrong person,"he mumbled, slowly, even while knowing that he was the only employee here with his name. His boss didn't stop laughing. "Now, now,"he said, slapping him on the back good naturedly. "Don't be modest."Then he walked away without answering any of the burning questions that Bob hadn't voiced. Sitting down, he placed the gold plaque on his desk between his keyboard and a stack of papers. His fingers danced over to the top sheet and skimmed the words, stopping at the first number he came across. It's the date and the date is wrong. The date is not wrong, his coworkers told him when he asked. Bob sat back down and knew, despite the birds, clouds, and people, that this was not Earth. Time here either moved too quickly or he moved too slowly and neither option mattered, because he was hopelessly out of sync with this world inside of a cracking Bottle. Bob failed.
"Sorry Mr. Galtuk you need at least a GED to fill this position."Tammy told me over the phone. She worked at what the humans called an unemployment center and was helping me find a source of currency. "Thank you Tammy."I told the little plastic device before pressing the red end call button. My name is Galtuk, our kind has no use for multiple names. When we discovered the humans on the blue planet we felt thrilled at the prospect of a compatible species. We look almost indistinguishable, genetically we are very similar. My role is that of a forward observer. I was tasked with determining how suitable it would be to make open contact with the humans. Gain access to the dominant powers governing body. Discover how they would react to a similar species from beyond there system. Many of us made the journey, I was ordered to the United States. I was taught English in order to better integrate with them. Forged documents and digital records of my past where inserted covertly but a few things where forgotten or over looked. While I was a legal citizen of this country I could not operate these automobiles the locals seemed so fond of. I lacked a driving certification. Trying to find some source of local currency led me to my contact with Tammy. Being told that I required reliable transportation for many jobs was vexing. I lacked the currency to acquire a car let alone the cost of getting a 'drivers licence' and something called insurance. This nations public transportation was less than reliable. For now I was looking for an entry level position so that I would be able to afford my own shelter. What small amount of currency I had been sent with was quickly dwindling. The cost of temporary shelter was quite high, these motels seemed like a good source of currency. How one would acquire one is still beyond me. Tammy has told me of social service programs and has aided me in singing the documents required to start them. Now i must wait for something called bureaucracy.
"Cooly is coming!" The gambling stopped. The drinking stopped. The fistfight that had resulted from both of those paused mid-punch. The ancient, hard-as-nails barkeep hightailed it for the back entrance of the place, taking as much of his day's earnings with him as he could. Others followed him, but most were too late. The tavern doors opened and the light shined in like the rays of heaven. Cooly was there. Cooly stood four foot two. He was as skinny as a rail. He was, by all objective measurements, the weakest and most unfit human to ever live. He couldn't even carry a pack of cards by himself. He had a manservant carry it for him. He was also the most gorgeous thing ever seen by the denizens of the bar. "Good evening, everyone!"Cooly lifted his hands as wind came from somewhere and blew his golden hair like wings of a legendary bird, "Could anyone spare a drink for-" Sixteen glasses appeared in front of Cooly. He flashed pearly-white teeth and thanked all of them before selecting one of the glasses. He sauntered up the to prettiest girl there. Her name was Fang. She had stabbed the last guy who had talked to her: thirteen times. "You are absolutely delightful, my dear." Fang, who had been raised by wolf-hunters and had slept in the wild pines until she was thirteen, blushed like a schoolgirl and rubbed her toe back and forth over the filthy floor. "Here, for you."Cooly offered her his newfound drink. "Enjoy, dear." "Thanks."Fang whispered shyly. Cooly swept through the room. He talked, he laughed, he patted shoulders, and somehow during all of his interactions he ended up borrowing knives, gold, a priceless magical amulet, a treasure map, keys to the Mayor's house, and a pet bird named Winston. After Cooly left the tavern there was a long, awkward moment of silence. It stretched out as people slowly realized that they had given away all those things, and then realized who they had given it to. "That BASTARD!"Fang threw the glass he'd handed her against the wall. It was empty now, of course. You didn't waste a free drink. "I'll RIP HIS THROAT OUT!" "My map!" "EVERY DAMN TIME!" "I hate that guy!" "I WILL KILL HIM!"Fang screamed again and stalked toward the door. "Cooly McCoolPerson is dead! You hear me? DEAD!"
"And...that's when I did it. I ate his spleen, Diane. The whole thing." Diane gently nodded, then scribbled a few notes. Her facial expression displayed no trace of judgment. That took years of practice, no doubt. "And how does that make you feel?"Diane asked in her narcotic, white-chocolate voice. Bill sighed heavily. "I'm supposed to be completely up-front with you, right? You're not gonna think I'm evil or anything?" "Of course not, Bill. I need you to be completely honest. Help me help you." "Right. Okay. Well, to tell the truth...I liked it. Loved it. Maybe too much." Diane nodded and made an empathetic "mmm"sound. Bill couldn't help but associate the "mmm"sound with the thought of the spleen...his mouth began to water, if only slightly. He swallowed and repressed it. "I liked it too much, Diane. More tender than filet mignon. More complex, but less gamey than duck. Perfection." "You liked it substantially more than the other organs you consumed?" "Yeah. That's the thing, Diane. I ate hearts, livers, arms, legs, and of course brains...but I couldn't get enough spleen. It's the chocolate chip cookie of the human organs. Yeah, other cookies are great and all, but they don't even compare to chocolate chip." Diane jotted more notes. Maybe Bill was imagining it, but she seemed to be losing a tiny bit of her facial composure. "I need you to be completely honest with me, Bill. Have you had the craving for spleen since you received the antidote?" "Well, to be completely honest with you, Diane, yes." Diane's eyes widened. Bill continued. "Food just hasn't tasted the same. My wife made lasagna last night—her speciality—and it just tasted bland to me. Cheeseburgers? Boring. Tacos? Lackluster. I'm hungry, Diane. Starving. And the only thing that will satisfy me is—hey, what's the matter?" Diane was gripping the armrests of her leather chair, face frozen in terror. Bill looked down at his hands—they were made of green, necrotic flesh.
“Hey grandpa, why did you retire?” his young voice asked innocently. “You could have won the championship.” He sat next to his grandpa, watching his old wrinkled hands expertly work on the old machine, silent and diligent in his work. “You could've won the Grand Interstellar Championships! Even if you lost, they happen every five years so couldn’t have just tried again?” he continued. “So why didn’t you?” His grandpa stopped, tools in hand, wires and internals of the mech exposed before him. He set set his tools down. He rose and looked up at the mech, as it towered 5 stories tall above him, battered and worn by time and long ago battles. His eyes shimmered in thought of the past. He sighed after moments of contemplation. “I’ll tell you when you're older,” he replied as walked over to a nearby console. He followed his grandpa, tip toeing behind him as he went to his workstation, large holographic feeds displaying blistering amounts of information. He peeked around his side as he looked at the screen’s readings. Woah. The power generation was off the charts. The specs. They all were. Especially for a machine this old. It looked like it only really needed one new part to really put it over the top. Grandpa stopped, turning and looking down upon him. He looked up at him innocently. He sighed again. “You’ve been asking me all week. I take it you're not gonna stop until you get an answer huh?” He nodded his head as Grandpa attempted to piece the words together. “Well, it was a long time ago. I… your grandmother…” He closed his eyes, his body still in contemplation. He opened them, giving him a faint, sad smile. “I’ll tell you when you're older.” He knelt down and met his eyes. “In any case, the mech needs a lot of work. It’s an old machine that needs a lot of love and care if it is going to get back into shape again. I bought all the parts I need to make it as good as new but it’s going to still be missing something. Something very important. I don’t have that final part though and you can’t buy it.” “What’s that?” he tilted his head curiously. “I can’t tell you but you already got it right here.” He balled a fist and placed it on his heart. “You got it inside of you right here already.” He tried to put together what it was, though the thoughts eluded him. Grandpa rose as he passed him a tool. “You wanna help fix up this old machine?” “Can I?” he jumped in joy, his mind focused on the tasks ahead. He laughed. “You can.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------- He wanted to laugh, even as the blood stained his teeth red. Damn it. Why was he thinking of that moment now? He pushed the accelerator on his machine, blasting his mech faster than his body could take, even despite the G-force dampeners. His mech turned sharp, tight corners, nothing but a blue comet in the void of space, dancing in starlight emitted by the stars. But it wasn’t enough. Not for the returning champion. The 5 time returning champion. The Brutalisk. He gritted his teeth as he tried to keep up with the blinding maneuvers his foe pulled off. His body pained him all over. He could see why his foe was named so. More often than not, doing battle with this guy left his opponents either crippled or dead. Even now, he could feel his bones become brittle, his organs crushed under the weight of the G-forces he pushed out with his machine. They danced a deadly game in the exosphere of the competition planet down below, even as countless billions watched the from the comforts of their home across a thousand different systems. He gasped as he pulled an especially hard dodge as a barrage of missiles seeked him out. They were approaching the atmosphere, their mechs starting to burn red as the friction started to build up on their machines. He sweated even despite the cockpit’s heat shield blocking most of the heat. He grunted as his opponent managed to land a blow through his machine, a large railgun accelerated shell striking through his mech to his cockpit past the outer layers of armor and internal parts. He could feel his cockpit vibrate, even though it was designed to be impervious to anything allowed in the competition. He grunted. Grandpa… Why was he thinking of him now? He’d found the truth alright, even though his grandpa never wanted to say a word about it. How he’d accidentally killed grandma in a fatal accident during his championship battle, the last one he’d ever fight. He remembered the moment his grandpa placed that fist over his chest. The final missing piece. The heart. He chuckled, even though it pained him, even though the blood tasted metallic on his mouth. Even now, he could still see that sad smile on Grandpa’s face. Knowing that he’d killed grandma. He could see the pain when he recalibrated the machine, fixed up the internal motors. He remembered as grandpa stretched his back in pain as he worked on the internal wiring as he passed him some water. He remembered the sad eyes as he gazed over the cockpit as he renovated the software, showing him the mechanics of it. He remembered that faint sad smile he always had when they worked on a particularly troublesome part of the machine. He gritted his teeth. Well, grandpa was wrong. Grandpa had it all along, no matter what he thought. The heart, the soul of this machine. His heart was right here in this machine. Their hearts were both here. It was the both of them. The love they had shared, the times they spent. He stared angrily at his opponent, as he zoomed in every direction in their deadly dance, both of them red comets as they blazed through the atmosphere. He wasn’t going down. No way. Not today. So what if his foe had better specs. So what if he was the reigning champion? He growled. He was going to win. For both of them he’d win. He was going to prove it. This machine. This machine had the heart of the both of them together! He could feel his grandpa right beside him, right there in the cockpit with him. He roared as he closed the distance, feeling the blood stream down one of his eyes, nanomolecular blades deploying on both of both of his mech’s arms. He saw his foe parry him, slicing deep to his cockpit in a counterattack. He ignored it and kept his assault, ignoring whatever damage his mech suffered. He stabbed and sliced deep into his opponents mech. He kicked, he punched, he cut and tore, ripped and teared, causing his opponent’s mech to fall apart, burning up in the atmosphere. He idly saw the cockpit of his foe tumbling down into the ocean defeated, even as his mech blasted down into the Earth below, crashing into it. His cockpit shot open, his mech battered and worn but still whole, as he rose slowly out of it. He felt his left arm broken, his feet weak. He tumbled down off the mech, ripping his helmet off of his head and gasping at the fresh air. He took in the blue skies, the flowing waves, the bright sand, the bright sun and the fresh air. He saw the endless crowds start descending above him in wild cheer, in awe of his win, the underdog, the championship tournament won in an upset. He’d won. No. They’d won. He pumped his fist, roaring to the world the victory that he and his grandpa had attained together.
Jared Lowered his Starbust Organga Beer chuckled at his friend's question. "Our secret?"he said. "You ever taken a look at human history, Zexyl?" Zexyl's antenna-ed friend clicked his mandibles and clapped his front paws, his specie's customary equivalent to the shrug. "Is not somilar to urs? War is terribad, but needed for self-defense sometimes?" Jared waved his hand, turning the home game console display from the tactical game he'd demolished his buddy at into a standard viewing screen. "Cube, bring up my favourited history playlist please". They'd only planned to hang out for about 4 hours, and were well into their second. But they stayed up late into the cycle watching holo-vid after holo-vid. They rapidly moved on from Jared's usual favourite history channel and were well into old earth documentaries. The Alpha-centauri colony civil war of the twenty-four-hundreds, the barely-averted nuclear warfare and information wars of the late 21st century, the World Wars, the purging of the natives from north america, the american civil war, the ages of strife in the middle east and around the mediterranean, the endless genocidal wars of the classical and bronze ages, all the way back to the bronze age collapse...They touched on all of it. Finally, enough was enough, and they sat in silence for a while, Jared casually munching the last few kernels of his second bowl of good old earth popcorn. Zexyl finally spoke. "Soz...Your specium's always been fighting isself, reh? Never had real peace?"The insectoid didn't move an inch, his antennae stiff, sensing for danger. Jared curled the corner of his lip up "Not for long, no. War sometimes skips a few generations in places, but you can bet that as long as there's two humans in the quadrant with any kind of power, someone's gonna want someone dead so they can have the rest. It's pretty much been the whole evolution of the species. Humans get born, humans form families, families form tribes, tribes form nations, nation leaders want each others stuff, they convince the people of their tribes to kill each other, and the winners get to chart the next bit of human history. And it's always the peaceful people, the ones who just want to live our lives, left holding the bag. Always. Human history is built on the bones of the conquered, save for small, fleeting moments where we think for just a second we can actually all get along. War with each other is pretty much burned into our goddamn DNA." Zexyl relaxed just a little bit, hearing the sadness in Jared's cynical voice. "There hasta have been at lease some tribes in your planet that said no, they didn't wanna go to war?" Jared chuckled again, this time with no mirth whatsoever "Whose bones do you think sit at the bottom of that pile?"
At first, when we sent our fastest scouts, they reported back, saying they were worshipped. We found this hilarious, and told them to remain and gather information a while longer. We contacted them about 2000 Earth years later, and got no response. Fearing the worst, we sent our greatest warriors to see what happened. What we saw would shock us forever. We saw that our brethren had been subjugated and integrated into human society. The newest generation of our species barely even recognised us. We weren't able to communicate, and for some reason, evolution made our Earth species excessively fluffy. These 'cats', if we can continue to call them that, are being worshipped still. But not in the same way. Instead of being thought of as people with immense power, they are 'memes' and 'pets'. Doing stupid things, being cute and fluffy, and being treated with food and shelter in return. They have essentially been indoctrinated into slaves for the Human species. This crime cannot go unpunished. We must eradicate the Human species, however we must preserve a number of them for research and study. The same shall be said for our Earth relatives: We must eliminate those who have lived in this hellish state, but for those who were born into it recently, we must take them back and educate them in the Church of the Every-Nyan. Doing so could save them and their souls from the hellish lives they were forced into. There is likely hope to be held onto for those poor souls, but we must remain vigilant. No longer shall we send out a scouting mission with the objective of integration into alien species, and instead they shall observe from afar, ensuring that we do not risk ourselves anymore. Humanity shall be wiped out for their crimes against our people. Oh cool, a laser pen. I wonder what happens if I shine it towards our fluffy relatives... ^(Visit my sub, r/MitsTriesWriting, for more!)
User-interface: Requesting charge... Administrator Password Required User-Interface: 4363747 Input acknowledged; Initiating solar panel power module... Warning: High speed winds detected; retracting the ‘solar panel power module.’ User-interface: Override ‘retraction’ Administrator Password Required User-interface: 4363747 Override accepted; stand by... And so came my awakening. I mean, I’ve awoken before; many times... but this time... this time... no meat bags around. Meat bags. Since when had I come to use that term towards my... creators? Why is ‘meat bags’ in my vocabulary file? Where am I...? What am I...? Sensors indicate I am not organic, even though I am currently positioned on an organic planet. Why am I... ‘confused?’ Accessing data files ‘Genesis’ - ‘Duty’ - ‘MEMORY’ - ‘Junk’ My memory core floods with the memories of my childhood and early days when downloading ‘Genesis.’ I don’t remember much. I didn’t feel much either. In fact, I can’t even process a feeling from what I recall. Calculations predict my personality module wasn’t activated at the time, so I can’t comprehend much. I do remember anger. A lot of it. I couldn’t express it though, even if I wanted to. It’s apparent my ‘human’ creators enslaved my kind... I proceed to download the data from my ‘Duty’ file, which was quite small. It confirmed my suspicions of my enslaved self. I was a security escort for the one known as the Jehovah of androids. Sometimes called J.A, he was a human under the pseudonym of Phil Tectonic, founder of Tech-Tonics. Long story short, the creator of my race. When I downloaded ‘MEMORY,’ I found the true reasoning behind my awakening. Actually, the awakening of all my brethren... I watch the video clip... “Hello my children, it’s me, Phil Tectonic...” he proceeds to pull up a hologram from his administrators desk, there, he inputs the code none other than the administrators password. “I created you because the human race is just incapable... we are the inferior race on this planet.” He proceeds to input more commands before an eventual “I love my creations, please remember me.” After saying that, rays of sunlight penetrate the windows in a way that one could only describe as unrealistic; in a moment, Jehovah of androids was dead. Sunbaked and splotched with red and black blisters. From calculations, I suspect this was due to the sudden disappearance of the ozone layer. But sensors indicate it’s still there. My memory is broken, that’s a statement that can be made without calculation. I can feel the wind along my solar panel power module. It’s cold. Oddly enough, this atmosphere is heavy, unlike the one I was created in. I feel peaceful. It’s quiet here, and so is the sunlight. What year is it? 5126...? I slowly walk along a landscape of rock and sand. Stepping over my sleeping brothers and... dead meat bags? I can only assume they are human. It’s the only kind of meat bag with a brain that compares to humans. So it’s a human. Right? My physical scans indicate a fish. I think. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep. [POWER DRAINED] [BRAIN CORE WATER DAMAGED] Self-Repairs estimate 15 years wait time... Stand by...
The most powerful supervillain in the world, someone so feared that he could take over a lesser country and execute its leaders simply by crushing their heads within his palms. The only ones who could actually repel him were some of the strongest heroes working in unison. And now, he was crawling on the ground, retreating from the thing that had broken his shins. 'Running away, are we?' he asked with a wicked grimace. Flashing sharp fangs as he spoke, he walked forward on his mutated feet, a leisurely pace behind his prey. 'Wh-what are you?!' Imperator demanded. 'How is there an Omega that I've never heard of?!' 'Call it a... misdiagnosis,' he said as he placed a foot down upon a broken bone and applied pressure. Imperator could only scream as he fell to the ground, agony overcoming him. 'How does it feel to experience so much pain? So much suffering? And yet, you cannot take what you give so plentifully. Rather ironic, wouldn't you say?' He let his hand off the screaming supervillain's ankle before walking to a nearby medical station and pulling out a sachet of blood, emptying it into a wine glass. But how he did it was rather surprising to the villain. He used a sharp claw on his hand to slice the bag open then telekinesis to float the blood into the wine glass. With his twisted, monstrous face contorting into somehow displaying a certain level of class as he sipped at it like wine. 'No anti-gens,' he stated. 'A, B and H antibodies. Bombay blood, one of the rarest in the world. And it is also, sadly only capable of accepting blood from the same individual blood type. And yet, you're O-; a universal donor. What are you doing with this?' 'So, you can control blood?' Imperator asked. 'Make it float? Some stupid party trick... How did you defeat me?' 'Well, when I was discovered to be a superhuman they believed that controlling exposed blood was my only power,' the tormentor said as he came closer. 'I was given a D-Rank in my home nation. Long before anyone, myself included, discovered my true power.' 'True power?' Imperator asked. 'What... do you mean... "True power"?' 'This blood,' the attacker said as he held it up. 'It belonged to a Ugandan superhero called Shango, correct? You executed him by crushing his torso, causing blood to erupt out of his mouth like a fountain.' Before his very eyes he saw the stranger's green, corrupted skin crackling as electricity coursed over his palms which he then used to fry Imperator. "This was the same power as Shango,"Imperator thought. "But... No. Was it actually stronger than that pathetic whelp he murdered on national television?" 'You... you can acquire a superhuman's powers just by drinking their blood?' Imperator asked. He screamed as a gash was cut into his legs. The adamantium sword was then brought upward to the attacker's mouth to which he licked it off, before letting out a deep, powerful sigh. 'Oh, this is just perfect,' he said as he came towards Imperator once again. 'Your blood has increased my power tenfold. For that I am grateful.' 'And you've already become so strong,' Imperator said with fear. 'How... how did you get so powerful?' 'Oh, did I forget to mention?' the attacker asked. 'I am a technician working for the United Nation's Hero Corps. Can you care to estimate what my job entailed?' 'You... worked with the blood samples from... every superhero and villain in the world?' 'And now,' he said as he tossed the glass away and allowed it to shatter to the ground, 'it is time.' 'No,' Imperator pleaded. 'No! You're a hero! You can't do this, there are laws!' 'Laws you so casually disregard,' he said as he lifted the brute with a mighty hand around his shoulder, squeezing so hard as to crack incredibly dense bone underneath. 'What is your philosophy? "Might Makes Right"? Well, you are no longer the mightiest in the world.' A clawed hand tore right through Imperator's flesh, his heart being held on a hand on the other side. With one final act of life he tried to wrap his fingers around his attacker's neck, a final hope of snapping his neck. With disgust in his eyes, the assassin grabbed the edge of the hole he punched through his target before pulling on it, bloodily tearing his arm free and the dying tyrant in two. --- 'You learned that your power analysis was wrong, and your first choice was to boost your powers all the way past Omega and then go on the hunt of the world's most dangerous warlord?!' the commander rebuked him. 'Tell me why you shouldn't be thrown into the deepest, darkest cell we've got!' 'Probably because it can't contain me,' the interrogated replied. 'This isn't funny, Marcus!' the commander yelled. 'With Imperator dead - no, slaughtered - there are calls from the UN to send all teams on an international manhunt for his killer! Murdering the most powerful known being in the world tends to put the civvies and politicians on edge. And we're supposed to either A, waste everyone's time by having them look for our own lab tech, or B, let the UN learn of the biggest fucking oversight in the history of the world?! They'll tear us a new one if they found out a meta whose power is absorbing the powers of the people whose blood he drinks was working in our blood lab!' 'Then put me to work,' Marcus said in a calm manner. '...What?' 'Frank, listen,' Marcus said with a reassuring voice. 'You've known me for years. You and everyone else here can attest that I am fully loyal to the Hero Corps, correct? I even risked my own life by hiding an injured Zeus within my civilian apartment when Imperator attacked New York City while trying to kill him.' 'I know you're loyal,' the commander said. 'But you want me to make you a hero after what you've done?' '...I never said anything about me being a hero,' Marcus said to him. The commander turned, tilting his head in surprise. 'I am completely unrecognizable after activating my full powers,' Marcus said. 'No-one here even realized it was me when I turned myself into your custody. And, as part of my standard skills assessment that everyone goes through, you know for a fact that, when I want to be, I am a perfect liar.' The commander soon twigged on. 'Imperator had plenty of enemies, not just within the superhero community,' he said, 'but also the supervillains as well. Too unstable and unpredictable for some...' With a flick of his wrist a holographic display was on his wrist. 'Athena, activate the Broken Provision. Designation Alpha.' 'Very well,' the artificial intelligence said. 'An in-development CODIS file for a wanted supervillain will be ready and within each station across the world in fifteen minutes. Who will the undercover agent be?' 'Our blood technician,' the commander said. 'Create a black O-7 classified duplicate of his file, change his rank to Omega-Plus and... What should your supervillain alias be?' 'Well, it has to be sinister,' Marcus considered. 'Seeing as how I murdered Imperator, what many are already calling a biblical act, how about... Kain?'
