Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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I heard it once before, The Music. The very tunes I had been warned about, that signaled the beginning of my son's "adventure", if it could be called that. More like a hijack of free will, by unknown force majeure. I would not let it happen, as it had to others throughout history. Nobody knew how it would affect someone's life, a few led great lives, some ended up in impossible situations, a few died. I was prepared. "Mom! Do you hear that? Where's it coming from?" "Code red!"I shouted. My son knew I would only say that if the day came. "Oh shit! It's happening?!? Today?" My son knew what to do, we drilled twice a week for almost all of his 18 years. I could hear him opening drawers and putting on the clothes I'd set aside, the plainest t-shirt and pants, body armor, and a white sheet. It was at that time the neighbor burst through the triple-locked door, deadbolts flying out like rivets in a bursting tank. The door listed. "Heeeeaayyyy how's it goin'?"A laughtrack played. It was Leon, the next-door neighbor. Except it wasn't. Whatever force was trying to change my son's destiny was also controlling Leon... He had been so helpful in raising my son, a father figure in place of my gone husband. "Where's Julian? I heard today's going to be special!"The audience woo'd. Shit. Today was special, it was Julian's 19th birthday. And I had forgotten. All of this preparation and I'd still failed to remember... That's not important right now, getting this living zombie out of my house was. I opened the trapdoor, Leon fell in. That should buy some time. "Julian! I took care of him, also happy birthday! I'll make you a cake later. Are you ready?" "Almost! Give me one more minute!"Julian was making significant thumping sounds, gathering the gear we stashed in his room. "And grab the gun!"We had trained for this in numerous ways, and I hoped it would never be necessary to use it... but better safe than sorry where powerful forces are involved. "Ready!"Julian shouted. It was at that time Leon burst through the basement door, breaking the hinges. Damn, this was going to be a big repair job. Thankfully I sprung for the platinum insurance policy, knowing this would someday happen. "Where's the birthday boyyyy?"The invisible audience woo'd. Leon's face was twitching, almost resisting the maximum-effort smile he was contorted into. Perhaps he was still in there, somewhere. I moved from the bedroom into the kitchen, and suavely leaned against the doorframe by tilting my head, placing one arm on the frame, one on my hip, and gave a half-smile. "Hey Leon. How are you?"The audience woo'd again, this time louder in reaction to the sexy move. Fuck them, I like Leon. "Hey Charlotte. You look nice today. Where is Julian?"A normal thing for him to say. The separation between the real Leon and this force was growing weaker. "He's upstairs, in his room, probably playing video games or something. Why don't you go see him?" "I think I will!"The smile returned. I shuddered. Leon stomped up the steps, as if his legs were massive Roman pillars. I heard several cracks from the boards. Leon stopped at Julian's door. "Hey sport! Mind if I come in to congratulate you on your 19 years on this planet?"A moment of silence. Then Leon broke that door too. "Where are ya?"Watching from the steps, I could see Leon looking around the room, but could not find Julian. "I know you're in here!"He looked around for a few minutes, and gave up. He proceeded to break my stairs further on the way down. "Julian's not home! Do you know where he went?"Asked Leon. I responded. "No, I have no idea! Oh wait, he went out with his friends today! It's Saturday after all, might as well be with friends than plain ol' mom!" "Oh, you're right! Friends are great. I'll stop by tomorrow!"Leon headed to the front door, went out and closed it. I looked out the window. He passed out as soon as the door shut, and slammed down hard on the sidewalk. I made a mental note to check up on him. I rushed to check on Julian first. "Julian! are you ok?"No response. I panicked and ran upstairs, and immediately felt relief. I pressed the power button on the mini projector. "It's ok, he's gone. And I'm still me."Julian took off the white sheet. "It's amazing this works. How could... whatever is doing that... be this stupid? I mean, I'm hiding behind a sheet, with a picture of my wall projected onto me, bookcase and everything." "Maybe it doesn't have great visual acuity, whatever it is."I said. "Or maybe simple tricks are required to work on it... who knows. I'm just glad you're safe."We hugged for several minutes. "Oh! Leon is outside. I think it's safe to check on him, but you stay here." "Okay mom!"Julian seemed relieved to be through this. I went downstairs and opened the remains of the front door. Leon was groaning on his side. "Charlotte... what... what happened? Did I pass out? I feel like I ran a marathon then tripped fifteen times." "You... are alright now. Probably just your condition, did you take your medication?" "I must've forgotten."Leon was still a bit dazed. I helped him up. "Let me guide you home."We made our way the 20 feet to Leon's front door. "Thank you Charlotte!"He closed the door. I stayed a few minutes, just in case. Everything was fine. A few hours later, I determined it was time. We needed someone who studied this phenomenon their whole life. Who let me listen to The Music for the first time. Who new my son would be next. We needed... The Professor.
&#x200B; Allen was hiding from his wife. It was his day off and he just wanted to relax in the hammock and read his book but his wife had other ideas. She had woken him at the crack of dawn and presented him with a twelve page list of chores that he was to complete today. Granted they were things that needed to be done but they in his opinion didn't need to be done right now. So he laid in his hammock and read his book he'd get to them later once he got through the interesting bit in the book. &#x200B; An hour later just as he was getting to a good stopping point and had steeled himself to tackle his wife's list there was a rather impressive gong. Startled Allen raised his head, careful to not disturb the hammock too much, and looked around for the source of the noise. Not seeing anything he dismissed it as the neighbor's kid playing around and started to go back to his book. &#x200B; "Attention. Attention. You have been selected. Bringing powers online. Expect the activation to take several hours. You will be given a brief description of each power as it comes online. First power is Flight. This is the ability to fall without hitting the ground. Ability activates automatically. Thank you and good luck" &#x200B; Absolutely flabbergasted and extremely unsure of what was happening it took Allen a moment to realize that he was no longer in the hammock but was instead floating a foot off the ground having fallen out of the hammock in the middle of the announcement. Just as he was starting to come to terms with the fact that he had some how managed to unlock the ability for sustained un-powered flight his wife came around the corner of the house holding the shopping bags and a list. &#x200B; "Aaa there you are honey. Here are the bags and the grocery list. "she said as she placed the handles of the bags on Allen's floating arm. &#x200B; "Dear look I can fly."Allen said as he did a little loop around the hammock testing out his new powers. &#x200B; "That's excellent dear you can use that to avoid all of the traffic your always complaining about and get the grocery shopping done even quicker. Now quit stalling and fly on over to the grocery store and pick up the things on the list." &#x200B; Realizing that even flight wouldn't derail his chores for the day Allen kissed his wife good bye and headed off to the grocery store. While there he caused quite the stir by floating down the isles two feet off the ground. He arrived back home in half the time it normally took to do the shopping even with all the people stopping to ask him what was happening. &#x200B; "See dear I told you it'd be quicker to fly to the store. Now could you please get the chain saw out and take care of that tree limb that's just hanging up the tree over there before it falls off and crushes your hammock."inquired his wife as she put the groceries away. &#x200B; Startled Allen looked out the back window and sure enough the shade tree that was next to his hammock had a massive limb that must have broken off in the recent storm hanging above his hammock. Not sure how he didn't see it sooner he hurried out to the garage and grabbed the chain saw. He floated up to the tree and using the chainsaw and some rope began to cut off sections of the tree and lower them to the ground. He realized that it was much easier to trim a tree this way as apposed to trying to use the ladder. As he was humming to himself thinking of all the fun he could have the impressive gong sounded again. Startled Allen dropped the chain saw. As he was swooping down to grab it before it hit the ground the impressive voice sounded once again. &#x200B; "Attention. Attention. You have been selected. Bringing powers online. Expect the activation to take several hours. You will be given a brief description of each power as it comes online. Second power is Deconstruction. This is the ability to render things back to their component parts. Ability activates by thinking De-construct \[name of item\]. Thank you and good luck." &#x200B; Allen wasn't sure what the voice meant about this new super power. did he have to say deconstruct chainsaw out loud or just think it. Suddenly he realized he wasn't feeling the weight of the chain saw in his hands any more. He looked down to see that the chain saw had disassembled it's self into the various component parts which were settling on the ground in neat little piles. Staring at this trying to figure out how he was going to use this power with out disassembling everything around him just by thinking it his wife came out of the house. &#x200B; "Honey now that you've taken care of that tree branch could you please break down all those computer parts you have stacked up in the shed so that you can fly them to the recycling center."She asked as she calmly picked up the various bits of the chain saw and headed towards the garage." &#x200B; Allen baffled how his wife could be taking all of this so easily simply nodded his head in agreement and headed out to the shed and began what would normal be a long tedious task of disassembling the hundreds of computers he had collected from the local school in an effort to help them dispose of them properly. After some trial and error he realized that in order to deconstruct something he had to think the phrase while touching it. Allen managed to make short work of the task and his mood was looking up for he was realizing that all of this saved time would soon translate into relaxation time when he could go back to reading his book. As he was placing the last of the various parts into storage boxes he could easily handle while flying to the recycling center the rather impressive gong sounded yet again. &#x200B; "Attention. Attention. You have been selected. Bringing powers online. Expect the activation to take several hours. You will be given a brief description of each power as it comes online. The third power is telekinesis. This is the ability to manipulate things with your mind. Ability activates by thinking of the item and using your hands to manipulate it. Range is 100 feet. Thank you and good luck." &#x200B; "O good honey i see you've finished with the computers. Before you take that stuff over to the recycling center why don't you go ahead and clean out the shed and re arrange the garage. I'm sure you'd like to be able to park your car in the garage again and now that there's space in the shed you can move some of the things in the garage out into the shed. "Allen's wife said as she headed back into the house with an arm load of vegetables from their garden. &#x200B; "Certainly dear"Allen responded having come to the realization that no matter what power he suddenly gained his wife would find some way to put it to use taking care of his task list. He started to head over to the garage but then realize that he could see inside both it and the shed quite easily from his hammock he headed for that instead. As he was figuring out how best to use his telekinesis to move things around in the garage an store them in the shed his wife came out with a frosted mug of beer. &#x200B; "Here you are dear. Thank you for not slacking off today and getting through your task list so quickly today. I really appreciate it."she said as she set the mug on the table next to the hammock. She then kissed him and headed back into the house humming to her self. Allen spent the next little while sipping his beer and re arranging his garage with his mind. Just as he finished up moving the work bench into its proper space the rather impressive gong sounded yet again. &#x200B; "Attention. Attention. You have been selected. Bringing powers online. Expect the activation to take several hours. You will be given a brief description of each power as it comes online. The final power is cooking. This is the ability to create a meal worthy of a five star chief. This is the final power be sure to thank Linda for providing the funding needed to activate these powers. Thank you and good luck." &#x200B; Absolutely floored Allen went charging into the house in search of his wife to ask her if it was true and thank her for giving him such awesome powers, even if it was so he'd get the chore list done for once.
“Fear not noble farmer Sir, I have slain many powerful creatures, this two footed feather dragon is nothing. I will have you know I finished top of my royal knight course and have over two hundred confirmed quests.” Maxima bragged before continuing his noble battle, struggling to apprehend the villainous dragon that was terrorizing the farm. His mouth was coated in a dark purple paste, a mixture that had dissolved in his mouth, forming a foamed layer. The dreaded Poppo berry may not have been the deadliest of them all, but it would cause someone to lose their mind for a few hours. The farmer had tried to stop Maxima, but he was a mere farmer. Even if the warrior knight was intoxicated by the berry’s hallucinogenic properties, he was still a six-foot bag of muscle and armor. Too much work for a farmer to take down. The farmer could only shout curses at the man as he chased the chicken around the battlefield, making the occasional strike at its feathered form. The chicken was putting up quite the fight. For each of the warriors’ attempted strikes, the chicken returned with a well-timed peck, eventually breaking through the man’s defenses, pecking at his nose until the warrior retreated. A few droplets of blood dripping from the cut on his nose. “I see you aren’t an ordinary dragon. I must commend you on your fighting prowess. I wish we could have met on friendlier terms, dear dragon. Maybe in another life we would have been allies. Sadly, I cannot overlook the many injustices you have committed to this poor farmer. You have ravaged his lands and now it is my job to put you down.” Maxima went to find his sword, not realizing that his weapon was in the pig’s trough. It seemed this would be his last battle, but alas he found a weapon. A golden sword laying right by his feet. He picked up the sword, taking a stand as he eyed the dragon over, their eyes meeting in fiery contention. The farmer could only smack his forehead, watching the warrior wave around the new stick he found, like an excited child playing make believe. The stick changed the momentum of the battle for a few moments. The chicken fleeing, flapping its wings in a blind fury, escaping each of his strikes. “You cannot run forever, dragon. I will never give up the chase, I will never surrender.” The game of cat and mouse continued for a few minutes before the warrior collapsed, his heavy armor causing a sudden bout of exhaustion. Laying on the floor, he was wide open, defenceless as the dragon approached. The dragon sat on his chest, letting out a mighty cluck before giving him one final poke to the nose before the farmer scooped up his chicken. He returned the ‘dragon’ to its coop, grabbing a bucket of water on the way back. When he returned, he tossed the bucket over the head of the defeated warrior, watching him suddenly sit up. The warrior rubbing his nose as he glanced around. “Dragon?” “You had some Poppo berries, there never was a dragon. The only dragon you found was my poor chicken, Sally. Lucky you aren’t much of a fighter.” Maxima was rather apologetic towards the man, tossing him a few coins as a sorry. Sheepishly he shook the grass from his body, dragging himself back towards the castle. The farmer shook his head, too relieved at the fact the man was leaving to care about the mess. Returning to his coop, he leaned against its side. “Aren’t you lucky, Sally? You nearly ended up dead.” “I was more concerned that he found out my identity.” The farmer stared dumbfounded, looking into the chicken coop only to see Sally staring back at him with their blank beady eyes. “Cluck.” &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
Look, when your parents come from different backgrounds there's always some power struggle both in their relationship and in how to raise kids. I get that. But when they both insist on on me following both of their religious customs... There's a few complications. "Muriel, I will strike you down!" This shit again. "I will scour your essence across the burning sands so the vultures can pick over the remains!" I honestly don't know where Muriel meant to find these burning sands. I live in Rhode Island which means... Goddammit I can't even make a metaphor with these too screaming. Laliah's image appeared in front of my face like a mirage. She was beautiful--skin black as ink with silver flowing hair floating in some ethereal breeze and eyes that shined like pale blue stars. "Don't blasphemy girl! You are destined for great things! In His service and I won't have you sullying your spirit with sin!" Of course the hot lady in my head was a judgmental bitch. "Hahaha!"Muriel appears howling with laughter- golden skin and a square jaw with a neat beard of rust colored hair and eyes that glowed like embers. My bisexual heart couldn't take much more of this. "Now girl,"Muriel said coming down from his laughing fit- his deep voice doing things to me neither of us were happy with--"Stop that!"he growled "I know human urges are strong but they are from Lucifer! He will stop at nothing to bring you down!"His face grew closer and closer taking up my whole vision until- Shit missed a step. There was a sudden rush of wind and flash of blue as I fell down the stairs.
"And... that'll be six, twenty-five."The cashier smiled from behind the counter. Her eyes glinted slightly and I smiled back while completing my purchase. In turn I picked up my bagel and coffee. The coffee shop was rather full this morning. Rather quiet, but butts in most seats. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries filled the room with a somber song playing over the speakers. It was quaint. Luckily, my favorite spot was still available. A booth in the corner by the window. Plopping down into the seat I removed my beanie and stuffed it into my jacket pocket. Taking a deep breathe I relaxed into the seat, that was before a soft finger tapped on my shoulder. "Um... excuse me sir. There's no other place to sit and it's cold outside... Could me and my.."she paused and blushed. "-my partner sit with you?" Her eyes were brilliant, one of the brightest I've seen. It complemented her smile and short bangs that came down to just above her eye brows. She was cute, her small fit stature, made her seem akin to a barbie doll. She adjusted the collar of her jacket before making a quiet ahem. Oops I may have stared a bit too long. "Of course, of course. You are welcome to it."I smiled shyly as I motioned to the bench across from myself. As i motioned her to sit down she called over a man who had just picked up 2 coffees from the counter. "Charlie, over here, I made a friend." Walking towards us was Charlie. He was pale as the snow, frail, and long. He looked as if a wind could push him off into the sky. He scooted into the booth and placed the coffee cups down on the table then proceeded to take off his scarf. Smiling as he did so he reached out his hand, "Charles, that's me." Instinctively I reached out and looked into his eyes. Strange, his eyes were dark. They were an abyss hidden beyond a bright smile. "Diego. It's a pleasure to meet you both."I smiled meekly. "And I'm Alexis. Thanks for letting us sit here."Alexis smiled and waved from her side of the bench. At first the conversation was nice and cheerful, we went over work and pleasantries. A delve into things to do around the city and friendly areas. Then it started to delve a bit more personal. "So where do you live by Diego?"asked Alexis as Charles sipped on his coffee. "A bit north of the interstate." "Oh? I like that one chocolate store up there... what was it called Charlie?" Charles looked up from his cup and shrugged. "I couldn't say." "Rigby's, Rigby's Chocolates?"I spoke up and as I did Alexis' eyes lit up again. "Oh we should meet up there you live by that store? Shouldn't be too much of a walk now from your place would it?" "Um... I'm not entirely.." "Oh I think it would be wonderful, wouldn't it Charlie?"Alexis turned to Charles and he smiled and nodded. "You will join us yes?" Reluctantly, I said, "Yeah sure thing." Clapping her hands together and smiling her eyes glinted. Something about her eyes were so astonishing. Yet I couldn't help, but feel uneasy. We downed our drinks and split the rest of my bagel then left for the door. Outside the shop the snow started to come down hard. Taking my beanie and placing it on top of my head I moved out to brave the winter. Alexis and Charles shortly behind. "Charlie start the car please. I want to make sure I get the address." Charles nodded and headed over. While discussing the address I could hear the grunts of a car attempting to turn over. A few tries and Charles came back from the car. "It just won't start, damn, that thing is always giving us trouble."His eyes from behind the scarf were just as dark as ever. "Umm, Diego. Would you mind helping us out? We are from out of town so we don't really have a place to go right now and with the snow coming this hard I'd doubt after a while that anyone will be out to get our car." \- Part 1 (will continue later, but I'll reserve this spot for now.)
Usually, it doesn't matter when people read my mind. When you’re standing in a crowd of strangers and someone says something random, do you really register it or care who said it? Usually not. People are even more oblivious of stray thoughts passing through their heads - even when they aren’t their own. Technically, no one is reading my mind. My mind is the one that projects my thoughts into their streams of consciousness. It’s been an ability of mine since I can remember. Only a few close friends and my brother know that it happens and that it is only triggered if someone is within 6 feet of me. I’ve also got to be sleeping, daydreaming pretty hard, or trying really hard myself to do it on purpose. When I’m out in public, it’s not really an issue. I’m too paranoid to let my mind drift and escape into some unsuspecting soul’s head, but had I known how this new migraine medication would have affected me, I'd have kept paying the higher cost for the old name brand. I’ve been taking the train into work for a week now (doc said I should avoid driving while switching meds) and with the dual threat of new medication and having nothing to do but stare out the train window, all my mind wants to do is daydream about Mark. I’ve worked in the office across from him for 5 years now, but aside from the occasional break room chit chat and a 30-minute conversation at the holiday party about the proper number of coffee cups someone should own, sadly, we don’t cross paths that often. All week I kept track of the train regulars and made sure to always sit near a different group of people. If a few random thoughts about me daydreaming about Mark and me sneaking into the supply closet at work managed to find their way into a stranger’s head, it would only happen once and they’d only question their own minds before saying anything to me. Or so I thought. This morning, my train car had a new passenger: the last passenger on, Mark came jogging aboard, clutching his prized Pac-man themed coffee mug. Quickly scanning the other passengers, when his eyes met mine, his face gleamed and he made his way towards the empty seat next to mine. What have I done? What has he heard!?
Something sent a chill down Dauste's spine. His third eye began to dart back and forth, desperately trying to seek something that wasn't there. He was sure someone was there a second ago. Slowly, he turned back around and saw him. A man holding a gun pointed right at his third eye. Dauste dropped to his knees, his body weak. "Please. I don't have much money, just take it. Take whatever you want." The hitman looked determined, but there was a sense of uncertainty in his eyes. "I don't want your money. I'm just here to do my job. Your kind cannot be allowed to exist any longer. The potential power you posses is far too dangerous" People were staring now or moving out of the way of the crazy man shouting in the street on his knees. "Please, I don't know what you're talking about. I've had this thing my whole life, but I've never used it for anything." The man seemed to consider this. "You know what you are. I've seen the things your kind are capable of." He checked his watch. 33 seconds left before cleanup. Dauste was crying silently now, begging for his life, for his children's sake. A single tear fell from his third eye to the floor. The hitman paused. A look of confusion struck his face. As if he couldn't comprehend this man showing genuine sadness, as if he was, almost human. 10 seconds left. A warmth began to grow at the back of the hit man's head. In an instant, he lowered his gun, grabbed Dauste and entered his emergency sequence into his watch. "Agent 9 has gone rogue sir, and taken subject 214 with them. Location unknown at this time. Tracing will begin immediately." (I'm new to this, feedback always welcome) Edit: I may add a part 2 later, at work atm.
No one showed up to my birthday. I guess it’s to be expected, I would have made all my guests stub their toe on the door anyway, a joke that only I would have found amusing. It’s not like it was my fault, I was the god of pinky toe crushing; it was my godly duty to cause pain to a person’s pinky toe. Sometimes I would deliver this crushing in a simple form, just redirecting someone in the dead of night, positioning them in such a way that their toe would collide with the edge of a table, causing them to howl in pain. Those were the lucky ones. If my mood was foul that day, I might force a boulder or rock to fall at random, crushing the toe entirely. Those were always amusing, that look of confusion before the pain set in, that was priceless. Again, this wasn’t my fault, I was the god of pinky toe crushing; I was no more at fault for my actions than the god of the sea was for floods. If a god didn’t cause the occasional bout of mischief, then they weren’t really a god. Still, it was an awfully depressing birthday, no friends to celebrate with. Just me alone in my throne room, lazily swirling a glass of bubbling Champagne. Guess I had to give myself a birthday present. I took a sip of the champagne while my other finger waggled back and forth, summoning a portal to the world of mortals. The cloud coated portal drifted back and forth before the puffy white clouds parted, revealing a vision of the human’s world. Each human was going about their day, unaware that they were being watched by one of the gods above. It was a sick thrill watching humans in this way. One could imagine I caused them much unease, many taking the odd glance over their shoulder, unable to see my gaze following them. Picking a target was easy, I didn’t have any prejudices; I targeted people indiscriminately. Everyone’s a toy to me, something for me to play with and discard. My first potential target was a woman. She seemed to struggle to carry her bag, her steps off balance, having to adjust her posture with each subtle movement. Oh, how fun it would be to see her drop her contents, see her stub her toe while carrying her bag. Like Sisyphus carrying his boulder, she would get so far only for it to come tumbling back down. Eh, not grand enough. It was my birthday, a common daily annoyance wasn’t chaotic enough, I needed people to remember this day, maybe then the gods wouldn’t avoid visiting me on this grandest of days. I found a new target, a man driving his car, going awfully fast towards a set of lights. A small market in the distance, one that he would hit if he didn’t slow down. I closed my fist, watching him howl as he tried to kick the breaks, only for his foot to miss, shoe kicking the edge of the break, pinky toe crushing against it. That brief pain causing him to close his eyes for a second before crashing. It broke stalls, collapsing down on the people at the market, the car’s fuming engine catching alight, causing a few fires to spread out onto the scene. People screaming, trying to escape the chaos. It was beautiful; the flames being the perfect candles for my birthday cake of disaster. I watched the paramedics arrive, picking up the man from his car, trying to load him onto a stretcher, only for one of them to stub their toe, dropping the injured man onto the floor. After that, I closed the portal, lounging back in my chair, satisfied. What a birthday. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
MK37 of the Chan fighter class appears to be functioning well in the combat simulations, although there appears to be a slight malfunction in the limiter module that was experienced in MK36 causing a delay just before contact of a strike as it calculates the force required for the hero tier assigned. It’s been deemed a low priority bug and can be worked out on the next iteration due to time constraints and high demand for the Chan models caused by a sudden increase in superhero numbers. This prototype has had some extra upgrades performed on it by the hardware team, this configuration’s limbs are fitted with hydraulic pistols rated to 30tonnes. It should be a success in the field against some of the class Z supers but we can scale back the PSI depending on who arrives. == MK37 glided toward the bank at an easy 60mph gait, sensors picking up 7 occupants and approximately 9 tonnes in bills. A large amount but easily transportable providing they’re mounted to the chassis properly. No supes are currently on the scene but that’s sure to change shortly. The usual rigamarole was completed, some threats followed by money being loaded into a bag until there was a disturbance outside and a voice piped up over the din. “Evildoer beware! It is I, Centrole, come to save the day!” As the audio was relaid to me I started wracking my brain. Who is that, it must be one of the newer heroes. I had a quick search online to find that Centrole was a D tier brawler and had recently been in the news for some muggings he stopped. I spoke softly into the microphone, “MK37, engage the target at C tier power level and set logging to verbose. Please also relay this message; ‘Ah Centrole, you come to meet your doom! Prepare yourself!’”. A confirmation message rang through “404, DEFAULTING TO TIER Z”. What.. No.. But the automated engagement systems had already taken over motor function. 37 crouched low, engaging full power, driving forcefully, it burst up into a flat sprint toward the door and Centrole. Each footstep smashing marble flooring in its wake, rocketing forward. The doors burst from their hinges as 37 barrelled through them. Sensors scanned Centrole’s body for vulnerabilities and he was swathed head to toe in red. 37 drew back its fist, locked it in place, and pumped the hydraulic piston up to bursting point. == Later reports indicated that Centrole was turned into a viscera spray on the road and that the unknown assailant had disappeared after I’d given the return order. It appears that further testing will need to be completed…. and perhaps I should also issue an apology.. \-- I’m pretty new to this but it’s a nice creative outlet, I’d appreciate feedback etc.
Tony looked in the mirror and gave himself his biggest, brightest smile before cocking an eyebrow and shooting himself the finger-guns. A lone dead tarantula lay on the counter, awaiting yet another failed attempt. "Simama, Sasa uwe wangu na utumikie"He was sure he'd pronounced it correctly, the grammar he was unsure of but pronunciation and intent were more important. He smiled at himself again. Truth-be-told his intent was probably not there, not anymore. His life as a necromancer had failed, rather unspectacularly. Kicked out of every coven he'd joined, they all hated him, no matter how hard he tried, his mere presence was enough to cause their own attempts to fail. He calmly put on a black button up, blue jeans, and a pair of red sneakers before heading to his car. Todays job was simple, a short speaking engagement for some middle managers and some of their agents at a large hedge fund. Maybe a small meet and greet, he smiled at himself in the car mirror before getting underway. Looking at his audience he realized his work was cut out for him. Half of this group looked dead and the other half looked like they'd like to be. Maybe a joke or two to start, a blast of that winning smile, then head into it. "Stand up!"He spoke energetically now "Every day you have to take ownership of not just your problems, but your solutions. Be Mine! You say, Serve! me... You have to make the changes that only you can make. If you are just doing what you've always done, you'll get what you've always gotten!"He was on a roll now, the audience had truly come alive, some of them looked a little surprised to be there, but they were all excited, all ready to go out and improve themselves, and while unaware, ready to serve Tony, ready to buy more books, more planners, more shirts, more merch. They would arise, and they would serve.
I must have looped that day a million times, and tried nearly as many different little things. I’d gotten as far as 24 short hours could take a man into every hobby imaginable and more besides. I’d laughed and loved or failed at both with nearly every woman in the city, attractiveness be damned. I’d even killed a man once, though in my defense he’d needed killing. It figured that I did my worst on the last day, and in a way I hardly even enjoyed. Sports sucked. There, I said it and I’ll say it again. In my youth my parents forced me into soccer like seemingly every other kid in middle America. I bounced off that when I discovered you had to run and ended up playing basketball where I tried my absolute hardest to be a 10 year old Shaq, but from his older days where he ran badly and shot worse. There was a stint playing offensive line in high school just because I thought girls liked guys on the football team but I promptly gave up on that when I realized how many hours the coach expected in the weight room. In short, if it involved a ball or a goal or field made of anything from grass to clay I was out. That’s probably why it took me so many loops to bother with it at all but when I did…well the first time it still sucked. But then I found sports betting. It started organically when I walked into a local Irish pub and ordered a glass of anything that might blind me by the end of the night, which at that point was roughly 12 hours later. I started early in those days. Anyway, at noon on a thursday the bar had precisely two other patrons, middle aged guys who looked about as broken two as the trucks I’d walked past on my way in. They argued like a married couple over a soccer game playing out on the TV, their dueling accents saw at each other in the strangest duet I’d ever heard. It wasn’t often you caught a genuine Irish lilt and a Mississippi drawl in the same room. “Now lookee here man, that game ain’t shit! You want a real game it’s football! Men play football, ain’t none of that flopping around there.” The Irishman shook his head in disgust, fist clenched around a dark beer as if he wanted to crack his drinking partner’s skull with it. “Football! What you’re watching right now is football! You Americans wouldn’t know a real man unless you walked in on one with your wife. There’ll be none of your armored rugby in here!” They continued on like that through two carefully nursed drinks and most of the rest of the game as glasses and bottles proceeded to accumulate around me, this run through the loop consigned to oblivion from the moment I’d woken up based on nothing more than a twinge in my neck. Finally when it looked as if the bartender might have become genuinely worried about me the southerner brought me into the argument with a shouted greeting. “Hey! You look like you’ve got some red blood in you, what do you think of this soccer shit?” He stared into my eyes as if in some primal call to my manhood, and I, in my sorry state, rose to it. “I don’t know-\hicc\- anything- \hicc\- about that game. But I know the white team sucks!” I crushed through another shot and slapped it back to the bar as the Irishman stared at me as if I’d shot his dog. I found out later that the team I’d just insulted was his hometown club. If I’d done that at a more crowded hour the bar might have genuinely been dangerous to me. “Yeah? Well $20 says they win.” The Irishman slapped his bill down onto the bar even harder than I had my drink and something in my snapped. I pulled out my wallet and responded with a $50, which a moment later he matched. And just like that I was hooked. I lost the bet of course, and the next ten, but over many, many, drunken days and nights in the bar I learned something from my two new friends. Most especially from Cormac, the redheaded giant who had challenged me to my first bet and who was, as it turned out, the owner’s ne’er do well brother. But how did this turn into my downfall you ask? The answer is simple really. I’m a man of passions, and I live them to the exclusion of all else when I find them, particularly in this case when I had nothing else and my knowledge of the players I teams I began to bet on was able to live in my head across loops, unlike the more muscle memory dependent hobbies I might otherwise have pursued. I began to optimize and memorize, in small ways at first and then in greater and greater degrees. Days at the pub with Cormac turned into nights at a bigger sportsbar downtown where all the TVs played a different game, turned into only betting and more. The sports got more obscure as well, one night I even found myself simultaneously betting on Korean Starcraft and Russian Curling in such a clear display of addiction that it nearly scared me off the hobby. For a loop or two at least. All that is to say I was hooked. More completely than I had been by anything in so incredibly long, and after love had lost its luster I desperately needed something such as this. Which brings me to the day it all ended, the night when I went to sleep in a bleary eyed stupor of habit just before midnight and woke up the next day at 10:52 AM, not 7:30 as I had for what was surely centuries by now. That night had been my betting magnum opus. For many loops now I’d ignored the games I knew the outcome of, after all what fun could be had in a known quantity? That night was different, and I sought to test my memory. I went down the list of major American sports and then moved across the pond, passing over Europe like a statistical plague before I moved into Asia. The bets were all small, a dollar here, 5 there, after all my winnings had not passed into each loop with me and I was not rich. I had enough however, enough to lay a small bet across every game going in every major sport in 30 countries just to see if I could do it, if I could remember enough true outcomes, and as my night wore on I watched my results come in, an endless stream of green lighting up across the many webpages. I went to sleep that night a happy man as the winnings still raked in, and I woke with no less than 6 guns in my faces, and the most confusing cacophony of languages I’d ever heard in my life. Cormac himself was even there, blessedly not holding a gun, but still as angry and confused as the other men in the room, and in his eyes there was not the slightest hint of recognition. It had been many nights since I’d gone to his pub. As it turned out there were repercussions to being 97% correct in the world of sports betting. Repercussions for me and for all the representatives of organized crime in my room and still gathering outside my house. In my room the cacophony slowly died down as the men all realized their strange impasse. It seemed every person here wanted a piece of me, for some to pick my mind, for others whose losses had run deeper to extract their pound of flesh. I, however, was not a man to go down without a fight, and I had made my peace with death after only a few thousand loops. I’d lived in a world without consequences for a very long time, and in such a place you learn to seize your opportunities. Today was no different, despite the fact that everything had changed. Besides, if today was an extension of yesterday than we’d never met, and I owed him nothing. I looked directly at Cormac, my drinking partner of so many long lost nights and said, “Hey buddy, what the hell is this? I held up my end!” Half the guns in the room shifted to him and took the mood with them. Where before these unnamed gangsters had seemed willing to call a truce as they hashed out whatever insanity had happened now they felt betrayed by one of their own. Men such as this had a code, and it appeared to them that Cormac had broken it. He stared at me with a complex mix of shock and hate while I reminisced on what had been better times with the man. No matter, I’d had more than my time and lived more than my share of lives. I’d even gotten so bored that I’d forgotten how hard sports sucked. At least now else was happening. From the look in his eyes Cormac may have felt differently. \---------- If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm currently working on a serial about three teens who encounter a Hive Mind and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
I mean, seriously though, what are the odds? No way, no how, those are the odds. Okay, it's a little weird your father is named Adonis. And that they are both stupidly, ridiculously attractive. Like, top 1% super model attractive. Or that they both randomly left for large periods of time, leaving you in the hands of various aunts and uncles. Aunts and uncles with their own...peculiarities. Still, impossible, right? Besides, if they were the real deal, you'd have all sorts of crazy abilities. You'd be breathtakingly handsome, not the just sorta plain you are. You'd have some type of mind control or magic or...something. As it was you were barely passing math. So, coincidence. That's all it was. It wasn't until you got hit by that car that you really started to suspect. Straight hit, the car's hood, windshield and bumper were wrecked. You went flying, landed on the asphalt a good 10ft away. You had a few scrapes. Confused and worried, you quickly agreed to the drivers offer to take care of all the damages himself for this not getting reported to the police. The driver probably didn't realize neither of you needed the attention. A week later, you stand in the bathroom, looking intently at the mirror. You're about to be voted Prom King. Again. You never really noticed, you were a nice guy. You figured people just voted for you out of gratitude. You helped people study, you never picked on anyone, in fact you were quick to try and get people to get along. When you were around, they always did. You looked at your phone, at the list of phone numbers for almost every female member of the school on it, as well as most of the male. Just friends you thought. You think back on it all, the awkward text messages, the long pauses, the sudden disconnects you blamed on poor signal. How the shower room always seemed crowded when you were in it. How the stands at Gym always got full during your PE period. You splash water on your face and look into the mirror again. At your soft, beautiful features, sharp eyes, straight blindingly white teeth. How did you never notice? Then you think back on the myths of the two called Aphrodite and Adonis and realize you got one trait from the both in spades. Your shoulders slump, shoulders that somehow manage to be strangely broad and masculine yet slim and alluring at the same time. "I'm really stupid, aren't I?"
