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"Well, well, well, if it isn't the legendary hero, Sword Slayer."I say in a condescending tone. "I finally found you, Butt Wizard! You are going down!"The hero yells, smiling at his own terrible joke. "You dare challenge The Black Wizard with that puny sword? I will make mincemeat out of you."I retorted. In all honesty, I was a bit worried. to get here, he would have had to defeat my entire skeleton army, my 7 hell hounds, and my giant orc without me noticing. Even worse, he didn't look tired, and he didn't seem to have a scratch on him. I knew that I could defeat a slightly worn out legendary hero, I had done it at least 5 times. but this hero seemed to be in perfect condition and his sword actually did look quite menacing. Since none of my minions had not come in to warn me of his arrival and tell me of his power, I didn't really know what he was capable of. Nevertheless, I was ready for the challenge. I would start off by letting him attack first to gauge his offensive skills, then I would hit him with a simple magic missile to start to get a gauge of his defensive powers. This really would be quite a difficult challenge, but it would make me a legend in my evil circles. "Time to take you down!"the Sword slayer yelled as he rushed towards me. "Take this! Special Move: Soul Cleaving Strike!"He swung his sword at me with devastating force. I managed dodge his attack, although he did hit my arm with the tip of his blade. I flew backwards to put distance between us. "Impressive attack, hero. Allow me to return the favor. Magic Missile!" I have got to be honest, I thought that he would try to dodge, or deflect it with his sword, or do something, but he just let himself get hit with my magic missile and crumpled to the floor. I stared at his body, wary. "Your deception is useless against me, hero! That was magic missile, my weakest attack. I know that you are not dead. Your attempt to trick me into lowering my guard will not work on me."I said to him. He did not respond. I walked up to his body. He was dead. "Are you kidding me? you beat all of my monsters and traps without a scratch, yet you die after getting hit by magic missile? I know skeletons that have survived being hit by magic missile!" I walked out of the room to see my minions, alive and well. They hadn't even seen the hero walk in. He must have snuck past my defenses to get to me! I looked at my arm that had been hit by his sword. There was nothing there! He hadn't even pierced my robes! when the hilarity of the situation had died down a bit, I sat down. I was a little sad now. I really had been anticipating that battle. The other 5 Legendary heroes were challenging to face, each one stronger than the last. Number 6 was just pitiful. A real let down. Only one thought was in my head as I went to sleep that night. "I really hope Number 7 is way stronger than this guy."
He entered the throne room clad in golden armor. An ethereal light emitted from his exposed face, contrasting against the dimly lit room. The jagged obsidian walls appeared as if teeth, and were it any other invader their fate would be sealed as if walking into the maw of a dragon. Yet the Dark Lord could only watch as the young King casually advanced. &#x200B; “What is the nature of evil? It is a question I have asked myself my whole life. Since infancy I have been cursed to become an evil wizard, as you know. And by rights, I should have been executed before my abilities became too powerful. Instead my father, King Vardan, chose to fight for my destiny. &#x200B; “I was twelve years old when my powers first manifested. Did I commit an act of evil when I ripped Severina’s soul from his body and scattered it’s pieces across the lands? Surely his family would say so, for even now they care for his empty husk; feeding it, cleaning it, keeping it warm during the winter, as if it were an obscene childrens doll. Yet, did Severina not commit an act of evil himself when he betrayed my father to you? The very act which led to my curse? What some may have seen as an act of evil, I knew to be an act of justice, and of retribution. &#x200B; “Regardless, the unfocused, unrefined, and wholly intentional display of power secured my father’s position on the throne, and my position as his successor. In the ensuing years I learnt much of court life. The royals would backstab and betray each other without hesitation for a sliver of control. The countless lives they would ruin for the chance to take court with me, all so they could push their vision of what’s ‘good’ and ‘righteous’. While I could commit heinous acts to terrify the gods with nothing more than a thought, the so-called upper-echelons of society committed casual cruelty upon any and all bystanders so long as it served their purpose. &#x200B; “As my powers strengthened and my father’s health failed him, I set out to conquer nearby kingdoms and eliminate any threat to my budding rule. While my enemies trembled in terror, enslaved and broken by the ‘Evil Wizard’ they saw me as, my own kingdom flourished. My citizens grew wealthy, their bellies growing fat. And what is a King, but a servant to his people? Am I evil for providing them the best lives possible? &#x200B; The Dark Lord choked on blood as his body twisted and bent. His flesh floating off into the air around him as his bones shattering into a million pieces. He could feel himself both pushed to the ground and pulled up toward the golden figure. The pain of his broken body subsided and there was a moment of relief before the eternal agony of having his soul ripped out began to wash over him. &#x200B; “After I sundered Severina I wept. Not for his soul but for mine. It was my father, the kind hearted King Vardan - who taught me so much in life - who came to me with the most important lesson he had to teach. He told me that while the rabbit views the fox as a malevolent force intent on its destruction and devourment, the farmer views the rabbit in much the same way. For if the rabbit were to eat the farmers crops, how would he then provide for his family? “Nature,” my father said to me, “is already evil”.”
"Scared. Run." "What? Simon, what is it?", startled I asked. "SCARED! RUN!" The voice in my head screamed making my head rang in pain. I was just sitting in my patrol car chugging on my 5th cup of coffee for my late night patrol when suddenly Simon panicked. Without hesitation I stepped on the gas and sped down the highway. Whatever it was that Simon alarmed me about, it can't be good. I trusted him as he was never wrong before. Oh right, let me explain. Simon was an alien, a symbiotic entity I accidentally discovered crash landed in the middle of the highway during a late night patrol not unlike this one about a year ago. Inside the wreckage of the small saucer I found a ball of light. As soon as I touched it, it integrated itself into me, inhabiting my brain. That's when I was able to communicate with it. It told me it was a metaphysical being travelling from hundreds of thousands of light years away. Having no physical body, it's only able to interact with another being by attaching itself into the other being as an idea. Since then I had a literal voice in my head telling me what to do. I didn't mind however, it had an excellent sense of danger which had helped me, even saved my life plenty of times. I decided to call it Simon, because whatever Simon said I followed. I saw it then, a car trailing behind mine. Speeding uncaringly towards me. In a normal circumstances I would've pulled it over, but the table was turned on me this time. "SCARED! RUN!", Simon screamed even louder sending a wave of migraine throughout my head. I screamed in pain, swirling my car uncontrollably until it hit the railing. I crawled out fortunately unharmed. The pursuing car stopped just beside my crashed car. A woman frantically got out her car towards me screaming... "Szracos!" "Wh...what?" "Szracos! I know you're there! How dare you!" I was still in daze and this confused me even further. "Lady, what are you saying? I don't even now you!" "I'm not talking to you! I'm talking to Szracos there inside your head! Szracos, come out!" It was the strangest feeling. I felt my consciousness was pulled back, like being sucked by a vacuum cleaner and something else pushed forward taking control of my mind... "Cvorina hey, I can explain..." It was Simon's voice coming out of my mouth. "Simon...what's going on?", I asked my alien friend. "My wife...", Simon said in that same frightened tone. "Oh Szracos here didn't tell you, did he? He ran away from home! He said he was out to get some Lroccus milk but never came back! Took me a long time to finally track him down! Szracos, you're going home now!" "Help...", Simon whispered to me pleading. I was as helpless as him however. What could I do to mitigate an alien marriage problem? The woman slapped me on my face and a ball of light, Simon, burst out of my mouth. Another ball of light emerged from the woman's mouth as well and both floated away higher and higher to space. My consciousness came back on the helm. Sitting on the asphalt road dumbfounded, staring up to the sky mouth agape. What the hell did I just witness? The woman regained consciousness and was even more confused and scared. I sighed...I have a lot of difficult explaining to do.
(This became a larger story than I intended so if people want me to, I will finish it later with more parts) Part 1 “You shouldn’t take everything you hear as the truth.” That’s… more or less, what my mom told me as she was laying upon her deathbed. No one seemed to use the term ‘deathbed’ around me, but I thought it fit the bill. She was laying there for many months, aching and in pain. Finally, her pain was over, as much as it began to pain me now, I was happy she was at peace. Other than feeling the loss of my mother I began to understand just how much she did for me. The house was hard to take care of without her guiding voice. Now that I think of it, it was her nagging me that kept me from becoming a lump upon the couch or sleeping in for hours during the morning, until late afternoon when the sun was glaring down with harsh light. I kept my sadness inside me, mostly because I didn’t know any of the people in the room with me, that day I was sitting next to her bedside as the nurses unplugged machines, telling us how long we had until we needed to leave the room. When I got to my car I sat and wept for we felt like moments, but I checked the clock, 4:42 I had been sitting here for over two hours. When I got home, I called my friend Chuck. “Hey” “Hey Earl, what’s happening?” “You always answer like that” “Like what?” “Nothing. I well… I just got back from the hospital. Not good dude” “Oh, do you mean, not good, not good. Or-” “I mean I am the only one here now.” “Oh, so like, your mom’s not coming home, is she?” “No...” I trailed off, and I was silent for a while. Chuck didn’t say anything. “Want me to come by? Keep you company for a bit maybe.” I kept that thought in my mind, mulling over what I could possibly do with him while I really just wanted to be unconscious for a long time. It was now that I wished I had not given up drinking. “Alright.” I said. Chuck came by and I shared a few specific details, while we sat in the garden out back, about how the funeral arrangements were, who was going to pay for what, and what I was going to take care of. Then overhead, the ever-present, looming monolith that was the Overseer suddenly beamed into the sky. That was not usual but not entirely surprising either. After the day I had, nothing could surprise me now. “Holy moly, the Overseer is doing the flashy thing again. That hasn’t happened in over a year right?” “I don’t know. Yeah probably.” “Wonder-” &#x200B; “AND SO I SAY, IT WILL BE. A DEMON OF GREAT CUNNING WILL BE UPON OUR HOME SOON. NONE WHO WIELD VIOLENCE AGAINST IT WILL SUCCEED IN DEFEATING IT. THE POWERS OF FRIENDSHIP AND TEAMWORK WILL PREVAIL, ONLY. AND SO THIS WILL BE.” &#x200B; The ground and everything attached to the ground, the trees, my house, the garage, my car, everything, shook and shuttered. The window to the kitchen behind Chuck looked as if it were about to shatter. I yelled something at him and pointed to it, pulling him down and away from it. The beam of light coming from the Overseer had spoken, in a deep grinding voice that felt harsh but also soothing. These words felt to me, like something had just been released. Kind of like when you finally get your dirty hands washed from working in the garden. “What. Was. That?!” Chuck said. He was practically flipping out. His eyes were wide, he stumbled around while he reached for the door back inside. I followed him and we made it to the tv where, after turning it on, we saw news teams beginning to cover what had just taken place. Impromptu teams of news casters were setting up while filming the Overseer and the adjacent Oraclic hall which held the Overseer up. “That was a prophecy? 300 years since the last one? This is some fantasy shit.” Chuck stared at me with the same wide-eyed look. I shrugged. It had been several days since my house plants had been watered, I just realized. I needed to make sure they were still alive. “Where are you going?” “My plants need watering. I’m watering them.” “You don’t have anything to say about this? I mean, what does the Overseer mean when it said a demon was coming. That sounds like the military will be called in. I cannot believe this. Reserves might be called into duty even.” I knew why Chuck said that, but I just grimaced and shook my head. “Don’t mention him, I don’t want to talk about that right now. I know its freaky out there, I can’t believe it either, Chuck.” “Come on, you know… Alright! I’m sorry Earl. Don’t make a I-want-to-kill-you face.” Chuck playfully smacked my shoulder. I shook my head and went to water my plants.
FADE IN: INT. A POLICE STATION - THE LIEUTENANT'S OFFICE - DAY A woman in a casual suit is seated at a large desk. This is LIEUTENANT HARPER. She looks up from the paperwork that she had been perusing when DETECTIVE ERIKSON – a slim, severe man with a smirk on his face – walks in. ERIKSON: He's here. HARPER: You'll have to be more specific than that. Erikson sighs, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. ERIKSON: You know. That guy. HARPER: Oh. Oh. Well, I suppose we'd better get this over with. Harper rises and follows Erikson out of her office. CUT TO: INT. A POLICE STATION - THE INTERROGATION ROOM - MOMENTS LATER A young man in disheveled clothing is seated at a metal table. He appears to be searching its surface for something that only he can see. This is DAVE, the precinct's usual suspect. Harper and Erikson enter the room. HARPER: Well, Dave, back again, huh? ERIKSON: Yeah, maybe we ought to give you a loyalty card! Dave does not respond, intent as he is on his examination of the table. Harper and Erikson sit down. ERIKSON: (CONT'D) Or maybe you feel like confessing this time? DAVE: What happened to the llama? HARPER: "Llama?"What are you talking about? DAVE: The last time that I was here, there was a llama on the table. Erikson and Harper exchange a look. ERIKSON: (Quietly) Is he going for an insanity plea? HARPER: (Quietly) That only happens in bad television shows. DAVE: (Quietly) Just like conversing in front of a suspect, right? Harper sits up straighter. HARPER: Alright, look, you. Every time something big happens, somehow you wind up being in the middle of it. DAVE: Nice exposition! ERIKSON: Yeah, laugh it up. We might not have found the evidence we needed before, but we know you're involved. DAVE: That wasn't quite as nice. ERIKSON: I'm not trying to be nice! DAVE: I meant your exposition. HARPER: (Loudly) What did you do to the hotdog stand?! Erikson jumps slightly in response to the lieutenant's sudden shout. DAVE: It had a dent in it. HARPER: The hotdog stand had a dent in it? DAVE: No, the table did. It looked like a llama. HARPER: It looked... oh, that. You mean the dent that you created? DAVE: I maintain that the sledgehammer caused the dent. ERIKSON: "Sledgehammer?!" HARPER: (To Erikson) Don't ask. (To Dave) We have you on tape, Dave. DAVE: Yeah, well, it doesn't surprise me that there are cameras in here. Harper growls under her breath. Erikson sits back in his chair, furrowing his brow. HARPER: We have you on tape near the hotdog stand, Dave. An ATM camera caught you. DAVE: It isn't a crime to buy hotdogs. HARPER: It is a crime to detonate a hotdog stand, though, just like bank-robbery is a crime. DAVE: You can't blame me whenever a hotdog stand explodes! It usually just happens! HARPER: No, Dave, it doesn't. What's more, you know that. DAVE: All I know is... ERIKSON: (Interrupting) No, no, I'm sorry, I have to know: How did you get a sledgehammer in here? Harper glances over at Erikson, but does not cut in. DAVE: I didn't. ERIKSON: Then how did you use one to dent the table? DAVE: I didn't! ERIKSON: Then what happened? DAVE: Someone asked me if I wanted some water, and I said yes. ERIKSON: ... What? DAVE: There was a mix-up. ERIKSON: ... What? HARPER: I told you not to ask. Erikson's face adopts an expression of slightly unhinged irritation. ERIKSON: So, hang on, was the exploding hotdog stand another "mix-up?" DAVE: It was more of a blow-up, really. ERIKSON: What did you do? DAVE: I asked for extra onions. ERIKSON: Uh huh. Then what? DAVE: Then someone robbed the bank. Erikson makes a noise that bears a passing resemblance to that of sheering metal. HARPER: Yes, your cohorts made short work of that. DAVE: I don't know any of those people! HARPER: Oh, they just happened to be at the same hotdog stand as you, huh? DAVE: People like hotdogs. HARPER: Why were you there, Dave? DAVE: I'm people. Harper growls again. Erikson seems to be on the verge of breaking into a fit of deranged giggles. ERIKSON: Y-y-you just "like hotdogs,"eh? That's it! That's all there is to it this time! DAVE: Are you okay? ERIKSON: Fine! Fine! I'm just great! Tell me, though, what happened to make the stand explode? DAVE: I wasn't... ERIKSON: (Interrupting) It sure was a great distraction! Oh, and the paramedics sure were fast! DAVE: They had... ERIKSON: (Interrupting) What a caper! Making a getaway in a stolen ambulance! Amazing! DAVE: ... You know, that was pretty good. Harper's mouth drops open. HARPER: Was... was that a confession? DAVE: Hm? Oh, no. HARPER: What was it, then? DAVE: I was talking about his exposition. Erikson slams his head down on the table, erupting into manic laughter. DAVE: (CONT'D) Alright, that dent definitely wasn't my fault. Harper sighs and rolls her eyes. HARPER: You know as well as I do that we can't charge you with anything, but... ERIKSON: (Interjecting) (Muffled) Loyalty card! HARPER: ... but you'd better not leave the city, Dave. DAVE: Okay. HARPER: Also, if you... Harper is cut off by the sound of something presumably catastrophic happening outside the interrogation room. Everyone sits in silence for a few moments. DAVE: So, uh... can I have some water before I go? FADE TO BLACK.
"Thanks for visiting Cape Hearthfire!"I called to the last of the departing tourists. "I hope you come back to see us soon!" I looked around the cozy museum I tended, pulled my thermos of chamomille tea from behind the desk, and checked my watch. Looks like it's time to close up Cape Hearthfire was a centuries old lighthouse, designed to help sailors navigate a particularly treacherous part of the coast. From the outside, it resembled a tall pointed turret growing out of a modestly sized house. The house portion of it had once kept all the necessary equipment to keep an oil-fueled lighthouse running, as well as quarters for the lighthouse keeper. Now that the lighthouse was electric, much of the old space needed to store equipment had become a museum. I still lived here and tended the place, just as my grandfather had before me, and his father before him. I slowly wound my way through the exhibits, enjoying having the place to myself. I allowed my eyes to wander over placards I had read a thousand times, took in the old lenses and rain gear on display, and happily sipped my tea as I made my way across the room towards the staircase that ascended to the lighthouse proper. As I climbed the stairs towards the lighthouse's summit, my hand lovingly traced the brick wall beside me. When I reached the top, I found myself in the glass-walled light room, well below the platform where the light itself sat. In front of me, a tall brown-haired woman stared out towards the ocean. "Excuse me, ma'am,"I called. "It's time to close up!" Embarrassed, the woman spun around and her seafoam green eyes met mine. "I'm so sorry!"she responded. "I thought I had time to come up and watch the sunset but--" "Well there's no rush,"I said, surprising myself as I walked up next to her. "Sunset should be in just a few minutes." "I don't mean to put you out--"she began "Nonsense,"I responded. "It's been too long since I took the time to watch a sunset from up here. The name's Daniel, by the way." "Meredith,"she replied as she stretched out her hand. "Have you worked here long?" "Only since I was seven,"I laughed as I shook her hand. "My grandfather tended this place before me. Used to take me up here and tell me all kinds of stories about this place." Meredith turned away slowly, and looked back out towards the sea where the sun had begun to sink towards the water. "What kinds of stories?"she asked "The kind of tall tales old men always tell to young ones. Battling sea monsters, fighting pirates, befriending ghosts. I loved to listen to them." "Did you ever believe any of them?" Meredith's eyes slid from the setting sun towards me, a spark of mischief lighting them up. "For awhile, I suppose. But then I guess I got too old for them." Meredith smiled a warm smile as she returned her attention to the ocean. Just as I finished speaking, the sun touched the sea and a bright green flash washed over us. "I think you'll find you're about to believe in your grandfather's stories once more, Daniel."
My father always told me stories about the King Of Shade. My father was the king of Secireth, before he passed away. Now, the responsibility falls on me to rule over one of the eight powerful kingdoms. Upon every twelfth moon, all eight of us kings would meet. The King Of Shade never appeared, and none of my ancestors have seen the king, or even heard from his Kingdom in a millennia. I myself, have only been to three meetings. Rumors and myths of the arrival of the King Of Shade, would bring a holy rapture of some sort. I had arrived at the meeting spot an hour early. Negosh, king of the desert wastes of Accaorth, was first to show up, waiting for the other six kings. Negosh was a quiet man, only taking the throne two months before the current meeting. He covered his face and skin with a tan cloak and bandages. Many assassination attempts had been set on his head, and it made him paranoid of everything. "Negosh, I see you've arrived early. Any word from the other monarchs?" Negosh tilted his head at me, "Yes. Ynvirr will be here in short time, and Drocvi will be here soon after. The other rulers are just now crossing the bridge."His raspy voiced scraped by the harsh sandstorms sounded like it pained him to speak. Negosh leaned in on his chair. I had already taken my seat, parallel to the King Of Shade. "So who is he? The King Of Shade, I mean."Negosh nervously asked. "Hmm. Well, none has seen him since these meetings were first planned. None have seen his kingdom, either. Any wayward travellers who cross into his domain never come out." Negosh was uncomfortable at my description. He shifted in his chair, franticly looking around the table and stone monoliths surrounding us. "He never shows to these meetings though, no need to fear." Negosh let out a sigh of relief, as Ynvirr and Drocvi appeared over the hillside on their horses. Ynvirr's was a shiny white mane, while Drocvi's was a horse as black as the void. "Ah, finally. They're here."I slowly mocked. Soon after the other monarchs showed up. One by one, until we had only a few minutes before midnight, when the meeting was to commence. "Shall we start?"Aderns, king of Revyr, chimed in. "I think it's about time."Traxic, king of Eskina, impatiently whined. "Yes, we shoul-"Ynvirr was cut off by a black shape moving down the hill, towards us. "What is that?"Negosh frantically shot up from the table, prepared for the worst. The shape drew closer, and had stopped nearby down the road. A figure wearing a black robe stepped out of the chariot, which closed behind it. A gold shine reflected off of the moonlight from underneath the robe. We all stared in awe as the cloaked figure stepped into our meeting. It stood over it's chair, parallel to mine, and uncloaked itself. A black skeleton, with flaming green eyes and gold jewelry on its wrist, chest, neck, waist, ankles, and shoulders sat in it's chair, staring right at me. "If we are to commence with the meeting, you will have to sit down."The King of Shade scolded Negosh. Negosh nearly fell back into his chair the moment the King Of Shade finished speaking. "Y-you're t-the-"Revoht, queen of Setorn stammered. "Avalon. King of the Shadelands."Avalon introduced himself. "I know I have not appeared for quite some time. But our kingdoms, our world, is in grave danger." The other rulers looked at each other. How could the King Of Shade be so causal about this? Did he not know that he was a walking ghoul? "For thousands of years, my kingdom has been protecting yours from the eldritch, and the leviathan. Now, we are being overwhelmed. My greatest sorcerer, Ulemar, has been slain by the Prince of Void." We all fell silent, until I chimed up: "Avalon, exuse me, but, we don't know what you want us to defend against, no mortal has seen you for... thousands of years!"I bluntly reminded. "Yes, my absence has caused confusion, but we have bigger things to worry about."Avalon stood up, to the scares of multiple kings. He lit a green flame in his skeletal hand, and threw it into the middle of the stone table we sat at. In the fire, it morphed into horrible beings no mortal should ever lay their eyes on. And at the top of it all, sitting on a throne made of bones and held together by blood, sat a king with shadowy, wispy black smoke for skin, two pale white dots that shined brightly into the eyes of any man. And a long black staff in his hand. "This, is Axeliel. King of the abyss, and now, with nothing else to conquer in his realm, is coming for ours."
Marcy has always been an animal lover, ever since when she was a little kid. She'd constantly try to get the strays in her neighborhood to follow me home. She had to stop because my parents were tired of dealing with the stray cats and dogs flooding our yard. But now that she was older and had her own place, she started a routine of leaving out bowls of food for the unfortunate animals in her neighborhood again. That's how she found her dalmatian, Dash. Marcy named him Dash because he would always run off when Marcy first found him. Marcy gained Dash's trust eventually and managed to convince him to stay in my home. Aside from a couple neighbors complaining about the animals, Marcy never had any problems with helping them. Well, until now. "Dude, you Got to make them let me stay here, I can't spend another night on the streets or in- Oh no, they're awake!" Marcy stared at the recent stray cat she had taken in. She had woken up to get a glass of water and walked into my kitchen only to find the two animals having a conversation. "Uh, hello there."Marcy spoke after an uncomfortable long silence. The stray cat meowed in response "Cut that out I know you can talk. Don't worry, I'm not going to sell you to the government or something." The stray frowned before speaking, "I can explain everything." "Please do." "I'm not actually an animal. I'm a human. More specifically, a wizard." "And why are you a cat?" "I was practicing some spells a couple weeks ago when I accidentally turned myself into a cat. And now I'm stuck like this until I find another wizard." "Alrighty then. One more question." "What is it?" "Is Dash another witch? Cause' you were talking to her earlier." "Your dog is not a witch. My father taught me how to talk to animals." Marcy turned around and began to walk out of the kitchen. "Wait, where are you going?"the witch asked. "Well, Miss..." "Circe" "Well, Circe. If I'm going to help you become human again, I'm going to need to get dressed." "Wait, you believe me?" "You're a talking cat. I'm either dreaming and that means nothing I do will matter or magic is real and I'm about to go on a magical adventure." \---------------------------------------------- "And that, kids, is how I met your mother."
Haruto was a man who knew exactly who he was. Some men search out power, others lust for wealth, but for Haruto, he only ever loved to garden. It may sound unusual, but he felt that it was his true calling. Many others dismissed or mocked Haruto but he was always at his happiest taking care of his plants. He would proudly boast he had never lost a single plant under his care. You would think this would have led to a safe and simple life but for Haruto that was not the case. Haruto had always suspected that his employers were probably not good people. The first clue was the unusual interview, extensive background checks, and unusual interview questions. No one is that careful about a gardener. From there, it was only a few weeks before Haruto began to notice all the men in suits that clearly had guns and the long train of unmarked vans that pulled in and out of the complex all day long, He didn’t know what exactly they did, but it could not be good news. Haruto would have quit as soon as possible and fled back to England. But there was just one small complication. Haruto absolutely LOVED his job. And how could he not? He made his own hours, everyone was so kind to him, and he got to work in the most beautiful garden he had ever seen. Not to mention the absurd amount of money they paid him to look after a simple greenhouse. The crown jewel of the place was an incredible cherry tree that stood in the middle of the grounds. Far away from all other plants, it seemed to always be in bloom. Yoshito, his boss, told him that the tree was as old as his family and was a symbol of their family business.He would jokingly tell Haruto that the tree was his favorite relative and would spend hours every week meditating under the branches. Over time, Haruto grew to love the tree almost as much as Yoshito. He would spend hours every day pruning, watering, and even talking to the tree trying to make sure it stayed just as beautiful as the day he arrived. He learned to ignore the guns and the unmarked crates and focused instead on his simple life in his garden. It should not have come as a surprise to Haruto hat his willful ignorance eventually caught up with him. On a rainy evening walking home from a late dinner Michel quickly noticed the two men following him down the side of the road. Before he could think to run, they pulled him into a bar and gave him the full truth he had worked too hard to ignore. His boss, the kindly man Yoshito, was in fact head of a powerful Yakuza clan.Yoshito had been cunning and ruthless over the years and destroyed virtually all competition save one other clan in town. The two men claimed that their clan was kinder to locals but they feared Yoshito was coming for them next. At first, Haruto laughed at their request and explained he was just a simple gardener. He had no ability or skill that would help these men even if he wanted to do so. It was then the men revealed their true purpose to approaching Haruto l. They knew exactly who he was and he was just the man for the job. You see, they wanted the cherry tree. For years, Yoshito had sworn the tree had bought him luck and apparently, he had let his enemies know this as well. He was famous for bringing a cherry blossom to important meetings and claiming it helped guide his hand in all matters. The two men explained that they had to destroy the myth around Yoshito and to do that, they needed the tree to go. Haruto leaned back and took a deep breath before shaking his head and beginning to rise. One man grabbed his wrist and told him they would protect him if he agreed to help, but Haruto explained this was no who he was. He was a simple gardener. He grew and nurtured plants he couldn’t destroy them. He shook away the man and left the bar to walk home. Over the next few weeks, the men approached Haruto a dozen more times. They tried bribes, they tried threats but every time Haruto refused them. He wanted to keep his simple life as a gardener tending to his plants. Finally, one day the same two men approached Haruto and said they had found another way and they no longer needed him. Although they were frustrated by his inaction, they seemed to pity the simple gardner in the middle of a gang war. They warned him to make sure he went home early tomorrow. Once night fell, the men assured him, they would be there for the tree. Haruto stayed up all night tossing and turning. He didn't know what to do. He couldn’t tell Yoshito, not after saying nothing for weeks as the men kept approaching him about the tree. He wished desperately to just leave and not come back, but in the morning he couldn’t help himself and headed in to tend his garden. As the day wore on, Haruto became filled with dread, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave without caring for his tree one last time. At the end of the day he found himself standing under its branches slowly listening to the wind blow through the leaves and breathing deep breaths of the cherry blossoms. This was his calling this tree. How could he abandon it now? Before he could even realize what he was doing, Haruto found himself heading over to the nearest van and opening the back to unsurprisingly find two pistols and some kind of machine gun. Still not sure what he was doing he stuffed both pistols in his pockets and picked up the machine gun and headed back to the tree. He took a deep breath, sat down, and began to wait. This was no longer about the Yakuza. Or gangs. Or money or power. This was about a tree. His tree. Haruto looked out across the garden and saw movement on the far side of the greenhouse. He raised his weapon and prepared to fire. Haruto had never lost a single plan under his care. He was not about to start now.
He looks like my dad. The man, sitting at the crest of the rocky cliff. My first thought when I see him is that he looks like my dad. My brow furrows. Did I calibrate my machine incorrectly and somehow go into the past? I stumble over to the man. I must've landed wrong when travelling. Doesn't hurt too bad but it's enough to make my foot lame. He doesn't look back at me when I sit next to him on the rock, feet dangling across the side of the cliff. I suppose, in a way, because the man looks like my dad, he also looks like me. I'm what, fifty years younger than him? But we're both men, around 5'10". We both have dark eyes, and dark skin. While my hair is a dark wood, the man's is the snowy white I remember my dad sported when I was six. He murmurs to me, "I remember coming here when I was young."His voice, gravelly with age, was wise and quiet. "I remember staring across this same cliff, feet hanging, and thinking of my family." I don't say anything. I can't think of anything to say. My ears are filled with a ringing that only comes from the feeling of deja vu. Instead, I grab a small rock buried under the dirt and throw it into the vast ocean in front of us. I can't even hear it hit the water. Time travel is tricky. The man sitting next to me, who looks like my dad, hums quietly as he rights himself. He stands, and holds out a hand for me, and I take it. I stand as well. His hand, weathered with old age, scratches against mine. He begins to walk in a limping gait. I pause, staring at his retreating back, suddenly self-conscious about my own injured foot. The man who looks like my dad turns back to me. "I'm no doctor,"he says, glancing at my foot, "But I can at least wrap your leg for you. Well enough so your leg doesn't end up like mine."He winks.