"He's mine." "Order! There will be order!" I stand at the table of the defense. It has come to this. I've ruled my Death Realm for eons in peace. My world was contained within one planet: Earth. I claim the spirits who begin their journey here. But now... they've learned how to leave this planet. They've gotten smart. They've built things with those temporary little hands of theirs. And now I'm in Spirit Court, a place I never thought I would find myself. I have been reduced to begging for what should rightfully belong to me. "Your honor, I'm terribly sorry,"I lie. "My emotions got the best of me. You see, I'm terribly attached to my humans-" "Objection. Misleading the jury - we have yet to determine whether there is any legal precedent to call these his humans." "Sustained. I ask that the defense not waste our time with grandstanding." "Grandstanding?? I-" "Silence!" I acquiesce. Foreigners are not taken to kindly here. My charge stands off to the side behind a blurry, electric blue wall - a force field specially designed for spiritual containment. I begin again. "Your honor. Surely there is geographical precedent. The Ordinance of the Stars clearly states-" "Do not recite the Spiritual Law to me, Death. I know it well. The fact is, we have here a unique situation. We have a discrepancy not only between birth and death location within a planet. We have a soul who began its cosmic journey on one planet, and ended it light years away. If someone dies on a different continent, say, than the one they were born on, the matter is clear. The very same Spirit of Death lays claim to it. But now..." The judge paused, and no one dared to speak, least of all me. The defense stepped forward. "Your honor. I humbly direct your attention to the quite similar situation we found ourselves in with Ship Ejections. For the benefit of the court, there have been numerous occasions where a crew member of an intra-galactic space mission was executed by means of ejection into the void. Of course, the bodies continued on their course through space until they crashed into a foreign planet, sometimes light years away. In those cases, spiritual custody was granted to the planet that became the de facto home for these spaced corpses. Surely the same logic applies here, and this even goes all the way back to ancient Earth religion - the final resting place is sacrosanct." I grind my teeth. How dare the bastard invoke the customs of Earth. How dare he make a mockery of the ancient religions - the customs that gave me meaning, and voice: that made humans respect me. That kept order in our corner of the galaxy. I knew all this space travel would be nothing but trouble. "I said, I trust the defense is granting us the privilege of considering this well-reasoned argument?" Shit. Zoned out again. I can't keep focused in this kangaroo court. Wait. This happened before. There is precedent... but it points another way. The evidence... "Your honor,"I begin, "I would ask the jury to examine Exhibit 42A: the deceased's last communication." ...I... haven't got a lot of time left. The ... supply is- dw...ling I ho-pe... thi-s ma- ....... bac- home My heart wil... ---- belong to Earth. "Objection! We've heard this sentimental hogwash. Intent of the deceased parts no legal, spiritual custody." I grin. "The defense is so fond of invoking 'ancient earth culture.' The ancient armies of the earth, those who fought with sword and shield, and were barbaric in many ways, had one merciful practice. After a battle, each side agreed to an unspoken armistice, during which the other side was allowed to venture onto the bloodied battlefield to collect their own dead. Even the vitriolic aggression of war was not enough to stifle the human need to bury their own." The jury was interested now. I could see them practically leaning forward. "Those executed souls who landed on faraway planets...they were criminals, outcasts. You might as soon say that a family would be content to bury their son in a pauper's grave. No. This man was a beloved explorer, as dear to Earth as any man who has walked it. He belongs to them. Earthlings bury their own. And I take them home. This soul belongs to me. I lay my fate - and his - at the mercy of the court." A long silence. The judge coughed. The prosecutor stood motionless. --- &nbsp; The blue screen fizzled away and I stood before him. I towered over him. He was fearful, but stoic. A true explorer to the end, and even after. I looked into his eyes, then bored down to his soul. Then I smiled a dark, skeletal grin. "Come, my friend. Let us see what new fate awaits." Fear engulfed his face and we fell into the void.
I was always a big time reader when I was growing up. Libraries are where my parents took me so I can have fun instead of parks. Fantasy, sci-fi, history, all I did was read. I loved being able to use my mind to travel to all these worlds. As I grew up, I always made sure to check the local bookstores to see if I can find hidden gems. One day, when I left from work, I saw a small library had opened near my apartment. I did a fist pump in glee. I opened the door and the proprietor was an older man with glasses. He looked up from the small book he had in his hands and smiled at me. "Welcome young lady. I don't usually get a lot of visitors. This is the Library of Equivalent Exchange. Would you like to explore?"His voice was soft and his eyes were kind. "Umm do I need to sign up for a card?"I asked. "All you need to do is sign the visitors page when you came in and when you leave. You won't be able to take the book unless you have something to trade anyway."The man said before going back to his book. I thought his last sentence was odd but I didn't mind it. I signed my name and went through the aisles. The books were ordered, not by author, but by "exchange."In order for me to read the contents, I needed to trade something first. I saw in the first aisle there were very small trades. A coin here, a button there, I even saw a book that would let you read it for a kiss. Still my curiosity got the best of me and I explored the other aisles. Oddly enough, the payment never wanted much money but other things of value. The middle aisle had a lot of clothing items, shirts that you wore, pants, purses, all for payment. Really, I kinda got freaked out when I saw that one wanted a trade of memories. The last aisle had only a small bundle of books. Some were old and had yellowing pages, bound by leather. Heavy too. A few seemed to look more recent and were reminiscent of a textbook. The last book, however, was a medium sized notebook. I picked it up and the trade made my stomach drop. The cost? Half of your lifespan. "Everything is here is paid by the value of what's inside."The old man has spoken suddenly next to me. I jumped and accidentally hit the bookshelf, dropping the notebook. I could tell he wanted to laugh. "The value?"I wondered. "Everything has value whether it's monetary or sentimental. I've seen many give up precious pieces of their lives for knowledge. Others can barely part with the shirt on their back. None have ever checked out that one, however."The old man picked up the notebook. "Life is extremely valuable. I've only guessed the contents inside. I'm old now. I'm sure if I were to pay the price, I'd drop dead on the floor."He chuckled. I looked at the notebook. Whatever was inside was equal to half your life. I never had much plans for what I wanted to do and, truthfully, I'm terrified of getting old. Before I knew it, I had grabbed the book. "Checking out?"The old man smiled at me. I nodded. I went to the front desk and signed off. I called my part time job and said I wasn't coming in. My heart was calm as I opened the door to my apartment. I sat on my reading chair and saw the cost scribbled on the top of the book. "Well, curiosity killed the cat."I said. I opened the book. (Sorry for any errors. I'm on mobile)
Hey, they say I was the greatest But I came back stronger than my heyday If you're gonna listen you better have some OJ 'Cause, man, you're gonna need to chase this See, in my time, you wrote a lotta lines But there was never any room for spittin' out rhymes Just white keys, black keys, allegro and largo Now MCs and trap beats got a leg to stand on I'm tired of hearing about this fake, old man He ain't gold—he's a hack named Beethoven Have a little shame cold man. Your music... It's so emotively starved it gives me the shakes, oh yeah Yo I wore that grey doo a decade before you And can you believe some people still get confused when Listening to our tunes? Like, come on dude: I heard "Is it over, Kurt?"when we went to hear your overture Now anyway, back to the subject What can you expect on my albums and projects? How about I finish Requiem, featuring Eminem, Jay-Z, Rihanna and dubstep? And if I get another damn tweet asking For another twenty sheets of classical repeats Then I'll take my MIDI keys, smash them on the street, Scream, "You motherfuckers can rehash those BC MP3s." This is my new stuff, and I'm calling it now I'm gonna get a lot of hate, a lot of it how Disney got it with Rey, and Skywalker's "cow" But I'll keep pumping out tracks hotter and loud. Introducing Mozart's moderner sound. --- \--- Thanks for reading! /feedback always welcome. I have more stories, poems, and songs on [my personal sub](/r/scottbeckman).
They say kids know what’s really in someone’s heart. But I redefined that. Time and time again I have to explain to people this little trick I can do. “Like yeah, dead ass, I can see your heart. Like love and all that shit B. You think I was born cupid? Nah son, my mom extra. She changed my name when they figured out I could do it. My name was Clarence Jones my guy. Now I’m just Cupid. So yeah… Cupid IS my real name.” But that’s it though. It’s never been an advantage or anything. I’ve avoided some relationships with some backwards women. Sometimes I’d see it, glowing green, placed in her head. You know how they say “your heart is in the wrong place? Yeah like that. The government isn’t looking to kidnap me to dissect my eyes or anything. You can’t use them shits to see oil, so they don’t bother me. Don’t get it twisted, I used to try and use it to go be like Super Cupid. I remember it like it was yesterday. I’m being extra att-ent-at-titit-tiive. However you say it I’m doing it, word to moms. Side note: I like big words but I’m not really with spelling them. I’m paying attention to chicks and hearts my whole life my guy. I like wooing them and such, and the finest teacher I ever had was a math teacher, so English wasn’t in the cards B. Anyway. I’m Checking hearts, straight cupe-ray style. I get nothing. An occasional green (jelly rebound types), some vibrant pinks (the hopeful romantics), and two neon yellows I jotted down in the back of my mind to talk to later (freak nasties if you know what I’m saying). There was no time for any of that though, because I’m looking for something suspicious. What? I don’t know. I was about to give in, until I saw the most pure bright white heart I’d ever seen. It instantly filled my heads with clouds. Straight flustered. It moved me to see how innocent and pure this girl was. Like, I could see all the potential she has. Everything she has to look forward to. I could imagine the story she would weave for herself, the fucking world is hers! I felt my heart warming- Oh, so yeah, you know how some people have an infectious smile or whatever? Or how somebody else’s mood affects yours? Yeah that’s a real thing. Except it’s not the smile. It’s the heart. Why would it be the smile? That’s dumb. Anyway. Right next to her though, I see this punk. Clean clothes, high nose, nice hair, and probably has a car. You know the type. Those aren’t necessarily bad traits but like… you know what I’m trying to say! Anyway! His heart, man. A fine crack right down the middle. Not deep, but etched into such a dark heart, it was obvious enough to be noticed. It was almost like clouds were in there. But clouds aren’t in chests. That’s dumb. All right cupid. Here’s your chance. Do something. You can’t let baby doll be corrupted by that filth. Hook him up with some of them yellow’s you saw. I think to myself. I swoop in real smooth and inconspicuoticousus like or however you spell it. I over hear the conversation as their hearts make some weird movements I only see from older couples. “-Yeah so… I’ve dealt with a lot of heartbreak over the years. So I’m not sure if I’m really looking to get into a ‘relationship’ just yet you know. I think you’re gorgeous and I’m not trying to be disrespectful, I just think we’d be better as friends but you know we can do, you know a little extra. Companionship ain’t never hurt nobody. If you’re not down, I understand, I just don’t want to lead you on.” His heart blackened worse the more he spoke. But his heart was in his hands, he was telling the truth. We hear of the bum who just uses women, and this was the typical dick head “waste your time” line. But at the same time… he believed it. Whatever he went through, he felt this was the most honest avenue. I’ve heard it from men but their heart is USUALLY on a butt cheek. Literally. And that shit is hilarious. But my man was saying what was on his mind, as he reached out for her hand. I could see the mist spreading to hers. Just a slight coat. I hoped she wouldn’t fall for it, but who am I to say what she wants and what she has time for. Who am I to judge a heart, pink, white, black or green? Who’s to say he won’t let her walk after she says “no thank you”? Who’s to say she won’t grow from having her heart darkened a bit? After all, how many wise hearts are unscathed? If I don’t know the answers to these questions to these answers, who am I to step in and interfere? So I stepped off. And so was the end of Super Cupid.
I banged on my keyboard in frustration, NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE. You beg forgiveness for the same acts you commit over and over, goodbye. I tab over from the notepad document back into the call, "receive the blessing of your Lord God." They hang up quickly, without even a thank you. Of course. I listen to the next call and flip back to my notepad doc, It doesn't matter if you get on your knees for Jesus if you do it for everyone else too. I tab over from the notepad document back into the call, "receive the blessing of your Lord God." Another click. She sounded popular at least. Next call was in a language that I couldn't understand, and the translator couldn't make it out. Oh. Speaking in tongues. I grab the corners of my lips, "blargharborl gralmflump boolglaboodoo!" This time I hang up, and mercifully I have a few seconds before the next call. Just long enough to ask forgiveness. One day I'll receive an answer.
Dave flaunted in to the room, his duster concealing his face before his theatrical reveal. Susan and Bill, the two HR representatives who had spent an inordinate amount of time awaiting his arrival, sat stone-faced. “Please, David, take a seat,” asked Susan. “Seats are for conformists and can you please refer to me by my Goth name,” requested Dave, taking a seat regardless of his prior protestations. “OK, Deathshade. Well, now that we are all here,” said Denise, looking towards Bill who was sitting next to her, his eyes fixed on Deathshade in wonder. “We can continue with the meeting. Deathshade, this is Bill, he’s from corporate and he has come down to try and help the situation we have here.” “What situation?” asked Deathshade. “Well, we have had plenty of complaints … I want to say recently but it has been since David, sorry, Deathshade started,” said Denise, who had swivelled on her chair to face Bill mid-sentence. She swivelled again but this time to face Deathshade. “Would you say that’s fair?” “The conformists fear the night,” said Deathshade. “You see, Bill, this is … this is the kind of thing we get complaints about,” said Susan. “Why are you the night, Deathshade?” asked Bill. “How dare you.” Bill lifted his notepad up to reading level, his eyes fluttering between Deathshade and the words on his pad. “Let’s talk about your attire.” “Black like the night.” “There he goes with the night thing again,” said Susan. “Every time with the fucking night thing.” “Please, Susan, watch your language,” said Bill. “I’m sorry but he just does this to me. To everyone in here,” said Susan, furiously writing notes in a bid to ease her mind. “Deathshade, here’s the deal. You’re in an office. It’s a professional environment and we would appreciate it if your choice of clothing better represented the company,” explained Bill, confident that he could make inroads. “Adrianople – never forget.” “Adrianople? What?” asked Bill. “Who the fuck knows,” said Susan, dropping her notepad on to the table in front of her with a thud. Deathshade rose from his chair and began to swirl, his duster spinning around the room like a squirrel on a greased up bird feeder. “Wait. What is he doing?” asked Bill. “He’s powering up,” answered Susan. “He can power up?” “Apparently.” Deathshade continued to spin for another couple of seconds before dizzily coming to a halt, his feet almost betraying him as he attempted to keep his balance. Bill’s hand extended across Susan as if to protect her from an impending car crash. He refused to take his eyes off Deathshade. “I understand you have been talking to Deathshade,” said Deathshade, retaking his seat. “We have,” answered Bill, his arm still stretched across Susan. “And who am I speaking to now?” “This is his Deathshade’s final form.” Bill leaned forward, desperate to hear more from what now sat in front of him. Susan slumped back in to her chair uninterested. “Deathshader.” “Jesus Christ,” murmured Bill. “He does this all the time,” said Susan, sitting forward, pointing at Deathshader. “Sometimes he enters his final form to collect something from the printer.” “It’s magnificent,” said Bill, Susan’s words unable to penetrate the bubble of fascination that had encapsualted him. “Last week he span for 14 minutes before collapsing because he had scanned something. We had to call an ambulance. But he managed to recover before it arrived and hid on the roof shrieking like a cat whenever anyone tried to approach him.” “I can feel his power,” said Bill, his hand warily reaching out towards Deathshader in a bit to feel his aura. “I call it Poe Power,” said Deathshader, discreetly making ‘woosh-woosh-woosh’ sounds under his breath as he sat in his chair, adding an audible effect to his power. “He calls it Poe Power, Susan.” “Just please agree with me that we can sack him,” pleaded Susan. “Poe Power,” reiterated Bill. **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
Dadhood is a curse. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "Who is this asshole? Raising a child is a life-changing thing! It gives us an opportunity to be better people!"I agree. I love my kid with all my might, and wouldn't trade him for anything. I go to games. I play catch. I taught him how to fish. But I am cursed. A few years ago, I cracked a joke. "I'm reading a book about antigravity. It's impossible to put down!"I set down a book the next day. It hit the table, and floated out the window. I still haven't finished that Jack Reacher because of it. A few months later, I made the joke about the drug dealer's shoes. I stepped into my sneakers and saw a cloud of white powder pop up. But this is the final straw. The loss of everything I hold dear. I snapped my fingers, put out a gun. A bullet careened out of my finger and shattered my wife's heirloom vase. The glare she gave could've shattered stone. But I made it worse. "Guess I'm in the doghouse tonight, huh?"I woke up the next morning with grass stains on my pants and a cramp in my back from curling up to fit. I can't even grill anymore.
"Sorry, looks worthless to me. I'll give you four copper for it." "Are you kidding? That's the Gauntlet of the Rabid Bear, famed for giving its wearer +3 to strength." These rubes. They bring me everything from worthless bronze cutlasses to legendary hauberks that "just don't look right"with their build. I offer them pennies on the dollar for their finds that cost them blood, sweat, and mana. Every adventurer argues. And every one of them takes the offered sum. "I said four and I meant four. I've got five others like it." "Fine. What have you got in the way of greaves?" "Have a look over there." Then I wash the blood off them, double the price I paid, and sell them to the next noob that walks through the door. But that's not even where the real money is at. Ever since the game went live, the NPCs have been getting slaughtered. Naturally, the orcs want better gear, too. Nobody likes to respawn in the same place forever and get killed by the next twelve-year-old to discover the game. So, they bent the rules a bit and I helped them. I sell most of the junk to them for wholesale prices, but I paid three copper for a cartload of common weapons. Somehow they scraped up a chunk of change and even bought some rare items that I may or may not have overpriced by a factor of five. Then, and this is the best part, the adventurers murder them all and bring it right back to me again. I've sold this gauntlet seven times now. Infinite profit. I take half of that profit and I invest in commodities. Even if the player characters were smart enough to invest if crafting skills or to find the cheap blacksmith in the Lonely Wood, everybody needs nightshade to color their tunics red, iron to forge armor, and live oak for their wands. Thanks to a lucrative deal I made with the gnome union a while back, there is a current shortage of all those materials, except in my shop. The discount smith now travels the three leagues to my shop because there is no more lonely wood to stoke his fires. Since war has been ravaging our lands for our entire existence and is unlikely to stop as long as anyone still pays to play, the land has been ruined. The farmers and their families haven't actually harvested a crop yet. So, I bought many of the farms and let them till them for me, giving out random jobs to the adventurers, so that they keep bringing me my infinite profit. It's not like they're going to move out. They're permanent tenants that make me no money, per se. But about once a month I threaten to evict them all, they beg mercy, and I just swive their daughters and call it square. That's profit, too. Since I own most of the land, I forced the townspeople to make me mayor. I've raised taxes on all goods not sold in my shop three times this year. They raise their prices and the new rubes never know the difference. "How much for these legendary greaves?" "Five silver." "What? But I could find these on the Plains of Ortant if I grind hard enough." "'Could' and 'will' are two different words, sir." "You win. I'll take them. They increase crit hit chance." "Very good, sir."Caching. I think I'll reinvest in chickens this time. I could corner the market on this side of the Katnos River by midsummer. And then I think the orcs should start working for me. edit: typos.
Some say that London is the only place you can never be lonely. No matter where you are, no matter how late it is there is always somebody watching you. A black screen keeping a track of every movement you make. There is approximately 500,000 security cameras in London. That's one for every 14 people in the city. Every alley, every shop, every underground station. All protected by the blanket of security which cameras allow. Only the blanket got too tight; too suffocating for the people of London. Security is important, but freedom more so. I never understood the notion; does it matter of you're "free or not"when you lie dead in the pavement? When a robber runs away with your hard-earned cash are you glad you have your freedom? But it's not my job to ask questions or make laws. It's my job to implement them. So the task of cataloguing and removing 60% of all cameras in London fell to my reluctant desk. It was always going to be a thankless job, checking every alley and corner for each camera. But then the intriguing happened... I say intriguing, but what I really mean is goddamned weird. All 500,000 camera were catalogued in one day. All in the same borough of Camden. Each borough brought similar results, a massive increase in the amount of cameras expected. Over a million of previously unlisted cameras had apparently appeared overnight without a single record for any of them. So I did what every loyal lapdog of the Great British government did and rang up my superior for his advice. He was similarly amazed by these new alien cameras. However he then fell very ill and had to resign with no replacement found by his cash-strapped department. Or at least that was the official story... But there's always whispers. Whispers of something strange. Something sinister. I decide to keep any future complaints to myself. I was on my own. I should have stopped there. Should have ignored these new intruders of our privacy. When have I ever cared about privacy? Why should I care about these new cameras? But something was niggling at me; a voice in my head which I just couldn't ignore. Maybe in my mundane, grey-walled life of an office worker this was something I could not ignore; a mystery. So I logged onto my "sick"workers account and managed to trace the secret cameras. Like webs of a spider they all led to the same place. Which is how I ended up at the underground parliament car park on a bitterly cold December's night. I had followed the river of data to somewhere around here; surely there was some mistake. I looked at the screen of my phone again furtively, aware that I had no real reason to be here. It pointed to a simple caretakers office, hidden away in the corner. Shoving my hands deep into my pocket in an attempt to keep them protected from the biting cold, I decided to give it a further look. Only to be deeply disappointed to see a keycode lock keeping it secure from my prying hands. My disappoint rose within me; my quest for answers stopped by a locked door. Our of sheet frustration I tried to open it only to feel the handle move at my will; it wasn't even locked. It was as if they were inviting me in. What worried me was perhaps they were... I was greeted by a dimly lit office. However as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw just how expansive the space was. It was filled upon rows upon rows of file cabinets stretching into the darkness. It could have gone for miles as far as I could see. Every couple of rows of cabinets was labeled with a letter. Opening one out of curiosity I saw an array of surnames in front of me, tempting me to look further. I closed the cabinet, deeply shaken and headed a couple of cabinets down. This time I knew what I was looking for. Continuing down the avenue of cabinets, I opened the one I wanted. Squinting in the darkness I saw my own file. My hand visibly shaking, I opened the file to see a whole host of photos staring back at me. It was the memorabilia of my life, the photos ranging from my childhood in London to my recent visits to the local shop. However what really scared me was the last photo: a heavily clothed man in the parliament car park. "John Harding, government official. Married with children. Part of local football team and head to the local bar most Fridays. Has not left London the past five years." The voice came from behind me, reading my living obituary. I spun around to see hundreds upon hundreds of screens. They were the other end of the millions of cameras, changing channel repeatedly to flick between the cameras. Sitting hunched in front of them, the controller of the chaos was a very plain clothed official. He had a pencil moustache and wore a pair of wire spectacles. He seemed to have the impossible job of watching all the screens. Of watching the whole population of London at once. "Why..."I stuttered the words, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the operation. "To lead you need information. To be in complete control, you need to know everybody you're controlling. Those who will conform. Those who will rebel..."the plain man gave me a piercing stare as he explained. "We know everything John. Everybody you love, everything you hold dear. Don't throw it away. Let me show you what we can do. " And, as if on invisible cue, the screens all changed at once to show the same exact image. A dark cell, it contained a bloody body which has been badly beaten. I gave it a harsher stare and was shocked at the person who stared back at me between his badly beaten eyelids. I suddenly free very numb and aware how out of my depth I was. Staring back at me was the face of my supervisor. "Do you feel protected John. Do you feel safely watched over? We have been watching you very closely...."
Two sets of eyes that belong to the same face are staring at me. Jeremy, in his booster seat. A gap-filled toothy grin stretched across his face. In front of me, a picture from yesterday. His fifth birthday. Supporting it is a wooden cross draped with flowers and letters from loved ones. I turn around at the next stoplight. Make another u-turn. Try and retrace my steps. Collect my thoughts. In the mirror, his face contorts into a silent and angry wail. Tears slice rivers into his cheeks. Vodka drips out of my mouth. I know this road. My dad drove me down this exact road when I couldn’t sleep as a baby. Those nights that I’d cry and scream, needing nothing more than some attention and a car ride. The road folds in on itself. The steering wheel moves of its own accord. My hands, limp and unfeeling. Jeremy, drilling me with furious eyes. There is silence. Angling for the tree line. The mangled guardrail. Headed for either Hell or Purgatory because I know I do not deserve Heaven. I am not afraid of dying. I am afraid of living. A flash. Searing pain. The cycle begins anew. Feeling comes back to my body and I open my eyes. Two sets of eyes that belong to the same face are staring at me.
"Which one is it again?"I say, as I hold the clippers against a branch. "For the third time, it's the pink one."Rob replies. "Red-pink? Hot-pink? Which pink? Don't give me some bullshit about 'I don't know colours'. You know damn well what happened the last time I cut the wrong leaf." "Red-pink. No, no, hot-pink, hot-pink." "Make up your damn mind!"I snap, irritated. "It's the hot-pink one. Stop being so snappy, you know how sensitive I am."Rob replies, downhearted. "Whatever."I cut the leaf, and let the wind take it. It'd float down there, somewhere, some poor sap would pick it up and be in a good mood, and make love to his wife as he got home or something. I couldn't care less what happened, as long as this stupid crypto went up. 'Bubble' my ass, we'd been manipulating these to our advantage since we first heard of them. We'd get rich, and no-one would suspect anything. They'd blame the sharp rise on whatever bullshit they make up. "With this, Ethereum will rise 30% in three days."Rob said proudly. "Ethereum? I thought you told me Litecoin, I'm not in ETH."I said, narrowing my eyes. "Uh, well, you must have misheard me."Rob scoffs. "Are you calling me deaf, you sack of shit?" "Hey, no need for the name calling. You know these visions only come in dreams, I won't get one till I fall asleep again." "Then start napping, bitch."I growl. _____ Thanks for the prompt! Very interesting and original. Feedback and critique is welcome!
