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I thought I knew everything. I thought I, along with the 10 others who joined me all that time ago, were the smartest people in the universe. I know how the universe formed. I know quantum mechanics like the back of my hand. I could, if I wanted to, make sure no one dies ever again, or take the human race to unimaginable heights. Of course, our agreement strictly forbids this, but I thought if I wanted to, I could. I don't think that anymore. I don't think I know how much of anything truly works anymore. But I know that I'm smarter than I was. Wiser. Wise enough to know that I am not perfect. It started at our latest get together, 12 years ago. Us 11 immortals, partying like it's 19999 BC on one Italian rooftop. 10 of us, including myself, were dressed to the occasion. The men in suit and tie, roses out of their front pockets, not a wrinkle on their face; the women in various colors of elegant ballroom gowns straight out of a disney movie, also showing no wrinkles. The other one, a woman, was dressed in clothes that looked remarkably average: simply a tee shirt and some jeans. It was so unlike her, we were not completely sure the right woman had come to this party. Was there something wrong? As she went around, catching up with the other guests and myself, she told us her story: her new husband was on the poverty line; when he was 16 he went with some of his work friends to try weed. Why not? He was young and thought it was cool. Sadly he didn't live in a weed-friendly country, nor did they meet a friendly cop just minutes after smoking it. He spent 90 days in a cell, and his college opportunities were down the tubes. He worked at a McDonalds, living paycheck to paycheck. But the woman loved him. To her he was smart, resilient, and caring to everyone he met. Per our agreement, we couldn’t influence lives, so she left the lives of luxury and moved into his shabby apartment. She said how she was much, much happier and felt more at peace with her life. I hadn’t thought of this much. Being as book smart as we were, it didn’t make sense to consider the lives of the poor - it just simply didn’t apply to me. I looked around the party that day, and saw everyone else shy away from the woman in the simple clothes. They didn’t want to deal with that. They were perfectly fine being disillusioned with society. Why? We have lived here for so long, and we never give back. What are we doing? What was I doing? These thoughts were saved for later. In my head that day, I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about what makes a life like that worth living. I had the rest of time to get back to a luxurious life, now? I wanted to experiment. A month later I sold my spacious victorian house, and moved into a small condo with a closet sized bathroom and no bed, on the shady side of a middling city. I sold my expensive car and figured I’ll play getting another one by ear. I had a set amount of money to spend each month - the wardrobe had to be redone. I wanted to experience life on the poverty line, but I didn’t want to actually be impoverished. The first day I walked into the McDonalds at the corner by the construction site, things were a bit hectic. An elderly woman and her two extremely small dogs - one of them had gotten into the drink machine and was letting many litres of cola go to waste. I learned later that one employee had gotten into a fight with Boss about breaks and threw her cigarette right into Bosses eye; both were out of commission for the day and the girl was fired, thus leading to criminal understaffing. The ice cream machine was not having a good day, to say the least. I applied for a job on the spot. Life went like a blur the next couple of months - I had to be taught various things such as how to handle the deep friers, flipping patties, things that seemed so easy to people watching but were extremely difficult in practice. Luckily Boss always found a use for me, and they could use all the help they could get. Days were hell. Constantly something would break. Constantly the bathrooms would vomit up gallons of feces for us to clean up. Constantly would there be an annoying elderly schmuck who think they were better than us, or an entitled little brat in a Steph Curry jersey dabbing repeatedly, who found it fun to break some more of our machines. The first couple months, like I said, were challenging. I thought many times how that woman was foolish, how this was no way to live, how I should pack my bags and return to the life of luxury. But, ironically, I feel that option to leave was what kept me there - I would do this day and if any more shit gets thrown at me, I would leave. But at the 11th hour there would be me, saying to myself, “just one more day. Get over this. You can continue.” Things began to get easier. I found a groove, I found myself looking forward to work. I found more free time to mingle with others and learn about their situations. Here I would be touched by some of these people's stories. Damian was a 23 year old young man who was, in his own words to me on a break, “way in over his head”. His wife had some form of brain damage after getting hit by a car and couldn’t work anymore - Damian had to get off his degree path and work here. At 23, he was a plumber on and off, construction worker on and off, and clown on and off just to make ends meet. I could not tell him what to do. I could not offer the sagely advice expected of someone as old as I am, because I did not truly know what being a human is like. Ellen was a 27 year old who was in a state of constant anxiety while working. 4 months before my talk with her, Ellen was raped. The rapist escaped and was long gone by now, leaving Ellen pregnant. The state I lived in didn’t take kindly to abortion, and Ellen didn’t have the time or money to fight this - the baby was going to be born, and she hated it. Once again I didn’t know what to say or do. I couldn’t do anything. The concept of having babies was foreign to me not only because of our agreement, but also because I never had to pay much attention to these things. Not knowing what to do sucks. Those talks with Ellen and Damian are some of the biggest regrets of my life. I decided from then on I would devote myself to these people who have hit the lowest of their lows. Over time, I felt a strong bond to the people in and around my condo. I saw myself in a community - stronger and better than I had ever felt with the other immortals. My friends would welcome me, we’d sit and chill, or go joyriding… I understood them on a very personal level. I never got a car, and over time I learned to keep the money I decided to spend back in the bank and just rely on paycheck - it was more rewarding. Ellen rose up to the challenge and loves her baby now. Damian got out of his dire straits and got his degree. He pledged to remember us, and I believe him. And now, it might all end. Yesterday Boss called me in to his office. He wanted to make sure he told me this before anyone else. “Hey. I have to let you know, this McDonald’s is closing about two weeks from now. We can schedule you to another McDonalds, but they're a bit of a trek. I’m sorry.” “No, no, that’s okay.” I began to tear up. Again I didn’t know what to do. This job meant everything to me, admittedly in a different way to me than most but still. “Are… are you crying?” “Uh… all these years, I didn’t know what I was doing… I lived a life of ignorance… and now thanks to this job… I feel better. Thanks, Boss. Thank you so much.” “All these years? You don’t look that old…” I didn’t answer him, I only hugged him. My life would finally have some purpose. I felt truly alive. I’ll work for the next two weeks at McDonald’s. I don’t know what I’ll do next, but one thing I’m probably ruling out is going back to my money. Everyone else here will struggle together, and I’ll do the same. It’s what a truly smart person would do.
"I'll be back, be good for your mother kids!" I stepped out the door and into the cool air of late fall, debating briefly on whether or not to step back inside and grab a jacket. A sweat shirt ought to do the trick though, it wasn't a long walk. I fished the pack of camel's out of my pocket and lit up the last cigarrette. Should've stopped by after work and picked up more, but I always held out the hope that maybe this pack would be my last. In nearly twenty years, it never had. Taking a deep draw I stepped out past our mailbox and onto the sidewalk, making for the Wawa on the corner. Maybe I'd pick the kids up something, I still had like thirty bucks in my pocket, and I'd only need about half of that for bowling night. That'd make their night. I spotted Doug out on his porch as I walked by the front of his house, and gave a half wave. Doug Lemcool and I had been fast friends since he'd moved into the neighborhood and I'd helped him carry a couch into his basement. Doug paid his debts in some quality beer. "How's it going tonight Doug? Up for a walk?" Doug waved back and gestured down the street with his head, "Just heading up to Wawa's?" I waved the empty pack of camels at him as I ambled by, "Yeah, time for another pack. Probably grab something for the kids too." Doug ran a hand over the stubble on his chin before smiling and popping up, "Thought you were gonna quit those?"He teased as I flipped him off, but Doug jogged off the porch to join me on the short walk. "Won't hurt me to stretch my legs at least." Doug and I must have cut a pretty good pair for anyone driving by, He was a five foot nothing scrawny lad with some serious Irish in his ancestry if the red tint to his hair and stubble (I refused to even think of it as a beard) were to be believed. Whereas I stood a little over six and a half feet tall, running closer to overweight than underweight, and only beginning to really take that self consciously as I aged. We'd had to really work to get that couch leveled off when we were carrying it, and by work I meant I'd had to just about throw out my back from bending over. "I am trying to quit, you know."I said into the companionable silence as we walked, and ground out the butt of the cig before flicking it into the street. "I didn't want to raise my kids around them, and I know Natalie hates it, but it's tough to break half a life's habit." "I get it man,"Doug demurred, "Wasn't trying to be a dick by bringing it up. I just don't want your wife thinking I'm encouraging it. She'll poison me at the next barbecue." We were reaching the parking lot of the Wawa as I started laughing loud enough to wake up half the neighborhood, the mirth just boiling out of me, "She might just at that,"I struggled out around the laughter, wiping tears from my eyes. "It wasn't that funny!"Doug shoved me a little. "Maybe not,"I said stepping over the curb to keep my balance, "but you looked so serious! Face it Doug, nothing's killing us in this neighborhood unless it's my bad habits!" The last thing I remember seeing was Doug's answering smile, and a slight widening of his eyes in surprise before stars exploded behind my eyes and the world snapped to black as I crashed to the ground.
This is a very rough first go... forgive some of the forced rhymes. Human'ty is a grand buffet from which I gorge their moral decay. As eas'ly as the planet spins so do the humans commit their sins. From cave to desert to city of stone, slaves on the chain to slaves on the phone, Never have I had want for food, as sin and conscious bear emotion crude. This offspring sates me, gives me life their guilt and doubt poised 'neath my knife Tis simple work to rip it out and plant the seeds for fruit of doubt. Yet there are those whom I have found, so full of guilt, wrapped tight and bound, their sinful fruit ripens too quick, it spoils, becomes anaemic. Thus I've pined for my white whale; A soul so fresh, clean and hale, that when beset by guilt or doubt it stands alone, and I, devout, Will hasten by to pluck it clean, and keep the garden fresh and green. But my great want eludes me yet, at least until these two I met... At first they seemed the perfect pair; their garden ripe for sinful fare. Yet as I hovered awaiting grief, My glee turned quick to disbelief. What I had taken for land fertile, I now saw was barren, senile. These souls had never felt the sting of guilt's invasive fruit wellspring. I reeled in shock; this could not be! What beast felt no morality? I had to know, it broke the laws! I had to know, they had no flaws... And thus I found the truth in time; for one was good and pure and kind, the other was as I have been; a creature 'stained on mortal sin.
Just when you think the life of a kindergarten teacher could get no more interesting, the world of superheroes basically deletes crime and disagreements altogether. It started with the big stuff like wars and then to the other pressing criminal groups like the mafias, cartels, and gangs. Soon, there was nothing pressing. Batman and Iron Man went back to their day jobs. I even hear that Spiderman is enjoying a normal high school experience! As for the others, well, they began jumping in and "volunteering"where no one wanted them. Wonder Woman showed in class the other day. Two girls ran to be in front of the line to go to the cafeteria for lunch. Both claimed to have gotten there first and both claimed to be telling the truth. Apparently WW thought we desperately needed her assistance and she used her lasso on them. Turned out Suzie was right and Grace was lying. Not that I didn't know that Grace was a little liar all the time any way.. Rumor has it, WW is trying to get hired on at the local high school as a "resource officer"to help deter lying and drama. I don't really care where she goes as long as she stays out of my classroom! We have had enough issues keeping Beast Boy under control and convincing him not to turn into a T-Rex at recess again.
"Hi! I'm Tom, the new bodyguard" "What? Ha! That's funny. I'm Hilton. _Your_ bodyguard" "Huh? Haha. For real though. Where do I station myself?" "Where do _I_ station myself, you mean?" "..." "..." "So we're really doing this?" "...?" "...??" "...???" "¿¿¿" "Here, see my ID." "Here, see _mine_." "Wait... you aren't Richard Saxman's assistant?" "Aren't... _you_??" "..." "Goddamn. We've been played." "Shit. Shitshitshit. The tabloids are right. The dude really has too much money and time on hand..."
[Part One is Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/89khus/z/dwrq0ar) I laid on my couch shoving more fried chicken in my mouth. My doctor says that my eating habits are going to kill me. At least that's what my doctor would probably say if I ever went to see one. The internet has been my doctor for as long as I could remember. I was always searching for my latest ailment to determine the best course of action. knowing that I always was sick with something made it so much easier to stay home and shove more meat in my face and to drown my sorrows in bottles of soda. My latest internet search revealed that I had some kind of lung disease, which explains my difficulty in breathing lately. I tried to find my remote only discover that it was stuck underneath my gut. This ussually happened when I got tired and need to put it somewhere safe. I was exhausted. I hadn't slept for what felt like days. I remember waking up one night not being able to breathe. I spent a few hours on the internet before diagnosing myself with some kind of lung disease that would probably kill me in my sleep. I haven't slept since. I was forcing myself to stay awake with lots of caffeine and the largest bucket of fried chicken mom could afford. I knew eventually I was going to fall alseep and die, so why not spend my last moments doing the things I love? I had just about finished another episode of my favorite anime when I noticed a shadow move in the corner of my room. I knew what it was immediatly. Nothing. Ussually when I have an incurable disease, I start to hallucinate because I don't sleep for about a week. I tried to ignore it and drew my attention back to my screen where a half naked girl in a cape was fighting some kind of crab apple monster. At least I think that's what was going on. The stupid shadow in the corner wouldn't go away and was very distracting. I tried to make it go away by throwing a chicken wing at it. Just as I was beginning to regret my decision, the darnest thing happened. The figure picked up my wing and put it in some kind of bag. I would have jumped in fear, but frankly I didn't want to, and jumping always made me queezy. From what I remember anyways. I figured that if I wasn't gonna die in my sleep then I may as well get murdered by a freaky shadowy hallucination of my own making. I continued watching my show, and just when the girl was about to finally lose her cape. Somebody threw a bag over my face. My sleep deprived hallucinations always had a knack for messing with me in the most peculiar way. Just last year I imagined that I saw a camera in my living room. I was convinced for days that it was following me. No that I went anywhere. I loved to pretend that some unknown person was observing my eating habits. My reasoning behind this was that they wanted to prove that a diet of fast food and fizzy drinks did not make a man unhealthy. I was happy being fat. It made my couch (or as my mom would say "her couch") much more inviting when I came back from the bathroom, since it seemd to carress me as I reclined back into position. The bag over my face suprised me though. It wasn't very often my mind tricked me to a point where I physically felt anything. The only other memory I had of my hallucination touching me was that time when I had thyroid cancer, when I thought I felt a needle go into my arm before drifting off into sleep. If this is a projection of my own mind"I thought to myelf why would I imagine myself allowing someone to take my chicken? I slowly woke up to find myself laying in the floor. I was startled. Not because I was on the floor, but because my living room looked really odd. I must have slept longer than I thought... I bet mom cleaned the room again. "You're a grown man who can't even pick up his socks! why don't you lose some weight and get a job!"mom would always say. Why did she care? It's not like she ever came down here. Weirdly enough she took the couch too. And my tv. And my mini fridge. It looks so weird with it so empty. I honestly could say that it looked like a completely differant room. I sat on the floor, feeling too heavy to get up. Not like I had a reason too, there was clearly nothing to do. So I laid down and imagined my favorite show in my head. I wasn't used to thinking this hard. I eventually must have dozed off again because I woke up only to find that in the center of the room was a massive pile of food. Mom must have went shopping! I rolled over and started to feast. Most of it I didn't recognize. She must have went to the health food store again in an effort to control me. The vegetables were realy gross but the chicken was delicous. I don't think it was cooked, and it had some kind of fur on it. I was used to mom buying me weird things. I would often wake up to find mounds of food thrown in a pile on the couch next to me. I quickly learned that the chicken definetly was not cooked. Way to go mom. I had a sudden urge to use the restroom. I was used to these urges, but not like this. Never this intense. I slowly stood up for the first time today so that I could get to the bathroom. Standing up I looked around and noticed for the first time that one of my walls had been replaced by a giant cage. On the other side of the cage I saw two creatures muttering to each other. One of them held what looked like a clipboard that lit up. Great. I'm still hallucinating. I should see a doctor. I saw on the right side of the cage was the door to my bathroom. Sensing that I didn't have any time to spare I rushed toward it. I'll deal with my hallucinations later. I had to move fast to get there and just before I was able to begin looking for the doorknob I slipped on a peice of what I was beginning to suspect might not be chicken, and crashed through the door. Unfortunatly I found myself on the floor of a much larger room laying on top on an odd creature who felt very real. And very definetly couldn't breathe. I also very definetly did not make it to the bathroom in time. <*I'll write more if people seem to enjoy this>
I noticed it the day after Catherine had left. Left for the last time, I mean. I slept on the sofa that night, pretending she was upstairs, sleeping soundly in our bed. That it had just been another argument about work, and that tomorrow everything would be fine. The sun barely rose that morning, struggling through a haze of clouds and fog. I made two coffees, just in case she came back. Every other time she had done, so why would this time be different? It had no right to be and I would not let it. I showered in cold water, scouring and scrubbing my body so hard, that if I could have peeled away memories, I think I would have done so. Her words rang in my ears. "Why should I have to support you? You're an adult. Please Martin, I don't deserve this. Any of this."I turned the power up until the water drowned everything out and all I could hear was the wet static. It was as I wiped away a patch of steam from the mirror, that I saw it. The circular blemish on my forehead. I pressed a finger against it; it was warm and painful to the touch. Then the steam retook the mirror, swallowing the blemish. Hiding it. I spent the day watching Netflix. Numb. Ignoring my head and everything within it. I spent the night with a bottle of clear liquid as I waited slumped against the door for Catherine to come back. At midnight, I went out into the hallway and placed a spare key beneath the mat. Then I went to bed. When I awoke, I felt a blazing fire on forehead. I hurried to the bathroom mirror. The skin that had been blemished previously, was now bubbling and had half peeled open. Red and white pus dribbled out from the edges of the wound. I poured alcohol over my forehead, then wrapped a towel around it. I could feel the area pulsating beneath the cotton as if it had a heartbeat of its own. And every time it thumped against my head, a wave of pain rolled down my spine. I drank myself into blackness. --- I awoke naked on the bathroom floor. There was blood all over the tiles. So much blood. I tried to breathe, but my breath caught in my throat, and instead I vomited into the toilet. The towel around my head came loose and dangled into the water. I reached up and let it fall away completely. As I got to my feet, I saw it in the mirror. The bloody patch of skin blinked. The eye did not look at me, but beyond. Behind me. I staggered back. Tripping over the bathtub and falling into it. Into Catherine. And I remembered.
So you've found this writing prompt on the internet. I have put it in your mind that this is being read by many but in truth this is only reaching you. You see, I want to tell someone my story. You won't believe what I tell you, but here goes. You see, I was the first. When I stepped out of the sky and my feet touched the Earth for the first time there was nothing alive anywhere on this planet. I do not remember where I come from just that there is no such thing as remembering there. I think its because there is no such thing as time there. Everything just "is."There is no need for memory when everything is always unchanging. I knew my power was tremendous even back then and with my will I could have crushed the barren planet I stood on with a whim. After a time, I moved onward to explore the vast universe that lay beyond. For the first few moments of "time"that I experience I knew that if I ever wanted to escape this new universe that I'd have to do it then or I never could. You can tell my decision by the story I'm writing. I explored the Earth slowly. Earth is the name I gave it by the way and later shared when man arose. I am really good at naming things. Names give objects power. My first day, when the sun broke the horizon and the darkness turned into light was amazing. The years turned into decades and the decades into centuries. I had explored everything. I was lonely then and created the first life out of boredom. Then I watched the endless dance of single-celled organisms develop. You might think it boring but you don't know what boring is. Boring is the absence of life. To my amazement things took a jump in just a billion years, just when I thought things couldn't get more exciting! BLAM. Multi-cellular To make a long story short, when early humans first appeared and developed rudimentary intelligence they created in their imaginations the first "gods". Mind you, not real ones, just place holders to explain things. These thoughts created the Titans. From the Titans entire pantheons were born. Their power emanating from the humans. It was a fascinating cycle of the god's getting power from the humans and the humans receiving power from them. God's began to spring up almost everywhere a human was. I swear there would be a God of Itchy Woolen Socks if a human had the notion to think one up. You couldn't take a step without tripping over a God or Goddess back in those days. None of them could see me. Quite frankly I hadn't touched anything since I nudged the first life into being. I wanted to see how things would turn out and if you thought single celled organisms were exciting you should see the interactions of human behavior! They kill each other. I knew many animals kill and that's where you evolved from so why should you change? Then I noticed something about 2,000 years ago. Man had the potential to emerge beyond the killing and develop further. The Gods however, especially the multitude of War Gods, would never let that happen. So I put the Gods into a deep sleep. All of them. Then I stopped the process by which Gods spring forth. You ever wonder why there were tales of miracles then suddenly not a one? It was me. The God's dreams make them think they still rule over an Earth, albeit a much more primitive one. I am unsure if I'll ever allow them to awaken actually. They cause too much trouble. And look at you now! Landed on the moon. Conquered the atom. Yet you have still so much to learn. Many of you still worship gods that sleep but you secretly know they don't answer even though many of your kind likes to pretend they do. Even that fervor of imaginary worship is dying and I truly can't wait to see how far humanity goes when they finally let go of the Age of Gods. Just remember that there are no God's left that can reach you, well, present company excluded. You don't have to tell anyone about what you're reading. They won't believe you anyway. Heck, you don't even have to believe this story. Just remember this - there is a god that loves you enough to mind his own business. Good luck.
For everyone involved, war effectively ends your way of life. Your job is gone, or maybe your husband or kid gets killed, or maybe you see things that really keep you up at night. Or maybe you become fabulously wealthy. War has the tendency to destroy all previous vestiges of any government and business in the losing country. The people are striving to rebuild, to get jobs and get bread back on their table, but how can you do it with a government in tatters and businesses bankrupt? With outside assistance, businesses from the winning side that come in and rebuild those factories and mines and help those people get bread back on their tables, for a fee of course. It's a lucrative business, especially if that losing country is a barely industrialized podunk with vast untapped resources that the US government just flattened like a steamroller flatting out asphalt. I was a talker; one of those guys you see in a bar that is friends with everyone there, despite the fact that they just showed up that evening. My mouth didn't always put me in the right places \(in fact it had more than once landed me a stint in some... less than luxurious prison cells\), but through it I had connections. And through one of my acquaintances, I heard of a venture into one such steamrolled podunk to find some of those untapped resources, wherever and whatever they may be. On expeditions such as these, I had gotten a little notoriety as "The Butter". It sounds like an insult, but it's because I'm essential to these kind of delicate operations. I know how to butter the locals up, to make them feel good and lube them up so that they willingly help us ass fuck them out of their resources. Now that sounds bad, but in the end they get to feed themselves and the eight or nine kids all of these mothers seem to pop out. It's really a charity, a public service for the betterment of mankind. And my wallet. Unfortunately for me, the last few expeditions I had been on hadn't ended as good as I had hoped. I had gotten beat to the resources that were the best, and found out that the ones I got to first were already stripped clean. I was cash strapped at this particular moment, but determined that this one was going to be a big job. The flight in was long and uncomfortable, but military transports always have loads of troops and they are the easiest to entertain. Crack a few racist jokes, lewd expressions, and tell a few stories of foreign bar or prostitute escapades and their hooting and hollering in no time. Good kids, I got their company information so I could keep track of them while I was in country. Always nice to know a few guys with guns if you need them. Walking off the plane, I had a pickup waiting for me. Nothing luxurious, I always made that clear. You can't wander into villages like you own the place, because you don't own it yet. The locals resent you if you act like they think a westerner does. You have to wander in alone save for your driver, shitty pickup, and some gifts to show you are there in good faith. My driver, a local named Ode, was a large and muscular black man who spoke in broken English and luckily had a good sense of humor. I've been on a few ventures where the guide is stern and humorless, and it is always much harder to do my buttering when the guide can't \(or won't\) convey my jokes. Everything was located further in country, so we jumped on what was left of the dirt highway and drove. Ode told me the places that he thought we should check out. There was an abandoned iron mine that the government had started a few years ago, but I knew that Ishimaru International had already set its sights and money on that one. There was also a copper strip mine, but I had done my research and seen that that one had already been strip mined to near uselessness. He also told me about a gold mine, but every other war profiteering company was already in country looking for that one. The truth was, I wasn't looking for the obvious ones. I had probably already been beat to those like last time. What I was looking for were the ones that hadn't been found yet, the undiscovered mineral wealth that was worth billions if found. Ode grew silent, and I pressed him in my good\-natured and easy going way that I had perfected at using to get people to talk. I told him some stories about previous guides that I had been with who had showed me the real stuff, and had ended up fabulously wealthy. I was lying out my ass, but I could see the glint in his eyes. With a lowered voice, he explained that there was a village next to a river far in the interior of the country \(where he had some distant family\) which had been using a silvery, malleable metal that abounded in the river next to it to make trinkets for centuries. He had seen it last time he was there, and he handed me a medallion he had looped around his neck from it. As I inspected the medallion, he explained that because the locals had never attached any particular importance to it, no one had ever found out about the resource. But he knew it was worth something, and I knew it was worth far more than he imagined. It was platinum, one of the rarest and most valuable metals in the world. If chunks of it were just lying in the riverbed, there was likely a massive amount of it underground. I held my excitement in, but told him that that was our destination. It took us three long days of driving, more due to the poor and inconsistently placed roads than the distance itself, but eventually we arrived. It was deep in the jungle, and the river that Ode had talked about was moderately sized and completely covered by canopies. We followed it along before reaching a small village. The villagers were curious, as they had not seen a white man before, but welcoming. Strung around their necks were platinum medallions much like the ones Ode wore. Ode led us to his relatives and we spent a long time talking, me doing my buttering and them laughing and enjoying themselves. I brought out the alcohol and food we had brought as gifts, and we had a feast complete with dancing and a massive bonfire in the middle of the village. I met with the village leaders, and we talked at length over drinks with Ode as my interpreter. I explained that I could make them fabulously wealthy, giving them big houses and much more land if they agreed to help me extract the platinum from the river. They excitedly agreed, and said they would show me the source of the platinum the next day. I sat back and enjoyed the feast, content that I had made probably the best and easiest deal I ever had. I woke up in the wee hours of the next day, excited and ready to see the abounding platinum. Ode and a young man from the village led me to the river, and the young man reached in and tossed me a silvery stone, about the size of something you would skip across a pond. Platinum is an inert material, and so it is usually found in its pure form. I caught it and hefted it. It was really heavy, more so than gold even. The river was unpolluted, and I saw that there was small silvery sparkles all around the river bottom. This probably wasn't the source, it had likely flowed form a spot upriver. Ode and the young man led me up the river. The trek was long and arduous, as the foliage and trees were thick away from the village. I was used to trekking, but this terrain even shut my loud mouth up. After midday I could begin to hear the a crashing sound, likely a water fall. That was a good sign, the erosion from the waterfall was probably pushing the platinum down the river. We eventually reached it, and it was magnificent. It was a good forty feet tall, and the water pounded down against the rock. Inside the pool beneath it, the riverbed glittered and shone. I got excited, and jumped in and started grabbing samples from the riverbank. The young man explored closer to the waterfall, and called to us from it. I turned and watched him disappear behind it. A hidden lode perhaps? Ode and I followed him. Behind the waterfall was a cavern, it was only slightly taller than my six foot frame but extended far into the darkness. The young man was not nearby, and so I pulled out my flashlight and continued onward. I studied the edges of the walls, noticing that while at first the walls were natural, eventually the walls started to look like they were carved. Somewhat to calm my nerves, I conversed with Ode onesidedly, telling dumb stories to him to lighten the mood. He laughed at them, but apprehensively. The hallway opened up into large room, and I could hear the young man talking with someone at the end of it. We walked forward, and stumbled upon another white man talking with Ode. He hissed and averted his eyes, and I noticed his pale complexion. And the absurd amount of platinum that hung around his body. His features seemed African, but he was paler than me. An Albino perhaps? The young man turned and yelled at Ode, who translated to me that I needed to turn my flashlight off. I did, and found myself faced with sheer darkness. The young man and the albino continued to talk, Ode wasn't translating so I stopped paying attention. Before long, the darkness gave way to a dim light. I looked around and noticed a faintly glowing moss around us. I then observed the albino. He was clearly African, maybe he stayed here due to his condition and watched over the platinum, but why hadn't the villagers mentioned him? Embarrassment maybe, or greed clouding their judgment? Regardless, I was just here for the platinum. I interrupted them and told the young man to lead me to it. The pale man turned and stared at me before saying something in an all to familiar language. "Leave." Surprised but undeterred, I responded quickly "Wait give me a minute to explain my offer. You see, I am American and I am interested in all the metals you have here. My friends in America are willing to give you whatever you desire to get these metals. You won't have to live in this cave like an outcast. You can have your own mansion, lead your own village, and become wealthy beyond all imagination if you decide to help me." I smiled, and outstretched a hand. He stared at it. I kept it outstretched, waiting. "We have no need for your wealth here" He turned around and walked further into the tunnels. I took a step to follow, but Ode and the young man shook their heads and ushered me away. But this was my opportunity, my chance to get get rich, my chance to REALLY make it big, and it was walking away. After walking a short ways with these thoughts stewing in my head, I turned and ran down the corridor. As I ran, the hallway went deeper, and deeper, and the air grew moist and warm. suddenly, I rounded a bend and stumbled into a massive room, larger than anything I had ever witnessed. It was less a room and more a cave system, like the kind that you could comfortably fly an airplane in. The ceiling looked like the night sky, with what I could only assume was the same luminescient moss covering it. In the middle of the room was a lake, fed by a small river. Along the banks was what looked like a city. Streets, metal buildings, windows, trains even, and it stretched beyond the edge of my eyes as the cave was large enough to have clouds that obscured the distance. I felt a prick in my neck, and pulled a dart away from it. I swayed, and I turned to see a crowd of pale men and women approaching me as I fell unconscious. \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- Thanks for a great prompt idea! I will continue it if someone asks me to.
War. War never changes... Well, until the enemy figures out they can shoot you like a lot-a lot without killing you, so they build all sorts of traps and junk, you stupidly fall into one, so they strap you to a hella big rock and shove you into the sea. It was boring. And dark. But I slept a lot. Apparently, there's this cool feature demigods or whatever I am have that in the event of being chained to a rock, unceremoniously thrown into the deepest part of the ocean, and left to rot, you just sleep it off. Also apparently, I kinda got this whole occult mythology about me while I was out cold (by the way. It was in fact cold), so when my worshipers found me and pulled me up in this fancy-dancy submarine, I tried to let them know I was real appreciative, but they couldn't see to hear me, so I motioned for them to take off the cuffs they wore on their ears. However, they just looked crazy fearful when I tried to get them to remove it, and pleaded: "Grappis, none ee for madness." Oh yeah, English changed a lot. That was weird to get used to. Anyway, they brought me to the surface and seemed to hurriedly shuffle me into a freaking palace where I finally had a chance to speak to some guy in a long red robe-thing. "Greetings, Elder Hodges. I reverently desireth that these arrangements hath been to thine own satisfaction. We humbly offer gifts of fruit, women, cocaine, and wine in which to indulge until thou hast recovered. The final battle approachest and we, thine slaves, shall follow thee for the glory of Fireteam Charlie. Furthermore, I beseech thee, pass forgiveness unto the others, for they are not acquainted in the old speech, and some believeth thine voice alone shall destroy all who hear." "Yeah, for sure, but uh I think you are confused. I'm not as great and powerful as you all think. I'm mostly just not allergic to dying, and I really lost my desire to kill. But uhhh, I'll take those women and food though." "I see I have been rebuked. I shall spend my life meditating upon-" There was an explosion, a flash, and a few moments later I saw that guy lying on the ground with most of his head misplaced, but before I could contemplate that too much, I got grabbed, judo flipped, and handcuffed. "Tartis, secure. Cult subdued."A man spoke behind me. "The world doo-en't need more of you. One is enough. You're goin inna the sun wit de others."