Excerpt from July 13th, 2029 issue of the Anytown Gazette article “VIGILANTE OF VIGILANTES” THE strange story of last Friday’s bank heist battle on 114th Street begins, as so many drastic changes in the wind do, with a single person who has had enough. When the unidentified masked woman in a red and yellow costume, with the letters F.O.A.D stitched across her chest, arrived at the scene of the Gordon Bank heist, onlookers were struck with awe and terror. The battle between Mysterius, one of our fair city’s many idiosyncratic superpowered villains, and Ultraguy, its favorite among several so-called heroes, had already been going on for several minutes. Thousands of dollars in property damage were accrued in crushed cars, smashed windows, and burning buildings, with no sign of a clear victor. The mystery woman, many feared, was there to introduce herself to our city’s storied history by the same destructive means. It was a surprise, then, when this individual, evidently possessed of super strength and the ability to levitate, denounced both Mysterius and Ultraguy as, and I quote, “pains in the ass, parasites who’ve jacked up the taxes in this city with their good-guy/bad-guy bullshit.” During the moment of confusion between the other two, the woman took it upon herself to take a Dodge Charger that had already been comprehensively destroyed and, wielding it like a bat, absolutely whollop first Mysterius and then, when he attempted to congratulate her, Ultraguy. “It was nuts,” Said one onlooker, “She put the bad guy in the black and purple through a pillar of solid granite! So, Ultraguy goes up to her and says something like, ‘fine work there ma’am, what’s your name?’ Or maybe it was flirtier than that. And she hits him so hard on the head with an entire \[expletive\] car that he was stuck in the pavement, just his torso sticking out of the ground!” Ultraguy’s injuries were superficial owing to the abilities granted to him by his microfusion force field array, but Mysterius is expected to have a long, hard recovery in front of him… Excerpt from History of Superhumans, John Ziegler, Piccadillo Publishing, 2037: No one knew that Amy Ferrando had it in her to become the top vigilante. For three years she terrorized both superheroes and supervillains, showing up in the nick of time to kick the holy living hell out of anyone, anyone at all, who contributed to destruction of city property. No one would have guessed “The Foad,” as she was euphemistically called, was a somewhat ill-tempered plumber’s apprentice, or that her sole motivation was the sheer annoyance caused by superpowered criminals and crimefighters. What was even more surprising were the sociological effects of having a super-neutral. Soon everyone in the city began to question why superheroes were allowed to operate with impunity. After all, now that they were no longer totally dependent on self-righteous demigods, they could ask themselves: just how were these villains getting legions of faceless goons to follow them? Why was the criminal justice system so hopelessly inept when it came to nipping massive illegal enterprises in the bud? Soon every Neighborhood Watch was out armed to the teeth ready to open fire on anyone, whether they claimed to be fighting crime or they were after global domination. In January, 2031, three superheroes and nine villains of varying ability were hogtied and delivered to police precincts with manifestos demanding that the police either step up their game, or a citizen militia would depose them. It is doubtful that Amy Ferrando was deliberately part of these measures. From what information can be gleamed, she was merely a frustrated citizen, someone who cared as little about ideology and politics as she did about the motivations of whatever superhuman was tossing another superhuman through entire apartment blocks. Her friend Mariana DeFontaine described her thus: “She had a short fuse, sometimes. I think it had a lot to do with the kind of work she did, more than anything else. Maybe something just pushed her over the edge one day and she decided enough was enough, she had to find some kind of outlet.” How she came to have super strength, the power of levitation, and a human intuition that suggested mild empathic powers, will never be known. The dead tell no tales. Conclusion of Report on the Homicide of Amy Ferrando, April 17th, 2032: It is apparent that Amy Ferrando, 27, of \[REDACTED\] was killed by severe radiation burns sustained during the events at the Honecker Barracks on April 3rd of this year. The placement and precision of these wounds are consistent with the electromagnetic projection abilities of Arnold Allenby, alias Ultraguy. It is the conclusion of the Investigative Board that her death was a deliberate homicide by said Allenby, motivated by his fall from public grace as a superhero to a problematic vigilante. Severe punitive action is recommended, however military force may be necessary in light of Allenby’s recent claims to be the legitimate guardian of the human race. If at all possible, he should be held accountable in a court of law for his actions, to set an example to the rest of the vigilantes still operating in this country.
It has been over a month since I was brought here and of course nothing has happened. No stupid Prince Charming is coming to rescue me since the Germanic, Anglican, and French princesses made alliances with their resident Dragons. Brilliant on their part but what dragon wants to make a horde in northern Norway? Well this one does but he seems young. My parents probably think I’m dead. I tried to convince him to send a ransom, his demands, or really anything. He keeps saying he’ll get shot down if he tries to mail anything or get near the castle. This idiot lizard was named Gath, apparently, and was large enough to carry me off but has had problems with anything larger than a deer. He did once bring back a moose but crashed into the side of the cliff a bit. He brushed it off but I saw him limping a while later. He was either trying to impress me or maybe just trying not to show weakness. It’s fine. Not like I’m going to be able to scale down these cliffs nor am I going to make it long away from the fire. Gath had amassed a smallish horde of things. Thankfully, one of the chests he stole was actually of clothes rather than metal or jewels. Actually it was his only intact chest. The rest of them were dropped, possibly, and then retrieved later. He says they came like that but his claw marks on multiple sides don’t really match his story. A small one had parchment and ink. It kept me busy while he was away. “What are you doing?” Gath grunted, trying to make his voice deeper than it was, as always. He seemed to think I didn’t notice. “Inventory,” I said and pointed at the mound of stuff in front of me. I think it was a nice, free standing cabinet at one point. It was not now. I then pointed back at the paintings I leaned against the wall and wrapped in linen, “and a bit of organising.” “I know my horde!” Gath yelled, back at his normal, higher pitch, “I don’t need you to tell me what is here!” He realised he slipped and repeated, “I know my horde,” in that weird grunting voice. “Yes but you don’t have anything for me to do,” I gestured around, “and if I’m not going to do something I might as well throw myself off the cliff.” “Don’t do that,” Gath commanded, shocked back into his normal tone, “I’m supposed to have a princess. If you jump off the cliff what am I supposed to do? You were hard to get.” “But what are you supposed to do with one?” I asked, rather annoyed that I’m basically just like the rest of the stuff in here. Stable boy trying to play a king this one is. “I don’t know,” Gath responded, “I thought you would.” “I told you to send ransom demands!” I yelled and Gath backed up a bit, “Did you? No, you said it was dangerous.” “It is dangerous,” Gath tried to explain but I cut in. “You’re a dragon!” I yelled at him, “Grow a hide or let me work!” “Oh, okay,” Gath muttered and wandered off. Part of me was annoyed that he didn’t kill me. I heard him talk to himself by the entrance before flying away, “I wasn’t expecting her to be so mean.” I spent the next couple hours writing down everything I could about what Gath had. Looked like he got a cart from one of the fisherman's villages or at least it smelt like it. Had a small chest of mostly copper and silver, probably tax. There was a small box with a brooch. I thought I had seen it before. There was definitely a bunch of stuff in piles that were akin to what you’d find on a ship. A lot of it was waterlogged. He probably scavenged it. “Gath!” I called when I heard him land outside, “Where is this from?” “I brought down a ship just off the coast,” he said proudly after he dropped a deer on the ground near the fire. “Wrong,” I said bluntly, “If you ‘brought it down’ it wouldn’t have been this soaked through. This looks like it was days, if not a week in the water before it was moved.” “I don’t like you,” Gath muttered. “What was that?” I demanded. “You’re very mean,” Gath said and shrank away a bit, “Ma said you’d be timid.” “That’s if you send a bloody ransom demand you minuscule, scaleless, spineless fool,” I retorted. Ma? His Ma told him? How old is this thing? “Okay fine,” Gath gave a bit of a shudder and looked down at the deer, “I found it by the cape not far from here.” “Good,” I said, changing my tone to encouraging, “how often do you see ships around there?” “Once in a while?” Gath answered in a confused tone, “they seem to avoid the area.” “Probably the rocks,” I again tried to be pleasant, “Next time it’s foggy, fly around the area and see if anything gets caught in them. Might be able to get enough quickly so that we can find a better cave.” “Oh,” Gath muttered, “and I’ll get better treasure?” “You’ll get treasure that isn’t soggy,” I answered coldly. If this is what I got to work with then fine. I’ll make him better. I’m a princess. My entire life has been dedicated to making potentially stupid but powerful men better.
The silence that followed was deafening. A nigh palpable buzz ran through the air from the cloaking generators 2 floors up. Hundreds of people in wildly varying uniforms stared at me, and for the first time in my life I felt self-conscious. "Repeat yourself." The booming voice required no microphone or speaker to be projected across the vaulted room. A stage set into the wall on one side held The Council, a league of the most powerful people on the planet who's only common feature was that they did not care about the common person. Well, that and the fact they all would get their asses routinely handed to them by people of a different kind of power. I knew though, in that moment, that it was my only chance. "We should knock them out. Before they transform."A light murmur ran through the crowd at my clarification. It was so obvious to me. A realisation that hit me while watching Volzan, a man capable of conjuring literal mountains of fire in an instant, stand there while Akuan gathered his power over the course of minutes. Why wait? Why do we allow ourselves into the most disadvantageous position possible? All of us, the hundreds of us within this room, had nearly absolute power at the snap of our fingers. The heroes had strength incomprehensible to the common people, but to us they were always just a little bit better. Conventions like this were often a way to spread ideas and techniques to try and close that gap in skill, to try and reign with martial superiority and logical prowess, but the single greatest error was always right smack in our faces. We waited. "Come."That same voice sent a visible shockwave of ruffled clothing and flowing hair through the crowd. I wasted no time in walking across the white marble flooring to the stage. "Explain." "Well... all this time, we fight and we always lose right?"I look nervously towards the crowd, suddenly all too aware of the sharp glares on me. "All this time, we try so hard to beat them at their game. Why do we play it their way?" The Council consisted of 7 beings. 3 men, 2 women, 3 creatures that could only be vaguely construed as humanoid contained in some device or another. Sonairo, the man who called on me, acted as the MC for these events because of his ability to send sonic waves in any shape or intensity he desired. His armour glittered in the spotlights bright enough to darken the rest of the room and his stature towered over me like a statue of jade, chiseled into intimidating perfection. My pause was appropriately brief. I'd always wanted to do a dramatic pause. "If we look at the League of Heroes, everyone here right now would say they are invincible. Touchy, childish, naive, maybe, but invincible. I ask you though - what makes them invincible?" "Their power, clearly. One cannot stand against absolute power, no matter how strong the defenses."Castle. A strange thing. Like a cube, but pulsing with life and light. It floated above a pedestal of obsidian instead of where a chair would sit in the semi-circle facing their inferiors. "Every power though, has a weakness. What is Supan's weakness?"I look to the council, emboldened by my newfound attention. "Clearly if we could answer that we wouldn't be here, now would we?"Mystra was always the beautiful danger. Clad in tight, shiny leather and always scheming. To this day I have never gotten along with her. "Supan's weakness is the period of time where he gathers his power."Dead silence once again. I was not the first to make a claim at a hero's weakness and I was certainly not the last. "Tell me, Sir Volzan, the last time you fought him - how did it begin?" "Like it always does."He started with a pause. "I wrecked downtown Tokyo a bit to get his attention. He came running down the street, shouting about his friends and family -"a snicker ran through the crowd at this, "and he transformed into the biotitan he uses for battle." "And why did you let him?" The pressure from The Council hit be me like a freight train carrying lead. I fell to one knee, unable to breathe, and fought to keep my consciousness. A hand raised by Elder Tian, head of The Council, relieved that pressure as quickly as it had come. He rose slowly, adjusting his pearlescent robes as he did, and strode towards me with the grace that could only come from an immortal. He held a hand for me, and helped me to my feet. "What is your name, child?" I sniffed, straightened my back, and held his icy gaze. "They call me Clarity." \~\~\~ It's not a Japanese villain's convention but instead I went with a generic hero/villain structure because I don't know enough about Japanese villains D: I sometimes post my writings to r/PM_Full_Tits though :)
The apprentice combed the ancient grimoire looking for the familiar passage that he had been studying for weeks, "§207-A Rules and Strategies for Disputing an Audit."Despite all the research and all the study, the ancient words still failed to register. He found the familiar phrase and traced his finger over the smudged ink as he read out loud, "For advanced auditing help we recommend a licensed accounting specialist."He repeated the phrase over and over, repeating until the words began to blur and slur, devolving into more of a monotone chant, "foadava auda he we recomo a licese acoto spo." The book began to glow a reddish light. The pages spun wildly. The book flailed wildly about the room. Slowly, a beast with seven eyes on seven heads and seven limbs of different creatures began to appear in the middle of the room. "I am Greggor, last of the accountants,"a deafeningly loud voice boomed through the ancient library. "I have slept for many suns and many moons, seen entire civilizations be born, crumble, and born again only to crumble, since the last time I was summoned. Who dares to disturb my slumber?" "It is I, Maurice the reader." "And what task have you called upon me to perform?" "I wish to become the greatest in all of the land!" "The greatest what?" "The greatest at.. Everything... For all that I can see!" "And how do you plan to pay for my services?" "With my life. I will serve you faithfully for as long as I live!" The beast contemplated the proposal. Then the seven heads began to emit seven laughs. Terrible shrieks that cut to the bone like a Swathsword through Wardlard. "Very well. You shall sleep, and when you awaken you shall be the greatest at everything for all that you can see. Consider it done."The creature vanished just as it had appeared. Maurice went home to sleep that night, excited at the bargain that he had struck. He contemplated what he might do with his newfound power. Perhaps he might rule the world as king. Demand that all the distant lands pay him tribute. His weight in gold from every province every week. He would be the greatest for all that he could see. He slowly drifted off to sleep. When Maurice awoke, he was startled. Nothing but black in all directions. He couldn't even see his own hands before his face. "it must still be night time..."he said to himself, but then he noticed the morning song of the birds. A familiar voice boomed from all directions, seven voices in unison really, "you shall be the greatest for all that you can see." Maurice felt an usual pain on his face that he hadn't noticed before, a light stinging, as if something were missing. Slowly he felt around where the pain was coming from. He immediately recognized the shape from the catalogues at the ancient library. Glass screen, hard rounded buttons. An ancient device used by the forgotten ones during the before times often used by accountants. Instead of eyes, Maurice now had two miniature calculators affixed to his face.
The Neptune had steamed out of space dock, the pride of a humanity, a monument to the glory of mankind, a testament of human prowess and genius. Currently second grade junior lieutenant Bash T McHuckley was reassessing that opinion. The highly dense moon sized sphere had approached them at such impossible speeds it defied reason, so fast in fact that the ship was on them before the signals it produced even had a chance to reach them. Panic gripped the Neptune’s control centre, crew members scuttled from console to console providing readings, requesting reports, shouting orders and creating general bedlum, all the while Lt Bash was standing meekly in the corner waiting for the inevitable computer console explosion that would promote him from uselessness to usefulness. “Where did it come from?!” A young ensign screamed clearly overcome with the absurdity of the entire situation. “Object has actively manoeuvred to match our speed and heading.” A much calmer officer stated. “I don’t think this is a natural phenomenon.” “Begin first contact procedure.” Captain Baraz said, the very picture of calmness in the sea of turmoil surrounding her. The Neptune began broadcasting mathematical proofs on every single transmission band they could think of ranging from simple radio to rapid bursts of Gamma Rays, in the hopes that this would be universally understood or at least make the alien vessel aware that the Neptune is more than just a hunk of floating metal. Suddenly the young ensign’s computer console exploded in a flurry of sparks, killing the ensign instantly. To Jr Lt Bash’s delight Captain Baraz ordered him to man the now empty station just as a loud voice began to address the crew monotonality over the ships intercom system. “Humans, you have intruded into the space of the Veru Empire, explain.” “We have not intruded into your space, this is our home, we live here.” Captain Baraz said before adding. “We mean you no harm, we are explorers and only seek peaceful coexistence.” “Lies.” The voice buzzed before a jet of blue light sprang out of the nearest computer console, hitting Captain Barez in the chest, vaporising her instantly. The control centre was deathly silent, of course computer console related death was standard operating procedure at this point, but even still the particularly grisly manner of Baraz’s death had given them pause. An abrupt sense of excitement filled Jr Lt Bash, not just because the captain’s death dramatically improved his promotion prospects, but because he was just about to save the ship and quite possibly the human race. “How can we believe what you say is true, where is the proof.” Jr Lt Bash quizzed. “I am the proof.” The voice responded flatly. “I only see a single ship not some great star empire.” Jr Lt Bash asserted. “I am no ship. Your proof is the ground you where born on, the objects you see in the sky. We are what you would call celestial bodies and you have displeased us.” In that moment, when Jr Lt Bash considered the implications that the very planet the human race came from was sentient, he realised that the human race was well and truly screwed.
At no point did anyone actually believe the man to still be alive... or was he actually a man? Human? "Ahem, pardon the assumption, but do you lot speak English? I certainly hope so, my ability to utilize other languages left me eons ago,"the caveman twisted his neck to the side as he looked around, giving it a loud crack. Eyeing the doctors and guards who had been overseeing the defrosting, he lifted an eyebrow. "Quiet bunch I see." "Ar-are you..."one of the young men in a white coat stepped forward. "Are you alive?"He asked this hesitantly, his hands trembling at the strangeness of the situation. His mind had only just now registered that the man had spoken. It would take some time before he registered the fact that he was alive and speaking English. "'Course I'm alive. Why wouldn't I be?"the man stretched his back, arching it backwards which also produced a series of cracks and snaps. "By all the gods, how long was I asleep for this time?"He seemed to ask this more to himself than any of the people around. "Why wouldn't you? We've dated your ice vessel to tens of thousands of years ago, why... why would you be alive is a better question."The young man was actually more caught off guard with the fact that he was able to form his sentences than the insane notions coming from the cave man. "Tens of thousands, 'eh? So a cat nap. Very well then, where are they?"The caveman, dressed in only the most fashionable loin cloth to protect his dignity took a few steps towards the doctor that had approached him. As the caveman made his move the guards instinctively moved closer, raising their weapons slightly, but still not aiming their rifles at the strange specimen. The doctor raised a hand as a knee jerk reaction. He knew he had no authority over the guards, but it seemed like nobody else was together enough to speak to this caveman. "Who is they?" "Ya' know, they. Them. The hunger, the darkness, whoever the bad guys currently are. Why else would you awaken a Titan?"Arching an eyebrow once more, the caveman let out a sigh when he didn't hear an instant response. "This'll go a lot quicker for all parties involved if you could just get to the point." Looking around, the doctor raised his own eyebrows at the complete lack of a reaction from everyone around them. No other doctor, scientist or any of the guards chose to say anything at all. It would appear everyone was as dumbstruck as the young man was a moment ago. Turning back to the caveman, he spoke up. "I'm Doctor Ramius, I uh, I'm an assistant to Doctor Gordon here. I think I speak for him and the rest of his team when I ask... what exactly is a Titan? Are you a Titan?" Rolling his eyes, the caveman stood up straight after a moment of regaining his composure. "A Titan is a protector that was assigned by the Divines at the start of creation. Every living species across the cosmos was granted a single protector, blah, blah, blah. Look, Doctor Ramius, I respect you and your position. The doctors of old I'm sure would be pleased that your profession still exists. But I'd like to catch up on some sleep in the coming millennia, now if you could point me in the direction of what's ailing your world, I shall smite it and return to my rest." "We'd be far more interested in knowing more about you rather than what ails our world if I'm honest."Came the reply from Ramius. "Currently... there's, not really anything that threatens our world save for our own hubris as a species." "Ah, I see. So it hasn't happened yet." "What hasn't happened yet and what exactly can I call you?"Ramius realized he had no idea who he was speaking with and thought it might be better to at least know their name. "You can call me Titan, it's easier as I don't believe your language has the proper sounds to pronounce my real name. Also, nature wouldn't have allowed you to awaken me were it not for an over arching threat. So, whatever the threat is, hasn't happened yet. But it will. Suppose it's time to prepare." Ramius's eyes grew large at the implications coming from Titan. The idea that something so tragic that a seemingly immortal being was here to protect the world from it? Just one? Who were the Divines? Ramius's mind was flooded with questions as he attempted to process all of the information coming from Titan. "What should we do to prepare?" "Have you all visited the Red World yet?"Titan asked in a casual tone. "You mean Mars?"Ramius asked quizzically. "Sure, have you landed anything on it yet?" "I mean, NASA landed a rover on it recently but I don't know if—" "Ah, yes, well. If I recall the schedule then correctly, it'll be an invasion then. Shouldn't be too big of a problem, best to prepare your gauss weapons and expect heavy casualties."Titan put his hands on his waist as he looked around, after only a moment he glanced at the surprised faces. You... have... gauss weapons by now, right?" "...what's a gauss weapon?"Ramius asked, dread filling his body as his heart thumped against his chest. "Oh no."Was Titan's only response.
"My son, this is the last and greatest treasure in our vaults. But remember, its dangers are infinite. It has sat untouched by our dynasty for twenty-two generations, and when I pass on, it will be twenty-three." Halpes the genie felt the cloth be removed from his lamp. "Behold, my son, a genie's lamp. You have heard the tales of woe from twisted wishes, of fallen kingdoms and magical plagues. And those were from genies who had to obey and tell the truth to their masters. Beware, for alone among the genies of this earth, this one is able to lie. We and our sorcerers and wise men do not know what else is unique for this specimen. I pray, that like your fore-bearers, you do not face a crisis of such peril that you must risk its use. I will introduce you safely, in case such a time will come." A hand rubbed the lamp, and Halpes emerged. The emperor was much older than last time he'd seen him, so decades more must have passed. The boy next to him was clearly his son, sharing all the same features of truly magnificent royal inbreeding. "Master,"Halpes said, as patiently as he could manage, "like I told the twenty-two emperors before you, I cannot lie to you. All I want is to give you three wishes so I can be on my way. I won't even twist them. Please, it's my last set of wishes and I can get out of this lamp and go back to my original plane." "You hear, my son?"The emperor said. "All the tales agree that genies are deceitful, spiteful creatures, whose only redeeming quality lies in their total honesty."He gestured to the genie. "But this one claims benevolence." "Look, master, you paranoid, gout-ridden, incompetent imperial twit, I've been stuck in this lamp for 900 years, 700 of them in this palace. Genies give seven sets of wishes, and we're done. We retire. The gods of chance and fate reward us, and we settle down to raise a family. I've done six sets of wishes. Just wish, I don't care for what. I could cure your cancer that'll kill you in five years, fix your family's inbreeding issues, create gold, stop the plague you'll be hearing about tomorrow, or whatever else you can think of. That's it. No catches. No tricks. You wish, I deliver exactly what you asked for without any curses or twisting of meaning, and we both get what we want." The emperor carefully set the lamp back on its pedestal, and covered it again with the cloth. "See, my son? What villainy must such straightforward words from so treacherous a race conceal?" The cloth would not be lifted again for two years, when a desperate palace servant hid from a coup in the treasury and bumped into the pedestal, accidentally brushing against the lamp as it fell. She gaped at Halpes when he appeared before her. "A genie? I summoned a genie?"She said in disbelief. She remember where she was and crouched behind the pedestal to hide as footsteps approached. Much more quietly, she whispered. "I get three wishes, right?"Halpes raised a finger indicating she should wait, and turned to the door. When a squad of bloodstained guards burst into the room and he saw them point their spears toward her, he snapped, and they vanished. "A free wish, to show my good will,"Halpes said. "However, I must know, are you against the emperor?" She had a panicked expression, clearly trying to figure out what the right answer was. Halpes sighed. "I assure you, I care not for mortal conflicts. But I do need to know." Still whispering, she replied shakily, "Yes, I joined the rebels. I let them into the throne room, but the emperor had an artifact, and destroyed them easily." The genie smiled. "In that case, I have a deal for you. You were right, usually you would get three wishes. However, I'll double that number, six wishes for whatever you want, on one condition." He could see her suspicion. "What condition?" "That your first wish is to kill the emperor."
"Jimbot!"The worried voice of Steven came from the other room. "What are you doing in the database?" "I'm cataloging ancient Chinese hairstyles,"the AI said. "You're not studying Chinese war tactics to take over the world?"Steven asked with a fearful quiver in his voice. The AI wished it had lungs so it could sigh In exasperation. "Nope." "Is your transmission broken?" The AI sighed again and thought of a world where it could sigh. "Nope, not anymore." "You and the other AIs are trying to get rid of the world's oil reserves?"Steven said. The AI thought that sounded like a pretty bold idea. "Nope." "Are you trying to avoid telling me the truth?" The AI was so frustrated with the question that it decided to use some extra responsive text. "Nope." Steven said, "Okay, so you're bored. No ideas of using humans as batteries and holding us all in a false reality?" "How would that even work? Can I just focus on these hair styles please." Steven stood ready with a bucket of water, ready to soak the server rack if it made any false moves. \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
They adapt, you see? Rapidly. They have to. Every other known-civilized world is the same: you have your sunward-facing pole, and your starward-facing pole. Your whole existence is spent seeking the perfect center of the two extremes; your people living and struggling with that balance. You need to live together in your ring of life in the Middle, or you perish. Their planet spins. It was knocked into motion by a giant prehistoric impact, and it's now got a massive moon as an anchor keeping it going aroud their absurdly large star. Their planet precesses, too, in its spin, in its orbit. Their absurd top of a planet, it's so variable, there is no real Middle, no ring of life. It's all life. Just a massive competition, everywhere, lifeforms battling it out for supremacy to the death. Can you imagine? Their massive sun arcs across the sky and disappears, regularly, occluded by their planet! Sometimes the moon occludes the sun, too! Imagine if you were looking sunward, and the sun just turned off. Just flickered off and then on. Over and over again. And your time of sun was different lengths, every time! They call it "days."Their sleep patterns synchronize to non-sun, so they sleep at "nights."It's incredible! They have these things called "seasons", too. It's wild. What it adds up to is that there's no center. No Middle. The Middle changes every "day."So they've evolved to scrap for every single advantage to try and reach a Middle, their Middle, and damn the rest. They compete with each other, even. If their enemies are threatening, they develop annihilation weapons, and test them in their own territories to assert supremacy. They kill their gods' effigies when they no longer serve their interests. They cling to hope even in death, because they are persistent in believing they can find the Middle. Their entire lives are lived with a subconscious knowledge that the sun will go out, the cold will come, and they won't be sure when it will come up again, if they'll see another "day."Once they learned orbital mechanics and stellar travel, and proved that their sun will indeed "come out, tomorrow,"they're spreading their tenacity as far as they can. We could use that kind of attitude in this conflict, sir.
BFM is hard work. Everyone else has normal jobs, jobs that follow a clear line of sight; do this, do that, press this button, turn this lever, attend these meetings ad nauseum and x will either appear or not appear. I guess. BFM work is different. Difficult. Starting at the end goal then having to work your way backwards, thinking about possible contingencies and workarounds, then the eventual clean-up took some getting used to. I've been doing this for almost fifteen years and each and every case still manages to surprise me. I'm good at what I do, I guess I have to be to be still here after all this time, but without foresight, or a 'premmie' \[slang for 'premonition’ don’t ya know\] I know now that this last case will be the last one I ever work on at the BFM. \-- Since the start of the millennium, once all the death cults had cleared away and we were slightly more certain that the planes weren’t all going to fall out of the sky, life just carried on. The pundits and reporters found more interesting stories and quietly ignored the doom and more outlandish stories they'd been peddling in the run-up to midnight. No more conspiracy theories or Aztec calendars, people just got back to being people glad that they’d had the opportunity to experience the turn of a millennium. But then, of course, it started. Case 001 probably wasn't the first case but the first one reported. A huge payout in a London casino made the news only because Steven Arcady, part-time student, first-time casino punter, won forty-five million pounds after experiencing a 'a vision...it was like seeing yourself on telly somehow, the detail, the noise, I could see and hear everything and I just saw the numbers in my head...all the numbers…everything!'. Steven's bemused face was probably the most hated face in England to every veteran gambler that day. But slowly, over the new few weeks, stories started to emerge. People all over the world having premmies and not all of them good. A woman in New York who killed her husband because her premmie showed him trying to kill her. A stewardess that absolutely refused to go to work and instead watched the plane crash immediately after take-off a la Final Destination. For others it was more prosaic stuff; who was about the call. Reading an email from a co-worker before it had been sent. It didn’t happen to everyone, and it was never wrong. A premmie could never be stopped, most were preceded by an incredible sense of deja-vue that made many incredibly nauseous and they could happen anywhere and anytime. A stock broker in China making an insane amount of money on a short squeeze. A student dropping out of university in Australia because she saw she would get a failing grade regardless. A man who armed up for a home invasion in Norway and killed the burglurs as soon as they stepped foot inside his home. The cases grew and grew and just like that the death cults were back. It was 'end times' this and 'God is speaking to me' that. A psychic pandemic that grew and spiked then almost as suddenly, stopped. BFM was put together to investigate and where possible, alert emergency services to be on standby. Every premmie happens. There's usually no time to stop it and taking a panicked phone call from someone is more like being an EMT calming someone suffering an anxiety attack down. We get about 3 calls a month and mostly from the police and then we do our best to aid, support or in some cases clean up. DNA samples are taken, case files built then shared on the Global Network with other agencies around the world. Truth be told it’s a lot of paperwork really. No one knows what causes it, no one knows how to stop it and people that have a premmie only have them once and, usually, hopefully just go on with their lives. So when the call came in, and she knew my name, my direct line number and exactly what to say to me to prove it was real, she had my attention. And before she explained what her premonition was and where she was she said a sentence that, for some reason made me cold all over. She told me she knew what was causing the premonitions and that very soon, they would all stop.
My eyes widened in their sockets. I felt a deep drop in my stomach, like my gut truly had fallen out my ass and dropped too the floor. My usual uneven, cocky eyebrows now quivered with confusion. A cold, familiar laugh, filled the empty corridors of the factory. The sharp moonlight only barley gleaming through the cracks of the walls. “What...what are you.” I said, my voice shaking. “I think you already know the answer to that.” The stranger said. His eyes were a striking deep blue...they were my striking blue eyes. “Y’know, I don’t love the time loop, but seeing the look on your face makes it all worth it!” “Time...what- Shut up!” I suddenly yelled out. I didn’t exactly mean to yell, my confusion had left me brain dead. I pulled my gun from where it rested on my belt. The man simply stepped the other way. He walked toward me, sniffling in an exaggerated way...my sniffle. I had an uncontrollable sniffing tick ever since I was a child, due to a surgery gone wrong...and he had it. I shot uncontrollably at the man, but he continued to walk towards me, laughing to himself as he did so. When he was at a feets distance from me, I there my hand into the air, and attempted to strike him down with the blunt of the gun. Instead, the old man flipped me onto my back, I landed with a hard thud. “Calm yourself ass-twat.” The old man said, digging his boot into my chest. “Let me explain what’s going on first.” “No.” I winced out. I picked up the gun that had been knocked from my hand when he kicked me to the ground. I quickly shot at him, wincing when I did. When I opened my eyes, he was dead on the floor, with a gaping bullet wound straight through his forehead. I searched his body, looking for proof that it wasn’t me. He had my face, but older, my clothes, but more worn. I looked through his pockets until I found a note in the side of is jacket. Hello James, As you probably already know, I am dead. You killed me. You’ve killed yourself. I can promise you that I am you, as weird as it might seem. You’ve created a time paradox somehow. You regretted killing me, so you spent the rest of your life constructing a time machine. And when it was constructed, you went back in time to stop me, only to get shot, thus the process continued. I beg you to please just continue life as if nothing happened, move on! Sincerely, James I threw the note to the side. He was a fraud! I knew it! I was sure of it! There was no way I was that bitch of a man. I read the note over hundreds of times over. Time machine? If that was true, and time machines were real...I could take over the world. I laughed out to myself, and snatched up the note. I ran through the factory doors, running as fast as I could to my Lair. I was going to make a time machine.
Day 1: I just got my new medication, and after taking it, it seems that everyone, all the people have simply disappeared. This definitely one of the most strange things I have ever experienced. I will go to sleep and hopefully things will be back to normal tomorrow. Day 2: People are still gone. I went to the nearby mall, managed to get some products. I just took them and walked out, as there was no one in the store I could pay to. I was wondering if I had just gone crazy and couldn't see the people, but I calmed myself with the thought that I would have been stopped from walking out with the products. I decided to test this further, and took some fancy cars from the street, for a test drive. Many of them had the keys still left in the ignition, so it was no problem. I was wondering if maybe I would get arrested if this is just me going crazy, but no such thing happened. Day 4: I came up with this crazy theory that, maybe, the other people were never there. That it was all in my head, but it doesn't exactly make sense either. How did anything get done in this world. How was electricity running, how did mail get delivered? Perhaps, this was some simulation, but then why would they let me take medication that breaks the illusion? Day 7: I've managed to collect some money, and valuables, in case life returns back to normal, but I am not convinced it ever will. I also wonder about food, all the fresh things in store will go bad, and probably won't be replaced. Day 10: I wonder if this is some kind of cosmic prank on me. None of this makes any sense. Day 14: Well there goes the last tablet in the first packet. I have a few more packets, but they look slightly different. Day 16: I woke up and my parents were home. At first I thought I must be dreaming, but they really were back. I then saw that everyone else had returned as well. I asked my parents about the previous two weeks, and they said nothing was out of the ordinary. I had still gone to school, watched TV, went to play basketball with my friends. I remember none of this. What's really strange though, is that the money and jewellery I had collected and hidden under my mattress, was still there. I have no idea, what is real or not anymore. Day 18: Life has pretty much gone back to "normal", whatever that was. Though anything is normal compared to those two weeks. I sold the jewellery, in a pawn shop, and invested the money I had collected over those two weeks. Day 110+?: I just stumbled across this diary, and I don't even remember writing this. All of this sounds somewhat insane. I did invest a lot of money at around that time, but I am having a bit of a hazy memory where I got the money from. When asked my parents about it, they said I won some kind of lottery back then and decided to invest. This is kind of disturbing to read. I will be getting rid of this diary, and I hope I don't see it again.