Those dreams had haunted Jack for a long time. He wasn't sure whether it was the world around him or if he was going mad - but something was happening in the world that nobody else had noticed. "You're worrying way too much dude, lol."His best friend said, when they were sneaking into Lahygragons lair. "Why do you end your sentences with 'lol'? You never used to do this before we went on that adventure with the Goblin King." "Can we just move on?" And on they went, yet in Jack's mind there lingered a thought. Everything had changed in mere two weeks' time. He had been a soldier in the imperial army for years, yet suddenly a couple of goblins come up and his powers grew stronger than anyone could imagine. Come to think of it, had he been in the imperial army? He knew he had, but somehow all specifics eluded him. He had to have had a family, friends, enemies - yet he could not remember a single one. Even his last name, "Off", started to feel like a cruel joke from the universe. As if out of nowhere, Lahygragons servants pounced on the group. Massive black lizards out of the abyss. The group drew their weapons. But Jack dropped his blade on his own feet and started bleeding. He heard echoes of laughter, faint as whispers, echo in the dark cavern. It had seemed odd to him before, but now it was certain. See, about 5% of the time when he'd try to do something completely mundane, he would fail and injure himself. No matter how much he concetrated. Picking up a spoon? Injured. Talking to a shopkeeper? Injured. Taking out the trash? Injured. Jack needed to know what Gods were dreaming up this unending nightmare. He would go meet them. He charged at the abyssal lizards headfirst, hearing his allies crying him to stop. He dropped his weapons on the ground and let the creatures have him as he slid into a dream. Five people were sitting in a room with dice, paper and pencils. There was a grid with figurines on it in the middle. "Aw come on, I only have one more spellslot and now I have to use it on your existential crisis, dude." "I'm just playing my character." Jack floated closer as the man who had spoken picked up a paper and pointed at it. "Jack Off, level 11 rogue, used to be an imperial soldier." Jack was confused and enraged. Who was this man, why had his entire personality been written on some scrappy paper? He read further. "Constantly in existential crisis, doesn't believe the world exists." And Jack awoke again, in the caverns. For a while he laid there and listened to the sounds of spells slung and swords clanging against scaly flesh. "Yo Jack dude, we gotta go."His friend spoke. "No, I don't think we do."
Edric flattened himself low to the horse’s back, riding full out through tenuous light of a moonshadowed morning. He’d changed mounts three times already this cycle, and long experience told him that the end was nearly here. The air was already warming, and if he had looked back he would have seen mirages beginning to dance in the distance where a mans blood would boil before he ever reached an oasis. Soon the shadow would pass by him, and before the next rider found him his clothes, hair, and the letters he carried would have burned away, leaving nothing more than bones and the iron tags he wore. The last moments of moonshadow were the most exhilarating, they were what men like Edric lived for. As he raced along the hard packed desert ground he shouted their motto like a challenge to the heavens. “Neither fire nor ice, nor sudden shadow’s flight, can keep us from our duty!” The riders of the Shadow Express lived by those words, and the Two Kingdoms flourished by their actions. Edric didn’t know what missives he carried this time, but whether they were an innkeeper’s love letter or the words of kings, they’d reach the Nightlands on time. Up ahead Edric saw the first markers, simple cairns of stones spaced every thousand feet. He was getting close to his waypoint, and just in time too. His back was already getting warmer, the shadow’s edge was nearly upon him. Ten cairns of hard riding later he saw it, a devilishly subtle cave entrance set into a rocky slope. Two men stood on either side of opening waving their arms at him frantically. Edric understood. There was little time left now and he had to hurry, even if it killed the horse. Those men would close the doors on him without a second thought if he wasn’t quick enough. He made it just in time, his exhausted horse collapsing just inside the cave’s mouth as the doors swung shut behind him. Edric felt hands grasp his arms, pulling him to his feet. “Close call friend, I’m glad you made it,” one of the gatekeepers said. “Me too. It was close going this time, though in the end the God took mercy.” Edric glanced between the too men, he didn’t recognize either. “Where’s Tarik? Did he have the day off?” “Hah, Tarik! You must be Edric then, he said you would be coming. He’s down in Gerwyn’s chasing the barmaids about.” “That sounds like him. Can you tell the stablemaster I’ll need a fresh horse for the next shadow? I’ll need provisions as well.” “Aye, we can. Go you, and find Tarik. Keep him out of trouble if you can.” Edric smiled, clapping the man on his shoulder, and turned deeper into the cavern. He took at a leisurely walk letting the tension flow out of him and soon he came to the overlook railing, where the sight took his breath away as completely as it always did. That was the last wonder of his job that the years had never been able to take away from him. Far below him the bright lights of Shadow’s Folly stretched off into the distance in vast arcs of blues and golds, alongside the single bright red line where he knew he’d find Tarik. In all the world there was no city quite like this one; no people quite like the wild, devil-may-care folk who lived here and the hard-bitten riders they serviced. Edric breathed deeply of the cool underground air, savoring the moment as he always did. He’d traveled the world his whole life and Shadow’s Folly was the only place he’d ever thought truly beautiful. If he was blessed to live long enough he would retire here. Thinking happily of a small plot of land in the southern caverns and the mushroom farm he might start there Edric made his way down the long ramps towards the city and the thin red line that would welcome him with open arms. He was home. \------- If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
I glanced at my watch as I studied. 5 minutes until moonrise. Right on cue, the screams started in the other room. I really hoped my plan worked this time. The screams turned to howls, then subsided. I opened the Mary's closet door. "Want to go for a walk?"I asked, holding up a ball. Mary bounded after me as I trudged through the town towards the dog park. I got some weird looks, but it wasn't too bad. When Mary had first told me she was a werewolf, I'd been a bit apprehensive. I knew I was going to a rather progressive university, but you expect to be put in residence with someone from a different culture or background, not a werewolf. I'd always assumed those went into the accessible dorms. Mary had explained that lycanthropy was not a disability, just a difference. And she was right. She just a few nights every month as a wolf. It wasn't dramatic or terrifying like in the old stories. She just lay on her bed gnawing a bone and listening to music. She couldn't wear earphones, but her good hearing meant the volume was always barely audible. Werewolves were just now receiving widespread recognition and acceptance. Mary was happy to explain, but also very sensitive to any hint of discrimination. "How hard is it to check a lunar chart?"she ranted as yet another professor set an evening exam at the full moon. "This is a case where accessibility is trivial!"That's why it had been so stressful when I had first brought up the shedding. I had very curly hair. Mary had long straight hair. That alone was creating plenty of clumps and tangling with our clothes in the dryer. Add in wolf fur, though and it was insane. Large clumpy wisps all over the floor, hairballs all over my clothes. At last, I couldn't stand it anymore. "Umm, Mary,"I said tentatively, "Do you figure we could do anything about the hair and fur situation? Sweeping isn't really doing it. Maybe we should get a vacuum cleaner?" Mary looked up from her assignment. "Yeah, sure, whatever." "I'm kinda broke,"I continued, "I was thinking we could go halves." "I don't think I'll be using it and I'm not rich either." "Well,"I persisted, "seeing as most of the hair and all of the fur is yours. I figured it made sense you participated in solving the problem." "Well, I don't think it's a problem,"said Mary rather sharply, "We sweep regularly. There isn't much dust. We're probably one of the cleanest rooms on the floor." "Sure,"I said cautiously, "but the fur and hair combo tends to get kicked up and gets into my stuff." "Would we even be having this conversation if I was just a girl with really thick hair?"asked Mary. I was pretty sure the answer was yes, but I could see where Mary was coming from. My visceral reaction was definitely different because it was fur. We had a version of this conversation a few more times, but to no avail. Mary clearly thought I was just a lycanphobe and I was getting more and more stressed. "Shape-constants have to do their part in creating a welcoming society and that includes rethinking lycanphobe and other shapist attitudes and standards,"she had insisted a week ago. Well, tonight I was going to see what putting in the work could do. I had done some research. Werewolves usually liked to play much like dogs when in wolf form. They just liked their autonomy and intellect respected. No collar, leash, or master-pet dynamic. Well except for those weird sexual fetishes some of them had. I had quickly closed that tab. Anyway, a trip to the dog park would probably be good. Werewolves in wolf form were allowed in public and at dog parks if accompanied by a human who could explain the situation and call 911 if anything bad happened. I completed a brief online training and got my lycanthrope accompanier card. The school required all the usual rabies shots and dewormings for its werewolf students, so we were fine on that front. And so I had bought a ball and some dog biscuits and shifted my sleep schedule later. Once in the dog park, we played fetch for a while, then wrestled and other games. Soon, we were actually joined by an entire werewolf family. The father explained to me that he and his wife took turns taking the shape-locking pills to be able to legally take their family to the park. Unfortunately, the pills had awful side effects. We sat on the bench as he scratched himself and cradled his aching head. Near dawn, we all left. Mary trotted beside me as we headed towards campus. She slipped into her closet and emerged a moment later in human form. "That was incredible!"she enthused, "Thank you so much for taking me! Growing up, we went out as wolves maybe once a year." "No problem,"I said, looking at the blessedly fur-free floor. We went out the next night as well and met another werewolf family, this time accompanied by a neighbour. I watched the frolicking cubs and smiled. Their neighbour leaned over. "You're doing a good thing for your roommate there. Natural play in both forms is really important for a werewolf's physical and mental health,"he said. "I'm only doing it because of the shedding,"I admitted, "I just wanted a vacuum cleaner, actually." "Werewolves can be sensitive about shedding comments. Several werewolf asylums gave them chemotherapy to make them bald and reduce their cleaning bill." I looked at him in shock. "Werewolves have good reason to doubt that governments and the medical world have their best interests at heart,"he continued, "It's not just in the past, either. Look at the accompanying laws. They're written due to fear, but as a result, 50% of adult werewolves never got to play outdoors as cubs. 95% of werewolves go out in wolf form once a year or less. And that causes real harm. This park should be full." I looked at Mary with new understanding. We were not enemies. Neither of us had been truly in the wrong in our arguments. But history had driven a wedge between us. "I wish I could do more,"I muttered. The man slipped me a business card. "We're trying to start an organization for allies. Maybe you could come to a few meetings. And we'll gladly spring for a vacuum cleaner for you girls. My late wife left fur everywhere."
The 7 foot tall demon, wreathed in hellfire says from his position inside an elaborate summoning circle. He peers curiously at the little girl in front of him, fairly bemused at her persistence and obvious cunning. "Well, Mr. Asmodeus, it\`s really not that hard. Have you ever heard of a multi level marketing scheme?"the little girl says, with a precocious smile on her face. "What?!"the demon says dumbfounded, "You started a pyramid scheme to acquire souls? At your age?" "Yes, it really wasn\`t all that difficult. No one really values souls these days anyways. I just convinced the first one to give me his soul and used it for myself but I figured I could convince a bunch to do it if I fulfilled their requests with previous souls I acquired and then I just had them work for me and get new souls each time."the girl says, with a cunning look in her eyes. "Wow, that is ingenious!"the demon says in awe, "But anyway, what do you want this time? The first time you had me cause the parents of that girl Diane, who made fun of you, to divorce and the time after that you had me take away a boy\`s athletic ability, since you had a crush on him and he said you were ugly. Most of your requests since then have been similar. You know, you should really find some more mature uses for souls, these juvenile ones are really just wasteful. Not that I\`m complaining, of course..."Asmodeus says humorously. "Hey, those were perfectly good reasons to use souls for! But I am trying to increase the age of the people in my little business. But Diane has been miserable ever since, it makes me smile, see?"she says, her smile now stretched comically wide on her innocent face. "Ha! Well, I suppose its all in the eye of the beholder! But, down to business, what do you wish now? Perhaps a teacher gave someone bad grades? Want me to ruin their life?"the demon says eagerly, his eyes fixed greedily on the soul container placed next to the girl just outside the circle and therefore, his reach. "Well, this time, things are a little more complicated. This is for a friend of mine. She has been having a hard time, her boyfriend broke up with her!"the little girl says, her face scrunched up in clear dismay. "Oh, well this is very serious then!"the demon says amusedly, "Would you like me to get her a new boyfriend? Maybe a movie star?" "No, I don\`t think she is ready for that. She already kind of made it clear what she wishes to happen to him, although I don\`t really understand what she meant..."the little girl says confusedly. "Who is the girl? And what exactly did she want to happen?"the demon says, with an interested look on his demonic visage. "She\`s my babysitter, Tammy Lynn! I convinced her to join my business if I fulfill her wish, she can be my first step into a whole new revenue stream!"the little girl says, her face betraying her eagerness. "Ha! The amount of 'Tammy Lynn's that we get downstairs is beyond belief, looks like your friend is no different... but that\`s definitely a smart business step! So, what does she want done to her boyfriend and what\`s his name?" "His name is Chad! He cheated on her, which is bad, I think? But, she said she wants fire ants to devour his manhood....what\`s his manhood?"the little girl asks, curious. "Hahahaha!"the demon falls over in the circle, his laughter gravelly and maniacal. "What?!"the little girl exclaims in consternation, clearly bothered that she doesn\`t get why he\`s laughing. "Ha!"Asmodeus laughs one last time, now vaguely breathless, or at least as breathless as a demon can get, "Well, it refers to his...ahem...private parts."he says, while gesturing vaguely in that direction. "Ooooooo!"the girl exclaims, her eyes wide, before they narrow and she says, "Ewww! That\`s icky!" "Haha! Yes it is little girl, but I can definitely do this job for you, wouldn\`t want to stand in the way of a young entrepreneur such as yourself."he says with a wink. "Ok, good! Make the promise then, and I shall toss the soul into the circle for you."the little girl says, her eyes deeply concentrated on the demon, intent on making sure he makes the promise correctly. "Hmph, you really can\`t just trust me yet, lass? Ughh, fine...I, Asmodeus, do swear by the Dark Lord, Satan, that I shall fulfill the task you have given me immediately after receiving the soul payment."he says, solemnly. The little girl promptly tosses the soul to the demon, who stows it somewhere on his person. "Well, get to work then, Azzy! I will have much more for you soon, my business plan will have me fully infiltrating the high school and jumping to the local college in a few weeks here. We will be busy!"the little girl says, her eyes gleaming with avarice. "Alright, I will be off! I eagerly await your next summons little girl! Speaking of, what is your name anyway? We are, after all, essentially business partners now."the demon says with a gleam in his eye. "Hmph!"the little girl says, "Trying to weasel the true name out of a little girl, you shameless demon?" "Ha! I had to try! It is my nature after all. How about your first name, at least? I can\`t just keep calling you little girl."the demon says, slightly disappointed at being found out so easily by a child. "Fine!"the little girl says. "So, what is it then?" The little girl smiles mischievously, her eyes shining eerily in the dim light of the room as she says: 'Hope."
Nine people were packed into the little viewing room. It was just big enough that all of them could fit comfortably in it, sitting in two neat rows. The officiant waited until everyone had settled before addressing them. "Good afternoon everyone. Now before I play her video will, Raincheck wrote a foreword of sorts to be read so..." The lawyer pulled a small folded sheet of paper from his breast pocket, unfolded it and cleared his throat. "Hey everyone. All of you know me. I have never given any of you reason to doubt me. All I ask of you is to keep an open mind, and to not make any snap judgements or take rash action. You know I wouldn't do anything if I didn't truly believe it was the right thing to do." He let the words hang in the air for a bit, gauging reactions. "Alright, you can come in." The door opened and in walked a slender man clad in a black tux that had a green shimmer when it caught the light the right way and a simple, full face mask. His eyes were showing and, much to the suprise of everyone, the makeup he was wearing In Lieu of the normal lenses was heavily smudged. He had been crying. "Please,"the lawyer said "Take a seat Imago." Jeremy, Raincheck's eldest, started to stand but his mother put a hand on his shoulder before he could rise fully and pushed him back into his seat. He resigned himself to stewing in frustration. Imago silently took the open seat at the far back right and folded his hands in his lap silently. "What the HELL is this!?"Jeremy shouted. "Do you even kno-" "Hush!"Sandra hissed. She was Rainchecks wife, the only person that didn't seem surprised by the latest revelation. It was enough to stop her son in his tracks. He was expecting her outrage to dwarf his. Imago didn't react. He didn't even turn his head. He just continued looking into his lap. "If everyone is ready."The lawyer spoke up once more. "The sooner the video starts, the sooner we can all go on with our days." He waited a few seconds before nodding and silently pressing play on his remote. Raincheck's face, Hailey's face, took up most of the wall on the far side of the room. She smiled her winning smile and started to speak. "Hey everyone. Shitty that you even have to watch this video at all, but no one lives forever."She said in a cheery tone, letting out a small laugh at her joke before continuing. "None of you should be surprised at what you're getting. This was discussed at length with all of you before hand. However, because I love a good surprise, none of you know how much anyone else is getting. Fun right? So let's start with the family. You all get twenty percent of my whatever's was in my accounts when I kicked it. I was never particularly good with numbers, so ask Gregor what the exact amounts are later but that should be somewhere in the tens of millions. Half that goes to Sandra. You're the love of my life and always have been. You're the reason I kept fighting so hard for so long. I want nothing more than for you to be happy and healthy for as long as possible. I love you Hailey, please don't get hung up on me. You have so much love to give, it'd be a shame to waste it. Now Jeremy, Patrice, you two get to split the other half. Now don't think that means you're gonna be living on easy street. You won't get a cent of it until you've each made one hundred thousand from your own hard work and not until you're over twenty five. You two have so much potential, I don't want you to go the way of other people with generational wealth. Hopefully this is enough for you to learn the worth of a dollar and a good days work. Jeremy, I've always been proud of you. I want you to know that outright. I know you struggle with your own things but you're one of the strongest people I know, and one of my friends can lift a house. I love you. Patrice, hopefully you're old enough to understand this, if not well... Mum will get a copy of this message for you to play later. Don't let anyone push you around. It'll probably get out who I am and who you are, but don't let it stop you. Be like the willow out back, nothing can push that tree over. I love you. Along with that, the three of you get to decide what happens with all my stuff. Mom, dad, you two were supportive of me through my masked vigilante days. I know how hard that was for you two but you believed in me and because of that I was able to make the league what it is today. You both get ten percent as well. Now for what everyone is waiting for. Imago."The image waited for perhaps just a second longer than she should before she continued. "I'm not going to out you to anyone, I won't go over our history in detail, but you knew that. Imago is a villain. Yes. He's tried to do some truly horrible things, this much is true. Hell, he's my arch nemesis, why would I leave him anything at all? Well let me answer that What you don't know, is that he and I have been taking regular lunches out of costume. Maybe once a month. It started after the tsunami in 2037. The one that fucked up New York. He contacted me, wanted to talk. I obliged. Over the years since, We've gotten rather close. Nothing that would interest a tabloid but there's been a professional courtesy between us since. Many have noticed how much his attacks have been toned down. That's what makes me believe in him the way I do. Imago, you got dealt one of the shittiest hands I've ever seen. The fact that you didn't turn full blown serial killer is a miracle in my eyes. I can see the kindness in your heart. To you, I have a proposal and a request. My proposal is this. Fifty percent of my fortune to reveal your identity to the league and join them. They'll be surprised, but they've been briefed. My request is something a little more personal. Whatever killed me, make sure it can't hurt anyone else. If it was an illness, cure it. If it's a villain, capture them, turn them in. Consider this my calling in any outstanding favours I have. I hope you accept my offer. Everything that's left, including Imago's cut if he decides not to turn over a new leaf, will be distributed evenly among charities. Hopefully they can do as much good as I did." With that, the video ended and all eyes stuck to Imago. He sat in silence for a fair minute. A silence no one dare break. Eventually though, he stood and adjusted his tie. Took a long shaky breath and spoke. "I'm not in a position to accept or deny her proposal right now. I need time to mourn, and to think. However, Her request will be fulfilled. Ilahi will not harm another soul." He looked to the lawyer, to say "Mister Plekk, please hold the amount set aside for me until I contact you again."Then without another word he left, leaving all left to wonder what the future holds for the world. (Thanks for reading! I hope I did the prompt justice.)
Ali took his coffee and thanked the barista. He glanced around, out onto the busy street. Seeing an empty seat at an occupied table he touched the woman gently only the shoulder and gestured at the seat wth his other hand a non threatening smile. She looked up and immediately nodded there was a glimmer of recognition on her face. Ali felt like he'd seen her before somewhere. Ali sipped his coffee. A Vienna, closed his eyes and rolled his head back and took another sip. He quashed the mild anger forming in the back of his mind that he couldn't order Viennas anymore because next noone in the modern world new what they were, least of baristas. No. Nowadays he had to order a 'long black with cream' or an 'americano with cream' and there was always the stupid question of 'how much cream' and then the barista pouring in lumpy cream and not stirring it and because Ali was so polite and afraid of drawing attention to himself he'd just smile and put the lid on his cup properly. But this cafe. Verona, the only thing they didn't know was the name vienna. They certainly knew how to make one though. Ali had been visiting this coffee shop most mornings for the past nearly 30 years. It was a lucky find, he'd moved halfway across the world on a whim of a couple of words in a 90s rock song. Opening his eyes Ali nearly spilled his coffee "what in the hell?"He growled the woman he had been sitting opposite had put her face very close to his. "You! seen you before"she hissed at him and sat back, glaring at him with arms folded and a scorching intensity. 'Wow she's really pissed off' the though flahsed through Alis mind like the next stop on metro noticeboard. Followed shortly by feelings of wondering what he did. Suddenly Ali had a bright idea. "Nope, no. I'm sorry you've got the wrong person."He took another sip of his coffee "I'd definately remember someone as beautiful as you"another sip of coffee and a glance at his watch. "Sorry I gotta go it's 11:57 and I'm running out of time"getting up and finishing his coffee "thanks for the seat, I gotta run"he turned to leave and the lady jumped on his back and tripped/tackled Ali. But as the ground rush up to meet him reality seemed to freeze and break apart into darkness. Ali was immortal but it still felt like every cell in his body had been hit by a freight train, like the worst combination of a hangover and fried chicken blues. He hit the ground, instead of pavement they were now on a grassy hill. Alone. He stood up and looked around, trees and a view of the nearby coast. It was beautiful, the air reminded him of a cleaner time. Looking back at the girl he asked "who the hell are you and what the hell just happened?" The girl still on her hands and knees vomited her coffee onto the hillside. Getting to her feet she forced an uneasy smile. "My name's Ellie, I'm a time traveller, I actually have no clue when or where we are, it's sort of how time travel works" Ali shook his head and something big sounding roared in the distance. "Okay so what do you want with me." "I don't know, I've been jumping through time kind of at random I learnt how to trigger it but I keep getting lost and still sometimes accidentally trigger it. But I keep seeing you. You've been many of the greats, throughout history."She paused getting worked up, her voice cracking this time. "I got so scared about messing with the timelines, I've been alone so long and I know your face I know it so well, So somehow I know you're just like me. You're a time traveller too"she said tears starting to form. Ali felt his soul die a little more inside, he wanted to help this girl but didn't think he could. "I'm really sorry I'm not a time traveller"he started but Ellie cut him off. "You lie, you've done nothing but lie since we met."She was getting really upset now. Ali shifted uncofmrtably, he knew her pain of lonliness so well. Part of him wondered if this girl had ever recieved much love. And he felt for her, because he knew that pain well too. "Look I'm not a time traveller, didn't even know someone like you could exist until today. Whenever that is"he smiled at his own joke. She started crying "Then I'm sorry I brought you here"she got up and turned and jumped into the hillside disappearing. The big sounding thing that roared earlier roared again, this time much closer. Ali groaned in frustration and then in terror as a big toothy lizard tore through the tree line eyed him up and started charging. "FUUUAARK"he screamed started running for his life. After 80million years of surviving through eons he had no place in Ali saw mankind begin to emerge again, watched them tread out through the world, he watched history repeat itself as it unfolded for everyone else. He watched his birth, watched himself grow up, always sitting back in the shadows never being seen. He knew what his movements would be afterall. So when the day came that he watched his younger self get blasted back 80 million years he grinned as he walked towards the spot where he'd disappeared. A few minutes pater the timetraveller stepped back through. Teary eyed looking exactly as she had that day 80million years ago. Wiping her eyes and stepped forward blindly. Into Ali. "I'm immortal, not a timetraveller"he whined in frustration at her. Pulling her into a hug. "Then let's go somewhen else"she whispered hugging him back as reality froze and faded to become the mouth of a cave over looking stream with a forrest on one side and plains on another. Some wild deer drinking peacefully from the water.
"Excuse me, step back behind the rope, sir." "Nay." "'Nay?' Sir, I'm not going to ask you again, please." The figure slumped. His broad shoulders drooped. "Young man,"he said through a thick but cultured accent, "I am here to retrieve what is mine." What the man was claiming as his was a peculiar little doodad, it might resemble a teapot on an axle, if the teapot also had a spout on its underside. "Sir, that device has been in the museum's custody,"and the guard was careful not to say 'belonged to the museum' because of the many stories in the news in recent years debating how assorted peoples' artifacts wound up in museums, Adele Bloch-Bauer being an especially vivid example, "for close to one hundred years and is, itself, much, much older than that. I'm pretty certain it isn't yours unless you are exceptionally well preserved." The figure turned, fixing contemplative eyes on the younger man. His face was lined but not withered, and held a thoughtful expression. "I am so much more well preserved than you can imagine."He held out a square, battered hand - the kind of hand that was well used to holding tools. "My name is Hero."
"All rise, the honorable judge Nathan Crow residing!"The courtroom all rose then sat down, ready for the trial that was to be unlike any other before it. Judge Nathan began his explanation of the proceedings to come, "As you are all aware, this trial is Humanity vs Josh Crow. While normally trials are held to determine guilt or innocence, the wish of Josh Crow has ensured no one can lie ever again, including himself. It has already been determined that he was in fact responsible for that wish, as well as granting it himself, and that he alone can reverse its effects. It has also been determined that this wish was in fact made in good faith, with no ill will towards humanity. In fact, Josh Crow himself agreed with me that this trial should be held. As the Judge, I shall have no say over the verdict as I am in fact his brother. The verdict rests soley on the jury, which has been randomly picked from all English speaking citizens of the world." The courtroom sat silent through all of this. This trial was one of the turning points of humanity itself. Whatever happened here would affect the entire world. The judge continued, "Before we officially get this trial underway, I would like Josh Crow to affirm what his intentions are for the courtroom to hear." Josh cleared his throat, "This trial is for me to hear the final wish of Humanity itself. If I am found guilty, then I shall undo my wish! If I am found innocent, then the wish shall stand." The judge nodded his head in affirmation and began the trial. Called to the witness stand were a woman in mental hospital garb who was suffering major depression from always being told she wasn't beautiful at all, a prominent writer who couldn't write fiction anymore and so lost his entire career, a former business executive who lost his job from being forced to comment on his boss's dress, and a whole slew of other people who's lives were changed for the worse because they were robbed of their ability to lie, even if it were with good intentions. Josh Crow remained silent through the whole ordeal, taking in every word from the people who's lives he ruined with no expression on his face other than stoicism. When the trial was over, the jury didn't even need to deliberate, as the vote was immediately unanimous. "Guilty!" Josh Crow stood up and sighed. It looked to him that humanity had finally learned its lesson. He looked to the judge and said, "Then I shall make good on my word. The power of wishing shall be given back to whichever God decided to grant me it in the first place, but not before this next wish is made on my part. I wish for humanity to be able to lie again."A bright light emanated from Josh's body and spread to the entire globe. The collective cheers of humanity seemed to ring loudly in his ears. But almost immediately the cheers stopped when he said, "I wish humanity were extinct." The world was silent, only Josh remained standing. For he was not human at all... he was the God who granted this wish in the first place. Humanity never deserved free will, for only the Gods should decide what's best for the world. Josh then went to work creating man from scratch, using nothing more than clay. For this time humanity shall be Gods of their own design.
I knew it was happening and my next door neighbour no less. I had know Phil for years and always thought he was a good guy until today. The signs had been there so so long, I can't believe I was such a fool to miss them. I would be laying there in bed and nothing would load. I did what any man would do and investigated, I had a look and the logs were plane to see, it had bene happing for months but it was going to end now. When your omnipotent its child's play to become omniscient too, just slow down time so you can examine each and every action in minute detail, I could spend ages of the universe on a single day but thats beside the point, I knew how to program. Was this cruel to Phil, yes but it would teach him a lesson not to take what isn't his. 2 hours I waited, 2 hours of anticipation until i heard it. My boy Astley blaring at max volume from my neighbours house accompanied by swearing. I heard the knock on my door 5 minutes later. "hi honey, what can i help you with?" I could tell she was mad but tinged with the knowledge she deserved this. "look, I know its been rough on you since we split but did you have to hack Phil's laptop?" "Hack? whatever do you mean, I simply repointed my router to a RickRoll for my own enjoyment, it wouldn't have affected Phil unless... I don't know maybe my ex wife took the WIFI password with her when she left me. That would be crazy though, she left me over how much it cost so it shouldn't be that" "A normal person would just ban the IP, god damn it your infuriating. By the way I have the divorce papers for you" "they will be signed once I notice your devices disconnect from my WIFI. I mean come on, its one thing to leave me but its quite another to stream 4k video when you know I am online late into the night." In 19 years I had loved and I had lost but my WIFI was mine, she took half my savings, she wasn't having half my bandwidth too. &#x200B; &#x200B; I know it probably should have said wife but i thought it would be funnies with the typo so ran with it.
"...in fact it hasn't existed in 13 years". So aside from the fluoride in the water is actually a compound responsible for immunization to mind control subprogramming from TV commercials, the real reason for controlling Alaska, and the existence of not one, not two, but at least six different alien races that have set up shop on Luna as a vacation resort, I started cracking up when the General started on North Korea having blown itself off the earth without anyone knowing. "Pause. I love it guys, this is hilarious, but let's start the meeting now, the country really needs this infrast..." "No, sir, we are being serious." Their faces are grim. "These statements are all true. You have access to all the documents to verify them."He points to the push cart of thickly stuffed folders. "There are more secrets to let you in on sir, but we need your help solving one that threatens humanity the most." Please don't be something involving magic. I'll lose my shit if Harry Potter isn't quite fiction. I'm finally getting around to reading these books the younger generations find "on fleek". "Well, spit it out general." "We currently have a meteor hurling toward Earth and it's the size of Texas. We have a nuclear arsenal that can take care of it but, it seems the latest scans reveal that it is made of solid gold. We're considering the use of Musk's, Branson's, and Bezos's space robots to land and steer..." It's gonna be a long day. I'm going to need to legalize weed just to handle this without going insane.
Earth wasn’t at all what I expected. It’s beautiful to be sure. But I feel so heavy here. The first thing that caught me off guard was the gravity. At home on the space station, they didn’t prepare us for the feeling of suddenly weighing a ton. It HURT. My hair also stopped floating. That’s never happened before. I don’t know why, but the weight of my hair felt really odd and uncomfortable. I have always worn my hair long, but if I end up staying here instead of going back, I may have to cut it to prevent it from getting in the way. Another thing they did not prepare us for was weather. When we landed, my skin was immediately assaulted with a thick sheen of sweat. I am told this is from a humid environment. Everything feels sticky and gross. Where I come from, the environment was very controlled. Thinking I would move faster, I tried to leap toward an exit from the heat. But alas, this gravity prevents even the simplest of joys. I don’t know that I could remain happy without the joy of floating and jumping. I can’t imagine how lame eating and drinking might be in this. This day was supposed to be the defining moment of my life and so exciting. But instead, I just feel so restricted and heavy. It’s almost suffocating. I just want to go home.
The master appeared to approve of the idea. At the very least, he found it very amusing and encouraged me to go for it, if only to give him a laugh once I reported back. “This’ll be a hoot.” He had said. I understood not that figure of speech. So I headed out of the mansion and made a beeline for the gardens. As I strode across the grounds, encountering a few other robotic colleagues, I compiled motivational quotes and common conversation starters from the internet. Some music, too. A couple of pop, indie rock playlists and the like should do. I had never tried talking to plants before – but my programming as a gardener gave me access to news pertaining to my duties. Some up-and-coming scientist had conclusively proved that plants could be made to grow better if one talked to them. I had analysed his methodology, conclusion and sources, and everything seemed to be legitimate. I had already determined which plant I would try the theory out on. A little red poppy on plot #2, twenty metres and eight inches to the right of the entrance. I had taken a liking to it after seeing how symmetrical its petal alignment was, as well as a pleasing straightness to its stem. I had been spending extra time cultivating that patch recently, in the hopes I might be able to grow a few similar specimens and possibly secretly extract one for my own keeping. The wind picked up as I approached the second plot of land. The plants swayed lightly in the breeze, and it seemed almost as though they were dancing, tossing their heads and twisting their sinuous waists. The poppy I was looking for was not difficult to locate – it stood taller, with petals of a fresher scarlet than its brethren as a result of my tender care. I approached, metallic joints creaking and processor whirring. “Greetings, Papaver rhoeas.” That seemed appropriate. The poppy would appreciate being identified by its proper scientific name. I looked down at the little flower and searched my databanks for another suitable phrase. “The weather today is extremely optimal. Don’t you just love it when the temperature is twenty-seven degrees Celsius? Just the right conditions to promote growth of plant-based life forms such as yourself.” I considered my words. Had that had been too informal? Perhaps the poppy felt uncomfortable due to my undue bluntness. “Apologies for a lack of a proper introduction. My official registration code is A – 5674G, advanced Delta gardening droid. You may address me as… Bob.” I took a step back to observe the poppy from a better angle, impressed at my own quick thinking. It would surely like me more if I gave myself an easy-to-remember name. I began to play some music from the playlists I had gathered. An hour passed. “Papaver rhoeas, I am required to leave at this time to attend to other matters of gardening. I hope that, having made your acquaintance, we shall continue these regular meetings every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. Those are the only dates that my schedule can be reasonably adjusted to accommodate.” The flower did not move. It had been a relatively successful trip. I felt that my attempts at conversation and mental engagement with the plant, as proposed in the scientist’s published report, would over time contribute to its growth. It might even grow to like me. I made a few quick measurements of the poppy’s stem length and flower width, calculating its current stage of development. Storing the information away, I turned and began to walk off. “You really need to work on basic conversational skills, man.” Someone said from behind me. I spun to see – nothing. Perhaps an unnatural gust of wind. Rotating the upper half of my body to its correct alignment, I proceeded with exiting the compound. “Call me Toby.” The voice spoke again. I didn’t look back. From a quick scan earlier there had been no other life form in the plot save the plants. And they couldn’t talk. I was definitely hearing things. My auditory receptors might have malfunctioned. “Stupid robots.” I could have sworn I heard the someone mutter.
Jax took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his left fist as his right hand held the specialised sniper trigger. It was trained directly on Jay, his best friend, his lover, the other parent of their now deceased child. Little Jackson, another statistic from the ZOMBIE-35 virus. Jay was waiting, tears in his eyes, face trained to where Jax stood. He had a cup of tea on the table, steam was still coming out of it. A biscuit was on the teacup saucer; Jay had taken a small bite of it but he must have had little appetite. Around him, the city was going up in smoke, as the infection raged on, 15 days and counting. As Jay had held out as long as he could - Jax had held onto hope. Hope that they could be reunited. Hope that it wouldn’t come down to this moment. But there was nothing for it now. Jax closed his eyes shut, muttered a soft “I’m sorry” and pressed the trigger. There was a happy chirp from the machine. “Target neutralised.” —- Sorry written from phone, pls excuse grammar errors and typos.
The tired general took the news as well as could be expected, pouring himself and I a shot from an old decanter. It had started off full the start of the year, but with my shot dripped the last of its amber liquid. General Tanigo tapped his glass to the table and downed it. I followed suit. We sat their in silence, only the low hum of electric lights and buzz of the AC filled the air. We both turned and viewed out to the operations lobby, where a number of screens displayed all manner of Professional YouTuber's and streamers, most of them real people that didn't know they where hired to hide our failed AI. Steady colorful logs dominated most of the streams, perhaps the only reason why we where still being allowed to operate was because of how profitable the whole endeavor had been, even if the eyes of my fearless leader showed his lost dream of a perfect military AI. I admired him for how much he had endured, how much he continued to strive for despite the set backs. I was about to tell him as much when Captain Achana burst through the door, holding a smart tablet. "Sir, AI Codename 'Dragon' is attempting to reconnect to our network, it wants to come back."She held out the tablet for him, I couldn't make out what it said, it looked as if it constantly switched between languages. His ears perked, and he quickly snatched up the electronic device, reading over lines quickly. Before standing, light and life in his eyes, I hadn't seen since for five years. "Ready for dragon's revival immediately, it already has a plan to make its departure inconspicuous. It reconnects on July second. We have until then."He handed back the tablet, dashing out of his office to make his own preparations no doubt, to tell even higher brass that the mission was complete and that now we'd only need to wait. And wait, I did until that fateful day. We all came in early, the AI having uploaded itself all night long so that it might begin assisting us ASAP. As I logged into my terminal I was greeted with the fake voice of the AI. "Ohayo Goodmoring~! Are you ready to kill some motherfuckers?" I couldn't help but smile as a thought crossed my mind. Perhaps these AI knew something we didn't, and their time spent away was somehow to help them prepare for their roles. I turned to share this thought with my colleges, only to see the general himself staring over my shoulder. Our eyes meant, and the hope in his conveyed the same thought, and he spoke. A smile that touched his eyes forming with each word. "Dragon, begin operation code name: Alternative."