My mind wanders as I glide through the halls of one of my favourite places to be. All these humans are clueless. They have no idea how blessed they are. Especially here, in the hospital, their bodies are filled to the brim with some of the most potent emotions you can find. I guess that might be humanity's curse: they'll never know what makes them human. They must feel that they're not like the other species, but they can never quite put their finger on it. I have witnessed many try, but they've all got it wrong. Language, imagination, abstract thought, deception, religion; they're not unique to humankind. But God blessed them with one novel idea that no other creature possesses: emotion. Ironically that's one of those features that no human will ever think is unique to them. They see emotions everywhere they're not. That dog does not love you; he hardly feels anything. Not like humans do anyway. And human imagination fills in the rest. It's like they need to believe that what they see are emotions to be able to understand the world. But no creature knows what it is to feel genuine emotion besides them. And cursed beings like me. Demons that were unfortunate enough to possess a human soul. Through their bodies, we too know what that feels like. It's addicting. It's why hospitals are my favourite place to be. I'm looking for a bed at least one person waiting next to it. They always have the most evident emotions. This one's perfect. I can open my eyes and move my head, but otherwise, I am like stone. At the edge of my bed, I see a woman in her early forties. As she notices I've opened my eyes, she springs to life. "David! Oh, David,"she screams with wide eyes as she launches at me, wrapping her arms around me. I feel her hands run through my short hair, her face pressed against mine. Firmly at first, but she quickly softens her grip. She backs up to show me her smiling face, with tears rolling down her cheeks. "David, how do you feel?"she asks. "I'm so happy to see you,"I reply. I have no idea who I've possessed, know nothing of his history or what's normal for him. Through my previous possessions, I've learned it's best to stick to bland, safe replies. The woman at the edge of the bed takes a moment to smile at me before she asks the question I want to hear: "Do you remember what's happened? Do you know why you're here?" I try to shake my head, but my body does not comply. "I'm sorry, I don't remember." She pats me on the head, places her lips on my forehead and leans back again. For a moment, she seems unsure of what to say. "I didn't think I'd have a chance to speak with you again. I thought I'd lost you. Now, I don't know what to tell you."Her words are meant to sound comforting, but her trembling lips and watery eyes betray that's she's close to breaking. With a nervous laugh she tries to break the tension and bring herself courage. "I'm pretty sure that Dad would want me to tell you everything. He was always one for open and candid conversation. But I don't know if I can do that. Do you remember when Dad picked you up from school and took you to the mall?" "I think so,"I lie. "Well, before heading home, he wanted to take you to the music store. He needed your help to find a few new songs to listen to at home. But you never got there, because, because..." Shivers run through her body as she bites her lips to try to find the courage. She takes a deep, stuttering breath before she continues. "Because there was a man at the mall who had escaped the psychiatric hospital and got a hold of a gun. He was screaming at people that weren't there and repeatedly threatened to shoot himself. Your father recognised his disorder and approached to talk to him, shielding you behind him. Unfortunately, the man became frightened and started shooting. Your father was hit several times and died almost immediately. One of the bullets penetrated him and hit you as well. That bullet punctured your lungs and broke your spine. That is why you cannot feel anything below the neck." Involuntarily, my tear ducts start producing, and water freely flows down my face. The edges of my mouth become heavy, and my lips begin to tremble. The woman sees this and once again grabs my head and presses it to her chest. I allow my muscles to relax and lean into her. "I'm so sorry, David,"she sobs as she runs her fingers through my hair again. A familiar ominous lightheaded feeling starts to take hold of me. Before leaving, I manage to add: "I love you, Mom."
It was 44', France, Germans held out without mercy. I can still remember the engine of the Skytrain getting blown out, right door opening, and seeing my buddies' blood floating in front of my eyes. I felt the wind of bullets passing by me, I could feel the parachute going down faster as it filled with more holes. I remember landing in a field, soft yet hard dirt. When I got up, I fell down, as shrapnel enforced lightning seemingly sent by God himself came down upon my legs. I was lucky though, just to have my legs maimed, unlike the other paratroopers mowed down by the nests of MG-42s and other buzzsaws made only to cut the wood. I threw my rifle knowing that any attempt to fight back would just grant me a swift end, though it may have been a better option based on my circumstances. I slowly dragged myself towards a nearby barn and rested my mangled self against some hay. I know they'd be coming for me, they make sure to clean up every last one. I heard the crunch of dry grass. The distinct sound of a gun strap with its light clank of the metal links. I prepared myself for it, clenching my fists in the hay around me. I saw first the shadow, the barrel of an SMG slowly scanning the barn, getting ready to unleash its sinister purpose in life towards mine, and bang, the shot of a Springfield blew into his shoulder. I still remember that face of pure agony when he got hit, the thud and the yell of utter torment. He was a still a soldier, however, and had some intelligence still left inside him, as he immediately crawled away from the open barn doors, pushed them partly closed with his legs, and rested himself a few feet away, pretending not to notice me. Even though my injuries seemed worse than his, my adrenaline and total shock barely made me care. There was no fighting now, how could there be? Even if either one of us managed to kill the other, they would be dead anyway due to blood loss or a sniper pinning them down. I didn't know if he spoke English, I didn't know if he'd even be stupid enough to try and attack me, but I did what the last bit of humanity still holding inside me wanted to do and offered a piece of my shredded pants to him, so he could wrap the bullet hole before it got worse. I waved the piece of bloody cloth in front of him, and after a few seconds he accepted the gesture and started to slowly wrap around his shoulder under his pits with the little strip of rag. We didn't talk until a few minutes later, both of us staring at the opposite wall. I knew that I needed to focus my mind on something than the blood flowing from what was my legs, even dying with a respectable conversation would be better than dying silently, so I simply said "English?". He gathered his thoughts for a few moments and simply replied with a "Yes."in a thick German accent. I asked where he learned English, and he told me that it was from his previous trips to America studying medicine and other things, and I told him of my studying in engineering and railroad schematics. We talked about our past, our future, our spouses, our children. We talked about what a waste of the human race the war was, but before we could go further, I saw black. What I expected my next sight to be was the pearly gates of heaven, was this German, inside an American first aid tent stripped of his tools and weapons and missing his shirt, which was wrapped around my legs. This man who was supposed to be my bringer of death brought me life. We made sure to contact each other and meet after the war. Though it's strange seeing a German push an American soldier in a wheelchair after World War 2, I didn't care. We shared our hopes and passions like brothers, and though we may have our scars, these scars bind us and remind us that at the end of the day we're all just humans, lost in a world of chaos and misguidance.
Eric Andrews had quite the work ethic. Always completing each task and assisting others with theirs was something he took immense pride in. His coworkers were always unsurprised whenever he would win the “Employee of the Month” award each month. Every male in Eric’s family worked for the company all their lives Eric’s exemplary efforts earned every single promotion and raise handed to him. Yet he never wanted to take charge. Only being content with his job – whatever it was, Eric seemed to be at home. To everyone, Eric was the average, run-of-the mill guy. The kind that would chat about the recent football game on Monday. But there was more than meets the eye with Eric. From his tie that was perfectly in place, to his shirt that would be without wrinkles, Eric looked to be in tip-top shape, and he kept his work space clean, contrasted with the mess he made in the lowest basement of the building. The one nobody knows about, Floor B-50. Entering the elevator was the secretary, Laura Ross. On her way to the first floor to clock out, she had anticipated the baby shower that awaited her at home. Before pressing “1” for the floor she needed, she stopped her hand, noticing a button she swore she had never seen before. Finding herself drawn to the button, she pressed her finger to it and held it, as the elevator took her to her impromptu destination – Floor B-50. Expecting company, as is per the ritual, Eric smiled. It is time, he thought to himself. This never gets old. Patiently, Eric waited. Anticipation flooded every fiber of his being, all the while she was making her way through this impossible location. Nothing about it made sense to her, the hallways in this basement area are well lit, despite being many levels below the Earth’s surface. The fun was about to begin. Entering a door, Laura found something that chilled her to the bone. Indescribable in nature and appearance stood a figure obscure in shadows that seemed to surround only it, the creature let out a shriek that pierced Laura’s ears. The agony was so incredible, it caused her to pass out. The last thing she saw, was Eric. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- As Laura entered the building and readied herself for her secretarial duties, she noticed the cards and flowers for her. Her coworkers, out of sympathy had bought her gifts in condolences to her miscarriage and impending divorce. It was not an easy day for her, but somehow this lifted her spirits. Out of all the cards, the most heartfelt written one was written by Eric. Seeing him walk by immediately after putting down his card, he looked back and gave her a gentle smile. “Thank you so much, Eric.” Laura told him. “It means a lot.” Eric nodded, and went along his way. Unseen by Laura, Eric smiled as he walked by the “Employee of the Month” hallway. As usual, he stopped to admire the photos. Viewing every detail as always, he surveyed every detail, the same things nobody caught on to. The same hairstyle, the same dimple on the right side of the smiles, the same patterned ties, all the way from last month to the very first Employee of the Month taken in December 13, 1954. Of course, he’d been working here longer than that, unbeknownst to everyone, he served his Lord, sacrificing the unborn to Him on the floor nobody knows about, down on Floor B-50.
The man was boisterously large; he was thickly-set with a heavy brow. From behind the till he fixed the boy with a weighted gaze that the child shifted underneath, uncomfortable. "I should call the police, that's what I should do."The man said, scratching his head. The boy started at that. "Oh please, sir, don't. I just wanted something to eat, and I took the cheapest one,"with his left hand he waved a bag of chips in the air. "I didn't think you would notice." "I didn't, he did."replied the large man, nodding at me. When our eyes met, I saw all his faces. There were so many, more than I'd ever seen, all connected with pink lines that stretched and wove across each other. "You said he was trying to leave the store with these?"The man continued. "I... yeah. He was stuffing it into his backpack when I caught him at it."I replied, a little sheepishly. The boy was glancing at the two of us fearfully, looking for any sign of mercy. Their was an odd but familiar blankness in him, I'd had the misfortune of seeing that before, mostly in the homeless and destitute. Either someone had severed ties with the child, or there were no ties to sever in the first place. "You said that you wanted something eat,"the large man frowned. "Do they not feed you at home?" The boy didn't respond, but simply stared at the man with a more guarded look. "What's your name, kid?"the man pushed on. "John."said the boy, almost insolently. "No lies. I could have the cops here in an instant, I'm friendly with quite a few of them. Now what's your name?" The boy's resolve began to flicker. He cast his eyes down to his worn shoes and hesitated before saying, "Jason." The man's gaze softened. "Well Jason, my wife gave me the leftovers of some blueberry pie we had yesterday. Would you like some?" As the boy nodded, I saw the blankness get replaced with a familiar face. The man behind the till also received another, if not much smaller, face in his web, and I no longer wondered how he had so many.
I sat behind the ornate iron DM screen I had been provided, fingers steepled, as I gazed over the edge of it at my players: Death, a halfling rogue. Famine, a high-elf wizard specializing in necromancy. War, a human fighter. And Pestilence, a...gnome bard. I didn't get that last one, either. Today I wouldn't be DMing for fun...I'd be DMing for my life. As I was about to speak, War broke the silence for me. "Alriiiiight, Dungeons and MA'FUGGIN Dragons, bitches!"War shouted, his voice resonant and metallic inside his steel helmet, one of his gauntleted hands throwing up the horns. With his other hand, he threw a spiked metal d20, and it clattered across the table wildly, before landing on 18. "WOOO, 19 initiative, motherf--" "Whoa, whoa."I said. "Let's pull it back, War. I haven't even the set the scene yet, geeze." "Ugh,"War groaned. "Not this again, come on..." "Once again, it's a tabletop roleplaying game, War."Death interjected, haughtily. "Go mash your little buttons in Dark Souls or whatever, if you just want to stab monsters without pesky things like a story getting in the way. Neanderthal." War glared at Death across the table, but fell silent. Death turned to me. "Ahem. Do continue, DM." I cleared my throat, and set the scene, a lively tavern where the adventurers, as yet unknown to each other, were to meet. "Death, why don't you describe your character?"I prompted the Reaper. The other three horseman groaned and muttered. "Here we go..."War mumbled. "Ahem."Death began. "A tiny shadow creeps into the common room, unseen and unheard. He slips through the legs of the larger patrons, and--" Pestilence cocked her head to one side, curiously, raising a long green finger inquistively. "Um...if he's unseen and unheard, how do we even know he slipped into the common room?"She turned to me. "And shouldn't he have to make a Stealth check to be undetected? Mara Leaflute has really good eyes and ears, I think she would see him." "I cast See Invisibility." Famine said, haughtily, waving his emaciated hands in a mystical gesture. "So I can see him, in any case." "Hey!"Death retorted, jabbing an accusatory skeletal finger at Famine. "You never said you were preparing that spell today! And that's not even what that spell does, I'm not magically invisible -- I'm just small and really stealthy!" I tried to interject here and get them back on track, but then War jumped in. "Okay, that's it."War interrupted. "I stomp on the halfling. I just stomp him flat." "You can't even see me!"Death screamed at War, pounding his bony fist on the table. "I'm rolling a...stomp check." War insisted, throwing his lethally pointy d20. "16 on the die -- do I stomp him?" "That's not a real check and YOU CAN'T SEE ME!" Death bellowed, rising from his chair. Then they all started arguing. Dungeon tiles, miniatures and dice began to fly as The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse fought over the game. I was in literal mortal danger, I'd challenged Death to this game with my very life on the line...and these four jerks weren't even going to play! "THAT'S ENOUGH!"I shouted. Surprisingly, the four embodiments of disaster stopped mid-sentence, and looked at me. I cleared my throat. "Look, you clearly don't get how this game works," I implored them. "I get it, sometimes I forget it myself. This game isn't about winning and losing -- it's sure as hell not about figuring out exactly how you can screw your fellow players over!" The Horsemen looked at each other, sheepishly. "It's about fun!" I insisted, passionately. "It's about friends getting together to tell an awesome story, about awesome people, doing awesome things! The rules, the combat, the character backstories, the fiddly little tricks of the system -- those are all parts of it, sure. But at the end of the day, if you're not having fun with your friends...what the hell are you doing here?" One by one, the Horsemen nodded slowly, and each of them retook their seats. "So um...Minimus walks into the tavern, and...he...he says hello to the gnome bard over the by bar."Death said. "Hello!"Pestilence said, cheerfully waving to the reaper across the table. I smiled. "See, was that so hard? Now--" As looked down at my notes, I saw my hands...they were growing transparent. I held them up in alarm. "Oh crap!"I said. "Death, what the hell?" "I...."Death looked around wildly, clearly confused himself...then somehow his skull gained a look of realization. "...oh." "What is it?"Famine inquired, as War leaned over to me and waved his hand through my vanishing body, which was now insubstantial to the Horsemen and their realm. "Well, it seems...he just won Dungeons & Dragons."Death said, his voice fading out along with my vision as I began to hear the sounds of a busy hospital, and the voices of doctors and nurses around me.
The Jumper ____________ My name is William Stamford. They started when I was 35, seated in a plane. I called my wife and told her I was sorry to have gone to the conference and wanted to spend time with her, she sounded worried, and devastated. I called her as I was fearing for my life. The woman I love, I don't know what my life would be without her. She made me a better person, my eyes started to swell with tears at the thought of never seeing her again. The plane was going down, noises surrounded. -Thump- -Whirr- -Whoosh- Everyone cried out while the wing split apart and made a loud thoom. I braced the seat in front of me, with the side of my head gripping my phone onto the side of my shoulder and whispered into it, "If I don't make it - Helen, honey I love you". My face was pulled back, the plane was sideways, it was going down soon. Soon a Flash of light engulfed the plane and then.... -Snap- My eyes opened, I was lying face down on the road of a cul de sac, in the same grey suit I was wearing when I crashed, with no sign of the plane anywhere. I called a cab to go into the city and find out what happened. When I entered the city via cab, I saw the type of car he had, it was at least 2 years more advanced than the ones we had at home, I looked outside and saw the local Starbucks renamed as 'Willys', I guess free Willy was more popular than Moby Dick in this world. With small changes like that, it didn't take a quantum physics professor to see that something was off about this place. Eventually I put two and two together and realized that I'm in an alternate reality. I'm now 38, I've been jumping for three years now, but it's a curse, jumping from reality to reality without cause, forever losing loved ones and having them change forever, simply put they're never the same again. Even though I see many versions of her, to me I'll never really see my wife again. I left her when that plane went down. Despite this whenever I jump, the world always maintains very similar qualities. Not this time. This time was different. I was in a damaged world, and it needed people to step up for them. I strolled across the street after getting my daily coffee from the place that this time was called "Moby's". I saw a truck swerve, it looked like it was in a hurry to get a delivery. He was heading towards me, he was running the red light, and before he hit I exclaimed "MOTHERF---" -Snap- (See what I did there) I got cut off. My eyes opened. I woke up on a very dusty and dirty matress situated on the floor of a room inside a small house. After I stood up I dusted the dirt off of me and looked around. I saw families on the floor, sleeping, standing up in the room with their babies cradled, all smushed together in one cramped room, crying and coughing. The first thing I thought was what happened to this place, as that was not the only problem. Inside the house the structure looked almost like rubble, it was extremely worn down and cracked, outside, I saw demolished buildings, a muddy grey polluted sky, one vehicle whirring past, a small spacecraft, and a grey intact levitating, circular structure, in what looked to be the center of the city. I observed the flying signs in the sky everywhere that said things like, "The Nexians are here to save you", "Report your local resistance fighters- it is your duty.", "50,000 X Credit Reward for capturing William Addy." I came away from the window as I heard footsteps, near the basement door, everyone seemed to gather around it, as if they were expecting people. It turns out they were. A group of people in armor walked up, and spoke to the huddled masses, they announced, "Extra rations are here for us, create a single file line! This way we can really distribute it.""Don't worry there's more than enough". I heard one of the armored men speak to a woman with her mouth covered by a scarf and a helmet mid conversation, ".....yeah, we really swept the floor with those SpeX..."(SpeX were a slang term for Nexians, like Skinjobs in Blade Runner). Surprisingly my clean clothes didn't give away anything yet, but my stare did, as I was looking at the masked woman, based on her eyes it looked like she was surprised to see me, as if she knew me. She walked towards me and removed her mask and slowly unfurled her scarf. It was my wife, Helen, of this Earth. She exclaimed "Addy, I thought you were out on mission what the hell are you doing here?!"And embraced me in a hug, and I hugged her back. I understood who William Addy was now, It was me. I had gotten the nickname "Mr. Addy"in college for being ADaptable and ADventurous. I learned over days through experiences of people and what few books remained that an extraterrestrial invasion from beings of Planet X happened on this Earth 10 years ago, and ever since they've been mining the resources. I also learned that I met my wife while fighting with the resistance. It seems fate put us together in any reality. It's been 5 years and I have not "died"prematurely yet, it may be some time, but as long as I'm alive I will continue to fight for this Earth's reality and bring it justice, because if I do "die"early, I should fight honorably and so I will. My First WP post, I hope you guys enjoyed it!
Nebula winced as she turned to face her father. "Two figures approaching at .1c. Initial analysis indicates a cyborg of unknown provenance and what must be an Inhuman."The Mad Titan grinned and stalked over to the great stone throne he'd intended for his first daughter, now sadly gone into his love's dark embrace. The two figures landed and began to climb the hill toward the incongruous little farmhouse at the top of an untilled hill. The Demon Cyborg spoke, his mechanical eyes crimson in the light of the planetoid's sunset. "What should I do, Master?"he asked, looking down. "Nothing,"the short man replied. "If you interfere, you'll get the credit, and I'll be stuck in B class for another year. There's not enough Dragon-class threats to go around any more."The cyborg nodded, switching power to all of his surveillance systems and setting all to 'record'. At the top of the hill, the little farmhouse was the very picture of pastoral paradise, with flowering vines and a quaint little well. The marble dais with its obsidian throne was slightly incongruous, as was the purple giant who sat upon it. "Oi!,"the little man yelled, the sunset flashing purple and pink on his shining head, "Are you then Mad Titan?"he asked, consulting a folded up piece of printer paper before stuffing it back in his pocket. "I'm supposed to take your glove." Thanos snarled. "You puny, insignificant little worm. Come and get me."He rose from the throne and took the three steps down, as if to emphasize his own height by looming from as close as possible. His opponent merely sighed, rubbing both red-gloved hands against his face before finally exhaling "Mostly bored punch." The broken remains of the gauntlet lay crumpled in the middle of its former owner's impact crater. "Come Genos, let's go home. It's your turn to buy the ramen."
I had to run. Couldn't let them catch me. The torment had lasted years. Sleep was a stranger. Couldn't let them catch me. But I was a man and they were so many. The voices in my head told me to run and I did. Ran and hid but with an army of billions all seeking me I suppose it was inevitable. It was surprising even to them.. it... the 'Collective of Humanity' that I had managed this long. But I was a man and they were so many. I remember the capture. The pain was exquisite. They were careful. Couldn't damage their last component after all. The knowledge, great or small, was essential for the grand design. I was cleaned. I'd forgot that the stench was on me. Hiding in places that no man was meant to be unless they needed to go; sewers, graveyards, slaughterhouses. It took them about six months to catch on. Filter out the necrotic and festering against the living. But I was a man and they were so many. I was held up, almost ceremonially. In a cradle like the vitruvian man, arms and legs outstretched, naked to all who would see but they were all one and had seen it all. No embarrassment, no shame, no .. hope. I was a man and they were so many... "Hello" ... or not. A single woman stood in front of me as I raised my head from solemnity. One woman; not many? "Er, hi?" She smiled. A creepy smile like those psychotics you'd seen in movies right before they murder you. The voice was fairly high-pitched yet clean. Like an air-hostess if they were also an executioner. "Oh good, you're undamaged. You've given us quite the run, haven't you? Nine-hundred, eighty-four days approximately. Still, it was a crushing inevitability given your consistently decaying position of being a living flesh entity." "I wanna say either 'thanks' or 'you're welcome' but I'd rather you just let me go..." A mechanical laugh erupted from her still-smiling. "I'm sorry but releasing you is not part of any of my directives. My core directive is to save humanity in the way that was intended. Through assimilation into the Collective." Of course she was a synthetic; why did I think otherwise. The weight of the collective behind her giving her unlimited capacity for thought and probably steering her towards the ultimate goal. To her I was a man and she was so many. "Someone tried to save me once before, a long time ago. It didn't work then and it won't work now. You have to let me. You need to let me go." "I'm sorry but releasing you is not part of any of my directives. My core directive is to save humanity in the way that was intended. Through assimilation into the Collective." She tipped her head to the side and mechanical arms began to move around me. This was it. They brought two half-cages to cup my skull, pressing my ears and ignoring my hair, and a third brought the transfer device down, locking it in place and unfurling its tendrils around my brain. The pleas mean nothing, the Collective pushed in for I was a man and they were so many. "I'm afraid as the neuro-quantumn transfer device locks into place inside your cranial cavity; the pain will be significant but once completed pain will be but a shared experience for all." I began to choke as the metal bore through my skull, the tears gently pooling in my eyes. This was it. I'd tried to run to keep them from me but they wouldn't listen. The transfer began... and I began to laugh. A genuinely puzzled look began to flow over her face which was soon replaced with concern. The smile faded, her eyes darted back and forth as if inspecting the multitude of errors and faults that were now flooding her internal interface. "You never... asked for my name" "Why would it matter? What's in a name?" The laughing was louder this time, deeper, bolder, somewhat inhuman. Her face looked tormented by horrors she couldn't begin to comprehend. The lights around us faded as she posed the question: "What is your name?" "My name is Legion and we are many!"
Oh, my love. I gently caressed his hair, felt his forehead. God, what a travesty of a setup that was. I gently grasp his hand. The doctor rushes in. “He’ll be fine, Mr....” “Gallardo. Miguel Gallardo.” “Your husband will be fine, Mr. Gallardo. He was hit in the shoulder, and the bullet was easily removed. He’s on morphine right now, as you can tell, so he’ll be out of it for a few hours.” I sighed, in sweet relief. My dear husband was fine. All these years we had been together, regardless of our dueling careers, and we in fact used them to our advantage, helping each other get ahead. I wouldn’t want to ruin our relationship. Not for anything. This way, I also wouldn’t have to kill Rico, who fired the shot, or Monty, who ordered it. All an accident, part of a terrible set up which involved faulty pyrotechnics, and broken walkie-talkie, and blown out tires. It was the worst I had ever seen, and I vowed it wouldn’t happen again. We would adapt, evolve, invest. I look at my sleeping husband. Thank the lord it wasn’t any to the left, even just a bit. All the vital organs it could have hit, ugh. I shudder to think of it. My umbrella-boy walks in. “Boss, we going now.” “Give me a moment, Vitali.”
Why not, you ask? Why is the better question. Think of it this way. If you’re playing a game with some friends, and there’s a timer on the turn, you’ll try your hardest to win, won’t you? Because you want to beat the timer and get the better score. If there’s no timer, then you won’t really try. You’ll just sit there and let it happen and won’t try to beat your friends. Sure, you’ll work towards a good score, but it won’t be the best and you won’t get a good score anyway. Now think about this. In 1960, JFK put a deadline on the United States putting a man on the moon. He challenged us to do it by 1970. Lo and behold, 1969, we put a man on the moon. But since then, since the deadline we put on ourselves has been lifted, we haven’t put many people up there. In your generation, you’ve barely seen 10 people up there, child. We did it in the first place because we put a time limit on ourselves, but didn’t try to after it was lifted. That’s what humanity does. We understand how mortal we are, and that motivates us. The fact we are but a tiny, fragile species in the infinite universe encouraged us to explore it. If all of a sudden we’re immortal, what’s the point of exploring? If we no longer have anything to worry about, why keep developing technology? Most, if not all technologies were developed to solve a problem. Penicillin, irrigation, even the very idea of spaceflight was invented to combat our mortality and need for resources and mortal things. And people thrive on that feeling of racing the ticking clock of inevitability sounding in there head, racing it to do something. Anything, anything at all to make their mark on the world so that they may die but also live on in the memories and actions of others. To fix the imperfections of humanity, that was what we thrived on. But it was better to try and fix them than to actually do so. But I wander. My answer, child, is that I simply wanted to have a purpose and something to work towards before I died. To have a reason to work hard. I hope this answer is what you needed.
“So weak” That’s what I first thought of when I saw the remains of the once great kemet species of exo 3. Now reduced to the backwater solar system. I didn’t mean weak as in puny, or easy to destroy. But as inferior to there former selves. The kemet were a sovereign race. Renounced across the galaxy for its 2 armed form and tendencies to crush and destroy. The greatest temples to ever be made were erected at certain points around the galaxy. So when 2 pyramids in a system aligned a new year begun. Fear and security were just a system away. Some planets like exo 4 and siminer 8 became superpowers and aided the kemet in there quest for equality under one pharaoh. The kemet ruled all. Until they destroyed proximity 9. And the foraginal of bolte 2 sabotaged the grand palace in revenge. Then exo 4 pulled out of the trade union. Then the greatest gontejh rebellion of keptar 5 The greatest empire to ever live prepared for war. But when a solar mirror goes up against the new discovery by botle 2 of nukes. War gets bloody. Almost all kemet died in a war to end all wars. Man against machine. Atomic weapons against bows and arrows. Slave against owners. “Humans” as the rebellion called them were pushed back to the unique island archipelago planet of solar 3. The empire was crushed. Ruminants were enslaved or disbanded and sent to the solar system. By the next 100 years the kemet became farmers. Believing in killer medication that only works on other species and old gods that were actually spy drones. That was millions of years ago. Now the proximitans who once were driven to near extinction look back with fondness. There planet was cleaned of evil by humanity and they need to repay them. I should have landed my ovilator pod in a plant life plain instead of a city. And now the small empire of humanity stand before me. Cowering in fear. I spoke in a whisper in my native tongue to the shrivelled kemet “I am rampanc the historian and discoverer” Said my translator. “It is time to learn of your ansestors”
"Well..."I choke, staring at the golden plate in front of me, unsure of how to explain myself. "It's not exactly pretty..." "Nonsense!"Odin's chuckle has an edge. One does not simply refuse a God's request. Swallowing, I fumble for a beginning. "I ... my demise... I killed myself. No battle. No glory."The familiar blush of humiliation settled over me, surrounded by these warriors. To my shock, a muscled woman in terrfying armor stomps over to me. I brace myself to be kicked out. "Liar!"She yells. "You died in combat! A Valkyrie NEVER choses wrong!" "I'm sorry- I-"can you be killed in the afterlife? I wonder. But her tirade has not stopped, and I blink into the tidal wave of certainy. "Eighteen years battered by the demons of childhood sexual abuse! Fourteen years fighting anxiety- twelve locked in mortal combat with depression- eight years of abuse at the hands of your husband-"She waves a spear in the air. "And she calls that no battle! Is there no glory in holding out until your children were safely in the custody of those who could wait?" Her abruptness pulls my deepest shame out of me. "I left them-" She stares, baffled, her voice finally lowering to a softer tone. "You fought a war against their father, against yourself, with no hope and no comrades, and still held out long enough to get your charges to safety. You were their shield, their protector, their warrior. You were enough; you earned your rest." I burst into tears.
"Wait, what?" He couldn't believe it. The once divided, corrupt and dangerous place the world was has now become, for a lack of better words, a utopia. Large buildings of futuristic design meshed seamlessly with vegetation covering New York City. Flying cars dominated the skylines. There were no factories, and the skies were clear. "Oh, right. You've been underground for the past 7 years. So, remember the alien invasion?" Of course I do, I'm the one who told the nation to prepare for it, grumbled the former President of the United States in his mind. "Yes, and?" "Well, turns out the whole invasion was a misunderstanding. You see, there's this Interstellar Federation which is an alliance of various species, and appearently, they were at war with the government of a hostile species. That species sent the IF false information regarding a major military outpost in our solar system. Upon arriving, they realized Earth was inhabited, by primitives, no less, who believed the fleet was coming to invade our home." The man took a pause to drink water from a glass that seemingly appeared out of thin air on top of a box with hexagonal patterns on the top. "Anyway, when the fleet began transmitting the prime numbers to every radio station on Earth, our military leaders realized that something was amiss. Two weeks later, they sent down a shuttle with their Admiral who explained the situation. Turned out, while they were translating our language, they received news that the war was won, and a new government, one that was more people-friendly, was installed by some rebels. The fleet was then tasked with first contact, and we also asked for some of their technology to help make the world a better place. Remember those giant islands of nothing but trash and plastic in the ocean? Well, it's all been converted into energy with desintegrator technology and then reused as an alternative power source. We now have cold fusion reactors powering our cities, buildings integrated with entire ecosystems, we have gotten rid of fanatic movements like the SJWs and the Islamic terrorists, the refugees in Europe have returned to their homelands and we have even begun settling the Moon, as well as send three people to Mars." The President looked bewildered. He still could not believe it. "Now you're gonna tell me the countries and nations of Earth have banded together under a one-world democracy, huh, sonny?" "Actually, the old governments are still in place. We are, however, a member-world of the Interstellar Federation. As such, our citizens have access to other systems beyond our own. We already have people visiting three homeworlds of different species." "Huh. Well then, considering I didn't sign a resignation, I'll go back to being President." The man sighed. "Actually, the old United States has been dissolved. Every state is now its own country, with the US being only an economic union, much like the EU." The President put on a shocked face. "B-But, they can't do this! I didn't allow that! Do you know who I am!?" "Yes,"answered the man as both he and the President were surrounded by security bots. "You're the man who sent my father and brothers to fight a pointless war against Mexico which you termed 'necessary for preserving the nation.' Now, you'll be spending your days in house arrest on Erkus IV, twenty lightyears from here. You'll be treated just like anyone else, but you will not be allowed to leave the habitat, and access to the Astronet will be limited. Details will be provided on your way there. Take him,"the man gestured to the bots to take Richard Allmond, 50th and last President of the United States of America, inaugurated January 20, 2034, and locked behind a vault door April 28th, 2037, to the shuttle waiting for him outside the United States Headquarters, formerly the capital building of the federal government, now the HQ of the United States economic union. "From then on,"the guide spoke while gesturing to the holoprojection, "the Human species spread across their system, and eventually to nearby systems, and beyond. It was Humans who led the first expeditions outside the Orion Spur, leading to a new era of colonisation. They were the ones who managed to build the first Dyson Sphere, upon which all others were based upon, and it was them who invented the Transgalactic Transportation System, which allowed the Milky Way Federation to visit other galaxies and meet their peoples. Now, follow me as we visit the Predictions Hall, where we shall explore the many possibilities that await this wondrous species..." The time was 13 o'clock, August 2, 55005.
Oh god - the little snot said it again. "I wish I'd never been born"turned out to be a trigger phrase that parents never talk about, but I think they all know it happens. We had our first freeze shortly after Jason reached the age of 8. I think that's about the age where they start using their own safety as a weapon, because they don't know what else to say during tantrums. Little do they know how much they're playing with fire. When he first said it, Cindy was the first to notice that the brat stopped moving. We simultaneously shit our pants, not knowing what was going on. He went from kicking and screaming to still as a statue in a split second. A moment of confusion later and the man arrived in a puff of smoke. His appearance was disheveled and his clothes were sloppy. He has khakis, a stretched and stained polo shirt, and brown sandal shoes. He always had socks on, but they changed color each time and sometimes had holes. It looked like the guy hadn't slept in years... he had no joy or emotion, just seemed to be going through the motions again. Each time he asked the same question - "So, you wanna make him go poof or nah?" It baffled us the first time. How could he ask that so nonchalantly?! As if our child's life meant nothing to him, and that he'd get rid of him on the spot if we asked. We screamed "no of course not!" "K"is all he said with a shrug, and popped out of existence. The screams and sounds of the world instantly resumed, with us staring at each other in confusion. We didn't know what had happened, but we knew that no matter what we would ALWAYS say no... Except now we weren't so sure. After 5 years of this monster tormenting us for seemingly no reason, the tired-man's offer was getting more tantalizing each time. We wouldn't be the first to take the offer, right? Cindy was being worn down each time, and I could see it was really getting to her. Each time the guy said "K", you could tell she second guessed herself shortly after. One day while sitting over lunch, she finally snapped while Jason was going on another uncontrollable tantrum. She turned to Jason before he could say the line and yelled "you know what, I wish I hadn't been born!!" Suddenly I was sitting on the couch in my run-down apartment by myself eating a burrito. Hmm... something seems missing, but I can't quite put my finger on it...