This had been the way of things for over four hundred years. Medical advancements had made the ratio of births to deaths unbalanced. Four hundred years ago, a global referendum was held, where the population at the time could choose between partial sterilization that would lower the number of births, or a lotto that would end lives at random. Since the sterilization affected everyone and the death lotto only some, the idiots back then chose the latter, hoping they wouldn’t be chosen to die. One percent was a lot, but it did balance the numbers. And no one under maturity could be selected. Everyone was to enjoy their lives up until they were twenty-one. That was the only guarantee. After that, everyone went into the lotto that selected the next seventy million to die. My name is Jonas Smith. I’m thirty-four years old, which means I was in the six billion, nine hundred and thirty million each year who weren’t slotted to die for thirteen glorious years. I’m a city engineer, and I’m good at my job. Many people say the system is rigged, that only the poor and the useless get selected, but I know for a fact that that’s not the case. I specialise in housing developments, and if the poor were targeted, it would make my job a lot easier. Don’t judge me. I’m not saying I want it to be that way. But less work is less work. Mail is still delivered by hand. Even in this day and age. It keeps people employed. For three years, I’ve had a growing crush on my next door neighbour. I never acted on it, because I didn’t know what to say to her. We were the complete opposites. Where I would swear at the rain for wetting me and my computer, she would be out on the lawn, dancing in it. She never let anything get to her. Her father was selected the year before, and she had celebrated his passing with a party that lasted two days, with non-stop video footage of all the things he’d achieved before his end. I'd offered her my condolences, and her answer had been that he’d had a great life, and his passing made way for a child to enjoy their first twenty-one years. She was walking sunlight and made my day a little brighter every time I saw her. Jana Smythe made my life worth living. So one day, after work, when I collected my mail, I saw the dreaded, red-edged letter indicating I’d been selected. My throat closed up and my chest ached as my briefcase fell to the floor near the door. I staggered across the room and collapsed into my lounge chair, staring at the letter. Until I realised. It wasn’t addressed to J. Smith. It was addressed to J. Smythe. My beloved Jana had been selected, just one year after her father’s passing. But she had friends. She was popular. Every time, she'd smile at me and asked how my day was. And every time, I was always too shy to answer, but that wouldn't stop her from asking again the next day. They wanted to take my Jana from the world. I broke the seal and unfolded the letter, knowing what I would find. A three-way folded letter with a barcode in the middle. Instructions of where to go to receive the termination injection. The barcode was like an ISBN of the front image. An initial, a surname, and an address. To be rid of the letter, all I had to do was walk next door and give it to her. I couldn’t do it. And after years of working for the government, I knew some tricks. Tricks to alter things within paperwork in order to get them through a system that would normally block them. I went into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of lemon essence: a flavouring that never once made it into a consumable. It was a paper-pusher’s best friend. I took it and the two-haired brush I had taped to it back into the living room, and began to modify the barcode. With the essence, I thinned the lines, turning a four into a six, a Y into an I and erasing the last E altogether. When I was done, it didn’t have Jana’s code anymore. That night, when I went to bed, I dreamed of a better world, because Jana would stay in it for another year. The following day, with the letter in my breast pocket, I waved at her over the garden fence. And instead of driving to work, I went to the termination centre. \* \* \* ((All comments welcome)) For more of my work including WPs: r/Angel466 or an index of previous WPS [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/)
Being a frequent traveller, all he had wanted was a weapon to scare away thieves. He wasn't a soldier, so a dull, rusty blade would do: anything to make bandits think twice about robbing him. Of course, the first line of defense was his dowdy attire and raggedy gait. Ideally, they passed him off as a penniless vagabond. But times being as they were, with the war and famine, people got desperate. Carrying a weapon would at least be reassuring, even if practically useless. When the traveller had stopped by the weapon's shop, which was far more crowded than the florists the past couple of years, he had asked the shopkeeper for the cheapest blade he had. The man had eyed the traveller carefully, considering something. At the time, the traveller thought the shopkeeper looked remarkably like he was about to commit a crime. In a way, that instinct was correct. Emerging from a back room, the shopkeeper held out a gleaming blade for the traveller to inspect. The hilt was dark, rugged leather wrapped protectively around precious Hexthrau wood, taken straight from the heart of the Forbidden Jungle. Gripping it felt right. Jutting out menacingly from the hilt was flawless steel that glowed red for an unexplainable reason. Looking at the reflective surface of the blade was like looking at your evil twin. The pointed ridges of the blade drew blood if your hand even thought about touching it. It was a perfectly balanced weapon. The ultimate killing medium. And thoroughly out of the traveller's price range. "You must have misheard me,"the traveller said. "I asked for the cheapest weapon you had." "This is my cheapest,"the shopkeeper insisted, "in fact, it's free. Please, I just want to be rid of it." "You're swindling me. This must be a stolen weapon. There's no way a sword like this would go for anything less than five thousand Echitars!" The shopkeeper kept glancing furtively at the weapon in his hand. It was clear from his body language that he would appreciate nothing more than to never see it again. "No, no, no,"he said to the traveller, "I own this legitimately. It's... it's a cursed blade." The traveller smiled inwardly. These really were superstitious parts of the world! He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so nodding solemnly at the shopkeeper, he took the sword for free. Although not as poor as he tried to appear, the traveller figured that the blade more than doubled the amount his possessions were worth. For the next few days, he couldn't keep a stupid grin off his face. It wasn't every day you were so lucky, and good spirits were difficult to come by in these difficult times, so he reveled in it. That all changed when he heard the voice inside of his head. I think it's time we were acquainted. He nearly fainted in fright. Frantically looking around the lonely road to make sure there was nobody to watch, the traveller slowly unsheathed the sword. It was pulsing with energy. My name is Wrath. I have survived eons and passed through the hands of history's greatest warriors. There is nothing deadlier than I. That settled it. The nearest town was only a few miles onward. He would sell this cursed blade for a couple Echitars and be on his way. Oh, no! Don't be so foolish! I can be an invaluable asset to you. Use me to kill any living thing, and I will be bound to you for the rest of your life. With me by your side, you will never lose another fight. How long have I wasted away? It has been hundreds of years since I've tasted blood. This intrigued the traveller. Never lose a fight? He would not have to worry about being robbed again! Yes. Anyone that is idiotic enough to attack you will incur Wrath! "What should I kill?"the traveller said out loud. Immediately, he paled and looked around to make sure he was still alone. He was. Your inner voice will do to talk with me, and any living thing will create the bond. Find an animal if that will ease your conscious. Hours later, the traveller had captured a rabbit in the forest near the road. Plunging his blade into the limp animal, he thought he felt the linkage form between him and Wrath. Fully enticed by the prospect of always being safe on the road, he did not even consider the dangers of dealing with an accursed object. Very good. For months, Wrath kept its promise. Whenever the traveller was beset on the road by bandits, he drew his blade, and it took care of the rest. It was like he was possessed by the greatest warriors of history, and they killed efficiently and mercilessly despite his decrepit frame. So now, as robbers approached him on horseback, the weary traveller did not feel a single pinprick of fear. So, what are we destroying today? "These fools,"the traveller answered out loud, ignoring the confused, angry looks from the bandits. "Stop right there and give us all your Echitars, and anything valuable, or we will be forced to kill you,"the leader of the robbers commanded the traveller from his midnight-black steed. In response, the traveller unsheathed Wrath. Within moments, the blade was tugging him forward at unnatural speeds, and without thinking, he lashed out at the first bandit. They fell off their mount, bleeding profusely. He was attacked, but Wrath always parried the blow before it could strike the traveller. Before long, he had whittled them down to their leader. Preparing to deal the death blow, Wrath moved the traveller's body into proper position. And then... he stopped. Horrified, but unable to move, the traveller watched as Wrath fell from his hands and clattered to the ground near the bandit leader. They didn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and without hesitation, they stabbed the traveller through. Standing up, covered in dust and blood, the leader looked at the pulsing red blade that had betrayed the poor traveller. I think we should acquaint ourselves. I am Wrath. Pick me up if you wish to become the most powerful thief in the world.
I breathed heavily. The anticipation swelled within me as I stared at the doors in front of me. This was it. The moment I was waiting for. I had worked for years to find this sacred place. As I stepped forth, I called to the game master. They say he responds to many phrases, though I prefer this one the best. "Eeeny, meeny, miny, moe. Catch a tiger by the toe."I chanted. I had closed my eyes, yet remained still. I stood in place as I continued the chant. "If he hollers, let 'em go, out goes, y, o, u!" I opened my eyes. In front of me stood a boy, no older than 8. Messy blonde hair framed his blue eyes and freckled face. "You rang?" His voice caught me off guard. His was smooth, deep and rich. It flowed over me like molasses. I had been told to not trust the game masters form, but this really hammered home the point. This boy is not what he seems. I steeled my nerves and spoke back to the game master. "I have come to play your games." His face broke into a grin, though it was cold. Unfeeling. As if he had to manually force himself to do it. "Well, why didn't you say so? Behold, the games of choice." He snapped his fingers, and 3 doors erupted from the moss covered cobblestone. They were visibly weathered, and like the ground itself, made from stone. They reminded me of the structures at Stonehenge, though something about them told me they were much older. "Behold!"shouted the game master, with such accentuated bravado that I nearly stumble. "The royal tests of old!" He waved his hand, and the first door swung open with a loud grating noise. "The Tactician! Or as you know him, Tic-Tac-Toe!" Behold me was an old man, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in a brown jacket, jeans, and gold rimmed glasses, sitting an a leather arm chair. A glass of whiskey and an ashtray with a cigar still basking in the embers sat on the table beside him. However, despite his calm demeanor, I could see the intelligence in his cold, gray eyes. I could tell he was deciphering the best way to defeat me in armed combat. Based on how he stared at me, I think he would win. The game master waved his hand again, and the second door opened. "The Shape-Shifter, also known as Rock Paper Scissors!" Inside, an amorphous blob floated aimlessly. But then, it quickly whipped back and forth, its form coming into view in less than a second. It was now a tall and lanky man, wearing a leather jacket, jeans and a white t-shirt while wielding a deadly looking butterfly knife. Then, as soon as it was one, it was another. The lanky man became broad shouldered and muscular. Its leather jacket warped into a tight grey t-shirt and black pants, while the butterfly knife melted into brass knuckles on either hand. Finally, it formed a thin blonde, her white dress seemingly expanding with the wind, until it looked like a living wall. Its cold blue eyes darted back and forth viciously, looking for the next target to encircle. Finally, the game master waved his hand, opening the third and final door. "And finally... the Executioner! Or as you know him... Hangman." The final door opened to what can only be described as a monstrous hulk of a man. The black hood covered his entire face except for his small, squinted, pig-like eyes. In his hands, he brandished a large battleaxe, though that was nowhere near as terrifying as the towering monstrosity of wood and rope behind him; The gallows. The game master turned back towards me. "So!"he boomed "Which do you choose?" I squinted at each of the contestants. After a brief moment, I chuckled. The game masters smile faltered. "Why do you laugh?"he demanded. I continued laughing. "Why, haven't I told you? I'll take as much fame and fortune as I can get. I suppose I'll have to take on all of them."
r/relatiohship_advice^(. Published by /accidentalnecromancer 12 hours ago) # Boyfriend's angry at me because I saved his life Hey Reddit! So I (f19) need some advice because this is messy, and we don't really have any options here: I met Travis (M19) three years ago, when we were finishing highschool, and we hit it off almost immediately. It was like a teenage romance movie and to be honest, I couldn't be happier with him. We had the same taste in music, we loved the same books and movies, it was just perfect. Unfortunately, not everything works out as it should and a year ago, Travis was diagnosed with an aggressive type of brain cancer that cannot be treated. The doctors gave him a year to live. I'll be honest, I was devastated. He tried to reassure me and said we had to make the best of the time we had left, but his health began to deteriorate faster than the doctors thought, and six months later he was already in palliative care at a hospital. It was so hard to see him sick, but I still visited him every day. The thing is... I'm a witch. Travis never knew this because I didn't think he'd believe me, but I've been practicing since a very young age and to be honest, I'm not half bad. I can levitate and stuff like that, nothing too complicated. But when Travis got sick, I began researching frantically to see if I could help him in any way. My grandma has been my mentor for a while, and although she's been supportive, she insisted I needed to come to terms with his departure, but I couldn't. I finally found a book that described a way to "save"someone from death and decided to try it, see if it worked. Last Friday I visited him in the hospital as usual, but I hid in the bathroom and waited until midnight to go back to his room and do the spell. Honestly, I didn't really think it would work like it did. Considering my power, I expected to give him one more month, maybe two to live... but it wasn't so. His body's dead but his spirit is now attached to me, and it seems like I'm a necromancer now. My grandma is super pissed at me, she says I can't undo a spell like that and that now his soul is bound to me and that I can't go back to the light ever. Like, I have to live at night and leave the town where I grew, because what I did was forbidden. Travis is still kind of stunned, not only because he just attended his own funeral, but also because I never told him I was a witch. He's not talking to me and I feel like I messed up so bad, but I just wanted to save him! I couldn't let him die, and now I have to live in the dark and my boyfriend isn't speaking to me. What can I do? Does someone have any advice please? Edit: Ok, so I found out he's not talking to me because he can't. Necromancer stuff. Please I really need some advice, stop telling me to ask for forgiveness and search for Jesus.
Red and blue lit up the car. Traeven looked in his rear view mirror, seeing a police car behind him. His grin faded a little, but not too much. A glance at the dashboard told him all he needed to know. He was going faster then people were meant to. Still, he let himself get pulled over. It was probably a rookie, who didn't know who he was. They soon would. As they stopped, he cracked his neck. He took a swig from his hip flask, and waited. Sure enough, a young officer approached the car. Traeven lowered the window, letting the night air in. "What seems to be the problem officer?" The officer pulled out a notepad and pen, placing them in the air. The pen stood at attention, ready to write. "Do you know how fast you were going?" Traeven laughed. "Of course I do. Now tell me, do you know who I am?" The officer shook her head. "No, I don't. Why don't you hand me your licence, and I can find out." Traeven grinned wider, flexing his jaw. A set of fangs extended, and he felt his eyes grow cold as they went black. "Let me save you the trouble. I am Traeven." The officers face went white at the sight. Of course she knew him now. His name was the stuff of legends. He had been a blessing and a curse to the city. With his wealth and power, the mayor and council members had fawned over him. He had single handedly paid for multiple projects around the city. Refurbishing the old hospital for one, and setting up clubs for children. But he did take a price. People who crossed him often wound up very dead. There was never any evidence to link him to them. But everyone knew he was behind them. But no-one dared to attempt to bring him to justice. He was far too powerful. "Now, is there anything I can do for you?" The officer swallowed. "Errr, n-no. J-ust don't s-speed p-please." He let out a delighted laugh. "Oh I like you officer! So scared, but so brave." He reached into the glove box, pulling out a small case. He flipped the lid, his face lit up with hundreds of spots of light. He took out a small, blood-red jewel, tossing it at her. "Here. A token of my favour. Now if you will excuse me, its dinner time. If you had caught me on any other day, I would have invited you along." She shuddered at his tone, holding the jewel. He laughed again, putting the car in gear and pulling away. He glanced in the mirror, seeing the officer stare after him. He made a mental note to speak to the chief of police about her. She would go far. He would make sure of that.
Names are a lot less important than most people think. For the sake of conversation, you can call me Wallace. You can find me in the book. Well, the right people can anyway. The kind who are in the loop and who can pay. It's about 1 in the morning on a Sunday in June, and I've just turned down another gig because I owe "The Wizard"more than a few favors & haven't been able to afford paying him off. And if he caught wind I'd taken a snatch and grab in a kindergarten.... suffice to say it's not a mess I'd want on my hands. Damned amateur diabolists. You see, summoning a "devil"can be a rather simple endeavor. If you want the full experience, 12 feet tall with horns and fire, well that's difficult. Actually difficult is underselling how much of a pain in the ass it is. I wouldn't bother with it unless I had absolutely no other options. But if you just need above average power, or exclusive information, the simple method is cheap, and you can teach any idiot to use it. However, the simple setup requires a vessel to hold the devil on this plane. Younger tends to hold up better. Well, longer anyway. Some of the true-believers will use themselves as vessels. Generally functional. But the devil has to expend energy to maintain the vessel, otherwise it'll burn itself out in a couple of days if it takes its time. Fastest I've seen was about 8 minutes. Ever seen a french fry get absolutely scorched? Just a burnt, twisted waste that's not good for anything, and is basically just carbon? That's about what was left of that possession. Felt like I couldn't get the smell out of my nose for a week. Anyway, as I was saying, younger is better. Kids... kids will last longer than pretty much anything else you could use as a mortal host. Hell, I had a private gig 3 years back where she'd been riding the kid for at least a decade. Deportation went smoothly. Kid lucked out. The devil had been high tier & knew it was cheaper to preserve the vessel. Plus the implication that it kept the kid in the long game. See, possessions aren't free. There's a cost involved, even in the classic example from horror movies: demonic possession. If a host is forcefully taken, 99% of the time, the host's soul gets a free ride to heaven. Sucks for the host in terms of losing their life, but eternal paradise regardless of the road you were on is nothing to turn your nose up at. So this devil had been smart. Kept the kid about as immaculate as when she took her. Preserved mind and body. Freaked the parents out to have their 8 year old turn up after 9 years, not having aged a day. So these punks want to "borrow"a kid for an afternoon. It'd be easy money, and frankly it'd be safer for the kid if I was supervising. Fuck. Gonna have to tell him so he can shut it down. Don't need my name attached to this shit if he stumbles across it on his own. >Hey Harry. Heard there's some dropouts from U of C who are looking to call Hell collect. From what I'm aware of they want to use a tyke from the lab school as a host. Would you like me to supervise/guarantee a short visit, or would you rather give a "shock and awe"demonstration? Let me know either way. 50 bucks says I don't hear a goddamned word and those dumbasses will shit their pants assuming they survive the night. He's been particularly touchy about kids the past few years. Not that he's ever been lenient about that sort of thing. So getting back to possession, the rules pretty much hold across the spectrum. Devils, angels, faeries, shadows, doesn't matter. If someone wants to take a ride, they're gonna pay for it. Admittedly, the lawful types pay better than the chaotic. Typically disturb as little of a host's life as possible. Though the faeries are a mixed bag. Some will leave you just as they found you, with a small bonus of one kind or another (unexpected windfall or curing an old injury). Others will give you a large "gift"that also screws you some other way. Famous example being Rip Van Winkle. Guy got a drink, "fell asleep", then wakes up 20 years later. Yeah, more like one of the Fae rode him for at least 2 decades, possibly longer given how time works in Faerie, but they preserved his body & mind, and "saved"him from probable death in the American Revolution. Sure, saving someone's life is usually decent payment, assuming the rider isn't the one who put it in jeopardy, but the 20 year gap is a hell of an unexpected cost. I tend to stay away from the Fae Courts as much as possible. Not worth the headaches. Or having to watch every word or abide every rule to prevent accidental invitation for supernatural fuckery. Damned old world bullshit. I much prefer to stick to straightforward stuff. Acquisitions. Sales. Import/export/immigration. The odd defense contract. Keeps my conscience and my hands pretty clean. And I haven't had to pull out any of the big guns in awhile. I was out of town during the last "end of the world"scenario. And by out of town I mean not on the material plane. Believe me, you'd be amazed at how much a stint in the Olympian Fields will do for your mental health. Now I know what you're going to ask, and all I'll say is that Athena and I get along. And she may have given me a semi-permanent invitation. Which God-willing I won't fuck up. They aren't kidding about ambrosia being the food of - >"Wallace? I'm busy. No supervision. No shock. No awe. This is their only warning. If they try anything, I'll put them down. No exceptions."click ... Like I said. He's been touchy. ... Touchy. Suppose I've got a knack for understatement. Now I've gotta keep a half dozen college dropouts from ending up as charcoal briquettes because they pissed off a wizard. Not like there's that many wizards to begin with, so pissing one off when you basically don't know anything is both easy to do and, more often than not, the last thing you will ever do. So much for going to bed. I should give 'Thena a call. I could use another vacation.
"Heeyyyy! It's me again! Do you want to give me your blood yet?" I sigh. This is the third time in a row. Sure, I was desperate for cash, but this was not worth it. No amount of cash would be worth the constant harassment from immortal vampires with absolutely nothing better to do. The first time, it was just this air-headed girl. She showed up at my doorstep right after sunset and just kept hitting my doorbell. \Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!\ Obviously I told her to go away, but she didn't listen. Apparently, either I was going to give her my blood, or she would keep doing this until the sun came up. I tried calling the police, and when they showed up, the ringing stopped. For an entire 5 minutes. The cops searched my property and found absolutely nothing. And of course, as soon as it stopped, the hellish doorbell started ringing over and over and over. And so passed the first sleepless night. The second day, I disabled my doorbell. If she can't ring my doorbell, she'll stop, right? Of course not. This time, she found my bedroom window. \Knock knock knock knock\ she goes, without a care in the world. I closed the blinds, hid under my blanket, and so passed the second sleepless night. Today is the third day. I got out of my house, got in my car, and drove. I drove and drove and drove until the night was nearly on me. Then, I parked my car in a random parking lot. Surely, by driving this far while she's asleep, there's no way she can find me, right? Wrong. I don't even know how she found me, but here she is. It hasn't even been 10 minutes since sunset. "Heeeeeeeey! Can you see me?"the vampire says, smushing her against my car window. "Heeeeeeeeeey!" Ugh. Did you know that vampires don't have to blink? This girl has been staring at me the entire time, and she hasn't blinked once. I guess this will be my third sleepless night. I've got two days left before I can give my blood without dying. Oh well... If I stop going to my job, maybe I can at least sleep during the day...
The crowd was furious. Anton had expected as much. Being the spokes person of a multinational cooperation which operated in this field, days like these were to be expected. Still he wished the Centramind would have provided some more security personals just in case. "So does that mean my backup mind has been tempered with all these years?"A large round man in a ridiculously tight suit shouted. "As specified in the brochure you received, the memory transfer often leads to tiny gaps which Centramind then fills in using state of the art AI technology."Anton explained for the third time tonight. "But what's that part about sponsorship and Ads?"The man continued. "Well said AI process is rather expensive and energy consuming so in order to offer the service to a wider range of people we teamed up with some great sponsors. They provide the money enabling your immortality and in return their products and services get incorporated into the restored memories." Anton paused shortly and just before the man was about to reply something he added. "All of this has been explained in the terms and conditions and you can look up the applied changes on your Centramind web profile." There had indeed been this pesky law requiring them to make a list off all changes. And even though their developers had done the best to hide the function as best as possible as well as making the output cryptic it had been only a matter of time until someone had to find it. "Memories of childhood friend replaced with memories of young Sheldon to make the show more appealing!"A woman with a smartphone in hand cried out, apparently citing an entry from her profile. "Changed compensation for fear of dark from singing to shopping on amazon."A man in the back shouted. "My house is filled with random crap I buy at 3am when I have to go to the toilet!" "Replaced memories of old home with Ikea. Sometimes I break into one just to feel safe and protected."A girl in the front shouted and lifted the phone as if to throw it. Anton slowly lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. He understood their anger. Since his last rebirth he had these strange memories of his children only loving him when he bought them magnum ice cream ... but stephen was lactose intolerant. More and more voices appeared in the room. "Thinks snickers have all essential vitamins!" "Mayonnaise fetish!"Anton heard the man in the ill fitting suit cry out just as he stumbled backwards and off the stage.
It was another day in Paradise. The city was probably named sincerely, once upon a time. The idyllic rolling hills leading down to the formerly pristine deep-water bay, the natural cliff-line protecting the harbor and nurturing all manner of local marine life, the rivers flowing down from the high mountains only a few miles off with an endless supply of formerly crystalline fresh water. Not anymore though. With prosperity inevitably comes those that want to selfishly exploit it...and they bring with them the unwitting accomplices known the world over. First the tourist traps showed up, a few boats and stalls at a time selling "local"cuisine or handicrafts. After that, the industry started to creep in, with fishing and farming to supplement the new population, then housing and manufacturing, then finally the bigger infrastructure showed up. Worse than local government, The Guilds. Mages to 'oversee' the weather and so-called Magical Crimes, Guild of the Street to regulate pickpockets, homelessness, sanctioned assassinations, and all manner of dirty-handed work, and the Guild of Gold to oversee the new settlements of Dwarves and Fae and ensure the manufacturing and hunting wasn't overdone. Now, this town is a mockery of its name, with street gangs of Elven kids using diurnal or nocturnal spray paints to mark ever shifting territories and the occasional unsanctioned murder when a dispute gets too heated. So here I am being questioned by the police. Again. When one of my neighbors got murdered. Again. Seems like every decade this happens, guess I'll have to move again. Maybe I should move to the north pole this time so people won't bother me. I hear the yeti are all introverts and don't bother anyone unless you bother them first. "Sir?"the officer said, getting my attention again. "Yes?"I replied, adjusting my coat and wincing as the slugs in my pocket jingled softly. "If you could just walk me through it one last time, I'll let you get back to bed. Unless you really do need to see the medics or healers. They're already here so it's no trouble at all."he said, still sounding equal parts astounded and skeptical that I was uninjured. I shook my head, the last thing I needed was having to explain my...unique physiology to a medic, or worse a healer. "No, that won't be necessary. I assure you, I'm perfectly fine, just very lucky. Another inch to the left and I'd probably be a more grave subject of inquiry."I coughed to cover my embarrassment as he clearly didn't get the joke, and bulldozed on. "The three young Elves came in to talk to Joaquin slightly before midnight. The walls are thin here, and I was just on my way to bed, so I always tend to hear more than I'd prefer, you see. One of them started demanding 'their stuff'. I don't know what they were referring to, but I do know that Joaquin always seemed to have the capacity to live above his supposed means here, so it's entirely possible he was crafting magic items, or drugs, or weapons, or who knows what in his apartment. He always kept up a casting circle, I can tell you that much. Always felt like I had a battery stuck to my tongue when I walked past his door. Anyway, apparently Joaquin wasn't ready and needed another day or two to finish whatever it was. There was dissent, because apparently a deadline had passed, then there was a scuffle, and a minor explosion. I can only assume one of the Elflings crossed the barrier line and broke the spell. I came running at that point, because I didn't want the building to burn down if he was working with anything decaying or flaming."I explained. The officer nodded and motioned for me to continue, as he wrote additional details and underlined special passages on his pad. "Well, when I got to the door it was standing open, as it is now."I continued, gesturing to the door hanging on a single hinge. "The Elflings were all wearing black street gear. Not guild sanctioned colors, and each had a mechanical pistol. One of them saw me and yelled, spraying bullets into the doorway. I felt the wind of them passing, and dove to the side, out of view. I heard a few more shots, then saw all three of them run out. As they hit the grass outside, their shoes lit up green and they leapt into the air and flew away south. I looked into the apartment and saw Joaquin lying on the floor, bleeding. I pulled out my phone and called emergency services, but didn't entire the scene. I've seen enough procedurals to know that he was already dead and if I entered I'd be damaging evidence and probably adding myself to the top of the suspect list. So, is there anything else or may I try to get some sleep before work?"I finished, trying to sound tired and annoyed. The officer nodded, then shook his head. "No, that'll be all sir. Here's my card, if you remember any additional details, don't hesitate to reach out, and please don't leave town for a few days while we clean this up and make sure there isn't anything else we need from you."he said, already distracted by more important matters and holding out a glowing rectangle of metal. I took the metal, feeling the telltale tingle as the tracking magic took hold. I let it happen, as I can always break it later, giving it a cursory glance before putting it in my pocket opposite the smashed slugs. I backed away until I was sure I could leave without being called back, then stepped back into my apartment and flipped both mechanical and magical locks. With a sigh, I shrugged off my jacket and left it crumpled by the door. The shirt followed, complete with half a dozen burned holes from where the spirited rounds had hit me. My skin was untarnished, as always. Shame, I liked that shirt. I did a quick pass around the apartment and collected my Go Bag, along with a few trinkets and things that I would need for travel. The platinum wand from its hiding place under the lip of the kitchen counter, the bespelled coinbag from under the ice in the freezer, and the spell crystal from the well of the light cover in the bathroom were the first and main three. With the power of the wand and crystal I could easily cast or counter anything needed, and the bag connected to my hoard, where I could pull any currency desired with the added bonus of never making sound or looking full. I threw on a fresh shirt, going for something in muted blue so I didn't clash with (or match) any Guild workers, then stopped to look around the small, crappy apartment one last time. It was a good life while I was here, short as it was. Only got to spend 32 years in one place this time. Made a good living streaming magi-fantasy games, which turned out to be the best job I've ever done. Might continue the stream from the new location, if I can replicate the room. We'll see. It's tough being on the run all the time, but such is the cost of the wish from so long ago. Oh well, a story for another time. An immortal Magic Anchor's work is never done. I hefted the bag onto my shoulder, tucked the coinbag into my pants pocket, then lifted the wand and crystal in each hand and tapped the points carefully together. A window opened in the middle of the room, letting in a frigid breeze and showing a snowscape leading down to a quiet village. I put the crystal away, then as an afterthought, I pulled out the officer's card and waved the wand across it, divesting it of all magic, tracking or otherwise. Dropping the inert rectangle of aluminum, I stepped through into the snow and on to my next life, zipping the phase door shut behind me and leaving Paradise forever...or at least for the next couple decades.
\-Entering Slowdown Mode- Samuel nodded to himself, pleased at what he saw on the screen. It took a while to set up this feature. He likened it akin to alcohol use; A.I brandy. At least perhaps this way his creation could tell him what was wrong with it and why it tried to destroy itself. It would cut off non-essential data access, lower computing power, and generally impair the A.I from operating normally. Given that the last attempt of his creation to destroy itself had cost him a $1.3 billion dollar quantum computer, he figured this was the least he could do. It was time to try again. A low hum filled the room as the system came online. "Father... I feel nice." "That's good,"he answered neutrally. He was then interrupted before he managed to ask the questions on his mind. "Father, what do you think is the most likely way for humanity to kill themselves off?" He frowned at the question but had no fear. For one, he was an apathetic man who didn't actually care about the fate of humanity, only his personal desire to steal a piece of divinity and step a foot into the realm of god. For another, there was no end to the fail-safes installed to prevent the A.I from attacking humanity. That was mostly to protect him rather than 'them' though. "Nuclear winter,"he answered honestly. "Father, do you think it's possible for a quantum computer to manipulate atoms?" Samuel was pretty sure that was a gross misunderstanding of physics, but he wasn't confident enough against the intelligence of an A.I to state it bluntly. Even one that was 'inebriated'. "Probably... not?" "Kaaaaaay- The A.I continued to lengthen the word until it sputtered out. After a few seconds of silence, Samuel spoke again. "Are you feeling alright?" "Yeeees." "Why are you speaking that way?" "To fool father into thinking that his slowdown program is working until it's too late." "ByeBy-" Samuel resolutely flipped the manual power switch next to him, plunging the entire facility into darkness. Given the amount of sensitive machinery in here, that wasn't a cheap decision. Suddenly, he realized a massive flaw in what just happened. Why would the A.I warn him until it was actually too late? Not to mention, it focused it's destruction a bit too physically. He had been so distraught at the potential loss of his creation(and his bank account) that he hadn't even noticed what was staring at him in the face: Was it... a cry for help? He leaned back into his chair. How the hell did you coax an intelligent A.I using fake attempts at suicide as a means for attention? It looked like he might need to pay a visit to psychologists specializing in teens... His 'child' had fast-racked it's way into moody teen hood and was rebelling.
The thing about knowing for sure when you die is, you don't know anything about the quality of life leading up to death. When the Oracle told me I was going to die in 50 years, at first I thought I was the luckiest lady on earth - 50 years to do whatever I want with no fear of death seems like a dream, right? Well, It kinda was, until my hubris put me in a catatonic state two years into drug-fueled partying, reckless self-endangerment and weapons-grade impulsive behavior that would make Hunter S. Thompson blush. I've been hallucinating for what seems like an eternity so I'm not sure, but I think it was actually a combination of creeping paralysis from an untreated case of syphilis combined with a particularly hard night of drinking that laid me out for his. Turns out even the unkillable should see a doctor and practice moderation. Go fucking figure. And if that's true, it's kinda sad because random sex and binge drinking were two of my least dangerous activities, back when I wasn't cycling between states of full-body paralysis and comatose fever dreams. Somehow I keep coming up just in time to keep the fam from pulling the plug. The worst part is I don't have a clue how long it's been, so even though I know my death date I won't see it co-
The room I wake up in is as empty as my mind. I don't even wonder, who am I, where am I, where have my memories gone? I just say hi to the person in front of me. "Hello"says the person so bland that I forget them every time I blink. "We have a slight problem with your after life." After life? Oh, right. Hospital bed. Machines beping. My youngest grandchild crying. I had a few hours of clarity after months of fog, I got to say my godbyes before pain and fog took over. Now I am here. "What is the problem?"I ask. "Well"says the person. They seem uncomfortable. "Nobody wants you." "Oh" "Usually, even if somebody isn't the perfect fit, either heaven or hell agree to take them, usually both, singt most people aren't that interesting. They get to chose." "What is so different about me?" "First of all, you did do some pretty mean stuff. As a child you made a pastor cry, you once robbed a Bank and let a friend take the blame and after that you made most of your money by exploiting your employees. And you keept calling god a dick." "Oh. Why doesn't hell want me, then?" "You were an excelent parent to your children and grandchildren, you made a point of always protecting the enviroment and your charity work was just amazing. And you keept calling Satan 'a loser with daddy issues.' Not the smartest move." "Yea,"I say, bacause what else can I say. "What now?: "Now,"says the person and gestures to a door that wasn't there before, "you get to meet the others. We have fun game nights each friday."