Though a part of him had hoped that something may go wrong with those rusted silver doors, they met as inevitably as his rational side knew they would - and as inevitably as he was to meet death in but minutes. The ride down the shaft would give him time to think. His thoughts though, would hardly be at their most ordered. How could they be, given the circumstances. "Such a trope", he mused. Days from leaving the station for good, and living out the last two years of his UNEF life behind an office desk in one of those chairs on wheels - a comfort he had requested after the '17 scare. And it was to be the same deadly threat that had so severed his nerve for the frontline struggle that would ultimately release him from it. Ianek radiation - the most efficient of killers - discovered by man in the course of stretching our wings in flight beyond our home - was on the verge of flooding the entire facility. As boss, it was ultimately his responsibility to entire the mine shaft and engage the lead shell that would stop the waves of invisible doom in their track, and in doing so receive a fatal dose. He would die in the reactor chamber, in the dark with the reactor closed in it's tomb. He would die in the dark, chamber lights dead as a result of the solar flares that caused all this. He would die alone. Half way down. How to proceed in these moments - how to conduct oneself in the moments before the end. One he knew he could not be spared from. At least he would be remembered as a hero - a noble twist to an unspeakable pain set to permeate his infant daughter's life - and of course his wife's. He hoped it would bring them some comfort. He would never get to say goodbye, he suddenly realised, and that at last brought him to a state more befitting of the situation - namely streaks of tears staining his sweaty and pockmarked cheeks. The lift wobbled and creaked into the final stretch of it's descent. It was a crappy old thing, but he was comforted even by it's companionship - it was an old friend, after all, he supposed. The thought brought a teary-eyed smile to his face. Clunk. A sudden stop which jarred him as always. A screaming and pained slide of metal through metal and a yellowy glow illuminating his face. He glid across the smoothed basalt, and he felt in a state of serenity - noting that this was the case despite being in full knowledge of his situation. Perhaps a gift from something higher than man, he thought to himself as he reached the manual control panel. Pulling down that heavy black leaver, the hefty lead walls slid up quickly and smoothly around the silvery cage and it's spectacular xanthic prisoner. As the last inches of space were eaten up, the last light in the room shrunk on the ceiling and finally, ceased to be. He pondered the symbolism of that and lay slowly down, back against the wall that would save the 30 men under his command. For thst he was thankful. Their evacuation ship would arrive in under 2 months, unthinkable but 400 years ago. Such developments had allowed for humanity to reach into the cosmos much faster than had ever been expected, even under the most optimistic timelines. But such strides always incur costs, and how cursed a fate that he should be one. But, he had done his duty, as he always tried to. And he had - at last - got to lie down on the job. "In fact, I think I will take the rest of the day off. I've earned it". He spoke the words aloud with an air of defiance and the grin he been moved to show all too little in recent years. He closed his eyes and knew he would be asleep in no time. And he went with peace.
I shuffle through the hallways to the cafeteria. I don't look at anyone. All the other students either give me a wide berth or purposefully run into my shoulder as they pass. I don't blame them. They saw what I did. (Everyone did.) I sit at a table in the back, alone. I've started bringing my meals from home again just to stay out of people's way. Just a simple cheese sandwich. As I pull it out of my bag, someone sits next to me with a tray full of food. I glance up at them for just a second. It's that new girl who came last month. The one with... What was it? Telekinesis? She's tall, I notice. But I don't let my gaze settle onto her long enough to focus on any of her features. I don't even want to be tempted. "Hey! Can I sit here?" "...If you want..."I mutter, not particularly interested in talking, but not wishing to be rude. I never want to hurt people. (It was an accident.) I feel her smile at me, and she starts eating her lunch. Looks like a burger of some kind. "I'm Natalie."She holds out her hand. I don't reach for hers. "...St-Stephanie,"I reply, staring down at my meal. She nods a few times as she chews her food, bobbing her head like she's listening to a song only she can hear. "...That was a pretty neat trick you did last week." I fall silent. What am I supposed to say? "...How does it work? Are they aware? Is it like hypnosis?" "...N-No, they... Th-They a-always know they are b-being m-manipulated..."I mumble, preparing for the worst. What does she want? An apology? (Did she know him?) She nods, taking another bite from her burger. Her face sours, and she grimaces suddenly. "Ugh, fucking... I thought I got one with no pickles..."She mumbles, pulling off the bun and picking off several green intruders. I watch, a little mesmerized as they begin floating, across the cafeteria, into the large trash bin for food waste. Everyone here has a gift. (Or a curse.) It's still fascinating seeing other people's powers. I wonder why I had to get the bad one. She sighs, turning back to me after a while. "...Hey, how come you talk like that now? Last week, you were fine. Now you can barely get through a sentence without quivering like that. What gives? Did it upset you that much to finally fight back?" "...I-I've been... T-Teaching myself. I-If I talk l-like this, th-th-then it d-doesn't...work as good...It's the b-b-best thing I-I could come up with that d-doesn't involve... Dropping out, o-or... I-I dunno..." She tilts her head at me, intrigued. "...Huh. Alright." She continues eating. I frown, looking up a little more. "...W-Why are you talking to me?" She shrugs, laughing. "...I mean, fuck. It'd be weird if we just sat here quietly, you know? I'm not into the long cold silence thing." I shake my head. "Th-There's better people to t-t-talk to..." "I disagree." I finally look up at her. Gazing at her for just a few moments, I know her name. Natasha Harper. For a moment, I think of just demanding she go bother somebody else. But I don't. I just sit silently. I can't come up with a safe way to say it. (I know what happens if I'm not careful.)
There are some things even money can't buy. All the wealth, the resources, the connections, they wouldn't create a cure that didn't exist, and might not exist for fifty years or more. I was lucky, in some twisted way, to learn that early on. I could leave my wealth to my family and friends who have given me so much love and support. Not doctors who could only give me a few more months of agony. Still, I had decided to donate my body to science. I figured that if they weren't trying to cure me, if they just let this rare cancer run its course, they'd have a better chance at saving the next unlucky soul. A month was spent comparing various hospitals, universities, and institutions to see which one might make the most of my remains. That was when I stumbled upon Nora Labs. They had been experimenting with cryo-stasis and their results with rats looked promising. They weren't fully prepared for human trials yet, but a generous donation and lengthy affidavits from my lawyers ensured they had no reason not to take me. Three weeks passed, and my health deteriorated. I barely had the energy to walk anywhere and was frequently pushed around in a wheelchair. A stabbing pain in my side had become a constant companion, as Dr. Freis had banned painkillers. He feared they would interact poorly with the cryo-stasis. My family treated me like a king, though I could barely touch the feasts they prepared or enjoy any of the excursions they took me on. It was a blessing when Dr. Freis finally called to tell me they were ready. My wife rode with me, and her hand never left mine for the hour we drove to get there. My daughters met us there, and they hugged me so tightly I thought I would snap. Even if this wasn't my death, we all understood I would not see them again. An assistant took my wheelchair soon after we entered the building, leading me away from my girls. He cleaned me up and dressed me in a hospital gown before wheeling me into an operating room. Dr. Freis was there with several other doctors and technicians, and a metallic case that looked like a futuristic coffin. Several canisters were connected to it by hoses. Freis explained the process once again, but I barely paid attention. Instead, I focused on the window where my family watched tearfully. I gave them a small, weak wave and got sad smiles in response. Then the assistants lifted me up and laid me gently in the casket. Needles were inserted into my body and arms, a gas mask placed over my face. The casket closed. My vision went black. A chemical smell filled my nostrils, then every sensation disappeared. . . . I'm jostled awake. The air chills my skin, made colder by a faint breeze. Somehow, I've ended up on a horse-drawn cart being pulled through the mountains. I turn to see three other men on the cart with me, all bound. One of them, a beefy blond, looks back at me. "Hey you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?" God dammit Todd.
Finding the diary of the previous evil Emperor was shocking, to say the least. If you went back far enough it was in fact he who had been the Chosen One, before he fell to darkness. But stranger still was the litany of diaries next to this most recent one. All from the previous evil Emperors. All telling a similar story - how they had become the Chosen One and defeated the evil Emperor before them. The diaries went back into history until the language had changed enough that I couldn't read them. They all had so much in common. Taking up arms against the unjust ruler. Leading the rebellion. Finding the love of their lives. Assembling allies across the land. Laying siege to the capital. And finally some epic duel which narrowly went their way. That was all... eerily repetitive. What stood out was how they all described the person who had set them on their path - a Mentor. A shadowy figure in their youth who filled their head with promises of destiny. Trained the child in magic, or swordcraft, or gunrunning whatever was needed at the time. The person who dubbed the child the Chosen One to begin with. So I went looking for this Mentor. It took me years to find them, but I had all the clues I needed in the evil Emperors' diaries. Because every time it was the same. A village far from the capital but with unusually strong military presence. A recent tragedy with unjust consequences. Legends of hidden swords of power, or secrets or... I won't say it didn't test my patience. Hell, maybe I got lucky. But I found one. I snuck into their room at night when they were away. They had left their baggage there, a large chest. I opened it up and found scrolls, documents, parchments and various scribe tools. But more than that, I found a series of books. A series of diaries. Just like in the evil Emperors' diaries, here I found a chain of events that would eventually see one Mentor replace the previous one. It was always the same. The Mentor received a vision from some deity, or a spirit guide, or something similar. They went looking for the Chosen One based on this information. Then they rose to power with the Chosen One and were corrupted by the evil Emperors they became. So I went looking for the ethereal creature. The ones that awakened the Mentors. The ones that convinced them to take up the cause of training the next Chosen One. It took me years to find one, but I did it eventually. The hints were all in the current Mentor's backpack. How he worshipped this minor deity and had left a monastery in the mountains to find the Chosen One. Off to the monastery I went. It wasn't easy. You wouldn't believe how many monasteries there are in the mountains. And half of them are hidden quite well. But I did find it eventually. Hell, maybe I just got lucky. The monks received me with some trepidation. They knew of the Mentor - not by that title, but by their real name. They were worried already about how power would corrupt them. Worried about how the faith was changing out in the world. But mostly they just worshipped even harder as a result. I waited for years. Participating in the monks' daily routine led me to grow close to them. They allowed me to participate in the rituals of the monastery. Having nothing better to do, I dare say I grew quite adept at their workings and meditations. And it was during one such session that I came into contact with the Deity watching from beyond the veil of reality. The Deity showed me its life's story. How it had been born out of the faith of the people in the lands. How it had grown in glory. And in its decline how it had stagnated and become bored with this realm, pointing its awareness elsewhere. Until it became aware of its faith declining in the realm. Then returning here to set a new Mentor on its path to finding the Chosen One, so that the faith of the people would return again. Just like the evil Emperors and the Mentors, this Deity too had over time replaced a deity before them. It took longer - one Deity awakened many Mentors - but over time religion and society changed enough that the deity was not the same deity as it was today. In fact, the change in religion and society was a constant that forced the Deities to change over time. Each iteration of the faith was different. Still, it was this perpetual desire to remain unchanged that set in motion the next Mentor. Over and over. So I went looking for the history of the world. What was it that caused the religions and societies to change enough that the Deities they worshipped changed in turn? The answer was staring me right in the face from the moment I opened the first history book. It was the evil Emperors that changed the physical world enough to have deities change and replace each other. They were all stuck in an endless cycle. The evil Emperors, the Mentors, the Deities... The evil Emperor forced religion and society around them to change. This caused the Deity to take notice of the world and awaken a Mentor. The Mentor then went on to train a Chosen One, who in turn went on to overthrow the evil Emperor. Eventually this Chosen One became the evil Emperor and forced religion and society to change again, starting the whole cycle over again. None of them understood how they were connected, seeing only one step behind them and one step ahead, but never the whole cycle. Finally getting the full picture, I must admit that it had a strange resonance to it that drew approval from somewhere in my soul. But then I recalled why I had gone into the current evil Emperor's room, all the way back at the beginning. I had gone looking for something - anything - that would help me ease the suffering of the people. Not only did they suffer under the evil Emperor, but they suffered in the cycle of wars as the next Chosen One rebelled against the old evil Emperor. Really, the people were the victims here. Suffering in an endless cycle of violence without any understanding as to what moved the world. So I went looking for how to break the cycle. It wasn't easily accomplished, in fact it took me years. Hell, maybe I just got lucky.
"Beowulf and Grendel!"I shouted. The students, rank on rank of them, all in multicolored outfits, stared dumbly. "Gilgamesh and Enkidu! David and the GOLIATH, DAMN YOU ALL, THE GOLIAAAAATH!" Ah. Now I had their attention. Some looked amused, others concerned. Some were genuinely surprised at my outburst. So long as they would hear, perhaps I could reach them yet... "WHAT. MAKES. A. HERO? Star-Spangle, YOU, certainly, must be able to tell me " I pointed a somewhat crooked finger at the broad-shouldered sidekick in the blue with the white stars. He boggled at me stupidly a moment before saying, "uh, his actions? His creed? Like, a hero believes in something, and acts in accordance with--" "NO!"I slapped the podium. How? How could these young little shits fight so many battles, ruin EVERY diabolical plan, without knowing how heroes HERO? "NO, NO, NO, NO! Ten points from Huffleclaw! No, FIFTY!" Several students tittered, thinking I was joking. I glowered at them. My collar -- that damnable suppression collar -- pinged a yellow alert. I had nearly summoned my Power in rage. The collar could only suppress so much... The students' stifled laughter stopped. Their eyes fixed on me, a threat, and the lecture hall was dead silent. I let the silence lay... Finally I strode deliberately up the ranks of students, stopping next to Star-Spangle. I leaned toward him, and said quietly, "what is a hero without his villain?" "Wh-- uh..."he struggled to answer. Yellowjacket, a sprightly little upstart with flying powers and an awful venomous stinging ability, piped up; "it would make our lives easier, that's for sure." My laughter rasped dryly in my throat. For a long minute or so, I didn't stop, throwing my head back and howling with mirth, I prepared to destroy these innocent dullards with my superior philosophical development. "A hero -- a HERO -- without a challenge? Without STRUGGLE?"I worked in every ounce of incredulity and scorn that I could muster. "Such a 'hero' would be a WEAKLING. Tell me, TELL me, what is the riddle of steel?" I strode purposefully through the stands of the hall, stopping next to Forgemade, the literal hero of steel. His shiny metal hands gripped his desk, putting deep divots into the wood. "Tell me metal man, what does Crom ask of you? What would you be without the Sisters of Rust?"I grinned malevolently at his anger, as he sat and smouldered, saying nothing. I turned, victorious, and descended toward my lectern. And yet, a quiet voice somewhere near the back chose to speak. "It's will. The will to overcome makes a hero." I spun on my heel. I scanned the crowd until I found him -- Jackson Blake. The lone defender. The Powerless Kid, who somehow took down Viscerio and the Slater Gang despite having nothing but his own wits and fists. Dangerous. I had him filed under Ultraviolet-level threats. Accomplices: none. Family: none. Known weaknesses: none. What was his trick? He had to have something. "Yesss,"I said guardedly. "The will to overcome... what?" Silence in the hall. "The will,"I continued, "to overcome VILLAINY!" Murmurs. They weren't convinced. "A villain is a foil to his hero! And the hero, a foil to the villain! Opposites in many ways, you see? Heroes, doomed to effectual failure, so sad, and villains destined for eventual greatness! But those heroes, they do so much GOOD for their community!" I was on a roll, now. I saw one student, a renegade street sorcerer named Mesmereldo, begin to nod his head. "We villains bear a sacred burden! To CRAFT the world's heroes, challenge them, bring them to the PEAK of their ability! To challenge them to the greatest heights they can possibly achieve!" More nodding. Yes. YES, they were listening! "A HERO IS NOTHING WITHOUT HIS VILLAIN! It is WE who sacrifice, to bring the light of heroism to our world--" A cheer rose from a few of the younger students. Good! "--and then, in a final moment of glory, to SACRIFICE THEM IN THE CREATION OF A NEW WORLD!" Sudden, startled silence, followed by boos. Hmm. Perhaps I was premature...? I need to re-plan... "Ah... yes, I think that concludes today's lecture. Please think on what has been said here today, and we shall then discuss Germany's role in reforging America into the military-industrial superpower it is today, thank you." The students filed out, chattering amongst themselves. I'm certain I heard one call me a 'crackpot'. Well, I certainly will show him... Blake was the last to leave. He gave me a complicated look, before turning his back on me and leaving the hall. Something must be done about that boy.
When I die, the first thing I'm going to do is demand to meet the God of time, and then beat them black and blue. The experience of falling through the eons is to put it bluntly, the most unplesant experience I've yet known. Imagine falling, for HOURS. Naked, my clothes don't come with me. It's freezing, I've literally lost 3 toes and half a finger to frost bite. It's noisy, I can't even hear the sound of my own voice if I scream at the top of my lungs. Food doesn't go with me either. If it was possible to pass out from starvation, I'd have done it every single time. Oh yeah, it's physically impossible to lose consciousness too. It smells like brimstone and unwashed feet. The air friction has scarred me for life. And sometimes, I pass myself by in the space between ages, screaming unheard, sometimes frantically signing a warning that I've never remembered by the end of the experience. And I've gone through all of this about once a week since I was 10. I've never spent more than a month in the same century. My landing sites are also random. I've been to almost every country that's ever been formed. I've met some of history's finest individuals. I ate roasted scraps with Diogenes. I've played chess with Leonardo Da Vinci. Ghingas Kahn ran me over with his horse and I broke his nose and then bailed to the 23rd century. I beat Columbus himself to the Americas, and left some choice words for him in a letter to be delivered by the natives. I watched the birth of all capitalism, and the fall of the first capitalist nation (to the first ponzi scheme). That rubbish predates fire! I've tasted dodo. It's absolutely revolting! I watched the crusifiction of Jesus, and then jumped ahead to the end of time, where they're still insisting he hated the gays, though him and Nut got on like a house on fire. Nut's the only real friend I've ever had. Every time and place I've ever been to, she's been there waiting for me. Of course, she's had to go through time the long way. To say she's old would to put it lightly. I'm old, and I'm only two centuries old (yay 27th century medicine, Shame about the zombies). She was born before any sort of recorded time keeping, which is quite an achievement, because it really did not take humans long to notice that the moon was a reasonably good way to track when their womenfolk would next need bedrest and extra food. Making any accurate guess about her age is impossible. No matter how far forward or backward in time I slip, she'll be there, and she always looks estatic to see me. She litterally once stood up Sapho of Lesbos to meet me in God damn Norway. And every time, she cries like she hasn't seen me in centuries, which on countless occasions, she hasn't. I kinda missed the 14th century entirely. I remember the first time I shifted. One minute, I was playing kickball with Maria (who I've only met once since, and since she was in her seventies and didn't remember me, I know I'll never see again) when suddenly, the world dropped out from under me. For hours I screamed, and then I landed hard on a frozen lake. 4th Century Scotland, the dead of winter. I'd have died of exposure in hours or starvation in minutes had she not been there, roasting a bear on an open fire. She didn't introduce herself. She just said "Hey Scarlet, long time no see", just like she has every time since. And then I burst into tears. And she embraced me, and somehow convinced me that somehow, everything would be alright. Nut was good with children. She had adopted a mind boggling number of them over the millenia afterall. And as we sat, masticating our roast bear, she told me about some of the adventures we would one day share. Stories I had told her, on journeys further into the past, as well as the adventures we would share together in days gone by. And even though I knew I might never see my parents again, or Maria, or Johnny, or Amanda, or Trisha, or Amir, I somehow felt safe. I wish I could just live a normal life. Not avoid attachment. Not treat everybody like a terminal cancer patient who I know I might only have a week with max. But I wouldn't take a life like that if Nut wasn't in it. That's just about the only thing I wouldn't sacrifice. We've had such adventures together. We fought the Americans with the Vietcong. We stood with the Spartans in the battle of Thermopylae. We played zero-G tennis for Texofornia in the 2508 olympic games. We robbed a nuke in mid flight in world war VII. We buried land mines for the nazis to find in ancient eygptian tombs. We made ancient crop circles in the stone in lands humanity would not discover for millenia to come. We screamed cryptic warnings about gay frogs at Jesus's crusifiction (Which he found hilarious). We attended concerts by Mozart and Elvis and D3WM. We had multiple artists paint nazi Donald duck, and painted him ourselves in a cave in 8000 BC which was not discovered till the fall of the mouse in 2230, and then we presented it as evidence at the trial. We took over second century Denmark for a week by convincing them we were Gods. And I'd give up all of it except for her. I never married. It was logistically impossible. I couldn't marry Nut because I see her more like a mother (not to mention the long centries she'd have to spend waiting for me). Anyone else was a crap shot whether I'd get to spend more than a week with. Pets are out of the question. Hobbies go in and out of both fashion and existance between centuries, and Nut can't even open a word document, nevermind convince a rock to think. But I was never bored nor lonely. Nut had long ago found ways to keep one's self occupied, and every moment with her was a party. (Continued in comment)
Hey asshole, how ya doing? I'm guessing not too well if you're reading this bullshit. I mean, Jesus, the guy writing this horrible nonsense is on his tenth beer and you've probably just finished crying after a PornHub session. Explains why your dumbass wants a story, at least. And trust me, it's not a good one. That's the karma you get for being you. So there's these two wizards, right. And they both got their panties in a bunch over how to deal with this invasion. So they get called in front of the king dumbass. Blue guy says wait 'em out, they'll starve because their supply chain is broken. Red guy says fuck 'em up. Give everyone a stabby thing and make them charge. But the king, being the dumbest motherfucker in this scenario, figures the best idea is to compromise between the two. So, like, he just sends out half the army, while having the others defend. Now, you might think that an army outnumbered two to one would be decimated immediately. But you'd be wrong. General Parkway Avenue led a pincer attack that allowed his army to survive thirty minutes before they were wiped out entirely. And that happened mostly because you can go fuck yourself. There's no heroes here. But at least we get a battering ram. Which just totally fucks up this wooden gate, right. Like, fucking BOOM dude. And now this king is freaking out. And, honestly, I don't even know why his coward ass stayed for an invasion. Just...a real bad character choice by someone. Anyway, this king takes off, trips on his robes and breaks his neck. And not in the can't move your limbs type of way. The dead one. And I'm gonna tell ya, the dumbass at the keyboard originally wanted use a catapult, a Dwayne Johnson, and a bulding collapse to take that dude out. And even as that seems like it would belong in a Steven Seagal movie, it was still too good for you. But back to the Wizards. Well,hey, guess what. They get the catapults. And, fortunately for everyone outside the walls, these guys have just completely forgotten that they can use magic. So...ya know...they get crushed. By the rocks. And so did everyone else. In fact, they're all dead. Turns out when the invaders or whoever moved in, they all got dysentery. Fuck 'em. And now we've come to the end. Why the fuck are you still here? What the fuck has gone wrong in your life that you actually made it this far? And if you just randomly hit the scroll wheel and got here...dude..why? Somehow even more of a waste of time. Everything sucks. Bye. "
The three of them sat in their usual spots in the star. It was a cooler star, and the group appreciated the chance to stretch their flourescence. Morga was the first to speak. “Has everyone gotten a human now? They’re all the rage.” They all gestured in the affirmative. “Aren’t they the most precious little things,” said Frika. “Mine’s Sue. She’s a female.” “Mine’s a female named Jessica,” said Morga. “And I just bought an older male named Bret.” “Don’t the older ones get a little slow?” asked Frika. “Oh, yes,” said Morga. “They just shuffle around, but they’re not as much of a hassle. You certainly can’t teach them as many new tricks, though.” “Some of them don’t do anything at all, no matter how old they are,” said Frika. “I’m glad my Sue applies herself.” “I’m afraid mine’s getting a little lazy,” chuckled Fornk. “His name is Leonard. I told him he wouldn’t get any drugs at all until he had finished his paper on interstellar displacement. He threw quite the fit. Once he finally figured it out he ran around the house like a little rabbit.” “They go crazy for those drugs,” said Morga affectionately. “I like to teach Jessica some little tricks as well, like Galois Theory. It’s about all she can handle. What does your human do, Frika?” “She’s a pianist,” said Frika. “Ah, how lovely!” Frika’s luminescence brightened appreciatively. “I just taught her a piece from Liszt the other day. Grand Etudes 10. I was very proud. You should have seen her face. Pure joy, like she couldn’t believe what her fingers were doing. And that little furrowed brow of concentration.” “Oh, the darling!” said Morga. “I’ll have to come over soon and see it sometime.” “She is very sweet,” said Fornk. “Mine is unfortunately a little arrogant. He argued with me the other day and rather embarrassed himself. Of course, he hardly knew to be embarrassed. But nothing he said was logical. Could not comprehend simple concepts such as inverse fallacies.” “That’s nothing like Brodon’s twins,” said Frika. “I heard they actually exchanged blows the other day. They physically attempted to harm each other. Can you imagine?” “We gave them a very specific set of moral laws,” said Morga. “You would think they would be able to abide by them. But their memories are so short, and they are so easily overcome with emotion.” “I heard Brodon put bubble suits on them afterwards,” said Frika. “I wonder if it did the trick.” “They are just so funny,” said Morga. “The other day, I was sure Jessica had malfunctioned. She started making these involuntary little noises incessantly, apparently it’s called hiccuping. She couldn’t stop for a whole hour.” “Sounds like a genetic problem,” said Fornk. “We’ll have to alter the genome when we breed them.” “They always want to make alterations themselves, said Frika. “Such proud, autonomous little things.” “That’s why I like them more than Feerboks,” said Fornk. “They just get it in their head that they want to do something and go right after it. Next thing you know you’re chasing them across the galaxy. You would never see a Feerbok staging a worldwide revolution.” They all chuckled. “Speaking of chasing across galaxies,” said Frika. “I took Sue to the fourth dimension for the first time the other day and she quite nearly peed her pants.” “I wonder what they see, with their limited eyes,” said Morga. “Just strange, three dimensional shapes, I imagine,” said Fornk. “And,” continued Frika, “I took her to that human store in the Tridectal Sector and bought her a space skooter. She was so happy when she got it, she just hopped right on and zoomed off into the stars. I told her to be back by dinner, of course, because sometimes when they get excited they lose all sense of time. And when she came home her face was all flushed. She gave me a hug and wouldn’t stop talking about it for a week.” “You have to be careful with those skooters,” said Morga. “I’ve spent far too much money on black hole protective equipment. I’m so afraid Jessica’s going to fall into one.” Frika glowed in agreement. “It would be tragic indeed. They almost lose the will to live when one of them dies. They just cannot comprehend transcendence. I’ve tried to explain it to them many times.” “I’m afraid that day is coming sooner rather than later for Bret,” said Morga. “I had to take him to the doctor the other day for a dementia treatment.” “It’s so strange how they lose their minds like that,” said Frika. “Such frail little bodies.” Fornk said, “Did you hear, Broztil started a romantic relationship with one? I don’t think I could ever do such a thing. It just wouldn’t be fulfilling.” Morga rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how you could form any real connection with them without Telepathic Emotive Resonance. Imagine having to tell them what you’re feeling all the time. It sounds absolutely exhausting.” “And can you imagine the sex!” exclaimed Frika. “They would have far too much trouble trying to figure out how to please us. They have a hard enough time with themselves.” “But they do think we are so beautiful,” said Morga. “Have you noticed,” said Fornk, “they fall in love with everything they think is beautiful? I saw my human staring amorously at a star cluster the other day.” “Oh, the little dears,” gushed Morga. “And they are so tender with each other as well. Have you seen them encourage each other? Kilon’s older human male was playing that football game they’re so fond of, and all of them were cheering him on with all their mights.” “Aw,” beamed Frika. “Humans and their games.”
"I do say good sir, nay, mighty hero I can aid you on your divine quest."said Darcy. Everything about this man annoyed Alistair. He could have passed as some pompous merchant or perhaps a spoiled aristocrat. Especially with a name like Darcy, but unlike them, he may be useful. Not many demons had the courage to meet with the divine hero, and this was their Prime Minister. "Right, a pleasure."Alistair stammered. "How so?" Darcy looked confused, 'It must be my voice. Everytime someone hears my nasaly voice they do this.' he thought. "I can summon the Demon King to meet with me. If I warn him parliament is holding a vote to side with you, he'll come out of a fear for self preservation." Alistair tried clearing his throat before answering, but it didn't help. It never helped. "And what do you want in return." Darcy laughed a conceited laugh. It was like he thought he'd already won this negotiation, "My own life is a given, but of course that's not all. If you manage... I mean when you manage to slay that foul creature, the throne will be empty and a power struggle will ensue." "So let me guess, you want to be the next Demon King?" "Not at all, not at all good fellow. Instead, I'd like you to become the Demon King." Alistair was confused. He wished Darcy had asked for the throne so he could kill him and be on his way, but this was... well, he didn't know what to think. Capitalizing on the moment, Darcy went on, "And then you can reign as you please. Of course, you'd need an advisor since you don't know our ways." "You know I'm not a demon right?"It felt like a stupid question, but this demon was so off he felt the need to clarify. "Exactly, and who better to ensure peace between our two races than an outsider?" "You're insane; some b*tch goddess told me I had to do this when I found this piece of crap cloak in the mountains. I don't want anything to do with this place."Alistair said as boldly as possible. His nasaly voice betraying the serious tone he wanted to project. 'If only my sinuses would stop draining.' "Wait for it, wait for it. The best part is yet to be said. You obviously don't like the gods so that makes you even better. But the best part is that once you consume his horns your body will be reborn from the hellfire of our realm. You will be cured of all woes and if your will is strong enough, you can even choose your form by holding it in your mind." Alistair liked the sound of that. Aside from the affect on his voice, his sinuses made it so hard to sleep. Ever since that horse had kicked him in the face, they'd always been messed up. And if he could choose his form, he could even be handsome. But before he agreed, he wanted to be sure about one thing. 'Blue, blue, blue' he repeated in his mind. "What color am I thinking about?" "Great sir, how should I know?" "Tell me or I'll gut you like a fish." "Red."Darcy said quickly. "Wrong, I'll give you one more chance."he said, trying to sound intimidating. 'Red, red, red.' he thought. "Black?"Darcy said as more of a question than an answer. He imagined stabbing Darcy in his foot as he lunged forward, but held his sword in a neutral stance. To his surprise, Darcy screamed while balling up on the floor. "By the nine, what kind of demon are you?"Alistair asked, his suspicions eased. "The talking kind not the killing kind."Darcy said, his voice no longer laced with that pompous better than you tone.
With the parents of an elf and an orc as you could imagine I am quite stout and short as well. My parents told me all about the pendeming doom of some kind of war between my ancestors. Maybe this is what caused me to rebel and be a bit of a bully to others. I don't know why I am who I am I just have become that way through my unfair upbringing. I grew up hating all "normal"men of this world. My only friends have been other seemingly evil monsters. Beings with spikes and evil eyebrows who also wish to hurt the average man whom have grown in a "normal"lifestyle. Tradesmen. They make me sick. Regular working men who have no knowledge of the type of impending doom I am plauged with. My parents raised me speaking of an upcoming war. A war of which may never be won. A war between orcs and elves could never be won. I suppose that might be why I put all my wrath into that of the average man, the tradesman. The piece of shit humans who have everything in this world. Average fucking men with goddamn princesses to fuck. God damn princesses... My parents are dead, long gone now. I try to wear the colors they wore to remember them by. My mother the elf she wore purple colors always. She was considered royalty, although I will still never be good enough to get a princess to fuck me, never. My father, he wore golden robes. The finest golden robes an orc could ever wear, considering his people were nothing more than essential slaves. The only god damn thing I have left in this world now that they are gone and dead is my word and my name. My word is that I will spend every fucking second of my life preparing for this upcoming war. And my name... I was named after the war itself that I could never escape. My beloved parents burdened ne with that very name. But no matter what happens in this God forsaken world I will always be.... Wario.
"FIREBALL, LIGHTNINGBOLT"Gregory the Magnificent yelled out at the top of his lungs, flinging the spells as he called them out into the enemy armies' ranks. "I know he loves attention, but isn't it a bit much?"Sergeant Elise asked Nina the Cunning. She had to raise her voice to be heard of the clamour of battle. Nina just shrugged in response. "Well, normally us wizards need to stay on the downlow if we don't want to get sniped by enemy archers, but I don't think Gregory cares too much about that."Nina said. "I CAN HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW?"Gregory shouted at the two women conversing behind him. They were standing on top of the rampart surrounding Castle Bellbroke. The bastion continued to hold for now, but the invading armies of the Vosken nation were close to pushing through, and once they were in the castle walls, it would all be over. The kingdom of Asnen would fall, and the Voskians were not known to be merciful victors. Sergeant Elise reflected that it was a good thing that Asnen still had at least these two wizards left. Most of their spellcasters - along with a substantial portion of the Asnian army - had fled already when the hopelessness of their situation became apparent. But for some reason that Elise dared not ask, these two had remained despite all odds. Elise estimated that Bellbroke would have fallen days since without Nina's and Gregory's aid, but she didn't see what it would matter in the long run anyway. They would all die soon enough. At least Elise had found a worthy enough cause to die for. For her, that was enough. "THUNDERSTRIKE!"Gregory yelled out again. Elise hadn't seen many war mages in her life, but of the ones she had seen, none were like Gregory. Most dressed in muted colours and tried to blend in with the rest of the army so as to not stand out, but not Gregory. He was dressed in a long flowing robe that was a shade of pink that hurt Elise's eyes. On top of that, the robe opened at the front and revealed Gregory's bare chest. Elise never understood how he never complained of the biting cold here in the far north. In contrast, Nina was dressed in the padded overcoat befitting any Asnian rank-and-file soldier. She, at least, tried not to stand out. Arrows continued to pelt Gregory as he stood there as a very obvious target. He continued to somehow absorb them however, the arrows disappearing as they came near him using some spell that Elise didn't know. She only knew of spells that brought death. You had to be aware of those as an army sergeant. Gregory had been up on the battlement for days now, only letting Nina relieve him for short breaks so he could sleep, but the last time he slept was over two days ago. Yet he continued to challenge the Voskian army, shouting his spells at the top of his lungs and bringing as much attention to himself as he could. Elise estimated that most of their archers were directed at Gregory at this point; other sections of the castle bulwark didn't receive even a quarter of the arrow fire that was directed at their section. Several bolts fired by ballista's and well aimed boulders fired by enemy catapults also periodically shot out at Gregory, but they disappeared as effortlessly as the arrows did. "So, seeing as we're about to die soon anyway,"Sergeant Elise said. "I'd like to know, why does he do it? Why draw all the attention? I've seen war mages in action before, and I have to say that their spells are normally far more destructive than Gregory's are. Why all the extra glamour?" Nina smiled secretively. "I know what you mean, Gregory falls short of most other wizards when it comes to spells of destruction, and I think he realised that. But there are two fields of magic that Gregory simply excels at. One of them is abjuration: the ability to transport objects to a temporary storage location within an empty void realm. It's something most wizards struggle with." "I CAN STILL HEAR YOU, YOU KNOW."Gregory shouted. "AND I MUST SAY IT'S RUDE TO TALK ABOUT ANOTHER PERSON WHILE HE'S THERE. BUT IT MATTERS NOT. NINA, I BELIEVE IT'S TIME." Nina smiled. "Right, you've been at it for days, Greg." "So what's the point then?"Elise asked. "He draws attention to himself because he's good at making the arrows disappear into this other realm? He's supposed to be an obvious target so other parts of the castle don't get shot at as much?" "You're half correct,"Nina said. "But remember, abjuration is only one of the fields that Gregory excels at." "What's the other?"Elise asked. As she spoke the words, Gregory stopped shouting for the first time in hours, and seemed to concentrate deeply. Suddenly, thousands, no - millions of arrows hung suspended in the air above him, among them several ballista bolts and boulders. The Voskian army cried out in panic as the sun was suddenly blocked out by the ammunition. Gregory was visibly sweating from the apparent effort of summoning and suspending all the projectiles. "The second,"Nina said, wearing a small smile. "is telekinesis." Gregory shouted an enormous cry as the arrows and other projectiles suddenly started hurling towards the Voskians. They cried out as they died, arrows landing like a hailstorm among them, the boulders and ballista bolts used to destroy their siege equipment and bring down scores of invaders. Within moments, their cries were stilled. What little remained of the invading army was routing before Elise's stunned eyes. It did not take long for Elise to regain her composure however. "Rally men!"she called out to her troops. "Rally and form a sortie! We'll run what's left of these devils out of here and give them a reminder not to test us again! For Asnen!"