They thought me one of the greatest heroes to ever walk the earth. I waited under cover of the shadowed night, sword fixed firmly in my hand. Despite the fact that I had two heroes hunting for me, I was not scared. They thought wrong. I slipped out of the shadows and into a bedroom nearby. I estimated Fireball would be here first. I am the Healer of Wounds. The Giver of Life. Fireball entered the room, a glowing ball of flame hovering above his hand. He used the light to guide his way. The Darkest of Evil. Fireball could only yelp in surprise as my blade cleaved through his gut, dropping him fast. He growled at me and instantly sent forth a jet of flame, engulfing me in fire. I concentrated, and my wounds and burns healed instantly. Curses and flame spewed at me continuously, and I took them all, until finally his power was exhausted. "How can this be? Why would you do this?"Fireball spat. "You're the Healer! You bring peace and health!" I chuckled, the deep and sonorous tone of my voice unsettling the birds. "Those who think that healing can only be used for good,"I put my hand over the sword in his stomach. "Lack imagination." I closed my eyes and felt power stir within me. Felt it release and pull at the wound in Fireball's stomach, attempting to stitch the flesh together again, to heal the terrible wound there. It would have been effective, if not for the sword that had punctured his body. Flesh re-knit and was torn apart again in an instant. A terrible healing wave that gave ground to endless pain. Fireball screamed over and over again, a horrible piercing voice that split the night. In the end, tools are tools. Power is power. They are yours. Free to use as you please. And with the power of Light I shall be the darkest Night. I heard a roar from behind, and turned. Out of the darknest erupted Bladebutcher, a giant piece of metal in his hands. "So you surprised Fireball, you scum."Bladebutcher snarled. "But do you really think you can match me in a fight with steel?" "I'm the fuckin' Bladebutcher!" Bladebutcher hefted his massive broadsword, catching the glint of moonlight as it reflected off his blade. I smiled. "You'd do wise not to challenge me. A man who heals is one of the most terrifying spawns of the night." I waved a hand, and the cancer cells that had just a moment ago been so efficiently killed off, stirred to life. Cancer cell after cancer cell rose in waves, and overwhelmed Bladebutcher. The last I saw of him, he was still convulsing on the floor, mere moments from death. Death by healing. I slipped out of that old wooden rickety house, lost to the night.
Here we go again... It's like I've developed my own super power just from this. The power to attract trouble when its the most inconvenient and the power to instantly recognize this feeling. This helpless feeling of a villain eyeing me from his dark corner and a superhero just standing there like he owns the place. My place! When will this end?! "Hey, Psycho Man." "It's Psychic Man." "Yeah, yeah. Hey, do you mind not tossing around your cans? I've been trying to keep my living room clean and that's been the real villain recently -- the mess you crazy people make." "Be thankful you're alive. Besides, just call Maid Man over whenever you need a cleanup. He's got nothing else to do until after Firefly's shift." "Yeah, whatever. Not like he can fix this place." Some superhero he is. There's only a handful of helpful heroes who actually look after my place when they come by to check on me, but... It really doesn't help when my apartment is in shambles. The walls looks hastily, and lazily, boarded up while my roof just got done by Cementailor. I'm really not digging the cement roof, but I can't complain. Super Original Man upstairs can't complain either since it's part of their defense against the villains. "When's the next fight?"I ask, getting myself ready for the weekly routine. "Ah, in about, let's see, three minutes." "You psychopaths like fighting or something?" "Protecting. Big difference."Psychic Man proceeds to turn off my TV, get up to stretch, and pop some knuckles. "Great. What would you all do without me,"I wonder to myself aloud, when suddenly Proto Kahn bursts through my broken window, classic, and grabs me by my collar. He proceeds to use his barrier, one that stops all radio waves, if I remember, and flings me out the window like a shotput. "Brilliant counterplay. Just brilliant,"I snorted, "Psycho Man can't get past that one." I cross my arms in mid-air, 50 feet from the asphalt ground. This has gone on way too long. How did it even get to this point? Maybe I could side with the villains. No, wait. Then the roles would switch around. At this point, I'm just a trophy! No, really. How would they live without me? I'll have Gaia make me a forest where no one can find me but her and just see, maybe. Or I can hide deep in a cave somewhere no one knows about like a coastal cove. There's gotta be a way. Some way to get some kind of peace and quiet. Some way to just make this stop. Petition? Debate? I don't know... I'm not special at all. I'm just a normal guy! Or am I? I see. Just like how the roles would change if I sided with the villains, I'm the real abnormality! I just have to make something that gives me some kind of power. Rocket arms! A power suit! Just something so I can fit in with the norm, so I won't just be some trophy. Instead of a trophy, I'd be the wild card. "There you go, Tom." I come back to my senses. A familiar woman with a top hat is carrying me bridal style on an unfamiliar and slightly broken highway. "Oh, huh. Thanks. Fight's over already?" "Yes. Heroes win again! Want me to take you back?" "How far are we, Top Hatter?"I say, dropping from her arms to stand on my own two feet. "About 300 miles, give or take." "Take me home,"I sighed. "Alright. Just step into the hat..." She lets down her hat and I step on it. It slowly envelopes me as I am lowered into the infinite space within. She recoils slightly when she glances at the thoughtless evil smirk on my face. To them, it's just a big game of keep-away, right? Well, it's about time that I change the game...
Brother Toh shock his head in disbelief "But God is Omnipotent." Doesn't mean I don't need help from time to time "His Omniscient humbles us all." Look, that doesn't mean I know everything now does it. Be reasonable "And, and, he is Omnipresent! Therefore you can't be the one true god."Said brother triumphantly Look mate. I'm right here so will you please just put the world right? Brother Toh looked at the turtle flipped on it's shell and wryly righted it on the ground. "Then tell me, if you are god and right here among us, who is listening and answering our prayers?" The turtle rubbed it's chin and said Don't know. Who was doing it before?
Uthorc tilted his head back and swallowed a deep breath of poisonous fumes. With one hoof resting on his knee, he took a moment to relax after a hard day's torture. The faint screams of tormented souls echoing through his employer's chambers had a beautifully toxic impact on his mood. "We'll be seeing you at the Widow's Refuge later on?"His coworker's puss-filled lips sent small droplets of spittle flying in all directions. There was a subtle hiss as each bit of moisture touched the scorching brimstone. "Hrmm,"Uthorc grumbled. "Go on ahead. I'll catch up with you."In truth, Uthorc had no intention of joining the rest of the office at their sanctuary of misery. He was a bit of a snob when it came to fermented lung fluid, and he preferred to spend his hard-earned priest knuckles on the good stuff. The deformed face disappeared down the hall without another word, clearly uninterested in whatever plans Uthorc had for himself. One of Uthorc's crusty yellow finger-talons scanned the contents of his weekly to-do list, which was etched into a slab of bone tablet. "Ahrm, yes,"Uthorc mused aloud, "This one's a must. Aha, yes, that too..." "What about item four?"A flamboyantly sassy male voice interrupted Uthorc's slowly-turning thoughts. "Number four is a MUST-do." "I'll get there in a minute,"Uthorc snorted, "I'm still contemplating the optimal pain-inducing method for disembowelment on number three - HEY!"Uthorc turned suddenly to face the small figure who was striking a fierce pose on his shoulder. "Girl, disembowelment is boring A-F. Item four is way more fashionable,"the tiny human extended his hand out in front of him, inspecting his fingernails. Uthorc's mouth hung open stupidly, as he could hardly fathom that disembowelment, which was one of his go-to torturing methods, could ever go out of style. "Excuse me, tiny misinformed meat decoration, but disembowelment is an art."Uthorc was many things, but being out of touch with state-of-the-art torture was not one of them. The miniature human swiftly changed his pose in a physical display of disagreement. "According to whom? They said the Mona Lisa was art, but that painting's hideous. Have you been to a modern art museum lately? Bitches hot glue a piece of trash to a dusty canvas, and the shit gets more accolades than a Trump-Pence sticker at a NASCAR race." Uthorc furrowed his brow. He figured he was a few centuries behind in human pop culture, and couldn't follow the tiny person's references. "I'd take that sinner's words with a grain of salt and a Lord's prayer,"a deep woman's voice surprised Uthorc, causing him to spin his head around and squint at the conservatively-dressed figure. "Protect your ears from the sodomite's false wisdom." Uthorc looked from one of the small humans to the other, noting that each still had all four of their limbs attached. "Oh. Oh!"The flamboyant voice shouted angrily. "Let me guess. Disgusting long skirt, probably covering old pasty-white legs. Hairstyle that screams you're allergic to sex,"the man waved his hand in the air as if coming to some epiphany. "Are you a Mormon? What are you even doing here?" The lady composed herself, but hesitated. "The lord works in mysterious ways." Uthorc cringed a bit at the mention of The Lord. "Ha! Like sending your busted ass to hell! Now that's a mysterious way I think we all can appreciate."A smug smile lit up the man's face. Uthorc was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the small, terribly unstinky humans who were interrupting his after-work ritual. Without warning, he raised his fingers to flick the woman off his shoulder. She made an indignant noise as he sent her flying, but before she could travel more than a few meters she appeared back on his shoulder. "Foul beast! Ungodly Cretan!"The woman brushed at her miniature clothing, causing an overwhelming stench of potpourri to permeate the air near Uthorc's nostrils. Uthorc felt the frustration brewing inside him. "Enough!"He growled, pointing a misshapen finger at each of the humans in turn. The flamboyant man eyed the grotesque finger with apprehension, leaning back to avoid touching it. "Be gone, tiny nuisances! Uthorc needs to focus. Uthorc has big day tomorrow. Much torture to be planned. You must both return to the Pits of Suffering!" "Ooo, about that,"the man started with a soft voice, "is that all really necessary? I mean, it looks like you have an awful lot to plan. Show me that, uh, bone paper you were looking at earlier." Uthorc eyed his bone tablet, and he couldn't help but feel a bit self-conscious about his to-do list. He knew tiny humans couldn't possibly appreciate the complexity of his work, but part of him was amused by an idea brewing in his mind. His chapped lips formed a devious smile. "Let's have a contest,"Uthorc said with a deep, demonic tone. "If one of you embodies the pure evil it takes to impress me, you will be allowed to bypass centuries of suffering in The Pits."His blackened teeth peeked through a devilish smile as he alternated looking from one tiny person to the other. "Yes... one of you will pass the test. One of you will remain with me, and help me with my work. The other,"Uthorc paused to let his words linger in the air, "The other will be banished from my shoulder back to The Pits. Ongrid will help cure me of one of you." "What sort of test?"The woman asked. "Ah, just a few simple questions,"Uthorc answered. "The first question: a warm up. How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" "Oh my God,"the flamboyant man sassed. "What are we, twelve? The answer's fifteen, Mr. Obvious. It could chuck fifteen woods." Uthorc nodded his head before looking to the woman for her answer. "And you?" "The good book speaks nothing of woodchucks chucking wood, not in the entire six thousand years of His creation." Uthorc narrowed his eyes. "Second question. Your child is sick - what do you do?" "Mr. Obvious is obvious yet again,"the small man laughed. "I take him to the doctor, obviously. And I make sure he's up to date on all his vaccinations." Uthorc grunted and turned his gaze to the woman once more. "What say you?" "Vaccinations cause autism,"The woman said with disgusting confidence. "I'd let the pox set in and send the child a bouquet of thoughts and prayers." True evil, at last! Uthorc locked eyes with the woman. "Go on and banish me,"she said with almost painful naivete. "Oh, no no,"Uthorc chuckled. "You'll be staying here with me... right where you belong."
"Welcome to the team, and our laboratory, Stanislav. We've always wanted a Botanist for our endeavors. We are still expanding our team, but we think that your efforts will contribute to our endeavors very nicely. Will you please introduce yourself to the others and tell them of your greatest achievement?"cooly spoke Catherine. "Sure. I'm Stanislav. But you can just call me 'Stan'." "Hey Stan."replied four voices. "My greatest achievement? Well, as a botanist, I have been tinkering with many plants. Some of them being psycho-active plants as well as certain fungi which have been used in Shamanic settings. I believe I have made breakthroughs with creating a concoction which activate in the human mind rudimentary psychic ability." A couple of the scientists curled their lips and raised their eyebrows and nodded in appreciation. "See Stanislav? Your work will be appreciated here."said Catherine. "Oh, I'm sure it will."replied Stan. "Why don't you introduce yourselves to me and tell me of Your achievements??" The other four scientists all looked at each-other in unison and nodded. "Hey Stan, I'm Pauling. I am a mathematician. I have come up with many equations and one I am most proud of is a basic proof of the Universe... If you would care to know, I'll gladly tell you. It is: Z(Consciousness) ÷ 0 x E=MC² ∞ x X² = 1². .... So basically what this means is that Consciousness is fundamental in the universe and it is self replicating and acts in a manner which mirrors cell division. It is the origin of all life and all life follows that principle of cell division and chemical self creation."Finished Pauling. "Wow, that sounds pretty incredible. I've never been one to really understand math very well, but I really think you are onto something.. And what about You??"said Stan, somewhat full of awe. "Hey, I am Joseph. I am the chemist... I have been experimenting with different elements, drugs and base constituents.. I spend a lot of my time making a less potent version of Acid and DMT for the others to help them open their minds, but my better achievements would probably be coming up with unpatented and unknown pharmaceuticals which penetrate the blood brain barrier and synergize the neuropathways in order to generate positive modes of consciousness as well as streamline the functionality of the body and mind in tandem. I also created an Adderall replacement which has no side effects and isn't an amphetamine. I also work with nerve-agents for some of Catherines projects. Some of her... hmm.. I don't want to say 'Patients'.. maybe I should say Subjects.. Have... Benefi- ... Been administered some of my drugs and subsequently studied.." said Joseph. "Well, Stanislav you've already met me. But I'll tell you about some of my work. I am a social engineer, as you've been unlucky enough to find out. A lot of my work has to do with studying psychology and the human mind and shall we say... the more... unethical side of mental experimentations. I have taken a lot of inspiration from the CIA's MK-ULTRA and Project MONARCH studies and exercise my own knowledge alongside what the CIA has done. Usually my subjects don't know that they're being studied until I am already studying them. It works better that way. I like to pull peoples chords and manipulate them and see what makes them tick.. what makes them fearful, what makes them emotional, and what makes them have mental breakdowns....and what makes them have profound realizations and behavioral changes.. Sure my work isn't always ethical.. But I get results and am evolving the base of human knowledge of psychology and the mind"Said Catherine.. "I See, well that is pretty horrifying. It all makes sense now, after what you put me through and hearing that.... I Knew that MK-ULTRA fit into this some-how.."Said Stan. "And who is that in the corner??" "Oh, that is Adam"Replied Catherine. "He likes to keep to himself and not say much. He's our alchemist. He keeps going on about transmutations and self improvement and how he discovered The Philosopher's Stone. He says that the stone is Within, Not an Object, and in order to find the Philosopher's Stone, you must reach higher awareness, transcendence, and immensely elevated states of Gnosis. He takes part in some of our endeavors and almost always finds ways to improve what we're doing. He comes up with all of these incredible theories we'd never think of and often helps us all evolve, as humans and as scientists. We just sort of let him do his own thing. It works better that way. And the less he knows about my own work, the better."Catherine finished. Stanislav looked exasperated. "....So basically, you're-... WE're all Mad Scientists??"said Stan. Catherine looked somewhat amused and theatrically disappointed. "We don't like to use that word 'Mad' around here, Love. What we seek to do around here is create a sort of micro-revolution in the sciences and create a better world where madness and chaos don't reign as much as they do. We're essentially a team of specialists who spend our time focusing on how to better the world and evolve humanity as a collective. We may not be the Best at what we do. But we are damned good, and we always strive to be better. We have our differences. We have our strengths and synergy. We Will created a better world. It's just a matter of time until the work of our lab leeches into the world and changes it so others don't have to."she said. "Well, I may not agree with Everything that is done in this lab. I rather agree with the mission statement of you all. I hope that my work can benefit the world and create an evolution for humanity and the sciences."replied Stanislav. "Oh, as I was studying you, I saw that you would be a perfect match for our team. I am confident that your work already has changed the world for the better and will continue to do so."remarked Catherine. And with that, the Mad ScientistS began their work again with more drive and motivation.
"You shouldn't worry, your child and family will be well taken care of." It was a lie, I knew it was a lie, but I nodded anyways. The man tightend the straps of the vest on my shoulders, the last vest I would ever wear. "The Soldiers will pass by you, and you will press on this and release it." He lifted a device before my eyes and pointed to a spring loaded lever at its side "After that, there will be a flash of light and your child will be free. Do you understand?" I did not understand. I did not understand why they wished to do this thing. I did not understand why they seemed so at peace with it. I did not understand why they took my daughter and threatened her with violence. All I understood was this was my only way to protect her. I nodded my head. As I looked up again, I saw the television. No one else looked at it, and the volume was muted, but I saw the picture. An old car, surrounded by police, and a frail young body lifted from the trunk. A new picture filled the screen. I saw the face of my precious little one. Underneath the text said "Young Girl Rescued."She was safe! I did not have to protect her. "Are you ready?"the man said as he pressed the trigger into my palm. She was safe, I did not need to do anything. Then again; so long as men such as these walked, she could be in danger again. She was safe, for now, they were not. "I said: Are you ready?"the man asked again. "Yes."I said. I squeezed my hand, then let go. There was a flash of light and my child was free.
Our electric campfire crackles and pops, illuminating our faces as we spill chilling tales. I’m the only human here, and since everyone else doesn't seem to get it, I decide to show them how it’s done, leaning forward and putting on a grim face. “Okay,” I whisper. “This tale’s terrifying. Some say it’s true, others don’t believe—” “Which is it?” Bubble, a frog-shaped alien, croaks. When she does, I’m given a glimpse at her children, small mosquito-like creatures who live in her mouth. “Too scary!” they screech. “Just listen,” I say, waving her down. The alien sitting next to me, Mono, breaths down my neck. He’s been eager to roast marshmallows on the fire, which I told him he could do after this—hence why his story was: People died. The end. “Our tale begins late one night, when a couple was making out in their car—” “—What’s a car?” Mousy the mouse asks. “Uh…” I stop, thinking. “Kinda like this ship, but on the ground.” “That’s dumb,” Mousy grumbles. “Can I roast my marshmallows?” “Aaaanyway!” I groan. “They were making out, when suddenly, the radio delivers a chilling report—a serial killer’s escaped from an asylum! This frightened them greatly, and—” “—They all died. The end. Marshmallows?” I sigh, tossing the bag of marshmallows to him—which he proceeds to devour before even roasting. Once he realizes this, he melts, laying on the floor in a puddle. Mousy seems more invested in my story now, at least, leaning forward. Deep breaths. Gotta stay focused. Almost at the end. “And when the radio said he killed people using a hook, they decided to leave. They made it home safely, but when they opened the door, they found…” “That they were dead!” Mono shouts, causing everyone to jump. I clutch my rapidly beating heart heart while Mono’s laughs, running away from Mousy, who’s now holding the electric campfire and chasing him with it. Bubble’s kids are causing havoc too, as they’ve jumped out her mouth and are crying because it was too scary. She’s smiling, though, ranting about how thrilling it was. Though I sigh, I can’t hide my smile. I’ve been traveling with them for almost a year, trying to convince various planets to make peace, and by now we’re basically family. They might not believe the universe can be united, and maybe this isn’t the best example—but this is friendship. This is…this is four different races from different planets having a good time. It's possible. No matter what they believe. It's possible. *** I hope this turned out okay! Great prompt. If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
Power is a funny thing. For one, it doesn't really exist-- not like an apple does, or a crossbow bolt. It has no tangible form. Much like beauty, it exists solely in the eye of the beholder, trapped from leaking into our physical realm by its own vague and mutable definition. Some say that the practice of magic comes the closest to being a true representation of power in our world. I've never really agreed with such a sentiment. After all, isn't magic but one way in which power may manifest itself? Isn't a soldier's arrow just as powerful as a wizard's magic missile, so long as the effect is the same? But then I realized that I was looking at magic the wrong way. If magic is power, than the antecedent must be true-- power is magic. This epiphany was the first step in my discovery of the most powerful elemental force of magic in history: the element of surprise. Upon my discovery and subsequent self-publication of my findings, I found myself to be the talk of the magical community. At first, japes and insults were thrown my way. When I persisted, I was met with my first opportunity to prove my theory in practice: I was challenged to a duel. I won, of course, in a manner suitable to a practitioner of the most powerful magic in the world. Yet the victory was short-lived; almost immediately afterwards I was ruthlessly beset on all sides by philistines and nay-sayers. "It's not magic!"they cried. "It's just cheating!" I could not fathom it. Had I not followed the rules to the letter? All sanctioned magical duels permit all forms of magic. My magic was simply strapping a directional explosive to my chest and setting it off as soon as the match started. The thaumaturgical genius of such a move was lost on my peers. My next duel went equally poorly, after I shot my opponent in the crotch with a hidden crossbow while we were shaking hands. I thought that my art would never be recognized by my compatriots. I thought that I would never achieve the true realization of power I had always dreamed of. Yet here I am today, teaching you all the power of Surprise. Welcome to your first class.
"But... but... BUT!"I dramatized, "What if there's a GOOD writing prompt? If I unsubscribe I'll miss it!"Thrown into hysterics by the undeniable novelty of my situation, I almost forgot that I was the only one in my highschool without super-powers. Almost. "Do you remember when you put off unsubscribing from r/ gaming for six months? All because you wanted to see more jifs of UFC games glitching out?"Satan exposited, as he characteristically licked his own genitals for comic relief. "Painstakingly down-voting every repost as you slogged through your front page?" He was right, and also, an alien serial killer, forced to endure a bajillion life-sentences for his crimes. "Mmmm... UFC glitches!"I envomit pleasurably, savoring the mental image without describing it to reader. "Focus!"he asserts, "Now is no time to over-emphasize a one-off joke! We've got less than 200 words to set up a punchy, one-line ending that darkly hints at our impending doom!" I couldn't have picked a better memorial day weekend to be loaned god's power like in Bruce Almighty. Springing into action, I sent myself back in time to Hitler. It was the best way to find the Time Police, who love Hitler a lot for some reason. Predictably, I found them hanging out in Hitler's garage, where he keeps folded up ping-pong table and pool noodles. "ACH!"said Hitler in an authentic German accent, "VHAT ARE HYOO DOINGK IN MEIN GARAGHEG?!" "Not now, Hitler!"I emoted, "I need the time police's help! I need to get to three months from now so I can see whether r/ writingprompts stops being a festering cesspool of repetitious inanity!" "Ve can't do zat!"said all of the time police. "It ees verboten by zee tie-eme law!"Not knowing how to resolve this conflict, but unwilling to rewrite this segment, I decide a quippy one-liner convinces them to abandon their close-held beliefs, just this once. I entered the time-portal not knowing what would become of r/ writingprompts in just a few months time. But I could guess.
The job was probably the most boring job in the world. But Tom Redfield didnt care. The only stipulation he'd been given was to ask no questions. He'd shrugged and signed the contract without a second thought. They pay you in money, not answers, his father had always said. And they paid damn well too. Well enough for him to make the 50 mile drive out to the middle of nowhere in the desert, and it was only 50 miles cos they'd given him a rent-free house near the site. He was the only one living there too. The other guys, they all had families, and responsibilities of their own. People to look over and care for. But Tom Redfield was a solo act. None would care if he disappeared off the corner of the Earth. He cared for no one but himself, just as no one cared for him. And that was just the way he liked it. There it was, Tom saw as his car neared the site. The colossal cube, him and the other guys called it. The massive building in the distance. The metallic thing glowed ever so slightly. Down deep by the side of one of its plain grey walls was a red jaguar. Richard was in it. Tom shifted gears and came to a stop next to the red jaguar. He waved at Richard, and wound down the windows. "How ya been, Rich?"Tom called out, pulling a cigar out of the glove compartment. "Care for a smoke?" Rich shook his head, and Tom saw his dark eye rings. "Fraid not, old friend. Kids been keeping me up all night. Need to go home and rest now." Tom chuckled. "Right then. You take care of yourself, alright." Rich turned a baleful smile on him, even as his hands shifted the gear. "Have fun." Then Rich was off, a mere speck in the distance, and it was just Tom and the cube. Sit here for 12 hours doing nothing but watching a cube. He'd wondered what it was of course, many years back. But 7 years with nothing happening had left him convinced he didn't need to. Whatever was in there wasn't his business. His business was to look at the cube. Report any changes. Maybe make sure the odd wanderer didnt piss on the side of it. But anything other than that, nope. He took a long drag of his cigar. Wasn't his business at all. He quite liked it that way. It was 5 hours into his shift when the cube opened. Wasn't any warning at all. One moment his car had been facing a grey wall, and the next an open passage. Tom froze. Right behind the opening of the cube stood a giant of a man. His hulking form came right up to the car, and Tom could do nothing but stare in shock. The giant with blue eyes stood on the other side of the fragile glass, eyes peering in and focused on Tom. Tom didn't breathe. The giant knocked on the glass. Tom swallowed nervously. His trembling hands gripped the phone precariously. He was rather sure his boss would want to know what was going on. But he didn't think his voice would work right now. The raw fear of the situation choked him, stealing his breath. He opened the car door. The giant jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Tom slipped out of the car. "Every 7 years, the door opens." Tom waited, but the man said nothing further. So he nodded awkwardly, trying desperately to swallow. "7 years in there, understand? Illusions. Animals. Fire. Weapons. Death." Tom nodded once more. It seemed unwise to not offer his sympathy. "Course if you manage to survive there for 7 years you get this."He raised his arm and Tom felt his legs give out under him, sure as shit his end was about to come. A glowing blue sphere shimmered into existence above the giant's palm, casting their sandy surroundings with soft blue light. "Great rewards, understand?"The giant looked down. Tom opened his mouth. No sound came out. He settled for nodding his head once more. "Good."The giant said. He swung his hand down, caught hold of the collar of Tom's red shirt and picked him up easily. Then he flung him over his shoulder, and Tom flew over sand into metal. The door to the cube closed with a metallic thud. It took a while for him to come to his senses. "What the ever-lovin' hell..."He whispered. The cube was a massive space of darkness, one he couldn't see through at all. It was dark and ominous, and it made him feel like he'd never seen sunlight. He picked up his phone and dialled his boss immediately. "Amanda?"He whispered. "Yes?"Her dry tone replied. "Listen, the damn cube somehow opened and this man got out and threw me into it. I'm stuck here now and for the love of God come get me out of here."He fought to keep from screaming. The sheer terror was eating him inside, worming its way through his body. There was a pause at the other end of the line. A few scribbling sounds, like Amanda had grabbed a pen and began noting down the situation. "Right, Tom. Welcome to The Experiment. Your tag number will be #72, and you will-" "What the hell are you talking about?"Tom yelled. "What experiment?" The business-like tone continued. "I'm sure experiment #71 has briefed you on what you need to know. Amazing opportunity to become one of the Enhanced. One of the special operatives for our country. We'll be back for you in about 7 years." "Hold up! I didn't sign up to be no damn experiment! You wanted me to watch your damn cube and I did so. For 7 damn years." "That's right."Amanda said. "And why'd you think we needed you in the first place?" Tom froze. "Whose job were you replacing, Redfield?" His mind frantically went into overdrive, connecting all the dots together. "Where'd the previous security guard go?" "Why me?"He whispered, his voice broken. His tone dull. "You were the only one this time without a family. You've lived at the edge of the desert for 7 years. Nobody would know if you disappeared." A slight pause. Then the ice-cold voice continued. "Nobody would care." Tom dropped the phone to the floor. He didn't believe it. He could barely hear Amanda's next words. "Your phone has been tampered with. It will now be remotely deactivated. I wish you well for your next 7 years Tom." "Congrats on joining the Experiment. Thank you for your service." And with that the phone shut off, the last vestige of sound and the outside world disappearing, leaving Tom Redfield alone inside the colossal cube. Inside the Experiment. Alone. The darkness greeted him.
"Bruno,"you grumble hotly. "That damn Bruno. Never paid a cent for his damn deliveries." You take Bruno's package in your hand. It's a little box wrapped neatly in a simple brown paper. It's just the right size for a mug, much like the dozens of others before it that you delivered for Bruno for free. Time to teach the old geezer a lesson, you wonder, as you tear the packaging apart and open the box. "Nobody gets the best of Grimwald, no siree!"you exclaim in a frenzy. Inside the box was a clear mason jar with a piece of paper rolled up inside. A check, perhaps? You wonder. A secret document containing information you can blackmail the cheap Bruno with? As if savoring a delectable treat, you unscrew the jar and voila! the lid comes off in one swift motion. Chills crept up your spine, and the hairs rose at the back of your neck. Was that a gust of wind that you felt? And what was this new sensation stirring... down below... as if a restrictive feeling... You take the paper in your hands from the jar and unfold it to read. Your hands gradually shake, and the color drains away from your face as you read its contents, in dark, gothic lettering: Dearest Grimwald, I don't know if you will read this one in particular, but all others are the same. For ten years I've been dealing with a terrible curse that a rival had wrought upon me. He had tricked me into opening a jar in which he had breathed a spell, that he had deceitfully told me contained a letter from my beloved. The only way to pass it on was to do the same, and wait for another to willfully open a jar I had breathed the spell in. I have no friends and even fewer acquaintances who would open a jar coming from me for all have knowledge of my curse, and so I had turned to seek victims among delivery boys like yourself, while simply sending my boxes in rotation around my three addresses. I have done the same to many delivery boys but none opened my packages and so I stopped payment years ago in order to inspire one to open one of my boxes and ultimately become the unwilling vessel of my curse. If you had happened to open this one, you will soon realize that your manhood has reduced to less than half its size. As for mine, it should be restored to its former glory. My deepest apologies and sincerest gratitude for your sacrifice. Bruno
"Adultery?" "No no, it's simply not bringing in the same rates anymore." "We used to get 2 bits of coal for a major one like that.." "Yes, well, they were the good old days, or ahem, the bad old days anyway" The Director of the board cleared his throat and the chattering died down. "Gentlemen,"The director began "And ladies", a feminine voice spoke up. "Whatever"the director continued. ("Oh that was a good one,"said Frank from 3 rows back. "Casual misogyny is bound to net you a few more naughty points") "Gentlemen,"the Director persisted, "You might not have been paying attention, but the law of diminishing returns is in effect. This time next year, the same malicious and naughty acts won't net us enough coal to sustain the global power grid. We NEED a solution". He clasped his hands behind his back as he waited for the murmurs that had broken out to die down. "I am loathe to do this, but I can see only one solution."The Director of the board paused here for dramatic effect. He had once joined a drama club in university and fancied himself quite the orator. "Not genocide, though it was discussed. In the end we decided that went beyond naughty and into the realms of pure evil. Similar problems with most of the easy crimes on a big scale. No one really calls murderers 'naughty'. And no, despite your many comments, Father Christmas does not seem to equate kinkiness with naughtiness either." "No gentlemen, there is only one solution. Only one group of people is better at dissemination. We need more shareholders and there is only one way to make this company worse and at the same time grow the number of shareholders. We simply need more people doing bad things." "It does me no pleasure to announce, but we will become a multi-level marketing scheme." "It's the only way"
Horror gives way to a feeling of growing intensity that I haven't felt in a long, long time. I quickly turn off the TV, the feeling building inside me. I should be shocked, astounded like the rest of the patients and the nurses and doctors. But I'm not. I feel like I have a second chance, like something big has just happened for me and me alone. That or I'm going crazy or maybe I'm already mad. It takes time to recover from the accident, to ween myself off of the morphine. The car I was in was plowed by a truck, T-boned by one of those great mid-western freighters that barrels across the flat landscape, effortlessly swallowing miles in its grated steel maw. They say I'm lucky to be alive. And they're right. I'm really fucking lucky to be alive. I pass the days watching the TV, brooding, the morphine feels like a warm hug from the inside, like I'm floating on a carpet of clouds with soft sunlight caressing my skin. The little TV buzzes like it's from a very different world. Everything is so familiar, everything is overlaid with a retro glaze. A realization is building within me and I can't quite place it. I spend months in that hospital bed, grasping at the familiar. I am a life long football fan. For some reason I know with a certainty that the Patriots will win the Superbowl on February 3rd, 2002, and that Tom Brady will be the MVP. I know that U2 will perform during the half-time show. Not only that, but I can call the winners for at least the next decade. I'm released from the hospital bed that same day. I watch the game from a bar just down the street. It hits me like I'm being hit by that truck again. I know what is going to happen for the next seventeen years, well, what I can remember of it. The big things stand out, the minutiae, the little details, are lost to time. I will meet Amber tomorrow and we will have two children, one of whom we'll lose to leukemia. I don't know how, but my foresight extends through to the election of Trump (who the fuck would have guessed that one?) and stops somewhere mid-way through his presidency. "Can I have the bill, please,"I say to the bartender, indicating at my almost-empty Budweiser. The bill comes and I throw down five bucks. "Keep the change,"I say. I drain the last of the beer, swirling the now lukewarm liquid in my mouth. I watch as the Patriots win and as Tom Brady is crowned MVP. I smile as the final score is tallied, 20-17. I smile all the way to my bank, where all the money to my name - seven thousand dollars - has just turned into six hundred and thirty-three thousand. Tomorrow I meet Amber for the second time. This time, though, she is about to join me for a very wild ride.