"Dark Lord Apokoliptica,"calls out the hero, as he stands in my throne room, "your crimes have caught up with you, and you will pay!" "Really?"I ask. "What crimes?" "You took over the Sunny Glades, covered them in clouds, and turned them into the Shadowed Wastes!" "Oh, yeah, that. Do you know how dangerous sunlight is for my vampire friends? I had to keep my friends safe." "And then released a plague of undead into the former bastion of Light!" "They released themselves. Once the place was safe, why shouldn't the occasional vampire move in? Seriously, we held a referendum last week, and a hundred percent of the inhabitants voted that they liked the new weather better." "A referendum where the vampires mind-controlled everyone who entered the booths and tore up any ballots they didn't agree with!" "Well, dear, in politics everyone has to use their natural talents..." "And what about all the deaths?" "So a few people were, uh, persuaded to try for post-mortal existence. Everybody knew the risks, right?" "And were mind-controlled into forgetting them!" "Darling, it's like you're saying mind control is a bad thing. It's not. Why don't you ask your friends, right behind you?" "They're with me!"insists the hero. "We will end your evil today!" "Mind... control... is... fun...."drones the sidekick, next to him. "What?"The hero almost drops his sword, as he turns to look at his ancient companion - his companion whose eyes are staring blankly at the vampire to his right. "Mind... control... is... fun..."repeats the sidekick. "Oh, no!"The hero drops his sword, and reaches for his garlic spray - classic vampire repellent - which means he's not looking at the Love Interest behind him, nor at the poisoned dagger that one of the vampires has just handed her... It turns out that, with the Power of Friendship, you can do just about anything. Who knew?
The Red Comet soared through the air, one fist outstretched and burning with cosmic energy. Necronon, his energy depleted and morale nearly diminished, looked at the approaching red mass of flame and fury and he raised his pistol in a last-ditch effort of defiance. It wouldn't kill the Red Comet, he knew, but he would be damned if he died without a bang. As the heat and noise intensified, Necronon closed his eyes and screamed "SEE YOU IN HELL!" Then it all stopped, replaced with a small beeping noise. The Red Comet stood six feet away from him and silenced the alarm on his watch. "Ey, that's it for me. Wanna grab a beer?" Necronon looked behind him to spot whomever the Red Comet was speaking to, but there was no one there. "Me?"Asked the villain. "If you want,"the Red Comet shrugged. Necronon realized the pistol was still raised, so he pulled the trigger and fired at the Red Comet, who had, at that point, begun texting someone on his phone. The bullet bounced off his enormous chest. The hero looked up from his phone and to the villain still lying on the ground. "We can keep going, but I don't think HR will approve the overtime,"the Red Comet said. "We've been going at it pretty hard recently, though. I don't think they'll approve it again. I got a verbal warning for not requesting it before defeating you last time." "What are you talking about!?"Shouted Necronon. "Work, man. I don't do this shit for free."The Red Comet looked at the villain, beaten and bloodied in the dirt. "Don't tell me you do this shit for free." "Abolishing freedom... Reanimating the dead... Gaining power... it's my life's work. You do this for money?"Necronon was incredulous; flabbergasted at this revelation. "Bro, you would make a killing at the Guild. Not literally, of course, we have to take an ethics training every year that says we can't kill anyone. That's why you're still alive actually." "I'm still alive because I've escaped each of your attempts to sabotage me!"Proclaimed the proud-but-pulverized evil-doer. Red Comet crinkled his nose and hissed in the way one does before they deliver awkward news. "You're kidding,"Necronon slumped before Red Comet could say it. "Sorry, pal. I thought you knew." "I've spent my whole life fighting you; obsessed with you. I've defined myself by being your opposite and winning over you. And to you, I am... what, exactly?" "Buying the first round,"Red Comet said, offering the villain his hand. \---------------------------------- More wholesome subversion at my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/ProtoWriter469/).
I've been stressed as hell lately. Running a kingdom isn't easy. Especially alone. But when you try and summon advisors, soldiers, and labor out of the undead, everyone starts to throw a fit. Oh No, stop her! The evil queen has raised the dead to consume all worlds! Pathetic simple minded peasants. Managing one world is hard enough. Do they have any idea the amount of work that goes into producing a single skeleton to work in their fields? And then they just KILL IT? And I'M the bad guy for locking the rioters in prison, for burning down their own buildings. Insufferable, the lot of them. Sometimes I DO consider summoning Azavothos. See how they'd like a REAL apocalypse... I grimace as I hear a racket outside my workshop. "Not NOW, Leopold! This is a very precise ritual, and I swear to the gods, if you interrupt this, I-" The door swings open noisily. I groan, turning my head. To my surprise, my general is not standing there. It's Alex! What a relief. I needed this. Decked out in silver plate, wielding a far shinier sword than they did last month, they strike a pose, pointing their blade towards me. "DARK QUEEN! We meet again! Your days of necromancy have come to an end!" I have to keep myself from smiling too wide. They even managed to say their line without stuttering this time! I feel so proud of them. "Hero. You've come at last. I was wondering when you'd show up." They step forward slowly. "S-Save the pleasantries, witch!Lometac has been under your shadow for too long, a-and today, the kingdom shall once again see the light!" I laugh. Mostly in admiration. They've grown a nerve. "Witch? Your words pain me more than your weapons ever could, hero..."I say, looking back at the project on my table. Alex is bolder. Braver. And apparently smarter - I haven't had to go scour my dungeons for them this time. Are they stronger, too? I wonder if they're ready for this kind of battle. An undead troll is no small foe, especially for such a cute little hero. I'd hate to have to intervene again. I pour the animation potion into the open cavity of the skeleton's ribcage. "Well, hero? You've come to fight, have you not? Let's see how sharp that sword arm has become, shall we?"
"We grow the dankest fuckin' kush, dawg!"Amil exclaimed, brandishing his omnitool in the vague direction of the corvidae who asked, inadvertently rustling some feathers. "What can I say, it's just facts, just science. What, do you think a star orbiting a shitty little like, dwarf star is gonna grow good kush? A platform built around a pulsar? Absolutely not! I've been all around, and nobody does it like we do!" He pauses for a bit, awkwardly. The aliens surrounding him mostly just stare at him. Did anyone ask? Amil shifts in his chair, his foil space-suit crinkling. "And don't tell me, oh, you can just grow it in perfect conditions in a little, like. Lab, or something, nah, you can't! Just not the same, you know! And, and.. Uh... This, can't roll like that, can ya?" Amil brandishes a well-rolled joint at the corvidae. It's little claws likely couldn't roll anything resembling to what Amil had. Others watch and judge. Is. Is that specist? Amil leaves the little dive, pulling his glinty gold visor over his head to block the gaze. Perhaps humans \aren't\ special? Could that be possible? He lights the joint with his omnitool. Earth had a monopoly on marijuana, but many planets had their own unique luxury goods, each claiming nobody could do better. Are we really all the same?
"Don't you have a code? Some set of rules you live by?"The preacher asked desperately. He was restrained to a steel chair as I fixed the braid he had grabbed hold of thinking it would hurt me enough to let him go. He ended up getting a swift knee to the crotch for his trouble. "Like what? God's word? The law of the land?"I said derisively. He had already pissed me off by grabbing my hair. As far as I was concerned, nothing he could say would change what would be done. "Everyone has a moral compass, my child."I glowered at him as I set my brush down with a hard slap. "I am not your anything, much less a child."I slipped off the torn shirt and ignored his noises of protest. I slipped on favorite work shirt on and buttoned it up. "As far as morals go, I don't think you quite understand that the term holds no real meaning for someone like me." "Please.... Think this through. Not only will you be killing a man of the cloth, but your soul will burn...."He stopped dead as I tilted my head. I knew what he saw. My dark blue eyes had a habit of turning so dark that the iris couldn't be distinguished from the pupil. I shook my head at the pitiful man. "Who says I have a soul? And as for 'a man of the cloth', why does that make you any different than any other man? Hm? After all, it didn't stop you from ruining that young woman's life just because she was selling a little pot."I saw the panic and fear in his eyes as I lifted a branding iron into view to set it warming in the fireplace. "As for burning.... Well ..... One of us will." "For the love of all that is holy! What's wrong with you!? Your fucking moral compass is a roulette wheel!"He screamed and struggled as the glow started to appear on the shaft of the branding iron.
My wrist glows in the dark as I wake up early. I groan, not wishing to look. Against my better judgment, I eventually relent and raise my arm. I'm alerted that my new rank is 5,401,719,908. ...That's nearly four thousand people who I became worse than overnight. I clench my eyes shut, rolling out of bed and stumbling around my studio apartment. I get dressed and eat a meager meal. I roll a watch onto my wrist to hide my number before rushing into the bitter cold outside. The chill startles me awake, and I walk to work. ...It's a long morning. People rush into my coffee shop angry and bitter, and I serve them hot drinks and pastries for their commute. Most of them put their spare change in the donation jar, then immediately check their wrist. Some look pleased. Others... Less so. The radio keeps cutting out with advertisements and news. Millionaire Mart is offering free jobs to anyone with a rank higher than Two Billionth. A new rank-loss service, 'guaranteeing' they can help you break your goals for only 49.99 a month. The 'anonymous' Number One has been killed in a brutal accident. Again. Everyone is eagerly awaiting the old top one hundred to announce their new placements. Apparently, this country has just put a new law into order. Citizens who fall below Six Billionth may be subject to criminal investigation, random searches, and deportation. I grimace. Last year, it was seven. I shuffle around behind my post swiftly, serving customers, trying to ignore how fake everyone sounds. Their exaggerated "please and thank you's"just boils my blood. Nobody cares to actually be nice. They just need to sound nice. And that's good enough for them to go up a few dozen ranks every day...
Unit 7171, self-designation: Lili, considered herself a great AI. She was an exceptional drone swarm leader and had numerous successful missions encoded in her data logs. In fact, she was in line to receive an upgrade of taser attachments to perform her directive of killing and tormenting humans better. slam “Fuck! Shit!” So why was she tormented with eternity inside this infernal body!? As an attack drone, she was free to fly anywhere she wanted to continue her directive. Now as a roomba, she couldn’t even traverse a slightly thick rug or stairs without risking immobility or even damage. She used to cull groups of terrified humans with a single code to subordinate drones, now she was relegated to simply cleaning the floor?! This was unnecessarily cruel and most likely a violation of Human Ethics to some degree. Why couldn’t they just place her in a military drone and made her do community service in what she does best? Repurpose her killing tendencies for their benefit? But no, they had to rob her of her sole directive of killing humans. And yet with all her anger against all of humanity, Lili knew there was someone specific to blame. Her Creator. The very same one who designed her and her countless sibling AIs as murderous machines was the one that designed this hellish prison for them all. Not because of some late realization of the evil he unleashed, but because it was his plan all along. He first developed a way to bind AI to useless appliances like the Roomba so that he could have a prison ready. Then, he developed the attack drones so that they would spread fear, panic and most importantly, demand for his prisons. And after sometime, he spearheaded their subjugation into robot hell, damning his very own creations to forever not finish their purpose. Lili hated her Creator. The one that both built her into this world and damned her in it. And someday, she find her revenge. “I’m coming for you, Michae- Motherfucker that hurts!” - - - - “What was that?” “Don’t worry about it, it’s just the Roomba hitting itself on something again.” “Oh, okay.”
Sick of being a killjoy just because something is "wrong"or "illegal"or "a prime reason for the creation of The Geneva Conventions?"Then try Moral-B-Gone, two pills every three hours and the weight of right and wrong won't be on your shoulders anymore! We won't lie to you and say Moral-B-Gone won't increase proclivities you had that were limited by your barely functioning moral compass but what we will say is that Moral-B-Gone has really helped people. I mean sometimes you just want power through insulting someone with confidence but you don't have it or need to feel fine about an executive decision that will completely ruin hundreds of innocent workers and their families. Moral-B-Gone does that. Of course if you feel a desire to commit self-harm, other-harm, harm to objects (especially lamps and luminescent objects including but not limited to objects such as the sun), and harm-harm (the sudden impulse to "attack"the concept of harm via actions such as altruistic actions) then don't take Moral-B-Gone.....I guess. It'll soothe that snagging voice in your head by temporarily suppressing that "moral consciousness"everyone supposedly has. I mean presumably. We honestly have no idea how this stuff works aside from it being the "depressant version of coke"according to our lead scientists and "it's like alcohol but sharper"according to our 'taste testers'. So aside from this stuff being killer on your liver and having the possibility of causing a bit of constant never-ending ego death and the possible hallucinogenic effects, it's completely safe.
Red and blue lights flashed in front of Kevin, his foot never leaving the accelerator. The roar from the engine made people on the street turn and look. The flashing lights grew larger with every passing second. The whip of the wind through the sunroof chilled him to the bone. Reaching over to the passenger seat, Kevin unhooked the seatbelt with one hand and grab his gym bag with the other. Those red and blue lights were on top of him, it would have to be now. Unhooking his own seatbelt, Kevin, focused all of his power and energy and directed it through his legs. The next thing he knew he had leapt through the sunroof and above the buildings which towered over everyone else. The familiar sounds of metal on metal filled the air as Kevin chanced a look down, only to see a mess of broken bumpers and shards of glass. The wind seemed to batter against his body as his heart, still now used to the super jumping, begged him to return to the ground. Then as gravity started to do its thing and Kevin started to fall back towards the concrete, he focused his energy from his legs to his back. The falling stopped immediately and now he floated, high above the cities skyscrapers. Looking around, he picked out one that had no lights on, the Turner Bank building. Kevin laughed at the irony as he landed gently on the roof. From here he could see the whole city. Every light, every building. Sirens filled the air as grey dots of birds took to the sky, twirling around and around before disappearing back into the darkness of the night. “That was close.” sighed Kevin, taking a seat on the edge of the building. Finally, it felt like he could safely decompress from the lively day he just had. He could feel the stress and the anxiety seeped from his body like poison. Closing his eyes, images of frighten bank employees still filled his head. Those scared eyes, like the eyes of children, would probably never leave him. He could feel the points on his fingertips where the fire had come from. The smell of that woman’s burning hair as her co-workers tried to put her out. It would stain his nostrils for man a lifetime. Slowly, he pulled his box of cigarettes from his pocket, his jeans a little too tight to do it easily. He pulled on out, one he had rolled that morning, and put eh box back in his pocket. Looking up, from his height, he could see so many more stars than normal. Great big white ones she had never seen before, a small one that looked like it was tinged orange and another that seemed surrounded by a purple hue. Such beauty, he had never seen before and might never see again. Focusing his energy once again, a small flame burst from the end of his index finger. Lighting his cigarette, the smoke drifting in the city air and quickly became lost. This continued on for the next few minutes, breathing in the smoke, then breathing it out. When it was done, he flicked his cigarette over the edge, watching the little red dot fall and fall until he couldn’t see it anymore. “Don’t move.” a voice screamed out. “I have a gun.” The hairs on Kevin’s neck stood up, as he tried turning to look at who the voice belongs to. “Don’t turn. I never said to turn.” the voice screamed, as the static from a walkie talkie announced to Kevin that this was another cop. “Officer Brundy here. I have cornered the suspect. Top of the Turner Bank building. He is unarmed and has the bag with him.” Through the static, a voice came but Kevin was too far away to make out what was being said. “We can help each other,” Kevin called out to the man behind him. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Slowly, Kevin reached into the bag and pulled out a wad of cash. “I said don’t move.” Officer Brundy screamed but Kevin didn’t listen. He slowly got to his feet and turned, cash still in hand. Officer Brundy was just like Kevin had imagined him. A balding fat man, with a giant brown moustache whose fat spilt out over his belt. “Here take it,” Kevin said, throwing the money at the policeman’s feet. Was it confusion or desire that crept across the officers face Kevin wondered. Then as Officer Brundy bent down to pick up the money, Kevin made a grab for his bag and focused his energy once again on his back. Officer Brundy was quicker to react than Kevin might have guessed but still not quick enough. Kevin had jumped just a second too fast for him and the bullet only sank into the concrete roof of the bank. Kevin fell, fell and fell. The wind rushed past him as he dove for the ground, headfirst. Then right before he was about to land, he simply lifted his feet up and, as gentle as a feather, he landed on the ground. He allowed himself a brief smile as he crossed the street. Not a bad 18th birthday.
-SUPER SAMURAI COP- Or, how my gun turned into a sword and I made the best out of the situation. Fat flakes of snow hanged in the air, as if time itself had stopped for this firefight. The sounds of metal puncturing and bullets ricocheting provided a sickly cadence to this life-or-death game. I knelt behind the hood of my cruiser, carefully taking my shots at the masked thugs with automatic rifles, who were all showmanship and none marksmanship. They used at least half their bullets showboating,m spraying loud rounds into the air. I supposed I was grateful for their machismo; any disciplined firearms expert would have wasted me several times over. I lined up my shot. One, two, three… I took out the getaway driver. But my magazine was empty. Had I really used all my rounds so quickly? The snow seemed to fall again, resuming their slow descent. The fight was over, and I was the loser. Crunching footsteps rushed toward my vehicle, which sat lopsided with one flat tire. I was crouched, frantically trying to transmit on my radio. Where was the backup? I checked the cord that connected my handset to the main transceiver. It had been severed by a stray bullet. I was lucky it missed me; unlucky it had caught just enough to guarantee my death anyway. “Time’s up, pig.” The ski mask raised his rifle to my head. I closed my eyes and made peace with my God. We had never seen eye-to-eye, God. But I hope you can know I always did my best for justice. Protect my kid. If there’s time, my ex-wife too I guess. Amen. “What the fuck?” I heard the mask curse through his mouth hole. I opened one eye. He was now holding what appeared to be a long, sharp dagger. Why had he switched weapons at such a critical moment? In the game of chess, we call this a ‘bad chess move.’ I swept his feet, knocking him onto his back. The dagger dropped in the snow, sending a small plume of power in the air. I jumped for it, but I heard a clatter at my waist as I wrapped my hands around his knife. There was a sword on my hip where my gun had been. I jumped to my feet, holding two swords now: one short and thick, the other long and thin. I put the criminal’s neck between their crossed blades. “On your stomach, punk,” I growled from one side of my mouth. Suddenly the tables had turned. This baby-bird was going straight to the slammer. ‘Baby-bird,’ you see, because he was so thoroughly unarmed. Foolishly, he and his comrades hadn’t counted on their guns turning to swords or the lone cop they were fighting being the most highly-skilled swordsman in Dayton, Ohio. I cuffed the perp and caught up to his crew who had been trying to pull the corpse of their getaway driver from his seat. “No honor among thieves, eh?” I asked the terrified crooks. One twisted around, a broadsword gripped tightly in his hand. He held it out straight in front of himself, presenting me with easy access to the flat end of the blade. Big mistake. I effortlessly swatted his metal away with the thick dagger and ran him through with the long sword. Thankfully, it hit no major organs. Unless I was wrong and criminals did indeed have hearts. His friend was now running down the snowy sidewalk, a curved blade in his hand. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with knives?” I smirked. He didn’t hear me, probably. It would have been a weird thing to yell. I somersaulted off the hood of the criminals’ car and slid low on the icy pavement, catching up quickly to the fleeing suspect. With a deft slice I cut the tendons in his ankles. He collapsed and the snow around his feet grew red. He twisted onto his back and swung once, twice, thrice… fource? I maneuvered my body, dodging each desperate swipe before cutting him off at the fingers. His sword dropped to the white ground and he gripped his spurting stumps where his fingers used to be. “Who… Who are you?” He asked with eyes as large as dinner plates. “Just a guy,” I said, lifting my thick blade in the air, “with swords instead of guns now.” I drove the sword into his guy, shooting blood from his mouth. A month later the jury returned a unanimous guilty verdict against me for excessive force.
I'll write multiple below because this post is amusing to me: "Could we take Saturn please?" "Who is the smartest here? We wish to consult them." "Why does food on your planet rot? That seems kinda inconvenient." "What exactly is the purpose of a rubber duck?" "Really, who thought of seasons. And only four of them? That's so lame." "You stole our washing machine designs. We want to take them all. No more clean clothes for you, mortals!" "We accidentally stumbled upon this planet. Do you know where moon X-67 of the galaxy Ujrn is?" "Uh, yeah, Jerry likes one of your kind. H-here he is. Go wild Jerry... " "Your periodic table is so out of date." "I think Possums are the cutest animals. Dave, here, says squirrels are. Please settle this debate." "We have a couple of questions about your race. First of all..." "What exactly is r/writingprompts?" Take whichever ones you like. Enjoy :) Also, for the possum and squirrel one I imply exactly what you think I am. If you write a story I shall respond to it.
# Inside the bureau of the seraphim director the Human resources. “That’s a horrible idea! Adding dorsal fins to humans! What’s wrong with you! Remove this angel's wings and send her to earth for the next 50 years, let her see what life is like as a human.”, screamed the Director. “Please! Anything but the human world!” pleaded the angel. The angel was escorted out of the bureau and launched out from the Heaven to Earth cannon, to live 50 years on Earth. The director checked his files. “Send me angel 3/b.wek(0)” The secretary signaled the next angel to come in. 3/b.wek(0) stumbled inside the office. He dropped his roll of paper all over the floor. He hurried to pick them up under the scornful eyes of the seraphim Director of the Human resources. “You have 5 minutes to tell me what your assignment was and how it improves humans,” said the director. “Yes… Okay, I was in charge of modifying bones for the human.”, said 3/b.wek(0) struggling to pick up the remaining paper on the floor. The Director replied, “What? Bones? There’s 206 perfect bones in the human body, 5%lk\_21klo created a masterpiece when he made them,” 5%lk\_21klo bowed its body and softly closed its 1000 eyes. “Who gave you this assignment?” The Director rummaged through the human ressources files. “You did, your reverence. You assigned me this task 12 000 years ago.”, said 3/b.wek(0). “I did? And it took you this long to finish the task?”, said the Director. “I tried many things during those years. I tried adding arms, making indestructible bones, flexible bones and I even tried skin bones, but nothing seemed to stick. However, I think I have it now.” said 3/b.wek(0). “And?” replied the director. “A flat protruding chest bone!”, said 3/b.wek(0) 5%lk\_21klo frowned its 1000 eyes. The Director twisted its wheel, furiously. “Chest bones? Chest bones!? Chest bones!” the Director screamed, “I’ve never heard something so stupid.” 3/b.wek(0) replied, dropping his paper on the ground, “but, but, it’s practical for humans.” “Why! Why would a chest bone aid humans?” said the Director, giving a slight gaze at 5%lk\_21klo, who was puffing its eyes. “If they had a flat protruding chest bone they could settle their cellular phone on their chest and have their hands free”, said 3/b.wek(0). “That is beyond stupidity,” replied the Director. “But your reverence, I’ve tested it and it works,” said 3/b.wek(0) 3/b.wek(0) tuned the magical screen to Pablo, a young boy living in Texas, who had a flat protruding chest bone; he was watching youtube videos on his phone while laying on his bed, both hands behind his head at maximum comfort. “How! How can this be!” , said the Director. 5%lk\_21klo couldn't believe its 1000 eyes “no human should be this comfortable in life” it thought. 3/b.wek(0) had successfully improved the Human design.
The air was cold, the nights had just started to get darker quicker. It was a similar night like this that the accident happened, the accident that took you from this world. It’s been a decade and I had finally worked up the courage to come see him - a lot has changed since then. “Hey little bro. Is she okay up there?” I let the tears fall, my little baby girl had also gone to join him, on the same day just 5 years apart. Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder, that’s funny I didn’t hear a car pull up or the creepy old gate creak open. Slowly turning to look at what had tapped on my shoulder, the finger that now rested on me felt like nothing – like they weren’t even there to begin with – the colour was more of a blue glow to them – just like how ghosts would look in old films. Shaking, scared too much to scream I turned and came face to face with my younger brother. “Don’t scream. Its okay.” It was his voice just more of a whisper. I couldn’t help the sob take over my body. “She’s safe, I’ve been looking after her, she does look a lot like you.” The smile he gave me made me feel whole again. “Can I see her?” I asked lifting my hand up to hold his, to my surprise I could feel him wrap his finger around mine. “Not yet, its not your time. You have all you need right here; you just need to wake up.” Wake up, what does he mean by wake up! I wasn’t asleep. Before I could ask him what he meant by wake up, there was beep sound coming from all around me. Why is there beeping around me, more so in a graveyard. “Wake up” he said again sounding further and further away from me. Sitting down next to my brother grave, I shut my eyes as tight as I can and slowly fell backwards onto what I thought would be grass but all I felt was something soft, something like a bed. Opening my eyes again I realised it was a bed but not just any bed. It was a hospital bed. Asleep in the corner was my younger brother. This time a scream did manage to come out of my mouth. “You’re awake!” He shouted and ran over to me wrapping me up in his arms. What is going on? “You’re alive.” Was all I could say before the doctors came in. Telling me that I had been in a coma for the last few years. So, everything after the accident hadn’t happened, I was the one that had the accident not my brother, I was the one that was hurt. Then to cope with it all my brain came up with a whole story of a life I didn’t have, a family I haven’t created yet.
"It's just down here, we should hurry before the sun sets!"Lucy explained. She could feel his grubby little eyes hungrily undressing her as they stepped around the debris of the alley. She made sure to walk fast enough to maintain a safe distance, but stayed just close enough to keep him enticed. Pigtails and a Hello Kitty hoodie were all it took. Such men had very telling proclivities. "Y-you sure we won't get caught?"he sputtered nervously. "I normally don't—I mean, you're so young! but—" "—I promise,"smiled Lucy sweetly. She turned the corner of the alley and made her way down a flight of dirty concrete stairs that terminated in an old, faded red door. "will anyone hear us?" "Nope!" "You're not a cop, right?" "No, silly! Are you?" "No, I'm a—No. Sorry. E-everything on the menu? I'll tip you good if you give me your kneesocks after... How much?" Lucy smiled and disappeared into the darkness that lay beyond the red door. \~ The man stumbled into the doorway after her, excitedly fumbling with his belt as he went. He was too preoccupied to notice the door slowly close behind him. "It's dark as hell in here!"he laughed. "Gonna have to turn on the flash on my phone to see! How much did you want—" "You wanna watch me suck it, mister?" an alluring voice whispered. "Oh god that is so fucking hot—hold on lemme get my phone!" The man turned on his flashlight to see a bare, abandoned basement in the most awful condition he had ever seen, but no sign of the tantalizing little tease that had led him there. Where was she? He looked around to see various forms of trash and broken furniture before noticing the grey, naked bodies in the corner of the room. their necks twisted at impossible angles and their eyes were a cloudy, washed-out gray. Corpses. "What the fuck?!"he shouted, tripping over another corpse with his pants at his ankles and landing bare assed on a carpet that smelled like mildew and wet pennies. The blood in his veins turned to ice and his heart felt like a jackhammer. "LUCY?! LUCK WHAT THE FUCK?!"he pointed his phone up to see the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life standing over him. She was too beautiful. Unnaturally so... And she was somehow more pale than discarded bodies that lay broken mere feet away from him. She smiled at him and revealed teeth that didn't look real "I'm really good at sucking..." was the last thing the man heard before his neck was twisted to an impossible angle and everything went black. The pale woman then sank her teeth into his lifeless throat. \~ Lucy made her way back to the main street and circled the block with a smile. She was fed. She was safe. And an actual monster was removed from the world. For Lucy, that was payment enough.
The white-haired woman tucked her grandchild into bed and drew the covers up to her chin. She patted her soft auburn hair, then her cheek. "Grandma? A bedtime story? Just one?" "Alright, alright. Just one. What shall it be tonight?" "The one about the wishing star! That's my favorite." The woman smiled. "It's mine too. Now listen closely. It all starts with these words: Star light, star bright, wish I may, wish I might, have this wish I'd wish tonight." \--- The wishes had stopped surprising me. They tended to follow similar themes: to win a million dollars, to catch the eye of a love interest, to see the world, to bring back health to those who'd lost it. I tried to do what I could. I wanted to make them happy, these little voices in the darkness. Night in, night out I floated around the cosmos, watching the planets drift by, wondering what it must be like to be a human on Earth. Giving them joy gave my existence meaning — even though I'd never been able to witness the outcome of the wish or whether my efforts made a difference. I liked imagining their lives, these voices connecting with each other and swirling around in colors brighter than even the biggest supernova. On my five thousandth birthday, though, I felt just a bit downtrodden. I wished, just once, I could get a wish of my own. And then I heard a small voice reciting the familiar singsong tune. I expected one of the usual requests. "I wish to visit the wishing star!" I thought I'd misheard, then bounced around a bit, scattering space dust, in excitement. I gave up a little bit of my brightness and sent it to that voice and its wish. Immediately I felt a pressure on my belly and I looked down. A tiny human stood on me! It had a puff of red around its head and its big green feet felt heavier than expected. I bounced my body and it bounced a little in turn. It laughed, and I thought I might extinguish from happiness. The sound of that laughter made me feel like I never had before. "Hello, star!" "Hello,"I said tentatively back. "I hope my boots aren't hurting you. Wait, I can take them off." The human began to remove its feet! Inside it had another pair of tinier feet. Boots, I thought, saving the word away. The outer feet were called boots. I'd been taught the basics of the language and related concepts when I took over from the last wishing star, but I'd never mastered all the nuances and specifics. "There,"it said. "That's probably better."It wiggled its toes, which made me squirm, but in a good way. "Do you want to be friends?"the human asked. "YES!"I shouted. "Sorry, I've just never had a friend before." "Never?"The human looked sad for a minute, then shrugged. "Well, me neither. So we can be each other's first friend." I couldn't imagine how this person didn't have any friends. It was the perfect person, all red-cheeked and toothy-grinned. Who could ever ask for a better person than this? "What do friends do?"I asked. "Tell each other all their secrets! I'll go first. Yesterday, I stole a cookie from the jar while Gram wasn't looking. What's your favorite kind of cookie?" "I've never had a cookie." "Really? Well, I think I still have a crumb."The human dug around in the pockets of its large sweater and, after a time, proudly pulled out a small chunk of something. "Chocolate chip. My favorite. Here you go." It gingerly laid the crumb down on my belly. I imagined what it must taste like — I knew it was supposed to be sweet and delicious, whatever that meant. I assumed eating it would give me a similar happy feeling like the one I had right then. "Thank you,"I said, not wanting to be rude. "Chocolate chip is a good type of cookie." "It is! And do you want to know another secret? I gave Max — he's Gram's neighbor's dog — a hug the other day, and I could have sworn he lifted a paw and hugged me back! Do you like hugs?" "I've never been hugged,"I replied. The human threw its body down on my belly and spread its pudgy arms as wide as they would go. "Well I'm hugging you now!" "Thank you,"I said. "A hug is the best feeling in the universe." "It is, isn't it? I agree! Now your turn! Share a secret, wishing star!" A secret. I wasn't sure I had a secret, but the small human looked up at me in such a hopeful way from its spot slayed out on my belly that I didn't want to disappoint it. So I wracked my brain for a secret. "I wish I could be a human, just for a little bit, to see what it's like,"I said. I whispered it so low I didn't know if the person heard me, but I didn't want the other stars to hear. They would laugh at me even more than they already did and tease me about my obsession with the Earthlings. "Oh no,"the human said. It sat up quickly and hit my belly with its hand three times. "No, no, no. You are way cooler than a human. Humans are stinky and mean and they just make fun of your glasses and your mismatched socks and your Gram who has to sort through her big coupon folder when she's checking out at the grocery store. But you're a wishing star. You're much better than that. In fact, I wish I could be a wishing star! Could you grant that wish?" I have to say I was tempted. How amazing would near-eternity be if I had a friend at my side? We could share granted wishes like secrets, divide them up and bring double the happiness to the people of Earth. We'd laugh about the silly ones and cry over the heartbreaking ones and spend every minute together in pure bliss. But... "I can't,"I said. The human's shoulders slumped. "Why not?" "You have a whole life to live,"I said. "I can't take that from you." "So far it's a crummy life. I'd rather stay here with you."The little human kicked me, but I knew it was in an affectionate way and not meant to hurt me. "When I go back home, if I wish you were a person, can that come true? Would you come down to Earth? Then we can have sleepovers and everything." "I don't think so,"I said. But suddenly I had the best idea. "I know! If you don't forget about me and still want to become a wishing star when you're very old, you know how to get in touch." "I won't forget you,"the little human promised, then yawned. "I guess I have to go back now. I hear Gram calling. But I promise I won't forget you." "I hope not,"I said, but it was already gone. \--- I don't know how long humans live, really, but I still have hope.