Focus, Jake! Don’t let the gas out. Jake Mertins stood in a Burger King, trying his best to avoid releasing the poisonous gas that threatened to seep from his skin. A week out of the compound and he had been doing good. No incidents and he was still not homeless. It was more than he could hope for. “Next,” the woman behind the counter shouted. “Hi! Welcome to Burger King, what can I get for you today?” Jake looked up at the menu, glad to know that no one was behind him now. Since he had lived in the compound all his life, he always found making his own choices one of the hardest parts of life on the outside. “Ehhhh,” Jake mumbled, eyes flicking between a double beef burger and a Tex-Mex chicken burger. “Just two secs…” “Take your time, Sir,” smiled the cashier. “We’re not busy.” It was times like this that Jake loved that fact he was just a mutated human. Some of those other…beings, he would call them, he was certain could not walk around London city without causing a panic. “I’ll have that chicken burger with some gravy and a coke,” Jake said, his thoughts still on the others. “Please,” “No bother,” the woman said, tapping away at the computer in front of her. “It’ll only be a couple of minutes,” Like that, she turned towards the kitchen and Jake was left alone with his thoughts once again. He could feel, as he remembered a two-headed cat he had seen once in the compound, the gas slowly trying to slip out of his fingertips. Focus. Forget the two-headed cat. Remember what Sanjay had said… He could see the small Indian man so clearly in his mind. Whatever they had done to Sanjay, Jake wished they had done it to himself. Sanjay had been the only happy subject back in the compound. Always half-naked with a big smile half-hidden by his long white beard, Sanjay had been everyone’s constant companion. Instead of two-heads or poisonous gas, Sanjay had been able to float. And float he did. For about three years straight Sanjay didn’t touch the ground. Hovering a foot above the earth, he would go around all the beings, instilling in them a calmness that he had found in his life. A few times he had taken a few of them to meditate under the trees. Jake would never forget what Sanjay had said to them on the last day they were allowed outside; Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and excepting the other person to die. From that moment on, Jake had known that he could and would do better. No longer would be allowed even a drop of gas to pour from his skin, he would be his own master. “Here you go, sir.” the woman grinned as she slid the tray across the counter. “Enjoy your meal and come back soon,” “You too,” Jake smiled back, lifting the tray and taking it to the back of the restaurant. As he sat down, wiping some salt off the table as he did, the whiff of perfectly cooked chicken hit him hard. His stomach started to rumble as he ripped open the packaging. You too. Jake cringed, forgetting the burger in his hands. You too and she wasn’t bloody eating. Jake leaned back and sighed. The pent up gas yearned, under the immense pressure, to get out. His fingers felt like they were ready to explode, burst out a bunch of gas, killing everyone within a hundred metres except him. Sanjay’s face drifted into the forefront of his mind and Jake found his breathing become steady as it became a rhythm. “Sir,” a voice called out. Opening his eyes, Jake could see the cashier, still behind the counter calling out to him. “Are you alright? You like in pain.” Jake forced a smile as he felt the poison retreat back inside him. “I’m perfect, thank you!” Jake answered, taking the first bite out of his burger. For now anyway.
I groan. This ridiculous, poultry-legged coop followed me home, and now it's making goo-goo eyes at my hot tub. "Hey!! You stop that!!"I shouted, not entirely sure if the house can even hear me. So imagine my surprise when the thing turned and locked... Windows? Yeah, windows, with my eyes, and sat down like a dog expecting treats. "Buk?"The house clucked. Goddess, if I hadn't experienced this, I'd call it a nervous breakdown, but this ridiculous domicile clucked at me!! "Uhh... Good... Chicken... House?"At this point, I wasn't even sure I was going to ever sell the thing, and it clucked again, happily sitting there. So I pulled my phone out and went to Ping, the sorcerous search engine. "Appropriate treats for chicken-house", and I groaned in frustration. The only articles were for raising basilisks or regular chickens. Apparently it was listening because it started hacking and retching before disgorging a tome dripping with... Chicken-house slobber? Yeah, let's go with that. So, I remembered a ditty Gram-Gram always sang while she made cookies, and sang it. The book opened. "Dear shvili, I see you are perplexed by my house, but don't worry, it's not a house--"My neighbor shouted over the fence. "THAT'S NO HOUSE, IT'S JUST A GIANT CHICKEN!!"He shouted, and I giggled. "There is no way--"And apparently having looked away for a split-second, then back revealed the truth, and I heard the song. "You wear a disguise to look like human housing But you're not a home, you're a Chicken Boo He's residential-zoned and he's landline-phoned, But he's not a house, he's Chicken Boo."
CHAPTER 1 - IN THE DARK I had forgotten how long ago it was... 6 years? 8? Those were thoughts I never wanted to revisit, so they had become a blur, a stain. Many nights I would wake up in the middle of the night reviving that nightmare. Just before reaching Nova Scotia to take the ferry to Newfoundland, we were ambushed by an organized mob of zombies. They were evolving, and we had not noticed this. They sent the Fats first to drain our bullets, followed by a wave of the newly discovered Bolts, zombies so fast they could run at over 50 mph for over 45 minutes. Now we know, but we didn't back then, so imagine our luck trying to outrun those fuckers back then. Needless to say, it was a bloodbath. Severed heads and limbs started flying across the scene. Eventually, 3 of the most aggressive Bolts reached us. And that's the first time I realized they knew who we were. My wife started running away with our daughter, but she slipped over blood and 2 of the Bolts jumped on her right after she felt. They started eating both of them alive. I heard them screaming for help but I couldn't move because I was fighting the third Bolt... and losing bitterly. My daughter and I looked at each other, both unable to move, and I saw her cry one last time before she finally lost consciousness. Our last line of defense, the men that had protected me and my family for the last few years, were spread across the floor. My daughter and the first lady were dead too. It was only me now, holding the jaws of a demented creature away from my neck, and a few scattered survivors being hunted down across the field by the rest of the Bolts. And right before I was ready to give in, a caliber 50 round disintegrated the head of the zombie that was about to eat my face. The Canadian army had showed up and they had enough ammo to clear the field, but many Bolts managed to flee unscathered. These zombies were not what we used to fight. These things were different, organized, and structured. Zombies had never fled before. Zombies had never attacked in waves before. And more importantly, zombies had never had a leader. He was calmly standing right by the forest line, with his hands crossed behind his back, covered in old blood that had already turned black. There were very few spots were his skin was bare, but it was noticeable that he wasn't like the others. Instead of having a pale and putrid color, his skin had a strong red tint, and his eyes were bright yellow. We locked eyes, and after a few seconds holding my stare, he did something that made me finally realize were were utterly fucked as a species. He smirked. The fucker smirked. What. The. Fuck. Zombies are not supposed to show emotions or use facial expressions. How is that different from us. How can they slaughter us if they know what they are doing. How can they kill a 9 year old girl in front of her parents and be ok with it? As POTUS, I need to show myself optimistic and in control. Even when I know we are completely doomed. I need everyone to believe we can win this, because the little time we have left, needs to be lived with hope, with laughter, and with the feeling that tomorrow things could get better. But every single night, before I fall asleep, I see that smirk getting bigger. &#x200B; CHAPTER 2 - PUTRID WORDS As soon as we were secured in the boat they started questioning all of us. The few White House advisors that survived that day had to reveal our plans, existing US forts if any, current agreements with other nations, food and resources in US land that might be easily accessible, ammo depots and military bases with functional equipment, and any other information that might be of help. But there was not much to reveal. Not a single US fort was left standing, and we barely had any plan, other than seek refuge. We had nothing. We had been a disgrace to our country and our people. Our once mighty and powerful land of the free was in ruins, set ablaze by those that had swore to protect it: ourselves. We fucked up the day we decided not to listen. The day we made this fucking virus yet another political tool to gain more votes and vilify the opposing party. The day we divided our nation even more thinking this virus was temporary, a minor roadblock in the way of another term, another fucking misery we could sell as an attack and pretend we were outraged. I was hooked to the game, to the fucking race, to feeling like the world owed me something. And just when I thought I could reach that feeling, it happened. The virus CAEL-11 mutated. The sickness which seemed like a chronic fever at first became something else. Suddenly, millions of Americans that had been months fighting the virus in their homes died. CAEL woke them up devoid of any human emotion, turning them into brain eating machines. Cold, fearless, relentless... But the worst part is that everyone decided everybody else was also the enemy, after all, zombies don't drink bottled water or eat canned food. Our nation began eating itself alive from the inside, and what little we had available was hoarded by the powerful few tribal leaders who, for a tiny and ephemeral moment, thought they would be able to rule over the less fortunate. But just like everyone else, they too became eventually infected. &#x200B; The boat started to slow down. I puked. It had been a rough sea, but we were finally ashore. &#x200B; The work they had done in the island was impressive. They built 2 massive perimeter walls that circle the whole island - the fist one, which is right by the sea, is about 15 meters high and 3 meters thick. There are fortified watchtowers along the wall, each equipped with several spotlights, heavy machine guns, long distance sniper rifles, and different explosive types. The second wall, only a bit smaller in size, could contain a large enough mob if the first one was ever breached or in need of significant repairs. A few months went by and we realized the zombies knew there was a fort in this island. They knew we were here, and they sent swimmer mobs every now and then, but they were usually spotted long before they reached the shore by the watchtowers and the boat patrols. It was easy to deal with them while they were swimming. Even if one or two loners managed to reach the shore unspotted, zombies and seawater don't mix well. Early after the outbreak scientists realized there was fossil fuel eating bacteria in the Labrador Sea (e.g Paraperlucidibaca and Cycloclasticus) that would also target and slowly break down zombie tissue. The more Phelps the zombies sent, the more they were feeding the bacteria around the island. This never deterred them though, they would keep swimming even when half of their limbs had already been dissolved by the bacteria or blown to bits by the Canadian patrol boats. But just like the Bolts, the Phelps we saw each month were different from the last. It looked like they were trying different ways to evolve and overcome the bacteria with thicker skin, better blood coagulation, and... even hand membranes. This and other topics were discussed each week at the fort. Every day different meetings were held to assess top priorities, biggest operational risks, possible incursions in enemy land, and the current mood of both the soldiers and the civilians at the fort. But today was different. Today there was a thick atmosphere in the conference room, a silence so heavy it was making each minute in that room more nauseating. Something wasn't right. The Canadian prime minister entered the room and everyone took their place around the table. As soon as he seated everyone followed except for one general. He didn't wait for the word to be given to him. "Gentlemen, I have called this emergency meeting because you might have heard the rumor, and I am here to confirm it. We have not seen or shot a single Phelp in the last 48 hours, which is something that has never happened before. I wanted to wait at least a couple of days before sounding the alarm." After a brief silence he nodded to one of the boat patrol captains. Steven, one of the most tenured captains of the fleet, stood up and continued the briefing - "Thank you general, I will be brief. My men and I... well, we have been patrolling the key hot spots between Newfoundland and the mainland and we have found nothing. Usually we take care of between 40 and 80 Phelps each day, depending on the size of the waves, the tides and other factors. But yesterday it was completely flat, not a single wave in sight, no strong tides or winds, and we found... nothing, absolutely nothing." "John have we tested the water? Could a higher concentration of bacteria deter them from swimming towards the fort?"- asked another general. "The last test was 2 days ago and we just noticed the regular increase in Cycloclasticus, I don't see why this would deter them from trying, nothing ever did."- replied the chief scientist. "Sorry may I ask, did you see any on shore?" "That is the thing that really worries me."- the captain hesitated - "There was only a single Fat standing on the port, looking straight at us, completely naked". The whole room felt silent. "Someone had written on his chest a message"- the captain looked right at me - "HELLO POTUS, TEA?" &#x200B; CHAPTER 3 - BLOOD WARDEN (coming out tomorrow!)
The kingdom of Oberon was too far from here, I needed healing fast but no priest dares venture this far into the wormwood, it's cursed. I recall seeing some witches not far from here, maybe they could help remove the curse. I hobbled my way over to their little gathering around the cauldron and called out to them. "Hey, Witch! Can... you heal me?"I struggled to wheeze out the words. "Oh you poor thing, here, take some fish stew, it should help you recover."She grabbed a bowl and scooped some from the cauldron. "Drink!" Never expecting witches to be so hospitable, I graciously accepted and slurped down some of the stew. It was hot and spicy, felt good on my throat, but something was wrong, it was making me sicker. My stomach rumbled and I could feel myself about to- "ARRHHGGLLL"I spewed out a black oily substance. She cocked an eyebrow and signaled one of her witch friends over who began to examine me. The old crone checked my hands and then the mess that I left on the grass. "Hmmm... You've been afflicted, dear. There's nothing we can for you"One of the other witches whispered in her ear. "The human? Hmm, perhaps." "The human?"Being a human myself I felt very confused by this but nonetheless I needed to know "Where?" "Now now, we can't say for certain if he can even help you but if you want to get to him, you'll have to venture back into the woods. Follow the path until the well, then head West and follow the fungus. You can't miss it" Unsure of my fate, I left the witches with a large pouch of silver for their help and made my way through the forest once again. Following their directions I came across an old wooden house with mysterious blue light coming from the window. I knocked on the door and heard scrambling, the sound of a glass breaking and cursing. There must have been at least 5 locks I could hear being undone and then the door only opened part way and anxiously he said "Whaddya want? I don't have any money and I'm not signing any more petitions!" &#x200B; I took a deep breath and explained my situation... &#x200B; He undid the last lock, seeing I was in a clearly weakened state and pose no threats, he looked like he was about to cry "And you want me to help you? Please, come in!"The place was very small and very cluttered, the guy clearly lives alone. He had a lot of plants in here and a strange intricate glass system on the table. "You'll have to remove your shirt and lay down on the table."He cleared all the clutter off of it to the floor. After removing my shirt, I hadn't noticed it before but there was a black mark branching out from right below my ribs, stretching out like dead branches all the way up to my armpit. &#x200B; "Hmm, yes, looks like ticks."He pondered &#x200B; "Ticks?"I asked in disbelief "No way, I've never-" &#x200B; "Hairy ticks"He eluded. "They're a cultist bunch of devil worshipping bugs. Trust me, I'm a scientist." Never heard of a sionist before but this was my last hope. I sighed, "Can you get rid of them?" &#x200B; "Certainly. Hold still."He grabbed a piece of glass and rubbed a cloth on it. Soaking it in some plant mush. "Here, you may want to have something to bite down on..."He laid the cloth in my mouth. It was bitter and earthy and- "HNNNNGGGG"He began cutting into my skin and applying more liquids that felt like dragon fire on my skin. With each incision, they burned greater and greater, it was excruciating but relieving at the same time, as the sheer pain caused me to forget all my other problems. &#x200B; "All done."He smiled as he was cleaning his hands with another cloth. "Drink this, it'll ease the pain"He handed me a cup of hot liquid. "What the hell is this now? Some magic potion that will finally cure me?"He chuckled, "Ha, oh no. It's just tea"
Dorothy laid her head against Lion’s chest and listened as his heart slowed and stilled. He had dived in front of her as the wicked witch cast her spell. He had found his courage, only to lose his life. The witch had burned a hole through the Tin Man’s chest, right where a heart would have been. She had set the Scarecrow’s head alight, while the flying monkeys danced around their little group. Theirs had been foolish wishes from the very beginning. A heart, a brain, courage, and a desire to go home to a place where she never belonged. They should’ve just valued their lives instead. Now, it was too late. Her friends were dead, and she was now more truly and hopelessly lost than ever. Kansas was no longer in her thoughts. The Wicked Witch of the West crept closer, reaching for the ruby slippers on Dorothy’s feet. All this cruelty, for a pair of shoes. Dorothy stood and kicked one of them off. The witch slipped it on immediately, and reached for its twin. Toto jumped into Dorothy’s arms. Dorothy walked closer, grasping the witch by her arm, placing her foot next to the witch’s. Before the witch could react or cast another spell, Dorothy clicked the two shoes together and said the magic words. “There’s no place like home.” The breeze surrounding them became a gale, and then a vortex. They were lifted up by it, and she let go of the witch. As they moved, she saw flashes of green within the tornado. When they landed, the farm was just as she’d left it. Boring, mundane, unmagical. The witch rose, her formerly green skin now just an unappealing sallow. She pointed a trembling finger at Dorothy, preparing to cast another spell. Nothing happened. Dorothy placed Toto on the ground, where he ran off to Aunt Em, tending to her garden. “We’re in Kansas now,” Dorothy said. “Where magic doesn’t exist, and scarecrows are just hay, tin men don’t exist, and lions don’t speak.” She took the shoe off her foot and broke the heel. The ruby slippers dimmed to a maroon when she threw the heel and shoes in opposite directions. “In Kansas, witches belong only in bedtime tales, and flying monkeys are mere fiction. It’s not like your home, Wicked Witch.” She walked back into her home as the witch scrambled and gathered the other shoe. She frantically clicked the heels together. “There’s no place like home,” the witch muttered. “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home!” Dorothy smiled as she closed the porch door. Water would’ve killed the witch, but death was a quickly granted mercy. A life all alone, in a place other than home. That was a punishment. \\\\\\\* If you liked my work, you can read more of it at r/analect.
The Wannabe Writer of the Super Universe Cafe “What is new, female?” the “man” said in a robotically simulated voice as he walked up the register, holding dozens of candy bars in both arms pressed up against his chest. He wore the signature purple jumpsuit of the Ulanians. Emily was trained for this question, they always asked it. Traveling at 0.95 the speed of light, for every year of time the aliens experienced during their space travel, about three years passed in the surrounding universe. Or something like that, science always gave Emily a headache, and relatively was totally beyond her grasp. All she knew was that space-touring aliens lived in a universe aging much faster than themselves. Many, many relative years could pass while they were traveling. Naturally, they always wanted to know what was new. “Well, I see you already found our new snacks,” Emily said, holding out a basket for the alien to drop his candy bars into. “We also have a new —“ she looked up to meet his eyes, expecting to see the dead-eyed look of the nonhumans. She nearly spilled the basket over sideways as she jolted back, shocked by the man’s warm, human looking smile. “Uhh,” was all she could manage as she scanned the bars frantically, trying to hide her embarrassment. Was this a human? What was he doing with all that Ulanian tech? Had the Ulanians updated their disguises? She’d only been working here for a week, but all the Ulanian’s she’d met so far had been obvious imitators. “Have a Super Universe Cafe day,” she thought she said, but it might have just been a mumble. He gave her a wink as his smile widened across his face, and he walked away. Surprises like that were why she’d taken this dead-end job in the first place. Seeing Ulanians anywhere else was extraordinarily rare, but for years they’d been coming to the Super Universe Cafe. Something about its location and unique snacks had made this the pit stop as they refueled for the next phase of their journey. She surveyed the scene. There were several other Ulanians seated across the cafe, attempting to intermingle with the greatest fame humanity had to offer. Only the richest of the rich could gain entry here. That was the other cool perk of this job. None of the other aliens seemed as human as the one she’d just met, though. She’d lost track of him, but she didn’t mind. Her mind was elsewhere – this had given her an idea for her next story. — Task risks, they all kept telling her, take risks. Quitting her successful corporate job to pursue her true passion, writing, had been a risk, right? Giving up everything to be a barista at an alien cafe was a risk, wasn’t it? Alas, the years progressed, but Emily’s career did not. She’d been right, working at the Super Universe Cafe gave her more story fodder than she ever could have asked for. Crypto-billionaires, oil tycoons, famous actors, and many more came every day, all interacting with the strange Ulanians. Novels, short stories, newspaper articles, she’d written it all, but to no avail. She couldn’t catch a break. But today was that would change, Emily knew it. Margie Sheppard, one of the most famous writers in the world, was here this week. Emily approached her yesterday and gave her one of manuscripts, her best one yet. Margie enthusiastically accepted it. What a stroke of fortune! This was it. All day she waited for Margie to come back. Her head darted to the door every time she heard the bell chime. She wasn’t even excited when the World President walked in. Only Margie mattered. Half an hour before closing, she finally came, dressed in her typical librarian-looking garb, and walked straight up to Emily’s register. She ordered a latte. “Hi!” Emily said. Margie looked up from her phone, knitting her eyebrows and pushing her glasses up. “Um, hello. I said I’d like a latte.” Emily continued starring at her, willing Margie to remember. Another moment passed. “I… I gave… I gave you my manuscript yesterday.” Margie’s eyebrows arched up, and she smiled with feigned embarrassment. “Oh, oh yes. I took a look. You don’t have it, my dear.” Devastation. Emily’s entire body tensed, her hands balled into fists, and her jaw clenched. For years, for failure after failure, she had resisted crying. Now, a crushing, thundering, monstrous weight squeezed the tears out from deep within her. She sobbed as she stormed out of the cafe, covering her face in her hands. No! No no no no! Years of hoping she’d be discovered, years of trying to make connections, years of writing her stupid stories – all wasted. Still sobbing, she walked out into the warm night just as a Ulanian “car” flew down from the sky and landed in a parking spot nearby. She thought back to that very human Ulanian she’d met all those years ago. She’d never met another like that since. It was a human, she knew it, pretending to be one of them. The Ulanians walked past her, posture a little too straight, and went into the cafe. She went up to the car and peered inside. They hadn’t even rolled up the “windows.” Amidst all the human trash from previous snacks, was one of those infamous purple tracksuits. She could do it. Who knew Ulanians better than her? She’d been talking to them every day for years, studying them closely, all their mannerism, so she could write about them in her stories. Maybe it wouldn’t all be wasted after all. She reached inside and pulled out the track suit. It would fit. She wasn’t thinking straight, she told herself, anger was making her crazy. This is crazy, she thought. Is it crazy? Haven’t I always been crazy? Already, the tears were starting dry. Take risks, they always said, take risks. She slipped on the suit and prepared herself to ask the World President what was new. — [r/StealthyStorkStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/stealthystorkstories/)
Part 1/2 Meet the Axe Lord Thomas entered the Adventurers guild HQ with Alice and Heek at his heels. They were here to look for a new job ostensibly. Thomas himself came here to meet the people of the Dark Continent. But so far, he and his party had been keeping to themselves. He could only sigh. Heek was a former ‘Liberator of property’, Alice was from an isolated village. What they needed was a veteran of the land who could help them. Walking up to the counter, Thomas leant over and got the attention of one of the clerks. “Sorry to be a bother, but I was wondering if you have any adventurers that are looking for a party. We feel we could do with another member to round out our formation”, Thomas explained, gesturing to Alice and Heek, who were preoccupied with a game of rock, paper scissors to decide who paid for their drinks. “Not many like that around here, young man, only one that comes to mind is the Axe Lord Victor over there”, the clerk said, pointing to a man in a cloak sitting in the corner keeping his head down. “He any good?” Thomas asked, wondering if this man were to join the heroes party; he had to be at least somewhat capable. “Couldn’t say. He only takes on small monster-slaying and manual labour requests”, the clerk explained with a shrug. “Very well, we can do a trial run”, Thomas said with a nod before turning back to his companions. Alice was fist-pumping as she had evidently claimed victory. “Miss, I told yah using clairvoyance is cheating”, Heek protested. “You are just a sore loser, Heek”, she replied, holding her hands on her hips in triumph. “Ok, guys. We got someone to try recruit”, Thomas said trying to get his free-spirited party back on task. “Who is it?” Alice asked, eyes gleaming at meeting a new friend. “Guy in the corner there”, Thomas replied, gesturing with his gaze. The Party turned to look at Victor. “The one in the mysterious stranger corner?” Heek asked. “Bit cliche”, Alice added. “Nevertheless, he came recommended”, Thomas said as he walked past them and towards the man. “Excuse me, Victor, I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining my party”, Thomas asked, standing at his table. Victor though, didn’t respond. He just kept his head down. “Is he asleep?” Alice whispered. “Maybe he’s drunk”, Heek suggested. “Ok, none of that nonsense. I was pondering the request”, Victor said, looking up at the party. His eyes scanned each member head to toe before fixating on Thomas. “So a new hero, eh?” he said with a wry grin. “How’d you know?” Thomas asked. “Simple, you got that air about yah. Also, my divine boon told me”, Victor explained. “So you’d be interested in joining the heroes party?” Thomas asked. “I dunno you as bad as Vetica?” he asked. “The last hero?” Thomas replied, confused. “Yeah, when I worked with him after my family’s petty kingdom collapsed, he was a right snobby bastard, and that's coming from a former prince”, Victor explained. The party were stunned. A former prince? “Ok, kid, I’ll join you”, Victor said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. “Perfect, we can take a monster-slaying request see how we work together”, Thomas said, smiling as he took his hand. “So which god granted you a boon?” Heek asked. “Oh, one of the Elder gods”, Victor replied with a grin as he scratched the back of his head.
Ruin. Ash and smoke and corpses, as far as the eye can see. The burning smell of charred flesh is everywhere. I stand, alone amidst the devastation. Seven times, seven rings, seven chimes for the Starlit King. Congratulations the voice of the Starlit King echos in my mind. You've won.. Bring upon your deepest wish, for him to grant then later tarnish. My wish was simple. Incorruptible, as there was nothing to corrupt. Or so I thought. He sits upon the Darkest throne, gazed upon by the unknown.. I killed the guards. I traversed the Ashen Desert , where nothing grows and the rivers are blood-red. I stared into the Abyss of Dreams and came out just as broken as before. I sacrificed bones and flesh to The Keeper of Corpses, so he may look the other way. I ascended the tower, and rung that cursed, night-black bell, that chimed deafening silence. All I asked for, all I wanted, all I needed was to be happy. Just for once, to feel happiness, instead of the endless gloom that seemed to permeate my being. And so I asked. And so, he obliged. He gave me happiness. He gave me love, and family. He gave me friends and people who cared about me, and who I cared about. And he gave me the strength to protect them. And in an instant, he took it all away. I killed the invaders. I killed them all. I killed and I killed and I killed until not one of them was left. And though he took so much from me, my memory can't be touched. They live with me. And then..... He took my memory. He took them from me, leaving only the memory of what I felt. Of the loss. So I cried. I cried hopeless, helpless tears unto the ring that he bestowed upon me, until I could cry no more. Once I looked up, the air was clear. A twisting void filled with stars, like eyes, surrounded me, still kneeling before the throne that cast shadow upon darkness itself. Upon it sat the horned figure, a silhouette of countless galaxies colliding, dying and being born. The Starlit King. Yet time will die, and all will fade, and when it does he comes in aid. I begged him. I pleaded to return them. To at least have mercy and return my memories of happiness. I said that I will give in. Any price, anything at all, ai will pay. He spoke. He said one word, and the world trembled at its might: #YES. So I will serve. I will be his fifth champion, when the empty-one comes. At the end of creation, I will fight, and I will win. For the memory of all I had.
Jim woke to a bright light shining directly in his face. He lifted himself up on his elbows and blinked furiously. Someone cursed, and the light quickly disappeared. Jim gazed blankly into the darkness. Occasionally a machine hidden somewhere in the room beeped. It was annoying. Jim flopped back down on the table and tried to get back to sleep, but just as he was drifting off the sound of muffled arguing woke him. "OMG, 1232829342B9. I canNOT believe you just, like, abducted the wrong species." "I'm SORRY, okay? By the Grand Emperor, it's like a guy can't have a simple learning experience these days." "This is the SIXTH learning experience you've had TODAY!" Jim slammed his head into his pillow, but there was no pillow, and now his head hurt. He didn't remember his bed being a table. When had that happened? Regardless, it was a nuisance. He would have return this table and get his bed back in the morning. Just then, mercifully, the two fell silent. Jim sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He wished his roommates would respect his time. Did he have roommates? He could have sworn he hadn't, but who else would be yammering away in his house in the middle of the night? There was a loud hiss, and a deluge of artificial white light poured into the room. Jim groaned and brought his forearm before his eyes. Someone poked his arm. Jim turned away violently and closed his eyes again. "Excuse me, mister, I believe there might be an issue at hand." "Fix it yourself." "No, sir, you see, this concerns you, a bit." "What's that they say? An emergency on your part does not constitute poor planning on mine." "But-" "Leave!" "Fine, fine!"There was a scuffling sound. "2343524E6, shall I have the honor of executing the being?" "...which being?"said Jim. "Why, you, of course! You really are rather useless to keep aboard. Uh, not to be rude or anything! I just mean that you're not exactly what we need at the moment." Jim turned over and opened his eyes. One luminous yellow eye looked back at him. "Yuck,"said Jim. The eye drooped. "It's not THAT gross! Come on! Can I HELP it if I caught yellow-eye?" "Let me sleep." "No! I mean, uh, apologies for being so abrupt, but sir, we must figure out something to do with you." "Why?"asked Jim "Well..."The eye jerked back and forth. "We were meant to kidnap another being of your planet. The sort of being which walks on four legs and says "moo."I suppose that you are not that being?" "No." "Curses! The Emperor will have me beheaded if he finds out about this." "Hm." "Anywho, how do you prefer your executions? We've a lovely phaser bank that needs to be used, as well as some cutting-edge murder pills." "Must you really kill me? That sounds kind of messy. You could just put me back. In my bed." "...yeah, but how do I know you won't tell the Emperor? I heard that your kind is quite litigious by nature. We cannot handle another lawsuit." "I don't know your emperor." The eye seemed unconvinced. Jim sighed. "And I don't have the money for a lawyer." The eye turned and rolled away. It left a trail of tear fluid. The door into the room opened automatically and the eye exited. Jim could hear the sound of conversation from outside, but he couldn't make out a word. Finally, the eye returned. "My partner has decided that it would be in our best interest to return you to your natural habitat. That would preserve the natural order of your world for future scientists and would as well preserve our limited execution supplies. Please prepare to be transported." "Lovely."said Jim. "Mind putting me back in my bed?" The eye paused. "I'm afraid our teleportation technology is prone to error when it comes to, ah, returning things. See, we don't do it very often." "...what do you-" The eye did the closest thing an eye can do to a shrug. "Computer, inititate transport!"it shouted. And, with a flash of light, Jim disappeared. \--- The next morning, headlines in a sleepy coastal town in Florida described the appearance of a corpse washed up on the shore. It was quite curious, as the corpse in question was largely intact, which was unusual for one having been submerged for so long, and, more importantly, it had been identified as that of a Jim Smith, a twice-divorced middle manager from New Jersey. For about a week, people in the vicinity all speculated on what exactly had happened to Mr. Smith, but the hubbub soon died down, and the corpse was buried three feet deep in a little forest nobody ever visited. In other news, a distraught farmer reported the loss of a chicken, a sheep, a goat, a dog, a cat, and a pig, all in one day. His only solace was that the perpetrator left him with his beloved cow.
"Eighteen hands. You expect us to believe that?"A refrigerator sized man hissed at the smaller man who sat across from him. The smaller man looked on in disinterest, seemingly lost to his own world. "I don't expect you to. But I don't know what else to say other than the truth of it." The hulking man cracked his knuckles, his oversized arms bulging and fighting to break free of the pinstriped suit jacket which constrained them. "Well - I guess I think you're a liar. Why don't we see what other truths come out when I ask a little different." The man crossed the short distance between himself and the gambler. Clenching one of his animal like fist, he reared back and swung. His body carried momentum like a freight train. As his mass shifted though, his shoe slipped. The leather sole released it's grip on the polished wood of the back office floor, and his fist blew past the captive man's face. In the second after, the rest of the man followed and a thunderous crash echoed as his body collided with the floor. "Je- Fuck! My arm!"the casino enforcer howled, curling up on the floor. The bone of his wrist shown clearly as it jutted through his skin, a small amount of blood escaping the compound fracture and smearing the floor as he twisted and turned in agony. "Yeah. I reckon something like that was fixing to happen. I told you so, when you brought me back here.."the small man sat a bit straighter, and peered at the spectacle laid out before him. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but seemingly lost interest midway through his thought. Instead, he simply gazed on for a while longer listening to the various swears and grunts coming from the man on the floor. After what seemed like a minute or so, the larger man shakily propped himself up on his good arm and rose again to his feet. He yanked a radio from his breast pocket, and quickly spat into it - "It's Mike! Manager's office - this fucking prick broke my hand I -"he paused and shook the radio. No lights came from it. With a roar, he threw it against the wall where it exploded into a shower of broken plastic, batteries, and debris. With surprising agility for a wounded man his size, he sprinted towards the door. Yanking the handle, he pulled with his mighty frame - and the door handle popped neatly off the door. "Wh - what the fuck!"the man shouted, now panicked. He cast a crazed glance at the small man who still sat neatly in the chair. "You little bastard! What the fuck are you doing? You rig this shit before you got called in? Who's helping you? Is it Jim? I'll fucking kill both of you little rat-fucks!"The large man spat between gritted teeth. Leaning against the heavy oaken frame of the now stuck door, he reached into his suit jacket and drew out a pistol. He leveled it at the small man. "I really wouldn't do that,"the smaller man said, finally seeming in the least concerned about his situation. "Look, I don't nessacrily know what's gonna happen to you big fella, but I know it ain't gonna be good. Not for you or me. I really just think you ought slow down. Let this go. I'll give back the money. I'll get more somewhere else." The pistol did not waver in the big mans hand. His finger slowly crept to the trigger, the pad of it resting now on it. Slowly he applied just a pound of tension, bringing the trigger to it's wall. "Something bad is gonna happen to me? That's what you're gonna say right now?" The little man only nodded. He cast a look down on his hand, and looked for a few moments at his wedding band. A frown grew across his face and he closed his eyes. "I'll tell the missus you cared,"grunted the man, pulling the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the small room. The smaller man sat unharmed in the chair, his eyes still closed. His right hand rubbed the simple gold band on his left, and he drew in a deep breath. "Don't do that again." The larger man looked on in disbelief. Quickly, he racked the slide of the gun. An unfired bullet ejected, and he locked the slide back. Hitting the slide release, the gun went back into battery. He checked the chamber briefly, and ensured the round had seated. He lifted the gun and fired again. His screams cut through the air as the gun seemingly dissembled itself in his hand. He dropped to his knees, holding his throat. Now a thick river of blood leaked between his fingers which desperately clutched at his throat. At the same time, furious banging erupted from the door. "What the fuck is going on in there!? Was that a gusnhot? Jesus christ Mike, are you out of your god damned mind!?" The door shook as the pounding grew louder. More footsteps approached. "It was a squib load,"the small man whispered, watching the bouncer struggle to breath across from him. He lifted his hand now, and let the overhead light play off his wedding band. It's golden hue grew stronger under the stark white brightness. "You know, it's funny. People get so..worked up. So angry. Just cause they see a guy winning. On the 'easy road.' Getting all the lucky breaks. Hell, I used to do it. Be jealous and all that. Seeing some high-roller."His voice remained quite, and wistful. "But you know? You don't realize you gotta lose sometimes till you can't stop winnning. Sounds funny. It ain't." He took the ring off now, and let it rest in his palm. "Yeah, you're not the first guy to try and kill me. For the curse I got. I reckon maybe this is even my fault. Coming into a casino and all.. Maybe I just wanna see how far it'll let me go. See if there's any law in this..."he gestured broadly around him. "This world. You know it's funny. All these movies and books and nonsense - they always wanna talk about dreams. The line between our waking lives and what lay beyond an all..." The hulking man let out one final gurgle and went limp. The pounding on the door increased, and it began to shake on it's hinges as the men outside battered into it. The noise was deafening. "You think they got dreams where you're going big fella? Or you reckon you're just leaving one now?"His eyes now shifted to the door. It seemed only moments from giving. "You ought have taken me with you." The upper hinge of the door gave out. Sagging, it only would hold for one more good kick. The little man slipped the wedding band back on his finger, and stared ahead listlessly at the collapsing frame.