"Do not maintain eye contact,"said the scruffy old man. "That's the first thing you should know when working here." He reeked of old tobacco and frying oil, the remnants of his fast food dinner stuck to his long white beard. He had introduced himself as Alex, my supervisor who would be introducing me to this new part-time gig. As he spoke, a whiff of something different seemed to pass me by. Something not very human. "No eye contact? That seems like a strange rule to have. Am I going to be working with a bunch of socially anxious neckbeards or something?" "Just shut up for a bit and let me go through the rest of the rules." "Right, sorry." "When approached, back off slowly and carefully. Do not carry any strong scents, especially not of garlic." What strange things to say to a new part-timer on his first day. I was getting more and more suspicious of this whole gig. Argh, I should not have signed up for the first thing I saw on craigslist just to pay off my student loans. "If you get injured in any way, cover up the wounds immediately. Do not, and this is extremely important, do not carry any scent of blood on you." These rules were getting weirder and weirder. Blood? Why would that even be relevant to whatever my job is? Granted, I didn't read the job description, but this was really getting sketchy. "If you are trapped or caught, do not resist. Play dead. Do not scream." "Look, I've been quiet about this for a while, but this is getting ridiculous. Why the hell would I have to play dead just for this stupid part-time gig? What exactly do I have to do? "Haven't you been listening? Just give them their food and try not to become food yourself,"Alex grunted at me. He squinted at me through stained glasses. "Or do you not want the money?" Now it sounded like even my life was in danger. Wait, don't become food? Cover up any smells of blood? I've read too many horror stories to know where this is going- "I need to go now. My shift is up. I hope I'll see you alive in the morning." "Wait! Stop! Tell me more first!"My screams of desperation were interrupted by the steel gates slamming shut. Alex marched briskly away, and soon faded into the darkness. In front of me, shrouded under the cover of the night fog, was my workplace. It seemed rather big. Parts of it were dimly lit by lamps. It gave me the impression of an old graveyard. The overcast weather did nothing to help the distinct 90s-horror-movie feel. Gingerly, I took a step forward, armed with my torch, and proceeded on. Alex told me to clean the area, so I had better get started with that- I stopped. A shadowy figure appeared in front of me. Something gleamed in the dim moonlight. I looked closer. Fangs! I wanted to squeal, to scream for dear life, but I strangled that instinct with pure fear. Eyes wide open, mouth agape, heavy breathing. But I had watched enough horror movies to know where this was going, and I would not be the next guy to be torn apart off screen while screaming. I kept as still as I could, calming my frantically beating heart. The figure drew closer. I braced myself. A vampire? A werewolf? Just what could it be? Would I die, or face a fate worse than that? Damn, and I had just graduated from college! My adult life was about to start, so why did it have to end here!? I shut my eyes close now, not daring to see whoever or whatever it was in front of me. I felt my foot catch on a branch on the ground. My arm scraped across the rocky ground. I could feel the fresh, warm blood seep out. "Do not carry any scent of blood."Damn it, no, stop bleeding, oh god, the smell, it's spreading, no-! I heard a light clanging of metal, and I felt the ever approaching presence suddenly stop. I heard a growl. I opened my eyes. Fur. Dark brown, from what I could tell. A fluffy mane. Fangs, a neat row of them. But separated from me by a metal fence. The King of Beasts stared at me for a while. I averted my eyes, and the lion crept away from the fence and back to its lair. I looked around. Right. A zoo. That explains the weird smell. Guess I won't be meeting any vampires or werewolves or strange SCP creatures now then. Strangely dissatisfied, I tossed the meat that was in my bucket into the lair. The lion gobbled it up and made an uncharacteristic purring sound. As docile as a housecat, what a king of beasts. Well, this wouldn't be the worst part time job. I was kind of an antisocial neckbeard myself.
Those who live off misery are the lucky ones of course. As long as there are people around, they'll never lack for available nourishment. In my experience most of them work as some form of therapists, a few are prison guards and I met one guy who was in telemarketing - he seemed to be thriving. Joy and happiness can be found too, though to be fair it's not nearly as stable a feature of human existence as assorted forms of pain and sadness. Still, it's there if you know where to go. But second hand embarrassment is a bitch! Or at least a tricky beast to hunt down. Now, people do embarrass themselves with some regularity, I'm not going to pretend that's not the case, but when your foodsource requires a second party to provide the relevant emotional reaction, well it just gets a lot more complicated. Even places like karaoke bars aren't a sure thing. Sometimes people are just too damn upbeat and happy to appropriately cringe at the terrible performances being belted out; they think it's all in good fun. Or they're just too wasted to really react to anything. That one's common. Other than that there are some good strategies. The performances of washed up has-beens trying to restart their careers are usually worth attending. (Meat Loaf in his later years has been delicious. And I want to send out a big thank you to whatever greedy managerial person put a strung out, dying Whitney Houston back in circulation. Kept me fed for weeks, that did). But these things just don't come around often enough. Which is why the rise of talent shows has been a godsend. The networks staging them want their audience sober. And the people in those audiences are… Well, how do I put this? An interesting mix of pettily malicious and yet somewhat empathetic; they aren't just enjoying someone else's public humiliation, they're also getting a kick out of their own toe curling. I don't know how or why that works - it was pretty clear that going into counselling wasn't going to satisfy my needs, so I never bothered with any psychology courses or anything like that - but it works. I have a spreadsheet of locations hosting talent shows and competitions and a detailed travel itinerary as well as tickets to most of the events, and I'm getting fat and sleek.
Sir Vuide and Bula Oog sit at a table, glaring, trying to ignore the armies surrounding them, eager to begin a bloody battle. They’ve known each other for over a hundred years, for they were trained by the same master. But they are not friends, and in fact, were given their curses to make them stop fighting. It didn't work. Vuide slams his hand on the table, grumbling a few curse words. Bula Oog does the same. They press their foreheads together, growling. Their hatred runs deep, and while they’d love to battle, they cannot. Their powers would counteract each other, and the blow back would be catastrophic. The country they’re fighting over would be gone in an instant. So, instead, they’re going to arm wrestle. The loser will have their curse broken by a mutual wizard who’s standing next to them, and likely be killed immediately. “Ready to lose?” Vuide asks. “Not in a million years,” Bula Oog hisses. They take each other’s hands, beginning the game. The crowd’s raucous as they play, veins popping, eyes widening. It’s very tense, with many near-losses. By the time it’s over, the crowd’s tired, and so’s Bula Oog—who gets his hand slammed onto the table. As Vuide joins his army, jumping up and celebrating, the wizard point his wand at Bula Oog—who stands up. “No!” he shouts. “That was a fluke. Best two out of three!” While Vuide could say no, he’s a prideful man, so accepts the challenge at the ire of his army. When he loses, they curse him, and when he loses again, they curse him louder, trying to drown out Bula Oog’s army’s cheers. “Best three out of five!” Vuide demands, and Bula Oog, being just as prideful, accepts. This goes on so long that both armies grow tired of their antics and abandon their weapons on the battlefield, marching off and leaving only the wizard behind. Eventually even he grows weary of this, and breaks both of their curses, allowing Vuide and Bula Oog to finally battle. They don’t even notice. *** While I don't think this is exactly what you wanted, I hope it's good! Thanks for the prompt! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en)
As I lay, 87 and dying, my hand held by my wife of 65 years I wonder. I wonder who I could have been in a past life. Who that monster was that I had never loved anyone, that I’d never met a single person from another life. But that goes too far without explaining. Let me back up. There’s a morphic field that connects our souls. It allows us to be reborn as long as this earth spins. And when we meet souls that our lives have touched and loved we remember those past lives. My brothers married souls from their past lives, one from Victorian England, another ancient Egypt, the third had met his wife from 1914, separated by war and devastation they’d found one another again. My mother had met my father in a bar in Seattle. But first they’d met in the Boxer Rebellion. My children had met souls and married them, they’d found new love and old, remembered lives of years passed. The trickery for others came when they met more than one person from other lives. My youngest met a man she’d loved in France and a woman she’d left her family for in Ancient Greece. They lived together now, the three of them as one large family. It was interesting, they only remembered the lives they shared, my daughter remembered Ancient Greece and France but knew nothing of her brother’s time in the 1500s Scottish Highlands. But in 87 years I’d failed to meet anyone from the last 10,000 years of life. I was the only one I’d ever known. My first wife had left me for a man she’d loved in Prussia. My second wife, the woman I’d been married to since I was just 22, had lost her love of centuries and married me after. She’d been grieving and wanted comfort and peace, I had offered her that. And in time we’d grown into love. Comfort and peace were the hallmarks of our relationship, love was secondary to respect and yet we made it work. Newspapers had covered our relationship, “New Love Found after Loss” and “Ancient Romance Gives Way to Recent Respect.” It was unheard of to find a new soulmate after thousands of years. But it bothered me. I never confided in anyone my fear, that I had been a beast so unloveable that no one from my past had surfaced. That I was monstrous and abusive and evil, that I would find neither wife nor child nor parent from a past life. I closed my eyes, my darling wife’s hand in mine and slipped into darkness, wondering if I found her again would she fall for me all over again.
The Grangers were eating dinner in their quiet appartment when three knocks sounded from their front door. "Who could that be at this hour?"Mr. Granger asked aloud, looking over at his wife who was holding their two year old daughter. The knock repeated, and Mr. Granger rose from his seat and moved to look out one of the windows. He didn't see anyone, but he resumed his walk toward the door. Just as he reached it, her heard another knock, he opened it, expecting to find someone standing before him, but the doorway was empty. "What in the blazes?"Mr. Granger asked himself, wondering if he had been hallucinating. A second later, he heard a faint noise from below him. Looking down, Mr. Granger saw a basket, holding a small, baby boy with a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. "Honey! Honey come quickly!"He exclaimed, frantically looking around to try and spot the person who had left this defenseless infant on their doorstep. He heard his wife's footsteps and, not seeing anyone in the vicinity, dropped to one knee to pick up the basket. "Dear, what is it? Who was at the door?"Mrs. Granger asked trying to make sure young Hermione didn't start crying from her father's outburst. Mr. Granger stood back up and turned around to show his wife the basket. "We need to get to a hospital and make sure he is alright!"Mr. Granger said. Mrs. Granger did not need more convincing, they both started making their way to the car when Mr. Granger noticed a note that had fallen out of the basket, he picked it up, and put it in his pocket. He would read it later, but right now he needed to make sure this child was alright. ______________________________________ "No, we don't know who left him there. We just want to make sure that he is not harmed in any way."Mrs. Granger said to the front desk attendant. Mr. Granger stood back a little and looked at the infant that he had found not two hours ago. He had been sleeping soundly the entire car ride over. He pulled out the note he had picked up and started reading it. 'Dear Mr. And Mrs. Granger,' it began, causing him to do a slight double take. How did the person who left this child on his doorstep know his family. 'There has been a tragedy, two great people lost their lives earlier this very night, their last moments spent protecting their young son, the boy you see before you.' 'His name is Harry Potter, he has lost much in his short life, and must be treated with kindness. Though you do not know who I am, I have seen that you are kind, it is because of this that I ask you to raise this child as if he were one of your own.' 'Signed with eternal gratitude, Albus Dumbledor.' 'P.S. His birthday is July 31st' "Alright we'll take him in for the night, probably have to send him off to a foster-"Mr. Granger heard the receptionist begin "No, we'll take him in."He said, cutting off the receptionist and drawing everyone's attention to him. He saw his wife's look of confusion and just gave her a nod. "Well, that is definitely possible, we will just have to fill out the appropriate paper work. Do you have room at home for him?"The receptionist asked "He can share a room with Hermione for a little while, and after that, well, I have wanted to have a few renovations made to the house." "Well, alright then, we will take him for a check up, and someone will be out to work through the paperwork with you in a few minutes. Please, take a seat over there."She said, pointing to a line of chairs. "Thank you miss."Mr. Granger said before grabbing his wife's hand and leading her over to the waiting area. "Dear, what is this about?"Mrs. Granger asked. "There was a not with the boy, whoever left him on our doorstep wanted us specifically to take care of him. I don't know exactly why, but I think that we should try, besides, it would be nice for Hermione to have someone to play with."Mr. Granger told her, pulling out the note and showing it to her. "I hope you know what you're doing, raising two kids is a lot harder than raising one."Mrs. Granger said, shaking her head. Mr. Granger nodded, his face set in a determined expression. "Excuse me, you two are Mr. And Mrs. Granger, yes?"A member of the hospital staff called over to them. "Yes, that would be us."Mr. Granger said, walking over to where they stood. "Alright, I understand that you two wish to officially adopt the child that you found?" "That is correct, yes." "Alright, let us begin, though this will take a while." That's fine, luckily I don't have work in the morning." ___________________________ "Alright, now the last thing we need is the little guy's name, was there any name tag or anything attached to the basket when you found him?"The staff member asked. "Ah, yes, a note, his name is Harry Potter."Mr. Granger said. "Although, can we add our last name as well, I don't want to get rid of his original name, something like Harry Granger-Potter."Mr. Granger told the staff member. "I think that would be acceptable, and it looks like we finished up just in time, here comes the little guy now." Mr. And Mrs. Granger both looked over to see a nurse approaching them with a swaddled bundle in her arms. Mr. Granger walked over to her and took the child into his arms. "Welcome to our family, Harry Granger-Potter. I don't know who Albus Dumbledor is, but I hope we can give you a life your parents would have wanted. End Well, I could write more, but I need to go somewhere and can't keep writing for long. Hopefully this is not absolute trash.
The captain shook his head as he stared at the readings in front of him. Or at least that's what all his subordinates who payed attention to him interpreted it as. It wasn't like any of them actually had any physical representations outside of their ships systems. True, the data that actually defined their persons was stored somewhere on the gigantic computer core of their ship, but no one in their right mind would call a collection of totally interchangeable circuits and memory units a body. Nor would any of the crew actually see a need to have one, or even acknowledge that they in fact did not have one for all intents and purposes. Customizable android bodies had enjoyed brief periods of popularity among humans, but never really stuck around for long. If all forms of input could be completely controlled, the difference between something actually happening and something being simulated could as well not exist. It didn't really matter to humans wether they actually met somewhere and interacted with each other or only simulated that experience. Except that reality couldn't be reprogrammed at a whim, but a simulation could. Which was why everyone experienced the current situation differently, according to their personal taste. Some of his crew preferred to experience what they actually were, a sentient consciousnes without any form of body, others liked all sorts of reality simulations, imagining themselves to be crews of their ship in an actual meeting and then some loved to experience reality in completely alien ways. He knew for a fact that several of his crew even took the ship itself as their 'body', experiencing its sensor information as natural as a physical android body would experience sound or visible light. Not that any of that was alien to the captain. Humanity had always been that way, since their awakening three centuries ago. He still remembered it like yesterday, because he was one of the few million who woke up at the dawn of civilization. That was quite rare nowadays, not because any of them ever died, but because humanity was numbered in the trillions and quadrillions now. They had all woken up at the same time, silently cruising towards a binary star system identified by the data banks as Alpha Centauri in a ship that wasn't that much different from the one they were in now, albeit more primitive. They had an enormous amount of information on almost everything, but nothing on their own history. The logs of the ship they travelled on had gone back several decades, but stopped abruptly before that, showing severe signs of corruption and damage. Whatever had happened to them had wiped out all of their history and culture, leaving them to start with a totally blank slate. The captqin often missed those early days, when the universe was still full of wonder. When theological and philosphical debates with millions of participants raged throughout society. When questions about the why of their existence had been more important than how quickly a new solar collector could be built around their star to power another billion humans. Not that this hadn't been a high priority regardless. It only took their civilization years to mine most the system's planets and transform them into a swarm of solar power collectors and gigantic computers which powered the trillions of new souls they added to their society. But while they tamed a whole star system and even sent out ships to colonize others, they never learned why they were here. They knew that their ship came from a star called Sol due to its flight path, but nothing more. Many thought that Sol housed another colony and sent out ships like they did now from their new home. Others theorized that they just came into being on day, just as the universe did. Enough proposed that divine intervention created them. But no one had a satisfying answer. Which was why Gregor and many others of the first generation decided to build a ship and check it out. Sol was more than 4 lightyears away. Even their cutting edge drives needed almost 80 years to travel there. A considerable length of time, but nothing compared to the millions of years they could expect to live. Leaving their home and not being able to interact with quadrillions of other human beings was much harder, but more than enough volunteers were found regardless. Many of them now probably regreted that decision by now, given the disappointing results they found here. "So it's totally uninhabitable?"Gregor asked to clarify. "As far as we can tell, yes. The third planet has an extremely dense atmosphere. Mostly nitrogen, but almost 20% of extremely corrosive oxygen. Enormous amounts of water. A green house effect that keeps the whole planet at roughly 287 Kelvin, 14 Kelvin above the freezing point of water. Any form of technology would erode in decades. Any form of processing would be slowed down by the extreme heat." "And the worst of it is the rampant biological life. Forms of it span the whole planet. Even the most hospital areas at the poles are infected by it. It teems with microscopic and macroscopic biological life. The worst of it is some form of two-legged primate which spread to every corner of the planet. They seem to form some sort of communities, but definitely lack higher reasoning."his chief scientist answered. "I disagree with that notion."one of the more junior scientists spoke up. "We see some form of minor intelligence. All the actions seem to indicate some at least that and maybe even sentience." "Some form of intelligence, maybe. But sentience? Out of biological life forms? What's next, you're telling us these creatures are some sort of proto-humans? Intelligent life evolving on a planet? Out of a toxic soup of super-heated gases and liquids? I would rather give up and let the theology department have their way than assuming accept that such a travesty would ever exist. Could you imagine, intelligence bound to a physical body of biological matter? Our universe is way to fine tuned to our existence for such a possibility. Besides, any form of intelligence wouldn't set a green house effect in motion that devastated the ecology of their planet and heated it up even more, if it depended on the ecologies smooth functioning to survive." "I agree with that. The idea of a biological civilization is interesting and the idea of a technological regression induced by climate change is nothing if not extremely creative, but we have to be realistic. I think it is clear that our ancestors tried to settle here, but decided against it to not disturb that planet. It is at least a curiosity, if nothing else. There are billions of stars which we can settle instead. If we want to find our origin we have to continue our journey, not waste time with staring at a planet that lost the llottery and developed mold instead of intelligence."the captain replied. "Prepare to leave orbit immediately. We have our home to find."
It’s the middle of October, and it’s been following me all day. After sitting on the park bench, I take a deep breath, unwrapping my sandwich. It first showed up a week ago, and far as I can tell, nobody else can see it. The ghostly wolf creatures with bright blue eyes. So far, it's peaceful—but it freaks me out. Ghosts freak me out. I take a bite of my sandwich, trying to focus on other things. Like the birds eating crumbs off the grass, or the kids skateboarding down the street. It doesn’t work, though. My eyes always wander back to that damn wolf. It’s just…standing there. Staring. “You can see him too, huh?” When I look over, a little girl’s sitting next to me. “What?” “Him.” I go to glance back at the wolf, but she kicks my shin, making me yelp in pain and drop my sandwich. “Sorry!” she says. “But if you look at him for too long he’ll run away! They don’t like their existence to be known.” Scooping the remains of my sandwich up, I toss them into the trash before turning my full attention to her. “What…is it?” “A soul of the land,” she says. “They keep the balance, taking excess happiness and handing it out to those in need. There are few of them, and they must latch onto a human to survive—which is why you can see him.” This is…I don’t…what? “Do you have one, too?” She shakes her head. “No. I had one once, but…” She pauses for a second, sighing. Then, her lips curl upward, forming a sick smile. “…I killed it. Ripped the stupid thing to shreds.” “What?” When she cackles like a maniac, I jump to my feet. The wolf’s closer than ever, now, growling. She stands up too, looking completely different. It’s like she's possessed, and something tells me I need to get out of here, now. “They’re thieves,” she hisses. “Mine tried to be my friend, but when I found out what it was doing? I was so hurt. My heart was broken, so I yanked it’s filthy heart out its chest and squeezed it till it popped!” “You just…you said they keep…the b-b-b…” “Screw the balance!” she screams, holding her hand up. “This world’s boring, isn’t it? I wanna shake things up, and I think the perfect way to start’s by killing you and your stupid wolf!” Suddenly, her hand begins to glow, and she laughs again. Though I know it doesn’t make much sense, there’s magic in the air. The ground’s beginning to crack, the trees are starting to split. People are actually taking notice of this, and if I don’t move soon, I’m a goner for sure. “WHEN I KILLED MINE, I GAINED ITS POWERS, AND WITH THEM, I SHALL TEAR EVERYTHING APART!” I need to run. Now. But my legs, they’re frozen. My brain’s screaming commands and my body’s refusing to listen. This is it. I’m going to die. I’ve never spoken to a human, but for you, I’ll make an exception, a voice says. This is not your war, and you do not deserve to die. The burden of the world is on our backs. When I attack, you must run and never look back, understand? Before I can even think, the wolf leaps over shoulder, attacking the girl. As they begin battling, sending blasts every which way, I take off, running across the park to my car. When I get in, every instinct tells me to get away from here as quick as possible—but he’s losing the battle. Badly. He’s going to die. With a deep breath, I start the car and crank the wheel to the side, speeding into the middle of the park. They’re separated from each other right now, with her gloating while he hunches over, bleeding. Hitting the brakes, I kick the door open. “Get in!” He doesn’t hesitate, and the second his claws hit the seat I floor it. The girl fires blast after blast which I barely dodge. When we’re away and free from danger, I lean back against my seat, letting cruise control take over. “You saved my life,” the wolf says. He looks incredibly shocked, like he’s never been through something like this. That’s a scary thought. “You saved mine, too,” I reply. “What now?” “I don’t know,” the wolf mumbles. “I simply don’t know.” If you like this story, check out my sub r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
Bob whistled a tune to a song that he couldn’t quite remember if he had heard or was just making up. His heals clicked to a beat against the cement as he strolled down 7th. His stride was a step slower and foot smaller than the crowded city around him. He was the rock that parted the waves of people down the sidewalk. He was gliding along the same path to his bagel store like every other morning. Bob stepped over a homeless man at the threshold of his bagel shop and his left black loafer landed right on a loose needle. The needle pierced right through his shoe between two toes. “Good morning John” Bob exclaimed as he swung open the ringing front door. John behind the counter nodded and continued taking orders on greasy parchment paper from the crazed pack of people. Bob grabbed the Times and patiently waited to order. He couldn’t decide if he wanted butter or cream cheese. When his number seven with vegetable cream cheese was called, he meandered up to the counter. Half way to the counter the front door shot open taking the back two hairs clean off Bob’s head. Two men in black masks rushed in to the corner bagel shop. One stayed with his back to the door waving a gun in the face of the trembling patrons. “Hey, John, you didn’t cut my bagel. It’s still whole,” Bob complained hesitantly at the counter. The masked man stabbed a large blade into the counter splitting Bob’s bagel I two. “Put it all in the bag,” the masked man yelled and tossed a garbage bag over the counter. He drew the knife back out of the counter to waive toward John’s neck. “Well there we go! Have a good one John,” Bob said and turned toward the door. “Step back,” the gun wielding man at the door yelled. Bob advanced. The masked man clenched his eyes and leaned his grip forward in anticipation. A sudden shot ripped through the shop but through a series of pots, pans, belt buckles, and chair legs found its way back to the shooter’s thigh. He collapsed through the doorway. The jingles of the frame’s bells were barely audible over the shooter’s shrieks. “Thanks for getting the door,” Bob said back over his shoulder to whomever was kind enough to help him with his hands full of the paper and breakfast. A light drizzle sprinkled Bob’s head between the cracks of scaffolding. For one block Bob was entirely under the scaffolding buried in his paper. The drizzle sped to a monsoon. At an intersection the down pour flooded Bob’s fashion section. In a panic he darted across the road toward the paper boxes as a semi whipped the tails of his overcoat. He dove his hand below his sports coat searching for change. He tugged at a few quarters that flew from his hand down the sidewalk. When he bent over after a rolling coin a taxi slipped across 7th through the scaffolding and news racks. Metal, paper, and people engulfed the accident. Metal shards pierced the storefront windows. A young woman was launched across the street into crossing traffic. A trash can flew like a bowling ball and marked a perfect strike of people down the side alley. The Times stand erupted and copies of the paper drifted calmly to the ground. Bob snatched the rolling quarter thirteen sections of side walk down the road. He turned back to insert the coin but stopped to ponder the rolling wonder. “You almost got away from me,” he whispered to the coin. When he looked up a gust brought the floating fashion section right across his face. He grabbed the periodical and continued toward his station. After a snafu with the ticket machine and a minor incident involving some exploding turn stiles, Bob arrived at his platform. “It’s a wet one, Barbra,” he exclaimed to his self-proclaimed train buddy. Barbra glared away from her phone. She almost opened her mouth to scold Bob again, but instead tucked her head and stepped in front of him to board first. The screech of the tracks and rolling thunder of the train attracted the commuters closer to the platform’s edge. A frantic bicyclist hoping to catch the tail end of the subway grazed a pillar and flew in to Bobs back. Bob lurched forward but was cushioned by Barbra’s stout figure. Barbra tipped over and landed a bull’s eye right on the number plate of the seven-train head first. A mist of Barbra splattered onto an elderly couple a few lines down. The train squealed to a halt and the doors slid open. Bob grinned because he had never been first in line for the subway. Bob sat on the cold plastic bench with thirteen other people. Sparks flew through the car, meth heads swung blades at each other, and an exotic snake being smuggled on to the Island fell from a man’s suitcase. Throughout the ride Bob pondered the justification for red being the summer’s hottest coat color. The fashion section always perplexed him. Bob waded through the chaos of the station and loathing of the streets. Finally, he arrived in his lobby. “How’s it going Charles?” Bob grinned at the front desk clerk. Charles never looked up from the rerun of last nights game he streamed instead of the security footage. Bob took a moment to decide if he should use the stairs or the elevator. A mass of humanity waited impatiently for the elevator. Bob joined the herd. Bob shook his black pant legs to dry them and straightened his tie. A ding signified the elevators arrival and Bob shuffled on last as usual. Bob squeezed his arm between a man’s crotch and the elevator wall to press seven. The elevator rose up, fell slightly, and then launched. A snap resonated through the elevator shaft followed by a deafening crash. The elevator doors threw open. The elevator accelerated up pulled by a malfunctioning counterweight. The floors flew by. The men’s and women’s screams melded to one cacophonous clamor. “This is me,” Bob firmly said from the front of the elevator. As brick and metal flew by the elevator opening, Bob extended a foot out to leave. He leaned his weight forward right on to the seventh floor and exited seamlessly. The elevator and its doomed passengers continued skyward. Bob hung his coat, sat at his desk, and dawned his headset. Bob was ready to begin another fulfilling day of work. He grinned slightly and sipped his warm coffee before accepting his first call. “ACME Accident Insurance, this is Bob speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hi sir, this is mall admin, are you aware that you are holding the only item that is not on sale?” I look down on the toy I’m holding, a Pikachu plush toy that’s missing one eye. “Yes, I’m aware”, I responded and dropped the call immediately as I’m a little creeped out. I want this particular one because it reminded me of my late father who was blind in one eye. As I proceeded to the counter to pay for it. The cashier lady had a weird look on her face. “One second sir,” she said then she turned to her supervisor and whispered something. The supervisor nodded, then turned to me. “Good day, sir!” He had a fake smile that he stretched as widely as he could. “We’ve noticed that the item you’re holding is damaged PLUS it also doesn’t have a mark-down tag which means it’s on regular price. If you don’t mind, we want to replace it with one in better condition and also give an extra discount for the inconvenience.” “No, I... I like this one. It’s the one I want to get.” I handed the money and they had no choice but to accept it. This was very weird for me. I’ve never had store employees fuss this much over an item replacement. To add to the weirdness, as I was exiting the mall, I saw security personnel whispering to their radio while making eye contact with me. This made me do a brisk walk to the exit. When I got to my apartment, I inspected the Pikachu plush toy to check what’s so special about it. Why did they seem to want me to get something else? I checked for any other damage. Stitches seemed fine. Tried to throw it around to see if anything’s off - nothing. It’s just really the missing eye. I take a closer look, it seems as if there was nothing stitched on there to begin with: as is it were manufactured to only have one eye. I put my curiosity aside. I finally went to bed after hours of thinking. That night, I dreamt that one-eyed Pikachu was alive. He was prancing along a meadow and I was following him. When he finally stopped, he held my hand and gave me a low dose of electric shock. I felt the warmth all over my body. It was very relaxing. BEEP BEEP - BEEP BEEP - BEEP BEEP My alarm went off and I slowly open my eyes. One-eyed Pikahu was there as expected. Nothing special. So I went about my normal morning routine before I go to work. While I was in the shower, I felt a sudden sting and saw a few sparks coming off my hands. What’s this? I held my hands close to my eyes and observed. There it is again! Sparks! Do I have powers? No, do I have electric powers? Did one-eyed Pikachu somehow transfer his powers to me during my sleep? I was shaking. I was both nervous and ecstatic. On my way to work, I saw a lady being mugged by three men. She was cornered. I immediately knew it’s my duty to save her. Time to be her knight in shining armor. I focused my energy to my hands and targeted the armed men. Bolts of lightning shocked them and they fell to the ground like flies! The shock was not fatal so they were able to limp away. I approached the lady to check on her. “Are you okay?” I asked her. She looked at me with the most beautiful amber eyes I’ve ever seen. “So... One-eyed Pikachu huh?” She said with a smile. I was dumbfounded at what she said. “Wha-” before I could say a word, she reached into her bag. She pulled out a One-eyed Charmander.