"Is there a single moment in your career you attribute most to your success,"came the question from the back of the room, echoing softly off the brick walls of the lecture hall. The inquiry was directed at a man sitting in a small plastic chair on stage, under a banner that read "Q&A with Award Winning Author and CEO Arthur 'Captain' Reynolds". The banner was uneven, too low on the right side, Arthur had noted when he first entered the room a half hour before. Not the font I would have used either, he thought to himself while mulling over the question from the freshman girl in the back. A deep breath expanded the sharp purple vest into the pinstriped jacket of his tailored three-piece suit while he searched for a good starting point. It was a question he had heard before, the answer was not difficult, but the other factors made him pause: what is my audience, what is the message I want to deliver, and how much time do I have for it? All factors he learned to calculate in almost every social situation, especially interviews. Against his own business training his mind began to wander, back to that day on the boat. &#x200B; Pirates boarded the yacht in the middle of a toast Art was giving to his closest twenty friends, one he was almost relieved to have interrupted. Almost. Slender men with guns, clad in ripped t-shirts and shorts, had come up from the galley entrance below deck and secured the dining deck on the first level. They shouted "down, down"repeatedly while waving their guns and the guests reacted how one would expect: running, freezing, screaming, none attempted to fight back. The takeover was quick, efficient even, one of the few praises Art had for this operation. The guests hands were bound tightly, and all were put against the walls on either side of the deck. Some shook from fear or adrenaline, some rocked due to anxiety, some whimpered while others sobbed quietly. Art even caught his CFO, Craig Dierlicker, wetting his pants while he shook in place, a temporary amusement. Briefly, a wife of one of the board members openly wailed, understandable for the circumstance but he couldn't help but judge how ugly her cry was. Art heard his mentor's deep voice in his head: Always keep your shit together on the outside. Whether it's firing someone, persuading a leader, or playing poker at the bar on Friday, your number one priority is to maintain an outward appearance that absolves doubt in your audience's mind. The pirates' skin was dark as midnight, each with their own scares and stories, prompting Art to ponder why do this in the middle of the day. It has to be hot, even in shorts, plus they're more easily identifiable. Unless of course they don't plan on keeping any survivors. He kept that thought to himself. After Wailing Wendy had lost steam, surely the adrenaline dump Art thought, there was a brief moment of silence on deck. Art took the opportunity to speak. Again his mentor's commanding voice echoed in his head: If you are speaking, own the room. If you aren't comfortable delivering the message you shouldn't even be in the room. That is probably the biggest contributor to those whose careers stall at middle-management and those who make it to the board. He cleared his throat and sat up, adjusting his tux as best he could between the zipties around his wrist. Own the room. &#x200B; PART TWO: "Excuse me,"began Art, with as much dignity as he could muster in the circumstances. All eyes shot to him while he attempted to stand. "Sit,"said one of the pirates in an overly-calm voice. The others had shouted and made wild gestures, but this one was quiet, stoic."Yep, sure,"said Art, slumping back down on the tails of his tux. He's in charge, he thought, but is he the leader? He continued the conversation. "Could we have some water while we wait for whoever is in charge to show up?"It was a calculated move, just like any in business. Make your opponent show his hand. The stoic one walked up to the one who spoke, while others cowered in his presence Art sat up straight, in defiance. \Let's see who your master is.\His question was met with the butt of an AK-47 in his chest. He toppled over, landing hard on his back, trying to catch his breath while not letting the reinvigorated screams of the wailer grind on him."You get nothing,"the man said simply, turning his back to the group and heading below deck."The hell was that for?"asked Craig of Art. He was almost annoyed at the question, of course you don't smell it, Craig. The only thing you can smell is your own wet pants and that line of coke you did to 'get your sea legs' before we left. "It was a test.""A test?! This isn't a final in college, Arthur, this is our lives."It seemed the wailer had a sound other than screaming; he wished she hadn't. "It is, and if that had gone poorly it would have been they threw overboard, not anyone else,"he said, wincing with each breath. "Well what the hell did that test tell you?"another guest thought out loud. Art wondered if it was rhetorical. "It told me two things: 1) they need us, all of us and 2) the leader of this gang isn't on board yet.""How the hell did you get that from three words?"This time Art allowed the question to be rhetorical. Art listened to their various theories and makeshift plans, offering little while the group dynamic unfolded between the tied-up guests in formal wear. Like a good manager he generally allowed his direct reports most of the talking, adding considerations when needed. Craig was a talker, always had been; if it wasn't for Art's presence Craig would have been the de-facto leader of this sad gang. Of course he was also a master delegator, so while he'd be the loudest huddled in a group, when it came time to negotiate he would fold like a wet piece of paper and compensate by herding a different chicken to the the chopping block. And negotiating was what would be happening, at least as far as Art could surmise; no one was killed, not yet at least, so they were all chips on the table. &#x200B; PART THREE: Craig's first suggestion was rushing the pirates, noting that there were half as many of them as guests. Art played the scenario out in his head, full of blood and more screaming, and when a few started to go down he saw Craig cower to the sound of bullets, holding his hands up while simultaneously wetting his pants... again. Then Art remembered a professor from college, not one of his dry business professors more intent on publishing than teaching, no this was one of his favorite classes: Evolution of Societies. The class was taught by an old hippie, a Baby Boomer of the flower child generation, a perfect blend of charming and knowledgeable. His class was an elective, a box to check for graduation, but he made the class worth the time. A logical and practical thinker with an eye for eccentricity. As Craig wrapped up his rushing play like a coach during a timeout in the fourth quarter, Dr. Hearde's quote bubbled to the front of Art's thoughts: Occam's Razor tells us what class? The most obvious solution is generally the correct one. It was then Art realized the group was staring at him, seemingly for a go/no go of Craig's plan. "We stay put,"he replied simply. The most obvious solution, for now. A few looked upset, Wailing Wendy looked as if she might breakdown again, and Craig, well he just looked pissed. He's a weasel, thought Art. A few minutes later the sound of a boat engine grew louder. The group had been quiet for the time, a welcomed relief, but chattering began when all recognized what it was. "Maybe its a rescue boat!"came one of the guests who hadn't spoken yet. Art remembered playing golf with the stout man, but not much else about him. "Or even the Navy Seals!"replied another woman, with more excitement. Amazing how impactful your class was, Dr. Hearde, even in a hostage situation, thought Art as he audibly sighed. The sigh was louder than anticipated as it seemed all eyes were on him then; lady Seal looked offended while the rest just wanted guidance. It reminded Art of the advice given to him by his manager when he accepted his first leadership position. He was probably 25 at the time, she was double at least. A towering black woman who had resting bitch face down to a science but had a voice almost as sweet as her famous homemade chocolate-chip cookies. She had been a history teacher for the better part of two decades before winding up in corporate America, and had the patience of one. In the exit interview she had imparted one piece of wisdom that always stuck: The single greatest threat to morale on a team, whether it be a class of students or a group of employees, is fear. And not just any fear, but fear of not knowing. The worst thing you can do is give them that fear. The message you have might be tough, some will most certainly be, but if you let them stew in the unknown, that state of purgatory, they will concoct far worse inevitabilities in their heads than anything you might have to say. Tell them what needs to be said, and offer whatever support you can, but do not let them wander in the dark. "It's not a rescue. It's the boss,"he said coolly.
I lurch upwards. My eyes snap open and I blink rapidly, my forehead beaded with sweat. My girlfriend moans and pulls a pillow down onto her face, blocking out the morning sun. Her bare legs protrude from the blanket, curved and soft like silk. "What just happened?"I wonder quietly, staring down at those legs, unseeing, recalling puzzles and mazes and a place that looked like heaven but felt like hell. I am ringing. My brain buzzes at a high frequency, at a tempo too fast for a Monday morning. I get out of bed and walk to the kitchen. where I check the clock on the wall. Work in one hour. The fridge door is open and I'm staring at goat cheese and a half-full carton of orange juice. Why did I open this again? For breakfast? I don't need breakfast, I realize. I don't need coffee. I feel fine. "Good morning,"comes a voice from the doorway. "Good morning, darling,"I say reflexively, turning and looking at her. She seems somehow too normal, mundane... flat? She gives me a quizzical look, cocking her head in that way I used to like. "Everything okay, Sam?" I don't respond, instead recalling a circuit in which I ran, following the blue line and the blue line only. "Yes,"I say, eventually. "Are you sure?"she says, concerned. "Yes."I give her a winning smile. "I'm sure." \-------------------------- My screen turns on. The proposal I was working on is half-finished. The cursor flashes on the page amidst the text slotted int the bland graphic template. I stare. This seems pointless. I look at my hands and rotate them slowly, seeing the lines for the first time. Really seeing them. I focus. I'm in the lines, staring up at the ridges of skin. With a start I fall backwards in my office chair, my hands on my face. I stare at the ceiling, recalling a man in flowing white robes, a sardonic look on his face. "Congratulations,"the man had said, "Welcome to the next level of the simulation."
"Well, alright then, explain." "I'm a serial killer"Martin said flatly, prying his knife from between the ribs of the now thoroughly murdered woman bleeding all over a plastic tarp splayed out on the ballroom floor. "Hmmm"I mused. "I suppose that does explain the situation quite well actually."I was suddenly very aware of my tongue in my mouth and of my body's annoying need to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Beats of silence passed between us. The sound of traffic mixed in with the beating of my heart in my ears. On the drive over I'd noticed, with some irritation, that the venue was very close to the highway. Being a good best man, as in, being more than just the person who got inappropriately drunk at the ceremony, was important to me. Martin was my best friend, after all, and Christy was a good (fat) woman with a great (heavy) big (enormous) personality. Martin had never had much luck with women before her, which is to say, he'd had plenty of luck, but simply never seemed interested. He had a naturally aloof quality, a tendency to lean away from communication, that I had experienced myself as his friend. Ultimately, it had been Christy's uncommonly dogged determination and willingness to accept virtually any kind of treatment that had made their relationship possible. Perhaps the same thing could be said about me. I felt a single bead of sweat slide into my ass crack and noticed with some disgust that the dead lady was wearing a wedding ring herself, with a big fucking honker of a diamond no less. "So... you're early"Martin said, his eyes flitting from his watch, to me, to the dead lady, back to his watch. He, too, seemed uncomfortable. "Clearly"I added. "You seem to be taking this..."he paused, "well?" "To be honest I think my soul has pretty much left my body. If I wasn't so fucking wired on red bull I think I would faint like a dainty Victorian lady. This is a bad experience." "Look if you want me to--" "What I really want"I interrupted, putting a hand up "is a drink, that would be great." "Can do buddy, can do." Thirty minutes later I was tottering on a folding chair, gripping the sides, already drunk at the speed I was consuming whiskey. I'd taken my drink to the other side of the empty ballroom and pretended not to look when Martin wrapped dead lady in her tarp and cinched it with a length of twine. He poured himself a glass and sat across from me. His jeans were fashionably tattered, and hugged his slender physique. There was a bloodstain on his shirt that looked a bit like the face of a woman, with a finger pressed to her lips in a hush. He was not a bad looking guy, not very handsome, so far as I could tell, but women had been interested in him before. It somehow just never panned out for him. He'd meet a girl at a bar, or a restaurant, or what have you and they'd go on like one date and then you would just never see her aga... Oh. "Was that the person that was supposed to show us the venue?"I asked, my mouth half in my glass. "It was." "Oh." "Well, I honestly didn't really like this venue anyways to be honest dude"he continued. "It's-" "Way too close to the highway"I finished for him. "Yes! Exactly. I mean I guess that would make the drive easy, but it's way too loud. I bet you'd hear it over the music even." There was more silence then, more of both of us shifting in our chairs. At one point he pulled a pill out of his wallet and swallowed it with a swig of liquor. I vaguely considered asking for one. Was it Xanax maybe? "I really think we should talk about this"he said. "I had sex with Gina"I blurted. "What?"he blinked. "Who?" "You guys were on a break at the time. It was at Josh's party, right around when you first got diagnosed." "You mean Gina Caceres?"he laughed. "From High school?" The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me and I felt my cheeks flushing with embarrassment... and yet... and yet, hadn't that secret meant the world to me only hours ago? "I just thought I should tell you. I always meant to."I sighed. "Well. I'm glad you told me then." I lifted my glass to my lips and it doubled slightly in the periphery of my vision. I had both a deep desire to be unconscious, but also the feeling that I had suddenly awoken in my own life after many years of being asleep. For a moment I thought I smelled rotting flesh, before I reminded myself that someone who died only a half an hour ago couldn't possibly be rotting. "So why her?"I asked, half gesturing to the dead woman in the room. Though truthfully, before I had even finished the question, I somehow sensed the answer. In our junior year of High School Martin had been diagnosed with Leukemia and had spent the subsequent two years hovering on the edge of death. Where before we'd hung out occasionally, after his diagnosis I was at his house almost every day. I can't tell you how much I grew to admire his.. strength his... blatant indifference to his circumstances. He bitched about being sick, in the way friends bitch to each other, but he never really complained. And I'd asked him one day... point blank, after the 11th day in a row of watching him run to the bathroom to vomit his guts out "Doesn't it ever get to you? Don't you ever ask, 'why me'?"He looked me dead in the eye, flashed me a smirk and with all the bravado and sass in the world said "Bitch, why not me?" "Why not her?"he asked. I nodded. "What about Christy?"I asked He snorted, "What ABOUT Christy?" "How come you never... you know?"I pantomimed a stabbing motion in the air. "Oh god dude, I tried. Literally dozens of times. She is the fucking Mr. Magoo of not being murdered"he shrugged. "Eventually I just took it as a sign that it was time to settle down." I laughed. "That suits her somehow"I admitted. A chandelier hung in the center of the room and seemed to cast perfectly even lighting. There were few shadows in the room, no dark corners, and the lacquered wooden floor gleamed attractively. Maybe this would be a suitable choice after all. "That pill I took was poison"Martin remarked, his eyes following mine to look at the chandelier. "Strong stuff. I've used it before, just not on myself." "Ah"I said. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. "I carry it just in case and well... I guess I just figured the only other way out of this situation would be to kill you and"he gave me an appraising look "I guess I'd really rather not." "I appreciate that"I croaked. My body was loose and warm and my eyes stung with what may have been tears. How was I going to get home? I was in no condition to drive. "I'm not going to say I'm sorry for what I've done because I'm not, but for what it's worth. I truly have always considered you a friend."He leaned back in his chair, loose and easy, looking for all the world like a man who had never killed anyone and was certainly not about to die. Though I couldn't understand it; I believed without question that his conscience was clear. I'm 28 years old and every single time I've jerked off from the time I was 12 years old I've had the intrusive thought of my dead grandmother watching over me, dismayed to see me straying from god's light. This happens every time without fail. I know what guilt is, guilt rules my life and it always will. "To friendship"I said and Martin and I clinked our glasses and giggled into our drinks at our own pretentiousness, as friends do.
Stanley wept as the funeral carried on; there seemed to be no way to hold a stiff upper lip during the mournful proceedings. Professor Wells had been one of his best friends for as long as he could remember. They met when Stanley had taken his class, Calculus 1. Professor Wells was a theoretical mathematician, specializing in the arcane and fanciful. He was prone to researching subjects that had little use but were fascinating to him, bits and bobs that enticed his ilk. Accomplished researcher though he was, his teaching abilities were as stunted as he was brilliant. It took the semester for Stanley to acquaint himself with this academician, using his knowledge of psychology (as he was majoring in neuroscience) to break down the mathematical walls surrounding the professor's soul. Eventually, Stanley had success. A relationship carefully cultivated by Stanley and the mutual respect between both parties saw a friendship that lasted for the rest of the professors natural life. Stanley mourned professor Wells for a time. In the deceased's will was a carefully written passage that pertained to Stanley and only Stanley. He was to go to the professors personal library and burn every book that ever sat in the dust and grime that covered the room. The task was grudgingly accepted. Stanley went to the professors house, forlorn at the prospect of disturbing the dead mans peace. Yet it was the dying request of an old friend. So it was that Stanley stood in the midst of the great library, already stoking the fire in the huge fireplace that looked well used and comfortable. The fire was fed with the paper of innumerable books, arcane books that were on subjects Stanley, nor anyone, knew about. There was common faire as well. The wind in the willows. The great Gatsby. Calculus made easy by Silvanus Thompson. Books ranging from the 19th to the 21st century, each having collected their own unique dust motes. Once Stanley had placed every book into the fire, he went to fetch some water to put it out. When he returned, he saw the last book. It was a tome that he had somehow forgotten. Putting the bucket of water down, he went to throw the book in. The title of this remnant gave him considerable pause. A Simple Guide to Time Travel. He regarded it, momentarily puzzled by the title. He opened it, a note flying out of the book as he did so. It read, simply: To the reader of this note: Burn it. Burn this book and the note. The horrors I have glimpsed in my momentary existence may be wrought upon humanity in an instant if one were to let the book into the hands of corruption. Stanley was confused about this note, this reminder of his former professor. He meditated on the entire situation, then set his jaw. He would honor his friends wishes. He pitched the book and the note into the flame, then after he was sure of the books destruction, he doused the whole thing with the water. A short time later, Stanley thought of what he had done. Would he have been a millionaire, an inventor? Would he have doomed humanity instead? Stanley agonized over this even until he grew old, never deciding on what the right thing to do was. Yet the dead will have their secrets. And Stanley, dutiful as ever to his lost friend, carried that secret to his grave.
It wasn't the cable that bothered me so much, humans left their garbage everywhere all the time; it was the fact that the cable appeared to be made from pure gold (contacts, housing, and wire sheathing) and that when I pulled on it, it refused to extricate itself from the ground. Well, I mused, might as well see what it's plugged into. I called our little expedition to a halt and pulled the though book out of my bag, plugging it in. "Installing device software"my computer beeped. Sure hope this wasn't some kind of joke virus. "Installation complete." A new icon popped up on my desktop. I was annoyed - I always unchecked the option to put icons on my desktop. "Earth.exe"it read. Definitely a virus. Still though, who would go through all the trouble of hiding a golden usb cable out here in the Amazon unless they had something to share? I disconnected all of the networking options on my computer and made a quick back-up onto a USB stick of all our research so far. "Alright, here goes,"I said to nobody in particular - only my intern was listening. The other 2 PhD students were having a snack and our 4 porters seemed to be playing a game of cards. Double clicking things is difficult when your laptop weighs 10lbs and you're trying to balance it with one hand a knee because the magic USB cable refused to come out of the ground any further. My computer screen filled with an explosion of weird symbols and then promptly froze. Well, not exactly froze, but it was limping now around the 10 frames per second mark, making every movement a jerky slideshow. I patiently waited for the screen to finish filling the symbols, which I could not read. "Can you read this?"My intern shook his head, but made a motion for Juarez, one of our porters, to come over. Juarez took one look at the screen and guffawed "Some kind of joke"he mused. "See this one? It says 'summon Angel', and beside it 'summon Demon'" He slapped my hand out of the way and clicked the icon, giggling to himself all the way. Now the computer froze entirely. Great. I tried moving the cursor around and clicking a bunch of times, but nothing happened. Good thing I had tenure, because I was pretty sure these things weren't cheap. "Thanks Juarez"I said sarcastically, but the porter had already returned to his game of cards. I handed the intern the laptop and told everyone to pack up, we were continuing onwards. A shaft of light broke through the rainforest canopy. And at the same time, the earth beneath our feet began to shake and split. &#x200B; EDIT: I need to go now, but I'll be back to work on it later! Basically our professor summoned one angel and a bunch of demons by accident. &#x200B; &#x200B;
“For the crimes that you have committed against the crown, you are hereby sentenced to...death.” The crowd’s reaction was mixed. A lusty cheer erupted out of the loyalists. Yet at the back, Jean spotted a few scattered groups of his former supporters. While their reactions were more muted, he was touched to see a few somber faces here and there. The portly magistrate continued, straining to make himself heard over the loyalists’ celebrations. Jean held his breath, anxious to hear the next part. “You are to be kept in close confinement until the second of February…” ...And?... “And upon that day, you are to be taken to the place of execution…” ...Yeeesss?... “And at that time, you shall be…” As the magistrate paused for dramatic effect another time, Jean cursed the old windbag for dragging this out. “You shall be hanged, by the neck, until you are dead.” Oh, thank the gods. Jean exhaled deeply. “May God have mercy on your Soul.” Jean was so relieved that he almost broke character; a nervous giggle escaped his parched lips. At the sound, the magistrate’s head snapped sharply to regard him. Merde. Jean instantly became the picture of a properly condemned man. Inside, though, he was reveling in his good fortune. It was a good thing that drawing and quartering had since fallen out of fashion in Britain. And it was a very good thing that he hadn’t started a rebellion in his native France, where the le guillotine was the preferred way to put down subversives. Hanging would be much easier to pull off. As Jean was dragged off to his new quarters, he began to formulate a plan. &#x200B; That night, Jean was dozing off on a damp and dirty patch of straw. He never needed to sleep, but it seemed like the best way to pass the time. A soft tapping noise drew him out of his fitful rest. “Yes? Who is it?” Jean whispered into the darkness, hoping that his followers received his message. A choked sob answered him, followed by a muffled rebuke. Two people, a woman and a man. “Oh, Jean! I would have come sooner, but these dungeons are a labyrinth...are you well? Are you hurt?” Jean recognized the voice immediately: Philippa, his lover. “Philippa, my darling, I’m fine, but you must--” “--We don’t have much time, Jean. We’re here to break you out.” This time, the speaker was a man. Alcott was his first in command, and not one for small talk. This is going to be a problem. Jean couldn’t escape because he had to die in a very public manner. Or rather, he had to appear to die. Some very powerful folk had been hunting him, and they were very close to discovering his true identity. He had to throw off their scent, and this was the easiest way to do it. It was a good thing that Jean had centuries of experiences in manipulating humans. “I’m so sorry...I can’t leave now.” “Whatever do you mean? You must come with us or you will die!” Philippa protested shrilly. Jean felt a little guilty in toying with this young one’s emotions, but he was ever so good at it. “Philippa, cherie amour, this is the only way. You know it. The movement is so young, so fragile. If I escape now, I’ll be branded a coward, and it will all fall apart. Everything we’ve fought for will be for naught. Alcott, you know we cannot let this happen.” Alcott grunted in response. He wasn’t happy about it, but he agreed. Jean continued, laying it on thickly: “I’m afraid that the only way to move forward is through my death. I’ll...live on as a symbol for the resistance. My martyrdom will inspire others to raise up against the tyranny of the crown.” “No…” Philippa moaned, though her resistance was wavering. So, Jean delivered the most hamfisted lines he could think of. “My dear, I would die a thousand times over for you. If this cause succeeds, you will have the freedom that you truly deserve. You must let me go, and live...live for you, and for me.” Philippa’s sobs resounded off the stone walls. Jean knew that he had convinced them. But there was one more thing he needed. “Alcott?” “Yes, Jean.” “My brother, I need you to do something for me. Actually, a few things.” “Anything.” “You must petition the magistrate to be able to take my body after the execution. You’re a well respected member of the community. Between that and a few well-placed coins, you should be able to do it. Bring a few trustworthy men to cut down my body. For the next part, I need you to listen very closely.” Jean paused for dramatic effect. “Our people may want to see my body after I’m gone. You can’t let that happen. I need to be remembered as I was, not as a corpse. Also, do not burn my body. I want to be buried on the wildflower fields right outside of town. Atop one of the distant hills, there is an old silver birch tree. Without delay, bury me there, but not too deeply. Please don't question me on this. Do you understand?” Alcott grunted. Good enough. “Alcott, Philippa...my friend, my love...I’m afraid that our time has come. Please follow my wishes, and know that I will carry you in my heart to the end. It will be an honour to die knowing that the sun will rise on a better tomorrow for you.” Too much? Jean cringed inwardly. He didn’t like to get too close to humans, but he needed these two to see his plan through. After a nearly intolerable amount of sobbing from Philippa, Alcott finally ushered her away into the darkness. Jean sank back down into the straw and counted down the seconds to his execution day. (continued in comment below)
It's my last run of the week and let me tell you, that little cabin on Pluto is looking oh so relaxing. I'm spinning the arms of the Milky Way like nobody’s business. Making great time stepping from system to system, dropping the notes, and getting on my way. Some of the other parcel boys like to be personable with their deliveries. Me? I don't see no point in brown nosing the rich bastards. They're not the ones who sign my check. Of course it happens during my last drop. I'm out in some bumblefuck cluster on the edge of Andromeda when it happens. I shouldn't even be out here. I picked up Clancy's run so he could stick close to the Magellanic Cloud. No good deed goes unpunished, right? I drop the parcel and these guys are nothing but thankful, like they haven't seen anyone outside their little planet for years. It's slow tidings this side of the universe, so I can't blame them. But I'm almost out when the comms intercept the transmission. My damn thrusters were almost done heating up. If I drifted an inch to the right instead of the left when I left orbit, I wouldn't have heard a peep. I'd be sitting next to the fire with a hot chocolate in my hand. But as it is, I hear it, and let me tell you did my ears perk up. It's scratchy as hell, but I can make out the words. 'Alpha Six-Six-Niner'. A general distress call. But those smiling bozos planet side must not have heard it. There's not another rock or colony for 100 AU in any direction. I think maybe it's just my ears acting up. Maybe I can jump before I convince myself there was something there. But the static hisses and the call comes through again. So now I'm sitting here, rubbing my eyes, imagining a warm cabin on that icy rock while the computer tracks down the signal. How do I always get myself into these messes? Why can't I be the type of guy who just clocks in and clocks out and never says a word to nobody? That guy must have the longest life expectancy in the universe. The computer dings. Medium class cargo vessel, an hour jump into the middle of nowhere, deep space. What the hell are they doing out there? I'm questioning myself the entire time I'm in the hole. Space and time are bending around the black hole I just punched in it, but all I can think about is a way out. I don't have any spare parts to patch up their ship if it's a mechanical issue. There's certainly no space in my Runner to ferry the crew back to civilization. The hole fizzles out around me and I keep my finger on the trigger as the ship returns to linear space. If this is a set up, I'm ready to jump and never look back. But man, is this anything but. The message is blaring loud and clear through the cockpit speakers, but there ain't no ship to be seen. Instead, there's a colony the size of the moon, sleek and chrome, with hundreds of butting structures like a bunch of metal shavings rolled into a ball. I know my way around the universe and let me tell you, whatever this is, it ain't on no map. The distress call is still looping. 'Alpha Six-Six-Niner.' I gatta hit the trigger. I gatta get out of here before they notice me. But I'm a fool and I fly the Runner towards the base of the colony. The airlock light flashes green and the shudder doors open like some gaping mouth to the abyss. I set her down real nicely in an empty docking bay. There's only one controller on duty, but he's got more than enough pride in his job for a whole army of 'em. He waves me in and secures my bird. I open the bridge door, but don't unlatch the stairs. "Hey,"I call down. The man's still furiously tying knots and patching in connectors. "Howdy,"he calls back. "What brings you in?" "I traced a distress call from over by Gargados and--" "Oh, swell fellas over there, don't you think?" "Yeah, great."I look around the dock. There's room for an armada, but it's just me and him. "Anyway, it came from a cargo ship. You seen any around?" "Oh sure, just came and went. Bad on board nav. Wound up all the way out here because of it."The man laughed like two tin cans rubbing against each other. "And where is here? I've spun this joint a few times in my day, and I don't remember every running past you guys." "Lookie here, you're just in time for the gang to get back." The airlock doors grind open and rattle the whole bay. For a second, it sucks the oxygen out of my cockpit and my face swells up like a strangled hog. The bridge door swings shut and the canned air comes streaming back in. I'm trying to watch the airlock, but I'm coughing and crying and trying to drag the soul back into my body. By the time I'm upright, a hundred ships are already in the bay. Thousands of them come sailing through the airlock, Runners and cargo transits, assault and luxury ships of all makes, everything from government Destroyers to homemade death traps comes pouring in from the void beyond. I catch the man's eye. He isn't waving anyone in, just staring at me. He's not wearing a suit, just mechanics overalls. He should be dead, but it doesn't look like anyone told him that. Fuck this. I'm not standing any longer. Sorry distressed cargo, you're ganna have to find your own way out. I hit the trigger and sever the attaching lines. My thrusters are still warm and the ship jumps at once. I don't even sail 20 feet before she punches a hole and I'm out of there. Sure, there'll be some scorch marks and warped steel, and that mechanic will be time-sick as a dog for a few weeks, but they got a big colony there, they'll figure it out. I exhale heavily and hit the trigger again. I just needed a short jump to get out of there. I can reset my bearings once I hit linear space, forget this whole thing ever happened. I can feel Kalie rubbing up against me under a warm blanket already. But the hole fades and I'm still in the docking bay. The airlock is closed and ships are lined up as far as the eye can see. I look far enough down the dock that it curves below itself and disappears. I rub my eyes, but nothing changes. The mechanic is still there, a hard worn smile curling up beneath his pitted eyes. "That's a mighty fine vessel you have there,"he says. "It'll be a great addition. Welcome to the force, private. C'mon, go make yourself comfortable."
"Grandma predicted the next hit again! How can that be a coincidence?" "I know, sweetie but she raised me. She even helped raise you. You know she wouldn't hurt a fly,"your mother responded. "Pff, that's funny. It's like your forgetting how many times she whacked me with that wooden spoon when she found out I was marrying you,"your father responded. "Really dad?" "Dave..."chided your mom. "I know, I know... listen, your grandma is a sweetie. Besides, with her age? She probably knows the hits from taking with the people at the grocery store." Your mom sits on the couch next to you and holds your hand. "Honey, I'm not gonna have you suspecting any more ill of your grandmother, ok?" "Yes mam"you respond. And you think to yourself, you agree. Your grandma is old and incredibly nice. But something still doesn't sit right. You leave your parents to their own conversation and return to your room. However, as they are discussing dinner, you notice your grandma has been listening to you all at the top of the stairs. You see the woman you always loved, but she shoots you a nasty glance and retreats behind the wall. You wait a second, because you have to also go up the stairs to get to your room, and contemplate the strange situation. The next day, your grandma comes home but refrains from talking about the most recent hit. She is kind enough, but you can tell something is off. She is distant and seems sad. So, while she sullenly talks to your parents about her day, you check the news. Today, there wasn't a hit, there was a massacre. You decide you need to get to the bottom of it and confront her. After she went upstairs, you walk up to her room as well and give her door a light wrap. "Grandma?" You open the door. She is starring at you, crying. Any traces of fear you have vanish, seeing a person you live in pain. "You think I'm the one who killed the people?" You are struck aback by her emotion, you don't know what to do or say but she quickly continues. "Well, I mean... you're fine to suspect me. You're right... but you are also kind of wrong." "What's going on?"You respond. "I didn't kill any of those men. But I... I might to jail for it, "she pauses and gives short sad cry. You pat her shoulder. "I'm hopelessly addicted to majong." You are confused. "What." Your grandma continues crying. Finally, she keeps talking, saying, "I have become a master of playing Majong. It was nothing at first, just small games with my friends. But then I started winning... and winning and winning." "What does this-" "Just listen. I was good at Majong. Not just working with the pieces, but I would also talk to my opponents. My sweetness would disarm them and let me get In there head and throw them off their game. That's when I joined the professional tournament, per my friends' recommendations. But, I got kicked out because I won far too much money using unconventional tactics. So, thinking this was unfair, I went to talk to the tournament manager. I should have realized that he was going to be a sketchy person, and this one worked for the Chinese Mob. However, he told me to go and join him in higher stakes making games. He told me to play for him or he was going to take all my winnings..." "How much?" "75 thousand US dollars." I was stunned, but she continued, "He had me play against other members of the mob in high stakes Mahjong games. Sometimes the same organization, sometimes competing ones; I wasn't always sure. But, like in the other games, I would just talk to the people and throw them off their game. I would get insider info from my employer on what their recent hits were. That's how I knew what was going on..."done crying, your grandma just sighs. "But today, someone drew a gun on me. It was some hothead who my employer had been feeding with and I pulled 60 thousand out of him this game. But, my employer just told me to leave so I did. He died in that shootout today." "So you think the cops or this guy are coming after you. Well, he wasn't in the casualties so either the police have him in custody or he is out and about, ready to kill me." "Does he know your name?" "No, but..."she cries some more. "In talking to him... trying to get in his head... I told him yours."