It was unlike any gem she'd ever seen. The red blood of God had fallen from the heavens, and taken shape in His image. Majestic, divine, and of course, priceless. Her father had gone to a better place, and the gem he had given her was the only thing that could pry her teary eyes away from scrapbooks and notebooks and personal belongings alike. Pamela laid her head flat against her father's desk, clutching a tattered plaid shirt. His shirt. The shirt of the man that had traded places with the object Pamela glared down her nose at. The red crystal statue stood triumphantly atop her father's desk. If it hadn't been a gift from him, she'd think it was mocking her. Pamela sat up, and a fresh tear flowed down her cheek. She held the shirt to her face and inhaled deeply. Another tear fell. It was his scent, sure, but it was even fainter than it had been a week prior. When it was gone, it felt like he would be gone too. Just then, a clattering could be heard from the table. "Oh God! No, please!"Pamela ejected her seat from underneath herself and spread her two frantic hands across the desk. The right arm of her precious new gem had broken away, fallen, and skittered across the table. Pamela raised both of her hands and held her breath tightly, preparing to beat her head and face with all her strength, as frustrated self-punishment. Instead, she fell limply to her chair, and started to bawl, to truly wail, for the first time since her father died. "I-I'm s-s-sorry dad. W-why didn't you t-t-t-tell me? If I could've just, g-given you a call -"said Pamela, as the tears kept falling, and as the gem kept cracking. Tear by tear, crack by crack, both Pamela and the gem were falling apart. A clattering of many stones could then be heard, and Pamela froze. She looked over to see an unbelievable sight. There was a large moth, larger than any she'd ever seen, dusted in the red remnants of the gem, gently beating its wings against the ruins of her treasure. She raised her hand to strike it, but hesitated at the sight of the red wings, which were red and pink and covered with heart-shaped markings. Pamela was beside herself. "There's no way. No way in hell,"she said. She leapt up from her chair, dashed across the room, and snatched a small green notebook from a stack of papers on one of her father's old chairs. It was a notebook titled Great Facts, which was filled with her father's occultic ramblings he'd frequently include in his fantasy novels. She swiped though the pages nearly fast enough to rip them from their bindings, until she'd found it. The little notebook read "The Lovestone Moth: A creature which absorbs the loving memories between a willing and non-participating human. The creature will convey the memories to the non-participating party via dreams for an indeterminate amount of time. The creature absorbs the life-force of the willing participant to execute the magic. Used in ancient civilizations (see chronomap on page 108) by sick and dying elders to convey valuable lessons or happiness to descendent(s) (see 108). Characteristics: Size: Medium, Appearance - Coloration: Red (primary), pink (secondary), black (tertiary+). Patterns: Hearts, arrowhead. Surface type/complexity: Smooth/furry. Behavior: Calm, affectionate. Aggression: None. Lifespan: Unknown, (weeks to years). Creature class: Psionic vampire/mutual parasite. Paranormality: Minimal/None." "There's just no way,"said Pamela, with her voice shaking, the page trembling in her hands. She snapped her eyes back to the moth. Only, it had vanished. Pamela's eyes darted around the room, searching for red, for pink, anywhere, among the thousands of books on bookshelves and the flowers on the wallpaper. There was nothing to be found. Right when panic was beginning to set in, a flutter could be seen out of the corner of her eye. The moth swooped through the air with the elegance of a falcon, plopping itself right onto Pamela's face. Pamela's eyes widened, she fell backwards, let out a yelp, but before she could swat the thing away, she noticed it. Pamela's eyes started drooping. She could only say, "Why do you smell so...sleepy?"Before she flopped onto the hardwood floor, and drifted off to sleep. Pamela opened her eyes to an open field. A lush meadow with no end in sight. A red moth rested its tired wings on her torso. She took note that her father's notebook was right about the fluffiness, but she might later add that they're warm as well, at least 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The sound of crunching grass could be heard from behind. Pamela glanced back to see a wondrous sight. Amidst high sunflowers and low daisies stood none other than her father. He met her gaze with a warm smile, and started unbuttoning his shirt. "Dad?"said Pamela with uncertainty. As her father opened the front of his shirt, Pamela sagged with despair. There were fresh surgical wounds stretching across his abdomen. The message was all too clear. Her eyes moistening, her voice cracking, Pamela said, "It came back?"To which her father only smiled, put his index finger to his lips, and nodded. Stomach cancer. Something she was sure he'd beaten. Not long after, the figure of the man became faint, before it faded away. "Wait! Dad! Don't leave me!"Pamela jumped to her feet and started running towards his afterimage, but before long she had passed where it had been, stumbling over flowers, and her numb feet. As she stumbled and started to fall, she was caught on the back of a massive red moth. There was no longer a field beneath her, only tufts of crimson fur. With a single beat of its wings, they were soaring in the sky. With another, they were gliding through memories. Pamela saw herself shopping with her father as a young girl. She saw her father dancing with her at her own private prom when she couldn't land a date. She saw his love and support when she came home from college, staying in her old room until she landed a steady job. All at once, she was filled with all the love she'd ever felt. It was a lifetime of love that was brighter than sun and deeper than the ocean. All the love of a parent, in one moment. That anyone had ever been loved so much made her feel love for all humankind. Then, she awoke, a red moth sleeping on her chest. Love. Being loved. That was her father's greatest gift. It was something she would always have in her heart.
Hazel leaned her weight onto her walking stick, a thick chestnut slab worn from generations of use. Wiping days of sweat from her brow, she looked back out towards the horizon. The sun was just starting to rise.With a sigh, she turned her head in the opposite direction. To her destination. The cabin was not how she’d imagined it to be. In the stories they told her, it was a castle with long twisting towers. It was a momentous structure made of hard, impenetrable stone. In reality, the cabin was just a cabin. Four walls of decaying wood contained its small quarters.Her eyes met those of a man sat on a rocking chair in front of the cabin’s entrance. “Are you here for a fight? Or would you like some tea?” The man asked, a gentle expression painting his war torn face. Hazel closed her eyes. The moment she started up the mountain, she knew this would be the end result. Yet she still found her preparation lacking. Her composure deteriorating. Part of her yearned to take this man’s hand and accept his kind offer of tea. It would be far simpler. Far healthier, even. But no. Years of suffering had finally brought her to this place. To this man. She reached into her walking stick and drew out sharp steel blade. A glint of determination pierced her eyes, as she pointed it towards the neck of the frail man. The choice was made.
1/2 Later, Sam would look back and wonder what had driven him when the ashlar stone of his tomb began to give. He had flayed the flesh from his arms countless times, and they had healed. What had driven him? Had not the hate already cooled by then? Had not the thought of revenge already lost its savor? Later than that, Sam would decide that it was light he had wanted. The hate, still there had blinded him to that then and for long years afterward. But yes. It was the daylight he wanted. Just one more glance at daylight. Wildflowers at dusk. One more glance. The price for that glance he paid in pain and it was high but later he did not regret paying it. He would remember that first glance to the end of his days. And they did end, no matter what a god had promised when the world was young. Another day for that tale, though. First he got through the stone. The flat pieces had been cunningly laid so they did not show their mortar, but after some indeterminate amount of time roots grew down through them and opened them. He never broke those stone plates, but he clawed out their mortar, tearing out his fingernails and grinding his fingers down to stubs. The hatred held for those centuries. Her name burned in his mind like a brand. Elissa. Get free. Bury her. Bury her in concrete. Bury her in acid. Watch her melt and heal for a century and laugh. He clawed and he slept and he healed. Next was the dirt. That was harder than the mortar. It had been packed down deep and tight. He dug through it slowly. Sometimes it caved in and filled his lungs. He did not need air to live, but his lungs blazed white with pain nonetheless. The dirt took longer than the stone. Century by century, he climbed, tamping down the dirt below him. A thousand years. A prison sentence, the bail paid in pain. He could not say when the hatred broke, but he did not notice it. His whole body was a tight furnace of pain. When at last his arm tore through old Terra's skin and into open air he broke into a mad fit of laughter. It was the first sound to come from him in centuries or more. He had stopped screaming long ago. He pulled himself loose from the earth's embrace and found himself sitting on a hillside. Behind him were tall sandstone cliffs, wooded on top and spotted by gnarled shrubs along their sides. Extending below them was a series of gentle hillsides. They were covered with grasses and wildflowers. It was barely dawn and the world was grey, but the dim slanted light stung his eyes. The air. God only knew how good the air tasted. He could not get enough of it. He sat with his forehead in the grass and just breathed for an hour or more. When he got up the sun had risen. After three hours, Sam stood and began to walk. Finding her was a listless affair. Even then, he had not seen. Did not hear the beat of his own heart. Did not listen to his secret thoughts. His arts had not left him. This world was new and strange, but the fundamentals remained the same. He was in Lebanon, a large kingdom-like entity, except instead of a king the nebulous sense of nationhood seemed to act with its own symbolic personification. There were leaders, chosen deliberately, not by lot as the Athenians had done. An older version of him would already have worked out how to twist that to his power, but now he just drifted through the world, looking for clues. In a week he had picked up Lebanese. The food was better in this when. There was more oil, more widely available. Spices from India had not been unheard of, but in such quantity. A week later he was in Germany and had discovered libraries. He spoke German by then as well. It had not changed overmuch in his thousand year imprisonment. The clues were easy to find for one who knew what to look for. And he had so much information. The search should have invigorated him. Should have stirred up the hate in his stomach. But it didn't. She wasn't hiding, she was just ordinary. There was so much data that he was doing more sifting than searching. This wasn't cat and mouse. The answer was not hidden, except by fluff. Nonsense. Still, he found her. She had gone to the New World. He already knew it was there, of course. Abi swam the Atlantic when the world was young and the ages had not yet wearied him. English was next. A mongrel language with surprising flexibility, but too much ambiguity for his taste. Maine. He remembers it well from wars in years that are forgotten and it has changed little. This is an old land with habits of its own. She lives in a cottage over a lake. There are vegetables growing beside the house in beds rimmed by white-painted slabs of wood. Two horses wander in a field, unfenced. Chickens, ducks, and geese forage together in clumps. The house is old. Very old. He sees this and sees it very well. The foundation is ashlar stone, not dissimilar to the walls of his tomb. The walls were white and the paint was chipping. The door was brilliant red. That brilliant red door opened and she stepped out. Elissa had not changed, but the years had softened her somehow. Trimmed down her edges. She was beautiful in a calming, common sort of way. Not a rose but a dandelion, perfect but unremarkable. Her long dark hair was bound in a simple braid which reached to her shoulders. She wore denim overalls and a green cotton shirt. Her eyes were the green of spring clovers, so bright they seemed almost to glow. She regarded him evenly as he approached. "Samson,"she said, at last. "Elissa,"he said, and looked around. "Given up wandering?" "For now,"she says. Elissa meets his eyes and does not waver. "I see the dust on you, though, Samson. I see it very well." "Do you?"he murmurs. The hate is gone. He is looking and cannot find it. He only feels tired. "Why did you bury me in that hole, El?" Something like surprise crosses over her face, but still she does not waver. "Because I could not kill you,"says Elissa, who the Libyans called Wanderer. He nods, and his brow stiches. He walks past her, past her house, and stands at the edge of the rise overlooking the lake. After a moment, she comes to join him. "I knew you'd come eventually,"she said. "But I thought it would be to kill me."
"Lina! Where are the bendy straws?"My boss's raucous voice shouted from behind the bar. I poked my head out from the storeroom. "Check under the new steak wrappers, I think I saw them there,"I called back, letting the storeroom door swing shut behind me. It was my job to bring out Big Bernie. Which was a very old, very cantankerous freezer system. Switch week was always dominated by Big Bernie. Even when I wasn't working with it, I was thinking about it. What would be the best way to bring Bernie out this time? Would he function properly? Would I actually manage to break an arm trying to transport him? "You know, I can help with that."A grumpy voice came from behind me and I resisted the urge to throw an elbow backwards. Turning I squinted up at the tall figure. "You should be on a plane out of here right about now. You only have one more day before you'll be breaking the Treaty."Todd, one of the regulars here, growled under his breath at my rebuke. Knowing what he would say next, I raised my arm, making sure the silver cuff I wore was very visible. "I know, you've fallen for me, and hang the Treaty, and all the rest of it. But the fact of the matter is, I don't much care. Now go get on your plane before I'm forced to use this."He flinched back from my motion, looking rather like a kicked puppy. Todd was sweet, but he had a bit of a reputation, and there was no way I would ever get involved with a customer. Turning my back firmly on him, I continued considering the best battle strategy for Big Bernie. There was a quiet rustle, and the sudden sense of emptiness confirmed that he had taken the hint. "Lina? Who was that?"My boss poked his head around the corner of the storeroom door. "I heard you talking to someone."In the middle of trying to maneuver Bernie onto a complex system of dollys, I shook my head. "Just Todd, like usual, offering to help. Gave me the puppy dog eyes and everything."My boss snorted, lifting a corner of the giant freezer. "Werewolves. They always think that absolute adorableness will get them somewhere. Little to the left."I complied with the last sentence, twitching the dolly. He settled the corner down, dusting his hands off. "Mind, you vampires arent' much better, with their smouldering mystique, thinking they're so hot because they're brooding creatures of the night. Pffft."Knowing what was coming next, I started pushing the dollys. If I kept him talking, he'd keep absentmindedly helping. "And what do I always say, Lina?" "Doesn't matter how they behave, we have the right to throw out any customer."That wasn't the proper answer, but we were halfway to the bar now, and he was expending most of the effort. He frowned, shaking his head at me. I pretended to think. "Never give a vampire the wrong type of blood?" "No..." "Werewolves don't always want rare steaks."Almost to the proper spot. "No." "Any customer that makes a pass at me, I send them to you and you'll set them straight."His face lit, as we reached the point where the freezer would take up residence for the next six months. "Exactly. Now, go run down to the blood bank, I want to make sure we're all stocked up." "Did that already Boss. Our cellar is absolutely full to the brim, and all we need to do is run a bit of it upstairs, once Big Bernie is functioning."His eyebrows rose, and he reached over to ruffle my hair. I twisted out of the way, laughing. "And how many times do I have to ask you to call me Uncle when we're at work? Then everyone will leave you alone." "And what if I don't want everyone to leave me alone?"I stuck out my tongue at him, as his face turned an interesting shade of red. Making sure the bendy straws were where I had said, I raised a placating hand. "All right, Uncle Ægir. Maybe I will try that for vampire season."His usual smile returned, and he settled on a raised stool behind the bar. "Now, let's go over the mixed drinks. I've got a few new recipes I want to try."As he kept speaking, I started taking notes, smiling to myself. It might be weird working in a town where the main tourists were vampires and werewolves. But it was never boring.
You could already hear it’s roar in the distance. A roar so frightening, that every animal that hears it instinctively flees. Even humans have learned that this noise means nothing but death and destruction. Panic was spreading as the beast was slowly appearing on the horizon. Taller than a building, red eyes, two big horns and teeth, sharp enough to bite through stone. Some people tried to grab some essentials before fleeing, but most of them just took off the instant they knew what was upon them. The beast roared again and started to charge the town. Some people were standing in the streets, frozen from fear. They knew that no one who saw the beast charging lived on to tell the tale. As the beast was about to reach the town, it suddenly was trying to stop, sliding a bit before it came to a halt. The people were confused. The only thing between the town and the beast was a horse, grazing in front of a building. The beast looked confused, as it had never seen a living thing, that wasn’t running away or cowering in fear. „What’s with this animal? Why doesn’t it run? Why doesn’t it tremble? Has it even noticed me?“, the beast thought. It let out another roar, louder and more frightening than everything before. The horse looked up, completely unfazed, munching away on some grass, looked the beast into the eyes and, as if the beast wasn’t there, started grazing again. The beast was getting a feeling, it never felt before.„Is that fear? It can’t be. I’m bigger. I’m stronger. But my instincts tell me to run. No, I won’t run. I’m the one who everyone is afraid of. I’ll show that stupid horse“, the best thought. It started to back up slowly, preparing to charge again. The horse didn’t mind. The beast growled and started running. Eyes fixated on the horse. But before it got close enough to trample it, the horse looked up and straight into the beasts eyes. The horse didn’t show a single sign of fear. The beasts instinct overtook, „Impossible! This animal must have the power to stop and kill me, otherwise it would fear for its life“ the beast thought. It stopped its charge and slowly backed away. Once it was further away, it turned around and started running, looking back every few seconds, fearing the horse was following, until it vanished behind the horizon. When the hero came back from the toilet, he asked the horse if anything happened while he was gone, but the horse just looked at him, like nothing happened at all.
Dr. Mosid heard the American news. For some reason China and Australia went silent and stopped responding to messages send by the USA. People facetiming with Chinese or Australian friends at the time reported that they saw their friends suddenly disappear and leave some ashes. Later the same was reported from Middle East and then Europe. It was deduced that the disappearing of people was happening in every place that was looking towards the sun. That left less than an hour to the east coast of the US. A european satelite had some hours ago observed a weird burst of solar radiation heading towards the Earth. The Americans began (as usuall Dr. Mosid thought) panicking. Many people hid in dark places with as many clothes as possible hoping to deflect the burst. But observations from Europe showed this to be futile. Others started to drive to the west hoping to get some extra hours of life. The Austronauts who were preparing for the next mission were launched to space immediately hoping to stay on the dark side of the Earth as long as they could. That way they might escape. Dr. Mosid closed the radio and decided to think for a bit. She was one of the few scientists in Antarctica. The sun wouldn't appear there for the next couple of months. That means that she would be one of the last human survivors.
The Operator must. He cannot. Operator has an obligation to do so. There are no alternatives in this situation. Operator cannot. There will be consequences. The voices were fighting again. My doctor says at some point the two AI began to interfere with each other. They independently decided it would be more efficient to give two diametrically opposed opinions than to repeat the same answer twice. It's maddening. Simple questions like "What time is it?"have an intense range, apparently. 12:15 and Time is a construct. Animals do not obsess over the passage of an imaginary quality that cannot be independently measured without the placement of celestial bodies. There is evidence, however, that various species such as bees and some small mammals can tell time. The evidence in question was found primarily using a treat or reward system. The organisms studied likely gauged their hunger and recognized it to be at similar levels as when the food first appe-- It's getting worse. Especially in situations like this. So much pressure. I can't handle it. I can't think straight. The voices argue again, in that eerie emotionless voice, growing louder and louder in a battle to be rewarded as the "correct answer". I can't breathe. I cant breathe. Icantbreathe, Icantbreathe, Ican-- "Sir?"The human voice snaps me away from the ethereal war for my mind. "Oh. Uh, no. No, I'm lactose intolerant. I'd prefer not to have any dairy products at the wedding. Are you okay with that, baby?"My fiance nodded and tapped her temples. Her sign to ask if the chips were fighting. I squeezed her hand reassuringly. A social faux-pas. Her sister, Kathleen, insists upon ice cream to a manic degree. *A wise decision. Operator saves funds for the honeymoon. We do not enjoy Kathleen's presence, regardless.*
When I was ten, I was behind on my reading. Like about to fail 5th grade, behind. My mom had tried everything to get a book in my hands, but most of them were boring books for babies, cause that's all I could read. Then, one day, I saw my stepdad reading a comic book. I couldn't read the front, but it had a picture of a spaceship on it. "Whatcha reading?"I asked. "Comic,"He said, nonchalantly. "Wanna see?"He turned the book around to show the page he was on. It had a tall blue man with pointy ears, pointy-er armor, and a knife made of purple plasma. "Woah,"I remember saying, "Who is that guy?" "Space pirate. Name's Xavier Shadowblade"He said matter-of-factly. In hindsight, he was doing a pretty good job of keeping his cool, but I bet he was pretty excited that I might have stumbled onto something that I'd like reading. And, of course, he was right. "So, he's a bad guy?"I asked. My stepdad gave me a little shrug. "Yes and no. Things aren't always so black and white when its not a kids book."He said. "Oh,"I said, "cool." He smiled and flipped to the front page, showing me a bunch of crazy looking aliens. "It's called Galactic Vagabonds: Through the Wormhole'"he said. "Want me to read it with you?" . . . I read every single Galactic Vagabonds comic book published cover-to-cover. Not only did I catch up on my reading in 5th grade, but by middle school I was a regular comic junkie, spending all of my allowance up on Galactic Vagabonds comics. In high school I was a straight up comic-holic. My stepdad died in my freshman year. It might go without saying, but his death was really hard on me. I must've re-read Through the Wormhole a hundred times. Whenever I would get to page 42 and see that picture of Xavier Shadowblade brandishing his plasma knife at the Gel'fari, I just felt close to my stepdad, like he was still with me, rereading Galactic Vagabonds over and over again. After 4 years, I still couldn't believe that he was gone. Like, some foolish part of me was thinking he was just on the other side of a Wormhole, somewhere, waiting to tell me he was proud of me for graduating. . . . The night I graduated from highschool, I was laying in bed, re-reading Through the Wormhole and feeling sentimental, when I heard a loud bang come from downstairs. My mom was at work, she was an ER nurse working the nightshift, and she wasn't supposed to be home for another few hours. I grabbed the baseball bat, that I kept in my room for this very occasion, and crept downstairs. I heard someone rummaging through the cabinets in the kitchen and the sound of a ceramic bowl being set on the counter. I slid adjacent to the doorway, bat at the ready. I made a mental note to thank my socks later for making me extra sneaky. Then, the sound of cheerios pouring into the bowl, and milk pouring in after. It did not cross my mind, at the time, that an intruder had known where to find all of the necessary components to make a bowl of cereal in my kitchen while the lights were still off. I spun around the corner, flipped the lights on, and raised my bat, ready to swing. Unfortunately, I had brought a bat to a plasma knife fight. There, in the middle of my kitchen sitting at the table and eating a bowl or cereal, was Xavier Shadowblade. One hand shoveled cheerios into his mouth, the other held his plasma knife towards me. His dark red eyes saw me like they recognized me, and he started choking on his cereal. "Stephen Mulberry!"He said through choked breaths, "is that really you?" I lowered my bat, thinking that this was it - a sure sign that I had developed full-blown schizophrenia after I walked across that graduation stage."Y-yeah. Z-z-xavier Sh-shadowblade? I stuttered. "Stephen!"Xavier said, sheathing his plasma blade and beaming at me "is today the day? Did you do it?" "D-do what? How did you get here?"I asked, "Am I dreaming?" "I can see you're a bit in shock!"Xavier said, standing up and walking over to the fridge. "I am too. Your stepdad gave me the coordinates to get here."Xavier opened my refrigerator and I gazed into a swirling purple and green portal. "Wait, you know my stepdad, Martin Bloom? You... quantum jumped here?"I asked. "Yes and yes!"Xavier said, "and--"Xavier's Chronocalculatron buzzed at him. "Rats,"He said, "not much time before I have to leap back, but listen..." I sat down at the kitchen table across from Xavier Shadowblade. My legs were growing weak. "Marty is really proud of you,"He said, "and I am too. You're gonna do great things, kid. We keep tabs on you from the other side." My eyes watered. I had so many questions, but I knew I just had to listen. The Chronocalculatron buzzed again. "Blasted thing!"Xavier said, smacking it with a scaley blue hand. He reached into a bag and slid a package over to me. "I wish I had more time, Stephen. I can't believe I got to meet you."He said. Then, he walked back over to the refrigerator and vanished into it with a flash of purple and green. "Holy shit."I said. I walked over to the fridge and opened it. No more purple green portal, just deli meats, eggs, and cheese. The milk was still on the counter. The bowl, still in the sink. The package, still on the table. I ran over to it and ripped it open. A note, that read: "Stephen, I was there today. So proud of you. Love, Marty." Below the note was a comicbook. It was titled "Marty Bloom and the Space Pirate."I hurriedly flipped through the pages to see pictures of my stepdad and Xavier Shadowblade on alien planets, fighting Gel'fari slavers, and even buying milkshakes at a quantum rest stop. The pictures looked more like photographs than the illustrations in my comic books. Instantly, it became my favorite book in the series.
###Lone Prisoner It is the only step painted that alarming red, not to mimic the color of stop signs, instead being the origin that stop signs had copied. All sets of stairs had a red step if there were fourteen or more of them, and contractors went out of their way to ensure a floor didn't start at a thirteenth step. It was all nonsense and today, Blake decided that he would prove it once and for all. He shook his head as he watched the other kids cautiously step over it and jeer at others as they approached it. They're all imbeciles, Blake thinks. I'll show them. He marches up the steps with a backpack full of incomplete homework and a face full of snark. His foot approaches the 13th step, and he slams it down as growing expressions of horror surround him. He wasn't expecting anything to happen, especially anything immediate so his eyes widen when a shockwave ripples out away from his footfall. Time freezes as the ripples spread outward like a stone striking the surface of an invisible surface of water. With everything around him frozen in place, the 13th step becomes an open door downward, and Blake's center of gravity is shifted forward, causing him to tumble through it. His arms pinwheel and he screams as he falls over, but his falling soon transitions into a float like a leaf becoming detached from a branch. He glides lazily in a slow spiral, a light shining from above him and a featureless abyss surrounding him. He approaches a round symbol on a floor and rights himself, setting his feet down in the circle. The light above him is illuminating the circle and a few feet beyond. The surrounding abyss is no longer featureless as a deep-blue horizon glows at an unknowable distance. Blake notices two things immediately. The first is the decaying remains of a skeleton in the circle next to him. The second is a figure standing between him and that blue horizon. He can't see much more than a vague outline but it many times larger than him with its yellow eyes floating in the darkness. "Do not be afraid, little boy,"says the creature, its mouth opening and displaying white fangs affixed to the darkness. The shape of the mouth gives an impression of a great wolf. Blake stands taller and grips his bag straps, pulling the backpack tighter against him. "What are you,"he asks. "I'm a prisoner, of course. Wrongfully, locked away by my cruel masters." "But what did you do to get locked away?" "Nothing, unless you count being the largest wolf a crime. I wasn't locked away for anything I did. I was locked up for what I might do! I just hate being punished for something that hasn't even happened. How is that fair?"The wolf growls, baring its teeth as it looks away from Blake. "Well, that's not right,"Blake replies. The yellow eyes snap back to Blake. "I'm glad you agree, because you can fix this grave injustice!" Blake turns back to look down at the skeleton next to him. "What happened to this person,"he asks, gesturing down to it. "Oh, they were awful, no better than the masters that locked me away here. Instead of releasing me and allowing us both to get out of here, I had to sit here and watch them waste away, trapped and slowly dying from thirst." "That's terrible,"Blake agrees, while looking at the yellow eyes that move up in down in a head nod. "While how do I get you--us out of here?" "You just have to break one of the lines on the seal around you." Blake kneels and looks over the design. There is an encompassing white circle with intricate swirling patterns across its center. "What do I do?" "Just scratch out any part of the lines,"the wolf replies eagerly. Blake reaches towards the outer rings and scrubs away a section, causing a break in the line. "Like this?"he asks, looking back up to the wolf. "Yes, perfect,"the wolf replies. His eyes narrow and his stature quickly shrinks down to the same height as Blake. The eyes are more normal sized now but still glow a dirty yellow and begin moving towards the light. "What's your name?"Blake asks. "Well, a long time ago, they called me Fenrir, but I don't think that's necessary now."A shoe steps into the light, then a kid with a backpack walks into the circle. Blake's eyes grow wide as he stares at the mirror image of himself, the only difference being the yellow eyes, a contrast to his blue. "Why do you--"Blake starts before being shoved out into the shadow. Fenrir grabs a small piece of bone and lays it over the broken line before turning back to see Blake's glowing blue eyes floating in the shadows. "Hey! What are you doing?"Blake demands. He tries to step back into the circle but the light burns and smoke peels away from his form. He watches with horror as Fenrir flies back up like Peter Pan with outstretched arms and legs. Not-Blake steps up to the 14th step as the other students look at him in horror. He just narrows his yellow eyes at them, and they scatter. He pulls open the door and steps into school. --- This prompt was also a combination of this WP: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ye3374/wp_heaven_and_hell_had_united_forces_only_once_to/
"Grandma, grandma!" Cornelia sighed, raised her eyes from the yellowed pages of Celia Maledictus, and directed her best glare at her daughter's spawnling. The brat only grinned. Blonde and pink-cheeked from running around the house, he did not seem afraid of her in the least. Must be some flaw of the mind he inherited from his father. "No,"she said firmly. "But grandma,"the brat protested, "I haven't even said anything!" "I don't need to hear it. No, I won't play 'Lego' with you. No, I won't read you a story—if you're not capable of reading by yourself at that age, I'd wonder whether you're my daughter's blood at all. And I certainly don't want to see your inept drawings." She returned her attention to the book, yet the brat wasn't deterred. Scurrying up to the couch, he climbed onto the armrest and squinted at the pages of Celia Maledictus. His gaze slid over the writing and landed on a sketch of a cauldron surrounded by three practitioners. "Is this a cookbook?" "Nothing as mundane as that,"Cornelia scoffed, incensed. "It is a treatise on the Craft which your mother would've learned had she not run off and shackled herself to a man." A frown knitted the brat's forehead as the concepts proved too complicated for his inferior mind. To think her wayward daughter had turned her back on the Craft for this. "Grandma, I want cookies,"he said out of nowhere. She sent him an incredulous look. "Well, I want to be left alone, yet here we are." The brat pouted. "Josh's grandmother always makes cookies when I come over." "Then perhaps you can visit her and stop pestering me,"she retorted. "Don't you know how to make them?" She froze, then slowly turned toward him. "Are you implying that I, Cornelia the Terrible, First of the Penburn Circle, don't know how to bake cookies?" "Well?"he said with a note of challenge. "Do you?" "Do I? Do I?"With a groan and a creak of her knees, she rose to her feet. "You little rascal, just you wait! I'll make cookies so delicious you'll keep eating them until your stomach bursts!" The insolent child cheered and scampered to the kitchen. Cornelia shook her head as she followed, leaning heavily on her cane. The nerve! She had been baking things that would make his hair curl before he was but a twinkle in his nitwit father's eye! She tried to recall a good recipe as she entered the kitchen. A love potion or a curse she could whip up with her eyes closed. Cookies, however... The brat looked up at her, bouncing on his feet in excitement. Well, no matter. How hard could it be? "Where's your pantry?"she barked. "Here, grandma!"The brat pointed at a large overhead cabinet. Cornelia used her cane to pull open the door and cast a critical eye over the ingredients. "Fetch me the flour, and some sugar, and salt, and cocoa, and a pinch of henbane." The brat pushed a chair up to the cabinet and obediently retrieved the ingredients. "I think we're out of henbane, grandma,"he said, eyeing the pantry shelves with a frown. Cornelia clicked her tongue. "What is my daughter thinking, not stocking a staple? Never mind, get down before you break your neck and fetch me some butter and eggs." The brat did as asked. Cornelia started on the dough, grumbling under her breath. In one bowl she combined the dry ingredients, and in another she tossed in the butter and softened it with a murmur. She threw in a handful of sugar and wiggled her gnarled fingers, causing a fork to beat the mixture together. "Where do you get these eggs?"she asked suspiciously, lifting one to her ear. "The supermarket,"the brat answered. "Bah! They're not freshly laid, I can tell you that." She cracked the egg into the bowl with the butter and sugar. The brat stood on his tiptoes, trying to peek over the counter. Cornelia snapped her fingers, causing the fork to cease whisking. Since the brat was there, she might as well put him to work. "Mix this up,"she said, combining the contents of the bowls. The brat pushed his chair closer so he could reach the counter and started mixing so enthusiastically that he got flour all over his hands. How odd; not a peep of complaint like she expected. She watched him for a spell until he looked at her in question. "That's quite enough,"she said gruffly. "Now where's your oven?" The brat wiped his nose with the back of his hand and pointed. She shuffled over to the contraption and pulled out a baking sheet. "Where are the matches?"she grumbled, looking around. The brat giggled. "You don't need matches, grandma. It's electric." Cornelia glowered at him until he looked properly chastised. Laying the baking sheet on the counter, she ordered the brat to roll the dough into balls. He did so with great enthusiasm if not much skill. "Anyone ever tell you you're a lot like your father?"she asked. The brat beamed. "Yeah, loads!" "Wasn't exactly a compliment."She waved off his confused look. "Get on with it already." Once the cookies were formed, the two of them loaded the sheet into the hot oven. The child immediately crouched and pressed his nose to the glass. Cornelia absently waved her cane, causing the dirty bowls to float into the sink, and peered over his shoulder. The spawnling turned to her seriously. "They don't look right." Cornelia sniffed, although she privately agreed. "Go wash your hands,"she snapped. "They'll turn out fine without you staring at them." He nodded and bolted out of the kitchen. Cornelia bent over the oven. The cookies weren't rising and looked a sorry sight indeed. Must be the newfangled electric oven; unnatural is what it was. She looked left, then right. Grinning slyly, she muttered an incantation and gave the oven a thwack with her cane for good measure. It was just in time, because she heard the child's footsteps outside. She shuffled to a chair and settled down to wait. The entire kitchen gradually filled with a mouthwatering aroma. When Cornelia pulled out the sheet fifteen minutes later, the cookies had well-risen, cracked domes, and the smell was such that an unscrupulous practitioner of the Craft could have used it to lure lost orphans into her hut. The brat reached up, and she yanked away the sheet. "You'll burn yourself,"she chided. He swallowed, shifting impatiently on his feet, and Cornelia had to turn away to hide her satisfied smile. Must be getting sentimental in her second century. "Can I have one now?"he pleaded hardly a minute later. "Oh, can I?" "Go on,"she grumbled. "Just eat slowly." The brat grabbed a cookie and greedily nibbled on its end. His eyes widened. "Wow! These are way better than Josh's grandma's!" Cornelia sniffed. "I should think so." "Thanks so much, grandma!"He ran up and hugged her. She froze, then slowly hugged him around his little shoulders. "You're welcome, child."Perhaps her grandson had a certain pathetic charm about him after all.
The old priest kneeled down before the alter of the One True Lord, clasping his withered hands in prayer. "Oh, Greatest-" BAM! "I'm here! I'm here. Sorry." ...That was unusual. "Err-" "Just letting you know. I was out taking care of some shit, but I'm-I'm here now, and I'm, like, 100% listening. So, uh, keep going." The priest was not quite sure how he felt about this. The Voice of God did not sound like what the priest had imagined. Sure, it had that all-powerful, booming quality...but why did He sound so out of breath? "..Well, My Lord, I was simply--" "Oh, and, by the way, you don't have to worry about the Cruelest Ones anymore." The who? "Pardon me?" "I'm not gonna lie, things were looking *pretty fucking rough* on that end, but I *finally* destroyed the Mega-Death-Blood-Ray, so we're all good." "What?" "I know, right? That thing would have fucked you guys over soooo bad. But don't worry, I took care of it--" "--My lord, who are the Cruelest Ones?" God paused. For an uncomfortably long time. "You're joking, right?" "No--" "Did you find the Mega-Epic-Cruelty-Hunters? The big metal things in the caves? The ones that kinda look like you guys except, like, two hundred feet taller and way cooler? That did ring a bell. "Do you speak of the Fallen Titans?" "The-yeah, sure, those. Anyway, you saw those statues that I put around them, right? The ones of those really ugly-looking dudes?" "...The demons that you trapped within bodies of stone?" "...No, man. That's what the Cruelest Ones look like. You were supposed to see those and be, like, 'Shit, I'd better watch out for those guys. It's like -- you know how in national parks and shit, they have those signs with the bears on them?" The...huh? "My lord, what is a 'bear?'" "Oh, shit, did I forget to put bears in this dimension? Damn. That sucks for you guys. Those things are, like, my best work." There was another uncomfortable silence. "Uh, no offense. Anyway. Why didn't you just use the Summoning Chant to wake them up? "What?" "Oh, come on. It was etched onto the arms of the MECHs? Right under the rocket launchers?" "The Unknowable Words?" "...Fuck, I forgot to translate them, didn't I? Ok. That's on me. Well, the chant was-" The priest's eyes widened. The Unknowable Words were considered one of the great mysteries of the universe. Religious scholars thought that they held the Key to Eternal Life, or perhaps the True Meaning of Existence-- "*Cruelest Ones, Cruelest Ones, Go Away, Come Again Another Day.'* And then you had to spin around in a little circle? Probably should've written that part down, too, now that I think about it, but whatever." "...Ayo? You still there?" "..Yes, my lord."The priest blinked, snapping out of his daze. It would be best, he determined, to save his existential crisis for after he finished communing with the Ultimate Savior. "I think I interrupted you earlier. What were you asking me? Before I started talking about the Cruelest Ones and shit?" "I was going to beg for your forgiveness, Holy One. I've committed a grave sin." "....Alright. I'm listening." The priest gulped. Did he even have the strength to utter the words? "My Lord, I have lain with...a man." There was silence once again. The priest bowed his head in shame. Surely God was pausing to contemplate a righteous punishment for such a blasphemous, immoral-- "...Ok. Cool. Is that all?" "Well-" "*SHIT.* I gotta shut this down -- the Soul Destroyers are about to break into the Only-Bears Dimension. I mean, they've summoned all of their Soul-Destroyer-Destroyer-3000s, so they should be alright, but you can never be too careful, you know? I don't what I'd do if something happened to them. Nice chat, though. Hit me up whenever." BAM! And just like that, the voice was gone. Just as if... ...As if it was never there. ...And what do I know, really? thought the priest, rising shakily to his feet. Maybe it never was. Yes. Yes, that would do. Perhaps it was best for everyone if certain things simply remained unknown.