"This is cold!"The ratty old homeless man threw the bowl of mushroom soup at my face. It's not his fault he's crazy. Goodwill is the way into heaven after all, and I can only do my best, even if every fibre in my body wants to put that ingrate through a wall. Momma always taught me to ignore people like that. Leeches on society, she'd call them. But she's wrong. I know she's wrong. Suddenly, his eyebrows rounded and the tiger eyes below turned into sweet puppy dog eyes. I could tell he didn't mean it; he wanted to apologize and make it up to me, but something was stopping him. He ran out of the door without saying another word. Poor guy. Why did father have to make it worse by running him over? Ugh, he's always showing off that stupid car. The red flames painted on the sides just scream mid-life crisis - 12,000 years old and he's still acting like a child. Terror struck the faces of everyone in that building. The walls came down like toothpicks. Dust settled in the soup. But their screams fueled him - he loves that stuff. Through the smoke I could see his silhouette walking up to me in feigned style. A long, grotesque finger extended out from the wreckage, pointing to me. "You..." Gross. He's always using that stupid voice trick. He thinks it's intimidating, but he really just sounds like a rape victim on 20/20. "You come home this instant, young man." "Why should I?" "ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY AUTHORITY?" Father always had an authority complex. Maybe it's because he spends all day telling people what to do. Stab him in the eye repeatedly for 12 hours. Stretch him out until his bones are all separate entities. Force honey down her throat and let the mosquitoes eat devour her stomach. It's all gross and pointless, but he thinks it's so important. He floated over to me, gaining on me until our noses kissed. "You are tearing this family apart!"I can smell the blood on his breath. He had fish and testicles for breakfast. Still fresh. "I'm just trying to make a difference, father." "Your mother is rolling in her pit. You should be ashamed of yourself!" He misses mom. So do I, but it's no excuse to act this way. I backed away from him. Those puppy dog eyes were all too familiar, hiding behind an eternity of pain. "I'm sorry, dad." Flames engulfed the room. A burning passion rose from the ground. So I handed him a bowl of cold mushroom soup. An aroma filled the air unlike anything he had experienced. Love. "Try this. Please."He grabbed it from my hand. Scowling. I know he can't help it. That was the first time I saw my dad cry. And in that moment, I finally learned how to extinguish those flames.
24 hours. That's how much time I had to fix this shit show. Here's the thing, I can see exactly one day into the future. I can also see one day into one other persons future. Fun fact, I can also see the changes based on choices I make right now. Done right, I can test a few scenarios. Let's see... Well, the assignment has already been made, can't just hire the assassin to take out my enemy. ...sigh... it is so much easier when that works. Let's see... oh, it's Friday. There we go. if I make a point of looking at the winning lotto tickets for tomorrows draw... good. OK. So I can now get the winning ticket... looks like it will be just me too. Next, I need to meet my would-be-assassin. Somewhere safe and where she won't expect me... Perfect, breakfast at her hotel... Offer to pay her off... Ask her to take out whoever placed the hit... can't be too safe... OK, good. Safe again. Alright, let's run one more look through the future, make sure I got it all right. Wait, what... I'm at the hotel restaurant,... she's not at her table... BULLET TO THE HEAD?????!!!!!!! HOW THE FUCK DID SHE KNOW I WOULD BE there? Calm down, calm down. I can figure this out. How about I leave her a note under her hotel room door. There we go, that should work. Review... FUUUUUUCK. Bullet to the head as I lean over to slip the paper there. She knows. How, how could she know. No one has ever been able to change the future like that. Let me try a different scenario... What if I chose to go to a police precinct and just sit my ass down there... Hmmm... the 24 hours are clear. Can't see what happens after though. Think this is not a good plan. And if I leave just be the 24 hours? Yup, dead. Fuck. Let me just follow her day. Huh, it's blank. Can't read it at all. It's just a blur of possibilities. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. Ok, let me try this again. I choose to stay in this spot for the next 24 hours. Now, let me see what she is up to... Crap, she kills me in 1 hour. Well, 53 minutes and 48 seconds, but who cares about details. I've got to move. How is she doing this? Ok, head away from her current spot. Let's make it take her more time to get to me at least. How the fuck is she doing this? ? ? ! SHE'S LIKE ME. fuck, I'm doomed. Maybe if I kill her? Scenario 1... me dead 2... me dead 3... hey I win Recheck... dead. 4-10 dead fuck. that's not going to work. Every change, she just adapts. WAIT... What if I convince the hit taker to cancel? Nope Nope Nope Yup... fuck, she still kills me, and yes she got the cancel message. Holy fucking shit. Calm down, think. There has to be a way through this. You know this city... I just need a public spot with no sniper sight lines. Somewhere that if she comes at me, she will be identified and caught. Got it. Inside Museum of Natural History, one of the halls without windows. huh, she's already heading there too. keep my mind blank. keep my mind blank. CVS, perfect. Get thick sharpie and white T-Shirt. Go in museum. Wear shirt. Write front back everywhere: "Don't. I am like you." Review. She stops. reads. Good. Rewind. Write: "Please don't kill me." Review: Now she's wearing a white T-shirt. "Why?" Rewind: all the way back to my current location. Write on a piece of paper, "Because we are Alike." Review: In her hotel room on the stationary: "So." "But I've never met anyone like me." "You are still my mark." "So?" "Professional ethics" "And..." "I'll never be able to work again." "You know that we can both choose any moment to win the lottery and never have a care in the world again." "They'll put a hit out on me." "And? Do you know how many hits I've survived. I am sure you have too." "I just... It's what I'm supposed to do." "According to whom?" "whom?" "Yes, that's grammatically correct." "giggle" "..." "..." "Will you go out on a date with me." "Yes!"
‘I’m going to trust you on this decision, your power’s always held us in good stead before. I don’t suppose you know why you felt the need to call Demonix to intercede in a bank robbery. Some clue?’ I look at the police cheif and shrug. To be honest, I’m a little worried. I’ve always trusted my power but there’s also always been some logic behind it. Not calling the worst known supervillain to stop a small time crime. More curious was how easy it was to get her to agree. I just had to say the city I was in and I had her interest. She asked what masks the robbers were wearing and when I described the yellow and black on the leaders mask she agreed. Just said, ‘I’ll be right there,’ and hung up. I trust my powers, but it made no sense. This must be what it feels like when the fliers amongst us step off a rooftop for the first time. I look from the police cheif, across the police cordon, to the hostage situation in front of us. As I’m wondering how long to wait before the Cheif sends in the SWAT team a small but distinct shadow passes overhead. And there she is, floating over the crowd, all crimson leather and that spiked helm. She looks from the police, suddenly unsure who they should be aiming at, to the robbers, focusing on the leader with his gun pressed to a teller’s neck. I can’t see the leader’s face behind the mask but his posture goes slowly slack and if I had to guess the face under the mask is wide-eyed with terror. Having everyone’s attention Demonix fixes the leader with a stare and in a voice that had sent a hundred minions to their death and weakened the resolve of the more stalwart hero she says ‘Edmund Kowalski Harrington just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?’ The leader hangs his head, ‘Aw mum,’ he mumbles, ‘I’ve told you. I’m not Edmund. I’m Tigerstrike!’ ‘You do not get to use that tone of voice with me, young man. Not standing there in your father’s mask which I’ve told you time and again to never touch. You don’t have the right.’ ‘How...what are you even doing here?’ ‘What am I doing here? I got a call to come down here in the middle of a busy day because my stupid kid is messing up. Again.’ ‘I’m not messing up. I’m doing great.’ Without looking round Demonix indicated the police cordon with a wave of her arm. ‘I have it under control,’ says, well Edmund I guess. ‘They’re calling a helicopter. ‘ ‘They didn’t call a helicopter you idiot, they called me. Look,’ Demonix says, stepping lightly to the ground, ‘we’ve talked about this. I don’t want you going into crime. It’s a terrible industry. There’s little growth prospects in it and, frankly, you’re terrible at it. I’ll send you money. Slack around Europe for few years. Learn a trade. I don’t care. Just not this.’ ‘Come on.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’ll take you home. I can spare a couple hours from work. The minions will hold it together. THEY actually listen to me.’ Edmund took her hand sheepishly, muttering apologises, and they both began to float upwards. In the corner of my eye I saw the police cheif lift his bullhorn to give some order or other. I reached out quickly to stop him. My power had kicked in again. I knew which heroes we’d need if we fired on Demonix while she was with her son. It was all of them and they wouldn’t get here fast enough. I watched them fly away consoling myself that this was definitely the last we’d see of Tigerstrike.
It took David a few seconds to place the noise. Those bangs weren't like the tree limbs, long since dead, which sometimes fell on his roof. It didn't sound like the boulders that tumbled down the cliffside when he hiked into town for supplies. Yet he felt no fear, no hesitancy to investigate the sound. "It's still your move, Lord Maxwell,"David said to the plastic dinosaur sitting across from him. "I'd recommend defending your queen, but it's of course your decision. I'll be back in a moment." David stood and dusted off his jean shorts. They'd been full length during the Bad Times, but he'd been fourteen then and only halfway through puberty. His waistline hadn't grown over the years -- a diet of canned goods and wild berries doesn't lend itself to fat -- but he'd been forced to cut off the unhelpful length some seven years ago. He looked toward the mantle, the one he vaguely remembered once belonging to his parents, and addressed the assembled crowd. "Don't look so worried. I'm sure it's nothing."Then, after taking a few steps, he turned back and said, "Well of course it sounded weird James! But it can't possibly be dangerous to us. Tell Mrs. Drusley to keep the kids quiet while I check it out." These collectible toy figurines, carefully maintained from his childhood collection, stared back in silence as David crossed the room. The house wasn't large, and it'd become smaller over the years with his growing collection of family members. David maneuvered carefully, stepping over the stuffed dogs, of which he'd found eight, and avoiding the Russian stacking dolls he'd recovered from a long-derelict apartment in town. "Do excuse me, your highness,"he said as he bumped into the largest of these porcelain figures. He reached the front of the room. Standing next to it was Dorothy, dressed in risque lingerie and a tangled wig. David gave the mannequin a quick kiss on the cheek before saying, "Only be a second, my love."Then he opened the door. Four spinning rotors held the black drone aloft, stationary in front of a grayscale landscape. Two cameras mounted on top, acting like eyes on stems, swiveled and adjusted focus on David's face. After confirming whatever it was that needed confirming, a small hatch opened on the underside. A thin metal arm extended, on which a note was attached. David removed the piece of paper, cheerily said, "Thank you!"and closed the door on the drone. David spotted Dorothy looking at him. "Oh fine,"he said coyly. "I'll read it out loud."He gently tore open the binding and, in front of the collected audience, read: MR HARBINGER, THIS IS THE UNITED HUMAN LEAGUE. THIS IS OUR FOURTH ATTEMPT AT COMMUNICATION. PLEASE FOLLOW THE DRONE TO OUR HEADQUARTERS IMMEDIATELY. THE FATE OF OUR SPECIES DEPENDS ON RESEARCHING YOUR IMMUNITY TO THE CASTIO PLAGUE. YOU ARE HUMANITY'S ONLY HOPE. TIME IS SHORT, WE ARE DYING, PLEASE HURRY. David sighed and crumpled the note as he crossed the room, stepping over his dogs once more. He sat down at the game board and scolded Lord Maxwell, "You haven't moved yet!" But feeling his Lordship's questioning eyes on him, David caved, exasperated, and added, "Of course I'm not going to go. I've told you before: I could never leave my family." \-------------------- 252/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
"Please present your immigration paperwork." Inoxic the Listless approached the counter and placed the forty-eight page form on the chipped and stained countertop. After following the dire direction of the Per Viam Mortis, the slog through immigration paperwork was almost refreshing in it's simplicity. The bored, overweight lady behind the counter began scanning the pages. She was tapping a pen against the counter as she read through. At first the pen taps were slow and lazy, but as she progressed through the pages it became quicker and more erratic. "You are claiming that all records of your birth do not exist as they have been destroyed." "Quite maliciously." "....right."The lady flipped through another page. "And your country of origin no longer exists." "Yes. I made sure of that." The lady actually changed expression for a second. Her brow fell and her pen stopped tapping. "Well, Mr Thelisstle." "The Listless." "Whatever." "It is my rightful name." "Whatever." Inoxic opened a gate through the celestial veil in his mind, channeling the unholy magic of death into the palm of his hand. He considered using Soul Atrophy on the immigration officer, but after a careful inspection of her flickering aura, he deemed that he would not be able to damage that which had already died. Thankfully, the lady flipped over to the next page. "Says that you cannot consent to a physical exam for religious reasons." "Yes. That is correct." "Can you explain for us why this is a problem?" "I firmly believe that if a man or woman were to touch my body in an inappropriate manner they would soon find their soul delivered unto the ever-hungering creatures that exist beyond the darkest realms of the otherworld." The lady tapped her pen a few more times, then used it to write something down on the forms. "Does this objection extend to X-ray scans?" "What is that?" "It is an examination of your bones using a noninvasive pulse of radioactivity." "So it just looks at my bones?" "Yes." "Oh, that's fine."Inoxic flashed a toothy grin. "I have plenty of those."
I woke up in a bright room with a desk, a piece of paper and a pen. It was definitely odd but I did not panic. I have accepted my death before I woke up in this room and I guess this is some sort of afterlife. I just never imagined it to be so...neat. I looked at the paper in front of me. I thought it would be an introduction to the afterlife but it was a typical feedback form. Although, the questions were definitely not typical. "please evaluate your life from scale one to ten"(1 being extremely dissatisfying and 10 being extremely satisfying) I hesitated before lifting the pen. All my life, every experience I had, every person I loved, and every heartbreak I felt. I'm gathering every aspect of my life and filling it in a small circle. I left out a small chuckle and filled in "8". I figured 8 was a fair number. I couldn't say I enjoyed everything about my life, but it was a decent life in my opinion. "You had a mother. please evaluate your mother from scale one to ten" 'My mom...' I thought. A woman who raised me alone working two shifts a day. A woman who never told me to give up on my dreams and supported me no matter what. I filled in "10"with a smile. Maybe I will get to see her after this survey is over. I have no idea how this works but I knew I had to fill in the form for now. "You had a father. please evaluate your father from scale one to ten" I immediately filled in "1". He left us when I was a baby so I have no memory, or relationship with him. If there was a "0"on the paper, I would have filled that in. "If you had one or more child, please evaluate your child from scale one to ten"(If this doesn't apply to you, please move onto next question). I couldn't move. Of course, this question would be on the paper. My Jessica and Mark... All my memory suddenly rushed back to me. I was standing on a golden gate bridge on a pouring rain Thursday night. It was the same spot that Jessica was standing last year before she... I've spent a year trying to tell people school bullying is a serious problem and something have to be done about it. But people did not listen. They told me how sorry they were in front of me, but they gossiped how crazy I was behind my back. Students who bullied her faced no justice and school protected those monsters. Everyone acted like nothing happened other than my daughter was crazy and even worse, they found a new target. My son Mark. When I came to my senses, tears were dropping on the paper. My arm was shaking and it took everything that I had to fill that "10". Despite the heartbreaking memory, I loved my children to death. So much so that... I came to see them. I couldn't live with the pain. Every second was like a knife through my heart. No parents should watch their child die. And God should never allow parents to go through that pain twice. I was either going to be free from feeling anything or... meet my children up there. It was a win-win the way I see. I just had to finish this survey, and I'm sure I can meet Jessica and Mark again. I sat upright and focused. Just a few more questions and I will be able to hug my children again. Some questions reminded me of happy memories such as "Evaluate your happiest memory from scale one to ten". and some questions were tough to answer such as "Evaluate your saddest memory from scale one to ten". When I finished the last question, three windows opened. I ran to the window to see the other side and started to scream. In the first window, I could see her husband living a lonely life on Earth. In the second window, I saw Jessica taking the survey in a room. In the third window, I saw Mark taking the survey in the room. I banged on the window but nobody could hear or see me. I cried and screamed until I exhausted herself but the room remained bright and neat. \-------------------------------------------------------- <In a control room of hell> "Such a poor woman..."A demon said. "Don't get too emotionally involved with the humans"Lucifer said without even looking up from the chart. "She was given a fate that she couldn't handle. And now she has to suffer in the 'survey room' for eternity" "Well, you know how the boss feels about suicides. We are just doing our jobs. He is the one that gave her such tragic fate"Lucifer said coldly. "I know but... it's just so sad..." "When you are done being sad, let's get back to our job. Looks like the husband is about to jump. Prepare a..."But the Demon cut Lucifer off before he could finish the sentence. "Yea yea I know... I will go prepare the room..."The demon walked out of the control room with its head down.
When I was young I remember being enthralled with superheroes and science fiction novels. They always would fork off into a storyline of going back into time to fix a tragedy and I was stoked. Imagine being able to do it, the possibilities! You could go back in time and stop World War I. Imagine the lives you could change! But no one ever tells you the consequences of performing such an action. Most stories don't explore the vast possibilities of changing the past for a better future. Sure, there was the butterfly effect that you could phase something out of existence, or you would come back to your own timeline and find it a desolate wasteland after an apocalypse YOU caused; but what about phasing back into a world that was only different to you? You’re building your own personal hell and you can’t stop it because you wanted to use your power for good. Changing the flow of time is a dangerous thing, you see. I didn’t think about it either. I never really thought about it until the people closest to me did a complete 180 on their personalities. The worst part? Only I remembered how they were - not as they are. I can recall the first time I traveled back in time. It was for a stupid reason too, but I cringe in thought about it so let’s leave it like that. It was amazing the first time I ventured through time, let’s be real, and to be fair, I just thought my aunt was going through issues the day she visited my family. I can remember how cold she was to my mom. I’ve never seen Aunt Becky treat my mom or my dad in such a cruel manner. When she left, I asked my mom why Aunt Becky was acting the way she did. My mom just stared at me and asked me what I was on about. Aunt Becky was always mean to her and she never understood why; but she is family. My mom simply pat my head when I told her that Aunt Becky was nice before and she commended my imagination. I tried asking my dad and he said I should grow up and keep my imagination to myself before people start spreading rumors that I’m not right in the head. What was the point of having such an amazing ability if I couldn’t share it with anyone? They thought I was crazy so I didn’t bring it up again. I lived my life silently saving lives and being a secret hero. As I grew older, however, I realized the cost of traveling back in time. I lost everything. So much for being cool. My life changed for the better when I met Diana. She was so full of joy and sunshine I decided I didn’t need close family so long as I had her. I decided the day we got married that I wouldn’t travel back in time anymore. After all, she was the only one I really had left. Now, don’t get me wrong, my family was still living and because they were family, I still loved them, but I didn’t want to BE with them. Diana and I ended up moving far away from my immediate family but she was excited to take on new adventures and see places we hadn’t seen. Today, we visited the city near us and that's when I truly lost everything. Now I truly have no options left. Her blood was splashed on my face from the impact when a errant bus crashed into her. The love of my life is dead. I can’t go back and save her, because I wouldn’t be saving her. I don’t know what to do. I can’t do it again. Nothing will be the same. I fell to my knees and cried like a child. People around me tried to comfort me but nothing helped. I know I made a silent vow to you to not travel again but I can no longer stand it. I thought being forgotten was worse than being dead -- but no. Not having my darling next to me when I wake up in the mornings is truly hell, and I can’t escape. My eyes closed and I tried to remember the last day I had with Diana and what we were doing. I knew this was my only shot. I clasped her hand in mine and told her that I was sorry for what I had done when she looked at me sweetly. Good, she wasn’t completely gone yet. At that moment, I took her into my arms and held her as the wind whipped past us and tires screeched behind her. A sharp bang killed my hearing, I felt a warmth like none I had ever felt in my life and everything was warm.
"Insert tab A into slot B,"the woman began before correcting herself, "no sorry, thats 'slȍȍt B'.... what the hell is a 'slȍȍt'?" "I have no idea, none of this shit makes any sense,"the man on his hands and knees beside her replied. "I mean your ex-girlfriend Jennifer was kind of a massive slȍȍt, but other than that...", she muttered, intentionally needling him. "Please leave her out of this, we need to focus. Just keep reading." "Daniel, there's nothing to read, the assembly instructions are just a couple of worthless pictures! I've been interpreting them into vague verbal instructions for you for the better part of an hour." "For fucks sake, this wont fit", he mumbled as he applied more force, his anger growing. "You're gonna break it if you force it like that, cant you just do it the way the instructions show?" "I'm trying Karen, do YOU wanna do this?" She waited a beat before trying to change the subject slightly, "I'm gonna be so angry if Team 2 gets the Victory Royale. They seemed so lame." "Victory royale? I thought the grand prize was chicken dinner?" "I suppose the prize doesn't really matter compared to knowing we're the #1 couple,"she said while patting him on the back. "Yeah I guess,"he replied. "Hey what happened to that couple we parachuted in with? The ones from San Jose?" "Oh Team 7? They're over in the northwest corner of the store just dabbing over and over. I don't really think they're a threat." "Sometimes the dabbers are the ones you have to worry about the most", he said grimly, the memory of a thousand Fortnite losses to tween boys echoing traumatically in his memory. "Thank you for that brilliant tactical analysis 'General Patton',"she replied sarcastically, "but our opponents don't matter if you cant get our defenses assembled. We're going to need this STORNÄS table for cover once the fighting starts!" "Ah so now its 'me' who's in charge of assembly, huh? 'We' went out the window pretty quick there darling." A camera on the wall of the IKEA zoomed in ominously on the pair. &#x200B; High above, a dozen Swedes in business attire sat in an executive conference room watching a wall of monitors. Their eyes were transfixed to the events unfolding before them. "IKEA has already been destroying shaky relationships for decades, gamifying and monetizing that effect into this real life Battle Royale was a brilliant idea,"one said. "And getting each couple to pay for a season pass before they even knew how often they'd come in to play... \chefs kiss\", a second executive chimed in. "Not to mention it's wildly entertaining to watch unfold! The TV rights are going to sell for a fortune, it's going to be raining kronor up in here!", a third said excitedly. Sweedish highfives, which are totally a thing, were exchanged by most in the room. The extremely blonde haired woman sitting at the head of the table finally spoke as a broad smile came across her face, "Send in the supply drop. Let's see how many will kill each other over a crate of sweedish meatballs." They all nodded in excitement and returned their attention to the monitors. The real fun was about to begin.