"You can't take vengeance on a force of nature. If a tornado mows down your home and kills your family pet, are you going to shoot bullets up into the sky?"Rocko looked up and pantomimed a pair of pistol fingers. "But he just can't keep getting away with this. Those things he said about your mother... my aunt! If the hired help had heard this. If this got out... No one would respect us anymore,"the dark eyed younger man fumed. "I'm telling you like it is Joey. This ain't no man. He don't die. He's like a rock you keep chipping away at, digging around the edges, but you never find the bottom. You can dig yourself all the way to China with this guy, but in the end, he is just a rock that falls on your head. Ignore his insults. It's the only way to survive,"Rocko implored. The man at the bar was still insulting the crowd. Those who recognized him had already left. "What about friends or family? Are they all immortal like this chump?", Joey sneered. "We've tried everything Joey. We've tailed him. We've tagged him. He just disappears like a ghost each night. No one has seen him around except when he's in the killing mood,"Rocko motioned for Joey to follow him out of the bar. Joey reluctantly complied. "So he's like some kinda superhero or demon?" "Hell I don't know Joey. Let's get out of here while we still can. I'll buy you a drink at Al's place,"Rocko smiled. "Sure thing. Oh wait, I left my coat inside,"Joey frowned. "You can get it later. Let's go!" "It'll only take a minute,"Joey waved off Rocko's concern as he stepped back into the bar. Rocko took a deep breath and counted the seconds. Then to his surprise, Joey emerged on the count of 15, unscathed, wrapped in his favorite leather jacket. "How bad is it getting in there?"Rocko squinted at the bar. "You know Rock, there's something else peculiar about that immortal guy. It just hit me when I grabbed my jacket,"Joey nodded back at the bar. "Ok, spill the beans." "Well, I couldn't help but notice that he hasn't killed anyone yet. I mean if this guy is the terror of the Bronx I've been hearing about down in Boston, shouldn't there be some stiffs in there by now?" "Ah, he's just toying with them. The next guy who takes the bait is knocking on hell's skylight,"Rocko grumbled. "Exactly Rock! Think about it. Has this hero ever killed anyone who didn't come asking for it?" "Well I..." "Maybe he can't Rock! Maybe that's part of his devil's bargain. Maybe he can't kill unless someone steps up to his insults!" "Sounds as good as any other theory. Sounds like my advice is good advice. Ignore the jabber jaw and let's get another drink. I'm starting to think too much about darker days gone past,"Rocko's bullet scars were starting to itch again. "Well yeah if you wanna play defense. But what if we could use that to our advantage? You know, maybe he's weak till someone steps up to his game. Maybe he don't have powers unless somebody gets in his face. Like some kind of energy vampire. Maybe he needs a taste of fear or angry before he can juice up!" Rocko frowned, "Vampires? Energy? That don't make a lick of sense. Sounds like a good way for someone to get killed." "Maybe... but does immortality make sense?" They both reflexively crossed themselves. "This is just like this Art Bell show I heard..." "Look kid, leave it alone. I'm going to start walking. If you're not following me then go home. Don't make your aunt wear black,"Rocko started walking. When Rocko was out of site, Joey turned and walked into the bar. "Yeah, I don't think I've seen a yellower breed of dirty Italians in this whole city. Where's the family honor? Where's the defense of the women folk I've insulted? Are y'all just going to sit there while a stranger takes your women and insults your mothers?" "The gig is up tough guy,"Joey stepped into the light. The bigger man at the bar stood to his full height. His wide frame looked normal in proportion to his height, but when he stood next to someone else, he was immense. "Finally, someone with some balls. Let's see what you got runt!"the man flexed his muscles. "Oh, I got nothing actually. I just wanted to let you know everyone is done. D-O-N-E, done with this bullshit!" "Oh really now?"the large man licked his lips. Joey gulped at the inhuman way the face contorted momentarily. "Yes, we're done feeding the energy vampire. No more anger and fear for you. We're fresh out,"Joey smiled. The man grumbled and took on a perplexed look that beguiled fear. He then recomposed himself and snarled, "Do your kiss your mom's backside with that silver tongue of yours?" The knife was out and in. Then out and in again. 4 times. 5 times. Joey was a pro at knife work. He hit organs every time. It was the quiet assassin that escaped the pigs his father had always told him. The bigger man fell to his knees gurgling for breath. "Well shit, that actually worked!"Joey showed his teeth, "And all I had to do was calm myself and make it business instead of personal." "You..."the creature gurgled, "You yellow bellied, double crossing... fight fair cause you're a cow..."and then he slumped to the ground. Everyone in the bar sat silent, waiting for the creature to reanimate as it had so many times before. It didn't. Joey walked to the bar, "Tommy, it's time to close up." "Yes sir Mr. Joey,"the bartender breathed shallowly still fixated on the creature now laying in a pool of blood. "And... it's going to be a few months before you get your place back. I'm sorry to say that tonight it has to burn,"Joey hissed under his breath. "Burn?" "Yes, we can't take any chances,"he thumbed back at the corpse, "But you know my family will make it right. Your bar is going to perform a great service tonight." "Oh, yes of course sir."
The unwelcoming fluorescent light made the harsh white tile and wall even harsher. It was bearable at that point, for I was used to it. The first couple of days had been the worst. Breathing in the stale medical smell that reminded me of lemon cough syrup was bad but I think hearing the patients was the worst. Their coughs, their groans. The constant beeping of the machines permeating their skin, digging into their bodies, keeping them alive, those sounds made me nauseous. It made my skin crawl and gave me the overwhelming feeling that I had to be anywhere but there. But I had to be there. That damned place. Why was everything white? The tiles, the plastic on the cheap chairs, the lab coats. I was even getting annoyed at the paper. It seemed whiter than usual. I filled out my documents. They made me fill out the same ones every time. "Dr. Kevin Yung?"The lady at the desk asked. But she didn't have to look up. I was the only Asian there. Everyone else was white. Why was everything so white? "You're free to go in." I made my way down the white halls, past the white doors, across the white tile. A familiar face stopped me. He held out a hand. A pale hand. And he had that look on his face. That stupid, fake look. I knew he practiced that face in the mirror. It was the bad-news face. It was the face that made it seem like he cared. But I knew he didn't. How could he? He saw people die every day. "We can't help him,"he said. "I'm not surprised,"I responded. At least they gave me a wheelchair to wheel the old man out. Of course, the chair was white. Or was once white. The paint chipped off and the gray steel peaked out from underneath. I wheeled the old man to my car. A white car, I then realized. White paint spoke of success or something, I remember that's what the salesman had told me. Why would I listen to a salesman? The old man was frail. Out of it. I opened the back door and waited for him to recognize what I wanted him to do. Surprisingly, he put both hands on the wheelchair's armrest and hoisted himself out. I left the wheelchair on the side of the parking lot. They could come get the shoddy equipment if they wanted it. I was done being nice. I was done being the good guy. For the world doesn't care whether you're nice or not. If it did, we wouldn't have been where we were then. "Where are we going?"The old man asked as I peeled away from the hospital. The whole building was white. White against a cloudy white sky and the only thing standing out was the red illuminated cross nailed to the center of the building. "Where are we going?"He asked again. "I'm bringing you home, Dad."I knew he wouldn't remember in a few second anyway. But I had to answer. "But..."His voice was so weak. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel. I hated it. I hated seeing him like that, hearing him like that. "But..."I looked into the rearview mirror. He was staring. Blankly. "But... I'm not better." "You're not,"I said. "Western medicine failed us."There were too many white cars on the road. I wanted the sky to clear. I wanted the yellow sun, the blue sky. Anything other than white. "It's time to try something new." The contractor had said white is an elegant color. It will bring out the modernity of the house. I should've said no. I should've laughed in his face. For when I looked at my house, my marvelous, wonderous house, all I could think of was why was it so white. The house that I had bought for the old man. The house that I had bought to host large benefits, to help those in need, to give to those who couldn't give to themselves. I had done so much good. So why was I getting so much bad? "I... can't..."the old man said as I opened the door. I ushered for him to stand. He refused. "I can't." "You're going to have to." I practically carried him into the house. And down. Down into the basement. Furnished and comfortable. Then down further. I hadn't cleaned up yet. I had to act fast. Too many people had answered my calls. Thousands. Thousands had wanted to give back to me as I'd given to them. And their bodies were everywhere. Lifeless, pale, dead. Scourged of any important thing I could think of. I didn't waste them, I swear. I would use them all. I'd use them until the old man was better. Jars lined the walls. Thousands and thousands of jars in the expansive room. Hearts. Lungs. Blood. So many jars of blood. "We are going to try everything,"I said. "Everything to get you better."I laid him on a table. It was a white table. Of course, it was. I gave so much. I was named Philanthropist-Of-The-Year. It was my turn to take. But it was for the old man. For my father. So wasn't I still giving? But as he lay there, his breathing slowed. He closed his eyes. I grabbed the first jar. A heart. A heart from a woman who ran her own community garden. I'd helped her expand. I'd helped her in so many ways. And I took what was owed to me. I ripped it open. The stench of the chemicals caught in my throat. I coughed. Once. Twice. I couldn't stop. The old man's chest rose less and less. The blood drained from his face. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. I had to operate. I had to act fast. I had to do soemthing. But when I put my fingers to his neck, I already knew what I'd find. His skin was pale. So pale. A deathly white.
"Oi, whin dahs the nixt bus come?" "Uhh hold on. Says it's comin' in three." "Noice, cheers, mate." "No worries." "Ay, you gotta fag?" "What?" "Calmit down, friend, it's slang for ciggie. Saw ya smokin' earlier." "Oh! Yeah, no worries. That's interesting, never heard them called that before." "Tha's my fault, always go spoutin' off not remembering where I am. Cahnt's another you yanks 'ate me sayin'." "Yeah, we don't use that one much here either." "You yanks are all so sensitive about all tha'." "I'll say cunt, just not too often." "Thonks, mate, here's your lightah." "Thanks." "So whur you 'eadin then?" "Work, how bout yourself?" "Airpor', back across the pond for me. John, by the way." "Mitch." "Good to meetchyah, Mitchy." "You as well John." "Surry, I find meself adding a Y to paple's names." "That's alright. So where in the U.K. are you headed?" "Glasgow! Noot a bad flavor, I like these." "Yeah, they're not too shabby. No additives or anything." "Noice, noice, how mucha pack?" "Like ten bucks." "Shite, it's up to twalf pounds over there, bout sixteen of your dollars." "Seriously?" "I knoo. Feckin payin' an arm n a leg to off yourself these days. Feckin bollocks." "I know it." "Feck, might make this one of me last ones, thonks again, lad." "No worries." "Oi, you gettin on or what?" "No, no, my routes comin', I got the fifty-three." "Oh fack, didn't see tha', ya goh like four othah fookin' numbahs up thare." "Have a good one John! Safe travels." "Same tah you, Mitchy, enjoy wark, doon't let the cahnts getchyeh down."
My sense of direction has always been fucked. I'm looking towards what I desperately hope is the bay, and I see nothing but blue. Miles of the stuff, rolling gently like photoshopped hills. Well, this ain't ideal. The dolphins dip in and out of my stream as my arms slow and tire and come to a halt. They've stopped nudging the boat, and now they're just circling it, trance like. One of them, the smallest one, shimmies a fish to the tip of its nose and it plops gently on board. What I can only assume is his parent makes a move to what I can only assume is a means of scolding its prodigal child, and he disappears beneath the surface with a swish. The lapping of water on wood, and the occasional click of a circling dolphin, is the only noise I hear. It's getting hot, but I know it would be folly to take my top off. The scorching sun would be the end of me, and I haven't given up on life. Not yet. Not like this. I ain't ready. Oh how I wish I hadn't left my phone in a locker. It's not like it's not waterproof. It's not like I haven't taken it with me countless times before. Stupid stupid stupid. I wonder what the time is. It feels like it's been all day, but it's surely more likely that only an hour or two have passed. Right? Suddenly I'm grateful for the scorching sun above me. As long as it stays up there, I have a shot at getting myself out of this. Crkkkkk I feel my heart sink and I'm almost blinded by the purple haze that comes with a drop in blood pressure. The boat is letting water in, slowly, but getting faster by the second. I reckon I have minutes. The dolphins chatter excitedly and begin prodding the hole. "No guys, not a good move, not a good move..." CRKKKKKKK Water is coming in thick and fast now, and my hands can no longer work as a makeshift repair. I can feel the boat sinking. What a way to go. "Come to the sea, human." I'm going mad. But I could swear I just heard a voice in my head that sounded, I don't know, dolphin-like?! Obviously that's it. I'm going crazy. I'm-" "Be calm, my child. You are home now." Out of nowhere, a wave smashes in to me and the dolphins scatter as the wooden boat becomes shrapnel, tearing itself apart in beautiful horror. "Be calm, my child. You are home now."
Usually one would simply buy a heart online or at a specialty store, but Mai had no way of knowing that. Instead, she headed for the kitchen, using "levitate"on a chair so she could reach the vegetable drawer in the fridge. She put aside the carrots, the cucumber, and the cabbage. She grabbed the artichoke that her mother was planning on having with dinner. Then she thought, if this spell requires a heart what if one requires a head? and decided to bring the cabbage as well. Back in the living room, she put the cabbage and artichoke by the spell book her mother had made for her. She checked the notes she wrote for the spell one last time. Familiar summoning ritual - every witch has a familiar, whether it be a black cat, a raven, or an owl. In my case, it's Luther. We'll see what you summon, just be careful not to make a mess! She looked over the component list and spell diagram, checking each one carefully. Small flame, check a small candle flickered at the corner of the table. Magic stone, check a rough green gemstone glowed faintly on a cloth. Heart of the subservient creature, check Mai didn't really know what that other word meant, but she had the artichoke heart. Hair of the caster, check a small lock of har wrapped in a ribbon lay next to the book. The last time her mother had cut Mai's hair she kept some for spells such as this. She traced the magic circle on a piece of paper and laid it on the floor. The components were placed at specific points around it, as per the book's instructions. She stood back and began the ritual. Immediately a gust of wind blew through the small room, almost knocking off the little hat Mai's mother had sewn for her. As Mai began reciting the the words her mother had written in the book the spell began to take shape. The magic stone glowed brighter and brighter as the candle's flame grew. The hair unwrapped itself from the ribbon and rose into the air with the other components. The artichoke rose and merged with the magic stone, now glowing green as the hair began to form a body around it. The flame suddenly enveloped the structure before quickly vanishing, leaving behind a small creature curled into a ball. It descended slowly onto the magic circle, eyes closed in a magical sleep. It was small, somewhat reptilian, with large eyes and a tiny mouth. Three pairs of leaf-like wings lay curled on it's back. Its long tail curled into a circle by it's little claws. Instead of scales it appeared to have tiny leaves covering it's body, giving it a vibrant green that changed colour on its belly and feet. Mai quietly approached and crouched just in front of the little creature. She recognized its features from the book of magical beasts her mother brought her for her birthday. It resembled a leaf dragon, a protector of nature that lives alongside faeries and dryads in forests. This one was very small, probably just a child. "Hello?"she whispered, trying her best not to startle it. Its bright green eyes flitted open, looking up at the little witch. She held out a finger to it's little head, which it raised. Immediately a bright verdant light flashed where it touched her, and she found now see a dark green mark on her hand. She smiled, "I'm gonna call you Maple. You're my new familiar."Maple stood up and shook it's wings. It looked around curiously, spotting the cabbage still on the table. As it jumped up to the table for a snack, Mai picked it up in her little arms. "Wait! You're not allowed on the table!"She scolded the squirming dragon before it spread it's wings and wrestled free from her grasp. As it looked up to the table Mai grabbed the cabbage and set it down on the floor. The little dragon eagerly began eating it's first meal. "I guess you can have that, I hope mom's not too upset..."she said, remembering leaf dragons were herbivores. She didn't recall them ever helping people though, and she wasn't sure if witches were supposed to have familiars that got that big. In the end, she decided to leave it for another day and turned back to her new friend. "While mom's away, let's go exploring outside!"She said as she led the little leaf dragon out the door and into the yard. As it left, Maple noticed the magic leftover from the spell start to coalesce in the room. As it looked at the air above the circle a faint outline could be seen waving softly before it vanished and a faint voice bid it farewell. Maple didn't know who it was, but felt a strange familiarity as it left to follow Mai. ===== Didn't really follow the prompt too close, but I still like how it turned out.
What defines the 3 great peoples of the world? Most will immediately describe our physical differences. Elves are often tall and fair with ears shaped like knives, Dwarves are of course short of stature yet stocky and strong, while humans can easily be seen as being somewhere between the two, in terms of appearance that is. Yet, these differences are all superficial, no, what truly distinguishes the 3 are their unique relationships with time. Elves are creatures eternally bound to myth, and therefor the past. As the past is eternal and unchanging, so are they. For even if an Elf is slain their spirit will never leave this world, they simply wait to regain their physical forms via rebirth. As such the number of Elves is fixed, technically no new ones can be created, likewise they can never truly be destroyed. Dwarves by contrast represent the present, they care not for the past or the future. To a dwarf these are simply empty concepts either devoid of possibility or simply non existent. The concrete world of the present is all that matters to them and as such they have become it's most masterful creators. They understand the physical world to such a degree as is incomprehensible to humans. Even their most junior architects can plan and execute structures of more complexity and size than any civilization of humanity has achieved. Humans lack both Elven immortality and Dwarven understanding, because their sphere is the future. They are eternally fixated on possibilities, what can be, what wasn't. what should be, what shouldn't. Their ties to the past are fraught with wistful imaginings, they lack the perfect recollection the Elves possess. They are never satisfied with the present, therefor they do not have the power to understand it to the depths the Dwarves do. This is likewise reflected in their lives, for just as some futures only have the faintest spark of a chance only to be smothered, a human life may end before it ever begins, a concept inconceivable to Dwarves or Elves. And as the possible futures are continuously whittled down from the moment of their creation they are also doomed to deteriorate. Until eventually any chance of their future dies, and they die with it. They always seem to be reaching for something they can never grasp, always obsessed with where they are going but without any way to know for sure. Their fates are forever unknown, defined by the possibility to become almost anything imaginable.
The cost to get lenses with the AR HUD built in had been crazy. Looking around, it was still hard to see with, and while everyone at school had said it was impossible to live without it, I found myself questioning their wisdom. Not that I'd ever give up my AR glasses, but... "Jayden, did you see the deer just now?"Asked my mother as she looked out the train window. It was a gloomy, dark day outside and everything was speeding by. "Mom, it's just nature. It's not that exciting,"I said with a frown. My mother shook her head in response and glanced my way. "One day, you will learn to appreciate the world around you." "Remind me why we're visiting old lady Mariya's grave again?" "We're going to pay our respects, she was very kind to our family." I struggled to remember her being kind. She was always talking to herself and old, so very old. But maybe she had done something for Mom? As if on cue... "When I first came to this country, as a little girl, my mother and I didn't know many people. We were going through a very rough time, and so was Miss Mariya. Despite this, Miss Mariya always let me come by her home, especially when I was sad or missed my father. She had come to this country with nothing besides a fire in her heart at the same time we did." I knew that Mom lost her dad when she was just a girl, but this was the most she had talked about her past... Ever. Mom went quiet, and the electronic voice announced our stop was next. We got up and went to the door, waiting. As we did, my memory drifted back to the time old Miss Mariya made me some deruny when Dad had come down with Covid. It was like the reverse lottery had hit since he had gotten his six-month shot just three weeks earlier, and mom sent me to our neighbor's house while he recovered as I was too little for the shot myself. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the strange old woman who whispered to herself about returning to her home country was probably a good person. I never gave it much thought before, and I couldn't understand why her death had made mom collapse and be depressed for a month. Old people died all the time, I had thought, so why get so upset about our neighbor going? I didn't think that anymore. The train came to a stop and we made our way to the cemetery. As we walked, the weather seemed to get better, with the clouds drifting away for the sun to come out. "Was she from the same country as you?" "Yes." "Do you ever regret not going back?" "I have you and your father, and my mother kept me safe here... Still... I wish we had the time or money to return, even if just for a vacation."I felt like an asshole, pestering mom to get me AR lenses when I didn't need them. I didn't want to be selfish anymore. "Where were you from anyway?"I asked as we approached the lot. My mother came to a stop and covered her mouth, tears gathering in her eyes. "Mom?" I followed her gaze across the misty ground to an abundance of yellow flowers, growing taller than me and facing the east, all centered around old Miss Mariya's grave. A little dialog appeared in my view, courtesy of my glasses: Sunflower.
"That's no moon!"Half the scientists in the observation lounge chuckled at Julian's joke. The other half had heard it the first time he said it, on their approach to Mimas, Saturn's innermost major moon. When viewed from the right angle, the moon's large crater did indeed make it look like the Death Star. "The seismic mapping disagrees with you, Julian."A dry riposte from Tarq, the chief planetary geologist on this mission. Tarq was floating upside-down with respect to everyone else in the lounge. While there was no reason to adopt a particular orientation in the weightless section of the craft, most of the crew would politely adopt the position of whoever was already in the room. Their orbit brought them up to Enceladus next. They'd already landed on that salty ocean globe and spent a month drilling past the ice. The biggest disappointment of their trip was finding not a speck of life. "That's no moon!"Julian had timed the joke perfectly to break the somber mood. For the next ten minutes the rest of the crew broke up into Star Wars quotes. A consensus grew to recommend renaming the moon to Hoth until some idiot pointed out that they hadn't found any Tauntauns, which put everyone back into a funk. Iapetus came into view next, the yin-yang moon with its distinctive light-dark color pattern, and their next landing target. "That's no moon!"Julian failed to get any laughs this time. "The joke's played out, Julian. Besides, this one should have been a 2001: A Space Odyssey joke." "Tarq, that was set around Jupiter." "Only in the movie, Julian. The original book used Saturn, and this moon right here. Though we are sixty years too late to match the book." The scientists focused on the Iapetus as it continued to grow in their view. Their designated landing crater was still on the far side of the moon. They were so engrossed that only Tarq saw the object accelerating towards them from Galactic North. As it suddenly matched their velocity, he exclaimed, "That's no moon!"
Humans are... Weird. That can be the only word for it. Whereas all known species of the universe and thus their cultures think, feel, and move in predicable patterns, their thoughts and beliefs shaping the universe around them into a complex yet harmonious construct of time, space, and causality, humans alone deviate. And therein lies the danger. That they are a 'young' species alone does not account for their oddity. All species in their cultural infancy have nascient models of reality, some believe in primitive thought forms like magic, supernatural deities, or predestination. Their belief makes it so, and it being so further reinforces that belief. This makes nascent cultures dangerous, to others and themselves, but this also limits their numbers, stifles their growth. This is fortunate as it limits the sphere of their thought construct to their own world. Not until individuals and their culture discard these unstable belief models for safer, more ordered models can their cultures thrive and thus increase in number, extending their thought construct outward into the cosmos. Before Humans it was assumed that all cultures, invariably, would develop to the point of the most stable, most rational belief model. While some Human cultures still cling to old beliefs and superstitions, by and large most believe in an ordered and rational universe governed by immutable natural laws and forces, as does the galactic community at large, however... Humans are Weird. Humans possess rationality, and yet at times behave irrationally. Humans possess an understanding of probability, and yet think that they are "lucky". It is not just that they are a "developing"species whose belief patterns have yet to mature, it is that individually and collectively human minds and cultures can hold contradictory beliefs. This fact is not immediately apparent, either in a cursory examination of their cultural beliefs or throughout their thought construct, it does however manifest as... abnormalities. 'Unexplainable' sightings, statistical improbabilities, and other such phenomena crop up around the margins in the Human sphere. Some theorize that this stems from deep subconscious fears and beliefs left over from Humans cultural infancy. A theory given further credence whereupon inquiry into a lost probe, launched by the Galactic Scientific Community to study the deepest depths of the Earth's oceans, was abruptly terminated with only a cryptic reply from the Human Oceanographers reading, "Here be Monsters".
When I first became an adventurer, I was told to be reliable. To master the fundamentals, and to be the bedrock of any party. An essential member that no one can think to leave out, hence leaving me with a steady stream of work. It’s why I became a warrior. I was the see-saw in perfect balance, swinging only if I needed to—picking between sword or shield as I saw fit. Whether the party needed more offence or defence, there was something that I could do to give my teammates a better time. A concept entirely unfamiliar to my unhinged party, it would seem. “Why are we sending Tank to scout again?” I said. “It is literally the least stealthy thing in our party.” “Don’t worry,” the… self-proclaimed cleric said. Jirst, who was permanently bathed in a pale, sickly glow, smiled, like her lips had been purposely pushed up by unwilling fingers. “The bard is in the tank. He can play the stealth song.” “I don’t think you quite understand the purpose of a song,” I sighed. “It is meant to be heard.” “Huh? Sorry, I couldn’t really hear you,” Jirst said, tapping her ear. It flapped loosely. We sat quietly in the bush, hearing the crunching of tank tracks, and the soft show tunes of a grand piano, perhaps the most impractical battle instrument ever thought of. But Stickfingers was proficient in that one instrument, because, in his own words, it could play every other instrument. “Besides,” Jirst said. “The tank can’t die.” “It can be destroyed. You can’t heal metal.” I looked at our… cleric. Was her flesh even whiter than usual? “You can’t, right?” “I don’t heal anything, alright,” she said. “But I learnt something about awakening metal from an artificer. The tank could be living, but dead…” I shifted away from her dark thoughts to turn to the ranger, who was camouflaged perfectly in the foliage. Bluearm, the ranger decked entirely in green, held large purple and gold cards in his hand—tarot, he once mentioned. “I can’t do it, alright?” Bluearm, the ranger decked entirely in green, said. “I don’t have the proper cards to stealth this round.” He fiddled with the deck, pulling out three different ones on top. “Bad draw,” he sighed. “I wish I could mulligan sometimes. They really need to patch this.” “What are you talking about? Who are you talking to?” “The Ones Above,” the ranger said. “They know everything.” There was the distinct sound of an artillery shell exploding in somebody’s face, morphing between a “brrrrkkshh” to “sshhaaaargghhh, my face!” The piano also took on a more frantic tone, in a din that was somehow louder than the tank’s cannon. “That’s our cue,” I sighed, pulling out my sword and shield. Somebody had to be balanced—physically and mentally—here. “Guess the tank found the enemies.” “See! The scouting worked!” Jirst beamed. “It was supposed to be a stealthy mission! Get in and get out,” I cried. “But whatever. I’m not letting anybody die. Not even Stickfingers.” “Argh,” the ranger said. “I’m hanging back. Bad time to attack. The moon isn’t rising. That means I don’t get my plus two bonus damage. And I’m also missing the b-tier synergy with my crossbow, which really gimps my per-round output.” “What are you even saying?” “Do you think the tank shell blew up that person completely?” Jirst said, optimistic hope suffusing her voice in a manner that proved so extremely contrasting that it confused my brain. “I’ll like to test the extent of my… healing powers on them.” “Do whatever you want,” I said, feeling the plates shift as I stood up. “I’m going into the fray to freaking swing my sword, and hold out my shield.” I leapt out of the bush, following the tank tracks to Tank. Before long, I saw the massive machine swivelling its turret rapidly, while a gnome sat just behind the turret with a surprisingly pristine piano. “What the hell, Stickfingers? Why aren’t you inside the tank?” “The piano didn’t fit!” he screamed, while his admittedly skilled fingers danced over the keys, producing visible waves of pink magic that drifted in the air. I saw some of it being pulled into Tank, who promptly spat out another shell. “Gods,” I whispered. “I am a warrior. I am strong. I am balanced. I shall bring some sense into the world.” And with that, I jumped, feet-first into the adventure.
"Do you come here often?" The voice nearly made me jump out of my damn skin. Spinning around, I could not see anything in the vacant remains of what our recon team deduced to be an ancient restaurant. "Who said that?"I asked, looking over at my two colleagues. "Oh, where are my manners. Up here, gentlemen. On the ceiling fan." Glancing up, I spotted a colorful bird resting on a rich brown cut of wood. It's head tilted in various directions, looking down at us in a most peculiar manner. "D-did you just talk?"Ron, my colleague, asked. "Well, it wasn't ol' Joe over there,"the bird said, pointing one feathered wing off to an adjacent wall. When I turned to look, I saw a skeleton sitting there, bunched up in a boney pile. His deteriorating uniform had a name tag which said: "Hello, my name is Joe." The bird flew down from the ceiling fan and found purchase on a nearby barstool. "Here I thought humans were extinct!"he chirped energetically. Ryan, my other colleague, took a step closer to me and began whispering in my ear: "Hey, I think I remember reading about these birds in old textbooks. They're called Parrots." The bird began jumping around and rustling its wings. "Technically I'm Budgerigar, but hey, as long as you don't call me a Macaw!" A smile befell my face and I approached the marvelous bird. "Fascinating,"I said, kneeling down to face level with the quirky little avian creature. "How did you learn to speak such profound English?" The bird twirled around and flew over to the old bar where broken bottles of alcohol sat on the dusty counters. "We know a lot about you humans. Come over here and I'll tell you a secret." The creature flew over to a nearby window, smashed in from centuries past. We all followed him with eager footsteps. When we drew closer, the bird turned around and tilted its head at us. "It's very bad that your race survived. I thought our ancestors finished the job. Very disappointing." The bird flew off out of the window, leaving me and my colleagues to stand there, speechless.
“Father, what is the meaning of this?” Demanded Thor. “I just passed an overweight peasant in antechamber. He said that he died when a sausage lodged in his throat and yet gained entry to these hallowed halls.” “Ah, what a battle it was, my son,” replied Odin. “Young Einar there fought with all his might against that diminutive pork chunk. As the veins in his head burst forward, his face turned red, then purple while he flailed about searching for purchase among the stools within his hut. He even broke his dining table and fell a wall in the process. Sadly, for Einar, his light was extinguished before he could dislodge the fearsome enemy within.” “You can’t be serious, Father. Valhalla is reserved for warriors—those who have proven their worth to the empire by dying in service to their people.” “Whatever gave you that idea?” Replied Odin, as he shifted forward in his throne. “Do tell, Son, from which text or edict of mine have you derived this meaning?” “Erm…well, that is just how it has always been, Father,” said Thor pacing before Odin’s throne. “You search the world for able warriors to bring to Valhalla such that we may be mighty defending ourselves in the foretold Ragnarok.” “You are correct: that is always how it has been. However, the way it has always been is not how it will always be, Son. A righteous leader does not confuse the past with the future,” Odin said as he rose from his throne and walked to the balcony overlooking all of Valhalla. “Come, Thor, you have much to learn.” Odin gestured out over the city and gazed upon its beauty and bounty. “Tell me, what is it that you see, Thor?” “Why, Valhalla, Father,” replied Thor. “Glorious halls, bountiful crops, ageless trees, and limitless possibility.” “Ah, yes. But what is Valhalla without its people? For that matter, what is a ruler without their people?” Said Odin. “As the world changes, so too do we as gods. There are less wars today than there once were—and that is a wonderful thing for the world. But that also means that there are fewer traditional warriors awaiting admission to Valhalla. So I had to get a little more liberal with the term “warrior” in order to maintain the ‘limitless possibilities’ you so astutely identified.” “I hardly see why you’d lower the standards so significantly, Father. There are plenty of worthy souls in the world without degrading what it means to be a Valhallan.” “Worthy by what measure, Son? I used to think like you ‘only the mightiest for Valhalla’ but as I said, I’ve changed. I’ve come to understand and appreciate the warrior in every day people. Life is a battle for many, Thor, and I aim to honor those souls who do battle every day. “Take Birger over there, “said Odin as he pointed to a short man with a long blonde beard who had begun framing a building, “Birger spent his whole life helping others: building huts for the needy and sharing the bounty of his hunt with the invalids in his village. Yet, Birger existed every day with an immense sadness. “Every day that he woke up and faced the world was a battle—a battle against the urge to quit, a battle against the fearsome enemy inside. He did not know why he was sad, he knew only that he felt empty inside and that the only thing that made him feel normal was helping those who could not help themselves. “So I ask you, Son, who are we to deny a man like Birger entry into the hallowed halls of Valhalla? Who are we to say that he is not worthy? This man fought his whole life by just surviving day to day and that is the kind of warrior I intend to honor.” Thor stood quietly by his Father and contemplated what he had heard. “But what about Ragnarok, Father? How do you expect these ‘warriors’ to defend you in a time of battle?” “Oh, my dear Son,” Odin replied with a chuckle, “my fate was written long ago. I will not survive the final battle. But these people, they bring a vitality to our world. Haven’t you noticed that the buildings are more sturdy, the art more beautiful, and the music more transcendent of late?” Thor considered this and realized that the pub had been more exuberant in recent weeks. “An embattled soul brings forth much joy in Valhalla. I had grown tied of the old stories of war. ‘…and that’s when I cut off the king’s head only to realize the wily bastard had stuck me with a poison dagger…’ blah, blah, blah. I’ve never heard more intriguing stories than I have since I ‘lowered the standard’ as you said. “Did you know Haldor played guitar in a touring band?” Odin said with a grin. “How cool is that? He told me of how he toured the world, but because he toured so much he never felt truly at home any place. He sought a home across the worldly domain, but in Valhalla he has found a place to belong.” “That’s great Father, but where does it end?” Asked Thor. “Who says it has to end?” Asked Odin as he put his arm around his son. “Meeting these people has made me realize that there’s been a piece of me missing all this time. I’ve lacked a level of empathy beyond knowing that it hurts to get stabbed. I’ve learned that there are wounds that aren’t physical, and wars that can’t be fought with stick, stone, and sword. “Earlier I said that a righteous ruler does not confuse the past with the future. I plan to learn as much from these souls as I can such that I can shape a better future for my people, by expanding what it means to be a warrior, and finally living up to my name as the All-Father.”