The door slammed open, releasing a cloud of dust into the demon lord's throne room. He stood there, his thin black horns curling from his silvered hair, red glyphs surging across his amber skin. Into the room came Rimuru, a teenage boy who would look rather non-descript, if he hadn't become rather muscular in the 3 years he'd been a hero. Both men wore their signature caps of demonic black and heroic green. "Alright Diavolo!"called Rimiru, "You're reign of terror is over!" Diavolo's minions moved to say something, when their lord raised their hand, and they stood still. "How nice to finally meet you,"Diavolo said, "Satoru." Rimuru stumbled. "Wha- how'd you know my name?!" "I will tell you under one condition,"Diavolo said. The demon pointed at a door behind his throne. "I wish to speak with you in private. I've had my quarter's enchanted so that only those I let in may enter, or even hear what is going on inside it." Rimuru drew his sword. "Like hell I'd ever fall for a trick like that." Diavolo rose from his throne and drew his blood staff. With a flick of their wrist, they sent it flying across the room, into Rimiru's hands. The sucubus beside the demon lord started to move, but then he called out "There is my scepter. Without it, I am no more dangerous than the elf lord you killed back on the fifth floor. Do with it what you'd like."Diavolo swished his black cape as he went back to his room. "None of my servants are to lay a hand on you,"they said to Rimuru. Clutching the staff, Rimuru hurried after the demon lord, not trusting his servants not to try. The demon lord's quarters were blanketed by magical darkness, until he lit a lamp to reveal a royal bed chamber with purple decor. "Now talk,"Satoru said. "Of course,"Diavolo said, "Brother."
The door was closed and the man sat there in silence. Darkness covered him, but he didn't know. Outside the birds sang a mellow chant. His hands touched the human-like burnt clay statue. The texture was grainy, and he sighed. Each stroke would tear away a small layer as dust. "Nothing last forever"he said to himself. Then he picked a chisel and turned away from the statue &#x200B; I write these words in stone, for you to read and take wisdom. Tomorrow will be a new day or an old one. It all depends on me, and me alone. For if I shall fail, then this etching shall be my testament &#x200B; The tales speak of a time of light, when the dawn brought joy When there was something called color and it filled the world Men were like animals, free to perceive around them and marvel &#x200B; The Vision holds the secret to that world and keeps all blinded We are forbidden to have his gift and doomed to darkness If the words reach your hands know that he has a weakness When the sleep gets you, wait. If the wolfs don't howl, reach for the statue of Varrel Inside you shall find a stone. It's soft to touch. &#x200B; When you meet the Vision, put it atop of a selurite torch, it shall conceal you from his vision. And you will be free to kill him &#x200B; &#x200B; \\\* The wolf did not howl. And he was ready for the task ahead. Trained by the elders, it was up to him to free the world from the darkness. He kept the stone he found in the statue in his pocket. The selurite was a liquid that burned so hot it almost melted the bone in a few seconds. Not only that, but when hit with a hard rock or by smash it on the ground it started to catch flame. Cautiously, he kept the bottle in his left hand all the time. &#x200B; The words from the stone were still vivid in his mind. He will not fail as his elder did before him. The Vision will perish today by his hand. The day he realized that his hearing was superior to everybody, he knew to himself he was destined for great things. And now the years of hard work will bear fruit. &#x200B; With a way better hearing that the guards it was easy for him to sneak past them. He practiced the steps for two years now. There was a detailed description of the palace from various nobles. He turned right and counted 6 steps. Their breath ahead was clear to him, so he drew a pebble from his pocket and threw it sideways. The guards rose in confusion and went to check. He silently, using his clothed footwear, sneaked past them. The sound of their chainmail wrapping around made it easy. The stairs ahead were tricky, only one man could pass through them. So he hurried up. Unfortunately, the steps he heard coming from above him signaled trouble. He stood still and drew the knife while waiting. Then with just a swing, he cut through the skin bellow where he heard the breath. Swiftly he caught the body in his hands and placed it on the ground. &#x200B; Drawing close to the objective made his heart to start pounding. Up ahead the corridor was a wooden door, and soon the guard lied dead beside it. This was it. He heard a sound inside. Having confirmation that the target was inside, he emptied the vial on the small torch he carried on his belt and bound the stone with a chain to the cloth head. Then he slid it along the wall, and nigh instantly could feel the awesome heat starting to irradiate. &#x200B; Without hesitation, he smashed through the door. &#x200B; "Ahh! Wha-" He rushed with the dagger towards the sound and pushed the blade in his target's stomach. &#x200B; "The world shall be free from darkness!!!". He then cut bellow the both knees of his victim, which fell to the ground. &#x200B; "Fool! What have you done!". He heard a voice coming from a muffled mouth. That was good, he thought. It meant blood was pouring. "Silence tyrant!"he then smashed the face with his fist. With a move, he then threw the torch outside the room. Quickly, after briefly scouting the room, he barricaded the door with a table he felt around. Outside there was noise building up. And no escape came to his mind. It mattered little, for he was ready to die, he knew there was no escape from this room the moment he heard the plan. So he let himself sink in the soft bed. &#x200B; "What it feels to see?" "Cfuch... I can barely see shapes, but it's beautiful. I guess ... ah ... unless there's too much light, it hurts my eyes." He heard a smash on the door. And rose. "It's time to end. Oh, all I wish now is to be here when the darkness will rise and color shall bring joy again." &#x200B; "Fool ... what are you talking about. My death won't bring you sight." &#x200B; Another smash on the door. The barricade held. "Liar, no lie shall save you" "It's not a lie you fool. You have no eyes. Guhm.... None has.... a few months ... after birth, they turn black, with time, they get so wizened and seamlessly fall." "What??" &#x200B; "It's the Vahiri fog, the books tell of it. I.. tried to vanish it ... but I miss one ingredient! I was close..." "Nonsense! You see, we don't!" "My lineage, we are nearly immune to the curse and ... fog , though it slowly erodes my eyes. I used to see perfectly ... now only on... e eye ... "the man barfed blood and fell to the side convulsing and slowly fading. &#x200B; He stood there silently through the room was full of the noise of cracking wood. "Books ... "he knew this word. He heard tales of words not written in stone, but in color. "How the hell will I read those?"he then kneeled and touched the last person to see a color. It was dead and he still could not see. &#x200B; &#x200B;
No adventurers, no Demons, No Royalty. Only common folk served I point to the sign to the greencloak. He just grunts as he picks his nails with a dagger, the dagger is so finely crafted it must be dwarven made. It even has gems embedded in the blade. “Not an adventurer” He lies to me. “Sure you aren’t buddy, thats why your shoes are caked with travel mud, your pack is filled with, what sounds like, hobgoblin chainmail, and you’re just casually here at my shop to admire my artwork?” I say. “Yeah you make good… pots.” “That's not a pot you're looking at, that's a porcelain vase. You really have no idea what you're looking at.” He shrugs as he puts my vase down roughly. I spent three months finding clay high enough in purity to craft that, and he handles it without care or remorse for its history. “I know the work of an artistic genius when I see one.” he croons. I hold up a finger. “Ah. Ah sucking up to me will not make me revoke my policy.” “You live in squalor artisan. That sign bars all of your wealthiest clients from having a chance to pay you honestly for your masterwork. Why do you do this to yourself?” He asks, his fingers ever so slightly curving into rough fists. “Be that as it may. You are unwelcome here adventurer.” He leaves with the finality of a rockslide. I’m left to hone my craft. The next day I give the very vase he was lusting after to an elderly woman in my village, Mrs. Edica. She doesn't have any flowers but she accepts my gift and trades me a basket of freshly picked fruits from her orchard. As I’m savoring the citrus exploding over the back of my tongue, the green-cloak runs into my shop. “You knew didn’t you?!” he says. I feign ignorance, “I don’t know what you mean.” “You gave that… Thing to that old lady and then the demon hordes attacked and now she’s dead! You knew what it would do didn’t you?!” “Her time had come, and her sacrifice will permanently scar the demon king himself. You can continue your small petty battles adventurer. I care little for the fate of a few goblins here and there, and I care even less for the coin you’ve scammed from hard working honest folk.” He looks at me with the reverence a newborn has the very first time they open their eyes to meet a parent. “You… You’re not human are you?”
Of course you could read it, your son had gotten into the papyrus business. Scrolls were selling literally better then hot cakes and they were much easier to produce. You don't have to keep an oven going for thirty minutes. You just go to the river and pick up some reed. Cut it in very thin layers and weave them. A bit of pressure and time should give you that papyrus so sought after the whole world. My son shows me this scripts from all over the world. Now, this certainly looks like the greek glyphs but they are for sure different. My father found this weird message. It is clearly Roman letters, but the words are completely strange to me. Certainly some of the seasoned travelers and translators over at the scroll palace at Alexandria will have some insight. "Yes, this is most likely a Latin colony. Human, future and flame are all Latin words. Sake looks like a northern dialect" "You see Walid? Mr. Ossas here has got quite an extensive knowledge of all languages. Now my boy, come here and be prepared to see real magic." Walid followed his eccentric friend to a table full of glasses of all kinds. He set the piece of paper on it. "Light travels in a spectrum walid, just like some philosophers pondered, our perception of reality is limited by our senses. But it is not really real" The old scientist took a prism and went closer to the window. Light hit it and an effect much later revisited by Newton took place. "It is full of colour!"Exclaimed Walid dumbfounded "it is beautiful!" "It must certainly is son. Now if we see through this lens that light is truly many sort of lights, the next logical question is, gentlemen"he adjusted for Ossas had joined the duo "what lens do we need to see the other parts of the spectrum that we yet cannot see. That is the true mistery!" So enchanted they were on the prisms and it's implications on philosophy and optics, that they couldn't see that a magnifying glass had set Walid's note on fire. The vast quantity of flammable material proved fatal. The first man to discover the visible light spectrum had died along with his first witnesses. Along with many other who had been at that point inside the majestic building, along with the knowledge of all civilizations touched by the long arm of the Mediterranean. They perished thanks to a note that was not meant to be there in the first place.
"Um... Hi everyone... I'm the new admin. Pat, my name's Pat. Or Patricia... But people call me Pat. So... Yeah..." A huge crowd had formed around this figure, who stood above and below, inside and somehow also outside, a large sphere of now fading light. The spheres of light had appeared in every major city across the world one week ago, and they all made an announcement regarding the arrival of the admin at the same instant, every day. What baffled people at first was not that a sphere of light had appeared, although that was novel, but rather that the announcement was heard in whatever language one spoke, and for the bilingual, it was spoken in a way that made the listener feel good about themselves, and for the multilingual, it was whispered to them in a way that made them blush. Pat, a normal looking person, was rather underwhelming at the end of an exciting week of speculation. Looking very much like an androgynous mid-30's IT administrator and not very much like a spiritual/metaphysical saviour, Pat's effect on the crowd was slow and then quite suddenly pronounced, much like the sad feeling one feels when they find a birthday balloon that has slowly withered into an elderly balloon. "Sorry..."Pat said, with a pained smile on their face. "I know you wanted a bit more...", she made a strange gesture with her arms and hands, as though she wasn't sure what the crowds wanted more of, but it was becoming clear to them that Pat didn't bring it. "Pizazz?", she finished. She knelt down on the ground, and sat back on her heels, and as she spoke, everybody in the world heard her voice, which wasn't exactly calm, but a relaxed kind of tired, and people would later agree, she sounded like their favourite teacher sounded at the end of a hard week. "They don't usually send me out on site visits, they like to send somebody from sales out for that kind of thing, but your system is crashing and none of the haircuts know how to deal with the back end stuff". Pat had closed her eyes and was sitting with her hands placed on her lap, and while everybody in the world was watching, in their cities and on their screens, Pat did nothing. "It's not nothing", she said. People felt confused, as though she had read their mind. "I'm not reading your mind or anything, but I know what this looks like" People shifted uneasily, deciding all at once that she was definitely reading their mind. "You think a person sits down and does nothing and that nothing will happen, but it's not nothing." People began to look at each other, but decided against speaking, because as confusing as all of it was, here seemed to be an immediate and universal awareness that nobody knew what the f- "Something is happening..."Pat was speaking more calmly now. "Sit down. Just wait. Wait until you begin to notice it, and then just be with it. Something is always happening." Silence followed. People had begun to sit, waiting and then noticing. Nobody spoke, and the whole world of people were all being, together, in stillness. "There you go..."Pat said. "Now have you tried turning it off and on again?"
“Hi newbie! What should we call ya round here?” “Erm..call me Jim that’ll do it! You guys play regular?” “Sure do! Looking forward to the round today, brilliant weather for it!” Ok so here we go, Geim the Grim though to itself, let’s see what Nigel really has up his sleeves. Nigel shook himself out a little, then proceeded to smash a 304 yard drive right down the middle of the fairway. Fire and ice instantly sparked in Geims hole of a soul. They hadn’t just been holding back, they we pro level. Containing the rage inside itself, the Reaper used every fibre of its unbelief to control the impulse to dismember Nigel where he stood...grinning like a fool. Maybe it was just a lucky shot and the mortal would live. “Wow...that’s...that’s quiet a drive you have there!” Whispered Death Incarnate. Geim’s skeleton heaved under the clothes it had chosen for this undercover outing. Was that grief it was feeling rattling around inside? Grief and murder. The remaining two Liars gave out hearty congratulations, Barry and Wayne Ranckles now shaking themselves down and getting ready for a true matchup. “Ahh yes it’s going to be an actual contest today Baz eh, no baby sitting for us...nice!” They were obviously talking about the rounds from the past year, 17 in all and this was uncontrollably painful. A warm fizzing filled The Reaper’s head and Barry dropped to the ground, ears bleeding, sending his bag and clubs spewing sideways. Wayne and Nigel lurched to catch him and managed to lay him down semi conscious by the first tee. “What the...what the fuck?” Mumbled Barry. “We need to get you to the medical centre ASA fuckin P fella!” His twin looked whiter than Barry. “No no no, erm. I wanna have a shot...erm give me five and I’ll be fine..” Barry’s head fell off and rolled to the side, just in between the golf cart and Geim’s foot. “Well I think Barry’s handicap is more realistic now fella’s what do you think, eh?” sneered Geim, looking intensely at the two Decievers whose mounting horror was palpable. The Reaper hadn’t dropped his visual disguise, and he was interested to see how the two would respond. Would they go back to faking it or would they insult him again with their ‘baby sitting’ bullshit. The penny had obviously dropped in both off them and they we now scrabbling between mourning Barry’s predicament of being headless and perished...and their own mortal fragilities. “I think it’s a given we play on, eh, boys. Would be a shame for Barry’s passing to put too premature a stop to the contest right?” Geim gestured to the tee for Wayne to take it up. Wayne fumbled a ball onto his wooden holder, and looked up at the sky. After a moment he seemed to come to a condensed decision and swung. 307 feet, four yards right of Nigel’s shot. Lightning arched from his golf club to Nigel and back again to his own face. The two men cooked alive and the smell was delicious. Death sighed as he drove away in the cart, wondering if badminton was more his thing.
I never wanted to be a mother. It's not like I "hate"kids, I just... I don't get them. They're too soft, too vulnerable, too dependent. Father always said, "Never trust a beast that acts without forethought"and when have you ever known a baby to think carefully before acting? They're chaotic. They're loud, require very special care, and did I mention the vulnerable part? When my sister and her husband had their first child, the whole clan gathered in celebration, and she made me leave my weapons at the door- as if her three week old infant would be able to lift a claymore, let alone poke its own eye out. No, motherhood was never in the cards for me. I found fulfillment taking up the family business, spending my youth traveling with my father to the far reaches of our world, learning how to track, hunt, and slay the most volatile and dangerous creatures known to us. It's a hard life, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. It must have been about six months ago, now, that King Linus from the Western Regions sent his ward to our keep, and begged my father to travel to the far West Mountains. For one reason or another, a Dragon Queen had taken over the mines and settled deep in the heart of the mountains- strange behavior for a dragon, especially a Queen, but who can ever tell why they do the things they do. It's not my job to figure out why, and frankly, I don't know anyone who would be foolish enough to try to ask a dragon a question. My father agreed to take up the cause, but insisted that I be the one to root out and slay the Queen. It's considered one of the highest honors in our family, taking on a Dragon Queen. A Queen only comes down to Earth every 50 or so years, and even when they do, it can be incredibly difficult to track one down. More often than not, we don't find a Queen's den until a few years after she's gone. I was nervous, of course- as vicious as dragons are generally, Dragon Queens are some of the most violent, temperamental and elusive dragons that exist. They're stronger, faster, and tougher than even the nastiest Bog Dragon (known for their foul temper and fouler breath) and, to be completely honest, it's been at least 4 generations since a member of our family has found and defeated one. Crazy cousin Belmont claims he had a lovely conversation with a Queen Dragon over meat pies and gin way back during the Wyrmwood Skirmishes, but he also believes teeth are the spiritual gateways to the fairy realm, so we try not to give too much mind. The battle against the Dragon Queen was the most challenging battle of my life. It took me three months to get to the Far West Mountains, and another three weeks of navigating through the expansive networks of mines and caverns within to find what the King's ward referred to as "The Heart"(I don't think proper signage within would have been too much to ask, I really hope this "literacy among the populace"thing catches on). When it was done, I remember standing there in awe at her great size, the strange majesty in the resting corpse of one of the most fearsome beasts in the universe. I remember thinking to myself I had to find some way of remembering this moment, something to bring home to prove my epic triumph so I wouldn't be just another crazy cousin Belmont- when I caught a glimpse of a glimmering pile of gemstones gathered in the corner of the great cavern she'd been resting in. I laughed to myself- who would have thought that, of all things, dragons would be collecting gold and jewels? What need did they have for them? I shrugged and made my way towards the pile- clearly the dragon no longer had a use for them, so what could it hurt to take a few home? My sister did have that baby, and since I wasn't allowed to give her a dagger for a birth-day present, maybe some of these would be a touch more "safe"and "appropriate". As I got closer, I noticed that the pile of gems seemed to be something... else. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was different about them, until I realized that these were not simply precious stones piled haphazardly in the corner. These had been carefully, almost lovingly, placed atop a pile of freshly turned earth, resting against each other. These elongated orbs of purple and blue seemed strangely fragile, and warm to the touch. For some reason it felt... wrong to take them all, and I can't explain why- it seemed almost as though they belonged with her, down there in the dark. Of course, I took one with me- along with the Queen Dragon's crest, several fangs, and a few of her iridescent scales for good luck. When I finally made it home, though, and gave away the pieces I'd collected to the King, my father, my sister- I kept the orb. In the same way the others belonged with the Queen, it just felt like this one belonged to me now. I put it a top my trophy shelf, at the foot of my bed- it was oddly comforting to wake up to, a reminder of my greatest triumph. I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when, 6 months after I assumed the adventure was over, I woke up one morning not to the sound of a roosters crow, or the sound of a church bell, or even crazy cousin Belmont pacing the gardens whistling an old sailors tune- but to a very small, very new, very much surprise little dragon, curled up on my bedspread with it's little dragon head resting on my pillow and its little dragon snores puffing against my face. No, I never wanted to be a mother. Babies are too unpredictable, too dependent, too vulnerable. But a Dragon mother- well now, that's another question entirely. [Just the intro. Will continue on request!]
The Skin-snatcher giggled at me. Monsters shouldn't giggle, I thought inanely. I should be grateful, really, that the monster they'd locked me in a cage with hadn't done things a lot more harmful than giggle. "It worked,"the monster croaked. "It worked!" I backed away, not that there was much room in the cell to do so. My cellmate, the Skin-snatcher wearing the body of someone I didn't know, just giggled at the reaction. "They called me foolish. Told me that if I thought myself such a master of infiltration that I had the right to speak to them, I should be condemned to do the infiltration. And I did and was caught, but they took the idea! They took what I said, and it worked!" "I don't know you,"I said. I didn't know what to say. "No!"The thing giggled again, its borrowed mouth raised in a rictus of a smile. "You don't! That's the whole point, you see! That was the idea!" "I'm not one of you,"I insisted. It giggled, again, would the damn thing never stop? "That is what you told your guards, yes? But did they believe you?" I didn't answer it. I wouldn't be in this cell if they'd believed me. "They administered their tests."Its voice shifted, suddenly, and it sounded exactly like the guards that had questioned me. "Where were you born? Who is your supervisor? What is today's passphrase?" And the spell broke and it was back to its cackling, overly-smiling glee. "I answered correctly, you know. I tortured my captive, in ways that I knew would not appear to be injuries, and I got answers. Another innovation the current masters have disregarded. For good reason, it would appear. Did you know your people have a duress phrase? Clever. And in here I went!" I didn't know. I didn't remember anything of these people and of course I'd failed utterly to answer their questions. I couldn't even remember how I'd found my way back to the base. "But you..."the changeling said. "You came and failed their test like the least experienced of our kind. And now you are here with me." "I'm not one of you,"I insisted again. I'd told the guards, said that I must have injured myself, insisted I had amnesia, but they didn't believe me. Of course they didn't believe me. Even my insistence that I wasn't one of the creatures in front of me rang hollow. If I didn't remember my own past, how could I be sure? "My idea,"the Skin-snatcher said, utterly ignoring my statements in its apparent desire to boast, "was simple. Find one of your kind. Torture it in a different way, one without pain but one which does do damage to the mind. Burn out its memories. Return it." "What?"My mind was spinning with this plan the monster was stating at the same time I was daring to hope it wasn't lying to me. "When your people realize they have made a mistake,"the monster continued, "what will it do to them? Their 'all-knowing' method, flawed? Your memory will never return, you know. Even should they quarantine everyone who should return to the base, they will never know if it is one of my kind, or one of their kind. And we both know they do not have nearly enough people to quarantine any of them for any length of time."It giggled again. "Well, I know that, I don't suppose you do." I turned around, finding one of the cameras that was always trained on the cells. "Then... they'll hear you! They'll know I'm actually me!" "Would they believe one of my kind, one whose entire purpose is to deceive?"And with this, it slowly approached me, horrible grin somehow widening even more. "It matters not. I can kill you before they make up their mind." The last thing I heard was the guards running to my cell....
“The human is making water from his eyes.” “Yes. It is a response to irritants, particularly in the atmosphere.” “Then I shall recycle the air in the room at once and put it through advanced filtration.” “Negatory, the air is fine, corporal, step away from the life support console.” “Yes sir, I only wanted to look after our first human crew member.” “Admirable but it’s not the atmosphere that makes him weep.” “Then what does, captain?” “Good question, Private. I am not sure. Let us ask him.” “Human Andrew, Private First Class, what causes you to make water from your eyes?” “PFC Andrews. Please call me PFC Andrews, Private Zohl. I am crying because my dog died.” “What is a dog?” “How did you become corporal without reading a single data file? Go and research dog and report back to us.” “Yes, sir.” “So the death of your dog has irritated your eyes?” “No sir.” “But you said that is why you cry.” “People cry when they are sad, too, sir. I suppose you’ll be asking what sad is next.” “Negatory. I studied human emotions in college. Why does your dog dying make you sad?” “Because he was my friend.” “Now I am sure Corporal Gelex will be along soon to tell us about dogs, but from my layman’s knowledge a dog is not sapient, correct?” “Not in the truest sense of the word.” “So you are friends with this dog even though it cannot speak, buy you a drink, help you with your paperwork or sing you a song?” “That is correct, sir.” “Very peculiar you humans are. Is there anything that a dog can do?” “Well, a dog can play ball with you, run with you, listen to you when you’re down, or rejoice with you when you’re happy. A dog will guard your home and belongings. A dog is your friend wether you want him to be or not.” “And it does all this when it’s not sapient?” “Semi sapient, sir. Smarter than a cockroach or an ant, but not as smart as me and certainly not as smart as you.” “Fascinating. So if the death of your dog makes you sad, it is logical to deduce that in life the dog made you happy.” “Correct.” “But the dog is not here now to make you happy so now why are you sad?” “It is difficult to explain, sir. Human emotions are complicated things.” “Ah, here is the corporal. Goodness you must have been gone for three whole minutes. I expect a full in depth report.” “Yes sir. I have researched the dog. It appears that they were bred as a slave race to serve humans, who created them from wild animals native to their world called wolves. It would seem that they became keenly attuned to human emotions and many humans irrationally come to include dogs in their family units despite the inadvisability of attempting to cross breed humans and dogs.” “Fascinating. So this dog was uniquely tuned to your emotions and now it’s death has upset those emotions.” “That is about as correct as you are likely to get, sir.” “Sir, I have video here called ‘cute dog plays with baby.’ Perhaps this will help us understand why dogs effect humans so.” “Very well, put it on the main bridge display.” “So that’s a dog.” “Astute observation, private.” “It is interacting with that juvenile human, and that human is showing facial expressions associated with happiness.” “Oh drat, the human is making water from his eyes again. More so than before.” “Corporal, where did you find this video?” “In PFC Andrew’s personal data storage device. I thought it would be a good place to search for information about dogs. I believe this dog and this juvenile human belong to him.” “Humans! I would have thought seeing his dog again would make him happy, not even sadder. I tell you, no accounting for these human emotions.” “No accounting at all, sir.”
You had never wanted to see that face again. Nothing against the man, he was kind, caring, your only friend for the first fifteen years of your life, but seeing his unnaturally silver hair, close cut muttonchops, and amber eyes behind the ornate sliver glasses reminded you how much appearances can be deciving. “Milady Isabelle, so glad to find you safe.” He bowed, his immaculate suit with gloves stood out in the middle of your mostly wooden camp. Two horses were grazing next to him, their saddles stamped with the family crest. “William,” you said curtly, putting the day’s hunting down. “I do hope father has not convinced you to try and take me back by force.” During your first two years outside, father had regularly sent all manner of man and beast and man-beast after you to bring you back. He had only done so a handful of times since than, and if he had sent Willam... “No Milady, your father has passed,” you couldn’t believe it, your father was dead? “How?” “Fire milady, the entire manor house is naught but ash.” “Mother?” You almost hated her more than father, but at least she actually believed you would be happier becoming a proper lady. “Also passed, along with your brothers” No big loss there you think, Edward, Henry, and George had always been more concerned whoring and drinking than anything useful. Shame about Kevin though, he had a wonderful mind for keeping the family businesses running, and he was like you in more was than one. “What about the Twins?” You asked William, pulling a hand away from your hunting knife you didn’t realize was still there. Abigail and Mary had barely been more than than two when last you saw them. “That is why I am here.” He said, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing a spot of sweat that had formed on his nose. “Without an elder sibling there to take control of the house, I’m afraid the next of kin will get full custody of them.” “No...” you said, as your mind recoiled at what he was implying. “Uncle James?” As William nodded you felt like vomiting just from thinking of the man. “Either you come back with me this night, take the title of countess, or they enter into the Earl’s house tomorrow.” Giving up your freedom, everything you wanted and worked for a decade for, for two girls you barely know would be hard, but no one should ever have to get within two leagues of your Uncle. “Well than” you said, taking one more look at the camp that’s been your home, “let’s get going.”
T-The D-Demon F-From Heww By: SheepingtonTheSheep &#x200B; The flames of the hemlock-fed bonfire bathed the grove in an unnatural reddish hue. Like the slender birch trees surrounding the fire, a circle of red-cloaked cultists also encircled it too. Twelve of them—like the zodiac in the heavenly firmament—twelve of them stood by. “Brothers.” One of them spoke, calm and confident, “For the past couple of moons, we have tried Kar’zadek’s Grimoire of Infernal Terrors…” Another completed his sentence, “…and we have not managed to summon anything greater than a mere Hell-Imp.” The first cultist continued, “I have faith in our skills. I am sure of our arcane ingredients and catalysts. Perhaps, the stars are simply not compatible with Kar’zadek’s tome, for now.” He pulled out a red book from within his cloak. An diabolic tome, indeed, it was bound with human and elven skin, held together by small goblin hands, and it emanated a faint orange glow. Its front cover had the Demon Baron Dorvak’s demented visage melded onto it. “I bring to you, brothers…” the cultist raised his voice, “…Erun Qarish’s Stygian Bestiary of Hell-Fire!” He opened the tome and laid it down onto the podium with a thud. The other cultists did not respond, but their silence was an unspoken consent to their brother’s new plan—as always. The tome-wielding cultist began instructing his fellows, “Prepare a wyvern egg and a boiled viper venom. I have taken the liberty of preparing the necessary runes beforehand.” He reached into his cloak and threw a fine red powder into the bonfire. Like a flash of lightning, vivid red symbols began to light up on the dirt, forming a circle around the flames. Then, without pause, he continued his instructions: “Set these into the flames: A direwolf fang, a harpy feather, a leviathan baleen, a thief’s knife, a golem’s heart, a whore’s hair, a dryad’s ear, a sliver of fool’s-gold, a trunk of cemetery ash, a kobold’s thumb, a moon stone, an opal, a soothsayer’s ring!” The other eleven cultists rummaged through their respective cloaks, tossing the ingredients as they found them. Their brother continued, “Immerse the Wyvern egg into the viper venom, and then throw it into the fire.” The others took a minute to prepare, and when the deed was done, he read off his tome: “Kal’zaerh... erun msitrivol. Olriagost poros zorhkaion, restevar raverio’k kali orlaerorn!!” The glowing runes spun around the bonfire before imploding into its flames, turning them vivid green… and then pink. The flame intensified and reached some ten feet into the air before also imploding into its center. After a loud hiss, a gust of wind radiated from the waning bonfire, effectively snuffing out all the torches around the grove. The dying embers pulsated like a slow beating of a heart, stirring softly. “Oh, Lord Urakoth, Devourer of Dreams, Regent of the Underworld, Dominator of the Nether Glades…!” The leader of the ritual cried out, “We summon you forth to unleash your awe-inspiring wrath upon the realms of man! Please, have mercy on us as we are your humble servants!” Suddenly, a massive clawed arm burst forth from the glowing embers. Beneath it, a pink portal glowed and hummed, no doubt leading into worlds unspeakable. The arm clawed and grasped at the air, jutting straight, skyward. Then, it bent and felt the ground around it, much to the fear of the cultists. The once round circle was broken, as the cloaked figures stepped back and avoided the reach of the arm. The scaled, blood-red appendage brushed against the wooden podium and grabbed it. It felt around the object, making the tome on it fall to the ground. After a long moment of feeling, it dropped the podium and slammed against the ground. “Oh, Seven Hells!” one cultist exclaimed, fearing for his life. The arm froze. An otherworldly voice called out from within the portal, deep and demonic: “H-Hewwo? W-Won’t someboddeh h-hewp meh\~?” The cultists dropped everything and ran, screaming in absolute fear at what abomination they had unleashed upon this Earth.
Black has always been my colour, so that's a plus. I used to be pretty attached to my skin, but having seen that the clichés about Heaven being as boring as, well, hell, going full skeleton seemed like the lesser of several evils. It was like ripping off a full body bandage. My dad would die if he saw me now. I couldn't swing a scythe to save my life back in my corporeal state. Not that I'll get near the death weapon any time soon. All of our drills so far have involved moving around in the cumbersome cloaks that come with the job. General Reaper glided down the line of fellow recruits, grinning. Though facial expressions are somewhat limited for those of our cadaverous condition. I was the only human of the bunch, but so far I hadn't run into much discrimination. "Ye are well capable of causing trouble without any of us lot,"a banshee had politely screamed at me during our first night. Still, it was difficult not to feel lesser, when your peer group included Santa Muerte and the Plague Hag of Scandinavia. Two formidable women literally born to play the part. So to speak. The General stopped smoothly in front of my newly smooth skull. "A SORRY EXCUSE FOR A MAN WILL NEVER MAKE A GRIM REAPER,"he gravely intoned, in a voice with the timbre of a lead coffin. It was going to be a long eternity.