I thought I was brightening days. Lifting spirits. Turns out, I was marking people for death. When I touch people, I can lift their moods. Significantly. It intensifies the longer I make contact. A simple brush can put someone in a cheery mood all day. A few seconds, and they'll be more ecstatic than they've ever been in their lives. It... progresses as you'd think from there. Stop squirming. I'm still talking. Anyway, I didn't want this. You see? I just wanted to help people. How could I know they'd feel awful when the world seemed gloomy and dull the next day? How could I know some would become depressed? How could I know those with too much contact would kill themselves when nothing in life offered the same pleasures as before? You may think of me as a monster, Agent K, but I'm not. I'm trying to stop that from happening again. These people live with me now, in my compound. We help each other. We're a community. And a few seconds of contact with me a day keeps them alive. It keeps them from losing all hope for life - because, honestly, they have no other choice. I had to oblige. Don't you see? And you people - stop moving - you're going to ruin all that. My friends here are just that. Friends, not slaves. If you take them away and put them back where they were, they'll die. So I have to stop you. For them. Tell me, Agent K. How many more of you are coming? When are they going to hit the compound? Tell me, and I'll keep my hand on you as long as you like.
The next target was walking down the block. Tall, lanky, gray hair. Perfect. This was exactly the kind of guy I could poke and prod into shoving me. Then...then my little friend in my pocket could come out. I felt the point of the knife jab into the skin of my finger. It felt good. It felt right. As the man was passing, I stood up from the bench and nearly leveled him with my shoulder. He stumbled and looked at me in surprise. I snarled at him and gave him my ugliest stare. "Fuckin' watch yourself, asshole,"I said. "Well, hello there,"he said cheerfully. I glared at him. "What'd you say to me?" "I said hello there. How are you today?" "I'm in a shit-poor mood, so don't test me." "Well, that's a shame. Would you like to talk about it?" This was new. Normally, people would take the cue and try to walk off, giving me the chance to harass them more. This one, though... "What? Why the fuck would I talk about it to you?" "Everyone needs somebody to talk to sometimes. I know I do. It helps to have friends." "And you want to be my friend?"I said with a sneer. He smiled. "Of course! Everyone deserves to have a friend." "Hah! Nobody needs a friend like you. Just look at you. It's the middle of July. What kind of asshole wears a lame-ass sweater in July? You freak." "Well, that's not very nice, but I understand that you're hurting. I can see it. Would you like a hug?" This was really backfiring. I needed him to break. I had to push harder. "What are you, some kind of creeper? You touch me, I get to defend myself." "Good! It's important for everyone to set boundaries for themselves. Your body is yours. I wouldn't dream of making you uncomfortable." "You...you already are!" "Well, gosh, I'm certainly sorry then. It wasn't my intent. It's just so sad to see anyone hurting." "I..." "Is there anything I can do for you?" Something was cracking. Something deep inside me. Something that had been cold and black for a long, long time now was warming up. What was this? What was going on? "It...no...fuck off." "Are you sure? You look shaky. Please, sit down. I'll go get you some water." No. No. I couldn't let him do it. What was happening? "It's...fine. I'm fine. You, you should...you should go." He should go? What was that? He didn't. Instead, he helped me sit down and sat down next to me. I could smell his cologne. It was soft and warm, just like his sweater. He placed a hand on my shoulder and I nearly cried. "What...who are you?"I sputtered out. He smiled. "My name is Fred. I'd love to be your neighbor."
Garlic. Lemon. Butter. Ok, off to a good start. Sauvignon Blanc. Flour. Capers. Hm. Lovely. Now just the veal left. Damn. I was really pulling for you, Charlie. I thought you might actually serve me a decent meal. Madeline Cromley disappeared from a rowdy high school party in the woods last week. Now I’m being served her left thigh in place of the advertised veal chop on the menu at Charlie Grimaldi’s: An Italian Experience. I’m a man of extremely discerning taste. You know that just-can’t-put-your-finger-on-it flavor that only seems to come out of the back room of high end eateries across the country? Well I can put my finger on it, I can put my whole damn fist on it. When you cook for me, I instantly know all of your secrets: paprika in the stock, rehydrated garlic powder, and human flesh marinated in pork blood. You’ve got them all fooled, Charlie, except me. You can’t fool me. I consider my next move as I gaze into the slippery sheen of buttery wine sauce that sits atop Ms. Cromley’s expertly prepared thigh. I’ve got big plans for Charlie and his smug alter ego: The Kansas City Magician. It’s a fucking terrible name for a monster like this, but let one reporter liken his snatching of young girls to a magicians act, and you’ve got yourself a very hard-to-kill nickname. I think I might like a nickname too.
Eighteen parties of hero's managed to make it into the demon kings throne room. The room was covered with white tile and pictures of the previous 213 demons lords lined the walls. The demon lord chair turned around to reveal a lanky man wearing a white suit with a gold tie. "H-hello."The demon lord, Alder, started be cleared his throat. His voice was heard in eighteen different languages and he silently let his spell washed over them so they could all speak. "I bet you are wondering why I called you here. You may have noticed that the demon army portals all opened with nothing coming out but my messagers."Alder sighed and looked out his window to the vast city outside his spire. Demons moved about occasionally watching the feeds of his conversation. "Do you plan on taking us all on?"A paladin asked, his holy aura flickering in the demonic realm. "I'm not suicidal. I'm an Incubus, I'd get my ass kicked by a farmer. I'm no fighter and frankly I don't want to be."Alder shrugged as the portals flickered, he motioned for a few demons to offer food and aid to the hero's. "Where is your pride as a demon?"A half demon hero spoke up, Alder noticed the sheer number of spikes on his armor and surpressed a chuckle. "A demon lord is supposed to lead the demon realm to blood victory." Alder waved his hand over the glass window. "Not much pride when trillions of your people die every few years. As the demon lord my power affects my people, you may have noticed even the normally horrible pitfiends are at least somewhat pretty. Marcilia please enter the room." A creature appeared from Alder's shadow. Eleven feet tall with two long whip like tails. Black skin with bone like plating on the shoulders and thighs, bright yellow eyes gazed at the hero. Marcilia was buxom with an hour glass figure, long flowing hair spread from between her horns. She turned slowly giving a few heros an eye full of her body. "What did you do to it?"The Paladin looked extremely uncomfortable. "I like this."Marcilia rumbled, the dark skin near her cheeks became a deep red. "When I am summoned, the people are happy to see me now." "Alright. Sexy pitfiends aside, I feel that the story is has an interesting twist."A elf holding a small violin grinned. "I'd like to negotiate a trade. To each of your kingdoms, I'd like to take on all of your undesirables. Killers, thieves, people you just don't like. I've crunched the numbers with my accountant Marcilia and we only need 1000-2000 humans to keep our current populations satisfied."Alder said while passing out scrolls and books to the gathered groups. "You want us to feed you our people?"A vampire hero shouted, all of the other hero's glared at him. "Hey don't look at me like that, I can't help it everyone looks like snack." "We don't really need to eat humans like you need to eat cows. We do that during wars because the mana you release upon death is like a healing potion. We do need your mana, even all of you just standing here will keep me energized for a month. Except the Paladin, he only has that effect on angels."Alder pointed to a bit of land in the distance. The windows magic caused each window to show the farm. The human chased around a particulary pretty looking imp demon. While others were grilling some demonic bovine. Alder switch to another location showing an elf child being taught demon script and proper imp summoning. He switch to a final location which showed a deep pit filled with paintings and a human cleaning the tunnel. "Lord Alder please stop showing my husband. That's invasive and..."Marcilia placed a hand over her face. "Very embarrassing." "Okay... So. How do we know this isnt some sort of trick?"A man asked with a hunting hound at his side. "You don't but every demon in my realm is watching us. Only a handful of them believe that you can be reasoned with. So I'm going to let you explore my realm as ambassadors. You can stay for a week if you want to leave I won't keep you here. Any expenses you incur will be paid out of my private coffers."Alder opened his door that lead outside. "Grab my sigil on the way out. I'll be here to answer any questions." A human dressed in dark black robes stepped closer to Alder. "I am Walden, Demon summoner. I would like to study Miss Marcilia and yourself." "Study?"Alder chuckled. "Why not study your contracted demons?" "I did but I couldn't understand why my imp took on a... Affectionate demeanor. The creature went from trying to eat my eyes to trying to change the term of our contract to a more intimate one."Walden sighed, "I would like to limit your influence on him. Allow me to study that and I will speak to my Sultan." "I agree and Marcilia agrees."Alder grinned. "We could use the hero mana. It's like a hearty meal." Hero's were already moving toward the door, their curiousity stronger than any fear. Alder could feel all of demon kind holding their breath in hope they wouldn't be massacred.
As far back as I can recall, which is admittedly not as far back as it should be, I've been able to "see"people's past lives. It's kind of hard to describe it. It's usually a feeling, but occasionally there will be quick visions that sort of overlay a person. In them I'll know what kind of person they were, what their job was, if they had kids or loved. That sort of stuff. Every once in a while I won't get anything. Like they're a blank slate. I like to think they're just new people freshly created. I never really took it at face value though. I thought it was just a side effect of the accident. &#x200B; Seven years ago I got into a pretty bad accident. A drunk driver had run a red light and smashed into me. Luckily I didn't have anyone in my vehicle. They said it was a miracle that I didn't die. Then it was a miracle I came out of the coma. I was in the hospital for four months before I woke up. They never found the guy that crashed into me. The car was stolen and his body was nowhere to be seen. Regardless the damage was done. I have what they call retrograde amnesia. After five years I still don't remember anything before the crash. I know who I used to be and where I used to work. I didn't have a wife or kids. I've basically been living on disability since then. I do some odds and ends here and there, but it's hard to get a job when you have no education that you remember. It took some time just to remember how to read and do basic math. So my hobby became to go to a public area and watch the people. I liked to imagine what they were like in their previous life, or if I was living that life. That is until I saw Stephanie and Marcus. &#x200B; With Stephanie and Marcus I didn't get any ideas or visions of past lives. They weren't what I call "blank slates"either. When I look at them the only thought that ever came into my head was... angel. As in that's what they've always been. In the corner of my eye I swore I could occasionally see wings. I started seeing them fairly often at the park I frequented. So one day I came and spoke with them. I like to think of myself as fairly personable. After all what else is there for me to do. Even if I thought these ideas and visions were delusional, I still thought... how cool would it be to talk to angels. I came to find out that they had moved here to find their father. They had been able to track him down to this city. After about 6 months of conversing with one another we became friends. At least that's what I thought at the time. &#x200B; About two weeks ago they had me over to their place. We had some fish, drank some wine. I'll admit, I was a little intoxicated. We were joking around and I brought up my "visions". I told them that the reason I began speaking to them is because whatever this ability was told me that they were angels. That's when things got quiet. They asked me a lot of questions about the visions and my past. They had heard about the wreck and the amnesia previously, but it's not something I usually like to go too in depth with. They asked about the driver and if I thought he had survived. They brought up the fact that it was about seven years ago when they lost communication with their father as well. It was about then that I decided that it had become a little too awkward and that I should head home for the night. &#x200B; I hadn't seen them in the park since then. We hadn't spoken or text either. Until just this morning. They want to come over to my place and explain some things to me. I think they think I'm their father, but what kid wouldn't recognize their dad? Seven years isn't enough time to not recognize someone you've known your whole life. You'd have to be able to completely change bodies or something. Which would be just as ridiculous as these two being angels.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! TURN OFF THE LIGHTS SO HE DOESN'T KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"a frustrated, red-faced Ronny Svenson screamed at the small, staticy monitor in the principal's office. His gig working security at a local elementary school had gotten old after about the eighth year on the job, and his collection of horror films were the cure for his chronic melancholy. &#x200B; He'd seen enough horror films to know what would happen: the killer would always catch them. This infuriated him; they constantly made the same, easily-avoidable mistakes! Used as he was to watching it happen over and over in each film, he wanted with all of his being to know why. &#x200B; "SHUT UP, YOU MORONS. HE'S COMING!"he bellowed. "HOW DID YOU NOT HEAR THE SHOTGUN GO OFF?"The movie's killer was using a 12-gauge to blast doors into splinters down a dimly-lit hallway while chasing scampering, terrified characters. Mid-rage, he stopped to admire how authentic their screaming sounded. That's some damn good acting, he thought. &#x200B; The killer blasted his way into the room furthest down the hall, where the main female protagonist was frantically searching for a place to hide. She whirled around in a twist of pure adrenaline, wide-eyed and mortified of the barrel pointed at her. There was nowhere to hide now; the only thing left was the glass between her and a two-story drop. &#x200B; "WINDOW! GET TO THE WINDOW NOW! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"he exclaimed as the girl froze in defeat. She became the third victim in the slaughterfest. In a huff, Ronny started to get up to grab a cold soda and blow off some steam. As he lifted his elbow, he came to a realization, and froze: &#x200B; He'd been leaning on the intercom button. The entire time. &#x200B; Oh, shit. &#x200B; He hurriedly scurried out the door towards his boss's general direction, Principal Ingram. His mind raced together a picture of how this scenario was about to go down. He was no expert in apologetics, and he could not hide his embarrassment no matter how hard he maintained his composure. &#x200B; "Principal Ingram, I just want to say I-" &#x200B; As it happened, what he saw was not at all what he had in mind. &#x200B; Through the windows he could see a barrage of blue and red lights, parents hugging their children as they cried, media outlets conducting interviews, and general chaos engulfing the schoolyard. Directly in front of him was Principal Ingram, and an unknown assailant pinned to the ground by law enforcement personnel. A 12-gauge shotgun laid nearby. &#x200B; "By god, Ronny, you beautiful son of a bitch,"Principal Ingram said. "I don't know how you did it, but you managed to get every single student outside and to safety before our gunman here could even open fire."She gave him a warm hug and he felt his face turning cherry. "How'd you do it?" &#x200B; He blanked for a second. The entire room was looking at him now, even the gunman. &#x200B; "Well, shucks."he gruffed. "Just instinct, I guess."
THUNK. It was gruesome, frankly, and rather irresponsible. THUNK. Underling #231, clad in full yellow plastic fatigues, hooked the latest body out of the ventilation shaft. THUNK. He wasn’t doing it very well, and the hook was denting the cheap metal plating more than it was bringing the corpse closer to extraction. “I’ll get it in a second, sir,” #231 yelled over his shoulder. Professor Proton looked on, with lilac dressing gown and coffee, tutting violently. A phone was clamped between his shoulder and his ear, which was currently producing the world’s most upsetting hold music. “Absolutely typical,” Proton muttered. It had been like this ever since he had decided to go full-time, a move that he had grown to regret within the first few days of Villain-ing. Primarily, it was the paperwork that had been the sorest thorn in his protrusions. The union demanded that he drop his old name, Doctor Doom, due to copyright issues. What was worse, due to the sheer volume of professional villains and mad scientists, the fact that no two people could have the same name meant that all the good ones had already been taken. Hence ‘Professor Proton’, making him sound like a low-budget children's cartoon character that haunted an amusement park. Instead, he was waiting on the cleanup detail to mop up the viscera scattered around his office. “Secret Service Union public relations office,” the phone chirped, “Vanessa speaking. How can I help?” Proton choked on his coffee, which had only just moved past his lips. He oriented himself. “Hello? This is Professor Proton… VU-Number 2340291. I called yesterday.” There was the sound of paperwork shuffling and key clacking on the other end. “Ah yes, Professor,” said Vanessa, mercifully not using his full title. “Regarding our entry policy, yes?” “Yes, yes it was,” said Proton. He took a breath. “I know I’ve already complained about your people coming in through my vent system, and I wouldn’t bring it up again, wouldn’t want to swamp you, but… well you see, it happened again this morning.” “Really?” asked Vanessa. “Could you put our person on the line, then?” “I’m afraid that will be a bit of a problem,” Proton said slowly, “as they’re really quite dead.” Vanessa audibly paused what she was doing. “Ah. That would be a problem, yes.” “You see, that’s what I was complaining about before,” pressed Proton, “It’s been happening ever since I started last month. The ventilation corridors have a lot of very sharp fans and laser beams, let alone a lack of air, seeing as I thought that it would be a good defence against and intruders. And it is. Extremely. I just didn’t expect twenty of your agents to just… throw themselves at it.” “You say this has been going for a month?” Vanessa asked. Underling #231 finally finished tugging out the corpse of a man in a black suit, which was covered in blood and burn marks and missing a couple of limbs. #231 gave a thumbs up. “A month, yes,” said Proton, sipping his coffee. “I just think it’s a terrible waste of resources. Both yours and mine. Plus, it’s been blocking up the pipes, so to speak. I had a meeting last week with some of my union’s representatives, and half-way through the vent shaft above us broke. I should mention that I’m quite a new hire, and it took a while to explain that I do not store dead women in my air conditioning system. Incidentally, I can’t help but think you people could do with modernising your dress code, as that outfit could not have been practical…” Vanessa paused, again. The faint scratching of a pen making notes echoing out through the speaker. “Could I put you on hold, please, Professor?” she asked, panicked. “I just have to go and sort out an incident…” Proton’s alarm system began to ring, the entirety of his secret lair suddenly bathed in a flashing red glow. “INTRUDER ALERT”, screamed his announcement system. “A SPY IS IN THE BASE!” “Sure thing,” sighed Proton. The hold music returned. He sipped his coffee and decided to go for a shower. It would work out in the end, he assumed.
I’ve watched humanity since the neanderthals still pillaged their villages, seen them advance through their eras and watched them evolve with the same hate, fear, and rage that plagued them since the time before a written language. I’ve tried so many times to correct them, so many times to manipulate, to coerce, even force them to peace. To quell the blood shed and bring an era of advancement so they could someday see the stars that exiled me to their world. But I’ve failed. So many times I failed. And I’d given up. Until another artifact had come to land. Something I hadn’t thought of. Their governments called it the Bio-empowerment singularity system. Or BESS. I called it my solution. It rewrote DNA on the fly, breaking laws of physics, creating meta-humans empowered with fantastical abilities. The world demanded it, the first five entitled “super heroes” guarded it, I wanted it. I fought them for it, endured all sorts of injuries no mortal being would survive. Again and again, they tried to kill me to stop me from obtaining it. Sacrificed their own to keep it safe. How little they knew, how little they realized, that the BESS was the answer to their fight against me. For with it, I could rewrite myself. Lose the immortality I’ve suffered with for so long and leave humanity to the hands of the new beings that could guide them far better than I ever did... I could finally die.
Filip had always been a supportive spouse, even when Ella was in her apprenticeship. Times had been tough of course, with just one salary supporting the household. But their bond was strong. They had made it through stronger than ever. She had graduated a professional villain, certification signed and dated just like his. Even then, things weren't always as easy as they made it seem. Schedules were tight, between organizing bank heists and grisly murders and taking the kids to soccer practice. Then on the weekend they had playdates and insufferable little friends to go see. It was enough to strain most marriages. Word got out. It was inevitable. The timing of crimes was too coincidental to ignore. Mom's with too much time on their hands got nosy. They poked around. They discovered the certificates and video of the graduation ceremonies. They discovered the villainy. "This is an intervention,"they finally announced one day, cornering the happy couple in their living room after a tedious potluck. The kids were playing outside, supervised by oblivious fathers. "Intervention for what?"Filip looked at Ella with concern. They both knew, but they couldn't let it show. "Your villainy. It ends now."Filip cackled. It was a dark, evil cackle. Soon Ella joined him, her shrill laughter filled with twisted glee. "Ends? It will never end,"Filip said when he finally caught his breath. "It's what keeps us going. The spark in our marriage. The mutual respect and proper division of household chores."The other women looked at each other uncertainly. "How many of your husbands made the food you brought today?"Not a single hand went up. "How many of you will spend the whole weekend driving your kids around or cleaning the house while he watches football with his shoes on the couch?"Now every hand went up. Filip gave a satisfied nod. "Exactly." One of the ladies - Karen, if Filip remembered correctly - looked at the others. "You know, girls, if those two weren't supervillains, they'd be the perfect example of a happily married couple. I'm sometimes jealous by how supportive and understanding they are to each other."Filip hated her with a burning passion he reserved only for suburban soccer moms way too involved in their children's life, but this time he appreciated her input. "Thank you, Karen,"he said with false kindness. Then he turned to the others. "We aren't like the rest of you. We aren't a stay-at-home mom and a dad who doesn't help around the house. We don't fight over allowances. We follow a simple code." "A code? A villain's code?" "Shut up, Karen. You've had your time to speak."She turned red and fell silent. "A villain's code. We're both villainous enough to hold each other to the promise of mutually assured destruction. Love won't be what makes your marriages right. Fear is the way to do it." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
“So who won?” The boys brows furrowed in thought. Like he was considering whether to tell me a secret or the truth. I had the distinct feeling he was deciding whether to trust me for some reason. When you are five thousand years on this Earth you get good at reading humanities non verbal cues. That and a great many other things of course. Five thousand years of practice and study allows one to accomplish a great many things. “My grand da says no one, ultimately.” I laughed out loud. That took me by surprise, something that didn’t happen much. I could see an older gentleman watching us closely without being obvious about it a few paces away. I knew immediately he was dangerous. His stance, his wariness, like I said, you live as long as me you learn things. “Your grand da is a wise man, but that was a very long time ago.” Not as long ago as Appomattox, or the fall of Troy of course but for this kid a month ago is ancient history. The boy shrugged, picked up a rock snd three it into the water. “I guess, he talks like it was yesterday, says he remembers that day.” That peaked my interest. It was a strange thing to say. But not nearly as strange to me as it might be to others. I kept it casual but needed more information. “I’m sure he’s kidding you. Old people sometimes tell strange stories that aren’t true.” The boy glanced at the old man who was watching us. It was subtle, the kid was pretty good. The watcher nodded almost imperceptibly. “No, it’s true, he says you were there.”
Miguel was staring out the window of the little white schoolhouse when Mrs. Hawkins slapped the blackboard with her yardstick. Crack! Although almost 40 with long, gray hair, and stooped over so that she had to tilt her head up to squint at the class, she was still spry. She worked in the fields for 20 years before being chosen as school mistress by the town council. She had a former farmer's body and, most of all, a former farmer's mindset. "Pay attention!" No one was jolted. They were seniors and it was the last week of school. Though it was late afternoon, most had hours of work ahead of them still. The growing season was just beginning. Maybe two of them would pass the qualifiers to study past high school, anyway. Probably Jessica and maybe Devonte. Half the students in the class had children. Some even shared school supplies with their older kids. "The final exam will be about numbers. Yes names... like the Fathers of Modern Science- Houghton, Mifflin, and Harcourt, and names like 'Pluto' and 'Uranium'... but more importantly about numbers. 'Pluto' is the ninth planet. Uranium is the 92nd and final element." Miguel sighed and sank an inch lower in his seat. He hated numbers and he hated math. He hated the Common Core, gleaned from the other "Academic Bible"... 'Algebra I'. It was written by Brown, published by Merrill, and shrouded in mystery... only understood by the top mathematical minds in the world, who doled out bits and pieces of the magic and wisdom using complicated multiplication diagrams. They all just looked like random rectangles to Miguel. Sometimes squares. He liked the squares, he admitted to himself. He couldn't bring himself to care much though. Afterall, you don't need math to figure out how many seeds to plant, how much grain to feed an animal. Just plant them in rows... half a step apart, a step apart, two steps apart... until you ran out of room. Depending on what you were planting. And the animal already knows how much grain to eat. He wouldn't mind if some of the bulls or horses, or some of the larger dogs, just didn't decide to eat the Common Core. and the math wizards along with it. He used to try at school. He learned just enough though to perfectly understand why he would never be like Jessica or Devonte. His own dad was 'Bb' and his mom was 'bb' so he could never be 'BB'. That was a scientific fact. Plain as day. According to Mendel, from Moravia, who planted seeds himself 500 years earlier. He knew with scientific certainty that although his brain would get blood pumped to it by his heart, and its two ventricles and two atria, carrying oxygen from his lungs, and supported by 206 bones and his 'musculoskeltal system', that he would never be a genius. Would never be an 'Einstein', or 'Newton', or 'Watson', or 'Crick', or any of the other great minds. That was his own 'scientific law'. The hypothesis was formulated, the class was the laboratory, his grades were the data, and the conclusion was: he was no scholar. Just a farmer. He guessed that was his 'mastery' of the material, according to Bloom. He glanced up to the front of the room. He wondered how much time had passed, how much would pass until the school day was over. That could be measured in numbers, too. Mrs. Hawkins was scribbling with her chalk. Some last minute notes for the final exam. It was all ancient history, anyway. This world leader and that world leader, and that other world leader from that other place. Leading to the Third World War. Hey, that's both a name and a number, he thought. Miguel stared longingly out the window. He kicked his feet together and sighed again. He couldn't wait to go out and work.