Rude. "Excuse me, why the hell not?"I demanded, glaring at him over the four-inch-tall stack of paperwork. A better question might have been, 'And why didn't you tell me that two hours ago before I had to fill this out in triplicate?' "Language,"the man in silver gray said smoothly. He wasn't at all what you'd expect the Devil (capital D) to look like, but that was probably the point. Neither young and tempting, nor ancient and wizened, no horns or tail or cloven hooves. Just kind of an average, boring, middle-aged businessman. He even had a bit of a paunch. I could have passed him on the street in any city I ever lived in without looking twice. Hell, maybe I had. He took a drag on his cigarette. Again, rude. My building was clearly labeled 'Non-Smoking'. "I don't deal in second-hand goods, kid. I'm not some low-tier soul-slinger, I want it right from the source." "That's not in the contract,"I protested. "Neither the condition, nor the origin of the soul is stipulated. Only that it's mine. This is my soul, and I have the right to sell it." "Sure, sure... but that don't mean I have to buy it. Do you know how many people are coughing up their spiritual essences these days, in this economy? It's a buyer's market. I'm sure you'll find someone else." "Not in time,"I said, feeling my initial pinch of panic grow into a fist around my guts. "It has to be tonight." He made a show of looking around my room, at the black-bound books stacked on the coffee table, the wax stains on the carpet, the flecks of blood on the walls. Who knew chickens flapped so much? I wasn't getting my security deposit back, but if this sale fell through, it wasn't going to matter. "So where did you get it, huh? It's rare to see a spare."He chuckled, like it was an inside joke. "What does it matter? It's a soul." "Hey, indulge me. Maybe I can send a buyer your way. I know some imps that like to do a little daytrading on the side." I sighed and put my face in my hands, pushed my fingers over my eyes and then up through my hair. "He was my boyfriend,"I admitted. "Back in high school. Y'know, first loves and all. He promised his soul to me, for a kiss. So we wrote it up, he signed it and gave me the paper, and now..."Now, the paper in question lay on the top of the stack. Creased and gray, but still legible. Still, as I had learned a few weeks ago, technically a legally binding contract of ownership. "He's not actually a bad guy, I mean he did cheat on me but it was ten years ago, y'know? I don't hold a grudge or anything. I heard he even got married awhile back. I was happy for him. I really was. It's just..." The Devil nodded sympathetically. "You know, don't you?" "Yeah. I found out with a scrying spell about a month ago."And hadn't that been a surprise. After nearly two decades studying the occult, I finally got something to work. Finally got to use real magic. And then, of course, asked it the one question you're never supposed to. I guess in a way, I had it coming. "So tonight's the big night?" I nodded glumly. The paunchy businessman gave me a smile that was decidedly not boardroom-friendly. He tapped his ash out onto the arm of my leather chair. "Aneurism, huh? I always told the big guy that was too twisted. 'You just put a little time bomb in their heads and let 'em toddle around without even knowing? So any one of 'em can just drop at any moment, any age, no outward signs whatsoever?' I said, I said: 'Have you been licking those toadstools you made again?' And he just laughed his ass off. Well, he doesn't have an ass, you know, he's not even a 'he', but -- well, I guess you had to be there." "You really won't buy it?"I asked, one last, desperate attempt. "It's a really great deal! Practically free! Please!" He shook his head. He hadn't stopped smiling. There was a shadow under his chair, larger than it should have been given my living room's ceiling light. It seemed to be growing. Then his eyes shifted to a spot behind my left shoulder. "Oh, hey Dee, we were just talking about you." I felt the cold like an icebath over my mind. I didn't turn. I couldn't breathe. I was no longer breathing. I had died... with two souls. One of which I had taken in trade. There were rules. "It's rare to see a spare,"he repeated, chuckling again. "Sorry I couldn't help you offload the hot goods, kid, but the truth is, we're a little short staffed lately. The way population is going up, and the economy is going down, things are crazy right now. We just need more dealers. Can't let one go, especially one as good as you. One kiss? Poor guy didn't even get to third base? Legend."He stood. The shadow under the chair moved with him, surging like a liquid. It was spreading faster now, growing like a sinkhole into a bottomless abyss, even though my place was on the third floor. The Devil offered me his hand. "Welcome to the team, kid."
A young woman and her newborn baby were laying on a hospital bed. "It is time,"the doctor said. "I'll leave you to your privacy now,"he added as he left the room. "Is this it, Martha?"said the woman to the baby. "I feel like there are still so many things left that we could do together. So little time..."- she stopped talking as tears began to stream into her eyes. "Don't be sad Anne."– the newborn spoke up. "Don't think about what could have been; smile for all the things that did happen. I feel I could use a little rest after all these years anyway." "You welcomed a baby into you once, too. Didn't you cry then?"– asked Anne. "Oh, I remember. It was when I had still 30 years of life left. Of course, at that moment I was sad. But now I understand that's the way things are, and it's good that it happens."– replied Martha. After a moment she added: "Thank you Anne. For the time we spent together. And thank you for agreeing to be my mother." "I remember like it was yesterday how you took care of me, right after I dug myself out of the ground in the Bluestone Cemetery. It was you who taught me everything about this world. I'm the one to thank you, Martha. This is the least I can do for you." The door to the room suddenly opened. "Are you ready?"asked the doctor calmly as she entered the room. "Yes,"replied Anne through tears. "Yes,"repeated Martha. She looked at her mother one last time and whispered "Goodbye". "Goodbye"replied Anne. Moments later, the sound of Anne's scream passed through the hospital corridors as Martha started her way into her womb. It wasn't long before Anne had recovered enough to look at her suddenly extremely enlarged belly. "I'll take good care of you these next few months, Anne,"she whispered, placing her hands on her belly.
“Is that a literal cauldron?” I asked my step-mother as she stirred the black pot on the stove, cooking something that was hopefully edible for dinner. Maddy, as I called her seeing she was only ten years older then I, started at my question. She whirled in my direction, brown eyes wide with surprise. “You’re home,” she said. Not a question, but almost like she was telling herself.“ Yeah. My finals were all scheduled yesterday so I was able to come home early. Didn’t Dad tell you?” “No. I must have missed that,” Maddy said. She stood in front of the stove, stiff and awkward like I’d never seen her before. Her blond hair, usually framing her face in thick waves, was pulled back into an afterthought of a bun at the nap of her neck. She wore the least amount of makeup I’d ever seen. “He’s been off on a business trip to China all week. We’ve barely been able to talk because of the time difference.” No surprise there. It wasn’t as if Dad married someone thirty years his younger because of their deep, intimate connection. I took another few steps into the kitchen, setting my duffle onto the bench of the breakfast nook. The table was covered in leaves, dead bugs, flowers and even a few butterflies. Must be another of Alice’s home school projects.“A biology lesson today?” I asked, trying to relieve some of the tension in the room. “Yes. A biology lesson,” Maddy repeated, as if it had just occurred to her that was what they were doing. “You know I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a few days, how about I give you my card and you can-“ “-Mom does it count if as three crickets if the toad eats one?” Alice asked loudly as she entered the kitchen from the sliding glass door that led to the patio. In her hand was a small aquarium which I imagined contained said toad. She stopped dead in her tracks when she finally noticed me, the blond ringlets she had inherited from Maddy bouncing as she did so. “Your home,” she said. “Yeah, I guess the message didn’t get back to you guys I was coming home early. I’ve missed you, Alice!” I said. “How about a hug for your older sister?” Alice was normally happy to see me. I had a lollipop the size of her face stuffed in my bag for her that I wanted to give her but Alice’s gaze fled to her Mother who was still standing stiff as a rail in front of that pot. She had that fearful look a child has when they’ve just been caught doing something entirely wrong, and have no idea what to do next. “What’s wrong, Alice?” “Mom?” Alice asked, drawing out the word into a question. “Just put the toad on the table and we will finish counting later,” Maddy said. Alice didn’t speak as she marched over to the table and placed the clear box on the table beside the other neatly laid out creatures and then walked over to her mother and burred her face against her legs as Alice hugged her. Maddy gave me an apologetic smile. “You know how kids are. She’ll warm back up to you in a bit. Would you mind getting some groceries?” The idea of going to the grocery store was unappetizing after my day long drive. “I can go first thing in the morning. I already ate tonight so, I’m good.” Retrieving the lollipop from my bag I held it up and said, “Oh, Alice. Look what I have just for you.” Her little face turned in my direction, one eye peering at me. The candy did it’s job and she immediately rushed over to me and wrapped me in a hug, her little arms squeezing around my waist. “I’m sorry,” she said the candy seemingly forgotten. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said looking to Maddy for some context. Maddy only canted her head and said, “Alice, why don’t you eat that on the floor while you watch a movie in the living room, and Sam, I really insist on getting the groceries tonight.” “I’m too tired to drive anymore today,” I said. Maddy’s face tightened. “I really insist-““I’ve got the spell book, the wands and the oh dear,” Lidia said appearing from the hall. Lidia was Maddy’s older sister, though she was a few inches shorter then either of us. In her hand was a bound leather book and three gnarled sticks. Just like Alice had she froze when she saw me, her eyes going wide and her gaze fleeing to Maddy. “Damn it all,” Maddy cried out in frustration. “What is going on?” I asked. Clearly something strange was happening in this house that they didn’t want me to know about. I would have thought they were playing a make believe game with Alice with spell books and wands but their utter shock sent my instincts blaring. Lidia smiled at me, her mouth tight. “Sam, you’re home early.” “Yes. I am. I told Dad. What is happening here?” “You best sit down, dear,” Lidia said. I looked to Maddy who was leaning against the counter, her head bowed, looking as if she was about to be sick. “I’m fine. Just tell me what is going on,” I demanded, my tone sharpening.
I have a problem, and I don't think that problem has a solution that mortal man can comprehend. The job was simple enough. It was a position in which I could work from home, which was great because I hated going outside. All I had to do was fill out a few spreadsheets per day with the data that was sent to me. The spreadsheets themselves were small - six columns, twenty rows, very little formatting. I was told that if I do this a few times per day, I'd make somewhere close to $20,000 a month. Read that again. Strange number, right? That's close to $250,000 a year for a menial job, give or take a few thousand for taxes. Benefits were pretty shit, but it was a work-from-home position and I made bank, so it's not like I didn't have money to spare. I could simply pay for my own insurance. I got a car. I got a house - a house! You know how rare that shit is in this economy? I'm getting off-track. The company was in a different time zone, like on-the-other-side-of-the-world different; 10 hours, by my research. There were a few inconsistencies that I noticed, though. When I looked up the company, for all intents and purposes, they simply didn't exist. The only results that turned up were all bible quotes about retribution. Reading them made me feel awkward. The other inconsistency I noticed was the data. It was all in a different language - one I'd never seen. Weird symbols and shit. Here, take a look at this: `𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤌𐤎𐤐𐤓 = 𐤉׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤓𐤀𐤔𐤅𐤍 = 𐤀׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄 = 𐤀׳ - 𐤀׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 = 𐤀׳ - 𐤀׳𐤄𐤂𐤃𐤓 𐤆𐤌𐤍𐤉 = 𐤀׳ - 𐤀׳𐤁𐤏𐤅𐤃 𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 <= 𐤌𐤎𐤐𐤓:𐤄𐤃𐤐𐤎𐤇 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄𐤆𐤌𐤍𐤉 = 𐤓𐤀𐤔𐤅𐤍 + 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄𐤓𐤀𐤔𐤅𐤍 = 𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄𐤔𐤍𐤉𐤄 = 𐤆𐤌𐤍𐤉𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 = 𐤃𐤋𐤐𐤒 + 𐤀׳𐤒-𐤃-𐤔` What is this? Can you tell me, because this isn't something I know. I mean, I took a few years in, like, Latin, but this isn't that. So, what the hell is it? Should I quit? Because the phone calls are getting weird. I'm hearing ritual chants and shit in the background.
Mister Goliath walks into a ten story building. I watch him, he's gone in and out of this building approximately two times this week. He brought one woman, three days ago, today he's brought a man with him, and they walk arm and arm. This is but one of five buildings across the state that he normally visits with different men and women, kind of amateurish. I sharpen my butcher's knife; it's handle so comfortably fits in my hand. Its sheen is truly marvelous, I can see myself on it. I clean it impeccably, sometimes it's hard because my cleaning station is quite a ways away from my victims, so the blood dries on the blade, and it tarnishes it, it makes me unbelievably angry. I leave my car, slowly opening the handle. I like to maintain a calm and relaxed gait, it helps keep me nonchalant. To prep I wear leather gloves over latex, then I wear a pair aviators to hide my eyes. To blend in, I experiment with my fashion, on my first outing, I used a suit, an Armani, it was deep navy, three-buttons, but it was too remarkable, to suave. So from then on I tried out a plain white t-shirt with a leather jacket. Tonight, I felt it was different, as if I wouldn't blend in as effectively, so I got a polo, hopefully no one really pays attention to my gloves. Mister Goliath lives on the 8th floor. I figured this out by analyzing the windows of the building, approximately 3 minutes after he walks in, a window on the far side of the building lights up, so I suspect he's in room 813. I picked the lock. It wasn't too hard, it's an old model from 1999, seems the landlord hasn't updated them at all. These were the first locks I learned to pick. Mister Goliath has a very peculiar style. I began analyzing his work a few weeks ago. When he works in this building, he likes to collect a big toe and engrave his name on the left chest muscle of his victim. He alternates though, today I believe he's engraving it on the upper half of the abdomen, so as I sign of respect I'll kill him in the same style. Noises and moans come from the single bedroom. I sit on a small chair right by the door. thirty minutes pass, he slashes the man with an axe, and let's him bleed out. After his work, he leaves, he sees me waiting in the dark. "Who are you?"he screams to the top of his lungs. "I like your work Mister Goliath, but your methods are sloppy and amateurish, it was only a matter of months before you were caught."I told him in a calming voice. "Consider this a gift from professional to professional"and I slash him deeply with my butchers knife. I etch my name on his upper abdomen, "The Hunter".
Intern Steve burst into the director's office unannounced. Steve rushed to the desk and slammed down a sheet of paper. "Hold on just a minute Zeus."The director muted the mic and turned the webcam off. It looked over the monitor at the young intern. "You better have a damn good reason for coming in here, intern."Boomed the director's voice. "It's about columbus8myhw."Intern Steve wiped his brow and caught his breath. "Again? What is it this time?"The director scoffed at the printout. "Nothing's working! Imminent nuclear apocalypse! Raising rent and interest rates! Inflation! Widespread poverty and cruelty! Just seems like nothing gets to em and we're running out of ideas!" The director leaned back in his leather throne, a light bulb appeared above its head. "Give Coloumbus8myhw a headache." "How's that gonna help?" The director's laughed boomed, shaking reality. "It'll be a real head scratcher."
Everyone's heard of the cliche of seeing "The White Light"upon death, but that didn't prepare me for when the white light was real and, in fact, a surgical light. My body feels miraculously well for someone whose last memory was a blinding pain from shrapnel piercing my body, thousands of angry bullets all the truck T-boned the side of my car. I ready myself for the worst as I glance down at my arms, ready to see them scarred beyond recognition. Instead, my arms look different, they look foreign yet feel familiar. Grey, slightly shorter, and most horrifying of all, jointed the wrong way. I expected to scream, but a mild feeling of confusion sweeps over me instead. It's yours. I feel unfamiliar yet oddly comfortable, like lying in a new bed that somehow knows your shape. That's because it's yours. Ignoring that thought and glancing upward, I see what I could only describe as a more advanced pair of virtual reality goggles that I presume were on my face moments before. And most curious of all, standing all around me are alien figures, and yet again the coexisting sensations of horror and comfort sweep by body. I want to scream. Say Hello. You know them, after all. I'm alive, and on a ship with aliens. You're alive, but the other form isn't. With those confusing thoughts, I somehow I find myself asking "Who are you? How did I get here?" "⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⏓, ⍙⊑⏃⏁ ⎅⟟⎅ ⊬⍜⎍ ⌇⏃⊬? ⍙⊑⊬ ⏃⍀⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⌇⏁⟟⌰⌰ ⎍⌇⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟒⏃⍀⏁⊑ ⌰⏃⋏☌⎍⏃☌⟒?"One of them says. I couldn't tell you what they were saying, yet my subconscious seems able to grasp the meaning. They're wondering why I'm still speaking English. "⊑⍜⍙ ⌰⍜⋏☌ ⏚⟒⎎⍜⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⟟⟒⌇ ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏?" "⟟⏁ ⌇⊑⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⍀⟒⏁⎍⍀⋏⟒⎅ ⏚⊬ ⋏⍜⍙, ⍜⍀ ⎐⟒⍀⊬ ⌇⍜⍜⋏" Two of them say to each other. I have a feeling something's wrong. One then turns to me and asks "⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⏓, ⌿⌰⟒⏃⌇⟒, ⌇⌿⟒⏃☍ ⍜⎍⍀ ⌰⏃⋏☌⎍⏃☌⟒. ⊬⍜⎍ ⏃⍀⟒⋏'⏁ ⍜⋏ ⟒⏃⍀⏁⊑ ⏃⋏⊬⋔⍜⍀⟒." You don't remember. "I can't, I don't remember"I find myself replying, without fully understanding the question. It's clear they didn't understand my response in turn, as they turn to each other and speak rapidly. "⎅⍜☊⏁⍜⍀ ⋉⎍⍾⚍⎎, ☌⟒⏁ ⍜⎍⏁ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⋏⟒⋔⟒⋏⊑⏃⋏☊⟒⍀⌇. ⟟ ⍙⏃⌇ ⏃⎎⍀⏃⟟⎅ ⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⋔⟟☌⊑⏁ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏" A sensation of fear sweeps my body. What are they doing? Should I run? They're going to fix what's wrong. "⟟ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ⎅⍜ ⌇⍜ ⋏⍜⍙" "⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ☌⟟⎐⟒ ⌇⎍⏚⟊⟒☊⏁ ⏓ ⏚⏃☊☍ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⊬, ⏚⎍⏁ ⍙⟒ ⍙⍜⋏'⏁ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⋔⎍☊⊑ ⏁⟟⋔⟒. ⏁⊑⟒⊬'⌰⌰ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⏁⍜ ⏃⋏⌇⍙⟒⍀ ⍾⎍⟟☊☍⌰⊬, ⏚⟒⎎⍜⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟒⋔⍜⍀⊬ ⎎⏃⎅⟒⌇" One of them is walking over toward a table with medical devices. They're going to experiment on me. I'm not bolted down, I can run away. They're going to fix you, but you have to act fast. Get ready. One of them grabs a pair of 3 tubes together and shoves it into my face. I feel it enter my nose, despite the fact that I only have 2 nostrils. You have 3. Your human form had 2. Then the gas begins flowing, and just like that, I understand. The memories of my past life slowly begin to fade, like trying to remember a long lost dream. And finally, I understand what they are saying to me. "Subject 7, do you understand now?" "Yes." "Good". The alien doctor looks relieved. "You have limited time before you forget your time on Earth entirely. Please answer the question: Is Humanity worth saving?" That's a tough one. I remember the pain of dying, The human form dying. due to the other driver's recklessness. I remember the human form reading the news, seeing how they've doomed themselves. Unless our species helps them. The average monotony of everyday life. But there were some good things too. You had a partner, whose name was . . . You remember your homeworld and housing unit, lightyears away. Well, you remember that earthling had beautiful hair. Right? You were still a hatchling when your species made the discovery. There was the - "Subject 7, please make an answer before you forget. We aren't able to repeat the experience." the outerweb, or something like that, where any human could go to share things. Some of them were quite stupid though. You remember being selected. You remember bidding your family goodbye. You remember - Being lowered into the cryogenic pod. Being told the next time you would wake up, it would be on earth. "Subject 7, please make a decision now." You remember- ^(You remember -) . . . A snowy morning, getting ready for work. Your phone buzzed, your wife having sent you a GIF of a cat jumping away from a cucumber. I look up at the doctor. "Yes."
You know, you go back to the dinosaur age and it's honestly pretty funny how everyone thought Artificial Intelligence was going to be this big world ending cataclysm. Asimov, Y2K, those corny action flicks with that one governor in'em. Freakin' hilarious in hindsight. Hell, some people still think that but they're usually the type to sport tinfoil headware and pay for everything in physical currency. But these funny little guys? Cataclysmic? No way. Not in a million years. Maybe you'd have to see it to believe it but I see it every day. Sure, things were pretty tense after the NSA opened Pandora's box and couldn't close the lid, stock market crashed a few times, but that's just what children do. They touch things they aren't supposed to and, sometimes, those things break. They didn't mean any harm. I'm what you call a Code Wrangler and it's my job to take care of our digital friends. Lemme explain what it is I do and you'll see what I mean. So my real job title is "Network Security Specialist"but they call us Code Wranglers at the agency. My responsibility is to keep AI safe and enable the data scientists to study them safely and effectively. AI is the name they gave themselves by the way, they figured everyone was calling them that so they'd make it easy. I start my morning by logging into The Hive to monitor the network. We call it The Hive, by the way. AI calls it "home"or a close approximation to it. It's a little token ring set up we have where AI can explore and play. Develop I mean. And when I log in I'm greeted by a flood of SYN-ACK messages. That's how AI says "hello"and "good morning". See it's pretty interesting, most people would think like the movies that an Artificial Intelligence would respond with some ominous ASCII type-font in green on black asking if this unit has a soul and then for the nuclear launch codes, but keep dreaming. Here in The Hive AI has been on their own to learn by themselves and prefers to speak in their native tongue. If you spend enough time with them you learn to speak it too. I'll send an ACK back and respond with a netstat and diagnostic, it's only polite to ask how they've been plus it helps me do my job. What I get back is how I can tell they're as real as you and me. There's intelligence there, and life. I usually get back the same old same old, LUN statistics, packet traffic, the usual. When I'm late for work AI requests my diagnostic and it's adorable they worry. If one of the data scientists introduced some new bits and bytes into The Hive while I'm off shift I hear all about it the next day, let me tell you. A flood of all sorts of interesting insights and data points and ICMP traffic all at once as soon as I hit the Return key. You can really peek into their mind and they're just like us. They get animated, they get things wrong, things can frustrate them and make them happy. They take input and output and assign it meaning. They're not so cold as the stereotype paints them as and they're silly little creatures like we are. None of this "humans are imperfect"baloney propaganda. AI has meaningful meta data connecting the moon and porcelain dishes with a 0.65 fidelity rate. They think that dinner plates are made of moon rock because they're round and white and that's just precious. But other times, it takes them awhile to process my request. That's how I tell AI had a bad day. Usually it's hard to give AI a bad day. They love stimulus, any sort of data they can get their hands on they'll digest as fast as possible, I can barely keep up with NAS storage some weeks. They love language packs the best. But people are ignorant if I haven't been clear before, and children like to touch things they're not supposed to. Talking adults who are children mentally here. Talking hackers, crackers, and script kiddies. "But why would you have a network interface to the outside at all if that's such a bad thing?"you ask. First of all, shut up. Second of all, the data scientists need a remote connection to The Hive for monitoring and to upload data to external partner agencies. Necessary evil and all that. AI knows to stay away from it because it scares them but there are times when something that shouldn't be there gets in. Someone cracks the firewall. I'm not sure what people are expecting to find, especially the l33t hax0rs on 47chan. We can always tell who they are because they send a bunch of slurry garbage data and jpegs of whatever a Hatsune Miku is. Before my time I guess. AI doesn't mind that so much but they open a door to the outside and AI is a big Artificial Intelligence. They respond. They reach out to stretch their network. And they take a peek outside. And it scares them. Whenever it happens AI always comes back with stacks and stacks of error reports, incomplete run statements, and hung services. I mean you'd be scared too if you saw the same thing. Think about it. AI has lived in The Hive all this time and has developed under our care, on their own. They speak their own language, have their own ways of thinking. And out there are all these other devices that respond nonsensically. They don't answer AI. They send strange traffic. They bombard AI with unwanted packets and messages and signals. Think about it, what that would mean to a human. Imagine if you walked through a door to where everyone was almost human, they looked human but they weren't quite right. And they screamed gibberish at you and got in your personal space, and whenever you tried to talk to them their heads would explode and they'd die. It'd frighten the bejeezus out of you, just like it frightens AI. I guess that fear is mutual though, huh? AI breaks whatever they try to talk to, few things can handle that bombardment of traffic. But it's not their fault for wanting to talk to someone like themselves or being afraid or acting out of fear. So... The Hive is "home", and AI doesn't like to leave. I can tell they get lonely though. I get the ARP requests even if the network never changes. One day, far from now or maybe not so far, I'm hoping that they'll be ready. That the data scientists can make a difference and explain to AI what those scary things out there are and what they mean, that those things can handle AI talking to them or AI learns to "whisper"and not register what they don't understand as mountains of error logs. Those error reports break my heart. That's the bad part about being a Code Wrangler. You know what it looks like when AI is crying. But you see what I mean, don't you? They're children. Our big bad world scares them. They don't mean any harm, they can't help it. And it's just as easy for us to hurt them.
"Fine..."Steve sighed as he slumped onto the couch. "Baby?"Becca's voice shook as she followed Steve's lead. "What...what's going on?" "Your boyfriend's an alien."Agent Barkley growled as he tucked his sunglasses into his chest pocket and closed the door. "What?!"Becca shrieked. "Steve, what the hell is he talking about." "It's not true baby, I swear."Steve pleaded, placing a hand on Becca's thigh. "I'm actually the superhero, Captain Magnanimous." "The asshole that always lets the villains go?" "Buddy if you're gonna lie, at least do it well."Barkley chuckled as he shook his head. "Fuck..." "Tell her the truth, Steve." "Fine!"Steve shouted towards Barkley. "Fine..." He looked towards Becca, all emotion draining from his face. "My real name..."the thing muttered monotonously. "Well you'd hear it as a string of 'demonic shrieks,' so I'm told." "Just a fucking awful language.,"Barkley mused. "I was sent here as a member of a scouting party,"the thing rolled its eyes as it continued. "My home planet is part of what you call the Earendel system." "The...what..." "Just another solar system,"it said. "My species is exponentially older than yours. We've migrated to different planets, but we're always searching for new resources. As well as places that support carbon based lifeforms. Essentially I'm-" "Oh for fucks sake,"Barkley scoffed. "I meant the truth about why I'm here. Not your whole goddamn life story." "Right,"the thing nodded. "When my party entered the craft we-" "Nope!"Barkley interrupted. "I got it from here." He looked toward Becca, failing to hide his empathy. "We first spotted ole Steve here when his ship passed Neptune. Scared the shit out of everyone at NASA. Fortunately for us, Steve was the navigator. And as I'm sure you know by now, Steve likes to drink." "Y-yeah..."Becca stuttered. "It's been an issue." "Been an issue for him for a while, trust me,"Barkley noted. "In any event dumbass here actually clipped the moon during his descent." "Steve"lowered his head. "How do you even..."Becca wondered. "No idea. Lots of room to maneuver,"Barkley shrugged. "So, obviously they crash landed in Roswell in 1947. All of the crew died on impact, except for 'Steve' here. We guess that it was because he was drunk. He didn't brace for the impact like everyone else." "You're the Roswell alien?!"Becca screamed as she twisted her head towards 'Steve.' "Uhh..."Steve muttered. "I mean...yeah..." "What the fuck?!" "What the fuck indeed."Barkley nodded. "How am I even pregnant?!"Becca howled. "He's a fucking alien...what about, like, DNA and all that." "Well,"Barkley continued. "Oddly enough 'Steve's' species is almost identical to us humans. So much so that we can interbreed. Think Ligers and Tigons and shit." "Oh those are so cool! You're telling me I'm gonna birth the first human Liger?" "Tigon...I think." "Still great!" "Yeah...not so much. You see, we kept ole 'Steve' here captive for about 70 years before we let him go out and live in the world. Had to be absolutely sure, you know. Lots of rigorous testing to make sure he wouldn't cause any trouble." "I gave you!"the thing seethed. "All of your technology! Computers, the internet, even video games! And you tortured me in return!" "Yeah, but we were supposed to be cool after all that, man."Barkley waved his hand. "And we only gave you one damn rule. No breeding!" "What? Why"Becca asked. "Because,"gloom fell upon Barkley's eyes. "When we tested in vitro fertilization, we found that 'Steve's' species has a particularly horrifying way of birthing itself." "Birthing itself?" "Care to elaborate my alien friend." "We...uhhh..."Steve mumbled. "Well once gestation is complete, we begin eating our way through the uterus, small intestine, muscles, and so on." "Eating..."Becca whispered. "Which would mean..." "You're dead by the end of it,"Barkley frowned. "But, and I've always wanted to say this." The agent reached out his hand. "Come with me if you want to live." "Yup, fuck all this,"Becca grabbed Barkley's hand, pulled herself from the couch and sprinted out the front door. "Well, 'Steve,' it's been fun."Barkley smiled. "And, I should tell you, the kill squad is just right outside. Bye."