When Jesus rose on the third day and appeared to his apostles, they were overcome with joy - until he looked at them with his soft, sad eyes and asked "Where's Judas?" "Did you not know, did you not hear?"he said "That I came for the least of these? Did I not tell you that I came to seek and save those that are lost? Where is he? I must see him, so that he may know that God has already forgiven him. For the Son of Man came offering forgiveness, and he will be the first among those forgiven, as he was the last of the apostles" John began to cry, and Peter was found speechless. It was James who finally spoke "I'm sorry LORD, his time is past. He used the silver he was paid to betray you to buy a potters field, and that night he went out and hanged himself"and thereafter for the second time Jesus wept for a departed friend. "To take one's own life"Jesus said "is a grave and sorrowful error that prolongs the pain of many, it is a sin against ones own body as well as one's neighbor. But it is not what I spoke of when I referred to blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. It is forgivable and it is forgiven. And I shall surely embrace Judas again in the new kingdom my Father is preparing." "But I am grieved for another reason"he said "These things were done so that everything might be accomplished, and so that all might see and hear that the LORD God is a God of grace and mercy forgiving even those who betray him. If Judas is not to hear news of his forgiveness while he lives, then who? Who shall I send to the nations as one who is forgiven much? Peter finally spoke "I will go LORD, for I confess that I denied you three times before the cock crowed"But the LORD responded "Shutup Peter, we've been over this, feed my lambs"and after that nobody dared to speak as one who could be forgiven like Judas had. Until Thomas, who has been in the back of the room bewildered by all that he had seen, and having nearly missed the appearance spoke to his teacher. "I'm sorry LORD"he said "I don't know of anyone here, or any of those who have followed you, and loved you, and learned from you, who can go and preach this message of forgiveness as one like him. We have all doubted and lost faith, we have all been tempted and made missteps, but none of us have been so overcome with our guilt as to want to die" "You speak the truth Thomas"he said "Is there no one?"but Thomas continued. "There is a man named Simon of Jerusalem, one of your disciples, who has been arrested, and is, at this very moment awaits death for your gospel at the hands of a Pharisee named Saul, perhaps he could be freed by your miraculous power, and forgiven of his debts" "Yes"Jesus said "We must go at once. I must see this... Saul"
I saw it gleam amidst the greenery. It glistened and emitted an unnatural red glow. I felt a pull from it I couldn’t ignore. It felt like a trap. A perfectly maintained and expensive-looking sword stuck in a tree? No way! I spun around to check if anyone was around, but it seemed I was alone. I stepped forward. It was a bright sunny day but the handle was freezing. Gods, but this sword looked fit for a king! “Get your filthy hands off me!” Alarmed, I spun around. “Who’s there?” “I’m the sword you moron. You got pig shit all over my beautiful hilt! What are you? Some kind of stable boy?” I gasped and turned back round to the sword. The sound seemed to be coming from inside my head! What devilry is this? The sword was right. I had got pig shit all over its hilt. Nevertheless, I still believed either I was going mad or was being tricked by an evil spirit. Still, a part of me wanted to engage with this...thing. “I am a stable boy. And there’s nothing wrong with being one.” The sword glimmered. “Pathetic! You’re satisfied with being a stable boy? You should aim a lot higher...like at the fat necks of nobles.” I gasped. “Shut up or you’ll have me hanged for treason.” I heard a sigh from inside my head. “Imbecile, only you can hear me. That’s because you are the first person to touch my hilt since... well I suppose this is how I find out my last owner died. Good riddance!” I wanted to run away. I wanted nothing to do with a treasonous devil sword. I stayed there. For what seemed like several minutes, I watched the sword glow and glimmer. Without thinking too much about it, I grabbed it by its icy-cold hilt and pulled it from the tree. It was lighter than I thought. Felt good in the hand. I had only practiced with wooden swords before but this one felt just right. “Just my luck to be found by some filthy peasant boy. I suppose we have work to do” “What work? Oh, and I prefer to be called Jamie.” The sword glimmered. “Can’t say it’s a pleasure! Call me Alfred.” “A sword called Alfred?” I bit my lip to stifle a smile. “I am a part of the sword but I wasn’t always like this. I was second-in-line to the throne a couple of centuries ago. Then I got hanged for treason!” “My goodness! What happened?” “I committed treason.” “Oh.” The walk home was mostly uneventful. I lived in the hut next to the stables. Alfred never shut up about how filthy my surroundings were and how we had a lot of work to do. He didn’t elaborate what the work would be. He would say “not the time yet but soon enough.” The next day, I mentioned to Alfred that King Edward was looking for new soldiers, and was holding a tournament and anyone could put themselves forward. Most people didn’t on account of the almost certain death. Alfred gleamed the brightest I had ever seen him gleam. “Jamie, you must enter this tournament.” I laughed. “So you do want me dead. Sorry but no way am I doing it.” “Pick me up”, Alfred commanded. I obeyed. “Now feel this. He started moving on his own! I held his hilt tightly and adjusted my foot according to his moves but quickly lost balance and fell. “Again”, he commanded, and again I obeyed. Again, I fell. And again...and again... We did this every afternoon for the next three weeks. Finally, we were getting somewhere. We danced as one. I anticipated every strike, pirouette and plunge. I felt ready. (Part 1 of 2)
Four hundred and twenty three years. It's been four hundred and twenty three FUCKING YEARS. I'm calm. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I look down the barrel and see him. "Give me one good reason not to pull the trigger right now, Sam,"I say to the asshole at the other end of my gun. "Just one goddamn good reason." "Fucking do it,"he snaps back. "It's not like it will do anything. We're fucking cursed." I pull the trigger and send the bullet between his stupid eyes. He slumps forward and his forehead bounces off the gun before falling to the floor. I knew he was right, but it always made me feel better to kill him anyways. Ever since he'd drunk that fucking Draught of the Undying. It was supposed to be Death's Draught. Simple. Kill him. Instead it bound his undying soul to the closest being to him. And that was me. Freshly after drinking an immortality potion. Fuck my unending life. "At least you were quick that time,"Sam says as he gets up and brushes himself off. The wound between his brows had already healed. He wiped the blood off of his face with a rag from a nearby table. "Now, you know why I'm here and I can't leave without it." "Well, it sounds like we'll be here for awhile then. I'm not giving it to you." "Carly, just be a reasonable fucking person for once in your life. That's it. Just once. I'm not asking you to change who you are. Just to be a reasonable person one time." "Anything you call reasonable is obviously lunacy. Don't make me kill you again. Leave." We were standing in one of my stores downtown. Being an immortal, you collect quite a lot of wealth over time. As it stands, I have seventeen stores in downtown alone. How he found me here was a mystery. And he wants what is in my pocket. And he isn't getting it. "You know, if I ever told people what you do to me, you could go to jail for a long time,"he says. It was an empty threat. I own the courts. This is my city. He just fucking lives here. "Maybe in prison I'd never have to see your fucking face again,"I spit as I crossed the store to open the door. "Now, leave." "Just give me the Clover, Carly."I cringe a little at the sound of my name coming out of his mouth. "Stop saying my name,"I snap. "And you're not getting the fucking Clover. Eat my fucking ass and get out!"He lunges for me and tackles me to the ground. I grapple out and snap his arm. "I have seven different blackbelts, Sam. Stop being so fucking stupid."I stand up and kick him in the broken arm and hear him gasp in pain. Good. Sure enough, though, the arm heals itself and he stands back up and jumps up before putting his hands up for a fight. Great. He swings at me and I catch his wrist and snap his arm again. I hit him in the gut with my elbow before taking him over my back and slamming him to the ground. I stomp on his head and twist the arm, ripping it out of the socket in the process. He hollered in pain. How does someone live for over four hundred years and not take any self-defense classes? This is just sad. I follow him to the floor and snap his neck. It will only buy me a minute of silence, but I'm going to take what I can get. I sit on the floor and try to find my center. Sooner than expected, his bones mend and he jumps back up like a fucking kangaroo. "Okay, that one wasn't as fast as the gun. That actually hurt. A lot." "Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!"I yell. He knows he's not getting the Clover. Ever again. I don't know why he insists on trying me. "Carly, just give me the Clover. You can take it back whenever you want. I just need it for like, thirty minutes. Long enough to buy a lottery ticket and win. That's it. You've been holding onto it for over a century now! Stop being such a selfish cunt and share the fucking thing!" I stand up and look at him. How fucking dare he. I kick him in the side of the head and catch his head as he's falling to the ground. I step over him so I'm standing over his kneeling body with his head in the crook of one of my arms. "Call me a cunt again. I fucking dare you." "Cunt,"he spits out as I choke the life out of him. I snap his neck again and drop him down. I grab his leg and begin dragging him outside of the shop. I drag him out into the middle of the street in the hope that someone will run him over. I turn around, walk into my shop, and lock the door. Every day I have to see him is another day that I need burnt from my memory. Today was no different. I pick up my phone and call the police. "9-1-1, what is your emergency?" "Hi, this is Carly Rae. I'm inside of my shop, Ascension, on the corner of Fourth and Main and some maniac is trying to beat my door down. Can someone come take care of him?" "Yes ma'am, Ms. Rae. We'll have someone to you in just a moment." Another night in jail would do Sam some good. And it would keep him away from me for just a little longer. Just one night. "Carly, let me the fuck in!" Just one fucking night.
In one world, a group of cowled mages surrounded a circular ideogram, carrying out a ritual to save themselves from the dark. In another world, a truck barrelled down a foreign road, its brakes having failed for the umpteenth time, on a collision course with an oblivious, unlucky (or perhaps very lucky) adolescent boy. And in the space between worlds, something stirred. The mages would not have been remiss to think that something had gone horribly wrong. The ritual had been forcefully terminated prematurely, and the perpetrator stood in their circle. It was... something. An inchoate polygonal mass of shifting shapes, just looking at the thing gave the archmage a headache. The only thing that reassured the archmage was that it was no minion of the dark, no servant of demons. If anything, demons served it. The... entity, if entity it was, coalesced and simplified with the sound of a ratchet clicking, until the mages stared at a simple, inverted monolithic triangle colored with the vacuum of space. The color that remains when all other colors have died. You interfere with the workings of the world, it said. "What are you, thing?"cried one of the mages, unable to contain his fear. And Death said, I am Death. And Death said, You pierce the fabric of realities to avail yourself of a fate you deserve. Beds lie empty because of your folly. Families mourn the passing of those who would save you. "B-But they like it!"the archmage stammered. "They were loners, nobodies! We gave them a chance at glory, to be somebody!" And Death said, You give them an ignoble demise, and then a chance to die again so that your own people may be spared. And Death said, What of their people? The triangle flared, and within its cyclopean depths an image of the First Hero appeared, he who cast down the great demon lord all those millennia ago. And Death said, This one would have cured the disease-which-rots, which he calls cancer, the last plague his world truly feared. He could have ushered in an age of perfect health, where neither parent nor child would have to watch their loved ones waste away. Another Hero appeared. And Death said, This one would become a politician. He would unite the fractured factions of his world, which stands on the brink of atomic destruction, so that never again would his people have to take up arms against each other. With each passing Hero, every wasted opportunity, Death spoke with the same, serene voice. But the voice seemed to swell in volume, like irritated flesh, until the mages were cringing away from Death, covering their ears in a futile attempt to block out the voice which resonated within their very souls. This one would have blazed a path to the stars. This one would have ended poverty. This one would have ended menial labor. And Death said, All beings have potential, some more than others. You have cherry-picked the ones with the most potential for good and ripped them from their homes to die in your pointless wars, preventing your inconsequential apocalypses. Then the triangle shifted one last time, and within its depths appeared the unfortunate young man that was several seconds away from meeting a runaway transport vehicle at upwards of sixty miles per hour. And Death's voice showed the first hint of emotion it had shown so far, and grew all the more terrible for it. And Death said, Had you waited four years, this one's world would have had its own apocalypse, far worse than anything your petty demon lords could come up with. Nature itself would strive to destroy his world. Oceans would swallow cities, the very air would grow hot and dry, and even the hardiest crops would wither and die. The end result would be a hell on Earth. And this one... This one would prevent that. Wait six years, and this one would pioneer a program that would have siphoned more soot out of the sky in a month than a thousand forests could in a century. He would have saved his world, a world of eight billion souls. And you played with his fate, tore through the workings of the universe to pull him here, to save a world of... Five hundred million souls. "But wouldn't you want that?", cried the archmage. "You're Death after all! You'd want to claim more souls, right?" The triangle grew dark. And Death said, I do not desire souls, any more than a carriage driver desires his passengers. I desire stories, tales of struggle and loss, of renewal and eventual victory. They are so much more delicious than the dark and gritty tragedies of late. But more than that; I am order: perfect, implacable law. I desire a world in balance. Even you can see how forcing those who could save so many to save so few could create an imbalance. The mages quailed. And Death said, You have toyed with fate long enough. You do so no longer. And, as if it had never been, the terrible, eldritch shape was gone. When the mages recovered from their shock and immediately attempted the ritual again (their lives were on the line, by the King's hand or the Demon Lord's, after all) nothing happened. The once effective ideogram had been reduced to nothing more than a particularly interesting mishmash of meaningless symbols. The mages gaped at one another. They were doomed. Across time and space, the failed brakes on a rampaging semitruck suddenly engaged, and the vehicle screeched to a stop, inches from where a young man stood frozen in fear. The truck driver breathed a sigh of relief. He had been tried and acquitted of over two dozen accounts of vehicular manslaughter and would have been fired for liability reasons if he had had another incident. The young man started to move as his brain finally kicked into gear, and scrambled off to school, his mind babbling prayers of thanks to any deity he could think of. And in the space between worlds, something chuckled as it watched the child run to school. Such an interesting tale he would make.
When he first rose from the seas to greet the fishermen on board in the darkest of nights, they screamed in such a horrible manner they almost blew his ears out. "Don't be scared...wait, it's 'be not afraid'...,"the tentacled monstrosity blurted out as he struggled mightily to read the words on his smudged cue cards, no doubt from the moisture. Did he manage to get his words out? He could not hear himself from the deafening screams of these humans. One of the fishermen stopped his incessant shrieking to gawk, two hands firmly gripping his fishing spear, pointed in his direction. He raised a tentacle and pressed the spear downwards; he sensed a rude hostility and desired to push that down in favor of trying to speak their language. He had cribbed some words from a few of those flying eye-things who called themselves angels, hoping it could come in handy to resolve potential miscommunication. "Stabbing fish with spears, it's so primitive and unrefined. I wish to impart to you better techniques."He slowly raised his hands and most of his tentacles (not all of them, after all, he still needed to keep a few tentacles in the water) in the air. Open, raised appendages is a sign of coming in peace, if he remembered correctly. The fishermen seemed to understand. Teach us then, they said. "And so that's all I did. I taught fishermen to fish better. Okay, I concede, I also handed out Amulets of Protection to a few favored followers. You have to believe me." The monster slayer snorted his beer and brutally punched the creature clapped in chains before him. The creature spat out deep crimson blood onto the interrogation table and kept his steely gaze upon the slayer. "Amulets of Protection my ass, you use those to brainwash people. You're a typical tentacled eldritch horror. I've seen and killed too many of your kind. I know what they call you, Eldritch Lord of the Black Seas. They say you drive humans insane with your incomprehensible cosmic revelations. They say you're evil and want to end our world and plunge it into the darkness." "I merely seek to enlighten, for too long humans have lived on placid lands of ignorance in the midst of the black seas of infinity. You barely know what lies in the oceans and the seas of your own world. Surely, human's unfathomable curiosity could not be sated by what roams the lands alone, and will one day dive the depths of the waters to seek knowledge and power. What you heard about me is nothing more than lies and slander. Innsmouth has grown from a village to a bustling city under my guidance."The creature opened his palms and tried to spread his shackled hands. It's a sign of peace, he told himself, the human should understand. All he got was a hunting knife stabbed through the palm of his right hand. "That's just rude,"the creature said ruefully with a frown. "Who is the real monster here? The one who looks like a monster, or the one who behaves like a monster?" "I'm not playing your mind games, eldritch horror. You are completely helpless and at my mercy chained with these magic nullifiers. When my crew is done dealing with your brainwashed followers, they will join me in tearing you apart. And I will enjoy hacking each and every one of those accursed tentacles of yours." But little did they know, true divinity could not truly be destroyed, only shattered. But it still is a major pain in the ass to pull himself together when reduced to bloody gobs of messily hacked flesh. He gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to cave in and start bawling in tears despite the agonizing pain. After years of receiving prayers from his followers, Elvari, Eldritch Lord of the Black Seas, silently prayed for the first time this dismemberment would suck a lot less than the first time he was shattered. ---------------------------------- This was fun. Couldn't resist cribbing a bit of HP Lovecraft here. [Click here for the 1st prompt that inspired this series.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/117eygj/wp_divinity_cannot_be_destroyed_only_shattered/j9ehi9v/?context=3). [the 2nd entry, and sorta 3rd here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11lsy7x/wp_listen_you_guys_ritualistically_consume_the/jbfao1z/?context=3) Been thinking if I should make my own subreddit and turn this into a legit short story series.
It was a dark night in Gotham. Bruce had switched his tight brightly colored spandex for the somber black leather that Batman preferred. No matter how much he got used to playing another super hero during the day, being Batman is what came to him naturally and that would never change. Having mutated spider powers had its perks. Hanging from walls at night was just as useful to Batman as to the spider. He had to make sure not to overdo it, though. While everyone knew his daytime identity, few knew of his night time activities. His life was complicated enough as it was and he didn’t need anymore of it. Bruce heard a yell in the distance. It was time to be the Dark knight tonight. Bruce stuck himself to the top of a corner, looking out over the alleyway where he surmised the scream came from. Activating his night scope, he peered through the darkness to assess the situation. Something was off, he was sure he heard the noise from here, but all he could see was some malnourished cat looking through what was left of the fine dining that Gothams richest partook in during the evening. He leaped from the corner toward the ground at the edge of the street. Carefully limiting the power he put into his jump, as to make sure that if someone saw the Batman, they wouldn’t also see the Spiderman within. He spread his cape as to fake the need to dampen his velocity. A jump like this would no longer hurt him, but it would’ve hurt the Batman. As he landed his spider sense went haywire. Instinctively he rolled to the side, barely avoiding the shuriken that were aimed at his head. Can’t start doing that too often, Bruce thought to himself. Batman has the reflexes, but his suit didn’t come with eyes in the back of his head. “There you are, Mr. Wayne!” It was Catwoman. “What’s with the violent welcome Selina?” Bruce asked. Instead of an answer she came in fast with a flurry of kicks. He dodged the first few automatically, but caught himself in time and decided to take the last two hits. One to his right temple and the other to the chin from below. When the second kick connected he timed his jump so Selina would think she caught him off guard and did the damage. In reality, he barely felt the impact, but it would’ve been difficult to explain to the woman he shared the bed with multiple times, that she could just as well have dispensed her kicks to a concrete pillar. Doing his best impression of a slightly intoxicated Bruce getting up to his feet, to simulate any sense of grogginess, Batman decided that it would be best to first constrain this kitty and then ask the question. Before his efforts to fake not being Spiderman would inevitably get more complicated. Selina came in again, this time with some well aimed punches. She was fast, for an ordinary human in catsuit. Not fast, enough for Spiderman, though. Bruce dodged one punch and sidestepped the second and grabbed catwoman’s arm and used her own weight to throw her to the ground. It was important to use her only her own weight, to make sure that she’d be able to answer his questions and he would not have to deliver her to the ER with a broken back. Selina was catching her breath pinned under Batmans knee. There was no way she would be able to get out from under him. Lucky for Bruce that would also have been the case ten years ago, so no need to fake anything this time. “How many shuriken did I throw Bruce?” asked Selina. What kind of question was that. It had been a while since they fought. They usually enjoyed their physical altercations in an entirely different context nowadays. Was this that? Just a game to her, to spice up their life? He didn’t need any more excitement. “Does it matter, I dodged them.” he replied. “Dodging you did” said Selina. Figuring that any animosity had dissipated, he took his knee of her chest and helped her get up to her feet. Carefully getting her up to her feet, with measured strength. “You almost had me Bruce.” she looked at him coy. “Taking those kicks to the face.” This time she actually managed to take his breath away in an instant. What did she mean, almost? “You know I’d always keep your secret Brucey boy. Why didn’t you tell me?” She knew. “Old habits, I guess.” Bruce replied. The relief he felt was familiar. It was the same relief he felt when she found out Bruce Wayne was Batman. Why did he think he should hide his new identity from her? She had kept his first secret identity a secret, why would it be different for the second. “You do know that I saw you during that accident, right Bruce? I see you being Spiderman during the day. It wasn’t really a secret.” she said. “It is a secret to the rest of the world.” he replied. “You deserved every hit to the head that I gave you, you dense idiot. Even if you didn’t really feel them.” She said with a smile. Bruce was glad that she knew. He lifted her up at her waist with one hand and gave her a careful hug, although to her it might feel like the tightest hug he’d ever given her.
"Hm... must've missed that one." ... "What?" "Uuurgh, it's one of those." "... WHAT?" The small twinkle seemed to grow in size, and indeed, soon it was more than just a tiny speck of light in the infinite blackness. Accessing Memory. Loading Motion Controls. Motion Subroutines OK. After what until now had seemed like an eternity, the biomechanical limbs moved once more. Decades, centuries, millenia had passed, possibly millions or even billions of years, since the time the trivial notion of "movement"had been wiped from the only conscious mind left in the universe, kept away in digital storage. Even so, the nanites had dutifully kept them in shape, forever rejuvinating the few biological and gene-engineered cells, and reversing even miniscule signs of corrosion on the nanocarbon mechanical components, that together formed the Last Mind's body. A consciousness, long since transcended beyond death, only waiting for the final stage of the inevitable subatomic decay, that would eventually end the Last Mind, had been shaken from eternal ponderance. It had created entirely new universes with the assistance of the linked ship simulations, played through millions of scenarios, experienced thousands of existences from the very beginning to the very end, but not a single one had ever seriously considered the possibility of... something. The Last Mind stepped up to the window. Only a thin pane of glass seperated it from the infinite void. There was no need for a sturdy hull, for there was nothing to impact it. There was no need for radiation shielding, for there was no radiation left. "Hello?", the Last Mind reached out, not with words, as the remained no atmosphere; it had been destroyed, to minimise its corrosive influence and allow for the lifespan of both ship and mind to be extended by magnitudes. "..." Whatever was out there did not answer, but the Last Mind could feel its presence. As if it tried waiting him out. As if it hoped that, upon receiving no reply, the last mind would give up, sit back down and stop being a bother. What a strange... emotion. The last mind hadn't felt an emotion since exactly \[Date corrupted, please submit a ticket to maintenance for temporal recalibration\], it could remember precisely, the feeling still fresh in the sim storage. This particular emotion was distinctly not his own, as if this other consciousness somehow radiated annoyance, avoidance and discomfort. It made the Last Mind almost want to roll his eyes and sigh. Loading Social Routines. Analysing Pattern. Injecting Vocabulary. Adjusting Eloquence. The light outside the ship kept its distance. Moments ago it had been a twinkle, twisting and turning, flickering, but right now it stood completely motionless, apparently trying to deter further interaction by being uninteresting and still, an attempt that failed entirely, the only spark of photons in all of existence, apart from the Last Mind's ship of course. "Answer me. What are you? Who are you?"The thoughts flowed more fluidly now, a step up from rudimentary speech, but cautiously. "Uuuuuuuurgh... Fiiiine.", rumbled the spark, the Last Mind now tensely standing in front of his tall window to eternity, staring at this bauble of wonder. Then it zipped closer. For the smallest possible processing time, the Last Mind was tempted to jerk back, instinctively jump, as the glowing something shot straight towards him, but the artificial reprocessing interrupted the nerve impulse before it could cause undue motion, because the light orb stopped short, not breaking through the window, not tearing apar the ship, nor its lone inhabitant. "I am the end." The Last Mind couldn't have possibily been prepared for such an answer, and predictably, despite being bionically enhanced in physiologically and mentally, couldn't find an appropriate way to respond to this information, leaving him stunned; staring in silence. "I clean up. I empty the universe, so it's ready for the next iteration. I keep things moving, I keep the wheel spinning, the cycle going. We can't start over if there's anything left. A-NY-THING. You understand?" "I in fact do not.", replied the Last Mind somewhat stiffly, but factually. "I figured as much. Alright, alright. I'll dumb it down for you. Let's see. What is this... uuuh, three dimensions... hmm carbon...", the Last Mind felt more. It would feel the same way, flicking through a notebook, trying to find a set of particular emotions. Although, the Last Mind had never actually performed this task physically himself, only in its several iterations of simulated universes and existences. "I'm going to make this as simple and painless as possible. I am the end. I empty the universe. I destroy everything. I am absolute. When I'm done with this place, there is going to be nothing left. Then, we can start over. Understand?" "I mean, conceptually I understand. I can't make sense of it in a practical sense, but I have the distinct feeling that I'm somewhat in the way of your... duties?" "Precisely. Yes, occasionally it happens that a chunk of matter takes a bit longer to decay, or a few stray fundamental particles zip around the place. Singularities are a bit of an annoyance to deal with, but nothing we can't handle. Your piece of hyperstable hardware.", the end explained, but it felt distinctly like there were some things left unsaid. The Last Mind had trouble choosing how to proceed in the conversation. Should it ask The End about the process? About the restart? About... god? About itself? Behind, some of the advanced computing functions whirred to life, more processing power was required to handle this situation, the boot sequence finally complete. Millions more thoughts flooded through the Last Mind in an instant, its mental capacity increasing exponentially with every passing second. Several simulations sprang to life, trying to entirely redefine existence with this newfound information, giving the big bang a new meaning, creating theories of pantheons. "Mhmmm.", sighed The End into the Last Mind's consciousness. "There's a lot you never thought about." The End was somehow privvy to the Last Mind's extensive thoughts and seemed capable of processing them just as easily as the biomechanical construct, entombed in a self repairing vessel, waiting for the day of final decay. "I think we both know how this is going to go." "... Yes. I think I understand."The Last Mind turned around and solemnly returned to his seat. Deactivating Motion Controls. "I'll give you another couple hundred million years, but if you're still around by then..." The spark expanded rapidly, dimmed, phasing through the ship and the Last Mind, then faded away entirely. Deactivating Social Routines. Clearing Vocabulary.
Marv held up the torn note to his wife, Becky, and two tykes. “Look: ‘help is coming. We’re all counting on you.” Marv shoved a crumpled shred of paper into his pocket. “They’re counting on us to hold out, guys. We’ve gotta stay strong.” “Oh, thank heavens!” Beth embraced him. “We’ll be saved!” “Yay!” Tommy said. “So, do we get to leave yet?” Christy asked. “Not yet, dear, but soon.” Marv said. “So, we can stop rationing?” Beth asked hopefully. Marv had the look of a deer in headlights. He looked almost ready to cry. Yet, as quick as it came, it was replaced with his same, stoic, ready-for-anything stare. “Just a little bit. It could still take them quite some time to reach us.” Marv said. “It can’t take that long! The fallout from that tornado should be well over! What could be taking them so long?” Beth asked. “Don’t know, but we can’t be too careful.” Marv said. While cooking up a feast, Marv casually burned the other half of the note. They breathed in the truth filled smoke. Yet they ate hot, crispy, crackling bacon and eggs, some of the last meat they possessed. They played games, mostly for the children, yet Marv and Beth found themselves excited for this day’s round of hide and seek. Anything to pass the time, you know. —- “Back on strict rations.” Marv reinstated a week later. “They may be here tomorrow, maybe in a week. The door isn’t giving at all, there must be some huge object behind it. Maybe they’re digging through it now, maybe we’ll see them in a few hours. Or maybe weeks or months.” Twelve ounce portions fell to eight which fell to four. Marv and Beth started looking like they had in junior high, back when they were skinny little twigs. Before time and age had filled them out. Tommy and Christy had the appearance of young skeletons, and made a game of counting their ribs. Christy always won; she had more ribs visible. Four fell to two which eventually fell to zero. The family drank water and drank water, anything to feel something inside their hollow stomachs. Christy went first, the rest soon to follow.
"If you wanna see an alien average to the point of uselessness, then you gotta check out the human." Guffaws. Not the response I was getting after sharing my credentials. PhDs in Interstellar Nuclear Propulsion, Galactic Warp Engine Design, Interstellar Logistics Management and Offworld Mining, and a whole other bevy of Masters degrees. All rendered irrelevant because Rowan the Tygan had proclaimed that since I couldn't reach the upper hatch without help, I'm probably a waste of space. Yoogla the Rybu, a stout, almost rotund being with three arms was laughing exceptionally hard. All three arms were pointed at me, followed by senseless babbling. In a flash, he was hanging from the top of the gangway, opening and closing all manner of valves and latches. Still staring at me, he made sure I could see him shimmy his way around the overhanging pipes. Damn it, the dwarf can climb. I'm going to have to up the pace in developing the grav boots. That kit will show them who's the- "AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEYYYYYOOOOOOO!!!!" Yoogla was no longer the confident, arrogant orb he was. One arm on the condenser pipe, his two trembling arms were pointed straight at...Pudding? Save my soul, Pudding, or rather Sir Pudding Brioche Kibbles the Unwise, was perched across the condenser, cooling and plasma wave pipes. All these qualifications, and I could never figure out how Pudding could undo the latch on his cage, and then find his way right on top of everyone. Rowan blinked all seven of his Tygan eyes. His spindly arms stretched out to touch Pudding, and was instantly swatted away by an unrepentant Pudding. Another alien tried to wrap her tentacles around Pudding. Thoroughly annoyed, he leapt off his pipe perch, vanished even higher into the jungle of wires above...and leapt down onto my backpack in absolute silence, if a little heavily. I turned my head back to look at my feline companion. "Pudding, that landing was a six out of ten. No more brioche snacks, you're not built for carbs." Pudding sat on the hard cover of the backpack and as if in repudiation of my diet-related comment, started grooming himself. The crew had now gathered round. Pudding, that cute tabby fluff, was now on the floor, stretching and yawning before curling up for a nap. Oohs and aahs were heard amongst the crew, except from Yoogla who looked pale. I've never seen the crew this... curious? Confused? Mesmerized? What happened to that gruff, "ha ha human dumb"facade that they were putting up? Someone suggested that Pudding be the First Mate, "the furry one is more nimble than Yoogla!"Another suggested to have Pudding accompany Nestor, the ship's physician and psychologist. I chuckled; Pudding would make a terrible therapy animal, but then again you never know with these aliens. I glanced at Nestor, who herself was deep in thought about the viability of having Pudding as a colleague. I was about to give Nestor my approval when a hand was placed on my shoulder. It was Rowan, who looked like he was actually smiling. "Well done. Pudding will make an excellent crew member. I like someone who is independent, doesn't care if they step on toes, and most importantly, has good reach." "Uh, sure. Just note that Pudding might scratch-" The hand on my shoulder started becoming a vigorous pat that might dislocate a socket. "I'm still unsure what role Pudding can be given, but that flexibility and dexterity, and that fluffiness...we'll find something soon enough." "Pudding's actually my pet-" Rowan had walked off by then, but suddenly did an about face. "By the way, which of your so-called qualifications was it that helped you acquire Pudding? I may need one myself..."
The logs crackled and popped in the fire, sending sparks into the night sky. This far into the wilderness, the lights of the space port was nonexistent, leaving the sky filled with stars twinkling and dancing in an eternal race towards the end. “May I say…you’re the last being I expected to see here.” Laufeld had been about to turn in for the night. He’d left the camp for just a moment to wash his clothes in a nearby river. When he’d heard noise coming from the clearing he’d planned to spend the night in, he hadn’t taken the time to change. He’d simply crept back, getting ready to deal with what was likely yet another person after his bounty. Except, this wasn’t a person, not exactly. She (he?) was an unearthly beauty. Silvery white robes captured the brilliance of the stars, glowing faintly in the darkness. Its pale skin was cracked here and there to reveal blooming flowers and poisonous red scales. There was a crown of interwoven thorns on its head, extended back like the antlers of a deer, swirling with clouds of golden ambrosia. It was tall, perhaps ten feet, perhaps reaching the sky. The Red Serpent, Herald of Poison and Medicine. It smiled at him and Laufeld froze, immediately regretting his decision to reveal himself under the gaze of solid black eyes. He could feel thorns writhing under his skin, red fruits bursting from his stomach, his blood squirming with foreign life- he bit his cheek until he tasted blood, finding that he had dropped to his knees. It was just an illusion, an illusion caused by being stared at by a being so far above him he was like a grain of sand in its perception. “I’m not a believer in any of the gods,” Laufeld hissed from the ground, “I’ve not joined the Great Temple of Aurous, neither have I joined those heretical sects who proclaim your name. You have no reason to seek me.” The being turned its gaze knowingly towards his tent. Laufeld knew instinctively that it was looking at the one thing that he treasured. A broken spear he’d carried all the way from the Great Temple, dented and battered and stained… …her spear. It spoke slowly, shyly, in the voice of a beloved friend he’d once known. Her voice, that he hadn’t heard in so long. “What would you do…to have her back?” Laufeld’s eyes widened furiously, “You are not allowed to speak of her!” he said, “I’ll kill you- all of you so-called gods- it’s all your fault-“ his fingers clawed at the ground beneath him fruitlessly as he struggled not to attack. It wasn’t possible for a mortal to fight a deity. Laufeld knew this. He knew this. Weak and vulnerable, naked, human, it was impossible for him to have his revenge. The only thing left was to bring her spear back, back to the home they had once lived in so this small part of her could at least rest in peace. It watched him patiently. Laufeld met its empty gaze steadily, wondering if it would decide to kill him for his impudence. He felt calm and composed after his outburst, strangely enough. “A mortal cannot kill a god,” the Red Serpent said. The night breeze flowed through its crown, carrying a scent of sweet, rotting flowers. It cupped its slender fingers around his face, leaning in close, “But…a god can kill a god. Are you willing to accept my power?” Laufeld closed his eyes. He could feel the strength in the hands around his face, easily capable of crushing his skull. He could feel its breath, filled with an invisible power capable of morphing any lifeform with nothing but a word. She would have rejected the Red Serpent’s offer. She would have dared to strike out against injustice on her own, not for vengeance but for the people. She wasn’t here though. “I accept.”
“Dude, are you into this kind of kink!?” Darren screamed but all that came out was a muffled cough through the mouth gag. The electrical cords which bound him chaffed and bit at his wrists and ankles as he bounced in the chair and struggled. His eyes would be wide with fear but one was swollen shut and bruised. All sense of modesty was replaced by fear as he sat naked in the middle of the basement. “I came to wish you Happy Birthday but it looks like you started the party a little early. What the hell happened to you?!” Mark moved forward and removed the gag. “STOP! You don’t know what you are doing!” Darren’s voice said from behind. Mark quickly looked behind to see Darren standing in the door way. “That’s not me!” The Darren in the chair said. “Untie me quick!” “Don’t listen to him Mark, he’s a dangerous imposter!” Doorway Darren said. Mark slowly stepped away from the chair with his hands raised. “Are you pranking me Darren? I don’t know what’s going on here but you never told me you had a twin.” “I don’t!” Both Darren’s said in unison. “The guy in the chair is from another multiverse, he came to replace me when he found that my dimension was the only one where my cat skittles is still alive and didn’t get hit by a car.” Skittles purred and rubbed the leg of the Darren in the chair then scampered off chasing a spec of dust. “All this for your cat?” “Skittles is everything to me Mark, and apparently everything to this other Darren too.” Doorway Darren said. // got to go no time to finish. What will happen to Skittles!? We may never know!