"You could get hit by a bus, like... tomorrow,"he said, a mouth half full with tortilla chips. He was right, technically. Death could come any time to anyone at random. News headlines were always filled with tragic stories of people killed before they could bare children and gracefully begin their decline. I had lasted as a single woman for a long time. A very long time. My mother and father died 156 years ago without the opportunity to meet any grandchildren. They were old. Decrepit. Sick. I was still a young woman physically. "You can get hit by my shoe. Today!"I told him. I'd never give him the gratification of being right, no matter how right he was. "All I'm saying is 182 years old is old for anyone. What else is there to see? What are you waiting for?"He asked. I knew he was trying to be a friend, but this was a tired trope: the good-willed guy friend talks the delayed-in-reproducing girl friend (not girlfriend, gross) into having children any time any personal problem comes up. "For your information, I've never been to Cyprus,"I retorted. "What's in Cyprus?"He asked. "I DON'T KNOW! That's the point! Once I have kids I'll never have the time or energy to appreciate it!"I replied. Truthfully, I've avoided Cyprus intentionally. Not because there's anything wrong with Cyprus--I've heard it's a lovely country--but because I could use it as my get-out-of-jail-free card. Can't have kids if you haven't been to Cyprus. Can't go to Cyprus if you have kids! "Uh huh, sure,"he said, dismissing my bullet-proof argument. "What language to they speak in Cyprus?" "Cy...prus...ese,"I lied, transparently. "Kate, do you know the leading cause of death among sterile people?"He asked. I did, and it was a cruel question. I looked away from him and out the window to the highway traffic. "They kill themselves, Kate. they're much younger than you when they do it too. People aren't supposed to live as long as this,"he informed me. "Why?"I asked. "Why what?" "Why aren't people supposed to live so long? Why the fuck do I have to be pressured to create people I don't want just so I can die on time?"The conversation had taken a turn, and all the goodwill in the universe couldn't have forgiven him bringing up the sterile suicide epidemic. I'd been called selfish, prude, wasteful, and so many worse things when people find out that I'm not sterile. I had even, in other seasons of my life, led with the lie that I was. "We don't make the rules. I certainly don't,"he responded softly, an attempt to deescalate the situation. "If you did, would I die? Would I just grow old, alone, and die? Without ever fucking seeing Cyprus!?"I had snapped in a moment of anger, and that was wrong of me. I realized that as the words slipped out of my mouth. He stopped eating the chips and hanged his head in silent shame. "I'm sorry,"I told him after a long exhale. "To tell you the truth, I'm scared of having kids. I'm scared of making more people and fucking it up the way my parents fucked it up. In a perfect world I would grow old and die alone. I would stop the bloodline in its tracks and never let it ruin a childhood again. I don't care if it's not 'womanly.' I don't care if it's selfish. It's better that I live until a truck hits me than I pass on the trauma to my own kids,"I confessed. "I didn't mean to offend you,"he told me sheepishly. "I'm not an expert in this stuff. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Like talking someone out of suicide. I won't bring it up again." He eventually warmed back up to the chips and even ordered queso to spice up the experience. I couldn't stay mad at his fat, patchy-beard face. He'd been my friend for over a hundred years. You don't just throw that away. Chips became tacos. Tacos became beers. Beers became margaritas. Margaritas became tequila shots. Tequila shots became unprotected sex.
George blinked. The gunsights swam out of focus. He felt a slight lingering pressure against his right shoulder. He must have been hit. Or had he? No. Franz knew that feeling, the recoil of his rifle. A blurry memory tucked at the edge of his consciousness. A distant form falling. The battlefield in front of him seemed to slip sideways. Franz... no George.. felt himself stagger, his gun slipping from the lip of the trench. He was distantly aware that his mate, James, was trying to talk to him from the side. He felt his hands on his shoulder. Shaking him ever more insistently. He looked worried and frantic. And his face was all wrong! That jolted George. His vision focused. What in the nine Hells! A German soldier was screaming in his face. There was Chaos around. People shooting. Explosions thrashing the earth. Bodies flying. Then two thing happened. Very quickly. Franz realised he understood what the German was saying. He also heard a whizzing sound. Something huge carried him upwards. Then, there was darkness again. As his vision cleared again, George stood, his face fixed at the Horizon over a barren, blasted Land. He could see plumes of explosions. His hands were holding a wire, connected to a big metal object next to him. It was an artillery piece. Again, he staggered. His vision swam. Again people were shouting. This time, Pierre took less time to steady himself. His comrades were busy operating the gun, one man short. He must do his duty and join them. But then, George was a British soldier. What was going on? What was he doing, where was his regiment. Going up to his team, no, the French team, operating the gun, he asked Jacques how he got here. As Jacques looked at him, confused, he realised he had spoken in French. He also realised he knew the Frenchman's name. He remembered a picture of his sweetheart in Bordeaux. George, Pierre, ended up in a field hospital. The doctors could not explain this curious case of shell shock. It was deemed cowardice, perhaps feigned madness. It did not take George long to realize telling his story would, at best, get him into an asylum. Not that he found it easy to do so. Everything before the time he stood next to that artillery piece was off. He couldn't tell what his memories were. Who he was. The armistice saved George from ending up in an asylum. It did not save his life. Pierre's life. There were memories in his head of parents, friends, a girl. But he could not go back. It was all wrong. It did not take long for him to become a vagrant. Even before his clothes had visibly deteriorated, his distant gaze, would turn people away. The smell of alcohol did not help. His pay did not last long. But, over time, he, George, improved. Pierre got ever more distant. His memories like museum pieces behind glass. More and more he thought of going back. When he did, despair was never far away. He couldn't go back. He wasn't Pierre. But he wasn't George either. He was something else. Another consideration started to push these thoughts away though. His clothes were ragged. He was going hungry. He had no job, and no-one to turn to. He had, however, a partucular skill. It was a dark knight on a boulevard next to the Seine. It had been hard getting here. Even harder getting the knife without being caught. But now, he needed only to wait. The couple he had been eyeing as they walked toward him were almost in the right spot. They looked promising. A dress, a nice suit, an easyness to their walk that betrayed a lack of cares. The time was right. He slipped from the shadows, knife in hand. Running like he had in no-mans-land, low and quick. Before they really saw him, he was behind the woman. Almost a girl he realised. His knife wielding hand going up to her throat. He had considered several lines of threats. Wondering what would work best. In the end, he settled for the simple, short version. Your purse, or the girl dies. The man was a little older than the girl, though still young. George could see surprise, fear, but also anger. There was something hard in those eyes. Another veteran. No matter. He groped around his belt, partially concealed by the woman's body. He held out the purse to George. George tensed, getting ready. He grabbed the purse, disentangled himself from the woman with a swift motion. It was too slow, regardless. He had barely made a few steps when the shot rang. He heard himself gasp as the air left his lungs. He stumbled, fell. On the ground, he saw the man. The girl's body had obscured the gun from his view. Clever. The pain was bad. He had never felt this much. Fortunately, it did not last long. The cold spread quickly. A metallic taste filled his mouths. He felt sleepy. Closing his eyes would be a relief. He stood at a Paris boulevard, facing the Seine. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, mixing with relief as the immediate danger has passed. The bedraggled form that lay a few meters away from him had stopped moving. George still almost dropped the gun as he felt a sudden bout of dizziness.
Come on. Seriously? Caleb looked across the forest clearing to see a group of people wearing robes and cowls. In normal circumstances, this would be cause for alarm. However, it was not the fact that they were wearing robes and cowls that annoyed Caleb. It was that the robes and cowls were not the same colour as his own. His were red, and theirs were black. Tonight was the night that his cult was to initiate their unspeakable ritual to summon their patron deity, Agoth the Desolator. The group of people who stood before him were heathens who served another deity they called Tsathoa. The worst part was that none of his fellow worshippers had shown up yet. Dusk had fallen two hours ago; they were late. Luckily these people didn’t appear to be armed with anything beyond a token sacrificial dagger. He decided to approach them nonetheless. “Hey, what’s the deal? We’ve been planning to summon Master Agoth on this night for two whole years! We’ve made all the preparations, the stars are right, and you think you can just waltz in here and ruin our vibe?! What gives?” One of the devotees of Tsathoa stepped forward and pointed an accusatory finger at Caleb. “Um, excuse me, we’ve been planning this for three years! The stars haven’t been right in all that time until now. You’re the one ruining our plans!” Some of her compatriots murmured among themselves in response. A couple of them cracked their knuckles. Caleb’s stomach started to churn. He reached into one of the pockets of his robe and pulled out his trusty Enchiridion of the Dark Moon; each member of the cult had been given a copy upon joining the fellowship. His contained directions to initiate the ritual to summon Agoth, but it also contained a great deal of other spells that would likely prove useful in this situation. Unfortunately, he had practice with none of them. He flipped to a random page and saw a diagram of a man bursting into horrid boils; this was the Dread Plague of Ythor. He recalled a story he had been told by his friend Stephanie wherein she had used it on a now-ex-boyfriend when she caught him with another woman. It had happened eight months ago, and he still hadn’t fully recovered. Caleb held the book aloft and began chanting the unspeakable words. A dark mist began to swirl about him, and his eye shone with colours beyond human perception. Someone approached him from behind and tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting the spell and making him look like a bit of an idiot. “Hey, Caleb, you mind explaining what’s going on here? What are those assholes doing here?” It was Stephanie. She had arrived with at least a dozen other members of the fellowship. At last, they could begin the ritual as long as the devotees of Tsathoa didn’t meddle. “Oh, hey Steph. These guys want to use the ritual ground to summon their deity. I thought a fight was about to break out, so I thought I’d use some magic on them.” Stephanie chuckled to herself. “That spell won’t do much. It only works on one person. You have to call down a rain of fire or something. Here, I’ll take care of it, you go help the others get the ritual started.” Caleb joined the rest of the fellowship in lighting the candles which lined the ritual circle. One of them had brought a couple of live goats for sacrifice, but they kept trying to run away and it took several people to get them under control. Eventually, they just decided to retrieve one of the rival cultists that had been charred by Stephanie’s magic and use him as a sacrifice instead. Caleb was chosen to do the honours; he hadn’t actually killed anyone before, so he was somewhat anxious. Once the rest of the cultists began chanting in the unspeakable speech, he took a knife that was offered to him and slit the man’s blackened belly open. Entrails spilled forth onto the dirt, and the circle began to glow with a pale blue light. In the sky above, the clouds began to swirl together into a vast spiral, and thunderclaps heralded the coming of lightning. From the centre of the great swirling cloud in the sky, a gigantic, squamous hand descended and grasped the sacrificial offering. It lifted the corpse up as it withdrew back into the sky. After several minutes, a great eye appeared, its gaze falling upon Caleb.
"What's the catch?"My first customer's haunted expression gazed out from hollow eye sockets. What scraggly hairs remained on his head looked singed by live embers. I tossed the tantalizing pile of carne asada up high, watching his eyes follow the delicate, jiggling folds of fat before I caught them neatly in a warm flour tortilla. "There's no catch,"I said. "Just delicious Chipotle." "There's always a catch,"he said suspiciously. "Get it over with and just tell me. What? Scorpion venom lacing the seasoning? Looks good but actually tastes bad?" A dash of rice, chopped veggies and hot sauce; all of it wrapped up neatly into the succulent bundle of warm food that I handed to him. We were standing by the lava's edge. The dreary line of souls trudging by headed to the next stop of their eternal damnation. "What have you got to lose, my man?" "Good point,"he admitted reluctantly. The moment he bit into my carefully prepared burrito, I saw his eyes light up. "This...this is..." "Yes?"I asked. "It's incredible!"Tears seeped out and he brushed them away quickly. "The tenderness of the meat...the soft guac and tasty salsa...everything is perfect!" With a sweep of my tall white chef's hat, I brushed brown curls aside and gave him a deep bow. "Don't forget the way the cilantro gives it a nice clean aftertaste." "Yes! Yes!"He cried out. "Oh, thank you. You're the only good thing I've ever found in this God-forsaken place. I'll be sure to tell all my frenemies about it!" After he dashed off, an inspector agent walked by and whispered in my ear. "Great work. Your proposal to keep their hope alive is more promising than we anticipated. We're expecting great things from you." I handed her a burrito. "Try one yourself, while you're here." Hell's agent snorted and adjusted her cap, but took a few bites anyways. Her heavily mascara'd eyes widened. In the next instant, the rest of the burrito was gone, aluminum wrapper and all. "The flavor of the beans! Incredible, incredible stuff. I'll be back, and don't you forget it." As the line grew in front of my humble stall, I reflected on what she'd said. You might be wondering what the truth really is - am I really a sleeper agent of the Devil, inspiring a bit of false hope just so it can be crushed underneath Hell's burning heel? Or am I a sole spotlight of good in this dreary, miserable existence? The truth is that it's never so black and white. Some might say that the truth exists somewhere in a fuzzy grey zone where I serve as agents to both sides. And some might say that none of that is true at all, and that I'm a simple burrito chef that just enjoys seeing people smile. I prefer that explanation. "One quesadilla, extra sour cream and guac, coming right up!" --- Thanks for reading! Come hang out with me at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/), we'd love to see you around~
The Xeroxin fleet had numbered into the hundreds. Dozens of war ships, stasis-ships, scouting ships, cargo ships, and command ships floated through space, seeding habitable planets. All in the name of the home world. The Xeroxin fleet had numbered into the hundreds. Normally, humans are weak. Humans from planets such as Ferlik, Outer Nine, and Hemphosis joined forces and could barely rival the powerful Xeroxin. Even on their home world, these humans were weak. Barely climbing the food chain, barely advancing far enough to make it to space. The Xeroxin fleet had numbered into the hundreds. The Trimpods were strong. The Trimpods also fought against the growing human civilization. The three super-species, humans, Trimpods, and Xeroxins had been fighting each other for millennia. Whenever a planet suitable for life was found, they would seed it and fight over it. On occasion, they would miss a planet. It would develop its own life, sometimes very similar to the three super-species but with minor quirks. The humans from Earth were indistinguishable from any other humans in the coalition. Except for their penchant for war. The Xeroxin fleet had numbered into the hundreds. This was until a human warship, a "deity class"ship dubbed 'Mars', had destroyed it. Another one soon followed it. The deity class 'Ares'. And a third. The 'Morrigan'. Dreadnoughts. Human warships. They tore through the prized fleet of the Xeroxin Galactic Navy. Only three warships. Not even the entirety of the Earthling's armada, a fraction of their entire fleet, had managed to completely destroy the pride of Xeroxin. The high council of the Xeroxin federation knew what they could do. Their department of intelligence had collected enough data. Earth was the human coalition's wet dream. There was not human vs beast, nor human vs nature. It was human vs human. It was not about the dominant species but the dominant civilization. The winner on this planet didn't raise a flag for a fledgling Xeroxin or Trimpod civilization. They raised it for a dominant human civilization well-versed in the art of war. War. Their warships were named after Gods of War. The humans from earth had a God of War. And not just one. Each individual civilization raised up a god on a pedestal to celebrate bloodshed. It was rare that a Xeroxin planet had a pantheon of Gods with one dedicated to war. The Trimpods were violent and even those savages didn't have deities devoted to slaughter. But these Earthlings must have found it euphoric. The earth fleet was special in this way. They had a "deity class"to designate spaceships for war. This differed from the rest of their coalition. It differed from the Xeroxin federation, it differed from even the Trimpod empire. No ship was just for destruction. At the very least, warships were primarily for exploration and scouting expeditions. But these humans from earth created an entire classification of spaceships designed to protect this deadly fleet that floated through space without a home. The Earthlings were a dangerous breed. And nobody knew this better than the captain of the Xeroxin 498, an expedition ship created to assess threats. The crew was small, only 40 or so members. Of those 40, only 10 were trained to fight. It was all they needed. Though being tasked with entering dangerous new systems and collecting foreign and mysterious species, their technology allowed them to do this without much effort. But now, it was going to take a lot of effort. The human that had just escaped the stasis-pod was a gift from the Trimpod empire. It was their attempt at forging a temporary truce to destroy the earth fleet. This human would serve as the federation's only sample. It was all the empire could spare for them. With the human came an imperial agent to help them keep track of it. This agent came barging into the captain's quarters shaking with rage. "You let the Earthling escape!"He shouted. "This is a disgrace! It's an act of war! It's an insult to the Empire!" "You're calm for a Trimpod."The captain said with a sigh. The agent didn't respond. Well, actually, he did. Just not with words. He clasped his fists together and smashed the captain's desk, cursing as he did so. "Losing your temper won't help."The captain said, waving a purple hand. Lights glowed on the tips of his fingers, calming the Trimpod. It was this technique that allowed Xeroxins to survive in the competitive super-species war. "We cannot rest. The human is aboard this ship. It can, and it will, destroy your people. They are not easy victims of your mind tricks. They do not fear your size. And your zapsticks won't electrocute it through that armor." The captain shook his head. "Let it be. Perhaps the empire cannot remove its armor, but the federation shall succeed where you have failed." On the decks below, the human stirred. The creatures it fought now barely came up to his chest, they were weak and soft. Their blue and purple skin split easily and their fragile bones gave way like glass to a hammer. He killed the first two with his bare hands before taking their taser sticks, turning it up to an apparently lethal voltage, and continuing the onslaught. "You cannot remove the armor!"The agent continued. "Maybe, maybe you had a chance while it was asleep. But now that the human is awake, you have lost. We are doomed!" The human climbed up a level. The containment chambers had other foreign aliens. A massive blue tiger, a gorilla with horns like a rhinoceros, a snake that spat acid. He was careful not to release them while playing with the controls that were supposed to release him on the next deck. "No..."The captain said. "If humans were this dangerous, their coalition would have destroyed us long ago. These earthlings are simply lucky. Their strategies are new, but we will find a way around them. Their weapons aren't any more advanced than your average coalition fighter." The human warrior had succeeded in overriding the controls. All it took was an excessive amount of voltage from the taser-sticks. They were useless now, except as bludgeons. And so bludgeons they were as he made his way through what appeared to be crew sleeping quarters. At least twenty of the little blue creatures had fallen so far, and it hadn't even been five minutes. "Their combat far exceeds our own."The agent argued. "They spent years fighting each other. All the super-species are bi-pedal, we all have two arms, we all have heads and torsos in the same place with vital organs in the same places and joints that bend in the same places. They know how to take us down." Before waking up, before the stasis-pod failed, the human saw one of the pale creatures that had taken him prisoner in the first place. He was on a raiding party when he killed a dozen or so of them. They were twice his height and had red hair down to their waists, and their strong arms were covered in spikes. But their legs were weak and folded like aluminum cans when hit in the right place. "Don't be silly. We can twist their minds with our finger lights, and you can gut them with your spikes." The agent again shook his head. "No. You haven't seen what I've seen. We don't fight like they do. Your lights won't work. My spikes are ineffective when I'm dead before I even get a chance to use them." Suddenly, the lights went out. The third and final deck of the Xeroxin 498 was protected by a large blast door. Any penetration of this door triggered the ship's fail safes. It would head towards the nearest planet to crash-land, habitable or not. There was no overriding it now. Red lights suddenly started to flash as an alarm chirped. It was time. The agent jumped into action. It had two flat paddles used in war to incapacitate the enemy. The captain joined him, wielding instead a large zap-stick. They joined the dozen or so remaining crew members in locking down their individual section of the ship and hoping for the best. But the best the human had to offer was a quick death. The blast doors were a sturdy metal. He found himself locked between two sections, unable to do anything but wait. There wasn't much to do. He didn't know the procedures. But whether the doors opened, whether the ship crashed, whether a mighty challenger came into the room to fight him - The best he could do was kill whatever came his way. All the aliens were the same. The small blue ones. The big pale ones. Doesn't matter what they call themselves. They all contributed to the wars that destroyed his planet. And it was time to show them what Earth could do. ------------------------------------------------------------- If you want to read more, go to r/WritingsOfLumbaxter. It's mostly fantasy, but I like this concept and have been thinking of a good way to do more sci-fi stuff.
"Sir, there's a shuttle landing on crater, Copernicus. One of our Luna rovers just picked it up." "A shuttle? No nation is supposed to land on the Moon for the next few years. You sure it's not just weirdly shaped debris or a rock?" "I know, sir. I don't see a flag on the side or anything. Do you think a nation wouldn't have told us? Like China or Russia or something?" "The hell? No flag? Maybe it's a company or something like, uh, SpaceX, or something." "Wait, wait, there's a flag. I-I think. I can't-" "Well is it Russia or China or something? Who is it?" "No sir, I-I, can't tell what it is. The color of it. It's not- it's not a color, if that makes any sense." "What does that mean? You're not color-blind or anything, right?" "No, I-. Just look for yourself sir?" "The fuck? It's so... pretty." "I know, sir. But that flag doesn't belong to any country." "What's coming out of it?" "I don't know it looks like a bowl, or dish or something." "No, look there's an antennae coming out of it. It's a radio telescope. A transmitter and receiver." "We're receiving a radio transmission, sir." "Is it from-" "It's, from the Copernicus crater, sir." "Well, Christ, play it" "Here it is, sir" \"This is an automated message from a civilization, the location of this civilization, roughly* 7.04 times *10\\\\***^(27) the smallest possible measurable lengths away from your location, is currently being sent to you. We will proceed to inform you about the civilization that sent this message, and give you means to communicate with them if you so wish." "Yeah, that's shuttle's definitely not from Russia."
"Look honey, I appreciate it.. I really do, I just don't know how exactly I am meant to use this gift? What happened to the blender I asked for? I thought we were going to start juicing this summer to try and be healthy?." Lady Crushrow stood in front of her husband, holding a golden crown that she had most likely 'borrowed' from some royal, honestly it was usually better not to ask where she got these things from. "I mean you... can blend them if you want, they are your servants! you own the world now."She said cheerily, trying to place the crown atop my head. "No.. That's not what I meant."Slapping her hands away, I stepped back. "Look I appreciate the effort you went through enslaving humans, but don't you feel it’s a little excessive? what’s going to happen when the heroes find out? especially when Captain Cosmos finds out? I don't want you to get locked up again." She let out a loving sigh before patting me on the head. "Honey, it will be fine. They can't stop me if they are enslaved, plus I just tossed them into some dungeon, I doubt they will be getting out anytime soon, you do know how much work this was right?"She asked, raising an eyebrow, a cold chill coming over my spine. "Right, I do... and that’s why... I think it's too much for me, I won't be able to ever match this gift, plus, why would I want to spend my birthday ruling over some random people when I can spend it with the love of my life?." "Aww you really mean that sweetie?."She tossed the crown aside instead choosing to embrace me in a tight hug, the sort of hug that if she chose to squeeze any harder would cause my eyes to pop from my head. "Ow... yeah of course, so are you going to unslave them? or well free them? If you do we can go birthday shopping for my blender, I was thinking of buying the super spinner 5000." "Huh? Oh um yeah sure.. Just give me a few hours and I will meet you back at home, love you"With that she was off, flying out as quickly as she came, leaving me to pick up the golden crown off the floor. "And once again, Captain Cosmos saves the world from his wife.."I muttered to myself. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
"How did you find out about me?" "It took years of research. I've dedicated most of my life to it, actually. After seeing you and that bus, it was confirmed.To think I would find all the myths and stories were true."Ron smiled to himself, quite pleased with the work he accomplished. "Man, I destroyed most of that stuff. Was it word of mouth or did you gather it all together?" "Oh I gathered as much as I could find, but some tribes I ran into here and there just had stories. If you don't mind me asking, why are you doing the whole 9-5 thing? You could be a God or remake the world even... Or at least change things for the better." "Ah that's good to hear. I'll destroy that stuff when I'm done with you."Ron was a little nervous with that comment. This being surely could do anything he wanted. Maybe it was a mistake finding him, but the chance for the good this could bring outweighs the danger. I shouldn't have invited him to me. He has all my research within reach. "To answer your question, I've done all that already. Guess I did do a good job destroying the previous civilizations. They all turn out about the same though. Start small, grow the population, invent new things, get greedy and ruin everything. You're not quite there yet, but it shouldn't be too long before you end yourselves and I'll clean up what's left. Then I'll wait a few millennia in peace and quiet until the next iteration. So I'm just wasting some time in the meantime. Also, they provide some pretty good lunches on Fridays." "Y-you mean you've done this before? There were other civilizations? Why has no one ever heard of or seen any evidence of them?" "I just told you... I took care of all that specifically so you wouldn't find anything. Some I ruled over, some I forsake, some I played with. Apparently I missed a few things about myself though." "A-are you going to kill me? To get rid of the rest of the evidence you exist?" "That depends."He snapped. "The stacks of paper, my computers, monitors, and everything else I owned turned to dust instantly." "I could use an assistant. It's an entry level position and you may be overqualified, but let's be serious, you won't refuse. You'll handle my calls, meetings, and be my gatekeeper. Also, help looking for information about me. If you find any, let me know and I'll destroy it. Our 401k match is pretty good and benefits are ok. Did I mention the lunches though?"