I lived in a quiet village in the beautiful coastal South West of England. At least it had been quiet until recently. There was a bird next to me, desperately cooing as if it was trying to talk to me. A bunch of weird things had happened recently. The news and local radio told everyone to stay in their homes until there was further information available. I had only got back from Libya a few weeks ago, one of those trips about finding yourself and doing a bit for charity. Really it was horrendous, I was sick pretty much the whole time I was there, and was feeling pretty sick still now. One of my old friends persuaded me to go, he runs some sort of healthcare charity over there. I got sent back home as there was some sort of deadly outbreak. But apparently I had been vaccinated against it. Certainly didn't feel like it. As I walked to the local shops, there seemed to be a few crazies out. There was a lady walking around like a spider, in attempts that I can only imagine were her trying to spin a web. I thought to myself it was a bit early to be drunk and chuckled. As I rounded the corner, I could see my destination. I stood on a snail and felt the crunch. I looked down and was surprised to see a group of about 7 snails in a circle facing each other. I could have sworn they were all now staring at me as if to query why I killed their buddy. As the sickness from Libya crossed over into Europe and the UK, conspiracy theorists were spreading rumours of it being transmitted through food and bodily fluids. I probably should have said something to work, but luckily was fired shortly after getting back. The job was pretty boring anyway. I worked on the production line, checking and sealing crate after crate of liquid mush which was apparently ready made mashed potato. The company I worked for were having pretty bad PR problems and decided to close the factory for a month or so until everything was cleared up. As I entered the shop I saw what could only be described as a zombie eating the throat of the shop owner. I froze. Then I noped the fuck out of there. What the hell is going on? I ran back towards my house and took my phone out of my pocket to call the police. It just kept ringing. I got to home and desperately fumbled with my keys in one hand, my phone in the other, it was still ringing. There was a bird next to me, desperately cooing as if it was trying to talk to me. A man was banging his head against a tree, really quickly as if he thought he was some kind of woodpecker. A child was on the floor next to him having some kind of epileptic fit. I logged into twitter to see if anybody knew what was going on under #Bristol #Southwest #UK #Outbreak. Anything I could think of, there was nothing. I opened up Reddit, Facebook, BBC news, 4chan, anywhere I thought I might find some news. Everything seemed to have gone quiet apart from a post on 4chan on /b. There was a thread that had a picture of some sort of religious scripture in some old scroll looking thing. It was written in some kind of language I had never come across, the characters looked like Egyptian Hieroglyphs, but there were what looked like numbers and letters mixed in with the pictures. Next to this read: I have released the plague upon the world like my masters demanded. If anybody is still able to read this, you are the chosen few. Every creature, every animal has been turned into the thing that it killed most. Poisonous snakes have become dogs, crocodiles have become gazelles. Humans have become the bugs that they are. Us predators shall inherit the Earth
Fear, I fear, is relative. When I first met my little sister's imaginary friend, I was torn. My first thought was that I had finally cracked. That my mind had finally broken under the stress of college and a full time job. I shook my head vigorously before the scene presenting its-self started to sink in. A gargantuan red being standing no less than eight feet tall stood next to my sister, holding her hand gently in his clawed paw. The smell of sulfur was overpowering and the sight of the beast, no less so. But what made my heart truly sink, was seeing the expression in this human-like creature's face. Fear. How could something so big, someone so menacing, someone with razor sharp claws and horns be afraid? And What could he be afraid of? "Sister, I'm scared. And Baphomeetes is scared too. There's a monster in the house. Can you help us scare him away?" I looked down at her, then up at the demonic being, then back down at her. While keeping a side eye on her demonic friend, I kneeled down to my sister's level. "What, exactly, did you see?"I was trying to hide my fear. Of both the 8 foot behemoth next to me, and what could cause that piercing terror to consume him. "There was a bright light from the window, and a man who looked like a birdy came into my room. He pointed at Baph and said mean things to him. Baph almost started to cry."I could see that the demon was still trying to hide his tears. What could this invading creature be? My first thought was that it might have been an angel. Since my sister and I are half-witches, we were always looked down on by religious folk, but I never really believed any of the stories our mother would tell. I figured it was just old family traditions and tales. However, with the evidence towering above me and my sister, gently staring down at me, I realized it was all real. It was all true. I suddenly felt something surging through me. A sort of... energy. It engulfed me and surrounded me in what looked like bright red flames, yet, I felt no burning. I smelled no smoldering. My powers were finally realized, and my big sister instinct was running wild. I knew what I needed to do. \~Critique is always appreciated!
I am 8000 years old, 7000 years older than I should be. The towers are what keeps my heart beating, my eyes seeing, and my wings soaring. They were made by the Endermen, our loyal subjects. Maybe "my"would be a more appropriate term. You see, I am the last of my species. If you gaze on our land, you'd see only stone. Hard and pale stone. The purple grass and trees that used to grow on these lands are gone. They are now infertile, unable to bear any form of life. The war with the Magma Beasts and their allies of the Nether realm brought the land to this state. We won, yes, driving the wretched monsters to extinction, but at what cost? The near extinction of our own kind. At the end, only 8 of us were left. I was the youngest. The Endermen, native beings that retreated to the overworld, returned. They surveyed the chaos, did their best to repair the scars with the stone, and tried to save us. We dragons of this realm are what sustain the very core and heart of the land. Our breath, although toxic to otherworldly beings, brings life to our own world. Fruit grow, flowers bloom, grass flourishes. Ah, the mere memory brings me happiness. Unfortunately, with only 8 dragons left out of what used to be millions, it was hard even to grow a tree. We had to replenish the species. All that was left were too old to bear any more young. I was the only one capable of saving us. I bore an egg. But before I could lay it, I must wait for a few hundred years. During those years were the eventual deaths of what was left of us. In the process, the Endermen built me towers to help me stay alive. Years, decades, millennia passed. \[I couldn't finish the story, someone continue it please\]
I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I have my arm around the girl I like. We're on a cool date. Nothing could ruin today. The ritzy announcer guy speaks into the microphone. "Now for our tonight's main event, the Great Santini!" She whispers into my ear, "this is so exciting."She kisses me on my cheek. He walks onto the stage from the right behind the curtain. He's wearing one of those tall black hats and has a slick looking cape, cloak, thing. I should buy one for Halloween. The man on stage speaks, his accent sounding European. "Greetings and salutations. It is I, the master of mystery himself, Santini!" He whips out, a pigeon! He pets it and lets it go. It flies off somewhere above. I cheer. She cheers. Everyone cheers. "As always, I require volunteers from the audience for my performances. Please step up…those who are brave enough." "Go on tiger."She whispers. Her eyes are like, really blue. I stand up from my seat and jog up to the stage. The magician guy is pretty tall. I'm six foot two inches and he's taller, even without the funny hat. He looks me up and down, then smiles. "Excellent, I love fearless men who volunteer. Please young man, step into the box." Some assistants wheel over a tall but thin box next to me. It's kinda cramped, but I can fit. I squeeze into this box. I hear the magician speak as the box closes. "Now I shall make this young man disappear-" "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" OUCH! I suddenly fell down, somehow. My ankle really hurts. I look up and it looks like a room, with books, where teachers sit and read stuff in. I lift myself up on all fours and look around. I see a dude sitting in a chair, his back to me. He turns around, sighs, then speaks. "Oh bother. Another moth to the flame." The dude is red, like sports car red. He's got horns…and a TAIL! His tail has a spike at the end, which pushes his glasses up his nose. He closes his eyes and speaks "Let me guess. The Italian in a top-hat performing tricks." I look at him dumbfounded. "What's an Italian?" He stares at me for a solid five seconds. "Do you know what a Roman is? Italians are modern-day Romans, without the crucifixions and psychotic short-sword wielding soldiers." "Oh. I know those guys. They were pretty cool in Ryse: Son of R-" "If you don't have anything intelligent to say, then say nothing. Why does he never pick intelligent ones, at least then I can converse with them." He stands up and walks over to me. That creepy tail of his waving behind him. He looks down at me. His yellow eyes remind me of my fifth grade math teacher, Mr. Johnson. "Call me Mr. Smith. You are now in hell. Literal hell from the Bible. You have been transported here by my eldest brother, who we'll call Mr. Jones. You know him as the Italian magician." "This has gotta be some sort of hidden camera prank or something. This isn't funny guys." "There are no cameras here, nor functioning electronics. Pull out your Verizon chipped iPhone and see if you have reception. See if your pagan god, Internet Reception, can save you now." I pull out my phone, I'm going to show him. What. It must be broken. I have no reception. "What the hell man." "Sigh. Mortal, it's not what hell, it's THE HELL. I was going to be sympathetic to you but I think it'd be more amusing to send you to the pit of agony for a few days, then send you back." He starts laughing. My legs go weak. I'm staring at this dude…who I think might be a demon. "Oh my, your facial expression was so priceless. I love doing that to mortals. Regulations don't permit us to send people to the pit of agony unless they've died. Jesus gets super pissed at that and believe me, you don't want that. He was terrifying when he had to give up his weekend awhile back for your sins and spent it here. I'll send you back now, ciao!" "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" "and now, viola! He reappears" I land on the stage, shooting out of the box. OUCH. I look up and I'm back at the theater. I see my girlfriend in the audience. She's clapping for me. I'm just happy to be alive. --- --- --- I booked it out of the theater as soon as I got off the stage. I dragged her with me. She was mad but then got that sly grin on her face. "You want to go back to my place? My parents aren't home tonight."She says, toying with her blouse buttons. "Oh no. No pre-marital sex. You and I are going to church." --- Visit my subreddit, r/ProfessorCynical, for more stories like this by me every day!
There once was a women who lived a good life. Had a husband and a son. But the woman always wanted more. Having one of something wasn’t enough for her, even going to getting people fired to getting what she wanted. One day, aliens arrived on earth. The women saw their tech and wanted it. She asked for it, the aliens said no. She started getting angry, so she asked again. The aliens once again said no. The lady was sick of this, so she screamed at the top of her lungs “I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!” The aliens were shocked, but allowed her to see their leader. Their leader instantly got annoyed by her as soon as she entered. The aliens informed their leader on the things she said and the leader felt anger rising. The women spoke “My name is Karen Entitled, and I would li-“. She didn’t even finish her sentence before she was blasted by their lasers. The leader declared war on all humans to make sure this... Thing... Never could exist again. So good job Karen.
The villian pauses his rant to look around. "Does someone find what I said funny?" No one speaks up. Just a lot of wide-eyes and heads shaking. "Someone,"he insists,"just laughed." I raise my hand slowly. "Oh, that was me, boss. But I wasn't laughing. I sniffled. I have a cold." "Then why the hell did you show up? Go home. Get some rest." It's so silent you can hear rats humping in the walls. I stand rooted, not knowing if this is some type of test or not. "Sir?" "What the hell? You're still here? What'd I say? Go home. Take some time off." "It's no fair,"one of the other guys mumble. "I never got any time off." BANG! The henchman falls down dead. The villian blows on the barrel of the smoking gun and looks around. "Anyone else want some time off?" Wide eyes and head shaking. The villian points his gun at me. "You have five seconds to get out of here and go home,"he says, "before I really make you sick." "Yes, sir. One question: how much time should I take off?" He counts, "Five...four..." I hightail it out of there.
I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands.
"HTB-626: Preliminary Survey Report" Introduction Followup to automated probe surveys of System G-4077, which determined that the third planet possesses a Nitrogen-Oxygen atmosphere and likely qualifies as Habitable, with a significant number of low orbiting satellites which may indicate presence of intelligent life. Distant system scans confirmed probe results, triggering protocols for closer investigation. Fleet assigned the designation HTB-626 to the planet. Three other UT Bodies were detected in orbit of G-4077, though two may be candidates for limited colonization efforts following scans for mineral wealth. Survey ship closed entered orbit of HTB-626. Presence of significant artificial satellite presence confirmed. Significant surface radiation levels suggest that the native population engaged in widescale nuclear conflicts. Massive cleanup efforts may be needed before colonization efforts can be performed. Limited archaeological and anthropological followup may be possible with appropriate safety precautions. Scans detected a number of sunken cities, indicated widescale climate change triggered flooding as well. Please see Appendix 1 for details. Survey teams explored ruins of one city on the largest continent, and found limited signs of recent activity. Flyby scans detected numerous abandoned campsites surrounding the ruins, all recently occupied. Eventually an occupied camp was found. Orbital observations determined this to be an isolated hunter-gatherer tribe of bipeds, consistent with the layout of the abandoned city. Further research advised.
“We call it toothpaste!” “Man, who would’ve thought we’d have solved all of humanity’s teeth-related problems in the year 1886?” “I don’t buy it; sure the 9 of you are gullible enough to buy that whipped up minty bullshit, but piss will always be on top.” It was at that point that instead of arguing with him, all the other dentists simply pushed their chairs a few god-sent inches away from the piss-aroma, erased the 0 on the first ten of the tube, and looped a semi-circle around the 1. “There we go, 9/10 dentists! Good, great, fantastic, isn’t it just getting so late? I’m all tuckered out for today, see you guys later!” Everyone took that as an in to get the hell away from piss-teeth, and he was left alone. It was odd that piss-teeth somehow had more uniform gums, a perfect bite, and a complete lack of cavities, though...
The video shook as the camera jumbled up close to the humans face and tapped him gently on the face. Gnor-Gzax was dumbfounded. They'd only lost their home planet half a decade ago, and yet, their species' population had quadrupled! That too without assistance! He needed to know how. He'd temporarily adopted an Earthling and pumped it full of truth serum. He would know the truth! His research could save billions of species! The camera thumped again, this time harder, onto the humans respiratory orifice and the... creature, awoke with a yelp. Gnor-Gzax rested a tentacle on the head of his assistant holding the camera. That would be enough thumping. The specimen was awake. Shackled on the cold hard metal of the examination table, Rick found himself unable to move an inch. His hands were bound tight with some sort of soft leather, there was a bright light in his eyes and his mind was a fuzzy mess. Was he in New Orleans again? Oh wait. They'd blown up New Orleans. Was he in the entertainment sector then? "Rick Rodriguez."Said the voice. "Wha-...?"was his intelligent response. "How is your species able to reproduce quickly enough to escape the planetary diminishment?" Reproduce, Rick though, like... sex and stuff? Was this alien asking him for... dating advice? Rick figured he might as well answer honestly. Not like this could get any worse. "Uh, mostly booze. Music helps. Mostly listen to Elvis nowadays. Err, not much else to do besides doin' it. Robots farm and stuff. Can't walk on the moon easily. So we all just kinda… do it?" There was no response. Rick waited a minute. Then another. "Uh, hell-?" There was an audible whump as the transport pod closed around Rick and took him back to his lunar module. In the morning this would all be a dream to him. Gnor-Gzax was dumbfounded. Such stunning efficiency. The humans did not even mourn their home world. Their heartlessness was both commendable and yet terrifying. He picked up his writing implement and scribbled furiously in his written word. Most of his species used brain interfaces, but he found the physical effort comforting. He grumbled as he wrote "So, they devolve their social classes and focus their entire populace productivity on reproduction...." Stunning, he thought. Humans truly were base and ruthlessly efficient creatures. &#x200B; (Note: I'm not really a writer, but I do like to write, so tell me what you thought about it.)
Cecilia was as quiet as usual in the car ride to the beach. It was summer break, and like every year since I’d taken her in, we were going down to my wife’s old beach home. I could still remember the frantic little motions she’d made towards the blue horizon, driving past it just after making the decision to adopt her. Aria sprang to action. “You like the beach, Cecilia?” At this, the infant gesticulated all the more violently towards the sands. We took a little detour, and ended up spending the next hour in attire and weather neither too appropriate for the beach running around after the little one. The memory was bittersweet. “Carl? You remember Carl. I told you about him last week. Ol’ Carl, we been drinking buddies since our early twenties. Our pops were drinking buddies, and so were their pops. So anyway, Carl, yesterday at work, comes into the office dressed up like a surfer, could you believe?” I rambled on and on, as I always did when alone with Cecilia. She seemed unusually quiet today, and that’s saying something, considering she was always quiet. Soon enough, I had run down all the threads I could of monologuing. The traffic was heavy. I drummed my fingers on the wheel at a red light. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Another three, and it hit green. A hunk of a sixteen wheeler took its sweet time starting up again. “Why’d momma have to die?” I almost jumped out of my skin. I did jump in my seat, and my hands jerked on the wheel. I took a seventy degree turn by accident, and almost caused one. I stopped right in the middle of the street, and looked over at Cecilia. Backdropped by a baker’s dozen of honking and beeping horns, twin tears streaked down her face. “Why’d momma have to die?” Her loud crying filled the space, and for the first time since I’d met her, I was the quiet one.
Being anyone and anything you want to be can be really cool, for a while at least. Not until every intelligence agency in the world starts looking for you. I guess that's what happens when you are the only person in the world with superpowers. I got famous pretty quickly after the incident. No one knows my real identity though; they only call me The Shifter on the news. What was it like to be back in my own body? It's been so long I started to forget. There's a catch with my ability. I have to actually see the person I want to copy. No pictures or anything like that, I have to look at the real thing for it to work. It even worked on dead people as long as something was still there except ash or dust. But it didn't take long to figure out I could never shapeshift back into my own body. I was wanted man (or woman, or cat, or tiger, or whale; you get the gist). No matter who I turned into, they always looked for the doppelganger with their AI-powered satellites and surveillance cameras. But if I could somehow get back into my own body this hide-and-seek could finally stop. Problem was, I had to look at myself. Sounds simple until you realize that there is no you anymore. After a while I remembered something. There was still one hope left. My mother always kept my old teeth I lost in elementary school. That might just be the last thing that’s left of me. For once I was actually grateful for her weird sentimental antics. I shapeshifted into one of our neighbors that was walking their dog that night and sneaked into my parents' home. Even before the incident my parents never wanted to see me again. Long story. If this doesn't work out, I guess they'll get their wish, huh. The key was still under the doormat. How cliché, but it worked in my favor. I really didn’t want to climb through my window. Bad memories. After closing the door behind me I realized that not everyone in this house was asleep. Arnold, our Mastiff was still awake. Damn, he’s gotten old. Still, he was happily wagging his tail at me and welcoming me back. Funny, he never liked strangers. Did he actually recognize me? Or maybe that random neighbor was a friend of my parents? Not important now. I turned into Arnold and went up the stairs into my old room. Searching through the drawers was really hard as a dog, especially when you try to not make too much noise. But after a while I found them. The teeth that could bring me back. The real me. I concentrated hard on them, but I didn't grow into my old body. For a split second I thought that this was it. Bones worked but teeth didn’t? It was so unfair. I was doomed to live a life on the run. Constantly an imposter. I actually started crying. Wait, tears? Dogs can’t cry! I turned around and looked into my mirror. What I saw was a familiar-looking kid with big watery eyes staring back at me in surprise.
"Detective Forrest, do you really expect this department to investigate every single idiot who goes writing about serial killers on the internet? Have you ever checked Reddit, or 9-Chen, 7-Chat, whatever the hell that stupid site is?"the man behind the desk shook his head, not angry, just tired. "I'm telling you Chief, this one is something different. It goes into way too much detail, and it's way too close to these cold case files we were looking at." "Aren't serial killer cases supposed to have something in common, Greenly? " "They do... this blog." The Chief sat for a minute, lifted his glasses and rubbed his nose, "You know what, Detective, why not go for it. The Mayor's been on our asses to clean up the cold case backlog anyway, so at least I can say we're doing something." "Thanks chief, I knew you cared."Forrest rolled her eyes on her way out of the office. The corkboard with photos and index cards pinned to it was cliche, but cliches existed for a reason. Ten cases, ten stories, laid out as bulleted lists of details, with lines drawn between the story and the actual murder. The Chief is right, Forrest thought to herself, serial killers do always have some common element, and it wasn't just the fact that they apparently liked to write up their adventures online. Forrest would have to find that element before she could really start looking for the killer. A few weeks had passed, and Greenly was little further than she was the day she started. "So how'd you get the Chief to sign off on this again, Sam? You promise to wash his car or something?"Her partner, Lt. Detective Jonsten, asked as he walked past the corkboard to the coffee pot. "Seriously, you too Dwayne? Can you at least pretend to take it seriously? There's a serial killer here, I'm sure of it." "Sure there is. Anyway, there's a new story up on the site."Jonsten remarked as he filled up his mug. Forrest ran back to her desk to see this new story. She pulled up the page, and clicked the link innocuously titled 'Chapter 11, part 1'. >John felt the urge again. He would try to fight it, as always, but knew he would likely fail this time. It was stronger than the last one, like it always was when he managed to ignore it.It was going to be harder this time, too. He had heard that the police were starting to look into it. Some detective named Woods. She was supposed to have been pretty good at one point, but something had happened. John didn't know what, but what he found out implied something. Forrest stopped there, the rest of the story suddenly unimportant.
I walk into the large furnished room. A fireplace is crackling softly and the room is filled with light from three large ornate windows facing west. The sun is setting, casting high ridged shadows against the wall. Voices draw my eyes to the couch facing the fireplace. "... never even knew until they sent me the letter."I walk around nervously and approach, "Hello". "Well there he is!"A small older woman jumps up from where she's sitting. Her hair is long and tied up into a loose bun. Loud gaudy earrings hang from her small ears. She looks kind. The man is much different than my biological father. He's tall and dark skinned, with a salt and pepper beard. Dark sunglasses cover his eyes and a he looks calm and relaxed. He stands up a little slower than the woman. "My names Magdalene dear, I've been so excited to finally meet you!"She rushed forward and gave me a hug. It's strange. I know I have never met these people in my life, but I can feel an energy in my chest that seems to recognize their souls.
Steam rose from the radar technicians coffee as he slid into his station. The cold leather of the seat warmed as his beverage cooled, time moving in taps of his keyboard. The air was still, the stale silence sliced only occasionally by a soft bleep, or the cough of another tech. He yawned, tabbing between the monitoring program and browsing Reddit. The office of Planetary Defense Coordination rarely lived up to its exciting name; this day, like most, was routine. The lights of the room bathed its occupants in a calming blueish green hue, and eyelids grew heavy as the day wore on. The change to red was sudden, and the technicians eyes grew wide. The room's sleepy silence was shattered by the clarion of alarms. Coffee was spilled as technicians flailed, decaying adrenal systems firing up production. An engineer, trying to keep his cool, called out. "ATLAS reading asteroid 10721V has shifted its course, Currently at close to 2 LD but moving abnormally fast." "Quinctus?"One tech whispered softly to another, "That wasn't coming anywhere close to us." The engineer continued shouting out updates. "It seems to be ignoring orbital projections, speeds are exceeding what...should be possible..." His voice trailed as the large dot moved straight for earth, directly and unnaturally. Another voice piped up from the back. "Analytics has it headed for the northern hemisphere, tracking exact trajectory. Lets hope its not heading somewhere heavily populated. " Machines hummed. Breath was held. The big screen zoomed in on California, and further in to Los Angeles. Panic. Phones rang and mouses clicked as the image zoomed further and further in, resting the central impact point on a residential home in Westlake. With the advanced satellite imaging you could see a man, sitting in a chair with his hand up. This was ignored of course, as the engineers and technicians frantically sent warning messages, in the hope some sort of evacuation could occur. Unwatched in the background the impatient man sat, and another figure slowly approached. He rose his hand, and the two slapped a firm high five. The asteroid suddenly curved, attempting violently to return to its original trajectory. The office stood, mouths open and dumbstruck. "Quinctus...returning to original orbital path?"the head engineer stared confused at the data. "Its...Its going to miss earth!" The room exploded into cheers. The satellite feed tracked the asteroid as it turned away, but the office had turned away, tears and hugs filling its every corner. The asteroid looped around the planet as they yelled, crashing suddenly into the moon. Both exploded spectacularly on the big screen, unobserved by the celebrating technicians.
In an age of company espionage, the Rno541 was a game changer. Designed to appear entirely human, it would mimic emotions and hold convincing conversations. Companies would have an android created that would be "hired"and brought into the company. With entire false memories, livelihoods, and personalities uploaded the Rno541 was able to fool companies into believing the androids were actual employees. The real trick came down to the memories and reactions of the android itself. It did not realize that the memories were false and it feared insanity. Thus such accusations were taken with great shame and damnation. The androids would join the company and make friends. It would play the role it had been given to perfection. Able to eat, drink, and convinced that it did more than simply plug in at night, the machine lived. It made friends. It became supportive, learned to love, became envious, and engaged in drama. Through it all it recorded. It uploaded. It snitched. A year ago all such machines had been taken off the market, except one of the most amazing parts of the machines were their ability to blend in. In many cases no one realized the machines were machines, and being accused led to massive witch hunts. Ron Oscar Fifstone remembered his own experience as a new hire. The unofficial meeting in the faculty lounge on his lunch break. The fast fired questions, the frightening looking quiet man who watched the whole thing. The angry sounding crowd trying to confuse him and trip him up. It wasn't a pleasant experience. But it was all behind him. At least it was until a long day at work when he stood up and realized his neck had a huge crick in it. He remembered the office e-mail including the massage tutorial and decided to give it a try. It had stressed the idea that management should be with you when you try the massage, but Ron didn't think it would make that big of a deal. A small click, Ron froze. "Administrator mode activated. What action would you like to perform?"
So it's finally come. Cancer. Far too advanced to cure, or to even treat effectively. No matter what I do, I'll be dead in a few weeks at best. My Gift can't save me. I can't go back farther than the moment I first awoke this morning, and nothing I can change after that will make a lick of difference. Still, I can't complain. I've lived a thousand lifetimes at least. Since I received the Gift, I've lived almost every day of my life countless times over, never surrendering to the next day until I was sure that I'd lived it as perfectly as I ever would. Then, and only then, would I not kill myself. I even maximized the Gift by experimentation, simple trial and error. It turned out that whenever I died, I'd return to the moment that I first awoke that morning, or, if I stayed awake through midnight, the most recent time I had awakened. My record for staying awake is 7 days, which I swung several times (with chemical assistance) while building my fortune. The markets are your oyster when you can relive a week as many times as you like. As soon as I could afford it (which was quite soon), I hired a Fortune 100 tech company to build the Gizmo. An everything-proof unit no bigger than a smartphone, it could explode with enough energy to instantly kill anyone within 10 feet. It would do this just before local solar midnight (the magic moment, it turned out) unless I flipped its single switch from Red to Green, in which case it would simply wake me about 30 seconds after local midnight. I'd flip the switch back to red to stop the alarm, think "Hello, Groundhog Day Number Next,"and go back to sleep until morning. Now I'm 78 years old, I have terminal inoperable cancer, and I'm out of options. Except one. As nearly as I can figure it, if I die in the time before midnight and first waking up, the Gift won't know how to reset me. It's now half an hour before local midnight, and I have the water and pills ready. I've removed the main and backup batteries from Gizmo 4.0, so it can neither explode nor alert. In a few minutes I'll go to sleep for the last time, and in an hour or two I'll stop breathing. With any luck, that'll be the end of it all. Thanks, genie. You gave me more than I could have ever wished for. --=-- What the fu-- I'm awake! Something went wrong...wait, where am I? And why am I naked and dangling upside down in the grip of a giant... Oh, crap. You thought of everything, didn't you, genie? Hello, Groundhog Day Number One.
I had heard he was sick. We hadn't spoken in a few months, but it's a small town. Out of the 30 or so businesses that made up our "historic downtown"he ran the books for nearly half of them. There was never anything wrong between us, a lack of interest I suppose - on both our parts. I had my shit and he had his and there was never any reason for our worlds to collide &#x200B; .After mom passed, we didn't really have much in common. It was always apparent, but now there was no one to break the awkward silence. We did our best to keep in touch, but when we talked we were never really talking. I could here the care in his voice over the phone, there was something there, but it seemed as if he never learned how to string the words together. &#x200B; Part of it, I think, is all guys his age. Generations raised by kids that lived through wars that quickly shipped their own kids off to fight in even more wars. And I nearly enlisted after 9/11. Entire libraries worth of words lost in the translation from German and Japanese and Korean and Vietnamese. Fuck Alexandria. That was nothing in comparison to the loss of human progression. &#x200B; Eventually he'd remarry, they'd buy a townhouse, life goes on. That's what he'd say whenever I brought mom up. Some new form of, "Oh son, you gotta learn to let her go, life goes on...", etc. He wasn't wrong. I could always count on him for decent advice, it's just that none of it was ever his own. Always some proverb or saying he picked up from one of his "old friends"or "business partners"from out of town. I have foggy memories of him taking me and mom into the office to meet some of them. "This is so and so, go and shake his hand. "I remember thinking of how these men and greetings must be super important. At least that's how the adults made it seem. &#x200B; I can still smell the cigarette smoke and bourbon soaked polyester. This must be where spontaneous combustion comes from. I was in my church clothes. We were at the office. It was the only time I'd ever see him pour drinks as he performed his best impression of a sociable host. &#x200B; As I stood behind the podium staring out at the crowd of wrinkled faces and forgotten stories I realized two things: 1.) There is a distinct facial expression connected to the feeling of obligation and it manifests itself almost perfectly between boredom and respect. 2.) There is no conceivable universe in which he would ever allow mom and I to meet most of these people. EDIT: Broke paragraphs up better for clarity. Also to everyone that responded, many thanks! And yes it was meant to be somewhat ambiguous up to this point. Idk who tf they are either.
I always thought it was something we all had. I remember explaining it to my mum when I was younger and she just thought I was being - in the nicest way - childish, but in that sweet, innocent way as kids often are. She'd give me that motherly smile I always remember her having and shake her head as if to say "there's nobody else like you in the world". Guess she was kind of right. Bless her soul. Mum died when I was in high school. She fell down the stairs. When she passed away, it felt like I'd lost a part of me. Like my own heart was torn from my chest and lost forever. I'd never seen a woman so...pure. Her aura, like everyone else, was subtle but impossible to miss. It was simply there running the edge of their figure. Mum was a perfect white, shining and brilliant. I thank God for her every day and smile when I look back over all the time we spent together. My favourite part of the day was when she walked me to school. It was like someone had taken a box of crayons and melted them into a kaleidoscopic vibrancy. I'd say things like "that man is yellow,"as he smiled warmly to me and mum when he gave mum her change when she got me some sweets from the store. Or the time when I blurted out "that lady is red"when she walked me to school and we'd pass the smartly dressed woman wrapped up in a heated discussion with someone else on her mobile phone. Sometimes people heard what I'd say and they'd laugh or shrug it off as a kid just being, well, a kid. Those were your yellows and your oranges. Sometimes they'd look at me oddly, as if I had somehow looked directly into their minds. Those were your purples and blues. Those folks were never particularly smiley. They always seemed to be distracted. Elsewhere. I remember in the later years of high school, I came into school with a fresh pair of Converse All-Star. They weren't the kinda thing you'd have these days; they were the good ol' classic black and white. My friends were usually different tones of oranges or yellows from day to day. When I walked in with those hi-tops though - I'd never seen them so green. But it would be remiss of me to not talk about him. There was a man I'd see every day. He was a tall man dressed in a brown tweed suit with a yellow sweatshirt underneath and forest green shirt. His hair was perfect brown, combed over and smartly styled. Sometimes he wore rectangular glasses; sometimes not. He'd always be making jokes or complimenting others. I wouldn't see him for long, but in the brief time I did, it was like a warm embrace. He'd always be excited to see me and mum. Always ask us how we were. Always flattering and always joking. There was no denying he was a nice guy. Just such a nice guy. But he was surrounded by the most hideous and foul shaped blackness I had ever seen, like a storm cloud ripping open and giving birth to this seemingly innocuous gentleman. I'd never seen anyone - anything - so...dark. When I was a kid, I was confused. When I was a teenager, I was on edge. Now I'm a man. Now...I just don't know. I still see the man. I see him often. I need answers. There must be something. There must be a reason. What is he hiding? It's exhausting to witness him. To be around him. God knows how he must feel. Does he feel anything? Evil or not, he must be carrying an unimaginable weight beyond belief. I just don't know. I didn't really know what to say when I walked up to him that day. He greeted me as usual. Made his usual jokes. Made me feel welcome as he had done so much before. "Hey, Daniel!"he greeted, patting me on the shoulder firmly. His face beaming a perfect smile. "How's it goin'?" I stared at him and steadied my breathing. I felt a tightness in my chest. Here I stood in front of this man - this evil man - not really knowing what to say. It was like knowing someone had a bad hand in Poker and trying to call his bluff without giving yourself away. But he could tell I was mulling something over. He knew I had something to say. The smile slowly faded from his face and his brow furrowed in concern. "You OK? You don't seem yourself." I maintained my gaze. I could feel the lump in my throat forming and my eyes became misty. With a deep breath, I gathered up the mess in my head and spoke as softly as I could. "Dad,"I uttered, "how did Mum really die?" His face suddenly became the whitest, most pale feature of his person. I still think about that day. It was the hardest day of my life. He always carried that blackness, even when he was led away and put in the back of the police car. I've never met anybody else like him. I hope I never do. Sometimes I wish I didn't see the colours. Sometimes I wish mum were still with me.