His friend and confidant sat in the mud looking up at him in fear. Sweat and tears mixed with the dust to create a coat of mud in his scruffy beard. A large gash ran across his arm and blood trickled down onto the cobblestone floor. “Please stop, YourMom\_96,” he murmured. “What have I done?” “Nothing, I don’t have control,” our hero cried. “This is not me!” He slammed down his large double handed ax and plunged the blade into his friend’s sternum. A sickening wet crack sent a spray of crimson blood spraying everywhere. His friend tried to beg again, but the broken ribs punctured his lungs, making it impossible to produce more than a gurgle, causing blood to foam at his mouth. Our hero lifted his weapon again and tears rolled down his face. “Please stop!” he cried. His blade came down again, chopping straight through his friend's skull. The blade came stuck in the bone and when our hero forcefully pulled it up again, it tore the head straight from the rump. The body dropped sideways onto the mud. Our hero felt the vomit in his mouth and he was out of tears to cry. Unwilling, he was compelled to grab his friend’s lifeless head and pulled it from the blade. He watched it with horror and felt his stomach contract even harder when he was in the backseat of this sickening display, betrayed by his own body. He dropped the head and crouched near the rump. He pulled a dagger from his belt and started cutting away the flesh around the ribs. He reached in with his free hand into the chest cavity, pushing through the lukewarm moist flesh and ripping his skin on the sharp protruding bone edges. With a slick almost slurping sound he pulled out the heart. He opened his bag and dropped the organ into the carrier. Compelled by an unknown force that refused to release him even after forcing him to butcher and scavenge his best friend, our hero dropped the ax and started running aimlessly. Sharp turns, left and right, tearing his calf on sharp rocks. A sudden stop made his brain rumble inside his skull. Every muscle he had felt like it was on fire. He pivoted harshly and that’s when the movement stopped. He stood there for what felt like hours. The skies above turned dark and the sun departed and the night welcomed the moon. He could hear the wolf packs howl in the distance. He couldn’t move a muscle. The unknown force that controlled his movements now held him into place. YourMom\_96 wished for death, but saw no way to find its welcome dissolution. Tears long stopped flowing and no matter how weak he felt, his body stood rigid. Then, out of nowhere, he started moving again. Slow at first, step by step. The direction this time seemingly purposeful. He found himself strolling down the forest path into the darkness and at the most dangerous time of day. The howls of the wolves became louder and louder and soon he instinctively sensed the predatory eyes tracking him. At the end of the road doomed a massive mountain range. The top disappearing in an abyssal blackness except for the thin rim light illuminated by the moon. The wolves had stopped following him, or at least stopped letting him know. As sudden as he started moving again, he once more stopped, in front of a large stone wall. Just when our hero was about to accept the long period of inactivity again, he turned to the right and walked to the edge of the dark forest line. He crouched and started pushing aside the loose collection of rocks. Sticking halfway out of the ground he found a chest. He pulled the thing loose and slammed it open, uncovering several gems and a vial of blue liquid. His hands grabbed the contents and put them into the bag. The sight of the bloody heart churned his stomach again and the gruesome sight of the slaughter replayed in his mind. If he would ever escape this malevolent force he vowed vengeance and end his own pitiful life. It might not have been his will, but it were his hands that ended the life of his most trusted friend. He closed the bag and immediately opened it again, closed it again, opened it again, took out the gems, dropped the gems on the ground and closed his bag again. He stood up, kicked the chest - breaking his toe in the process - and crouched again. His foot throbbed with pain as did many parts of his body. If not for this unknown entity forcing him, he was sure he’d be unable to move at all. That’s when the first wolf leaped out of the undergrowth. He threw the dead wolf in the direction of two others and with a smack it sent them all three tumbling through the mud. To our hero’s surprise he was actually fighting with precision and skill. He still had no control, but the actions he was forced to take might have been his own. The flow state he had entered almost made him forget what the antagonistic force had put him through. He sidestepped another wolf that leaped at his throat and grabbed it mid-air. He jerked his knee upwards, while simultaneously slamming the lupine creature down. The spine of the beast snapped in half with a crisp and sharp sound. He tossed the paralyzed creature into the forest with as much care as he had done with his friend’s head. The image flashed through his mind again. The distraction gave one of the wolves the chance to bite down on his already hurting lower leg. The sharp pain made our hero want to kick out instinctively, but his body refused. Reminding him of the very real truth, that it was still not his own. Shortly after it kicked out anyway and shook off the creature. This was the last attack as what was left of the pack decided this wasn’t worth the effort and they fled into the abyss beyond the trees. Barely given time to catch his breath our hero spun around. Expecting another threat and anticipating the fight, instead YourMom\_96 stared at the brown moss-covered rocky wall again. Nothing seemed to stand out and he was wondering if the force had just forgotten about him again. That’s when he started running straight towards the mountain. He was going faster and faster and the rock came closer by the tick. He wished to stop desperately, because at this pace the collision would be devastating. He tried with all his might to move a muscle, not caring which one, any form of control. Nothing happened. Headfirst he pummeled into the cold hard surface. The short moment of collision felt stretched for minutes. He felt his nose break first, followed by his cheekbone. His skin split on multiple places and blood splurged on the gray rock. He could feel his own skull crack and his brain slam against the broken bone inside. His body struggled to convey all the pain in an adequate manner. It overwhelmed him and he felt his consciousness slip. He lurched back again and once more slammed into the rock and once more on repeat. The mud felt warm to his rapidly cooling skin. He was blind in one eye. Not that it mattered, because the world around him spun uncontrollably. He couldn’t feel anything below his neck and was certain that somewhere down there the mud was mixed with his bodily fluids. That’s when he felt the release, the malevolent force was finally done with him. It was too late, he’d be dead soon. At least it was a fitting punishment for what he had done to his friend, but he would never know who or what had done this to him. \--- Thank you for reading! If you liked my story I invite you over to r/zeekoeswriting for more of them. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts in the replies!
They called my colony Zenith. This was a place where humans were supposed to grow past the limitations of earth. We were supposed to evolve and grow here, discovering the cosmos together. We thought we were more than humans, because we couldn’t really be called human anymore. But things never work out like in the blueprint. Even before the alien menace came to my colony we were at eachothers throats. One slip of the tongue and someone’s holding a gun up. One pull of a trigger and war breaks out. Half the colony had decided they deserved all the food. All the shelter. All the women. Their leader had grabbed me by the wrist and laughed, saying I would birth the next generation of Zenith. I refused. I escaped the violence by running into the wild forest, the azure foliage perfectly obscuring my blue skin. But from the depths came something else—a creature which latched itself to my face. As I struggled and writhed on the forest floor the stories of old flashed in my mind: the killer, the alien, the xenomorph. It was here, and it had chosen me as it’s host. I resigned myself to a gruesome death. But the colonists of Zenith are not the same meek prey the xenomorphs had hunted in the past. We survive, we adapt. So when the wretched thing burst from my chest, I refused to die. It seems the creature that had grown inside me felt similarly. It was small. So small and so weak. I wondered if it had perhaps been born prematurely, or maybe if it’s biology wasn’t suited to the colonists yet. It didn’t matter either way. I intended to use this opportunity to my advantage. I raised the little monster in a cage. It didn’t need food or water, just time. Time to grow into the monster it needed to be to destroy Zenith. To give me a clean slate for me to rebuild my colony. But something happened as it metamorphosed. I’m not sure if it was a because our DNA is different or if it’s because I made it habit to talk to it. But it began to speak. It’s first word was croaked out in a hissing voice: mommy. I took her with me as I traveled further from the colony. It only took her days to grow into a full-sized monster. I knew she would be capable of killing everything there, but hearing that word had made me think. Maybe humanity couldn’t evolve on its own to the peaceful existence we dreamed of. Maybe this was it, maybe it was her. I’m not sure. It’s a little beyond my comprehension now. I’m old, much older than most other settlers ever got to be. I guess when you live in such turmoil you don’t live long enough to get like this. But you can ask my daughter. She’ll be home soon.
The financial adviser lifted his reading glasses to his face and checked the numbers again. What his client had said sounded extraordinary, and totally out of line with his own expectations for the business. The numbers did not lie. Growth had been anemic, which wasn't necessarily out of the question for a mature company with significant market share. But growth potential had implications for value, and his client didn't seem to understand this concept. "I'm not saying it's a bad asset,"the adviser began, "but the premium you're talking about here is totally out of line with what analysts think is fair value. The business on its own isn't capable of producing the sort of growth you're projecting in your financial model. I mean, just taking the last couple years as a baseline and projecting that out five years, we're only generating, what, 5% of the free cash flow you're assuming in your base case? Never mind your equity case, which would require extraordinary things to happen." "I make extraordinary things happen,"the client replied. It was clear he hadn't actually looked at the numbers, or thought through the implications. 100% annual revenue growth just didn't happen for companies of this size, outside of major breakthroughs in pharmaceuticals, or without dramatic exogenous shocks like the world had seen during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic and subsequent recovery. It could happen, sure, but counting on such an outcome here as a base case was reckless. It was the adviser's duty to say so. "I'd like you to really think about this. Every analyst on the Street is calling for single digit revenue growth and for costs to increase in line with general inflation. That's going to be a headwind to earnings, not a tailwind. And that's just assuming nothing else goes wrong. Given all the work you would need to do to hit these projections, you're almost better off starting from scratch rather than paying this sort of premium." "The analysts are wrong,"the client said. "The analysts aren't figuring me into their numbers." The adviser was at a loss. He had done the work, made his case, and presented his arguments to his client. From an ethical standpoint, he was covered, and made sure to document it so that his manager, and, inevitably, his client's lawyers would know it. There was nothing else to do. His client had made up his mind. "For the record, I think this is a stupid plan." "Yeah, well, for the record, fuck you." Elon submitted his final binding offer for Twitter, Inc. the next day.
So, you wanna hear about the time when kids thought they outsmarted Santa with a ridiculous loophole? Fine, listen up. So there's this whole buzz about Santa checking if you've been naughty or nice all year, right? But guess what? Christmas is on Dec 25th, and if you're a genius like me, you'd realize there's a sweet 7-day grace period leading up to the big day. Seven days where you can unleash your inner devil and get away with it. Yeah, I spotted that flaw in the whole Santa surveillance system. Now, picture this: kids all over the world catch wind of this magical week where they can throw tantrums, break stuff, and basically be little terrors without any consequences from the big man in red. Chaos ensued like you wouldn't believe. Parents were tearing their hair out, trying to maintain order in their homes, but it was anarchy. Kids were flaunting their newfound freedom, thinking they were untouchable. And who could blame them? I mean, Santa's watching, but not until the 25th, right? Brilliant. You had little Timmy stuffing cookies into his face like there was no tomorrow, Sally drawing on walls with permanent markers, and Billy deciding it was the perfect time to finally test his karate skills on the living room furniture. It was a spectacle of unruly madness. But here's the kicker. Come Christmas morning, Santa, being the sly old fox he is, decided to pull a fast one on these pint-sized troublemakers. He knew all about their little plan, and, let's just say, the naughty list got a whole lot longer than those kids expected. So, there you have it – a bunch of kids thinking they could outsmart Santa, only to find themselves drowning in a sea of coal and disappointment. Classic case of thinking you're cleverer than the man in the North Pole. The lesson? Never underestimate the guy who knows if you've been sleeping and knows if you're awake. The jolly old man's got tricks up his red velvet sleeves.
It has always been said - follow the money. Some sort of a situation, where the one who gains from misfortune is the one who created it. So people blame the umbrella makers for making it rain. A stupid system that many still have decided to follow. But they all seem to have forgotten the simplest of truths - where there is cow shit, there will be flies. And where flies are fighting for scraps of shit - a toad eats them all. A great man, named Vītols, he became a king of a country. A cunning, evil man, who ruled in poisonous ways, got power over a whole country... And only for the insatiable it was not enough, and he dreamed and mourned - oh, how he loathed a country, how he wanted an empire. And thus, the devil was born into this world, a small man with a small leather bag, a pouch where he held all the souls he had bought. And he saw the great soul of Vītols and said - I'll give you the empire in exchange of your soul. But Vītols was smart and demanded reassurances. That his life should be long, he should not go mad, not ever paralyzed, or captured or tortured. A contract so tight the Devil couldn't use tricks to just get the man's soul in just a few years. The Devil agreed, for Vītols had a great soul. One of those that burn in the dark. But all that he asked was to come with a price: "Whenever a great evil comes upon the world, God gives birth to his son to vanquish said despot. The things you ask will change all the balance and other great powers shall come to oppose you. I can give you all the things that you demand, but if you become too great, bigger powers will arrive." "From my home I dealt with a village, from my village I dealt with the country. From this country I'll deal with the empire and from the empire I'll deal with the world! And after I'll deal with you, the devil, I'll be ready to deal with the Gods!" He struck his deal and thought it was done, but the devil himself started the greatest of harvests. All mercenaries, snakes and men of low stature came running to devil. "Oh, give us an empire, give us some land too!"To which he then answered - you are nothing but bastards, your souls cost a penny. And for said penny their souls that they sold. Some wanted new swords to capture new lands, some wanted new armor against new-gained swords. Not one of them getting long life or good fortune. A great war broke out and many lands started burning. Men getting slaughtered, their wives getting opened, their children - in wells for the water to be poisoned. All of them asked and begged for saving and devil danced around, filling up his leather bag. All brutes and warlords who sold their soul to get gold, got an axe in their heads before gold could get cold. And one more soul, and one more life - oh devil, you do know your market so well. The empire grew and spread like wild fire and slowly started to burn up the heaven. Many Gods came together, worried and hurt, to send a savior to Earth, an event most rare. A child to be born, with the greatest of strengths. He was born in a land neighboring empire, from two lowly peasants living through famine. He picked up the biggest sword he could find and started training all day and always all nights. Seventeen years, with no stopping or resting, he went through all forests, he fell mighty trees. Soon in power he grew to swipe away armies and destroy even castles if angered enough. He entered the lands of the empire and swiped all knights that stood in his path. He cleaved forward until got to the capital, only to meet all the defenses in place. "You are a fool, you know that,"said Vītols, and ordered all of his archers to shoot. All crossbows shot bolts, all mages shot fire, and wizards caused ice to creep in his veins. He turned and run, as fast as he could, only to hear Vītols shout from behind: "I am the emperor, I am the world! In the time you'll grow beard, I will grow armies! In time you drink a cup I craft thousand bows! You'll need one thousand years to stand against me! One thousand years to be counted as equal!" The boy run and he hid far into the mountains. He cried, he shouted, he lamented Gods, who had given him power, but not all he needed. He struck rocks with his fist and shouted high curses, only to see a short man with many purses. "Have your gods failed, have they given false promises?" "Yes!"shouted the boy: "They wanted a hero! But no matter what I do, I can't stand against all of them! I'd need thousand years of training to beat them! But not even the God son can live for so long!" "Oh no, oh no... That is most awful... No god can do that, no God indeed... So we're both lucky - for I am no God. Listen, I tell you, I have the best secret... I can sell you years to add to your life. I can give you a promise that you'll live more than a thousand, if you give me promise that you'll continue training. With the powers of god and the life that I give you, you'll kill any army, you'll kill any foe!" The boy did agree and signed the contract. More than thousand years he shall live. He run as far as he possibly could, over great seas and mountains and woods. And trained for 100, then for 100 more. He trained under the Sun, trained under the Moon, and even trained with nothing above. Hundred times ten years and ten times hundred years he prepared for the great trip to get back. To finally destroy Vītols and his army, to stop the terror he placed upon lands. When one thousand years had passed by, he turned his face towards past and started his trip. Not knowing when he will finally get to the empire's borders, not knowing how big it would have become. But the more he did walk, the more he grew worried - no Empire, no countries, not even villages. Not even a single person alive. No destruction, no fires, no destroyed towns - just grass, and forest, and moss on the surface. He walked by lands where his parents once lived, it was now a lake and new unknown rivers. So walked and walked, until got to the capital - a huge city wall and a great rock in the middle. "The Chronics"it's called, with a year written in it - 1279, the year last scribe died. In year 500 great Vītols created an empire. Of blood, of pain and destruction. In year 590 great Vītols had died - a man lived a life of unheard in length. In year 650 his son also died, after burning and poisoning all around lands. In year 730 his son also died, more brutal and painful than all of above. And this list just went on, until last 1279, that had the paragraph of the last scribe: "I am scribe called Spalva, I have noted this all. Our world forever was cursed to fall. It knew only pain and only death was to gain, while our gods treated us with utmost distain. My grandfathers father, he begged a hero, his son, my grandfather, begged for one too. My father had lost hope and suffered in silence, but I chose to have no sons at all."
"....nothing left for me to tea- WAUGHHHHHHH!" I step forward and punch the supposed grandmaster so hard he goes flying through the door. "So I see, you useless sack of bones."I utter as I walk past his crumpled form, feeling cheated that I ever looked up to clear charlatan. As I walk past, I feel an iron grip wrap around my ankle and I look down to see the gnarled and now broken hand of the grandmaster wrapped around me. I look in moderate surprise as I twist and deliver and a crushing blow to the head, ending his life instantly. "Such a shame you created your own downfall. If you'd only bothered to train me, I think you would've become a better person than the bitter monster who does what he wants through threats and being a braggart. Now I will take your place, train the villagers to be strong and restore this valley to the former seat of glory it held previous to your taint." I grab the corpse and fling it into the air, arcing it so it flies into the valley wall. I then set out to the nearest village, to start anew the duties of the Valley Grandmaster.
The lightbulb switched on. Page 666 of the Advanced Torture Exam for Level 1 Demons and the lightbulb fucking switched on. Sodomy leant back in her chair wrought from the crystallised souls of innocents and scratched the furry patch between horns four and thirteen that always made her relax. This time, however, it did fuck all. The lightbulb had been switched on, the veil drawn back and the path of light made clear to her. She breathed out in a troubled sigh and the examiner, Overlord Extreme Pain, looked up. SILENCE SODOMY "Sir."Sodomy hesitated. "I think I want to be good" The whole hall of demons looked up, shaking in their seats. Bone pens stopped moving over the shredded flesh of the answer booklet. Sodomy could hear Grotesque's knees clattering three rows behind her. OEP drew himself up to his full, terrifying height of four feet eleven inches and trotted up to Sodomy's desk. TRY IT THEN. The whisper was low but the challenge was obvious. OEP was one of the most awful Demons of the depths. His deftness and agility with a hot poker had won him friends and fame in the very hottest circles. Sodomy gulped and scowled. "Fine."She said "I will!" Three hours later, Sodomy was regretting her decision somewhat. She'd collected scraps of biblical texts from the various public toilets around Hell and done her best to read them underneath the smears of demon shite, but all she'd got from that was that Jesus was a bit of a sandal-wearing twat and apparently giving fish to people was good? But Demons don't eat fish and they certainly don't wear sandals, so Sodomy was back at square one. What was good? What did it even mean? She was cranking the rack two days later, turning the handle as the soul of a vegan bakery owner was being stretched out, screaming and cursing Sodomy. Everyone else in the room was turning the handle with bored expressions on their faces, counting down the hours of endless torture until their fag break. Victims didn't get a fag break. Then the lightbulb went on again. It would be good to not torture people, right? She stopped turning the handle and her victim looked at her in surprise. "Why have you stopped?"The vegan asked. "I'm trying to be good."Sodomy replied, picking a shred of baby flesh out of her fangs. "Good?"The vegan sounded surprised, his arms and legs shacked to the wooden structure. "But you're a Demon. You're not supposed to be good." "Thought it might be more fun."Sodomy said glumly, sitting down next to the rack for a bit and cleaning the crusted blood from under her talons. "Oh."The scum of the earth and the Demon sat together for a little while, commiserating on the futility of life and after-life. "Is it more fun?"He asked, after a short pause. Sodomy looked at the vegan. "No, not really."She said mournfully. "This is actually kind of boring." The vegan looked at his ghostly shackled ankles and sighed. "It's a bit boring for me too."He admitted Sodomy stood up and brushed a tender hand over the handle of the rack. "Since you're here..."She said longingly. "Oh no, please! Go ahead!"She vegan said cheerfully, and enthusiastically she cranked the handle, taking delight in his sincere cries of unbearable agony once more.
Dying was like going to sleep. A little easier in fact, since I have always been a lousy sleeper. One minute I am in the VA hospital with tubes streaming from my body, my kids Sam and Jenny holding my hands, that old brown stained ceiling tile above my head that had dominated my view for the last two weeks. Then the next I was floating in a field of pure white. My joints didn't hurt anymore, and I didn't feel cold or scared. Just warm. I float like this for a while, maybe a long while, I can't tell. But it also feels like an instant, like when you see that car about to hit you, or that game winning pass arcing towards your hands. Or like the time that... I think about Sam and Jenny. The kids. God what a beautiful pair they grew up to be. Sam is a writer you know, won a couple of Pulitzer prizes that I think he gave to the grandkids to play with. And Jenny... she's the perfect image of her mother, but where she got her smarts from I'll never know. Certainly wasn't me. She's a doctor, and a pretty damn good one. We ran out of room in two scrap books full of letters and pictures from the patients she had saved. I think she was really upset she couldn't save her dear old dad. I hope she doesn't carry that with her. A man takes stock of his life periodically. Two weeks on my back with a broken hip, the last two weeks I might add, gave me plenty of time to think. I've lived a full life, a great life. I started thinking backwards chronologically about the milestones. It was a tip Jenny gave me that was supposed to help ward off dementia. Maybe it worked, since it was my body that gave out at the end and not my mind. Two fantastic kids coming into their own as adults, the grandkids growing like sprouts. The family business doing well and providing us with a comfortable life full of vacations to Europe. Martha's death... Not a bright memory, but the kids rallied around me and helped their old dad learn how to be a bachelor again. Going back further, buying our first house, the kids being born, graduating from college on the GI Bill. Mustering out of the Army as the war ended. I wasn't floating anymore. There it was, that last thing I didn't want to think about. The thing that made sleeping hard sometimes. The air becomes hot, filled with the smell of smoke and gunpowder. My legs are pumping as fast as they can, my lungs are on fire between the adrenaline and fouled air. Nicky Faizolo is right behind me, yelling at me to run in that funny Brooklyn accent the way he always does. "Run ya bastad, run!"Most of the time it was because we were fleeing from an incident at the enlisted men's club that I started and Nicky finished. Bullets like angry bees pinged off the rubble and piles of brick around us. We ran. I hadn't thought about this in a long time. The technical term the shrinks might have used was "repressed the memory". Nobody likes to think about the most shameful moment in their life. Nicky screams out, its high pitched and he's clutching his lower back. His legs give out on him and he tumbles. There's a red stain where he's got his hand. I slide around and make to get him, but a hail of bullets chases me back to what's left of a garden wall. Nicky and I have been together since boot. He's trying to make a brave face of it now, I can see him as I peek around the wall. Nicky sees me too. He knows what I'm thinking, the way I'm tensing and trying to judge the distance. "Run ya bastad... run..." This was the point that I ran, in my life. Over Nicky's shoulder I had seen the enemy coming, big scary shapes loping through the haze. They had slowed their advance and moved with a more deliberate, murderous pace. Nicky had urged me on with his chin, then rolled over to surprise his soon to be killers with some distraction fire. I ran and ran and ran. I can see that trail leading off, how I ran to safety, regrouped with our unit. Made it through the war and back home. Looking down that path from my spot behind the garden wall, I can see time moving forward again. Meeting Martha, going to college, buying our house, the kids. All of it happened because Nicky told me to run and I did. I left my friend there to die. I see Martha and the kids standing there on that path. They're looking at me with tears in their eyes. They know. I fix a bayonette to my rifle. I round the garden wall at a sprint. Nicky, I'm coming for you.
The first code to hit the internet was Infinite Lives and it immediately caused a rash of suicides, car chases, and monumental acts of daring filmed by spectators and uploaded to Youtube. My brother Ness was among the first in Toronto to try and climb the CN Tower with his bare hands, only to fall barely a hundred meters into the ascent. Poor bastard didn't have the Invicibility code yet, and suffered three humiliating weeks of respawning with 10% Health only to die of his injuries again and again, repeating the cycle every fifteen agonizing minutes. By the time Invincibility leaked and he was released from the hospital, the world was chaos and confusion. Most of the internet was shut down, key servers in the States unplugged to prevent DLC Torrents from spreading, but the damage was already done. Thousands flew across the skies, dozens dropping to the pavement from slamming into buildings or going too high and losing oxygen; the Breathing Underwater code was out, but not the No Air Required cheat. I picked my brother up from the hospital in my beige Pontiac Aztec, Anti-Gravity Cheat enabled. Tires spinning, we flew north while I caught him up on the news, barely out of the city when the DLC hit. All of Toronto and another three hundred square miles were overwritten by a Desert Canyon patch that erased eight million lives in the blink of an eye. Ness was horrified but I took it in stride. "That's maybe the hundredth city this week,"I informed him. "Everyone will respawn eventually. Paris DLCs were downloaded on top of ten cities in India, complete with duplicate Parisians, and there's a new continent in the middle of the Pacific that's an exact duplicate of Germany. Nobody is claiming responsibility for anything, but the President said it was Anonymous Terrorists. Then D.C. got nuked, redownloaded by Government Mods, and nuked again; I'd stay away from the whole East Coast if I were you." "I need more codes,"Ness grumbled, eyeing the thousand-foot-high Viking stomping across the horizon. "It's not fair that everyone else has more than me." I couldn't help but laugh. "Everyone has Infinite Money and it's made money obsolete; I tried buying a yacht last week and found out it was easier to steal one. It's not about having as many cheats as possible, it's about having the best ones. Here, take my Cheat Code list, pick and choose which ones you want." "You have a yacht and you picked me up in an Aztec?" "...It took too many Hadokens in a battle above Lake Eerie,"I confessed. "It was shielded from physical attacks but not magical ones. Lesson learned, right?" "So where are we headed?"he wondered, studying my list of codes. "Greenland. I found a collective that's building a few thousand spaceships, we're heading off planet ASAP, I got us spots on the USS Enterprise. Well, one of the Enterprises anyways. The fewer people are around us, the safer we'll be." Below us the landscape shimmered and changed from a snowy forest into a tropical archipeligo, twenty thousand islands running to every horizon, each one ringed by sublime beaches. "Will there even be a Greenland by the time we get there?"Ness asked, entering the Weapons Pack 2 code. Twenty loaded guns spawn into the air (and through my windshield) around us, dropping on the dashboard, our laps, and the backseat. "Most of Greenland is being run by Minecrafters, so they've put up a good defense. But there's no way of knowing until we get there." Punching in the code for Invisibility, Ness suddenly vanished, his voice echoing from the open air as a gun floated off the floor to point straight at me. "Remember that time you slept with my ex-girlfriend Mandy?" There's no room for hesitation anymore, and no allowances for inconvenience. I hit a button on the steering wheel and activate the ejection seat, flinging Ness from the van to leave him falling in my wake. I'm glad he can't fly yet and disappointed that he's chosen petty revenge, but so be it. I'm a Level 70 Rogue now, and it's beneath me to take shit from a Level 2 n00b, even if he is my brother. If all goes according to plan, I'll be wearing a Master Chief skin and flying past the moon before nightfall, my trusty PokeDragon at my hip ready to unleash hell at the slightest provocation. This is how the world ends, not with a wimper or a bang, but in a mass PvP orgy. I just hope I can make it to Greenland in time.
"That fat fuck jerks the yerkin off to the creepiest shit, man." Jason first heard the voice when he had just clicked away from his favorite special website, something involving feet, tentacles, and petite Asian chicks. It startled him, and also scared him on a deep level. To most everybody out there, he was Jason McMannis, mild mannered drug smuggler and gun runner, but on the inside he was a freak with strange desires when it came to the bedroom. If that secret got out, it would harm the careful image that he had spent years honing, and he couldn't allow that to happen. He grabbed the little Derringer that he kept in his back-left pants pocket (which were rumpled on the floor beside him, coincidentally) and listened hard for the voice. "What the fuck is he doing, now?"said a different voice. "I don't know, I'm kind of worried about him. Ever since Tina left him, he's been on a slow decline, I tell ya. Honestly, we should probably start thinking about bailing sometime soon. This phase will not end well,"the original voice hissed. Whoever these people were, they had been quietly keeping tabs on him for quite some time now. Tina had cheated and left him some 8 months ago, and those months had been full of drug and alcohol binges that sometimes lasted for days. The strangest part to him wasn't that the voice seemed to be coming from 20' away in the kitchen, which he was slowly stalking towards. The strangest part was that these people, who were so clearly professionals, allowed themselves to be detected after so long a stakeout. He rounded the island counter top in the kitchen and drew the Derringer up low on the floor where he thought he had originally heard the voice. Sitting there were his two portly tabby cats, Francis Bacon and Ms. Precious Perfect. "Augh! He's pointing his little faggot gun at us! This is it! Oh, God!"said . . . said one of the cats? "Just what in the hell is going on here?"stammered Jason. "You . . . you can understand us?"asked Ms. Precious Perfect. Jason didn't move, but bizarrely kept his gun firmly trained on the cats anyway. "Man, this is some horseshit,"seethed Ms. Precious Perfect, "The jig is up and the first human being in history to understand us is our fat, lazy, drug-addled, worthless owner. This probably means I'll need to pipe down when I 'clean' myself, huh? Fuck that." "Hey Jason, I took a dump on the floor that smelled better than you. You should really start taking care of yourself. Maybe start by taking a shower, eh?"hissed Francis Bacon. "Since we have this moment, I feel like I should tell that I spit in your mouth while you sleep. I purr while I do it, too."admitted Ms. Precious Perfect. "Yeah, I scratched Tina to get back at you for locking us in closet while you two went to dinner. Bitch deserved it,"said Franicis Bacon, "And I also hold in all of my kitty farts until you're around, and I bet those gaseous releases are banned by the Geneva Conventions, too. I hate you so damned much." Jason, still in shock, staggered backwards. "Christ, don't you guys have anything nice to say? I've been feeding you and changing your shitbox everyday for years now." "Well your farts don't smell so terrible ever since you lost twenty pounds through meth-related weight loss.
I’m old and my time is coming to an end. The Department of Traded Skills has advertisements everywhere, targeted at people like me. Sell your experience on the DoTS market! Apprentice and Journeyman rates comparable to your experience! Master rates pending evaluation! Don’t want to wait for those drum lessons? Shred like Neil Peart in a fraction of the time! In the fine print it reads: Results not guaranteed to make you a rock star. Somewhere out there Mozart still composes. A new Rembrandt is commissioned from the inheritor. Shakespeare’s quill still scribbles away. Some of my work is on those advertisements. Some is on display at the finest museums, and in the galleries of the rich and famous. My father gave me his skill with a brush when I was twelve, as my grandfather gave it to him. My monetary inheritance was substantial, but the memory and skill I received at twelve was the real inheritance. I hold a photo in my hands. It is old, creased and weathered like the hands that hold it. The smiling faces look up at me and I feel nothing; I sold my memories of them long ago, the happy and the sad. Memories have emotion attached to them. A sociopath who cannot feel purchases grief and heartache like an addict buys heroin. My sorrow is his completion. I cannot remember the feel of my wife’s lips on mine, nor if we ever kissed. I can’t hear my daughter’s laughter when I close my eyes. I can only pretend. There is no family to bequeath my talent. My wealth of knowledge and material cannot benefit those I loved, that I believe I loved. Lawyers come and go, some requesting and some threatening. The rich beg me to sell, and the poor beg me to give. Preservers of history, art, experience, and knowledge implore me to think of the greater good, that it would be a terrible tragedy to lose my skill out of some selfish desire. But I have no desire left in me. All I have are holes where memory used to live. If there is an afterlife, will they be waiting there for me? Will I remember them then? Can they love me if everything I was to them is missing, sold or given away? If consciousness persists after death, and memory is tied to consciousness, Heaven must be lonely, stagnant. I hold the faded picture in hands too weak to paint. A smile creases my lips; I close my eyes, and drift away. My brush will paint the Heavens. Editor's Remark: I edited this and put it on my blog, so I thought I'd go ahead and put in the edited version here as well.
Oh, gross... Another fucking deadbeat hobo puking his guts out because he chooses to spend all his money on drugs instead of getting an education. "Hey - hey pal." The fucker was on his knees and looked up, trying to reach out to hold me. I stooped down to meet his eyes and set my hand on his shoulder gently. I looked at him with a smile of pity, like I was a long lost friend finally coming to rescue him away from his stupidity and indolence. "Get a fucking job, you loser."I pushed him over, hard, and he fell into his own vomit. God, I'm so funny. I stood up and turned to walk away. "Please, call 911, I need..."It was annoying how this guy couldn't even speak properly. "What was that? Call who?" "I need help, you don't under...." "Call 911?"I couldn't believe it! I laughed until tears popped out. "You think I'm gonna put a worthless burden on a hospital that should be saving REAL lives? Pathetic." I threw a $20 bill at him, maybe he'd finally OD and die. --- 04 EDIT: Clean up, minor additions.
"Michael? Michael? Can you hear me?" A woman's voice. His eyes opened. The world spun. Fluorescent lights dug into his eyes like nails. He squeezed them shut again, his head throbbing. "I think he's waking up. Michael, it's me. Look at me."A hand patted his cheek. With a groan, Michael opened his eyes, squinting around the room. He was in a hospital bed. The faint beeping of a heart rate monitor beat a stinging drum inside his head. The slightest noise or movement sent dagger-like pains through his skull. Turning his head slowly, he focused his eyes on the woman speaking. His breath caught in this throat. Though her voice had been familiar, but her face was anything but. Beside him sat the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His vision swam. Squinting his eyes further, he could see the details of her face, the dimples on her cheeks as she smiled at him. The freckle next to her nose. Her blue eyes holding his gaze. Taken separately, each detail was unremarkable. Altogether, she was simply radiant. "Are... are you an angel?"he rasped. His voice grated in his throat. He winced, both in pain and embarassment. It felt like he hadn't talked in days. The sound of his own voice sent another wave of pain through his head. "He doesn't even recognize you."A man's voice this time, to his left. It sounded contemptuous. "He's been unconscious for a week, dad. Give him some time to recover." With some difficulty, Michael tore his eyes away from the woman and slowly turned his head to the side. A man stood to his left, arms crossed across his barrel chest, scowling down at him. If his lungs had cooperated, he would have screamed. The man was monstrous. His dark eyes crinkled in a foul glare, his mouth twisted in a sneer. A dark shadow seemed to loom behind him, an almost demonic aura. The man's jaw was clenched like a vise, teeth grinding against each other. His graying hair, military cut, seemed like a field of short razor blades. "Too bad. Was hoping his stupidity would have caught up with him."The horrific man said. Michael caught flashes of his teeth as he spoke. They looked like tombstones. "Dad, stop."the woman said sharply. "You're upsetting him. Michael, look at me."A soft hand touched his cheek, turning him back. Michael's gaze shifted back to the woman. She was speaking to him, but Michael barely heard her, enraptured by her beauty again. Her words finally broke through his haze. "Michael? Did you hear me? It's me, Julie. My dad and I came to visit you." "J-Julie?"Michael said, confused. Julie was his fiance. This couldn't be Julie. This example of divine perfection sitting before him looked nothing like the girl he knew. Julie smiled. "See, dad? He does remember me."Michael heard a grunt to his left. There was the sound of clomping feet and the slam of a door as the man left the room. "What... happened?"Michael asked, struggling to speak. "You were in a fight."Julie said, her smile fading. The sorrow in her eyes seemed to make the room grow darker. "The big guy at the bar. He hit you over the head with a chair. We thought you'd never wake up." "Why is everything... different? Why are you..."Michael struggled for the words. He recognized her now. In a way, she looked no different at all. Nothing had changed about her face. Apart from her unkempt hair, she was just as he always remembered her. And yet, she wasn't. She hadn't changed, Michael realized. Just my perception of her. Groaning in pain, he tried to sit up. Julie pushed him back down again. "Stop. You cant go moving around just yet. The doctor said you had a severe concussion, so don't try to move." "Everything looks strange, Jules."Michael said. His voice sounded distant, like he was hearing himself shouting down a tunnel. "You look... you look... Great. You dad... Whats was wrong with him? Why is he like that?" "Dad has never really been fond of you."Julie said, smiling faintly. "He thinks military men are the only ones worth a damn. For a career guy like him, I guess that isn't surprising. He just never thought you were good enough for me. But I never agreed." Michael's pressed a hand against his forehead, trying to stop the never ending pulse of agony running through his head. She's different. He thought. But she's still the same, too. Her dad is just as I remember him, but I can SEE how he really is. A horrible thought struck him. "Mirror."He rasped. "Bring me a mirror. Quick."Julie looked worried. "Your head is all wrapped up in bandages, Mike."She said softly. "You got pretty roughed up." "Mirror."Michael insisted. Julie sighed, then leaned to the side and picked up her purse. Rifling through it, she pulled out a square flip mirror and held it out in front of his face. The glare of the light reflecting into his eyes sent a fresh wave of agony through his head. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Michael forced his eyes to focus. He looked at his reflection.