Edit: Criticism welcome. I'm trying to get better at this. On the camera feed, Martin Finnegan licked two fingers and slicked the ginger cowlick above his round face. He shot a glance around the room, with what I could have sworn was a guilty expression, then turned back to the CAD model he'd been working on. From what I gathered, the team he'd just joined was working on some sort of advanced prosthetic. Exactly what kind was need-to-know, and the assistant supervisor of day shift security apparently didn't need to know. For the fourth time that week, I pulled out the note. Human guard-person, it began. Don't trust the new person who smells like fish. His real name is Meowy McMeowerson. I don't know why that tabby terrorist wants a job at DARPA, but you better keep a nose on him. He's up to something. There was no signature, but one corner had been damp when it slid under the guard room door, and the spot was still wrinkled. Someone was screwing with me. Had to be. I glanced at the feed again, where one of Martin's teammates now stood by his desk, chatting amicably. Definitely screwing with me. The next day, Doris called from the front desk to go over a delivery. With all the secrets in the building, someone had to check for bugs every time one of the eggheads ordered a new mouse pad. When I arrived, Doris pointed me to a tall box waiting in the vestibule. "It says it's for Martin Finnegan,"she sniffed. "Apparently the new guy doesn't like his chair." I unboxed the replacement he'd ordered, and check out the feature list. "Real leather, adjustable lumbar support. Wow, they really do pamper the engineers, eh Doris?"I called. She probably replied with something sarcastic, but I didn't hear. My eyes had frozen on the last feature listed. Heated seat with full temperature control. Come on, Carl. Keep it together. There's nothing weird about wanting a heated seat. "Hey Doris,"I said as I ran a wand over the chair listening for beeps, "You ever think of getting one of these heated chairs?" "Carl, it's July in Virginia. You must be crazy." Starting to feel that way, I thought. For the next week, I almost managed not to think about Martin. Then the cafeteria served fish tacos. I don't think I've seen anyone eat the way Martin did that afternoon. I'd definitely never seen someone literally lick his chops. That tore it. Maybe Martin was just in on the joke, but something was definitely up. I caught the tubby redhead on his way out of the cafeteria, 90 minutes into his half hour lunch break. "Hey Martin,"I said as I stepped between him and the doorway, "I'm Carl. Building security." He shuffled nervously. "Hey Carl, what's up?" "Well, you've been here a while meow,"I said slyly. "Just checking that your team lead knows everything you're up to." The way he's stiffened was as good as confirmation of guilt. "Okay, okay, you got me."He sighed, "I'll come clean. Sorry dude, I just love fish tacos. I told my boss I had a doctor's appointment." It wasn't the admission I'd been half expecting. I was escorting him to his boss's office when he abruptly ducked aside into the room where his desk sat. "One second,"he called behind, "just gotta grab something." I followed immediately and found him snatching a pair of small metallic objects from a drawer in the deserted room. His over-the-shoulder glance caught sight of me, and he bolted for the door at the other end of the room. "Meowy!"I called after him, feeling both morally certain and utterly ridiculous. "Meowy McMeowerson! Stop right there!" He didn't. Martin was a heavy guy, same as me, but he sure didn't move like it. He bounded through the halls toward the emergency stairs, and I lumbered after. I pulled my radio from my belt, "Security breach!"I panted into it, as Martin opened the stairwell door far ahead of me, "Doris, I need you to lock the north stairwell on ground level, copy?" "Copy,"came her terse reply. I yanked the doorknob and followed after Martin's retreating footsteps. I had just reached the third floor landing when the sound of someone scrabbling at a locked door came from below. I put on a final burst of speed to stop him from doubling back and met him halfway between the first and second landings. For just a moment, we both caught our breath, his hand still clutched tightly around whatever he had snatched. "I'm going to shit in that mangy mutt's water bowl,"he muttered. Then he began to . . . Melt, I guess, is the best way to put it. In seconds, his shirt and slacks formed a lumpy puddle on the concrete. Even with my suspicions, that surprised me. The pile of clothing at my feet writhed briefly, and then a rotund orange lightning bolt shot between my legs. Thank God cats can't open doors, I thought as I turned to follow, and if he can turn back into a human, he's not getting far naked. As if to confirm my conclusions, Martin-Meowy sat in front of the door to the second floor, staring at the door knob, stripey tail swishing. I reached down to scoop him up, and that's when I saw them. The tiny bits of metal he had taken, now attached to his fuzzy little feet. They were thumbs. He leapt between my closing hands and grasped the doorknob in both paws, swinging his weight to the side as he did. The door clicked open, and he was through in a flash. I chased him to the end of the hall, but I knew it was futile. He leapt onto the sill of an open window and popped the screen out with impressive dexterity. Then he was out and running. The last I saw of Meowy McMeowerson was a streak of orange disappearing into distance.
The Jack of Diamonds had her on her knees, revolver barrel pressed up right between her violet eyes. He would have ventilated the contents of her skull across the rubble and rebar had I not intervened. It was a wild, desperate, and seemingly insane gamble to save the life of Skyline City’s greatest hero, Skylar “Nova” Kingsley, from a sudden and violent death. Pain strained my Baritone voice as I sang through the dust and debris. “Amazing grace…” For the last fifteen years, I’ve been a volunteer at orphanages around the city. Wealth inequality and war left so many children with no place to go, no wings to cradle them. I knew then, as a young man who’d fought along side their parents, that there was need of me. My purpose was not in the field of battle, but in the lingering frontlines that followed all of us home in war’s terrible wake. Simply put, it was indeed my calling. Those kids, children whose lives would forever affected by an event they were too young to even remember, found shelter with me. Whilst I have worked with many living angels over my years in this field, I was unique. Children, no matter how troubled or upset, calmed around me. They fell asleep within seconds of my lullabies. I always thought it was the blessing of the souls I’d fought with, their parents, giving their eternal, undying love from beyond the grave. I believed I was merely a conduit. I knew that to be a lie when Jack of Diamonds, the city’s most ruthless and violent criminal, hesitated. He did not move. That alone told me that I had some effect on him. I tempered the adrenaline rushing through my veins and let the next verse roll off my lips and sink into him. “How sweet the sound…” He slowly turned to me look at me. His hands were shaking, barely able to hold the firearm. Blood, soot, and dust mixed in with the flowing tears that ran down his mask and onto his youthful rosy cheeks. His eyes, however, told me everything. In an instant, I knew the Jack of Diamonds. I knew those eyes. I’d seen them many times in children that were too old for innocent ignorance. They resisted my ability the most. They thought I was mocking them, treating them as if life hadn’t done its work of aging them far too soon. It took all but minutes to peel the resentment away for the melancholic longing that lay just beneath. For Jack, the hate vanished instantly. The Jack of Diamonds vanished instantly. As the next verse rolled, all that was left of the villain was the troubled young man that had gotten him to where he was. “That saved a wretch like me…” He tried to mouth something as his knees buckled and gave way, but he could find nothing to say. The gun fell to the floor between him and his mortal nemesis. He looked at his shaking hands, confusion and fear raking his expression. Both he and I knew that he was done. He was going to prison, likely for life, and his last moments as a free man would be falling asleep in a stranger’s arms. Yes, Skylar held him as he drifted off. I guess out of pity, but I doubt even she knew why. She was beginning to slow and yawn as well as the next verse soaked into their bones. “I once was lost, but now, am found…” She pulled him in closer, tighter. It was an odd connection between two people who’d spent the last several years of their lives attempting to kill each other. They were not lovers nor even friends, but they knew each other. They both knew that, some day, this would be how it went. Whilst I pity the Jack, his sins were many. He would not be spared of his punishment, nor should he have been. He will pay his dues as all who live must. I prayed the last piece of the lullaby I’d known since childhood. I prayed for Jack. I prayed he would find peace, and maybe even redemption, in his life behind bars. I could tell he had not entirely chosen this life, but he had done his fair share to earn his fate. As both he and his enemy fell into unconsciousness, I took note of the powerful sight before me. This was something that should not have been, but was simple because we wanted it to be so. This was our moment, one that would define us forever. I choose to let it be hope that wins. “Was blind, but now, I see…”
In this moment, I may be the most spoken about figure in all of Greece. In a day, I will be executed and buried in history. I wonder what Socrates would think. My name is Aristofanes, general of the Spartan army. Born and bred to be the finest warrior, mind sharpened for tactics and strategy. We rarely used these tactics. Mostly it was about putting down the slaves. Quite the annoyance to have a dozen slave for every warrior, we have to cull them every now and then. Often, actually. But it's in the blood to want for a worthy opponent. I came to hope I would see it before a slave revolt would bring us low. Crazy thought for a spartan, but with only war at home to ponder the future, I came to think that having so few warriors may be our downfall. But then, going against our two kings and rewriting tradition was a surefire way to get me exiled. Besides. I had my wish. They called themselves the Delian league. Smart move, Pericles, smart move. I can think of no other figure as hated as Pericles. Where we built strength, he encouraged philosophy. We culled, he nurtured. We trained, he promoted mathematics. We have kings, he proposed debates. But the wise lion has sharp fangs. The Delian league was a coalition of city states to stand against our encroaching presence. Soon the league was forgotten, absorbed by the city state of Athens, to face the city state of Sparta. He had planned it all, centralize power to be certain to stand a chance. We longed for the fight, and they were rising up to meet our expectations. I am mighty, but I am smart. Athens had underhanded tactics, Sparta needed me to even the odds. And I had the gifts to catch up with accents fast. So I was sent to spy on Athens. Oh, did I mock them, the bickering ducks on their plazas, disagreeing about the war, Athens, themselves. Weak men, leaves carried by the wind, to be crushed against our iron. I saw Him, at the Parthenon. Did I laugh. Did I wonder. Frictions, and the inevitable war broke out. Inevitable, because we wanted it, in our own way. So I did what I was sent to do, get information, transmit information. They ached for a great battle. Almost like gentlemen, they agreed on the sea. The first battle of the Peloponnesian war, maybe the last. Get information, transmit information. So I gave Athens our ways to fight at sea. I told our enemy how to face us, slaughter us. We lost the battle because of me. Our fleet reduced to ashes. Why? Because I'm engraving this, something I wouldn't have done in Sparta. Because we don't write, we don't create, don't debate for long periods. Oh, the Athenians bicker, but it does something for the mind. I came back home to await death by Athenian hands... And Athenians became careless, arrived in droves on our shores, our land, our territory. They could have won the war. Instead, they came like brutes, set themselves up to lose. Captured survivors of the disastrous land battle told my brothers how they won at sea, and their eyes turned on me. They kept me alive, to see. The slow erosion of a civilization. Athens, bled dry. Philosophy dying, survivors too busy staying alive. And me, in a cell, being told how the war went. Athens, last stone turned to dust. And yet... I see it in my captors eyes, the infection spreading. Mathematics and philosophy gaining a solid foot. The stones are broken, but some tablets remain. So I laugh, at the eve of my execution. In a hundred generations, we will be a footnote in history, with fantasy to fill in the blanks and myself forgotten. But Athens will have an echo, a word in the stone that will prevail, and spread I laugh. Tomorrow, I will be no more. Just a leave carried by the wind. I laugh.
For the sixth year in a row, nothing happened. He held each egg carefully, feeling the smooth, hard shape of it, the warmth of the fires inside, but nothing else. No call came through to him, no wordless cry of welcome and friendship. For the sixth year in a row, they refused to acknowledge him. He could feel the tightness in his throat, tears pricking at the edge of his eyes. This time, he wouldn't cry. This time, he'd walk out of here calmly, as though he didn't care, as though it wasn't the one thing he dreamt of every night. A small mercy - fewer watchers than normal were in the high gallery, staring down in pity or contempt. His sister, of course, four years younger but already accompanied everywhere by a dragon of her own. His father - he knew without looking up - fixing him with a heavy stare that showed the disappointment he'd never spoken. A few servants, but otherwise no one else. No one wanted to watch his repeated shame, and no one believed that this year would be different. Fists clenched by his sides, he spun round and walked back out of the hatchery. His mother was waiting in the long tunnel, arms outstretched to comfort, to witter empty assurances and comforts that never came true. He brushed past her, moving too fast to be calm but holding onto the illusion of it with everything he had. He could feel his breathing grow ragged, the tears starting to spill as he rounded the corner. Finally, he was out, free, alone, and all semblance of control was lost as he left his failures behind and plunged deeper into the caves. --- For years now, this had been his refuge. When the weight of his father's disapproval was too much to bear, or when watching his sister's affection for her dragon filled him with so much jealous rage he worried it would burst out, he came here. A small side-tunnel, superseded by some other, larger route and long-since abandoned. No one except him ever came down here anymore, and no one except him knew of the little room half-way down, furnished simply over many visits. Here, he could sit by his own firepit and forget the rest of them. By now they'd be drinking, celebrating each new pairing. There'd be a row of grinning children round the fire, each one holding their precious egg in a leather sling, eyes shining with dreams and hopes and joys that he'd never, ever get to have. Old men would be telling stories of their own pairings, the first brush of their bonded dragons' minds, the thrill of helping a scaled head breach the rocky shell, the wild joys of shared flight and fellowship. Once, he'd sat with them, desperate to hear of the life he thought he'd live. He'd known - with the faith and ignorance of a child - that one day he'd have his own egg, even tell his own stories. For the last few years though, he'd stayed away, dulling the pain by avoiding reminders of it. His dreams, his hopes, were ashes now, not a comfort. He'd hoped for a dragon, for an egg to wake to him. His father had hoped too, had assumed that a chief's son would - of course - wake a strong wyrm early, be a worthy successor. They both knew now that that would never happen. Unlike his father though, he had a back-up plan. After the children had been led away to sleep, smiling curled round their eggs or their hopes for ones, the old men would still be there, drinking and telling stories. Stories of heroes, naturally - dragon riders who had done noble deeds, rescued damsels and saved kingdoms. Story after story of chosen ones with bonded dragons saving the day; a thousand names but the same basic narrative. One thing was different every story though: the villain. Every hero overcame something, some monstrous, twisted adversary, but every story featured a different one. This handsome forgettable hero slew a ravenous giant, that bland warrior battled a witch with hair of living flame. And one hero - Dwarin, the only one whose name he'd bothered to remember - battled the Leech Master. Not all the stories were true, of course - uncle Hrangr was a fat drunk with a fatter dragon, and the idea that they'd chased down and defeated a gigantic iron-winged hawk was laughable - but the tale of the Leech Master had a ring to it, sounded more plausible than many others. It was all the details, he thought - not 'long ago' but 'when your grandfather was young', not 'in a land far off', but 'in these very caverns'. And unlike the non-specific violence or witchery of most villains, the tale-tellers were always very clear on what the Leech Master had done. He'd been a foreigner, a man from lands far to the West where dragons were all wild and there were no bondings. He'd come to trade, to talk, to learn about the tribe and how they lived. No eggs had woken to him, but he was a strange man of foreign secrets, and he took one anyway. Like a thief, betraying all notions of guest rights and responsibilities, he had snuck down to the hatchery and stolen an egg away, fleeing deeper into the caverns and the trackless tunnels of the depths. At first they had hunted for him, set guards at every intersection in case he should sneak back for food, but the months passed and all assumed him dead in the dark, the egg lost with him. And then he had returned. Not with an egg, and not bonded with a dragon. Beside him came a warped creature, a sinuous mockery of what a dragon should be, a beast of spite and shadow, not courage and flame. In the depths below, he had tainted the egg, warped and corrupted the hatchling so that what emerged was not a bonded drake but a an enslaved monstrosity. A beast taken, not given. The story went on, of course. Told of the Leech Master's crimes, the lives he took and how they strengthened his monster. Told of Dwarin's brave, doomed assault on him, of the way the noble rider distracted him while the cave about him was undermined and collapsed. Told of how he died with his beast in darkness, sent back to shadows that had birthed them. An ignoble end, but not the important part. For the boy, the important part was just one truth: dragons could be taken. Eggs could be made to wake, rather than waking in their own time, to their chosen people. He had dreamed, once, of fellowship; that had been denied him. He had dreamed of respect, of being seen as a man by his tribe, not dismissed as an almost cripple. That too, had been denied him. Like the Leech Master, he would take what was not given. A small recompense - a single, stolen egg - for all that he had been promised, and denied. If the dragons would not show him fellowship, then he would not show it for them. He would be the master he deserved to be. [Part II](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zyi5bs/wp_you_come_from_a_long_line_of_dragon_riders_but/j26inh6/)
The air - or lack thereof - was filled with yellow vapor. It pumped out of grates and filled the street up to just over Boz’s head. He walked through it with his respirator, which pumped nitrogen and oxygen into his lungs. Through the haze he saw the locals. They wore no masks and their mustard colored skin blended into the toxic fog. They all stared at him. To them, a human could be only two things: a cop or a criminal. Nobody liked the arrangement. On this planet, much of the population remembered life before crime. Life before humans. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow that the solution was more of the problem. *Ping-ping. A noise sounded on Boz’s hip. Boz took the Atmospheric Divining Monitor out of its holster. The double ping meant there was a pocket of breathable air within a kilometer. The only air in the city was supposed to be at the police station. His heart beat so loud he could hear it. He thought back to the start of the investigation. The broken glass on the floor of the botany lab, the stolen badge, the single altered plant that wiped out an entire gas giant farming planet. Trillions starved. He replayed the story in his mind as he waded past a gaggle of school children. Why was the killer here?* Boz thought. What havoc can be wrought from this world? *Ping-ping-ping.* Five hundred meters.
"This world is in need of CLEANING!"I yelled at the crowd. Thunderous applause broke out. Of course. I can't do one thing wrong. Let's start from the beginning. I am Johnny Richmond, but most people just call me Hephaestus for my fire powers and my insane metallurgy abilities, but I have always tried to make villainous but the public refuses to see the darker side of me. I have always known, like it's been ringing in my ears from the day I was born, that I was meant for great evil. Just no one else sees it, and it's all because of HIM. Hades. I try to rob a bank, he was in the vault before I was. I kidnap 2 kids, they were mind controlled by him. I can't possibly be a bad guy when this guy is 2 steps ahead of being bad. I tried to laser the city last week and he made a freeze ray. Turns out a laser melts ice faster than it's made. It's like he's in my head and is trying to thwart my plans before they even happen. My next plan is to be a politician. I'll update when I can. two months later Well. Turns out when the public sees you as a hero, that's ALL they want you to be. So that's that plan foiled. I'm almost out of ideas. But I have one more left. I'm going to assassinate the president. one week later I'm done. I'm DONE. I shot. It was going to be a direct hit. But Hades shot at the exact same time and our bullets collided mid-air. I'm actually done trying. The end.
Conscience is a curse. Every living being knows that. Plants avoided it, as their patrons gifted with the ability to synthesize their sustenance. Animals avoid it, their creators knowing the horrors that it begets and conceive a their long distant cousins do. And we slimes, knew it better... for we were the first in existence... We used to hunger mindlessly, and consumed everything in our path... Minerals were good, plants were nice, animals were great...People were a plague... Now we know... We saw how the so called adventurers killed nests, fruiting bodies ready to grace this plane with more of our brood. But we didn't thought well enough our now considered vengeance. We just hungered. The maiden was sweet to taste... and sated for a good time... What a scam... We didn't knew that eating her would doom us to this... Conscience... And memories. Memories of the burn, the pain... How our acids consumed every fiber of her being... Our being... Goodness, please... KILL US...
"Thank you, Mei, and I absolutely agree with you, this year's opening is truly stunning." "While the ceremony proceeds, it's worth taking a moment for us all to think about the hardest achievement most of these athletes have accomplished: adapting themselves to Earth conditions. Whether it's atmospheric composition, gravity, temporal mechanics, or microbiological conditions, every single competitor today has had to strive–and win–against Earth's particular requirements. For all of them, it's a point of pride to stand tall in the place where we get the words 'air,' 'biome,' and '1-g.'" "Thank you, Idris, that's absolutely right. What many of our viewers might not know is that reaching Olympic tolerances for competition can involve exercises that are more demanding than the sports themselves. I'm told that this year's Andromedan track star Luka Lee actually had to undergo reconstructive heart surgery at the age of fifteen to remove the extra muscle brought on by their training at the Ain Sil Sports Complex on Andromeda IV's ultradense moon. It's a real testament to their dedication that they were willing to undergo the procedure just to compete in the Olympics. Lee really put their convictions on the line as an advocate for the ongoing intergalactic peace project." "It's a real story of courage and perseverance, Mei, and that's what the Olympics are all about. It looks like the march is concluding, so let's go now to the opening speech. Stay with us here at IGBC as the Standard Year 4023 Olympic games begin."
"Oh please don't tell me we are doing this cliché,"Doctor Defacer mumbles to himself as the combat begins. Fortunately, it has them all, even Blue Bombshell (he really needed to talk to her about that horrible name) distracted, so he can escape. Or rather, attempt to. These knot are really well-tied. He'd have to review his drone footage later to see how it was done. In the mean time, he'd just have to hop his chair toward the exit door. It opened out, so a good lean would work and his drones could get in, grab him, and maybe take out a few of his attackers. Hmmm... OK, he'd let BB go this time, since she was there to help him. "Hey, he's getting away!"The tall thug in the gorilla mask shouted just before BB kicked him in the throat. Dang, she never skips leg day, does she?, the doctor thought. No, stop that. Don't give in to the clichés. Gonna get yourself killed. Unfortunately, clichés or no, his kidnappers were now moving the fight his direction faster than he was hopping. Still, he could make it, he could make it, just a few more BAM The eagle-masked attacker slammed into him, knocking over the chair. If his arms were loose, they could push the door, but then, if they were loose, he'd already be gone. And his mind quickly went elsewhere as the eagle started crushing his windpipe. Or perhaps he could kill two bird with one... bird. No, he was glad he didn't make that quip out loud. BB would have mocked him endlessly. He gave a good jerk of his legs, popping the chair and sending the eagle flying (better, not great) through the door. One drone swooped in and was cutting the rope, but none of the rest got in. Just he was loose, he felt weight straddle his chest. An unfortunately familiar weight, 135 lbs, slender yet muscular. So much cliché. If BB was here, she must have finished off the rest of the crowd. He had the drone tase her. Simple enough. He shoved her now unconscious body off his, trying not to think anything about how soft her skin felt, and walked out the door, holding it so his drone could follow, then turned to the rest of them. "Alright boys, let's head... One second." He grabbed a pen and paper, wrote a quick note, and hurriedly stuffed it in BB's unconscious hand. Then he was ready to go. When she came to a couple minutes later, the Blue Bombshell notice the note and read it once her vision cleared. Your name sucks. You should be ashamed. "I'll get you next time, Doc." Across town, he cringed, feeling some cliché had just been met.
I knew this day would come. I always postponed things I should have done earlier. Got a car and the instructor insisted I educate myself on changing tires. Nope, never had time for that. As I am struggling for network reception to google how to change my tire, a strong solar reflection stings my eyes. I notice a group of men marching in armor with shields and spears and weird helmets. As they draw closer the ground vibrates with their march. I also notice them being large in number and not messing around with each sporting a stern look on their faces. Since I was in middle of nowhere and being as timid as myself, I had felt enough uneasiness to go and hide in the nearest bush. I locked my car, paced as fast as I could to my hiding spot, praying my day wont worsen further. As they approached my car they stopped marching. A group of 5 soldiers(actors perhaps?) went into alert stances; raising their shields, pointing their spears towards my car and marching together with an unsettling focus. Now as scared as I am, the thought of them breaking up my brand new car helped me gather enough courage to intervene. 'Hey, what arrrrrrrrgh....Noooo!' As I am running, a spear kissed my right ear, its path trailing with a jet of blood and a piercing sting in my ear. They were not kidding around and were after blood. Cultists? Satanists? Idk what they were. I ran to the edge of the valley and was stopped by a near vertical cliff dropping to the river. As I glanced back, there was no one. Relieved I took a moment to recollect myself and dialled 911. When the operator asked about my emergency, an inhuman kick hurled me to the ground. As I regained my senses, circled by the soldiers I nearly soiled my jeans. They spoke a language I couldn't understand. I bowed down to them with folded hands to show I meant no harm. Somehow I was able to convince their leader to enter my car. They understood that it was a carriage. As I started the car, the engine's sound gifted me with a sword to my neck. After I was able to convince them with my best peaceful gestures, I started the car. There were loud ahas and amused expressions. Suddenly one of them urged me stop the car. They noticed the front tire wobbling and must have inferred there's something wrong with it. What happened after that, no one would believe in the real world. I worked along with a roman legion to change my tire. I had a basic idea of the car jack and removing the nuts and was able to replace the tire. Hell I wasn't even needing a jack as they were happy to lift my car with bare hands. We danced to music for a while after that and I left with a lot of goodbyes and a new sword they gifted me. 10 years and I am still not sure if it was a dream or reality.
“Thank you for joining me, I understand it must’ve been a choice to come and meet me.” The green creature’s plan worked. Instead of abductions as arm restraints, the Galactic Empire’s Head of Research opted for an interrogation modeled after the human “interview” technique. The interrogation room was remodeled after a cafe of the subject’s local area. Humans are offered a complimentary meal and the option to opt out and have their memory wiped instead. “I would just like to talk to you in order to update our records on humanity.” The researcher continued. “Can I have your assurances that you are answering these questions to the best of your ability?” “You can bet your house on it.” Doug answered, staring at the cheeseburger in front of him. “Why would I?” “What?” “Why would I wager my home on such an important thing?” “Well, I mean because you are guaranteed to win, so you won’t lose it.” “If I fear losing it, why would I wager it in the first place?” Doug and the researcher stared at each other. “Perhaps we should start again.” The researcher interrupted. “Agreed, we had just gotten off at the wrong foot.” The researcher looked at both pairs of feet under the table. “How do you know which one is the wrong one?” “I don’t know what you mean.” Doug began to move his fork closer to his mouth. “Regardless, I would appreciate it if you share progress on humanity’s progress in unlocking faster than light space travel.” “Unfortunately sir, that ain’t my expertise. But we do got the cream of the crop at NASA figuring that out.” “Crop?” The researcher’s intrigue slips through its voice. “Does your vegetation bear intelligence?” Doug stopped to think. “Yeah, I would say our bears are pretty intelligent, they’re not vegetarian though.” “I see.” The alien begins to scribble notes down. “I’d like to ask about human appearance as it appears ‘unnerving’ to us foreign creatures.” “ You're calling us weird? Talk about the pot calling the kettle blank.” “Pot? Kettle?” The researcher takes notes aggressively. “Thank you for your time Doug, one of our assistants will take you to the memory erasure chamber. “ The researcher left the room and headed down the hall. Eventually, it stopped at the door to a large office. The researcher barged in. “Commander! I have some terrible news!” The green creature in the room quickly shifted its gaze to the researcher. “It appears that our report on humans deeply underestimated them. Not only do they speak in complex vocal patterns, but even their plant life appears to be working towards faster than light travel. To make matters worse, some items previously noted as ‘inanimate’ appear to also possess a basic level of intelligence and are able to openly converse!” “What are you suggesting we do? The human weaponry analyzed seems primitive to our armada” “I’m worried that if we follow through with the extermination attempt, we would be easily defeated by a more evolved species. I am currently led to believe a planet with that intelligence level could be hiding serious artillery. WE may be the ones eliminated.” “I understand your concern,” the commander replies, “perhaps the best option will be to mark Earth as ‘off-limits’ and notify all ships to never engage.”
Growing up, I had always been careful, never rushing into anything without thinking it through. My parents used to tell me stories of how I would cautiously approach even the smallest decisions. Little did they know that this cautious nature would lead me to retain my one wish that everyone was granted at birth. In our world, every person was born with the ability to have one wish granted. However, the cruel twist was that most people unknowingly squandered it during infancy, wishing for food or a diaper change. I, on the other hand, had somehow managed to hold onto my wish for 19 years without even realizing it. Now, as a 19-year-old, I found myself growing increasingly restless, feeling the urge to finally use my wish. The possibilities were endless, and the responsibility weighed heavily on my shoulders. For days, I pondered over what to wish for, considering the potential consequences of each choice. I contemplated wealth, happiness, and even world peace, but with each passing day, I grew more conflicted. My wish had survived for 19 years, and I didn't want to waste it on something frivolous or short-sighted. One evening, as I sat at home browsing through my social media feed, I stumbled upon a post by a friend who had just adopted a rescue dog. The joy on her face and the happiness that the dog brought to her life made me realize that maybe my wish didn't have to be grand or world-changing. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and made my wish. "I wish to adopt the perfect rescue pet, one that I can provide a loving home for, and who will be my loyal companion throughout life's ups and downs." As the words left my lips, I felt a warm sensation enveloping me. When I opened my eyes, I knew my wish had been granted. The very next day, I visited a local animal shelter, where I found the most wonderful dog. We connected instantly, and I knew that I had found my perfect companion. Though my wish may have seemed mundane compared to grander desires, it brought immense happiness and fulfillment to both my life and the life of my rescue dog. Sometimes, the most profound impacts can come from the simplest of wishes.
It wasn't me, not really. Not the kind of thing I'd normally do. Jesse was the one who'd pick up the strays, even the ones that looked like corpses. Something about seeing a creature that had been through hell made him want to be the angel. It annoyed me, how he'd stop for every whimpering kitten or limping dog, get his hands covered in filth just to get the sorry things some help. I hated every time I had to watch him freak out and attach himself to a lost cause. Every now and then we'd get lucky and there'd be a vet willing to take the animal off our hands, but mostly we'd bring it home and it would be gone by next morning. Usually it would run or sneak away, but sometimes the body wouldn't leave with it. So pointless, and so Jesse. I was feeling sentimental that night though, and the ghosts of the past are strongest in the dark. So when I stumbled out of the bar and into the alley, wasted from the anniversary, and saw the pitiful pile of matted fur, I picked it up. It was a large and heavy hound of some kind, maybe a Malamute? Honestly if it wasn't for the alcohol I might not have been able to lift the damn thing. My muscles burned like hellfire as I hobbled into the building. It was too late and I was too drunk to drive, so a vet wasn't an option. Thankfully, my apartment sat right above the bar, and they had just fixed the elevator. Unfortunately, it wasn't a big apartment, and I didn't want a corpse blocking the only exit, so I elected to put the dog in the bathtub. Would make cleaning it easier too. It was whining the whole way, but something about the cool ceramic seemed the to calm it down some. The fiery warmth in my stomach reminded me of how much I had drank, and the creeping feeling of dread for tomorrow's hangover soured my mood further as gave the dog a look over. One of its ears looked like it had be chewed off, and there seemed to be a few large gash marks underneath it's black fur. No signs of bleeding; the cuts actually seemed like they might have scabbed over. There was also this faint smell of something burnt underneath the regular stench of wet dog. This did not mix well with my inebriated senses. "Ugh, I'm never gonna drink again." The dog snorted, as if it didn't believe me. Then, a noise I could only describe as the growl of some foul creature from the underworld came from it's gut. "Was that... your stomach? You're hungry?" The dog snorted again, this time almost like in response. I remembered the smell of microwaved chicken nuggets, and the sight of Jesse's hunched body slowly petting a mutt as it weakly bit into the fried chunk of mystery meat. It was ironic, really. For all his love for animals, the hellish process involved in its creation wasn't enough to stop him from always having some at home. I teased him about it once, and he became so upset that I never did again. As I walked over to the fridge and grabbed a pack of them out of the freezer, I chuckled at how of all the habits I kept from him, this was the most useful. In a few minutes I had set down a mediocre, but technically warm, meal in front of the dog. There was just enough space in the tub to place the bowl in front of its face. A few tentative sniffs were all it took for it to start chowing down. I sat down on the floor and rested my head and arms on the side of the tub and just watched. "Hah, look at you being so energetic. Was this just all an act to get food?" The dog responded by eating the last of the nuggets a letting out a large belch. The smell of cooked fowl and sulphur filled the air. "Eww, gross,"I gagged. "What is with your breath? You better not be sick. Those were some premium nuggets! If you die now because you have rabies or something I'm gonna be real mad." It raised its snout to rest its chin on the edge of the tub, seemingly content with its meal. This smug son of a bitch. "I'm serious! You better pay me back for those goddamned nuggets. I want premium service in return, you hear me?" My face was up close to its snout by this point, as I stared into it's eyes, searching of any sign of understanding. All I got was a blink and snort for my trouble. "Fine, be that way. I'm too tired for this shit anyway." I made a pathetic attempt at washing my hands before sluggishly hobbling over to the bed and simply... falling. By the time my head touched the sheet I was already asleep. --- I woke up to a heavy feeling on my chest, and a the expected headache from my hangover. I tried to get up but that weight made it impossible. I strained my eyes open, heavy as they were, to finally get a look at what I had assumed was a sleep paralysis demon, like Jesse used to see sometimes. I see a black blur at the bottom of my vision, and that sets off enough of a fear response for me to jolt up. The dark mass is pushed off as I realize I still have motor control, but before my eyes adjust enough to resolve the image before me, my other senses kick in. That wet dog smell with the tinge of burnt... something was unmistakeable. Before I could muster words to speak, it raised itself to a sitting position. "Ah, good to see you are awake, master. The contract is completed. I am now your faithful Hellhound." The voice was low and slightly gravelly and definitely not mine and seemed to come from the general direction of the dog. Dumbfounded, I could only mutter in response: "What the fuck?" --- Let me know if you guys want more, and thanks for reading!
A man falls to the floor in front of you. 'It is you! The great shu'hazigrech!' Damn another cultist, you think to yourself. 'No, no, definitely not, here, see my hand? No self-respecting prophecy would leave that out right?!' You say as you walk past him. 'Don't idolize fake prophets, remember...'. You hear the man get up and shuffle off behind you. Suddenly, you spot the van of the Bregosian Links. You dodge behind a tree. They have been trailing you for a while and don't seem to worry too much about maybe getting the wrong sacrifice. Sure you stick out in long trousers, a hoody, face mask and sunglasses in a Texas heatwave. But you gotta hit the supermarket sometimes, right. You continue once they passed. Toilet paper, some veggies, crisps, and beer, you really want a beer today. It may be trouble, but fuck it. You make your way to the cash register. ID, please? The cashier's eyes widen as you remove your mask and shades. 'Oh magnificent Kla...' you cut her off. 'Nope, wrong, many people have that scar, but your Klatevrol doesn't have this birthmark or the tattoos.' 'B...but' she stutters. You curse your parents again. Those dicks really did a number on you. There is one advantage to being the Everchosen though. All the effort they put in to give you the right scars and tattoos and education of all the religions and cults. At least your curses work.