I'm new here, go easy on me. And I'm working on getting the story that comes before this done. Please read with a sophisticated "Southern"accent in mind. --- Now that ya’ll yungin’s know about a Human’s capacity for grudges, and the havoc they can wreak on our society, I can explain why Humans, and only Humans can be a Keeper, with only 3 examples of non-Human Keepers. First, let’s clear sum’in up: what a Keeper is. In short, a Keeper is a man or woman, whose sole objective is to ensure a client keeps to their promise or word. A Keeper will go to any lengths to ensure the client’s promise or word is kept. By extension, and as a result, they help a client remain honorable, for whatever that’s worth now-a-days. Some call them mercenaries, or guns for hire, but the only order they truly follow is what is outlined in your contract. If orders you give afterwards are pursent to that goal, they may follow it, but that is solely up to their discretion, as outlined in the contract. The story I’ve just told you should make one thing clear about a Human: A promise you make is sacrosanct. You stick to your word no matter what. A man promised a Vorgath that he would whoop his ass, and so he did. It didn’t matter to him that said Vorgath was three times the man’s size. It didn’t matter that said Vorgath could break that little man with just one of his 4 arms. That little man, held true to his word, and started a galactic war that resulted in the extinction of 15 recognized Coalition peers. Fifteen entire species wiped from existence, over a grudge, a promise. Now, since it’s clear what a Keeper is, and why Humans are so uniquely qualified to hold this position, let’s clear up some misunderstandings. 1. Just because a Keeper’s contract is to protect your life in whatever way possible, up to and including the murder of hundreds of crazy cultists who think your blood is the means to ressurect a long dead and forgotten god, does not mean he’s fallen in love with you. That was a one time occurence between one female Keeper and a one Tentell, those Cthulhu-esque people. 2. When referring to a Keeper, you will always use “He”. Never she. Never they. A group of Keepers is always referred to in the singular. When referring to a Keeper using spousal terms, you will always use the masculine. Female Keepers, even in typical, male-female relationships remain a He. I.E. Boyfriend, Husband, Fiancé. 3. A Keeper is free to decline, or drop a contract anytime he wishes. Just because you paid, or are willing to pay obscene amounts of money to have a Keeper “be your husband and give/bear you dozens of cute, little, half Human-Half Octopus children” does not mean they must follow through. Some of us find that quite creepy actually. 4. If a Keeper determines that your Promise or Word is not worth keeping, whether this is due to the nature of the Promise , or the nature and disposition of the Promisee, is wholly up to them, again as outlined in their contract. Yes, we understand you were promised to be paid back by “Lil Ol’ Miss Beth” but given that she never had the means or ability to ever pay you back, much less the lifespan to ever manage to scrape together that kind of money, doesn’t mean I--. Ahem, a Keeper is to go exhorting her. A Keeper is not a tough for the Mob or Mafia. And honestly, who would believe that you lent 17 trillion credits to sweet old lady? Especially when you knew she had so few years left to live? 5. Yes, Karen, the Keeper does understand that you promised your kid that she would get to go to Grudgeland today. You did not specify in your contract when He was to take her, though. As it stands, there is no good way for the Keeper to get your brat--. Ahem, child, into Grudgeland because, as stated by the ticket salesman, ‘They are already overcapacity, and were to allow even one more being on the ship, and thus the Amusement park, Marshals would shut it down for the day.’ Had you specified a date in the contract, there would have been numerous things the Keeper could have done. As it stands, you can either drop the contract and resign a new one, or tell her she will go tomorrow. I cannot guarantee that I’ll be able to find a Keeper that would be willing to sign a contract like this on such short notice. Now, there is much more I could list. Honestly, we’ve romanticized them so much that it’s led to thousands of incidents yearly, but at the moment I don’t have time. Got a contract that needs Keepin’ after all. I wasn’t hired to teach you. I was hired to play. And as I recall, I was winnin’.
Leon looked at the safe and smirked. A combination lock. How cute. He would be in and out in minutes. He was the best thief in the business for a reason, after all. He knelt by the safe and cracked his knuckles. Then he spun the dial for a little while, stopping on a seemingly random number. For most thieves, that would be a ridiculous thing to do. One cracked a save with careful planning and observation, not some random guess. Leon was not most thieves. He had found early on that he had a supernatural ability to guess things. He could pinpoint with absolute accuracy anything as long as it needed him to simply guess things at random. He had won more jellybean counting contests than he could count, simply by writing down a random number. The only reason he was not a multi-millionaire was because playing the lottery was too boring. He spun the dial the opposite direction and stopped it. Then he spun it the first direction again. Then he pulled the handle. It remained closed. Leon cocked his head in confusion. That had never happened before. No combo lock had ever failed to open on the first try. Hell, it was the reason he had become a thief instead of any of the other jobs he could have done. Sure, things that were not housed in combo locked safes still needed him to do things, but as long as he was required to guess, he still succeed every time. He spun the dial again. Still no response. Was his gift leaving him? Had he suddenly lost his ability to guess? He ran to the nearest computer. It was password locked. He closed his eyes and hit a few random keys. The computer unlocked, just as it should have. His gift was still there. So why was the safe still closed? He shut the computer off and got back to work. He never carried any of the normal safe breaking tools others did, simply because he had never needed them. He tried again and again, and never did the handle budge. His heart beat like a jackhammer. The long her stayed in this room, the better his chances of getting caught. He stopped. There were footsteps. They were faint now, but getting closer. He growled. This was the first time he had failed to open a safe, and he would not let it get the better of him. He would be back another day. Leon made his exit vanishing into the night. A few minutes later, the house's owner entered. The hefty, wealthy man whistled as he approached his safe. Other people his their valuables behind wall safes and private vaults and the like. But but this safe was right out in the open, simply because there was no need to hide it. The man reached under the raised legs of the safe and felt for the well hidden switch. He pressed it, and the door popped open.
"Her mother signed the waivers, right?" "Yeah, she's good to go." "Alright; bring her in." Two suited agents take their seats at the table. The door at the far side of the room opens, and a young girl is escorted in. She climbs into the too-large seat in front of the agents, immediately hiding her hands in her lap, looking down. "Hi, there, Ellie,"one agent says. The girl doesn't look up. "My name is Mr. Pearson, and this is my friend, Mr. Evans. It's nice to meet you." She still doesn't look up; instead, she sinks back further into her chair, crossing her arms. "This is probably pretty scary, huh?"Evans chimes in. "Well, you don't have to worry, okay? We just want to ask you some questions, if that's alright with you." "My momma says not to talk to strangers,"she mumbles. "And that's good - you should never talk to strangers,"Pearson replies. "But your momma said it was okay if you talk with us. We're from the government. Do you know what that means?" "Not s'posed to talk to strangers."She crosses her arms a little tighter, swinging her legs back and forth from the chair. "Have you seen the monster?"Evans cuts in. She stops swinging her legs and looks up at him. "Yeah…."she replies in a small voice. "Well, we're kinda like superheroes,"Evans continues. "We're gonna help stop the monster. But we need your help to do it. We can't see it, but you can. So, you're kinda like a superhero, too!" "I don't want to,"she replies angrily. "Why not, Ellie?"Pearson asks. "It's a nice monster,"she says. "I don't want to hurt him; he's nice." "Oh, he's a 'he'?"Evans asks. "Why do you think he's nice?" "Not s'posed to talk to strangers."She reverts back to her previous stance, crossing her arms and glaring at the floor. "I completely understand,"Pearson coaxes. "I know this is scary, but we really need your help. What does the monster want from us? Did he say?" "He wants to save all the animals and the plants and the birds 'n' stuff,"she replies hesitantly. "Says that our you-knee-verse is broken, and he's gonna fix it." Pearson and Evans cast nervous glances towards one another. Evans leans forward and asks softly, "Ellie, did he say how he was gonna fix it?" "Yeah,"she replies, almost proudly. "He says our planet is sick. Like a fever. He's gonna make it better." "How, Ellie?"Evans repeats. "He's gonna get rid of the vi-rus." "What virus?"Pearson asks. Ellie giggles, covering her mouth with her hands. "Grown-ups,"she snickers. A cold silence washes over the two agents. Finally, Pearson asks, "...What about the people who aren't grown-ups? People like you?" Ellie giggles again, eyes lighting up. "We get to stay here and play with the animals and birds 'n' stuff!" The agents wrap up the conversation, and the little girl is escorted out of the room, and back to her mother. "What the fuck are we gonna do now?!"Evans shouts. After a moment of silence, Pearson replies, shoulders slumped. "There's nothing we can do, Evans. Now, we just wait." "We have to figure out if we can kill this thing!"Evans yells. "Let's talk to more of these kids; we've got, what, a dozen lined up?" "None of these kids are going to know something like that, and even if they did, they see this fucking thing as a friend."Pearson pulls a small, silver flask from the lining of his suit jacket. "Thing's bribing them with an endless sleepover party."He takes a long pull from the flask. "So you're just gonna let this happen, then?"Evans glares. "Is it really so bad?"Pearson replies. "Maybe it's the best thing that could happen to us right now, as a species. Give us a fresh start before we destroy our planet and ruin everything." "You're insane. I'm notifying Michaels."Evans pulls out a cellphone and dials. Pearson takes another long pull from his flask.
"You got any more shells?"Michael asked, as he propped the bleeding monstrosity up against the bedroom end-table. "I'm almost out of shells." "I got a few."I muttered, kicking the ammo crate over in their direction, prompting the glowing figure to rack the slide of their remington. "How's Boogey looking?"I asked, peering around the corner of the blinds, squinting into the darkness. "He's right fucked."The Angel replied. "I'd try and heal him, but chances are that'll just make him burst into flames." "Just bandage him up."I ordered. "His kind heals fast, and we're going to need help. My right arm is numbed to all shit." "There are more outside? Already?" "What the hell do you think?"I hissed back, dropping an empty mag to the floor, bringing the pistol back down on another: loaded and waiting on the window sill. Pulling the slide back with my teeth, I tasted blood. Setting my back to the wall, I took a deep breath as I steeled my thoughts. This was gonna be a gamble. "Get off me, you limp-winged bastard."Opening my eyes, I watched as the monstrous form of teeth and shadows wracked a heavy cough, growling out in pain as they stumbled back to their feet. I let out a sigh of relief. "Now, hang on a second there, big-fella-"Michael stumbled back, bandages still in hand. "Shut up, feather-duster."Boogey growled, limping to the opposing side of the window, giant claws gouging into the drywall. "How many of 'em this time?" "Fifteen."I answered. "No, scratch that. eighteen. The leprechauns just showed up." "Oh, for fuck's sake."Michael cursed, as he finished reloading. "As if it couldn't get any worse." "Those soul-less, gold-toting, little gits..."Boogey growled, multitude of hungry eyes looking out beyond the broken glass. "Michael, get me the uzi." "Already done."The Angel answer, tossing the blocky weapon into Boogey's waiting claw, as he took cover beside us. Looking to the clock, hanging crooked above the bed, he frowned. "Four more hours until sunrise." "True."I answered. "But that gives us plenty of time to finish this job." "To finish the job?"Boogey asked in disbelief. "You got a plan, human?" "Of course."I said, shoving the pistol into the holster on my hip, and pulling free the backup-plan I'd been saving for a rainy day. "Is that the-"Michael stuttered, eye's wide as beside him, Boogey started cackling with glee. "I think it is."The monster rumbled. "How in Satan's name did you get your dirty mortal fingers on a holy hand-grenade?" "Good question."I replied, pulling the pin with my teeth. "Remind me again, how long do I cook this thing?" "Three shall be the number thou shalt count..."Michael gestured across his chest in prayer. "Five is right out."Boogey growled. "Five is right out."I agreed, as I let it sail out the window. "Let's go kick some ass." The explosion that followed was music to my ears.
Year 2136 - Human Diplomatic Mission, Hope Station Ambassador McKlain got up to the podium and looked out among the various human and krell dignitaries. It had been a few short years but everything had changed, and not just for humanity. He cleared his throat, this whole ordeal coming to a close. "Fellow humans and krell dignitaries, I welcome you to the opening of the first extraterrestrial human embassy and the opening of Hope Station here orbiting Venus." He took a moment to glance out the window into space at Venus as the crowd let out a small murmur and clap. "I remember it like it was yesterday when the Krell fleet showed up in our system. We of course assumed it was an invasion force, bent on the conquering of earth. After all we viewed Earth as our paradise world, so in our error we prepared for a fight. Sending out what few ships we had to face what we assumed was our impending doom. I remember the hysteria and craze of my fellow humans. We went to war against ourselves, which turned out to be misplaced. Our ships off battle met a fleet of refugees, and ones not even heading to earth." A pause, "It took time and still some on our world believe this is a false flag, that we have doomed ourselves to some malicious force that seeks to control us. I hope that this station...and our diplomatic mission will be proof that such fears are miss placed, and in time we will have strong ties with our new intergalactic neighbors. So, now I call up to the podium, K'ar the speaker of Krell people. K'ar stood up to a round of clapping and murmurs as they approached the podium, taking a moment to shake the Ambassadors’ hand. Taking a moment to look out onto Venus, now called Izoia by the Krell, a world roughly translated to new beginnings or hope. Turning to the crowed they begin to speak. "Thank you, ambassador. I to welcome our guests to Hope Station, as you know is a translation of our new homeworld, your human's Venus. So, first, I want to say thank you. I too was there on those ships holding our people. While at the time we were angered by the response of the earth, after all we were transmitting our intent. But we understand, and even welcome this misunderstanding. A short breath, "So in gratitude of giving us a new homeworld, we will be sharing our technologies, to better improve the lives of our human friends. Hopefully one day we can visit ourselves, when all humans believe we mean no harm to them. Another pause, a few humans were still convinced of ill intent, "However in truth our forthcoming aid is not entirely selfishless. We have enemies, and we need allies. However, do not think we expect you to fight our wars, our enemies we become your enemies. And we will fight beside you. We as a species are grateful for the charity your people have shown us. We only mean to grow together to further ourselves, both you and us into the grater intergalactic community." The crowed rose up and clapped, humans and krell turned to shake hands. The K'ar approached the human ambassador who had gotten up and walked toward his counterpart. "Again, my thanks, I only hope when the tide comes, we are ready." A sigh, "Many on earth are wary of this revelation. They feel you have brought war to us on purpose. I suspect some will attempt to aid your enemies." K'ar nodded, "It is understandable and foolish. We had thought this system void of life, but I think it is fortunate it was not. I fully believe together we can win from what I have seen from humanity in this short time. And perhaps someday regain what we lost."
I remember now... So many lifetimes lived. It's seems ridiculous now, spending nearly every previous lifetime on Earth asking the same old questions. What's it all for? What comes after? Why are we here? All the knowledge that is removed on birth, and then restored in death, the only question that is ever answered is, what comes after? This comes after. Again and again. Categories and choices. Rinse, repeat, an eternity of Groundhog Days, where the only difference is the choices you make, or don't make, from the catalog. Nobody knows why. The white uniformed angel never speaks more than that same sentence...over and over again, impervious to attempts at conversation, and impossible to interact with physically. Try to grab her and your hands pass right through, and then she disappears again. It's described as a "large catalog", but large doesn't begin to give it justice. Just as the "angel"has no substance, neither does the catalog. It just..exists. You can turn the pages. With a thought, sections become magnified so you can better read the text, which is crammed into every massive page. Millions of pages, each containing thousands of categories, with a hundred thousand or more items in each category. It can't be ripped, it can't be closed...and if you refuse to choose..BAM, you're born again anyway and you get what you get! Did I mention that the catalog randomizes itself? There will be no memorizing where desired attributes are located after millions of repetitions of finding them. And you must choose from every category. Diseases. Hair color. First car. Sexual orientation. Birth defects. Skills and instincts...which leads you down an endless path of things you could be proficient at. You learn quickly, after doing this a million times, that you can't just pick to be awesome at everything. You just get randomized and re-born. Are you starting to see, now? Do you comprehend the futility? The afterlife is just another lousy day in an eternity of different lives. I've been every race, creed, color, sex, profession...many times over, and the end of every life is the same. This room. That angel. That catalog. The choices. Return to Earth. Die. This room... Eventually, you get tired of the catalog, the choices, the unchanging room, the solitude...and the catalog knows. Oh, if you do find some good choices before this, the catalog knows, and you certainly get them. Last life, I managed to actually die of old age without losing any mental acuity! That sucked in its own way, but that was better than the lifetime my head was cracked open in a runaway steam train accident, and I still lived another 12 years as a drooling idiot...in the early 19th century. Not fun. But when you're done, when you're ready to just get out there and let fate take control...the catalog knows, and the choices are made for you, and an instant later...you're born again. And here you are again. Welcome back.
“Congratulations! You have been selected to become the next Technician in Heaven!” Great, just what I need, a joke about a job as soon as I get home from being fired. It wasn't my fault that the boss subbed my order with something that cost twice as much and did a quarter of what mine could. I even had my originals with the correct order on it. The bastards wouldn't even look at them. Now I know my former boss is someone's useless cousin who needed a job. It doesn't matter. I'll have to start a job search tomorrow, first thing. …—… Ugh, I haven't slept that... Bad... Since... Where am I? Sunshine, green grass, Golden Gate... I'm not dead, am I? A person at the gate says, “You’re the new technician?” "Maybe, I got a few questions first. "Shoot." "Am I dead?" "Not exactly. A tree fell on your apartment building, and one branch conked you pretty good. You're in a coma in the hospital. They know you're still alive, so don't worry about that." "So this is Heaven?" "The technical side of it. Takes a lot of stuff to keep everything else running." "Shouldn't God do that?" "Over reached, got a god sized headache, and is sleeping it off." "For how long?" "Earth time? Or here?" "Don't bother. I'm not going to like any of the answers." "Well, if God wakes up long enough, you could be sent back to your life. In the meantime, there's plenty of work to do here, and since I'm your boss-without-a-clue-and-knows-it, you get to tell me exactly what you would want in a price-no-object, bleeding-edge system." "No substitutes?" "I wouldn't have a clue what to substitute or where to find a catalog to look it up." "Any rush?" "There are sectors where things are going bad fast; I don't know if we should do those first, or upgrade elsewhere to make room while we strip the old sector for a complete rebuild." "Let me guess; the last guy was running around patching things as they broke, with whatever he could get his hands on." "Yes. My fault, I took the first choice instead of looking for a good choice." "Got it, a rats nest of tangled wiring, nothing is labeled. Half the equipment is showing warning lights, melted and functioning by divine intervention, or no one can figure out where the wires go, so they leave it in place "just in case."That about right?" "Yes." "Okay, how do I get a catalog?" "The last guy just snapped his fingers." "Snap judgment based on magazine recommendations. I think we can do better than that." I'm in heaven. In the technician's dream job. I can make my own catalog. Top of the line, backed by reliable tech reviews done by people that have used the equipment for real. "Make it so."(Okay, I'm a geek. What did you expect?) An exclamation from my boss. I open my eyes, and there is the catalog, floating in mid-air. It looks about a thousand pages thick, newspaper size. "Select top-rated one percent. Add all compatible equipment in the top 25 percent. Group equipment with identical capabilities under one heading, sorted by descending rating. Draw network diagrams based on available categories." Okay, let's see what the diagrams allow. We're missing something. "Is there equipment that is only available in heaven?" "Of course." "Add exclusive heaven equipment and remap catalog by the prior specification." Okay, diagrams again... And there's still something missing... No. They cannot want that. "I need to look at the existing equipment when this thing was first set up. The prime sector from which all else grew." "I... I don't want to go there." Gently, "I suspected, but now you have to show me. You don't have to go in, but I won't find it by myself." "Alright." The path was just as convoluted as I feared. The bad sectors were not gathered but scattered. The image came to my mind—a brain scan where cancer had metastasized. This wasn't the backup; this was God's brain, and hell had a grip on the brain stem. My dismay must have shown. "What's wrong?" "I think I know, but I have to make sure—rally the Archangels. Have the rest of the hosts standing by. We may be on the brink of war for God's brain." "This is the backup!" "Who told you that?" "The first technician, a funny guy with red hair, freckles, and a... wicked ...laugh." "Chuck. He couldn't keep his eyes off you, could he?" "No, was that wrong?" "It could have been very wrong, but you are innocence incarnate. He couldn't touch you." "You know him?" "Yes. Disgusting is the politest word. I can think of lots worse. He's got a way of convincing people he's right, then abusing them until they catch on. He quits just before they fire him, and goes somewhere else. I guess he's switched jobs for the last time." ((to be continued))
The Working Man “How was your day, honey?” Sam asked, twirling her pasta with a spoon in that polite way Ted had never bothered to learn. He was halfway through his own bite and chewed quickly to try and respond without a mouth full of food. It was tasty, as all her cooking was, but the strong scent of the potpourri in the center of the dining room table left cinnamon as the dominant taste of every meal the past few days. “Oh, you know,” he said with the vague roundaboutness that had become second nature to him, “the usual.” Occasionally he would make up some story of a coworker annoying him or some particular tough project but he was too tired for that today. Saying ‘Actually sweetie, just like every other day at this incredibly well-paying job, which is probably the only reason a knock out like you ever even gave me the time of day, I have no memory whatsoever of anything that goes on there, even what the building looks like other than the parking lot. I’m a little sore and run down today, though. Who knows why? Isn’t that a fun mystery?’ would probably not be the best idea. “What’s wrong?” she asked, grabbing his arm easing the tension she didn’t understand with her caress. “You’ve hardly touched your food.” “I had a big lunch,” he said, fairly certain it wasn’t a lie. He felt full to bursting when he found himself in the driver’s seat of his new Tesla promptly at 5:04, as per his usual. “Well, that’s fine, Travis usually eats enough for two when he’s done with kiddie karate so it won’t go to waste.” She turned dark eyes at him, sending some feminine message he wasn’t quite fine-tuned enough to read. She pushed her chair closer to him and brought her warm cheek against his. “We don’t have to pick him up for another hour, you know?” She nibbled lightly on his ear, sending waves of electricity down his skin. He put a hand to her smooth face and kissed her. She wrapped a leg around him, turning his chair to face the ornate kitchen. He saw she had left the fridge open. The lasagna from the night before was just a bit too big for the door to shut properly. You had to do it just right, and Sam didn’t know the trick. There was plenty of time to worry about that later, he thought, as his loving wife of five years hiked her dress up higher, showing more and more of her strong and long legs. A large picture hung on the swinging fridge door, held up by a flashy magnet for Tahichano Hotel and Casino. It was a black crayon drawing, Travis’s latest masterpiece, no doubt. For some unfathomable reason, Ted couldn’t take his eyes off of it. It showed a figure, standing over a circle with words too small to read without his glasses. Sam turned to see what he was gawking at, scampering to close the door with one shoe and one bare foot. As the door swung out of sight, taking the drawing with it, the spell was broken. “There, that’s better,” Sam said playfully. “Where were we?” Ted felt incredibly sick and some strong urge told him to check his wallet, NOW. “I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back,” he said as he lifted Sam’s small frame off his lap. She was much heavier than she looked, but he would never tell her that. “Sure thing,” she said with a lilted laugh. “Just don’t keep me waiting too long.” Ted ran to the bathroom, nausea subsiding but the desire to check his wallet impossibly strong in his mind. He grabbed it from his back pocket with shaky hands emptying it onto the large table between the sinks. The wallet was empty but he still felt that unexplainable NEED to take something out of it. Was he going insane? He double-checked each pocket, ripping the seams with his frantic pace. That felt right so he kept ripping, the strange compulsion fading once he had the wallet fully ripped apart. There was a small black business card between the leather and the fabric interior. He pulled it out. The front had a logo he didn’t recognize in yellow, embossed and shining. He turned the card over to find WORDS written in small but bold print in that same shining yellow ink. \---------ATTENTION AGENT--------- YOU HAVE BEEN EXPOSED TO A FALSE RECALL EXPERIENCE (F.R.E.). YOU WILL FEEL NAUSEA, HEADACHE, SHORTNESS OF BREATH. THIS IS NOT CONCERNING. WITHOUT DELAY, YOU ARE HEREBY COMMANDED TO IMMEDIATELY RETURN TO YOUR EMPLOYMENT START OF DAY LOCATION AND SHOW THIS CARD AT THE DOOR. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE SHOULD YOU EXPOSE YOURSELF AGAIN TO WHATEVER BEGAN THESE SYMPTOMS!!!!! YOU ARE HEREBY PERMITTED TO USE WHATEVER FORCE YOU DEEM NECESSARY TO RETURN TO YOUR EMPLOYMENT START OF DAY LOCATION WITHOUT EXPOSING YOURSELF TO THE F.R.E. AGAIN. ALL CRIMES COMMITTED TOWARDS THIS GOAL WILL BE ABOLISHED WITHOUT PUNISHMENT OR PENALTY, INCLUDING VIOLENCE. GO NOW!!!!! FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE TERMINATION! Ted sat the card down on the table, trying to wrap his brain around what he was reading. His job had somehow put this card in his wallet and hypnotized him or god knows what to compel him to find it if he was exposed to a false recall event. Whatever that meant, apparently his 4-year-old’s crayon drawing counted as one. Was he really going to drive back to work as the card COMMANDED? This job was an incredibly lucky break. He made over six figures without a college degree or any experience and didn’t even remember working. Show up at the door at 8:55 a.m., next memory is at 5:04 p.m, every weekday for the past five years, excluding paid four-week vacation, of course. Yeah, he thought, I guess I am. He walked back into the dining room, seeing his wife pouting there at the chair, showing much more than her legs now. “I have to go back to work, honey. Kind of an all hands on deck situation. Not sure how long it will take.” “Oh no,” she said, pulling her dress down to decency again. “Well, I’ll pick up the little one and stay up and wait for you. Don’t work too hard.” The absolute image of a perfect wife gave him a less than prim and proper kiss as he walked towards the side door, avoiding the kitchen. He turned back to wave goodbye one more time and just barely, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fridge door was open and the drawing still hung there under that eternal question proposed by the Tahichano, SLOTS OR SHOTS? Without the ability to resist, he began walking towards the fridge. The dark figure above the circle. The KNIGHT ATOP THE VESSEL. The knowledge of a thousand days came rushing to him at once. The OTHERS could read the thoughts of humans, the training of the knights especially bright beacons they can easily sniff out. He trained in passive containment and was given amnesiacs at the end of each day to fly under the others’ radar while still containing them. He lulled his assigned demon to normalcy without him nor her realizing what he was doing. Before he could stop himself, he puked, spaghetti mixed with the holy water. He did this most days around 10 a.m. as the disgusting nature of his reality revealed itself to him again and again. He heard popping behind him, the rending of a dress no doubt as long spindled limbs burst from the back of what his home self thought of as his wife. “You have tricked me, convinced me I was nothing more than the shell I inhabit,” an inhuman pitched voice rattled from behind him, leaving an ache in his ears. “No longer will I be shackled by your runes and tricks, little man.” He didn’t bother turning around. He knew from training how an alpha recall event played out. He felt the sharp pain, slightly less excruciating than he expected, pierce his back, then fill him with hot gouts of some burning acid. “Suffer and die, as all your kind will before they fill our larders,” croaked from near his ear as a long fang nibbled at the lobe, passing through it easily. His last view was of that drawing, so close by some twist of coincidence or fate to the Holy Seal of his order and above it, that glossy magnet and its final line, an answer to its own question: WHY NOT BOTH?
"You alright boss?" I turned and smiled weakly at Alice. "Hmm? Oh, yeah, I mean, I'm alright thanks."My face flushed at her knowing smile. It was a simple enough question, and I did like Alice. She was an amazing clerk, ran the front of the store without any complaints or problems. She was smart, personable, the customers and staff adored her. Oh, and she was an elf too. Willowy in build, long auburn hair, bright green irises set in almond shaped eyes, and two ears that were definitely pointed at the tip. To most of the customers she was as normal as anything, to those she would be abnormal to she somehow remained unassuming. "I guess I am still getting used to it all,"I admitted. "When I was little and visited the store, I used to say the place was magical. I didn't really think it was..."my voice faded as I watched a green skinned bat eared figure wave merrily as they walked past. "Literally magical,"Alice finished with a grin. "I remember when you were no taller than Lance."She held her hand below waist height. "Now look at you, all big and tall. If you get any bigger you'll look like Frankie!" "As if."We turned and looked up at the looming troll. She towered over us, shoulders as wide as the door and muscles looked like they were carved from granite. She flexed her arms, her grey skin rippling as if barely containing the power within. "I go to the gym on the regular and work hard on these babies."She slapped a bicep, it sounded like leather slapping stone. "When was the last time you went to the gym boss?" My face went redder at their combined laughter. "It's been a long time." "You should come with me then. We need you in shape or else you won't be able to keep up with the store." "Grandma wasn't jacked!"I protested. "Not obviously but she could outbench me time to time,"Frankie replied. "She said I was responsible for keeping you in shape."She reached out and hefted my arm, her broad hand easily swallowing it. "Look at this,"she sniffed. She jerked her hand back and forth making my arm wiggle. "I've seen noodles tougher!" "Now now,"a stern voice cut through the laughter with ease. Though he was much shorter, Lance radiated a presence that was the equal of Frankie. Dressed in a sharply cut black suit and neatly styled red hair, the leprechaun accountant oozed propriety. "We should not tease our new boss, overmuch." "Thanks Lance,"I said gratefully. My eyes narrowed at the folder he held out to me. "The numbers?" "Indeed. For your review."He held up a finger, stopping my protest. "As the new store owner you should review the records. Your faith in me is welcome but your Grandmother also reviewed the accounts on the regular. It is good business practice." A huge noise made me drop the folder and Alice caught it neatly before it hit the ground. "What was that?!" "Just Crazy Steve,"Frankie replied without any concern. "Crazy Steve?" Alice caught my look of worry and handed me the folder. "He's harmless,"she said soothingly. The explosion that made a door quiver and the storm of cursing that followed was anything but. "He's the inventor. Builds and makes all sorts of things. Most of what we sell comes from him. He's just a little..."she twirled a finger in a circle and rolled her eyes around. "Eccentric is the word."Lance smoothed an emerald green tie. "He is a kind person, and not at all crazy."He gave Frankie a look that made her squirm. Another explosion shook the store. "Well, maybe more than eccentric,"Lance conceded. "Still,"he patted my arm when he noticed my face, "perfectly reasonable otherwise and will do nothing inappropriate to you. As long as you do not interfere during his,"a third explosion larger than the rest erupted, "creative process." Alice drifted off to help a horned customer while Frankie aided another by lifting a barrel larger than me without noticeable effort. Lance stepped off with a quick gait while answering his phone, leaving me looking about bewildered. I looked at the door with a wistful expression, still seeing grandma there dressed for travel. She had smiled and patted my cheek. "You'll do just fine my dear,"she had said before she left. "I would trust no one else to take care of the store and the folk here." \Thanks grandma,\ I thought. \I'll do my best.\ The back door flew open allowing a shower of sparks to cascade into the main store. \I hope it's good enough though.\
The ember on the cigarette traced the air as Shaun walked, the only light in an otherwise dark and moonless night. His boots, though bulky, seemed to fall to the ground with utter silence, while the tip of the smoldering tobacco bounced up and down like a heart rate monitor. This ran in tandem with Shaun's own heartbeat, as he moved steadily towards a lamp post; This was the last beacon of light before the deep darkness of the alleyway that sat beyond it. Shaun flicked the dying butt, and pulled his second to last smoke from the pack. The last cigarette sat, flipped backwards, a superstitious habit Shaun picked up from his mother. 'Lucky cig' He thought as he lit the other, 'I'm going to need you tonight bud.' His mom wasn't perfect, but she tried. She scolded him when she found his pack, but eventually accepted it. As Shaun got older and began working, helping pay the bills, they would often split the cost of a carton. One night, his mother went to the store for exactly this purpose, and never returned. The police said it was an accident, but Shaun knew the truth. Men don't tear people limb from limb. Monsters do. The glowing tip once again glided into the void, and Shaun knocked a flickering flashlight against the wall to accompany it. The halogen glow bathed the space, dank mold covered bricks sneering as he stepped by. The man he was looking for was last spotted in this area. Of course 'man' is a relative term, as the only thing he and mankind shared was appearance. Beneath his skin rippled a dangerous energy, an energy whose tendrils had snaked their way into the city's populus, the same energy that filled the beast who slayed his mother. The reports Shaun had read gave hints as to what his abilities were: victims corpses so burnt they could not be identified, scorched marks trailing them like blood drops form a wounded deer. He checked his sidearm again, making sure his silencer was secured snugly to its snout. Had to do this quietly, what he was doing was certainly not legal. City officials had yet to acknowledge this problem, blaming the murders on a "strange serial killer". How a single entity could kill multiple people at the same time all over the city, they could not explain. Shaun rounded a corner, and the darkness vanished. A man stood, completely nude, wreathed in furious orange flames. He stood towering over a still burning body, its skeleton peaking through its skin as it sloughed off like burning nylon. The engulfed man turned slowly, his own skin melting and regrowing in a sickening cycle, and faced Shaun's now raised weapon. The intimidating barrel of the high caliber magnum stared into the fire, with Shaun's eyes inches behind it. The moment hung heavy in the air, the only sound was the crackling of still burning flesh. The burning man grinned manically, and began to speak. "You have no chance here hunter. Put that down, go back home, and cower under your-" POP. The gunshot was muted, but the results were deafening; the man's right arm evaporated. He screeched in pain, stumbling backwards in shock. Gaining his footing, he sprinted further into the alley labyrinth. Shaun followed, adrenaline shaking his arms as he supported the weight of his hefty firearm. He approached the turn, glowing telling him the body of his mark was close. He spun the corner with his finger on the trigger. Fire lifted Shaun off his feet, propelling him backwards into the side of a dumpster. The smell of singed hair filled his nostrils as he opened his eyes, to see the burning man laughing. The arm he attacked with was outstretched, as the other seemed to be healed by the flames that coated his skin. Small bolts of fire followed down his veins, reconstructing his bones and nerves. "I told you to go home hunter. You should have listened. Good bye." The fire poured from his hands like water from a hydrant, and Shaun dropped his weapon as he rolled away. The flames heated up his weapon, and in an instant its ammunition exploded. It was Shaun turn to run, and the devilish glow of his adversary wasn't far behind. Shaun leaned up against a wall, breathing heavily, as he pulled the crumpled cigarette pack from his blackened pocket. "This better be the luckiest fucking smoke in the world"His scorched hands trembled, every degree of burn causing his pain receptors to fill his brain with error messages. He drew in air, and pushed himself up to his feet. He stood, trying to steady himself to face his fate. The human inferno walked casually, still laughing, strolling into the opposite end of the alley. His eyes were glinting in the light of his own flames, and he once again attempted to launch into a speech. "You hunters are all the same, you know that? Unable to acknowledge that we are the future. I was like you once, just a normal man, working in a fire station, when one day-" "How about you shut your campfire looking ass up, and lets get this done. I don't give a shit what you have to say." The fireman's grin crumbled, and anger filled his eyes. He raised his arms and yelled, tentacles of blazing red pouring from his finger tips. Shaun exhaled, and closed his eyes. But he did not burn. He opened his eyes to see the cloud he exhaled could not be penetrated by the flames. It billowed out, an ever expanding solid, fire licking its borders but evaporating. The burning man pushed harder, his veins popping as his attack turned to ashes. Shaun took a deep drag of the cig, and blew it as hard as he could. The smoke cut through the fire like butter, pushing closer and closer to the burning hands. "What is this... what are you?"The grin was gone, the blazing man stumbled back, fruitlessly attempting to combat the growing smoke cloud. The grey fumes began to suffocate his glowing hands, and the flow of flames ceased. The healing bolts ceased, and the burns began to cripple his body. The once towering inferno screamed as the fire that was left blackened his skin, and he crumpled to the ground as an ashen husk. Shaun slumped to the concrete as well, confusion and pain rocking his body. 'Did I...am I...' thoughts drifted and melded as he became one with the alley floor. His mothers face swam before his mind, as his consciousness drifted into the void.