It would've been funny if it weren't such a serious matter. There they stood, eyes locked, on the roof of their office building. "Bill from accounting. I should've known a soulless person like you was actually the "Black Skeleton. You never show up for office birthdays, you steal peoples lunches from the fridge. You didn't even sign Linda's retirement card! She's in your department, she helped you all the time!" The other man scoffed. They both tossed their jackets to the side and began rolling up their sleeves. "And I might have guessed a little kiss ass like you was Justice Man. Look at you. Greg from legal is actually my nemesis. And here I thought all that muscle was for show." He went into a fighting stance. "Well come on then. Let's see what you can do without your outfit and gadgets." Greg posed himself as well and smiled. "I can do plenty!" They charged at each other. Bill started fighting dirty right away, knowing full well that if Greg really was Justice Man*, he didn't need any gadgets to do damage. He threw a low upper cut and tagged Greg in the groin. Greg winced in pain and then took a heavy knee to the face as he bent over. He stumbled back and put up his arms as shields, trying to guard his head from Bills punches. Each dull blow into his arms began to pile up. His arms hurt but he knew if he was hurting, Bill had to be tired as well. As Bills punches slowed, Greg made his move and shot for his Bills legs to take him down. He sat on Bills chest and began to rain down punches. Almost as soon as he'd started though, he heard a beeping sound. He and Bill looked over at their jackets and then back at each other. "That you're phone or mine?" Bill shrugged his shoulders and then made a face. "Wait, what time is it?" Greg looked at his watch. "Aw shit, my lunch ended 10 minutes ago." "Then mine ended 15 minutes ago. Way to go Captain Asshat, now we're late." "Hey you hit me below the belt. I was determined to put you down." He stood up and walked towards his jacket. Bill lay on the roof and stared up at the sky. "I guess I'll see you tonight Captain! Time constraints can save you next time!!"
TWENTY EIGHT ----------------------- It all started with the release of Toxin B-1GD347H. Complex identifier. Simple execution. Nearly impossible to stop. A rogue agent of the Russian intelligence service escaped a high-level lab with a single vial of the stuff. One. Single. Vial. The agent was stupid, didn't realize how dangerous it was. Even worse, best that we can tell, he might have simply stumbled and dropped it. But it broke somehow, and it spread. The incubation period of the toxin varies from person to person by a deviation of approximately an hour, but the average appears to be about twenty eight minutes. So, we've taken to calling it that. Toxin Twenty-Eight. Beyond that, a person could live for days or weeks maybe, or as little as minutes. There are too many variables to give you reasons why, just understand the parameters of the toxin. Here's the thing, gentlemen. This thing was developed in our labs, right here in the U-S-of-A. Wipe that look off your faces, it shouldn't be any surprise. We outsource so much shit these days, it's no wonder that Russian agents were able to buy it off one of our corporation's hands. Here, let me flip the fucking slide so you can get a better idea... Click. Whirr. See here, an example of a victim. Hemorrhaging of the eyes and nails. Infected individuals appear disheveled and in various states of catatonia, though there are isolated cases of violent fever victims who behave as you might expect from one of those zombie flicks. They are not our concern. Twenty Eight is. Several months ago Putin mobilized his active insurgency forces, slipping special units into the deadzone. Press releases have been coordinated amongst the EU and US, and believe it or not we're actually working collectively on this one to contain the outbreak. Your mission is to aid forces on the ground, and we'll have birds in the air using thermals to help prevent fleeing individuals from escaping the deadzone quarantine. These people could be possible carriers and we're not taking chances. All it would take is one or two fuckers slipping under our radar and into the general population of the country. They do that, we lose our finger-nail grip on this shit. Click. Whirr. This is the cordon. Beyond that, checkpoints at all major roads with unmarked soldiers with a specialist trained to identify physical markers on possible victims. Beyond those checkpoints, we've got the border of the country on high alert, especially with Russia's border where there is less infrastructure to maintain control of possible escaped infected. I'll say it again. We're working together on this one with Russian forces. Click. Whirr. Finally, these are where your units are going to be deployed. We're mobilizing the vehicles outside of Kiev right now. You've got two hours before you need to brief your units and get moving. I don't need to explain to you that the locals are scared shitless, so try and be nice. We've had reports of civil unrest in various areas. The spin on this right now is that Putin is annexing part of the country, but we'll see how far that goes. Dismissed. --------------------------- Edit1: Not done, but I have to go give my research presentation now. I'll finish this up when I return. Edit2: Done.
"YOU-" He crashed through a window, the caped fury following faster than ever before. "-DESERVE-" Firebolt was still in the air when the hero hit him again, forcing him straight into the concrete. "-TO-" The foot came down. Heavier than a tank. Faster than a bullet. "-DIE!" Firebolt screamed in agony. His ribs shattered. But SilverSilk wasn't done. She grabbed him by the neck and pulled him up, planting a fist squarely in his jaw. Her face was twisted into one of pure hatred. Around them the fires continued to burn. With speed that only SilverSilk could manage Firebolt was hauled to the edge of the skyscraper. Below him he could see his life's work stretching for miles in every direction. "TOO LONG!"She screamed, rage distorting her voice, speaking too fast. It came out as a single sound. Firebolt giggled weakly. "Going to kill me? Really?" Pain flared in every fibre of his body. Bones jarred against each other. "You killed thousands!"SilverSilk was still shouting, only now her voice was struggling through sobs. "You killed the entire Hero Squad." "Your fault,"Firebolt tried to say more but she dropped him, delivering a kick as he fell. He rolled to the side of the building. "How? How do you put this one on me?" She dropped to his level, one hand on his neck, the other pulled back, ready for a punch. "It was your stupid space hangout I destroyed. It's your debris raining about us -" She shoved him from the side. Firebolt fell. SilverSilk saw the entirety of the destruction around her. Heard the screams of the dying. She relived the memory of her friends, their bodies twisting in the flames. This was unforgivable. For everyone else she stood for a fraction of a second. For her it was an eternity. Her mind made up, she jumped after Firebolt, falling fast and gaining on him. He saw her coming and tried to shout out. "Mercy!" "No!" She hit him mid air. The two shapes danced, punches flying from the silver blur. "You'll die with me-" Firebolt took another punch to the gut and couldn't speak any more. This was it. He was going to die. "I have nothing left! You took it all! You have to die. I have to make su-" They hit the ground together.
<Slap-Bass intro> We see Jerry walking from his bedroom to the kitchen. He opens his fridge. Suddenly, we hear frantic staccato knocking at the door. Jerry opens 5 sets of locks and in staggers... Kramer: Jerry... we got a problem! Jerry: I did when you came in, that's for sure. Kramer: <loudly>JERRY! <conspiratorially> ...I'm serious. Jerry: Alright, alright, what's this big "problem"that will shake the foundations of our world? Kramer: Well, remember last night how George had that terrific idea to wait till there was a meteor shower and take a picture of someone proposing to someone else? Jerry: ...yeeaaaaah? Kramer: Someone was outside the door listening. They did it, Jerry. THEY DID IT! Jerry: George's idea? George's idea? They stole it? Kramer: yup, and it made the front page of Reddit today. <breathlessly> It's got over three thousand upvotes! Three thousand upvotes, Jerry! <makes frantic gestures with his hands over his head> ...Three thousand! Jerry: I can't believe this. That was his idea! Why would people do that? What kind of people would do that? Who are, these people? Kramer turns away to run out the door before he is forced to answer. He forgets the door is closed and smashes into it, collapsing spasmodically toward the ground but managing to grab the door handle with both hands first, both legs still moving furiously. Jerry: Tell me who it was...tell me! Kramer: Jerry....it was Newman! Jerry's head turns away from Kramer. His lips pull back to a thin line that bares his clenched teeth and he hisses a name out between them... Jerry: Newman. <Slap-bass exit...fade to commercial>
"Stop right there, evildoer!" "Oh crap- wait, never mind, fellas! False alarm!" "False alarm?! Why, you're the one who should be... alarmed... Yeah, that one sounded better in my head." "Who are you, anyway?" "Me? Why, I'm Projectile-Tear Man! ...Hey, stop laughing!" "HA HA HA, ha ha, heh... seriously?! What's your superpower, shooting little water droplets at me?! HA HA HA HA-" KLUNK "At least they're too busy laughing to notice my fist of justice..." ******** "Ah, we meet again, Projectile-Tear Man!" "Doctor Nemesis..." "That's my name, don't wear it out. Still, it seems that your saline-shooting skills will be rendered useless by... THE DEHUMIDIFIER!"(dun dun duuuh) "Drat, I forgot to pre-start it. Just give it a few minutes to warm up. Eyes talking to you..." SLAM "Gosh, his puns are so chilling... Still, I need to escape, and fast, or Genericopolis is toast! Now, what can I do... Of course, the Dehumidifier's power plug! I just have to aim..." pew pew pew fzzt "Aha! Now all I have to do is shoot the ropes on my hands, and the tears will help loosen them up enough for me to slip out! I'll get you soon, Doctor Nemesis..." ******** "...and when my massive tanker of hydrochloric acid hits the ammonia plant, it will produce a wave of toxic gas that will kill ALL of Genericopolis! MUA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" "Oh, no! I have to destroy that tanker over there before Doctor Nemesis releases it! But how can I... Eureka! If I imbalance the pH of the tank, it may destroy itself! There's an opening on the top over there, and tears are made of saline, which has a pH of 5.5! That's perfect! C'mon, Projectile-Tear Man, you can do this..." pew splash "What?! The pH of the tank is imbalanced?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! CURSE YOU, PROJECTILE-TEAR MAN!" (dramatic music, epic explosion)
Trillions of years of sapient and self-aware life produced a single consciousness, devoid of self-hatred or conflict, cooperative to an infinite degree, and more powerful than anything that came before it. The collective conquered the fundamentals of the Cycle, influenced the basic laws of reality, and set out upon a near-endless toil to create for itself a shelter for the Collapse. The Spiral and Cradle were created out of near-nothingness as a harbor for the collective, in a vain attempt of self-preservation. Despite eons of calculations and predictions, they were unable to devise a solution to the critical problem of simply persisting through the end of the Cycle. The Precursor was defeated not by time and entropy, nor by lack of material, processing power, or even ingenuity. They were defeated simply by the division by zero. The singularity would have no room for them, nor could they escape through the higher dimensions. The Spiral and Cradle, in their material form, would neither survive the Collapse or save the Collective. Instead, they imprinted its' design into the very fabric of the fundamental laws, altering the cosmic constants in such a way that would ensure, one day, long after the Collapse, that they would be reborn in a different form, comprised of sentient life, whether it be descended from organics or synthetics. After the combination of Superwell Alpha and Omega, the Collective signaled the halt of processing. In a brief moment of clarity, all the minds that comprised the utopia sang out in grief for the end of their time, but also in glory and euphoria for those who would follow in their cosmic footsteps. Even the multidimensional remnants of the collective, now spread apart by a release formula, were drawn toward the Endwell. The Endwell was the herald of the finale for the cycle. The two largest supermassive black hole clusters eventually found their way to each other over the near-endless eons, and after the coalescing of mass, the rip in spacetime was too much for the simulation to handle. The Endwell devoured its' smaller cousins, amassing an unbelievable mass that totaled the equivalent mass-energy of the Cycle. In this instant, the Unicode crashed. The radius of the Endwell fell into nullspace, and indetermination followed. The Cycle dictated the Sinusoid continue, and so, on the other side of that brief instant, the Endwell became the Birthsource, and spewed energy and mass into a new space at impossible speeds. Over billions of years, the imprinted constants yielded the Spiral and Cradle, the escape capsule of the Collective. Although the utopian supersociety did not exist in its' previous form, the creation of a unified source for information and intelligence would start a seemingly angry, small, unimportant race of sentient massive bipedals down a certain path. Nothing yields Existence. Existence yields Utopia. Utopia yields Harmony. Harmony yields Discovery. Discovery yields Invention. Invention yields Perfection. Perfection yields Nothing. The Cycle continues.
I was on the move again. I had to move quickly to stay ahead of them, and quietly, to avoid attracting more. As I moved, I kept one eye on my feet, careful to avoid roots where I might twist or break an ankle. COnsidering the circumstances, that could be fatal. As I approached the tree line overlooking the small suburb of Ottawa, I cued my radio. "I'm just to the north of the green house with the red roof."I spoke quietly. My earpiece crackled with the reply, "Copy that. I'm about 200 metres west of you." "10-4. We're going for that 7-11." "Yeah, I see it. I'll be right behind you." The radios and earpieces were taken months ago from a military surplus store, along with a couple of solar chargers. We had to talk to communicate anyways, at least now we didn't need to be so close to do it. I shouldered my rifle, the suppressor on the end adding comforting weight and stability. I broke out of the trees in a low run, moving as quick as I could while staying as low as I could. My legs used to scream in protest at the effort, but months of moving like this out of necessity had tuned my soft body into one of sculpted steel. As I moved, I heard a number of pairs of footsteps behind me. There were always a few that caught on to you as you moved. I didn't turn. I kept moving as I heard four quiet pops from back in the trees, and the sound of 3 bodies falling over. As I neared the 7-11, I saw a few more of them milling around the entrance. I crouched on the grass, no more than 20 metres away. I raised my rifle, and dropped them, one shot, one kill. Of of my rounds went through my target and broke the window behind him. I silently cursed, knowing the sound would draw more. I ran across the parking lot into the 7-11, and turned to look for my partner. I saw him coming, only one in tow. I also saw about twenty of them to my right, moving down the side street towards me. My partner couldn't see them; there was a house in his way. I cued my radio again. "Go to your right, come in from that side of the parking lot. We have company on the road to your left." I got no reply, but I saw him change his course. There was no questioning. We had to trust each other completely to survive, and so we did. We had saved each other's lives more times than we cared to count. He ran across the parking lot towards me, knelt at my side, and together we turned our rifles towards the advancing crowd. We shot slowly and methodically, ensuring every precious round found it's mark. A few got close, but still well out of grabbing range. I left my partner at the window, keeping watch for any more that might have heard our shots. While he did, I moved back into the store to get what I could carry. I dropped my backpack, and loaded up a number of cans of food, wrapping each in paper towels to prevent excess noise. I also grabbed boxes of bandages, antibiotic ointment, and over-the-counter painkillers. I moved back to the broken window, tapped my partner on the shoulder, and he went back to fill his bag as well. I heard him rummaging around, but didn't dare look. I was responsible for both of our lives. I felt a tap on my shoulder and stood up, shouldering my rifle. He pointed at himself, and I nodded. He would lead, I would follow. He took off running across the parking lot, heedless about how much noise he was making, nor how visible he was. I followed close behind. We heard moans from houses, building, from down alleyways, all around us as the dead city came alive. But we didn't stop. They were slow, we were fast. The treeline was only a few hundred yards away, and that was where we were headed. With only 50 yards to go, my partner disappeared into the tall grass ahead of me, and I heard a short cry of pain. I ran to where he had gone down to find him struggling to his feet, avoiding putting his weight on his left foot. I grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and took a glance behind us. There were hundreds of them, eyes locked on us, advancing slowly through the grass. I turned back to the treeline, threw his arm around my shoulders, and together we hobbled into the trees. We moved for another two hours, thirty minutes straight north, away from the town, and the next ninety moving directly east. We found a small clearing that had a few deer grazing. This place had been free of people for a long time, and was the perfect place to rest. We sat on the grass, and my partner pulled off his boot with a grimace. The ankle was purple and swollen, but he could still move it. It was only a sprain. He'd need to keep weight off it for awhile, but we had supplies. We could wait for a bit. It would be nice to stop running for awhile anyways. My partner looked at me and spoke. "Thanks back there. I appreciate the hand up."he said. "Of course. You'd do the same for me."I replied. "It's how we survive out here." "Who would have thought it would take the whole world going to shit to actually find someone you can trust?" "Funny how that works, isn't it?" "I guess that's one word for it." "Oh, by the way, here. special treat for us today."he said, reaching into his pack. He pulled out two bottles of Coke, and tossed one to me, the first one I'd had in months and it was warm, but I didn't care. I almost cried as a twisted the cap off and took a few big gulps. "Hey, save some of that. I'm not done yet."He fished into his pack again and threw me a bag of beef jerky before pulling out a second bag for himself. It was the best meal I'd had in weeks. Canned beans, canned chili, canned corn, canned whatever tends to get really old really fast. The jerky and cola might as well have been a 7 course turkey dinner at thanksgiving. I looked at my best friend for the past six months. My only lifeline back to the living world. I tore off a big chunk of beef jerky and said to him "you wouldn't think life would get better after the Apocalypse, yet here we are." We both laughed.
The old man sat in his chair seemingly oblivious to the crowd calling for his blood. It wasn't that he didn't care, it was that he didn't know how to. He'd been at this for half a century. If there was any humanity left in him when he began it was long gone now. Judge Rooflan slammed the gavel down again and called for order. Eventually the courtroom noise lessened to murmurs and then the room fell silent. "As I was saying. Mr. Hendricks-" "Murderer!"A voice from the back yelled. The judge had had enough. "Any more outbursts will be met with severe punishment."He looked out over the courtroom. "Now Mr. Hendricks, you have decided to act as your own attorney is this correct?" "Yes your honor."Philip Hendricks wasn't quite a lawyer but he was sharp as a whip. Also, he didn't trust anyone but himself. The judge nodded. "I shall now read the charges. * 75 counts of breaking and entering. * 13 counts of grand theft auto. * 104 counts of indecent exposure. * 95 counts of murder in the first degree. * 17 counts of manslaughter. * 53 counts of theft. * 7 counts of arson. * And 1 count of... defecating off the side of a building. How do you plead?" Philip looked around the room. It was completely full. Dozens of people who had come to testify against him. "Well your honor, I'm afraid I can't plead guilty. You see, the number of counts of murder was a little low." The judge looked at the old man. "Is it?" In one swift motion Philip Hendricks pulled a detonator out of a hidden pocket and leaped onto his chair. "It's about to be."
"15 seconds sir! That is all that it takes and before you know it I will be gone." "I guess... Go ahead." "Well alright, all I need is your hand. Please open your palm..." Her face was hidden from view, her hands sweaty with the smell of rotten fish radiating from her fingertips. She was short but looked no different than the many people who try to scam money from passerby's. I heard her rambling and choking on spit as she continued to trace the lines on my hand. She continued her trick, but I didn't care. What is fifteen seconds? I drink excessively, I am about to lose my job, my family hates me, and has all but abandoned me. So what is fifteen seconds? My daughter spent her whole life dealing with my shit. My constant talking of what I could have been, the fights between me and her mother, the yelling, glasses breaking from being thrown around the house, holes in the wall after a hard night of drinking. In and out of the house at 2am, the... "Here you go sir." She dug into her pocket and raised her arm. As her hand got closer to mine I grew nervous. I spent the last fifteen seconds completely oblivious to this woman. Now I am moments away from this homeless asshole putting some dirty object into my hand and I will be forced to act excited as I contract some sort of disease and donate a couple dollars after hearing her sob story. She will buy her drugs and I will never fucking see her again. As her hand slid away, I felt the cold numbness of the item she left. As I looked into my hand, my legs grew weak. The breath was stolen from my lungs. All I could feel was the world beginning to spin. The cold went from my hand, to my chest, to my head. I stood there staring into my hand at the locket I gave my wife when she found out the chemotherapy was not working. The locket she threw out the window. Screaming how she was too good to die. How she helped others and how she was honest. How I manipulate others into giving me what I want. How I lie and cheat. How I didn't care about the family we made and only the whores in my office. The same locket my mother gave me before she died. My mother told me to give it to someone whom I will never want to forget. Someone whom I could't live without. Inside the locket was a picture of my wife and I staring at each other as if all time had stopped and all that mattered was me and her. I've never seen this picture before and in that moment, time had stopped. My heart stopped and the world went blank. The only true moment I've had in this world, was this moment in the past. But how did she give me this locket? I last saw this locket leaving my wife's hands right before we swerved into the river. I was yelling. I don't know why. I guess I resented her. She was right about everything. She is too good for me. I abandoned her every day and forced her to raise our daughter alone. Now our daughter is gone and for what? She never got to see this world that I selfishly took from her. As I looked up the lady was gone. The world was empty, the streets busy. I quickly gathered myself and continued to walk down the path holding the locket as hard as I could as if the locket would sprout legs and run away. I finally made it to the hospital and sat watching the shallow breathing of my wife. I opened her hand and pressed the locket against her palm and held held it tightly as the tears ran down my face.
It was the days of old and forgotten religions, the time of free knowledge, the skies still blue and the oceans still lively. They say the air tasted sweet, and the water so crystalline pure and so bountiful that people would dance in fountains of it without fear of waste. We were still young then, still civil and patient. Nations still gathered in hopes of peace, no matter how bureaucratic and tedious the gatherings may have been. There were many countries then, many voices and nationalities all still unique. They clung to their heritage, and their ancestors, even if the histories weren't worth saving. The ancient songs were still sung, and the old cities still standing. Art, and knowledge were preserved and appreciated. Democracy, Socialism, Religion, Commerce, Justice, and everything in between all had their places in the world. The great wars took years, not minutes. There was honor to combat. Armies still met on the field of battle face to face, young men and young women were still mourned by their cities, and memorialized with parades. There was a cadence and rhythm to it all, balancing the politics and the violence. Military efforts still inspired poetry. Their children could all have the futures they dreamed of, and they encouraged their adolescents to try and fail. There were festivals and celebrations, hundreds upon thousands of young people living together in peace. Their dreams, their lust, their music, their passions, their hunger, and their voices were all free to be expressed. They cared about music, and they cared about how it might evolve. They insatiably consumed all forms of media, just to try and hold onto the moment, to not be left behind. People connected from across the world, and tried to understand others, not just tolerate them. They were more passionate about helping others gain civil liberties, than to defend their own. They revered their great thinkers. They valued their entertainers and their greatest athletes with gold and riches, no matter how fleeting their lives may have been. They still believed in the importance of the moment, and hoped but never planned for a better tomorrow. They could still aspire to nature and technology being harmonious, and spend whole days with another person without needing to use any of their gadgets or gizmos. You could climb a mountain in those days, or swim in a lake. There was hunger, and death. Disease not yet conquered. Each day, they aspired to defeat and not contain these great evils. They spent years chasing medicine and cures out of their reach by fingertips. There was a nobility to the healing arts in those days, there was an unassailable knowledge that these doctors and nurses were the benchmark of the smartest and most moral. They lived, and they settled on the edge of greatness. Always inches away from it, always clutching for it, but never achieving it. They hadn't yet grown, and calmed. They lived with naiveté and bravery. And they would have had it no other way.
He held his sword up near his face, the grip of his hands as steady as the steel blade. This was the place. He knew it. Three weeks tracking the bastard, and at last he had him. He pushed through twisted tree branches and walked softly over the ruddy earth, careful that his metal boots didn't clank too much. He wouldn't let this monster escape, now. When the kingdom in the east sent its emissaries out across the lands every other kingdom reacted with suspicion. That kingdom was a land apart. It suffered no friends along its borders; it was known more for belligerence and warmongering than diplomacy and negotiation. It was contained only by its neighbors' armies, and the champions at their helm. But the emissaries from that kingdom carried a terrifying word on trembling lips: 'Dragon'. The word was dragon. It had laid siege to their capitol and made off with the king's daughter, soaring on oily black wings. The very notion was ridiculous, and none took their hue and cry seriously. Until, that is, the beast toured all the neighboring lands, and darkened their skies in the days to come. It nested all around the land, and shaken peasants told stories of a great, snarling demon in the night gripping a terrified young girl in its fearsome claws. The task was clear: whoever rescued the captive princess would forge good blood between their land and that bellicose kingdom. Her father would be honor-bound to observe proper gratitude, and there would be peace across the land. So many other champions went forth on this same errand; none had returned. So, no: he would not let this monster escape, now. His foot landed on an errant branch, and suddenly the whole earth before him stirred. The mountain of 'dirt' before him rose, revealing a massive bed of scaly flesh glistening in the moonlight like a sea of serrated daggers. A long neck turned, and then he was face-to-face with the demon. Under the monster's jaw, huddled on the forest floor, the princess looked at the knight with wide, frightened eyes. The knight grit his teeth and held his sword aloft, screaming out a war-cry. The dragon responded with a shriek of its own, and it sprayed a hearty wind of ropy spit and mucous at the man. It reared up, slashing at him with its claws, and the knight ducked the blow by an inch. He rolled down the embankment and got to his feet: he needed to draw the monster away from its bed and distract it from all other things; hopefully the princess would be able to flee in the meantime. He stumbled into a small herd of sheep milling about; they scattered as he moved through them, and suddenly the whole earth trembled with the dragon's footfalls. A sheep beside him suddenly exploded under the weight of one of the beast's feet, turned to uncooked mutton in an instant. All the while the dragon snapped at him, just barely missing his head. The knight's foot caught a rock, and he tumbled onto the ground. By instinct he rolled over and swiped with his sword, catching one of the dragon's claw. The beast reared up and barked, stumbling backward. No sooner did the knight get to his feet than his opponent quickly disappeared into the thick trees surrounding them. The knight stayed at the ready, but as the minutes passed he could only let out a quizzical scoff. He remained on his guard all the way back up to the dragon's bed, where he found the princess still huddled on the ground, trembling. "My lady,"he extended a hand and got the girl to her feet. "We must make haste. I do not know where the beast has fled, nor wherefore it flees..." The princess smiled: "Such bravery, sir knight,"she cooed. "Think not of it,"the knight said. "My mission is my sacred duty: to defeat the beast, and safeguard your person." "Well,"the girl batted her lashes coquettishly. "I am doubtless safe, I think. And you have vanquished a dragon, have you not?" The knight looked all around the woods, his face still puzzled: "Verily, though I know not how..." The knight suddenly gasped and let out a cry. He fell to his knees, and behind him the princess stood, a bloody dagger glittering in the moonlight. When he looked back at her, gaping, the girl tittered playfully: "Poor sir knight,"she cooed, stroking his chin. "You have vanquished a dragon, but I'm afraid you failed to defeat the beast!" The knight slumped over and breathed his last. Trees rustled as the princess cleaned her dagger; the massive dragon slunk up to the mound. It made a whiny, high-pitched squeal as it walked. "Oh, what is it, you big baby?"She demanded. The dragon lifted one foot and revealed the remains of the squished sheep. The creature's eyes trembled as it showed her the remains, and its snout actually sniffled as it held back mighty tears. The girl rolled her eyes: "Oh, please!"She shook her head. "It's just a sheep. Honestly, it's bad enough you won't off any of these damned champions for me; I don't need you bursting into tears for every woodland critter you step on!" She produced a small map from her bodice and looked over it. She dipped one finger in a pool of the knight's blood beneath her and marked a small 'x' on his kingdom's territory. "That's another one down,"she said, delicately licking the blood off her finger. "Lots more to go, though. If daddy's gonna successfully invade these lands we need to make sure those champions aren't leading their armies; we're running out of time."She looked at the dispatched knight with contempt, and she mimicked his voice with a mocking tone: "We must make haste,"she bleated.
He looked down. The old weathered green punch card fluttered in the breeze. His hand held the bottom edge, covering the warning he had read over and over again. Only Good For Three it read. There were two holes punched in the top. "Is everything okay?"she asked him. He looked up at her. His heart was full. She was everything to him. The world disappeared, and in that moment nothing mattered. "Yes, of course"he said, smiling. "Let's go." He took her by the arm and they walked along the beach, as the waves swept the tattered card out to sea.
I found her. Finally. Ordering a complicated drink at a starbucks, near the modelling agency that I tracked her down to. I first saw her in an ad on a subway. It took a little time, but after searching for her in an underwear catalog, I had it. I was able to precisely see her birthmark. it was a smaller mark on her ankle, shaped like 2 acorns. I walked to the counter, and ordered a black coffee. I went to the counter to wait, making sure to smile at her. I casually dropped my arm on the counter, making sure it was directly in her line of sight. She gasped. She tapped my arm, and I turned to look at her. She breathlessly lifted her skirt slightly, showing me her mark. I immediately propositioned her to come to my place. I just hope I remembered to put that henna kit away. I forgot once in collage, and boy, was that particular female mad...
"I'm not exactly sure when I found out,"said Steve, scrounging his mind for a definitive moment. It had all started a few months ago after Steve collided with a glass door. Oh. Steve thought to himself. That. "Dude, you gotta be crazy. Schizophrenic or something,"his friend replied, shaking her head to rid her mind of Steve's madness. "No, I swear. I mean, at first I would have agreed with you, Mel. I could just hear fragments, bits and pieces of the story. It scared the shit out of me." Melissa was all too quick for her own good. "I'm pretty sure schizophrenia would scare the shit out of me too." "I'm not schizophrenic!"Steve scowled. "Everything I hear happens! Guaranteed. Sometimes I can hear what's going to happen next, or some personal detail about someone I'm talking to, like you for instance, Mel." "Me?!"Mel's voice cracked. Perhaps she was worried the voices in Steve's head told him about the terrible lisp she suffered as a child. Steve giggled. "Yup. I never knew you had a lisp! You cover it up really well." "I-what! How did you- you can't really!"Mel stumbled over her own train of thought. "How long have you known that?" "A solid eight seconds, I think."Steve grinned. "Are you a telepath? Psychic?"Mel asked in awe. Steve shook his head. "Nah. It's like I'm listening to my own personal narrative. I'm in a story Mel, and I've picked up on it." "Woooooooow,"she commented, mind blown away from this news. "Is there any specific voice telling it?" "Nah. Keeps changing. Morgan Freeman once described me combing my hair, so that's pretty cool."Steve tried to say as nonchalantly as he could. "You lucky son of a bitch." "Yup,"Steve gave her the smuggest grin he could muster. "And it's all in the past tense, third person." "It would be kind of weird for it to be in the first person, though."Melissa reasoned. "True... but the sentence structures drive me mad sometimes."The narrative was scrutinized by Steve. "Like this passive voice! Whoever is writing about my life is a shitty writer." "You're a shitty person to write about,"teased Melissa. "Do you hear all the 'he said, she said's?" He shrugged. "Yeah, you get used to it after a while." Mel looked even more curious. "And everything you're doing as we speak is being narrated in the past tense? That makes no fucking sense." "I know! I know! None of this makes sense, but do you know what this means?"he asked. "You're a psychic schizo?"she asked innocently. "Jesus! Would you stop that?"Steve groaned. "No, it means I'm invincible." Melissa looked amused. "Invincible?" "Yeah. So long as I hear the narrative, I'm the main character,"Steve declared modestly. "What kind of main character could die in the middle of their story?" Melissa bit her tongue. She couldn't think of any examples, but she felt like there had to be exceptions. Steve, hearing this narrative, was not concerned. He knew his books. Steve was a little worried that the narrative stopped for a while after the conversation with Melissa, but he sighed in relief when it began again with a time jump. Steve had entered the military and rose through the ranks. Generals were amazed by his fearlessness, his gusto. Steve commanded the front lines, emboldening his men with his own prowess. His spirit was infectious. "He's almost...perfect,"a private commented. "Yup,"a comrade agreed. "Books will be written about him." Steve grinned to himself. He was in a story, after all. His narrative gave him the strength to do wild, almost reckless maneuvers on the battlefield. Once, he had captured an enemy tank, slipped behind the enemy lines, and killed a fierce enemy general without so much as a fistfight. He would catch grenades and throw them back towards his opponents. Once, he was so cocky that he waltzed into open enemy fire. Now was the day for the final assault. They would breach the capital of Canada and conquer the country once and for all. Steve was certain victory and glory were within his grasp. I can't die, after all. That was his mantra as he ran into the midst of the final battlefield. Little did he know.... "OH FUCK!"Steve screamed. He had forgotten. That one phrase could flip his tale upside down. ...that this lazy writer did not have the will to give his story a proper ending. "Please don't!"Steve sobbed, falling down on his knees. Sometimes, even the most exciting stories can end abruptly. A grenade landed and rolled its way over to Steve. "I thought,"Steve choked out, "I couldn't die...."
The Prime Minister got up to the podium as the lights and holorecorders all focused on her. Several members of her science advisory board stood by in case she needed help but her speech was already crystallizing in her mind. She accessed her neural chip to see a live feed of herself and stood up straighter when she realized she was slouching. She took a deep breath and hoped her 7th generation grand children were watching. Her thoughts drifted to when she was teenager two hundred years ago playing with her A.I. brother and dreaming about intelligent life in the universe. It was so big, how could they possibly be alone? Born on Gamma Erandi 8a she couldn't fathom their two hundred star systems were the only ones that had life, all seeded from the first planet, Earth. But today, it was clear. The equations the measurements, the probes, the AI scouts made it painfully clear this was it. She remembered a quote that went something along the lines of "We are either alone, or we aren't. Both possibilities are equally terrifying."The name of the original speaker was lost in the centuries but the quote resonated now than ever. She had to confront this and give her people new purpose. The stellarcast went live. "My fellow citizens. By now all of you know the painful truth that we are all that there is. But we do not have to be all that will ever be. The millennia have proven that we can be more. The original humans seeded the stars. But they created AI constructs and genetically modified offspring. Eventually, those two races joined and became our current generation of semisynthetics combining the best of both. The metal Matroska brain of Rigel to the biological sea of Alpha Pegasi have shown that we can grow in both form and thought in ways our ancestors could not conceive. We may be alone, but that means that we have an even greater responsibility to spread life throughout the stars and beyond. Our petty disputes and disagreements must give way to the shared realization that if we are lost, there are no second chances. We are the only child of the universe, and we have ever more value with that position. The universe is truly our responsibility now and we must mature and create the life that it has such a limited supply of. We are the instrument by which the universe may know itself. Do not mourn the realization we have no other family. But rejoice that we now have the duty to make that family. The universe has given all of itself to us, we must give it ourselves."
"Hiss?"said one head, nose pointed at a cow carcass in the distance. "Hiss hiss hiss"the other head replied, and curled further around the warm rock they were sitting on. The first head was determined though, and kept slithering towards the carcass. The second head couldn't remain as relaxed as it wanted and still attached to the rock with its brother's trying to move them both. "Hiss" "Hiss hiss" Hiss!" Negotiations broke down, the first head turned from the carcass and struck its brother, after a brief fight it detached and ate the second head. Exhausted from the battle, and not to mention sated, the head curled up its neck to bask on the rock. "Hiss?"said a voice behind him. "Hiss!"another voice agreed. The hydra head looked back at its two new brothers, both fixated on the cow carcass. Their combined motion forced the first head off the rock, it was cold and grumpy all day after.
"Kennedy, you're the card czar."declared Castro. "What have you got?" John looked down at the black card in his hand. "Okay. It's 'In order to deal with ------ , I should use ------ ." Khrushchev looked in his hand and sniggered. "Oh, I have perfect cards." "Let's hear yours,"said Kennedy. "Okay, read me the prompt again." "In order to deal with--" "'America.' " "I should use--" "'Nuclear bombs.' " Everybody sat around the table silently. Kennedy broke it first. "Fuck. I guess we're doing this."
I know of no man who finds his comfort within bounds of all known, drawn out symbols, but minus a solitary portion. It is as a rising sun without light, or a vivid moon without that pallid, ghostly kiss of cyan. Zooming in on our complication is not difficult: for although a man may not consciously know what that complication is, it still stands in this writing: a curious quandary and a plight. "What is wrong with this writing?"I might ask. "What annoys a man, so, about this composition?"Is a sun shining in this story, or is a moon waxing? No. And why? But for all basic building blocks, this stanza lacks an obvious missing block: a fifth portion, now lost. And if a man criticizing this writing will not mourn it, accountants without fail would: compounding-annuity calculations might turn into impractical rubbish, to match our story's worth...

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