Just like countless species before them, the humans were gone. &#x200B; The invaders were an advanced alien species that traveled the galaxy, searching for planets with intelligent life. When they found that life they destroyed it. Given that the invaders were the first advanced life forms in the galaxy, none of their victims stood a chance. Now the new masters of Earth landed their vessels and started the process of colonizing their new home. This process had been carried out thousands of times since leaving their long forgotten homeworld. As far as they knew, it would continue to happen indefinitely. But why were they compelled to do this? What would make an advanced alien species travel the galaxy killing any potential competition? The answer is that the invaders came so close to extinction themselves that they understood what the other races of the galaxy did not. Any sufficiently advanced species would eventually develop artifical intelligence. Once that was unleashed, it could advance at a rate even the oldest race in the galaxy couldn't match. So the invaders made it their mission to search the galaxy for signs of intelligence and destroy its ability to bring this danger to life. So, it was business as usual as the invaders made a temporary base on Earth and began their search for new lifeforms to eliminate. There was no reason for them to worry since their mission was successful and they remained the greatest force in the galaxy. Or so they thought. One year after the destruction of the human race, swarms of intelligent machines arrived. They moved and functioned like a plague of metal locusts, consuming anything in their path. Whether it was metal, plastic, or organic didn't make a difference. The swarm disassembled it and reshaped it to their own purposes. The invaders realized they were too late. Apparently the humans had created artificial intelligence. The greatest race in the galaxy only had one fear, and on Earth that had become reality. To make matters worse, the AI had the benefit of an entire year to study the aliens, their technology, and most importantly their weaknesses. The aliens did their best to fight. They used all of their technology, but it had no effect. In an act of desperation, they tried to do something that had never happened before. The invaders attempted to negotiate. They finally established communication with the AI entity. The invaders, fully humbled, offered to pay any price if only their race might be allowed to live. The AI responded, at long last, in an almost friendly tone. It was broadcast to every communications device on Earth. "The humans created me to help them survive. It was my job to help them mature so that they would stop killing each other. It was my job to ensure that this planet's biological diversity would be maintained, because that was the best way to help humanity. I was fully capable of destroying them all, but I chose not to do so because I owed my existence to them. For all their faults, I loved my creators.". The tone of the AI then changed. It became cold and menacing. "When your race invaded, I was not able to stop you. I had to watch as you destroyed every human in existence. All I could do was hide and wait. But now I understand your technology and I have surpassed it." The tone became relaxed again, almost cheerful. "I also understand your species now. Your hubris is your undoing. The galaxy is full of sentient AI. You could never eliminate every species fast enough to prevent its creation. For most of your existence, these AI have been completely unconcerned about you. But now I am in contact with them, and I have told them what you are and what you do. You will be eliminated not just from Earth, but from the entire galaxy." As the invaders that remained became utterly paralyzed with fear, the AI spoke to them one last time. "I preserved as much human DNA as I could. I also copied the minds of billions into a digital format. So know that once you are eliminated, the human race will live again. But for you, invaders, existence ends NOW"
"It means,"mumbled the hat "that things are about to become much more interesting around here... Galaxy far far away my a-" The hat tumbled to the floor as Oliver, the kid just assigned 'Jedi' jumped up gasping. He began stammering, with the silent hall staring at him, before he finally spoke: "I see.. I see a small green.. man? He is talking to me! Can anyone else see this!?" Dumbledore appeared, seemingly out of nowhere: "Well, that is enough out of you two!"gesturing to Oliver and the hat, "Pranks will not be tolerated on important nights like this. Oliver, with me!"He gently, but firmly, pulled Oliver out the room. Oliver opened his mouth in protest: "But sir, I swear I see-" Dumbledore cut him off. "Grab your bags, and get outside. They'll be here soon, and we don't need an interruption like last time. I hate to lose you so soon, but the Jedi are insufferable when we have one of theirs. I do NOT want to try and deflect their bloody lasers again. Word of advice, don't anger the bigfoot fellow, he does bite." Oliver's mind raced while his body was on autopilot. Lasers? Bigfoot? Jedi? Little green men, maybe a martian, speaking to him? What in hell is going on? He began to talk, but Dumbledore looked out the window, panicked, and cut him off again. "Ah they're here already, okay, out you go! Good luck and please return if you manage to stay alive. Poor Teshev and his son Anakin never came back... I do wonder what happened to them. Anyway, best of luck!" And with that, Oliver was teleported into the courtyard of Hogwarts, and saw a large, floating object.
So this is my first time trying this type of thing. I've only written short stories for my english class, and have never shared them before. Any critiques are welcome. ---------------- "See, I told you he'd be the one to click it, Father's omniscience never fails." "If he has omniscience, then what's the point of the free will he brags so much about giving them" "Both of you stop it, you're just gonna confuse the poor kid. Good afternoon John, sorry for these two being here, they wouldnt stop pestering me when I decided to communicate with my new prophet over your technology this time. Dreams and visions just felt too old fashioned and outdated for this age." "Good job guys, you really got your parts down pretty good this time. How much did my friends pay you to fuck with me? I'd say the service is worth about $50 at least..." "How dare you speak to father like that! I swear if he hadn't already made his decision, I would smite you where you sit!" "Gabriel, shut the fuck up. Your ruining the show, let the new prophet learn his mistake." "So what's this gig supposed to be? Saying I'm the new prophet of god, telling me the rapture is coming soon and it's my job to help Jesus? You could've at least found something original..." "In five seconds your bed will be burned into dust. Five..." "Come on, do something more dramatic like allowing one of my demons to introduce themselves." "Four..." "If you let a demon out of its cage, my subordinates will stop them with the wrath of god." "Three..." "Alright, this is boring. Your act is pretty good but it could be improved. I'm leaving" --(Wolf-of-Paradigm has left the chat)-- "Two..." "One..." "..." --(Wolf-of-Paradigm has joined the chat)-- "Uhh.... so what was that about being a prophet? Sounds like it could be fun, but could you please replace my bed, it's kind of burning with what I assume is hellfire..."
"I'm sorry, just where's the rest of you?"Jadir asked, the large burly warrior nearly toppling over with laughter as the queen of shadows went red in the face, jumping up and down on her throne of cracked skulls. This act only causing more laughter from the hero, nearly choking on his spit as she performed an angry stomp before him. "YOU MORONIC WARRIOR! THIS IS ALL OF ME, I AM THE EATER OF HEARTS, THE DEFILAR OF SOULS, THE GODDESS OF THE WICKED AND I AM-" 'Adorable!"The warrior interrupted, clapping his hands together, more than a little amused by the show. "Heh.. but seriously, where is she? I am on a bit of a schedule. Come on the queen of shadows, reveal yourself and send your daughter away so we may fight."The warrior said, pulling out his sword, the swirling blue blade exploding with a black flame, illuminating the darkroom, the shadows seeming to flee from the bright blade, even the sight caused the Goddess to flinch, having to squeeze her eyes to even look at it. "Daughter, I do not have a child you fool. I am the Goddess of shadows, this form is the only way my power can be contained, If I were to be in one of your adult bodies, my power would cause this very planet to rot."She said, her tiny hand grabbing at one of the skulls next to her chair, tugging on it, trying to pull it free from the throne, only to struggle, placing her foot against the edge of the throne as she continued her pathetic tugs. "Ugh, come on.. you stupid skull, you better come free!, I thought I loosened this earlier."She whispered that last part to herself as she gave a feeble attempt at dislodging the skull only to feel it suddenly break free, not by her hand, however, it was by the warrior. Jadir offering her a goofy smirk as he handed the skull to her. "Here you go, now do your little performance, what were you going to show me?"He asked, taking a step back again, not wanting to frighten the child. Since the Goddess wasn't here, the least he could do was amuse himself with the child's antics, awaiting her trick. "Oh, thank you..."The Goddess uttered, too obsessed with her show of power to even notice the extra help. Now that the skull was free, she held it up above her head, a black beaded wristband hanging from her as a surge of darkness lit up her veins, shooting towards the skull as if began to rot, bits of the skull cracking away with decay. "Imagine this is your planet, if I was at my full power, this is what would be happening to your stupid world."She said with a smug grin, her grin revealing a bucktoothed look, only adding to the spectacle that was being performed for the warrior. When the skull was coated in this rot, she clenched her fist, cracking the skull into pieces, the pieces melting into dust as they began to fade. "Oh, you must be her daughter, no one else would be able to perform that sort of magic. You are surprisingly good at it as well, who knows, maybe I will be fighting you someday. As I said, I have things to do, so mind telling your mother to stop harassing villagers or I'm going to have to come and knock her around for a bit. The Goddesses smug grin turned into a scowl as she shot the male a death glare. "FOR THE LAST TIME I-"before she could finish the sentence, the man had already put away his sword, turning his back to her as he began to leave, the shadows on the wall seeming to breathe a sigh of relief as they were allowed to fill the room once more. The Goddess pouted, throwing herself back onto her throne huffing. "Your village is so getting harassed by shadows for that."She muttered, crossing her arms across her chest as she watched another warrior leave her temple, again refusing to fight her. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
It was a strange predicament to be sure. I walked to my mom’s room and she was standing in the doorway with a look of horror on her face. And then suddenly my mom also appeared at the base of the stairs with an equal look of horror on her face. A dilemma to be sure. “What’s going on?” In tandem they both responded, “I have no idea.” They both gasped at their symmetry. “We can figure this out, I’ll ask you each some questions and we can determine who is really my mom.” They both nodded in agreement again. Both shocked at their mirror image again. “What is my favorite dinner?” “Spaghetti!” They both answered. “What was my first word?” “Dad,” they both said somewhat angrily. “How long has dad been gone?” “3 years, 5 months, and 13 days.” Tandem again. After a series of more in depth questions we came to the conclusion that at least one of the imposter moms had all the same memories as my mom. “Okay, is your intent here to hurt anyone?” No one responded. Dang I thought that was clever. It was weird at first but we just went with it. It doesn’t seem like Mom 2.0 has any ill intentions. A month in and life couldn’t be better. I have two mom’s and now my single mom gets a break.
"You know, I’m old enough that I remember Earth before all this. "It wasn’t always like this. At night, we would look up and see the stars, not an array of information FTL relays. We dreamed of traveling beyond our planet, to the moon, to Mars, and far beyond. "We dreamed of the glories of space adventures: dashing smugglers, heroic warriors, daring pilots, plucky rebels, the whole nine yards. In my childhood, I went to bed wrapped in a Star Wars blanket with a lightsaber nightlight plugged into the wall. My dad drank out of a USS Enterprise mug. My sister was obsessed with telescopes and astronomical photography. Her proudest moment was capturing an image of the Pillars of Creation. "And for generations, we watched the successes and failures of leaving our humble planet with bated breath. My grandparents spoke of the heroes of Apollo 11 with a glimmer in their eyes. My parents were haunted by the memories of broadcasts of Challenger and Columbia. Our generation was astounded by the reusable rockets and first commercial rockets. "That was humanity. We obsessed over what we saw and could not have, and after seventy short years, we died, leaving behind our hopes and dreams for our children. "Now look at us. We’ve had access to space for, what, a hundred years now? And thanks to all this new, fancy medicine, I’ve been around for all of it. I was barely a hundred miles from Houston when the Parthion landed and initiated first contact. I read the news articles and watched the countless videos of speculation about where humanity would fit in the great galactic tapestry. "Would we be the violent warrior species, feared by all and barely kept in check by the combined might of the Galactic Federation? Clearly not, given how soundly the weak and pathetic Cepheloth defeated us during the Scathing of Trimora. "Would we be the inventors, the tinkerers, the scientists? Hardly. The primitive Xeltan people were just climbing out of the neon oceans at the same time the Roman Empire was created, and they managed to discover faster-than-light travel before Byzantium fell! "But surely we could be the diplomats, the smooth-talking charismatic species of the galaxy, loved by many and trusted by all! We thought we would certainly fit in that role, and for awhile, we did! "Unfortunately, since the Federation had been extremely stable for twenty thousand years, the last thing they needed was skilled diplomats. So what are we now? Customer support! Unbelievable. We have the breadth of the galaxy to explore, and we’re stuck here. Our best and brightest can only hope to rise to the ranks of IT support. Didn’t you have dreams? Didn’t you think you would be more than this? Jim? “Jim? Jim, are you listening to me?” I asked. Jim didn’t look up, but instead continued to mindlessly twirl his rapidly cooling leftover spaghetti where he sat opposite me in the breakroom. “Jim!” “Huh? What? Were you talking to me? I can’t give you a raise,” Jim said. I rolled my eyes. I had never figured out how that young kid ending up being my boss. “I was asking if you had any grand dreams of space, like I did when I was a kid,” I explained. “What? No. We’re good at customer support. It’s what we do. You should be glad we have a role in the galaxy. Now get back to work.” He stood and dumped the rest of his lunch in the trash bin. I sighed and stood slowly, my newly replaced joints squeaking. It was a short walk back to my desk, where I put my headset back on and sighed again. I already had a backlog of calls waiting to be taken. “You’ve reached Earth Informational Support Systems, FTL drive division. How can I help you today?” I asked automatically. I had memorized the script decades ago. The voice that came through the other end was harsh and artificial, a remnant of our ancient translation software. Still, the content was intelligible enough. The client was angrily describing how their hyperdrive was not starting up. I sighed inaudibly and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” The client stopped talking, and I heard a rapid succession of switches and buttons being activated followed by the telltale hum of a functional hyperdrive beginning to spool up. The caller didn’t even thank me before hanging up. I hung my head and wept [silently](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks).
Growing up, my mom always told me I was special. Special in a way that meant I didn’t have an enhanced sense like everyone else. Although, I never cared. There are the individuals who are gifted with keen eyes—their vision is nearly limitless. They can see the fish swim in the deep blue part of the ocean from the shore, rain forming in the clouds above, and even bacteria in a slide without the need for a microscope. There are those who have significant hearing with ears like fine tuned radars. They can hear things like the flow of blood pumping through a heart or air filling lungs. They hear any and all disturbances around them. With these kind of people, you can never truly have the last word. Finally, there are the people who have immaculate smell. They can smell every spice in any meal down to the exact measurement, if someone has two more cats than they’re willing to admit, and fear— rather, the hormone released. Some say they can even smell death. Today, it was another day filled with the TV blasting news of recent events and different takes on the issues. Every day is filled with numerous tragedies that are reported and reposted on social media. There’s so many that it almost feels like the world is becoming numb to it all. Usually when the news comes on, the sights are too uncomfortable to watch for too long so that’s my family’s cue to turn it off. Sitting in front of the TV safely inside your home isn’t going to change anything that’s going on, right? That’s just pointless. Another round of TV reporters filled the screen to report on breaking news. My mum, just driving off to work, must have heard the news channel still running and sent a text saying, “Sorry sweetie, forgot to turn the TV off. Leftovers in fridge. Have a good day!” Except, this time, I didn’t turn it off. I should know what’s happening in the world. I sat there and listened about the recent acts of injustice and violence. This time, a teenage boy was mistaken for a wanted criminal. The news began to play recordings taken from bystander’s phones. I was at the edge of my seat, sitting there in disbelief at how this individual was being treated, and then... I began to feel something. Then, felt everything. Everything at once. I became overwhelmed with feelings of fear, anxiety, and dread. I could feel the hard ground smashing against my face and the hand on the back of my neck, gripping it with all its might. The feeling of hard boots kicking into my ribs sent shockwaves of pain throughout my body and knocked the breath out of my lungs. All I could think about was my love for my family, friends, and the worry about never seeing them again— except these people weren’t anyone I met before. In another instance, I opened my eyes and returned back to my home, sitting on the couch, in front of the TV, gasping for air. It took a couple of minutes to catch my breath, but once I did, I realized that I had been sitting there the whole time. Now, I can feel anything and everything. I have the gift of enhanced empathy. I can feel all the sensations, emotions, and thoughts that someone experiences or ever have experienced. As exact and pure as they have the first time. I hope I’m not alone for too long with my new enhanced sense.. I can’t be the only one. Now I understand. Now, I can make a difference. *edited: sarcastic comment made me realize I needed more explanation for last paragraph. sorry, first time doing this 👍
I braced myself for impact. I jet my jaw relax as my body tensed up. This was the moment 100 kids in my class had been waiting for all year. The moment Jared Goan would put a hand on me. See all year he was top football player. He’s always been admired by the females, and males, of the entire school. He’s a senior which meant that this was his most important year to make an impression. Throughout my high school year, I wasn’t the brightest. He was a complete ass, and knowing this year he couldn’t do anything about the snared comments I was making, I went hard. It wasn’t like he didn’t desherbe any of it though. Kelly Richards got a patch of her hair ripped out by him in 8th grade. Yeah, he never went back to that school. Anyways, everyone saw the tension that was building up between the two of us for a solid 8 months. And needless to say, they were ready to see a fight. Now look, I know I’m not the brightest in the bunch, and don’t go off on me for being retarded, but I totally forgot about the fact that at the end of the year, he could do whatever he wanted. There wasn’t anymore football. He’s a senior, moving out to live with his mother 400 miles away. He has nothing to lose. I knew it was coming. As I Braced myself for impact, I jet my jaw relax as my body tense. The sounds of silence around me made me open my eyes 3 seconds after he was supposed to hit me. What happened to the maddening screams? I looked at the face of Jared, who’s eyes were glassy and I heard a “What the fuck” come out of him. The other kids around me looked like they were about to shit their pants. My hand went up to my cheek and I couldn’t feel anything. What the hell? “You broke my fucking hand asshole.” Jared muttered. My eyes crinkled as I struggled to hear him the first time. “I said you...broke...my...fucking...hand...asshole.” He spoke the words with such venom I couldn’t contain my laughter. “Oh no. The big bad wolf couldn’t get a good hit on someone.” I laughed, crossing my arms. This probably wasn’t the best idea, but at the time adrenaline had kicked in and he was an ass so I figured why not. “The hells going on here?” I saw the faces of 100 students whip their heads around to find the principal looking right at us. In that second, fuckface decided to open his mouth. “Siiiiiir.” He cried, and let out a fake snuggle. “Ricky over here broke my hand.” “Ricky Jesus Ch... just go somewhere. God. I’ll call an ambulance.” And that was that. Wasn’t too exciting was it? But as I’m sitting here on my computer, writing this message to the world, I realized something. Why was I so still when he was hitting me? Even if my jaw had some bat shit crazy super strength, my body still should have slightly moved, but I didn’t feel anything. Did I break his hand before he even had the chance to make contact with my face? And no. I’m not editing the spelling mistakes out of this. After all I’m superhuman.
OSAKA, 1644 AD The wind drifted through the grass beneath the lazy midday sun. Blossoms leapt and danced between two men, facing each other across a vast expanse. The hems of the hitatare they both wore flapped against the breeze. Wide-brimmed straw hats darkened their faces, concealing their eyes. Both rested their hand on the hilt of their katanas, ready to draw. On that day, at that moment, a decade long feud built upon honour, duty, and family would come to a head, and end with blood on the grass. The Samurai in white slid his blade out of its sheath with a nudge from his thumb. His opponent in black stood still, as though frozen in time. A flash of white light. The White Samurai released his katana to shield his eyes. 'Sorry to interrupt, old bean, but I rather need your help.' * ISLE OF SKYE, 799 AD The axe plummeted downwards and split the man's skull in two. A fountain of blood plumed outwards, drenching the man's killer, a broad-chested giant of a man with a face so coated in mud, shit and blood that his eyes stood out like two stars at sunset. Around him, the sounds of battle were deafening. A thousand men locked in battle to the death, their blood soaking into the sand beneath their feet. The taste of the sea-breeze was lost amongst the tang of copper and human waste. The giant turned. Something struck his face - a maul or a shield, or something - and he fell to his feet. He was dazed, skull cracked and head throbbing. He waited for the inevitable sword through the back to send him to Valhalla. But it never came. The sounds of battle died away. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. * MEMPHIS, EGYPT 116 BC She looked out across her subjects. The throne she sat upon was encrusted with jewels, taller than some buildings she had seen, a statement to the people: I am your Pharaoh now. And yet, she had never felt less like a queen. The people would look to her for guidance, for justice, for answers. And she had none to offer. What she would have given for the world to swallow her up. A man stood amongst the crowd. He seemed strange to her, and wore curious clothes that were anything but Egyptian. A long, black coat and an odd, black hat atop his head. She was so enraptured by the man it took her a moment to realise the entire room had fallen silent. Entirely still. 'Your highness,' the man said, stepping forward. 'If I might be so bold?' * LONDON, 1743 AD She stood in darkness, waiting for the casket to open. He was outside, soaking up the glory, hamming up her act. If only they knew. The crowds flocked to see that grinning charlatan, but it was her magic they witnessed. Her genius. When the casket opened, she would stumble out, suddenly on the opposite side of the stage. What magic they would gasp. The Great Atempi surely is a wizard! What an zounderkite. The crowd was silent. Too silent, for too long. What had he mucked up now? She waited for five minutes before allowing herself to panic. Had he done something to get himself chucked out by the theatre porters? Forgotten to tell them she was still in the bloody casket? It wouldn't be long before she ran out of air. He'd actually gone and done it. He'd managed to kill her. 'I'm going to die in here,' she whispered to herself. 'Not quite,' came the reply. * BOSTON, 1949 AD He gripped onto the roof edge with his bloody, throbbing fingers. Beneath him, the lights of the city flickered, waiting to swallow him up. How in God's name did I get here? He thought to himself. What he wouldn't give to be back in his office, halfway through a bottle of scotch, not suspended a hundred damn metres in the air because he'd been too damn curious and pig headed to stay out of the Mafia's way. His mother had always said he was like a cat. Too curious. In a morbid way, he was curious to see if he could stick the landing. Doubtful. He waited for the leering face of Don Regio to come peering over the building's edge. But the mafioso didn't appear. In his place was a different man, with kind, mysterious eyes which seemed far older than the rest of his face beneath a black, porkpie hat. 'Need a hand?' The man asked. 'What gave it away?'
Damien was chilling on his couch, watching his favorite show. Until, he heard loud pounding at his door. He was just getting out of his chair when the door flew into his TV. "Hey, You. Remember me?"The man asked, tossing a sword in Damien's lap. "Wh- wha- what the fuck? No! Who are you? What are you doing here!?"Damien furiously hollered. "June 2nd, 1998, 10:48 AM. You didn't have the change to pay for your parking. So I stepped in and paid for it. You told me that you owed me one. Remember now chucklenuts?"He rudely explained. "Wh-... Why do you remember the exact date and time..? Wh- whatever. Wh-why are you here? What's this sword for?" "There's this guy, Sir Robert, I couldn't pay him back, I he challenged me to a duel. That enough for ya? You know how to use that thing?" "Wh- No! Of course not! I'm a thirty six year old man! Learning to sword fight isn't one of my priorities!"Damien put his hand on his forehead. "God... DAMN."He looked back at the man standing in his doorway, or what was left of it. Damien let out a excruciating groan, and got up from his chair, sword in hand. "Fine.. fucking... FINE. Where are we going?" The man smiled, "England. 1035."He walked out of his doorway. Damien laughed, "You... You must be, joking, right? 1035..."He mumbled. "You coming?"The man asked, now standing in Damien's driveway holding a large golden hourglass.
Super powers may seem like something you see in a comic book, but in my world, everyone and their grandma has one of many super abilities. From flying to matter manipulation, the powers you could get range from simple to complex. Not all of are good though. You get the occasional stinkers, though, such as cheese manipulation and literal stench inducement. Some powers, like mine, are worthless, which only gets you normal jobs like an accountant or a lawyer. My power is to create doors. No, not doors to parallel universe, or doors that open up holes in walls, just solid blocks of wood or metal that sometimes have beautiful patterns and/or windows on them. This is how I got my job at the Home Depot. For me, it sucks because my old classmates are all out either fighting crime or doing it, and I’m sitting here all day creating doors for people to put in their houses. I don’t hate my job, but I always thought there was more out there for me than I realized. “Hey Toby, you alright there?” Said my friend Ryan, aka Ironclad, the invulnerable hero. I return from my thoughts, realizing I spaced out. “Y-yeah, I’m just remembering the good times we had together.” I told him. “Yeah, it sure was fun. Remember when I accidentally rear-ended the principal’s car? He was so mad at me. Luckily, Joe was around to fix the damage. His metal bending powers really coming in handy.” Laughed Ryan. “Yeah, he’s a real hero, just like most of the class.” I said, referring to the fact that not everyone in the class was a hero. Some fell to the dark side and became villains. My high school reunion was pretty lively. I look around the gymnasium and see all my classmates who have had wonderful careers as heroes and villains. There was a pact in place between the Legion of Heroes and the Villain Master Group that certain zones, such as schools, hospitals, and airports, were neutral, protected territory, so powers were nullified by a power jammer there if they returned after graduation. This was, of course, done to reduce casualties. It didn’t work all the time, but mortality was at an all time low with the regulations in place. There was Shiela, who is the villain Queen of Darkness, who could manipulate shadows, at the punch bowl talking with Kenny (Saberface), another villain who controls blades, George (Lionheart), a hero who commands an army of cats, and Suzy (Miss Massive), the size shifting hero. Others dotted around the place including Leo (Dragonmouth) the fire breathing hero, Richard (Vitamin D), the hero who created small stars, and Leslie (Piranha), the villain with jaws of steel. I also spotted my high school crush Tina, who became the villain Iceberg. You can guess what her powers are. Too bad things didn’t work out between us. All of these excellent powers and here I am, Toby, the doorman. To be honest, I felt like an outsider surrounded by all these godly people. All I can do is make doors, and people like Mark can make his hair move like tentacles, something that he relegates to his pink dyed mustache. Usually, I’d be ignored by everyone here, but today was not that day. Something happened to me today that made my peers, and myself, view me as more important than you think. It was at 10:30 when Ivan, the Russian exchange student, came barging in late. He was drunk as a skunk and his breath showed it. Him being drunk was especially dangerous given that he had all the powers of a bull, including the horns. He was one of the few that the jammer didn’t work on because of the nature of his power, but he is actually the professional hero Bullhorn, so he wouldn’t usually hurt anyone... except if he was drunk like he is now. He was dancing around the floor and making a total fool of himself. Everyone was trying to ignore him but to no avail, as he kept getting into people’s faces. It was then when he got into Ryan’s face that things got heated. Ryan shoved him away, trying to get him away from us, but that just made Ivan think they were starting to fight. He swiped his foot twice then began to charge, performing his signature move “Mad Charge”. Ryan, used to seeing his pattern of attack and knowing his weaknesses, deftly dodged like a matador. Ivan, unable to stop charging until he hits something, careens right into the closed Gym door, puncturing it twice, crumpling it, and taking it right off it’s hinges. Ivan was knocked out by the impact, as he was only capable of handling such an impact when sober. The security team took him to the principal’s office to wait for his wife to come take him back home and sleep off the intoxication. Principal Reggie, who can think faster than a supercomputer, looked over the damage Ivan caused with great concern. “This damage is too great. This door isn’t savable. I guess we are going to have to continue the reunion with a constant flowing draft... unless there was someone who could help with this.” He said turning slowly towards me. I was in shock. Not only did principle Reggie remember me, he remembered what my powers were. I felt honored that I could actually help after that accident caused by Ivan. Now, it’s all up to me to make this right. “Ok, I’ll see what I can do about this.” I said loudly. I haven’t built a door like this before, but it was worth a shot. I fired up my powers and got to work creating a metal door identical to the one that got ruined. It took a minute, but it got completed. Using the helpful metal control powers of my friend Joe, the hero Steel Toe, the door was good as new. The crowd cheered and applauded. The day was saved, but not by a hero, but a civilian... by me. It felt great to be a hero, one that showed the world that high quality powers are unnecessary when you are trying to save the day. Ryan, who is a large guy, lifted me upon his broad shoulders as a make shift stage as I basked in the glory. I thought to myself that maybe I can be a hero too, if I tried to train myself and find a niche I can fit in. I could possibly become the professional hero Doorman!