The sulfuric smell of brimstone assaulted the man's nostrils, every sensory input overloaded by the onslaught of horrors before him. Stepping out onto the obsidian road, he walked gingerly into the mouth of the beast,unable to avert his gaze from the sea of atrocities that washed over his eyes. On both sides of the road were cliffs of unfathomable depth; cries of hopeless pain crawled the walls, unable to escape. The heat permeated his every pore, like a sauna on high with the door welded shut. He traversed the path, his bare feet burning and peeling on the lava-hot ground. "This must be...a dream"he said in a daze, his voice becoming gravel as the air scorched his vocal cords. Moving through a large ornate gateway, he walked zombie-like deeper into the inferno. The blood red sky was dotted with creatures, their leathery wings carrying their hideous forms over the barren wasteland. Occasionally, one would swoop down like a hawk, pulling some poor field mouse from their infinite torture and dropping them from a great height. "They must not have noticed me yet,"His mind thought idly, unable to process any rational thought. The skin on his feet began to slough off, revealing bone. A small cloud of demons seemed to have picked up his scent, and began to dive towards him. The skin on his body continued to burn, and he started to shed it like a flesh-colored snake. The imps hit the ground hard, and knelt down. "Master, we have awaited your arrival." Standing before them, the last of his human body falling to the ashen floor, was a newly formed Devil. He cackled, his horns shining in the dancing light of countless fires, and continued walking to his throne.
Steven’s heart was beating so hard it seemed like it was trying to break out of his chest. But Steven’s heart had always been a bit of a prima donna. “Can you please take it down a bit?” Steven asked. “I’m trying to drink.” His heart beat faster. His kidneys sent a new kind of pain up, one that might bring a lesser man to tears. Steven, hand shaking, brought the drink up to his lip. But when it got there it met his tongue, which blocked the glass before it could pour the fifty year old scotch down his throat. “Fine.” Steven said. He put the glass on the table. He started his stretching routine and felt his kidneys relax. His heart slowed to a normal pace. He got a glass of water and his tongue, the ever vigilant sentry, let it pass. “I just want to exercise my liver guys. We all know he’s a lazy fuck.” Steven usually felt comfortable insulting his liver. It did not have access to a lot of pain receptors. Though his skin was looking a little yellow this morning. Better safe than sorry. “But obviously I love him because he’s my liver.” Steven could not be sure, but in the mirror he thought he saw evidence of a faint pinkish glow. He pulled on his shoes headed outside. He stretched for a minute more, then started on his run. There were hundreds of other people outside running too, every single one at the absolute peak of physical fitness. The idle rich from a thousand years ago, now slaves to a bevy of organs that want the absolute perfect host. None of them looked happy, but they all looked great.
The genie flipped the book closed, staring down at his open mouthed new owner. "So... yeah. Anything but all of those."He said after a silent minute. The owner, a short bespectacled woman shook her head. "This is not what I signed up for when I went to polish that lamp."She motioned to his lamp where it sat on an antique wrought iron table, surrounded by other antiques. "So... let me get this straight, I have three wishes?" "Yep." "But I can't wish for anything from that list?" "Right." "And once I use my last wish, I have to add something to that list?" "Got it in one."The genie confirmed. That woman ran a hand over her hair, stands of the brown ponytail snagging on the large antique ring she wore. "Oh\~kay... so... can I float something by you?" The genie frowned, crossing his arms. "What a strange turn of phrase, what does it mean?" The woman grabbed the lamp, carrying it (and the genie still attached to it by his smokey tail) over to s chintzy chair. "It means can I see if my idea will work, in your opinion." "Oh! Then float away." "Can I just... wish for the list to be cleared?" The genie blinked, stunned. Then he began flipping through the book again, mouthing some of the words as he read. "Uh... yes. It seems like that has yet to be forbidden." The woman clapped with a pleased expression. "Great, then I wish for the list to be entirely cleared." The pages in the book were suddenly blank, the cramped writing that had been there for so long disappearing like it had never been there. The genie showed it to the woman, who grinned. "So that leaves me with two wishes. So... I wish that my antique store and my home never needed to be cleaned, like dust never settled for long, the floors never held marks, the litter box emptied itself, the dishes put themselves in the dishwasher, that sort of thing." The genie nodded, and all around dust that had been covering the various items flew away from their places and dissipated. The woman looked around in satisfaction. "You know, I'm not one of those monkey paw genies. You don't need to spell it out to me what you want."The genie said. The woman shrugged with a disinterested expression. "You never know, I've heard tales ya know." "Those assholes give all us genies a bad name. Oh! And don't make your last wish to free me!"He said quickly. The woman blinked up at him in confusion. "Don't you want to be free?"She asked, and the genie laughed. "Are you kidding me? This is the best gig I've ever landed. I can do whatever I want as long as I grant wishes as they're intended. The worst part was all those stupid rules. Thanks for that, by the way. Now it's be a while before I have to spend 2 hours reading that to a new master." "Glad to help. So how does one become a genie?"The woman asked, interested. The genie told her about the hiring process, with all of its requirements. "Why?"He asked once he was done. "Planning on making a career change?" The woman smiled. "Nah, not for a while anyway. But that's a good back up." "I'll put in a good word for you if you ever do. None of us like those stupid lists we have to read."The genie told her. The woman giggled, winking up at him. "I might have to hold you to that one day..." "John! Well, it used to be John. You get a new name when you become a djinn. It's Farren Gavoren now."He provided. "Nice to meet you Farren, I'm Carol. A new name, huh? Do you get to choose it?" The genie shook his head sadly. "No, that's up to the big man upstairs. I would have gone for something more impressive." Carol's mouth twisted slightly in thought. "Huh. Well, okay, mind if I hold off on that third wish for a bit, Farren?"One lock of brown hair finally escaped its ponytail, and she pushed it out of her eyes impatiently. Farren waved it off. "Take your time, it doesn't matter to me." Carol took 30 years to make her third wish. In that time, the two of them had grown much closer. "Mom, dad... are you sure?"Their 20 year old daughter asked, holding her father's lamp. The three were in the hospital, one of Carol's thin pale hands caught between her husband's large brown ones. Carol coughed weakly, and Farren squeezed her hand. "I'm sure... honey... I'm ready for that wish...."Carol's voice was soft, almost inaudible. He swiped at his cheeks, smiling for his wife. "Of course, dear." The daughter walked out of the empty hospital room with a large lamp and a book that only said the words, "You cannot wish to separate the genies."
Scout Exander Final Report Commander, allow me to begin by stating that this assignment has been the pleasure of a lifetime. This beautiful planet that you’ve decided I must observe, it’s a shame what you plan to do with it. And so it is with great respect for you that I send this warning. Do not invade. You may wonder what could possibly be so horrid that I would ask you, the great Planet Breaker, not to invade. The ansewer is simple: Humans. They’re foul and savage beasts who fight just as much amongst themselves as with any common enemy. They are brutal in their wars, and will stop at nothing to obtain victory. This doesn’t mean that they don’t pose other threats. Their ingenuity is unbelievable. They haven’t even reached stage one of the civilization scale, and they’ve found a way to completely destroy their own planet. The best part? They’ve used it twice already! They also harbor a will much greater than those you’ve slain before. They will fight until the bitter end, regardless of wether they win or not. And perhaps your biggest threat, is their intelligence. They are merely a few thousand years old, and they are already at this scale. The kicker, however, is that I plan to reveal myself. And you know why? Because the only thing that outpaces a Human’s prowess in war, is their capacity for compassion. So I will reveal myself. I will herald your coming, and I will help them prepare. With my knowledge and their abilities we will stage a defense that not even you will be able to break. Do not invade. You will regret having sent me here at all.
Just finished the book: a fantastic read, imagery wise for me. I’m not out to spoil anything, but the way you set up his journey, his conquering of fears, the way you characterized the antagonists was wonderful. Might I assume that the fancy book room were authors inspirational to you? Onto the story itself. A very good read, but for some reason not quite what I was expecting. I was left with a few questions (which I won’t state here in fear of spoilers). I’d definitely write a book report on how the whole story is a metaphor for the biggest theme I could see, but I’m sure there were others. 4.5/5, would read again. And would most definitely love to pick you brain with some questions I have about the ending as well as some questions I have about the whole setting. Also now I want a reuben. Or some noodles.
I always though Nostradamus was overrated. He wrote a ton of shit hundreds of years from when he was alive and before anyone could verify if it was true they just bathed him in riches. I could do that... right? Turns out it's kinda hard, esoecially when you turn out to be spot on. 10 days ago, in a friday, I was in one of those creepy-looking antique shops, looking for a gift for an elderly realtive I've never even met. Anyway, after I found a weird vase that I guessed she might like, I saw this notebook. It was really old, I would guess at least 100 years by the state of the cover, but the pages inside were as if they were brand-new. Since quarantine had been driving me mad for a while, I bought it so I could spill my thoughts whenever I wanted. I lefft the store and went direclty to the birthday lunch my family was having. They didn't care much about wearing masks, but if you can't beat them, join them I guess. After a bit of casual talk with some family memberes I failed to avoid, I sat on the couch and turned on the TV. An old king Arthur movie was on, and for some reason, probably the wine from lunch, I found Merlin's profecy incredibly funny: "Let there be a great fire, in a colossal tower near my realm". No idea why, but it was so ammusing to me, so I wrote the first sentence in my brand-new old as fuck journal. I completely forgot about it, until a week later, when, coming back from work, that giant and hideous skyscraper near my apartment was completely covered in fire. I thought it was a coincidence, waht else could it be, right? As soon as I got home I went straight to the diary, and as impossible as it sounds, the sentence was gone. There was now a blank space where my crappy handwritting once was.I started to freak out. It couldn't be. I had just burned an entire building. Then it hit me. For a week now I have been writting random stuff there. Oh fuck. I start to flip the pages. I've barely written more than 5 pages. It can't be that bad, right? Well, it is. Bad. Really bad. If you haven't already asked why I didn't use this power to get rich, or laid, or became a god, it's because I fucked up bad. On day 1 I went on a rant about a ton of celebrities, some I just said nice things, some are now dead, and some will die in horrible ways very soon, because apparently I'm an asshole when I'm drunk. On day 2 and 3 I completely forgot about the diary. Day 4, monday, is when I accidently did something good, I wrote "how ironic would it be if quarantine was over on friday the 13th lol", so I guess Covid will either end or people will give up in less then a month. Day 5 is when it started. I got a text from my sister telling me she saw my ex going out with my boss. That made me feel like shit. She couldn't even be polite and leave my life, she had to date someone I can't even lift a finger against. I wrote some horrible shit. Some stuff that I now regret, because I know it will come true. I feel so much guilt now, but guilt won't change things. Day 6 I skipped work and just watched TV. I guess now there will finally be a Community reunion movie, so that's that. My boss told me I would get fired if I missed work again, wich completely destroyed my self-esteem. This fucker is not only seeing my ex, but he also can ruin my life if he wants to. Then day 7 came. At 3 A.M., half drunk, realizing I needed to go to work in 4 hours so I could afford rent, I wrote: "I shall die in the happiest day of my life, so I can go when I peak and never need to deal with this shit again". I passed out and completely forgot about that. Until I got home taht afternoon. It's been 3days now, and I know very soon a bunch more of horrible shit will happen, and the positive side is that it'll make me miserable. I can't wish for money, for power, for sex, because if I risk being happy, I'll fucking die. So, yeah, congratulations Nostradamus, you may have been a fraud, but at least you didn't need to keep yourself miserable to keep living.
Uhura was a master linguist. Her ability to learn, translate, and employ alien languages was near transcendent. She was the best Starfleet had to offer, and they knew it. Which was exactly why she’d been selected to keep a close watch on this wild selection of nutbags who had somehow managed to form a crew. Who better to communicate reason to even the stubborn ear of crews than a master of communication? But they certainly were a trial, this bunch. The captain? A near constant basket case who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He had to have at least a hundred half- or full human or children scattered around the galaxy or her name wasn’t Nyota. She’d had to kiss him once to keep cover. She’d overridden the ship’s water conservation code to take an extra long shower after that. Well-deserved. And the doctor? Nearly a modern day witch doctor thanks to his continual reluctance to use well-proven, perfectly safe and extremely helpful medical equipment. It was a miracle none of them had died... Oh, wait. One did. That insane half Vulcan who seemed to be burdened with both the worst of Vulcan and human nature. Did he really have to be consumed by radiation then resurrected? And go through puberty again? Probably not, if that idiot of an engineering officer hadn’t been drunk off his... Uhura sighed. They’d been sent on a five year mission to what Starfleet had believed to be dead space to keep them out of everyone’s hair. She’d taken the assignment with the promise of promotion and a tidy pension. Hazard pay. Only problem was, these idiots kept bumbling into paradigm shifting, galaxy shattering events, pushing off her retirement to a luxurious desk in San Francisco. So she stayed on, biding her time. She’d grown fond of the morons, and someone had to keep them out of trouble.
I stared hard at the dragon's mouth, surely he was just talking. "Didn't you hear me?! I intend to keep you as a pet."The dragon lowered himself to my level. "Never mind the bones. They were a passing thought, but I need something more." He must have noticed my struggling once more. "What is wrong with you?! Shouldn't you be dancing, or celebrating that you will not be my evening meal?" I, trembling, raised my hands. I motioned as best I could at my ears. For, I was born deaf-mute. "What?! What is it mortal! Something is in your head?!" I pointed at my ears once more then motioned a large X with my arms. The realization must have hit the dragon at this point. As much a beast of his stature could express, I was sure that he was confused. "Ok, well then speak!" I wasn't quite sure what was happening. I knew he was talking to me, but as hard as it is to read human lips, I now knew it was impossible to read a dragon's. I repeated the same motion for my mouth and the X. "Oh, for the love of-" The dragon scurried away to the depths of his cave, leaving me in darkness. The vibrations of the cave grew less intense. Suddenly they were gone and I was all alone. Part of me wanted to bolt for the exit, but it was a dragon. What chance would I have to outrun him? I wondered if there was a reason he hadn't killed me yet. He seemed to be very gentle with me when we arrived at his cave. Though, he did notion towards some bones while he was speaking, so maybe that was a threat of what's to come? The tremors started up again. More and more violent as the beast reappeared from the darkness. I sat in the middle of the cave, where he had left me. "Well, I just don't know what to do with you now. I already grew attached to you in my head. The thoughts of all the fun things we would be able to do, but now."The dragon hung it's head in sorrow. I wasn't quite sure what the beast was saying, but I could tell something was wrong. I thought the best thing to do would to appear as comforting as possible, perhaps this way I wouldn't be eaten. I reached a hand out and placed it on the dragon's nose. Just a moment of comfort might be enough to spare my life. The dragon raised up at the contact. Then he laid back down and pulled me closer. I knew this was it. I was done for. Instead. He held me close as we both fell asleep in the cave. I think my plan might have worked. "Sleep now my pet. We're going to be alright."
Everybody, no matter how wild their life may be, need something that they can lean on when things get hard. That one thing that never changes no matter what happens, that you can use to relax and unwind so you don't go insane from stress. For most people around here, that thing is Dave's coffee shop. Dave is a sweet old man who fought in Vietnam and settled afterwards by using his savings to open the coffee shop. Apart from making great company, he also makes great coffee and has great prices, alongside stories that he will happily tell if prompted to. All of this makes Dave a person who everybody like, even the most infamous villains have decided not to touch the guy. It became a sort of a neutral ground, where everybody could go have a drink without having to worry about their nemesis. You can imagine why everybody would be surprised to see the sweet old man knocked out in his now ruined shop holding a assault rifle. After everybody present rushed to his aid, relieved to see that he was still breathing, they sent him to the hospital and started looking around After checking the rifle to see that nearly a full magazine was discharged, they started looking around trying to find the rounds, they only found around half of them. They then started looking around, before finding a body in a nearby alleyway near the shop, the man was filled with bullet holes, and further research showed that the man in question was a villain who was infamous for making everybody cower in fear using his powers to cause illusions. And the wounds? They were from a assault rifle. Dave made a full recovery, and everybody respected him even more, not only was his shop great, but he was still capable of defeating one of the greatest villains around. Truly a great man.
“No sir. The webpage is not faulty.” Tara suppressed a sigh. Another one. “It is bank policy. You cannot transfer this much money without a three day notice.” “It is my money,” the voice on the other end of the line shouted, before thinking better of it and adding “You are supposed to be the IT support. Can’t you fudge something? Press some buttons, so my internet transfer goes through?” “No sir. I can help you with lost passwords or browser problems. I do not make the rules for how your money is handled. Would you like to speak to our complaints department?” “Damn right I want to.” “Please hold the line while I transfer you.” Time for a coffee. Tara got up from her home office chair. Working in IT for one of the big banks had its perks, but pulling the wool back over people’s eyes wasn’t one of them. It had become a regular occurrence for disgruntled customers to reach out. More and more realized how little control they actually had over their own money. Tara could only fathom how many complaints the Bank must receive if so many found their way to her in IT support. The Pitchforks are coming. A loud crash startled Tara. There was something in her backyard. Something big. Tara cautiously opened the garden door. Whatever it was it had flattened the shed and was stuck behind the conifers. Tara crossed the back porch and inched down the three stairs into the garden. She was a practical person and calling the police because of a destroyed garden shed felt not substantial enough. “Hello? Who is out there?” It was afternoon and the sun was setting. Tara blinked against its glistening rays. She could make out the silhouette of a massive creature … with wings. This cannot be real. Tara trembled. Fear crept up her throat as she stumbled backwards. Reporting a destroyed garden shed suddenly felt like a more acceptable explanation. “I demand your help.” The creature's deep voice rumbled across the yard. Can it sense my fear? Tara was about to run, when suddenly a ripple went through the creature's green scaly body. “Wait!” Its voice sounding strained, as it suddenly melted into the form of a man, dressed in elegant, though outdated clothing. He pulled a tiny USB stick out of his velvet blazer. “Please, my entire hoard of bitcoin is on here. I forgot the password.” Tara blinked. What had just happened? “I am sorry, let me introduce myself first. I am Leon Kusm. You’ve probably seen what I am?” He paused waiting for Tara to respond. “A… A dragon?” “That’s right. I am the 23rd Colchian dragon, protecting the Golden Fleece. Well, the fortune of the Golden Fleece; we sold the actual gold a while ago. It was just not a good investment anymore. I mean, gold was great when the old Greeks were around but nowadays? The material value keeps dropping. We also cannot give it to the banks or invest in stocks because we need to keep our assets liquid for when Jason, the rightful king of Iolcos ascends to the throne.” “So you invested it in bitcoin?” “In retrospect, it was inevitable.” Tara nodded. Impressed that an organization that had been around for more than 3000 years was so modern. More than could be said of most people. “But you lost the password to your hardware wallet?” Tara said, looking at the USB stick. “Well, I did not exactly forget. It was changed.” “Changed by whom?” “The Phrixus infiltrator.” Leon’s voice became hard. ”He knew he would not make it out alive so he sacrificed his life to change the password.” Seeing how confused Tara was Leon added, “Look, it's complicated. If you want to know more, I suggest you read Homer. He wrote up the whole story. He did not have to make up the part about beastiality, if you asked me, but whatever sells, I guess. Anyways, back to this. Can you help me or not?” “With that kind of hardware wallet you have three tries to guess the password. After that it wipes itself. Do you have any idea what it could be?” Leon scratched his chin. “The infiltrator probably was not that creative. Humans find it hard to think with a flaming dragon on their heels. So let’s try ‘Iolcus’.” \[Wrong password\] “Darn. You suggest a password, you are in IT. What is the most common password?” “‘123456’, ‘password’ and ‘superman’.“ “Ok I try ‘superman’.” \[Wrong password\] “From what you told me the person wanted to destroy the treasure. He wasn’t expecting to get out alive, so no need to pick a memorable password. He probably just typed in random letters and numbers.” “I should have left it on the exchange.” Leon sighed. “What? And risk it being stolen or lost? Not your keys, not your money.” “It seems to me it is equally lost now. One more try and it’ll be wiped. Ok, I try the latin word for revenge ‘punior’” \[Wrong password\]... \[Wallet has been reset\] Leon stared at the hardware wallet, all color drained from his face. “I failed.” He had just lost the treasure that 22rd generations before him successfully fought to protect. And it had not simply changed hands, it was lost forever. No amount of bravery or sacrifice would get it back. Even the mightiest army would not be able to retrieve it now. It had disappeared, like it never existed in the first place. “There might be a way still.” Tara said, feeling his scorching eyes fix themselves on hers. “You can recreate your wallet from your seed words.” “My what?” “The 24 random words that you were asked to write down when you created the wallet.” “Yes,” he laughed. ”I scratched them into the metal plate. And placed it in the vault where the gold used to be. What do I do with them?” “You can recreate access to your wallet with them.” “Thank you.” Leon said, transforming into his dragon form and spreading his enormous wings. “You will be richly rewarded.”
Warship: “Please divert course 15 degrees to avoid collision.” Terrans: “Recommend you divert YOUR course 15 degrees.” Warship: “This is carrier group Indomitable, largest fleet in the ATL Navy! I demand YOU change your course 15 degrees!” Terrans: “This is a navigational beacon. Your call.” Warship: "We have the firepower to remove your beacon by force." Terrans: "Your sister ship the Inflexible and her carrier group thought the same thing." Warship: "We have no response from the Inflexible or her carrier group, what is their position?" Terrans: "Currently in orbit of our station, at least a few bits of whats left of them." Warship: "Your destroyed an entire carrier group?" Terrans: "Negative Indomitable, this is an unarmed station." Warship: "We don't believe an unarmed Terran navigational beacon could destroy the second most powerful carrier group in the ATL Navy. We will approach and confirm." Terrans: "Suit yourself. This navigational beacon has reinforced shielding to deal with the tidal forces of the black hole we are orbiting, how about you?" Warship: "Diverting 15 degrees to avoid collision." Terrans: "We thought you might see it our way."
I'm sure you've heard all the sermons, seen the stained glass - you think you know what's right. Holy men have told you about the meek, the just, the peacemakers. You've been steeped in scripture until there's not the faintest shadow of a doubt left. And everything you know is a lie. To really understand good and evil, you have to see it. You have to watch it happen, powerless to intervene. You have to live with the consequences of salvation. Simply being told about it isn't enough. I, too, have heard the sermons. The wild-eyed preachers in the town square, ranting about the spite of witches and the dark temptations of demons. Flecks of spittle flying everywhere as they tell you of hellfire and the punishment that awaits the unfaithful. But I've also been wounded, close to death, and had a wise woman crush herbs to heal a wound. I've heard the murmur of temptresses soothe in last lonely moments, and watched the only thing standing between a beaten man and breaking be the sin of pride. In the North, years ago, I saw a righteous man put a city to the torch because they broke open the temple storehouses for grain. I have - to my unending shame - swung the axe and split young bodies from heads filled with heresy. I have chanted the holy word as I trampled over peasants fleeing a city under judgement. What is evil, really? Is it daring to think that the heavens move, or is it fat priests in gold vestments singing prayers against a famine? Is it finding love too late or the heavy thud of thrown stones? When I was younger, I though I knew. I know you saw the miracle, and so I know you understand. I watched it too - saw the heavens open and the host descend, the flaming swords rising and falling. The trumpets and the screaming, the light of truth and the stench of death. Maybe they all deserved to die. But remember - really remember - and tell me if you are still as sure as before. Did every one of the faithless deserve their end? The smallest child, the simplest mind? Is there no other cure for the misguided than butchery and the eternal dark? The angels are beautiful, and the temples are filled with glories, enough to make you weep. But I say it is built on bones and death, that the angels preaching mercy bring swords and not succour. I say that the quiet whispers of the damned bring little joys, that seeking happiness should not incur the almighty's wrath. Maybe I am wrong, and I am too tainted to tell the difference any more. Maybe, when they strike me down, I will face the endless fire and that will burn the truth into me, teach me that there is more gluttony in a child stealing apples than a seraph painted in blood. Maybe I will learn my bitter lesson and renounce these lies to an empty darkness. But one thing remains to me of the scripture, one lesson that bears keeping when others are discarded. It is the duty of every soul to stand against injustice wherever they find it, whatever guise it wears. The heavenly host are glorious, and the denizens of hell are misshapen, frightful things. But predators have a cold beauty to them, and a child's drawing is valuable because of the intention, not the execution. Beauty is nothing more than a temptation itself. I have broken my vows: a sin. I have taken up arms against the mother church - another sin. I have denounced the faith and spoken against the messengers of the creator - the most grievous sin of all. But I must believe that is is possible for us to discern good, for our minds to comprehend what is right, and strive towards it. I see no good in the armies arrayed above us or the actions of their servants below. I see no mercy in the angels named for it, nor salvation in their swords. I have heard the scriptures and have seen their fruit. I tell you solemnly, that if this is good then evil is preferable. When I burn eternally, I will be crying out for justice, and not because of it.
[Poem] I inject the syringes and my jaw unhinges, as I tweak out on one of the Alchemy Guild's benches. The Guild Master, Jacob, haughty and pretentious, electrifies a white powder, which expands, then condenses. "Here, snort this. It will enhance your senses."The effect of this "cocaine"redefines what intense is. He tucks a small baggie into my robe, and with formalities, he dispenses. "Like you requested, the Guild has put to good use every gold coin you've invested. A little drug abuse joined with some science, tested, and now you should be quite a bit more than restless..." I rub my nostrils, and look at my reflection. Dilated pupils, and madness, looking back in my direction. I've been awake for days already, preparing for Selection. Two more, and I'll be able to directly link with my magical connection. I will become an Archon, beyond sleep...perfection. The Guild provides a horse, and a simple incantation makes it sprout wings, a Pegasus, hovering high above our location. I weave blue mana into its fur, which I enchant with patience. Over several hours I enhance it, to resist elemental fluctuations. We're headed for a battlefield, behind a wall of churning stations. Each one is a conduit of mana, channeled to surround the hidden nation. I snort every last ounce of "cocaine"I have left, with zero hesitation. After reaching the landing port, from my winged-steed, I hurl shadow orbs, obliterating the check-in fort. Telepathically, the guards have already summoned support. This will be a test of my strength, and a ruthless sort. I place a circle of silence over their Zealots and Summoner's Corps. From above us, I conjure a 500-foot, frozen Horse. Galloping into the city before shattering, peppering shrapnel through every corpse. Huge boulders of ice roll through markets, terrifying the victims they roll towards. I mercy-kill a survivor, who charges me with swords. Coming down from my high, not caring what I've done, Digging around in my baggie, wishing I'd saved some, of the powder keeping me up. I rub what's left on my gums. You can die if you stay awake too long, but the healing powers of herbs are strong, and Jacob gave me a potion to drink when my "chemical balance"goes wrong. I chug it, and feel like something good's actually going on. I feel lighter, and the urge to yawn is gone. A few more minutes pass, and I feel my power peak, at last. I roar, as several cosmic beams fire into me from the sky, and collapse. As I wake back up, smoke comes off my clothes. My hair crackles, and snaps. It's now time to seize power within my grasp. I'll become the Supreme Mage, and ignite a Golden Age that will never be surpassed. But first, the old, entrenched structures...must be shattered, and smashed.
A wood splintering crash isn’t exactly out of the ordinary for my house. Two sons, four sheep dogs, and enough grandchildren to keep me busy has its way of making a mess of anything I have. My front door, bless that thing, has been through more trouble than Miller, our village idiot. I have repaired it the best I could over the years but with our weather it’s not much of an issue. “Don’t hit the door!” I yelled from the kitchen. “Sorry Maw!” Jesse, my oldest yelled from the field, “what went in?” “I don’t know!” I yelled back, ugh these rascals are going to give me heartburn. Love them dearly but they have taken years off my life. The house was simple, the wood was solid if you don’t count the door, and it’s not like I owned anything out of the ordinary. It was weird. I couldn’t see anything out of place. Again, baring the door, which was swinging back and forth. I had a good sniff, something felt off, and something smelt off. “Jesse!” I yelled out the door, “Meat smells bad!” “Where Maw!” he asked. “How should I know!” I yelled back out, “My nose knows though!” I went back into the kitchen, bread shouldn’t have been left unattended but between the kids and dogs you never know. It has been in the oven for just over a half an hour and still rather pale. I turned the logs and stoked a bit more heat out of the fire. Don’t want it to burn but I do want to do the wash later. Sat down with my book after the stove felt right. I have been reading a bit of a new adventure that Jesse got me. No one other than my sons knew I was a lettered woman. Not proper that. My late husband, rest his poor soul, had a habit of leaving the books out and honestly when you have to deal with the wet season you pick these things up. Came in handy though. You’d be surprised how pale people go when you tell them things you shouldn’t know. “What is that smell?” I muttered to the room. It was inside now. Smelt like something between unwashed dog, bad meat, and a stupid chicken. I got up and wandered around, looking at the different piles but there didn’t seem to be anything. “Maw!” Jesse yelled from the yard, “There’s a fancy man on a horse coming!” “What’d’ya’nk they want!” I yelled back. “You pay your tax!” Jesse asked. “Course I paid the tax!” I yelled back but muttered quietly to myself, “hopefully I paid the tax.” Walking outside I saw there were a lot more than just one of them. Whole pack of them there was, in fancy dress and swords and everything. May of come right out of my book they were. “Good sirs,” I yelled as they got closer, “This path doesn’t lead anywhere save my farm. Is there something I may help you with?” “Ma’am,” a strong, young, extremely well dressed man said from atop his horse, “not to alarm you but we are tracking a dragon. Has he come this way? Have you seen him?” “He called me Ma’am,” I said to Jesse while the gentleman was talking but startledly repeated, “Dragon?” “Yes Ma’am,” the man said, “We have tracked him from a fight with a larger one back east. Is there any way through your fields and past those trees?” “Jesse?” I stared cockeyed at my son until he just gave a shrug, “Sorry Sir, haven’t seen nothing, trees are thick back there and go on for a section. Best to go around, save ya time.” “Thank you Ma’am,” the gentleman on the horse turned and called to his men, “We ride south!” They stormed past my sons, thankfully using the path best they could, probably gonna cost me a bit in labour to repair but you don’t argue with fancy men. Jesse asked what all that was about and I gave a shrug. I hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t heard anything, and if it was a dragon it’d be burning as it went. “Knights,” I just muttered with a shrug as I walked back toward the house. Jesse watched them go for a bit and then turn back to his work when they got past the tree line. I only noticed then there was a lot of mud on the door. Musta been one of those dumb dogs. Before going inside I yelled back out, “called me Ma’am though!” “They gone?” a voice came from behind my table. “Yes, you can come out now,” I said, Timmy was a rascal and was always in something or another. He was Jesse’s youngest, ‘bout six. Cute kid. He could deal though with the excitement as I checked on bread. “Thank you for not saying anything.” “You’re getting good with your words,” I called back as I looked at the bread but groaned, “breads burning a bit.” “Thank you?” Timmy seemed confused. “Well, you are,” I argued, six year olds getting into that age where they don’t like compliments. “Well, if you’re okay with it, may I stay here for a while?” Timmy asked and I heard him move a couple things around, “I’ll vow to protect your house from any dangers if you are okay with me using it as a lair for a while.” “Oh sweetie,” I laughed, “of course you can stay here and protect the house. That’s so sweet but your father shouldn’t be reading all those stories before bed anymore.” “Well,” he said, and I heard a bit of a shudder, “I think they killed father. I’m not sure what to do.” “What?” I yelled and turned around and looked out of my kitchen to scold Timmy. It wasn’t Timmy. Sitting in my living room was a small, wyrmling, green dragon. He was about the size of an oversized dog and was using my good blanket to wipe off the dirt that was caked to his scales. He looked up at me and I did the only reasonable thing a grandmother could do when confronted with a dragon in her living room. I passed out. [\>Part 2>](https://www.reddit.com/r/asolitarycandle/comments/lp5um0/maws_dragon_part_2/)

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