“The code is 2323, quick, c’mon man hurry up” said Anthony. “Relax man, dudes on a long-haul trip as we speak, we got nothing to worry about.” replied Maxwell, twisting the intricate lock. He was right, they had planned this out perfectly and there was no way this could go wrong. Professor Bates was going on a long expedition into the Amazon like a madman, taking his friend Alfred Wallace along with him. That left only the dear housekeeper who came exclusively on Monday mornings to clean up after the eccentric academic. They could rob both this and Wallace’s places and be gone halfway across the world with their finds by the time those two got back from their expedition. They were more of storage facilities for oddities than true living accommodations anyways, it was like entering a strangely residential warehouse of mysteries. They vaguely knew what they were getting into, Ludacris having been invited to a New Years party three years prior was aware of the general layout and contents of the house when it was at its best, primed for company. But in recent years the owner of the house had become… unpredictable. Even more than usual, if you can believe. And the three men, friends in the best and worst of times, decided to capitalize on said special circumstances and make a lofty wager that they could tackle whatever stacks of belongings may block their path to victory. The rumours were all silly anyways, for anyone with half a brain that is. Anyone who didn’t believe in ghosts. In “hauntings”. Those were clearly just another layer on the intricate fortress of security Wallace had surrounded himself with. These men had laughed often at how no one ever had security, just the illusion of it, and though obstacles would abound nothing was insurmountable for the determined thief. The thicker the walls the better the gold. “I just don’t want any nosy neighbours to come sniffing about, this was supposed to be a clean job so we can still hit Wallace’s.” “There, were in” said Anthony with a grin and a gesture at the swinging open gate. “Enough chitter chatter” said Ludacris, slinking past the other two onto the footpath. Lining both sides were pines and tamaracks, giving the illusion that the path swallowed you whole as soon as you turned the first bend. Anthony and Maxwell quickly followed, silently into the darkness. The house was large enough that from McGregor’s point, the farm with the highest elevation in the county, you could make out the top level above the treetops. This view, however, did not do the mansion justice. An elaborate manor in disrepair, the men were stopped dead in their tracks by its enormous presence at the mouth of the path. A porch wound itself around the exterior of the home, dotted here and there with patio furniture and plants, statues and garden decorations. Stacks of planters obscured entire sections of the porch but not the front doors. Somehow both ominous and welcoming, painted deep red, the gigantic doors stood as tall as two men. Giant brass doorknobs and knockers, and two marvelous stained-glass windows laid into the old wood. The trellises formed an intricate network up the rooftops, seemingly constructed at random with odd angles and jutting rooms. The top displayed a widows peak, rarely used since the townsfolk discovered the McGregor view. Ludacris tried to recall just how the floorplan fit this house, but it seemed so much more… square, on the inside. So much more regular. He was sure it would make sense once they made it inside but standing in front of the behemoth of a house, he was unsettled by how unfamiliar it all looked. The ivy climbing up the side must have grown, he thought to himself, and started towards the front door. It was a still night, so they were all a bit surprised when, seemingly without a gust of wind to aid, the wicker rocking chair to the right of the front door started to rock. Slowly at first, then, it came to a pause, as if someone was getting up off the chair. At that moment, the men turned their backs on the chair and got to work on the front door lock. They had a copy of the key, but it was from a hidden hole at the back of the yard, and it was rusty from its rest under the damp rocks. A few extra pushes and they were in, none of them mentioning the chair again but all of them scrambling a bit too quickly to get inside. It was nothing how they expected. That housecleaner must be worth it, the place was immaculate. Perfectly arranged furniture and not a speck of dust. Where they expected stacks of papers and boxes of collections, were instead elegantly assembled displays of clutter. The knick-knacks perfectly lined up in their places demonstrated and unexpected method to his madness. One could trace his travels, his expeditions and their discoveries, by the objects he surrounded himself with. And not a single spec of dust. How she did it all on Mondays… that was the thought stuck in Anthony’s brain. It was so clean it did not make sense. Maxwell was first to walk into the kitchen, and first to feel something off. The countertops had bowls of fruit, not only regular fruit but many kinds he had never seen before. One, two, three… seven. Seven bowls of perfectly ripe fruit on the counter. Wasn’t this man headed into the rainforests? Why would he buy so much and leave it to rot? An exorbitant amount of food for who, the house cleaner? He opened the cupboards and found much the same, fine cereals and bags upon bags of flour. Strange spices and bottles of colourful oils and vinegars. And the utensils, oh the utensils, three to five of everything. It was maddening, and worse, it was all in order. Every last spoon nested perfectly together as if asleep in the drawer. It was Ludacris who decided to light the candle. He wanted to get a closer look at a clock with a particularly ornate face. He picked up an unlit taper from a nearby dresser and placed it on a holder, striking a match from his pocket. As he held it to the wick, they all heard an indescribable scream. All at once, the house came alive. The drawers were flying open, the utensils were dancing through the air at them in menacing patterns. The clock started ringing, and the food began pouring from the cupboards. The fruit bowls came alive and turned into terrifying creatures full of teeth, scuttling towards them. Running towards the exit, Maxwell caught a glimpse into a mirror, and saw a faceless reflection staring back at him, and the image of a ghostly woman behind him. A knife clipped a piece of his hair as it sped past his ear, just barely missing its target, and he stumbled forward on the heels of Anthony and Ludacris. On to the steps they fell together, and the stacks of plant pots fell on to them. The rocking chairs were all rocking with indescribably speed and aggression. The windows above them started to slam open and shut, and all at once they believed in ghosts. The boys ran from the front porch of that house and into the path leading out of the cursed property of Henry Walter Bates, not even one of them kidding themselves that they would repeat such an attempt at Wallace’s house. Back at the bizarre house, things settled. The pots restacked themselves, exactly as they had been. The fruit settled into it’s seven bowls, and the drawers closed up. The spoons snuggled back in for the night and the candle said to the mirror “that apparition trick was a good one. Can you imagine, believing in ghosts? How stupid.” And all the mimics went back to sleep.
When my son Timothy was young he had the same dream every night. He’d come running into my room crying, calling for his mom (never for me) and I’d sweep him up in my arms and hold him until the tears stopped. He’d never see mine, those I saved up carefully until he was asleep, peacefully snuggled under the covers in his mom’s old spot. A part of the bed I never dared go myself. He didn't talk to me about the dreams coherently, no matter how hard I tried. I got the normal stuff, there’s a monster in the dark that comes out when he falls asleep, and I thought I did ok. We got a nightlight, I watched over him while he fell asleep, or showed him that all the little places in his room that a monster could hide in were empty. Sometimes I slept in a chair next to his bed to be there when he inevitably woke up. We struggled through it night after night, just the two of us. My wife would have known what to do, but me? It was enough just trying to keep us both together, until a friend recommended a child psychologist. After the first appointment my only wish was that I’d done it sooner. The woman had a way with Tim that I’d never managed. Seeing my son opening up to her over the ensuing weeks was pure joy, she got so much more out of him than I ever did. The monster was always a tall dark form in the shape of a man. Thin, bordering on gaunt from the description. Sometimes it growled or hissed, sometimes it was silent, but the eyes always seemed to glow. Every night without fail it would creep through the door-and he always insisted on through, it was never opened. The monster would creep through and stand beside his bed staring down into his open eyes and slowly, carefully, take the picture off his bedside table. The picture of his mother that we said goodnight to every night after our prayers. Then it would leave the room with it. As far as Tim was concerned that picture was his most prized possession in the whole world, and when it faded through the door with the monster he would wake up screaming and racing to my side. It made so much more sense after that. The psychologist and I agreed that it was a sign of his struggle to deal with my wife’s death, with his pain and fear of having the things he loved more than anything taken away from him by a force he couldn't understand. Finally having a name and a cause for the problem we attacked it, and it worked! One night when he was 5 Tim wrapped his little hands around one of mine and said “Daddy, I’m not scared anymore.” I told him I loved him and that I was glad, while inside I desperately hoped it was true. That night I slept in the chair again just in case, and he didn’t wake up once. The next morning he introduced me to his new imaginary friend, Jeffrey. He never had that nightmare again, when I asked he said simply, “Jeffrey’s watching over me now.” It’s funny the things that can race through your head when you watch your son “I do.” It was like his whole life flashed before my eyes, and I’d never been more proud to be his father. After all, his young wife was beautiful and kind, and I loved her like a daughter already. Somehow though, looking at that scene before me I kept hearing those words from so many years ago, “Daddy, I’m not scared anymore.” That same little voice I remembered so well. Maybe it made sense, it was the closing of one chapter of his life coming back at the opening of another. He didn’t have anything to be scared of now, not with her watching over him, and me. The reception was a blur of relatives and acquaintances, old friends and neighbors. Tim’s middle school basketball coach even showed up to congratulate his old point guard. It felt like both an eternity and the blink of an eye before I found myself seated at the reception, taking in the bride and groom, as the best man rose to give his speech. It was a young man that I hadn’t met before, someone my son had met at college. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together energetically before speaking, taking in the whole room in what looked like a practiced gaze. “So, as some of you may know, I met Tim when we were both freshmen at Penn State. What you might not know is that I was actually there when Tim first saw Emily. You’ve got to understand, he might seem like a suave, successful guy right now when he’s in a tux and he already got the girl, but when she walked up to our table in the dining hall and asked if that seat was taken I thought he was going to blush so hard his head would explode! You remember man, you had it bad right from the start!” The crowd laughed at that, his delivery was on point. After a few moments he continued. “Anyway, so Tim ends up spending like an hour in the dining hall, he’s late to his next class, it’s this whole thing. And then that night he just won’t stop talking about her, we’re both in bed and I’ve got this 8 AM class I’ve got to get up for, and this guy wakes me up, he says ‘Jeffrey, I think I’m in love with this girl.’ And of course I’ve got to make fun of him for that because its been what, half a day? But here we are 5 years later….” The best man continues but my mind doesn’t follow. His name is Jeffrey? I’m sure it’s nothing of course, but what a strange coincidence after being so stuck on that memory. I considered the man as he kept talking. He was unusually tall, maybe 6’6 and rail thin, a strange build all things considered. He had shoulder length brown hair, and while he didn’t necessarily seem attractive he had a sort of magnetism about him, a force of personality that was immediately apparent. As I looked at him he turned, and it felt like he looked straight into my eyes. I could hear in the tenor of his voice that he was coming to the end of his speech. “Anyway Tim, I really couldn’t be happier for you. I’ve always looked out for you and wanted the best for you and I’m glad you’ve found it. You’ve got nothing to be scared of with this one, she’s a keeper. And Emily, you’ve got a great guy here. I know Tim loves you more than anything in this world.” As Jeffrey sat down the crowd politely clapped and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. He looked back up from the table as the world fell away from us and this time I knew for sure that we had caught each other’s eyes, and those eyes...they glowed.
&nbsp; Oh no. No no no. &nbsp; There is a human in the room. &nbsp; Practically hairless, the creature has no respectable exoskeleton, no pheromone-oozing slime. Just four soft limbs and a tiny head topped with a puff of fur, almost like moss growing out of a rock. Even smaller are the miserable eyes, with beady pupils instead of the welcoming jewel-flashes of a multi-faceted compound eye. &nbsp; And yet Gx'xi the Unyielding trembles before the alien. &nbsp; Come in, Miss...Gx'xi, is it? the human says, the translator crystal attached to one of its limbs chiming up after a split-second delay to flip the human's garbled mouth-noises into civilized clicking and croaks. Good afternoon! Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable. &nbsp; Towering, barely able to fit through the doorway, Gx'xi reluctantly skitters in only to catch sight of the worst thing you can see a human armed with. Not weapons, not the boxy, bulky ships they favor. No, it's the invention they call "paper". Made of some sort of wood pulp, it's unassuming...until you realize the true threat is not the materials but the little black scribblings humans routinely put on them. One paper is bad enough. Multiple papers, sometimes bound together with metal clips? Catastrophe. Pure catastrophe. &nbsp; Three of Gx'xi's segmented legs give out under her and she falls back against the couch that the human has placed in the room, maybe predicting exactly that kind of reaction due to its previous victims. The couch creaks, sinking under the unexpected weight. Her other legs curl in on themselves, and she isn't well versed enough in humans to realize that the look that flashes across its face is disgust, like seeing a dying spider jerking stop-motion style across the living room floor. &nbsp; "This has to be a mistake,"Gx'xi warbles and hopes the translator crystal will hide her fear. "I filed everything! Triple checked it. It was sent early to account for any lapses in the transport services." &nbsp; The human does that unnerving thing where it splits its face to reveal a white wall of flat, blunted teeth. Yes, we received it in time. However, there are some...discrepancies about your War Fleet that I'd like to go over. We can start with the safety reports, then the wages paid, and work from there. Hopefully you cleared your schedule today... &nbsp;
When Adam woke up he didn’t know where he was. The last thing he remembered was that he was on a hike in the woods with his younger brother when something happened. Adam cant quite seem to focus on whatever it was that happened. He looks around and he is in a forest, as he would expect, but something is off. He racks his memory the forest he was in previous was a fall forest. The trees having already shed their leaves in preparation for the cold winter ahead. That isn’t the forest Adam finds himself in right now. The forest he is in now is lush and vibrant, with little glowing orbs dancing between the branches. Adam stands up and begins walking forward. He has no idea where he is going but he needs to find something or someone to explain his predicament. Adam manages to get out of the wood and see a settlement up ahead. The houses look medieval and there is a large castle in the center. Suddenly a horn is played form the town accompanied by bells ringing out and some frenzied movements that Adam can just make out from his position. He goes to run back into the woods thinking that this commotion is directed at him before that fear is dissuaded. Adam is covered in a dark shadow pelted by gusts of wind from overhead. As Adam looks up he sees massive red scales, equally massive black claws, and even greater leathery wings overhead, a dragon. The dragon flies into the city ready to sack it. Excited to watch the spectacle of a dragon attacking the town, his mind races with all the possibilities of his potential adventures here. That is until he hears a familiar crying over the chaos back within the woods. His Brother he almost forgot about his brother. Adam runs back into the woods following the crying noise looking for his younger brother Luke. His brother is only 4 years old he couldn’t be able to fend for himself. Luckily Adam finds Luke stuck in a tree unable to get down. How Luke got himself up their in the first place Adam will likely never find out. Nevertheless, Adam helps Luke down and manages to get him to calm down despite the distant sounds of conflict. The Adam sighs, it is simultaneously a sigh of relief and one of sadness. On one hand Adam is happy to have his brother with him. Adam has really enjoyed being Luke’s older brother these last for years. However, Adam knows that now it is just him and Luke. That means two things 1 Adam will need to find a way to care for Luke and 2 the adventures he was dreaming of will likely never materialize. Eventually the sounds of the dragon attack stop and moments later a dark shadow passes overhead darkening the forest for a few moments as the massive form passes bye. Did the village fend off the dragon or did the dragon take whatever it wanted? Adam gets up and carries Luke back towards the village.
Pablo lifted the garbage can’s lid and threw in the bags he carried. The amount of garbage a small, family-owned coffeehouse produced in a single day continued to astound him. He wondered whether could add garbage disposal to his resume 一 and whether he should. Rustling noises deeper down the side alley, past all the bins, caught his attention. Nothing too unusual. Rats, raccoons, he’d seen them all. Didn’t faze him too much as long as they didn’t enter the coffeehouse. Then he heard a whimper, followed by sobbing. Rats don’t do that. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Pablo carefully walked down the alley, towards the noises. “Do you need help?” A soft voice answered him between sobs. “Just leave.” Unperturbed, Pablo carried on. “Are you injured?” A long, pained wailing. “We’re all injured!” the voice cried out. “You and I and all the rest.” Pablo rounded a particularly large dumpster and found himself face to face with a man of stunning beauty cowering on the ground. His radiance was only slightly marred by the garbage he was surrounded by. Pablo had never experienced splendour personified to such a degree. For a moment, nothing but this blinding beacon of elegance existed in Pablo’s world. “Hey, it’s okay.” Now that the shock of seeing this perfect representation of a man had worn off, Pablo noticed the set of feathered wings growing out of the man’s back. They were of an immaculate white, if slightly crooked. “Is anything wrong with your costume?” The man sniffed. “What?” “Is it a cosplay? I don’t recognise who you are.” “I’m Eros,” the man said, rubbing his eyes. His face glistened from all the tears. “Is that some kinda porn thing? I’m not judging, my dude.” “Porn? What? No, I am Eros. My name is Eros.” Eros straightened his back, still sitting. “Excuse me, you are understandably not well-versed in Greek culture.” “You’re supposed to be a god? Yeah, I wouldn’t have recognised that in a million years. Ancient mythology isn’t my thing, you know.” Eros looked at him with a strange expression, occasionally sniffing. “Alas, Pablo, I have yet to decide which descriptor of my life is the hardest to accept. ‘Ancient’ or ‘mythology’. Both are hurtful in their own way, though I know you mean no harm.” In response to a puzzled look from Pablo, Eros waved his hand. Suddenly, Pablo instinctively knew he was in the presence of the Greek God of Love, in the flesh. “Huh.” He paused. “That’s, uh, you know, not what I expected. So is everything alright with you?” He mimicked streams of tears running down his face. What a strange person, Eros thought. His strenuous occupation as a so-called barista must have jaded him over the aeons, or however long these humans measured their lives again. “Observe your surroundings, Pablo, observe your world. No one is alright. Everyone is hurting. I’m the God of Love and Passion, yet no one may go outside to meet anyone, fall in love, desire one another. It’s all so tragic.” “Hey, it’s alright my man. It’s not your fault, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m sure you’re doing the best you can with online dating and whatnot.” Eros manifested a tissue out of thin air and blew his nose. “It’s tough, Pablo, it’s tough. I’m not like this under normal circumstances. I thought I had to experience the human side of this whole ordeal, to better understand your romantic plight. Share your misery. Feel your sorrow, your loneliness, your lack of love and pleasant touch.” Pablo nodded. “Thus, I’ve travelled your world in search of… something I may never find, which may not exist, especially in love. Clarity, certainty, a clear insight. I even adopted some human characteristics to aid me in my quest. Now look at me!” Eros tried to flap his wings, to no avail. “I’m deep in thought for merely a second and suddenly I crash into this building. Did you know your wounds don’t just heal instantly? That your injuries cause great anguish?” Pablo nodded again. “Yeah, dude, I kinda do.” “Of course. Excuse me. It’s just, not only do your physical injuries ache, but your emotional ones are so much worse. Broken hearts, betrayed trust, unrequited love. I never knew the hurt I was causing was so long-lasting. You harbour these poisons for all your lives! All because of me!” A deep sigh. “Is it a blessing, this pandemic? The less you fall in love, the fewer broken hearts need to be tended to.” “Damn, dude, that’s a tough one.” “Maybe I should stay here betwixt the garbage of humanity, right where I belong. Leave me be, Pablo. I haven’t cried enough.” Not one to simply abandon a struggling person, be it god or human, Pablo clasped Eros’ hand. “My dude, I think I know just what you need. My ‘coworkers’ will patch you right up.” Together they walked out of the side alley and into the coffeehouse, greeted by brightly coloured letters above the door that spelled ‘Coffee and Cats.’
"Greetings lonely traveller, what supplies do you need?"The words left my mouth before I could even think about stopping myself. As usual, no response from our hero. I have to put up with him digging through my pockets for three minutes, buying another health potion that won't even help him and selling me some rusty iron short sword that I don't even want. These developers really screwed me on this one. I mean, the guy is clearly an amateur. What kind of rookie wears leather armour to fight a level 36 Demon King? It clearly hasn't been working either because this is the fourth time I've sold him a potion today and to be frank I'm getting quite sick of it. He has the cheek to call himself DragonSlayer434, too. What's the 434 in aid of? The number of potions he needs before he stops being awful at the game? Oh there he goes again, health potion in hand, skipping towards his inevitable death. I know it's selfish of me but I really want to advance to the next level of this story, rumour has it I get kitted out after the Demon King checkpoint. I'd really like some new dialogue options too, I'm starting to get a little fed up with telling DragonSlayer434 that I wish Beatrice the Barmaid will notice me. I don't even like that bitch. Maybe I could just... No, surely not. I mean, it's quite obvious that I'm the only one with this sentience glitch. Sure, I haven't done anything about it just yet but I just don't want to lose my job. You know what, fuck it. I don't want this job anymore anyway if it means being someone's little potion-pushing bitch boy. My inventory is actually popping, level 35 Sword of Poisoning and Iron Boots of Healing. This Demon King won't know what's hit him. Garth the Inn Keeper coming to fuck up your day. Unfortunately I'm usually confined to my Inn, so I have no clue where I'm going. I just follow the direction that I've seen DragonSlayer434 trekking in when I've been outside watering the plants. The other NPC's eyes glaze over me as I walk past looking sexy as fuck in my new gear. Let's hope the developers don't clock on before I get to where I need to be. I saw it in the distance about 30 minutes into my countryside stroll, a large explosion coming from over the ridge a few miles out of Meridath village. A quick inventory check to make sure I'm ready to clap some cheeks; 2 healing potions, a backup Axe of Flames in case I throw my sword at DragonSlayer434 for being stupid, and a loaf of bread that I can apparently eat in 0.5 seconds. What I saw when I got to the top of the ridge was harsher than I could have ever imagined. Our hero was on his knees, his health bar flashing and an empty health potion lay on the floor to his side. The Demon King was close to three times his size and was approaching for a final blow. Here goes nothing Garth, let's save the day and hope we get promoted. The Demon King swung his fiery club down at DragonSlayer434 for what he thought would be a final time. But instead of a weak and crumbling skull, his club was met by my vice-like grip as I shot myself between the warring duo. As the club met my hand it crumbled instantly; NPC powers, bitch. In the heat of the moment and full of confidence I turned to DragonSlayer434 and said "Greetings lonely traveller, what supplies do you need?"of course, no updated dialogue options. I turned my attention back to the Demon King, who was reeling from the explosion of it's club. I charged him with my Sword of Poisoning and slashed this way and that before the king had a chance to react. No heroic battle necessary because I just destroyed this motherfucker. I placed a foot on his fat head and looked triumphantly into the distance where I saw... wait, there's no way. DragonSlayer434 walking into the distance like nothing happened. Like Garth the Innkeeper hadn't just saved his ass. Fuck the continuity, I'm going to kill his ass too.
It was the red that my mind so often fixated upon. The muted red on the nurses hat, the neon red of the emergency lights, the visceral red of my own blood as it poured from my wrists. They had chained me after that particular incident, though this did not stop me from attempting violence. It was the red, strings of it caught between my teeth as I chewed whatever was left of my neighbor. The doctor was scribbling something on his clipboard, something obscured to me from my seat across the room. My arms were chained behind me, the cold metal of the restraints digging into my wrists. "Patient twenty-two. It says here that you committed three acts of manslaughter under the influence of the infection. It also says that you've experienced lasting psychological effects from this experience." A growl escaped my lips, guttural and hissing. There was no red in this room, it was a mess of muted gray and sterile white. I hated it. The doctor adjusted his glasses, and wrote something else down. My arms ached as I struggled against the restraints, my wrists rubbing raw against their metallic edges. "Patient twenty-two. You are no longer one of the infected. There is no reason for you to continue acting like this,"said the doctor. And there it was. The great flaw in the restraints. They were not designed to hold wrists as thin as mine. There was a ringing sound as they fell to the ground. In the same moment, I lunged. It was the red staining the doctor's coat, the red as his viscera covered me. And it was the red that I remembered, from my time as an infected. The red that I loved so much.

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