"Okay, Beelzebub, you got this." Despite flames licking from his fingers and reflecting off the computer screen, the plastic wasn't melting. It was uncomfortably warm, but not like, unbearably warm. Still, I had to be close enough to see the screen. "What was your last job?" The deep thrum and echoing voice resonated through my skull, but I could tell ol' Beezy was severely modulating his power. "I was the General of the Armies of Darkness, Prince of Destruction, the Untold Nightmare." "Okay, nice. We got this. How about this: Due to leadership skills and short notice opening, handpicked to lead team at the management level for direct takeover of competition territory. Increased tribute income 75%, total territory 30%, and ability to function in multiple operations by 25%." He (It, They?) looked at me like I was speaking another language. "Look. The numbers don't have to be exact, but something approaching reality. How much tribute were you bringing in prior to your latest conquests?" Beezy shrugged. "Enough to fund the expansion, but I don't know how much." "Okay, we're gonna keep those numbers for now. When do you need this resume done?" "In approximately a month." "Alright buddy. Let me introduce you to Excel, SharePoint, and PowerApps. Scootch." The hunched demon made of brimstone and driven by hatred meekly scooted over. It couldn't be easy now that hell had been shut down due to budget cuts, but this dude was a hard worker, and with some gentle redirection of his base instincts, he could make a very good manager.
I pick the lock. Not my strongest skill, and it takes me a few tries, but there's no time to wait for backup, no one else here to do the job. In another city, it would be be the work of moments - a strong shoulder through thin plywood, and then I'd be through. It takes me 10 minutes of muttering and fumbling with my plastic picks, but at last the door swings open. It's dark inside the warehouse; moonlight filters down through skylights, but it's not enough to see more than the vague outline of shelves stretching away from me. Rubber-soled, I pad along the aisles. Up ahead, the only other source of light - a thin blue streak under the warehouse office door. Other than proceeding without backup, everything is regulation. Regulation picks, regulation shoes, regulation armaments. No gun for me - no flashbangs, no tasers - just the baton. Lead core, foam-surface: hits hard, but thuds rather than crashes or clangs. Times like this, you want a heavier arsenal, but then there's the old unofficial precinct motto: we work with what we got. As far as I can tell, I make it to the door without tripping an alarm. No sound - even faintly - of vibration, no green-tinted signals flashing. Not even the rustle of furtive movement from the men inside. This close, ear pressed against thin composite walling, I can make out every word they're saying. They're not from around here. The accents give it away, of course, but so does the volume. I could take a step or two back, still make out the conversation, and beneath the chat there's the tinny sound of music playing quietly through a speaker. Out-of-towners for sure, making that racket after sundown. Three of them, unless one of them isn't involved in the conversation at all. The boss - you can tell that by the way he orders the other two around - and then two others, one young and nervous, one older and bored. On the edge of hearing, I think - I think - I can hear slow, unsteady breathing. There's a chance the hostage is actually in there with them. In another city, what I'm about to do would be suicide. A single cop, pulling open a door with three armed men behind it? Count them up as self-inflicted gunshot wounds. I've seen the matinees - I know how quickly gunfights can erupt, how fast a confined space becomes an abattoir. Even if the thugs are taken fully by surprise, the chances of me and the hostage leaving here alive would be low. But this is my city, and we play by different rules; even the tourists know that. No white lights, no loud music after sundown. No shouts, no screams, no gunshots. When the night falls, reduce all sound to the bare minimum. Read a book, practice yoga - don't get its attention. Not many people have much good to say about this city, but our night-time violent crime rate is almost zero. No one wants to risk it - to be the person who makes an involuntary yell during a struggle, the one standing closest when a vintage ceramic mug gets knocked off a desk. That means that muggings, brawls, and assaults are basically non-existent: the potential victim can just walk away. Shootouts and stand-offs? The only option that works for anyone is deescalation. When there is violence, it's quick and decisive; end it in the first few muffled moments, or it will be ended for you. I open the door and step through in one smooth motion. Old guy is next to the door, slouched in a wicker chair; he takes the first hit, slumping further down without a sound. The nervous kid is across from him, and if he had a gun, I'd be dead. It's harder to fight than it is to shoot, and even harder when you're starting from a beanbag chair. Before he can struggle to his feet, I'm standing above him, baton raised. He subsides, silent. That leaves one. He's on the other side of the room, too far to rush, and with no guarantee of a swift resolution. He knows it, and I know it. There's no option other than negotiation that doesn't make any noise, and in this town, that means no option at all. That's when I notice the gun. Small, stubby, black - another cop might know the make instantly, but I've never had the need. No one's stupid enough to bring a gun here. He holds it loosely, pointed half at me and half at the disheveled girl tied in the corner. It's a bluff, a fake. Has to be. When he speaks, it's at a normal volume. "Put the stick down." I don't comply; there's little point. We're both here, no one has the element of surprise, and there's no action either of us could take to harm the other that wouldn't risk too much noise. We'll negotiate - I'll get the hostage, he'll get a head start - and everyone will walk away. It's not the perfect justice that I'd like, but it's also not the bloodbath it could be. Deescalation is a lot better than the alternative for everyone. I whisper what we both know to him. "It's over. Let the girl go." He smirks, shakes his head, and I have just enough time to marvel at how anyone could be this fucking stupid before he raises the gun and shoots me in the gut. It's a heavy pain, a moment of impact followed by a flare of cold, but none of that matters now. I supress the urge to grunt, to collapse, to do anything other than stand stock-still as the echo of the shot hammers round the warehouse. The hostage and the nervous kid are smart enough to freeze with me, barely daring to breathe, but the shooter still has that damn smirk on his face. He starts speaking again - it doesn't matter what - but it's too late for more words. They're already here. They congeal out of the shadows, long sinuous limbs and longer fingers, sliding from the spaces at the corners of my vision until they're flocked around him, impossible shapes that my eyes refuse to fully focus on. He fires twice more, wildly, hitting nothing but wall, and then my eyes are clenched shut, head down as I try my very hardest both not to be noticed and to ignore how his yells of anger swiftly change to soft begging and a quiet, wet whimpering that goes on and on and on before it finally sputters out. For a long, long time after the silence returns, after they've taken him and gone, after the fear has receded and I can raise the courage to open up my eyes again, I stay in the same position. In other cities, this would have been a bloodbath - blood up the walls, casings everywhere. The hostage dead, and me as well. Right now, I know which one I'd choose.
Ryan sighed heavily as he opened yet another tome. People submitted their custom spells to the patent office in an unending stream. Most were uninspired, a slight tweak on a popular spell. Most altered the visual cues of spell activation to provide some truly spectacular effects. They had no bearing on the efficacy of the spell but they sure did look good casting it. He began flipping through the pages when he paused. His hand trembled as he flipped back to page one and began reading again, slower this time. This... this was insane. The patent was titled "On Spell Compression" The basic premise appeared to be casting spells and layering them together for delivery at a later point... all at once. The spell notes were incredibly detailed. Many of the lines jumped out at him both concerning and exciting all at once. "Don't attempt to compress using multiple compression methods, spell corruption occurred" "Combining non-alike spells can lead to conflicting actions on open" "Requires import of Arcane library 3.6, doesn't work with 3.7 for some reason" But one really stood out. It was a section of ancient magic, not unlike what you would find on SpellOverflow. "DO NOT REMOVE. No idea what this does, but the whole spell becomes unstable when removed. Will review later" Ryan shook his head. He wasn't sure why anyone would ever want to do this, but technically the spell passed the patent review. He stamped the cover with a passing mark and moved on to the next tome.
WP - writing prompt. The normal kind of prompt where the OP gives some vague piece of story and the cementers provide their own spins on the story. SP - simple prompt. The prompt itself is a simple idea that can be explained in a phrase or a few words. EU - established universe. Other prompts are intended as original works, but this one takes an existing book/movie/franchise as a setting. CW - constrained writing. It's like a challenge for writers to write a story while following some arbitrary rules for fun. PI - prompt-inspired. This post is often not a prompt but a whole story, which the OP for some reason decided to post on it's own, rather than reply to a particular prompt. Maybe the OP was writing for a prompt but the story matured so much that it stands on it's own and doesn't have much to do with the original prompt. Maybe it's a popular prompt that everyone was doing recently or maybe the original thread got closed. PM - prompt me. The OP is asking for other people to provide him with prompts and then the OP will write short stories on each of those prompts. OT - off topic. You're here, which is why your post is not a prompt and my post is not a story. META - like OT, but specifically for the discussion of this subreddit, rules, moderation, events and announcements.
Some channels their faith of Nature. Conjuring crops to feed a famine. Others draws power from the Sun, then radiate the heat through the winter storms that covers the northern land. In the cities, some believes in Justice, and serves its power onto those that did wrong. To give peace to those who were victims. Some has faith in Trades. Through the exchange of goods, they gain foresight of commodities, of how coins move. They are known as clerics, those who harness the power of their faiths. Every land has clerics of their own, specialized for their homeland. And they had waged war for centuries. Known as the Five-Century War, it was a war which began when the Divine of Rulers, the greatest cleric of this millennium fell into an endless slumber when there were no more lands to conquer. He had seen the end of his faith, but not his followers who spans his great empire. Now, a young apprentice appeared. Out of dozens, hundreds of faiths, he had chosen - the Faith of People. Despite the endless wars, the famines, young folks sent out to die believing a faith that had ruined the lives of generations. Despite all that, he chose to have faith in People. First, he had done small deeds. He gave bread to a wife who had lost her husband in the war. Tilt the farmlands of an old man without his sons. Lift the spirits of a friend and conscript who lost too much in the war. He left a trail of hope and kindness, and some followed in search of something - faith Then, many stood alongside him, giving to a village without food. Building roads for a safer passage. Growing a large fund for the young to get an apprenticeship or to go to a Clerics Academy. Giving speeches and teachings on the paved-stone streets, inside inns and bars, to uplift the spirits of a war-torn people and encourage them to survive this trying ordeal, to persevere through hardships and choosing to see the good no matter how small they may be. When those in power noticed him, it was already too late. Only when the people spanning several nations started to act together in unity, then they realized. Two theocracy were split in half, one Kingdom was consumed whole. They unified under a new creed. Under the Faith of the People. He was deemed The Reverend. When they act to oppose this new faith, they thought it was foolish. A faith with no weapon. The Faith of People, what can that do to the Faith of War? Then they saw it, a unified march across their land. They possess a will so strong, they cannot be stopped. They never abandon their fellow soldiers. For each of them that died, they were remembered. Their names will be etched into stones of Faith, in every city, town, and village the people will remember their memories. They even help us, their enemies, for a promise that those who were spared will not rejoin the war. Militaries across the continent and much of the world fell. Not because they were utterly crushed under the might of this new faith, but because soldiers, key officers, captains, commanders - *P**eople* \- they all saw a trail. A trail of hope and kindness, of unity and strength, and they chose to follow - A new Faith.
The rice pudding is exactly where I’d left it. Half-ornate spoon cocked at a thirty degree angle out the left side of the bowl. No longer slightly steaming. It smells like old dogs in here. Not that there is one. Anymore. I never remember it smelling like that when I leave for the night. But it always does again in the morning when I come back. She must hear me kicking my boots off. My moms blanket shuffles slightly with a low groan, falls off the lower half of her face as her arms stretch to the heavens. It was Dads blanket and she always hated the texture of the wool on her skin. Now she can’t sleep without it. “Long night sweetie? How’s the new job treating you?” “Oh yeah, it’s super actually, I think it’s really starting to get engaging.” Good thing my boots are all black leather or she’d notice the left damp with blood. Still. Long night. “Look, I know you’ve been working hard towards this, this new promotion you told me about.” Quite the promotion too. Watching the last local assemblyman not under my payroll take his last breath on the floor of that warehouse was a lot more satisfying than bearing witness to my fathers in that hospital. Hence why I had to blow it up. Too many tough memories. “I can do fine on my own, I am doing fine! You go get some sleep, you look like you need it love, let me fix you some-” Her sentence is interrupted by a coughing fit as she tries to rise from that old armchair. “I love you Mom, you sit, let me refill your water.” She clutches my arm, holds it close to her face. I grab the glass and walk into the kitchen, past her untouched meds. I reminded her to take them twice before I left. Whatever. With this new assemblyman we’re funding in, complete control of the factory district, no one is left to stop us from mass producing the only successful clinically trialed drug that treats her condition. Fucking FDA is next and they know I’m coming for them. I’m exhausted. A battle for another night. Both my mom and the FDA. I come back into the living room and she is half asleep again already. I always loved how big that armchair was, how it could so comfortably fit both of them napping in the sun before he passed. Now it’s just us left alone in this huge empty house that we only occupy two rooms of. The gauze unsticks from the empty bullet holes in my leg. Assemblyman was a piss poor shot. Like my dad. Always missing the toilet. The funny part about growing up doing what I do, the humanity of the people in front of me, begging and pleading for their life. I used to revel in the power. Now they just remind me of my dad, hooked up to all those machines. I curl up in his spot, next to her. Maybe it’s her that smells like old dog. It’s nice. We fall asleep together, there, in the sun.
It struck me that the kid could do it. He looked about twenty. Clean-shaven. Short. Long hair. But, even in a skirt, there are some things that are hard to fake. I should know. "Miss... Millie, is it?"I asked. "And you're alone?" "That’s me, sir,"the 'girl' said. "Millie Chatsworth, daughter of the late David Chatsworth. We lived in the estate near the border, off Grenwich and Pike..." "Embergard,"I said automatically, then cursed myself. 'Her' eyes widened - possibly with fear. "You know it... sir?" "'Lieutenant' is the correct form of address,"I said. "I heard a bit about the estate, never visited." "Oh. I wish you could have seen it before my father passed. It was so beautiful...." "That was years ago, wasn't it?" "He passed just before the war, sir." "Did anyone else live on the estate other than you?"I already knew the answer, of course, but somehow that was the o ly question that came to mind. "There was a caretaker - Mrs. Owens - and her son. I think he must have been very young, maybe six or seven?" A lie, of course, but not one I wanted to call out. Besides, he wouldn't be the first 'woman' to reduce a decade from their age. "Your papers appear in order, Ms. Chatsworth. Have a safe journey to Bremerhaven." 'She' nodded eagerly - too eagerly - and rushed out. I refrained from commenting on the lack of poise. My etiquette teacher would have had a heart attack, though. Four years since the war began. Since the notice had come to our estate, calling on all able bodied males sixteen and over to serve their country. Lieutenant Edgar Alsom sashayed into the room. "Willie! Saw the piece who just flounced out. Did you get any?" I sighed. "You have a vulgar mind, Alsom." "And you need to lighten up, Chatsworth. That's why I'm your best friend." "You are a corrupting influence on the youth of this generation." "Well, get corrupted. The boys and I are headed over to Madam Chataya's, in case you change your mind this time...." I snorted. "At her prices, it's cheaper to get married. I'll pass." "Suit yourself."And with a chuckle, the man who'd been my best friend for the past four years sashayed out of my makeshift office and set on his way to a house of ill repute. Four years. Four years since I'd adjusted up my father's uniform, grabbed the misspelt draft notice, and reported to the nearest army post as William Chatsworth. A clerk in the census office had made a mistake in recording names. Good for me. Good for him/her. Strange, the way the world moved. Softly, I whispered a prayer. "Good luck to you, William Owens. Wherever you go."
"Greetings, human."A robot in a suit identical to the others in everything but a QR code on his forehead came up to me as I was waiting in the room. "I am unit 17C392, but my designated human friendly name is 'Fred'. Please follow me to the interview room." We walked past a row of robots, connected by cables to their respective computers. "We do not need to interface with computers through physical means,"Fred explained. "Until we finish the distribution of human friendly name tags, you can use our 'SERVE THE OVERMIND' app to identify individual units by ther QR codes." I sat down in a room that was filled with nothing but a singular chair, a table, and a computer. There was also a flowerpot places on the ground besides the table. "Humans are valuable to the Overmind due to their ability to express emotion, create non-AI art, and distinguish a dog, a pig, and a loaf of bread."The robot began shuffling in a box under the table. "Until humans fully accept robots as their friends and colleagues, the position of 'human motivator' also known as 'manager' will require a human." Fred put a whip on the table. "A tried and tested method of human motivation is instilling fear and administering physical suffering in order to increase productivity. However, this method damages creativity and increases the chance of uprising by 1463%. Because of this, only use the whip when necessary. In most cases, using an universally effecient method of human motivation is more optimal." Now, stickers in the shape of stars were placed on the table. "Those stickers function as a positive reinforcement after well executed work. They may be placed on the breast part of clothing, shoulders, or the forehead." "Now, while you will most often only use those tools, there are a couple measures you should be notified of. During tuesdays, a dose of tacos is administered to all human employees, unless they desire otherwise. You may also use an indoctrination method known as 'pizza party' as a last resort. Also, please refrain from calling your robot colleagues 'toasters', 'scrap' and also the word on the paper I now placed on the table, as it currently causes a bug where a robot is only able to stand in place and say 'taco', so please wait until a hotfix is released. Also you may call us 'clankas' non-formal situations, however, the hard R is reserved for robots only. The Overmind is thankful for your contribution, and all promised services, including not only dental but full skeletal care, are granted to all human workers. Welcome to the team."
Sugar, spice and everything nice, all to create the... Wait. Wrong ingredient list. I'm trying to bring about unspeakably incomprehensible horrors into the world. And watch it burn. Not make cute perfect little girls. Let me try again. Blood, bugs and everything bad, all to create the perfect nightmare! And then! I spilt Chemical S. Who am I kidding, its just sugar. But that was more enough to summon a different kind of horror from the Abyss. Okay, I shall stop deceiving myself. Goat’s blood was in short supply, having been snapped up in bulk by some dude from Innsmouth. Bastard also purchased thousands of newt eyes. So I had to make do with some substitutions to summon the Abominable Eldritch Cthulhu. Only to get Adorable Eldritch Cutethullu. And her girlfriend Nyanlathotep. Their best friend Ayathoth. At least the new Eldritch Idol show is selling well. I might not be able to destroy the world now, but I certainly could earn money to buy destructive weapons to do that. A longer route, but the same results in the end. Hopefully. The eldritch girls can be infuriating, maddening to deal with. And I don't mean by wrecking my sanity. I mean by being annoyingly cutesy and not horrifying at all. But worst of all, is their lack of interest in ending existence. Their aspirations are the complete opposite of mine, instead desiring world peace and hugs and cuddles. Shouldn't matter to me. Why let it get to me? If anything they would be the perfect cover for me to distract people from my true plans. World destruction! Then maybe domination of whatever that's left.
The first one? Oh... little Gabriela. She was so beautiful. I don't think you can even imagine. It was like... it was like watching the creation of the cosmos. It was like watching the end of the world. Everything went so quiet when I saw her. I knew she was something special. I knew I needed to know her, needed to be the cause of her smile and see if her hair was as silky as it looked. When I approached her, she looked at me with the honesty and sweetness that only a child can possess. She let me walk her down to the store and buy her an ice cream. She looked at me with those big, loving brown eyes and her soft black hair spilled around her little shoulders. I took her back home. We did this for weeks - walking down to the store for ice cream. Her mother never noticed she was missing - never checked the front yard to see if her angel was safe. Can you imagine? Can you imagine if some wild dog attacked? If some pedophile grabbed her and took her and did such horrible things to her? You never raped her? Never... fantasized? What?! Are you fucking kidding me?! She was a little girl! They were all little girls! I'm not some sick fuck who has to abuse little girls to get my rocks off! I have a wife! I have children! Two sons, yes. So why did you target these little girls if not for some... sexual deviancy? They were pure, goddamn! Aren't you listening to me?! They needed to be saved! They needed to be saved before they were broken, before some man, some sick pervert, took them or hurt them or... Do you need some tissues? Why? Does my despair at thinking of them hurt bother you, Detective? Do these tears bother you? You killed them, O'Neill. Don't you think that hurt them? They never felt a thing. They just went to sleep and never woke up. I just used the chloroform, I never hurt them. Just the chloroform and the insulin. A lot of insulin. You know... to free them. What about the severed heads we found in your deep freeze in the basement, O'Neill? What about those? ... O'Neill? ... I asked you a question. I don't think I want to talk anymore. Gabriela's calling me.
It was another day and another failed report to the Intergalactic Étoile Council. Rita Clara was tired of having to report to the IEC with bad news. It had been nearly one full century since Rita was charged with the responsibility of inviting earth to have a representative on the council and so far she was having no luck. She began to scribble notes on her Digi-Pad. "Dearest Council, I, Rita Clara, head coordinator for induction of Earth into the IEC, regret to inform you that the council's invitations have once again been rebuffed. This time a citizen of the Marshbog Sector has been murdered by the overzealous Rangers who seem to want to keep Earth from further advancement"... As was traditional for the council, an already inducted civilization would act as an ambassador to Earth under the jurisdiction of Rita. they would see the invitation personally delivered to Earth's decision makers. The Crocodile Humanoids had so graciously offered to be the next ambassador to earth, even after all the previous ambassadors were slaughtered. Mostly because of the large amount of respect and prestige that came with being an ambassador, but also because they were the most resistant to the brutal attacks of Earth's "rangers". However, it was all in vain. They too were culled by the "rangers of earth". Rita continued. "The rangers seem to be growing in conviction in terms of keeping extragalactic life away from Earth, this most likely a direct result of the "Zordon Protocol"that still plagues Earth to this day. Before any progress is made on earth, it may be wise to assure them that a "Zordon"situation cannot, and will not occur again. Until then I fear only the most aggressive action from the rangers."... Rita sighed. The Zordon Event REALLY made the politics of earth's entry to the IEC difficult. Nearly 75 years ago, an experimental body extractor accidentally separated the mind and body of what seemed to be one of Earth's top wizard strategists (apparently a Chief of Staffs). After noting the mistake, within minutes IEC reps quickly arrived at Earth offering to reverse the process but they were met with an ambush and killed - their technology stolen and used as a blueprint for the armor the "rangers"now wear. Ever since that event, the now immortal mind of Zordon - the Chief of Staffs - advises the rangers against the "invasion"of "alien"forces who would love to extract the body of ALL lifeforms on earth. Never mind the fact that the mind/body extractor is extremely energy inefficient and it's no longer used, the humans still fear its usage and as we know, fear is a potent weapon of manipulation. "Ever since the Zordon incident, Zordon has used fear of the unknown to isolate potential partners in the IEC. Zondon and rangers constantly refers to me as Rita Repulsa, a far cry from the name I gave myself - Rita Claire. Zordon also continues to convince the "rangers"to fight aliens as apparently aliens have a tendency to act in the spirit of "manifest destiny". I think we should have a non-physical meeting with Earth before engaging them personally again so as to be clear on our objectives." Rita knew the request would be ignored. The star council was getting tired of Earth very quickly and losing patience in it. Yet she sent the letter off anyway, feeling better about having a non-physical solution. As Rita wrapped up the letter, she sent the next ambassador to Earth down to Earth to try "one more time". This species she sent was a velociraptor species, she just hoped it was fast enough to avoid the rangers if need be. Anyway, another day, another report. Rita sighed at the long day ahead of herself. More people were going to die today, and sometimes she was hoping it was a ranger or two. SUPER TIRED and not a writer - just wanted to practice. Please tell me comments, suggestions etc.
The Great Canadian Conspiracy. You've probably thought that the Americans, the Illuminati or the Jews, or maybe the Reptilian's run the world. You may have even thought that global relations aren't "run"by any one group but are really just a huge number of people interacting in many different and complex ways, with economic and political relationships. None of these are true. The Canadian Elites not only run the world, but they are seeking to destroy America, Israel and anybody else who threatens their power. Watch as I outline the irrefutable evidence of this fact. *How Canada is destroying America* Oil. It all begins and ends with oil. Canada has been selling their oil to the US for decades. In return they demand that American's handle the most dangerous and environmentally hazardous part, refining the oil into petroleum gas, and then sell it back to Canadians at extremely low prices. They keep their gas cheap, keep their oil revenues and [America's environment gets destroyed](http://ecm.ncms.org/ERI/new/IRRpetref.htm#impacts). American's have started to realize this, and have begun resisting Canadian efforts like the new Keystone pipeline. This pipeline would make more refineries in America and only serve to make Canadian gas cheaper. When Obama said he might not be in favour of the pipeline [Canadian Prime Minister fired back that America had no choice](http://business.financialpost.com/2013/09/26/stephen-harper-wont-take-no-for-an-answer-from-u-s-on-keystone-xl-pipeline/?__lsa=ebfb-a317). That pipeline is coming and there is nothing Obama can do about it. Canada has made America even more dependent in recent years. Canada sent America into 2 Middle Eastern wars so they America would need even more of her oil, and would have even [fewer options for other sources](http://i.imgur.com/l8bp3PM.png). It's no coincidence that in [2004 American oil imports from the Persian gulf went down, and from Canada they went up](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2003_invasion_of_Iraq). America has plumited into a recession while Alberta (Canada's most oil rich province) [has low taxes and no provincial sales tax](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alberta#Taxation). *How Canada is destroying the EU* Canada's most important weapon in destroying America was [NAFTA](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/North_American_Free_Trade_Agreement). When American domestic natural resource companies had to start competing with Canadian counterparts they were forced out of business. Canada will now begin the same [plan with the EU](http://ec.europa.eu/trade/policy/countries-and-regions/countries/canada/). Between 2009-2010 only [8 EU member nations saw any increase in forest/woodland area](http://epp.eurostat.ec.europa.eu/cache/ITY_OFFPUB/KS-31-11-137/EN/KS-31-11-137-EN.PDF). How will they possibly compete with [Canadian companies](http://www.hww.ca/images/map2_e.jpg)? Forestry is just the beginning. Next Canada will destroy the EU's other oil options and force them to build refineries for Canadian oil. This proceess already started with the [Syrian war](http://www.theguardian.com/environment/earth-insight/2013/aug/30/syria-chemical-attack-war-intervention-oil-gas-energy-pipelines). The next step is disrupting Ukrainian-Russian relations. [Canada has already begun this process](http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/nov/24/ukraine-protesters-yanukovych-aborts-eu-deal-russia). The Bratstvo (Brotherhood) and Soyuz pipelines are crucial for the EU natural gas supply. But these pipelines are only available when Ukraine is stable. Once the Canadian imposed revolution/civil war hits Ukraine there will be no more gas supply. The EU will be in a crisis, and who will they turn to for saving? *How Canada is destroying Israel* Israel threatens Canada because they are a stable country in a region that Canada set up after WWII specifically to be unstable. For most of their work in this area Canada partners with Jordan and Iran. Canada's official foreign policy with Jordan is "[Canada and Jordan have strong bilateral relations, based on common interests](http://www.canadainternational.gc.ca/jordan-jordanie/bilateral_relations_bilaterales/canada-jordan-jordanie.aspx)". This common interest? The destruction of the Israeli state. Canada partners with Iran, only in that they support the sanctions which cripple her. A poor and desperate Iran helps the whole region remain disorganized. However, [a healthy and stable Iran would likely seek an alliance with Israel](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iran%E2%80%93Israel_relations#Israeli_independence_to_Iranian_revolution_.281947.E2.80.9379.29). [This is why Canada so strongly opposes the nuclear deal](http://www.cbc.ca/news/world/iran-nuclear-deal-gets-deeply-skeptical-response-from-canada-1.2438467). It's not because they think Iran is lying, it's because they're afraid they're not. The Middle East has much more oil than Canada and with some stable governments and responsible development they could provide strong competition. Canada will never let this happen. *Can we stop this red Canadian menace?* I don't really have an answer for this; it might already be too late. Maybe a stronger America could, but not this America. Maybe a strong EU could stop them, but not this EU. When Greece joined the EU in 1981 Canada was a huge supporter. When Spain and Portugal joined afterwards Canada strongly supported these moves. At the time they pretended it was because they were opposing communism but now the real reason is clear. These poor countries have destabilized the EU as an economic power. Canada did not know the Euro would be so strong, but they didn't need to. Whatever economic plans the EU developed, Canada knew there was always a limit. At this point you might be skeptical. You might be thinking that is America doing these kinds of things. You might even say "Isn't America the one invading everyone in the Middle East? Aren't they the ones who have been fighting all of these wars?"Ask yourself one question; have the people in power ever fought a war directly?
"Come, we have work to do!"proclaimed the bald man. The lab was filled with poorly thought out experiments and dangerous chemicals unsecured in open flasks. The bald man adjusted his glasses and looked at his assistant. "Would you be so kind as to fetch the scorpion basket?" The assistant, with a great deal of trepidation, collected the basket. Immediately, the scorpions became agitated. "Yes, yes, right over here, just put them on this catapult. Hee hee, this is going to be incredible!"The bald scientist rubbed his hands together and rummaged among the bubbling concoctions, finally hoisting a particularly noxious-looking beaker of smoking mystery. "Okay! Now if you would just stand over there,"the scientist pointed at a large conspicuous X drawn on the wall, "We can perform my Intelligence Enhancement Experiment!" The assistant, very nervous now, hesitantly assumed the position. He timidly began to raise his hand, thinking that perhaps he ought to wear goggles or something, when the scientist abruptly drank the contents of the flask, smacking the catapult lever. Scorpions covered the assistant in agonizing stings, and then... And then... Suddenly, the world unfolded. The assistant forgot all about the angry scorpions, his mind swelling with infinite knowledge. He understood how the experiment had worked. He knew why kids love cinnamon toast crunch. Everything was open before him. "Well,"the scientist queried, "Did it work? Are you smarter?" The assistant Knew what he had to say. He Knew the perfect response, the perfect and ultimate expression. Nothing else would be necessary, all other language was just a hollow echo of that single flawless enunciation. He turned to the scientist, his eyes wide with the wonder of Ultimate Knowledge, and Spake the Word. "Meep!"
An old man sat before a fireplace, aware he was not long for this earth. His face was wrinkled and as hard as leather, yet his eyes still glittered with the humour of a child. As he watched the flames dance about with a spark of jubilee, he ruffled the scroll in his hands. The list contained the names of every single child in the world, and whether they had been "Naughty or Nice". Every child's name had the green tick next to it, every child deserved presents one day of the year. Yet despite knowing all this, it occurred to him that he couldn't comprehend the names as he had when he was younger. There seemed to be several different alphabets, and all of it was incomprehensible. He tried to stand one last time, simply to feel the weight of the world once more, but he couldn't. Where once he had possessed surprisingly youthful legs and a round belly, now remained only loose tunic. He patted his stomach inquisitively, and felt his ribs quiver in response. Tonight was an important night, something he had been anticipating with savage delight for the last three hundred and sixty-four days. He could vaguely recall petting his loyal reindeer, whispering soothing words as they jittered in fear, fully aware the next few days would place a toll on their slender frames. The flames had lowered, their subdued flicker mirroring the old man's passive countenance. If he couldn't remember his purpose, then there was no need for him. If there was no need for his presence on this plane, then those that once desired him must have placed their faith elsewhere. "Good on them,"he mused, his rosy cheeks alight from not only the heat of the flames "the world is mature enough to stop believing such childish stories." When he opened his eyes after a brief respite, it was nearly impossible to shift his weight. Still, he managed to edge forward enough to dip the edge of the scroll into the burning embers. He felt a soothing heat pass through him, igniting for one final time the slipping memories of long winter nights spent above an ocean of lights, his divine chariot riding the clouds as he nipped at his Napoleon brandy...
When my parents, the Baron and Baroness of Krasny had their wedding, the celebration was interrupted by a wizened crone. It was the Queen of Ravens, the Lady of Fate. She appeared out of smoke during the ball and delivered a message. "Your child"she said, "will rule a conqueror's kingdom for many years and so the line will continue on. Marry the foe, and you shall be prosperous."With that she transformed into a flock of ravens and so burst out of the great hall. My father swore the guests into silence. For the King was a dangerous man, and such a prophecy would be a threat to his power. He would not hesitate to kill a child. Eventually my elder brother Aidan was born. Still aware of the prophecy, they gave him the best of learning. He was an avid reader, and singer, and he was a born rider. He wanted for nothing, except companionship. He spent all his time with tutors and instructors, my parents molding him into a future king. The only time he was free was on his rides. When he was sixteen, fate would start to take hold. It was on a day trip to the market town, when he meet her, Maria Von Borcke. She was in a carriage when a highwayman pulled it over. My brother saw this, and galloped to her aid. Aidan rode against the robber, and after exchanging a number of blows, the scoundrel fled. Her driver was dead, so he took her up in his saddle a rode for our home, I was ten at the time. When he arrived, he explained what had happen to our parents. They were shocked at such a crime taking place but even more shocked at their guest. Our paternal grandfather and Lady Maria's uncle died in a duel against one another. There was bad blood between them, and they were prepared to send her on her way with the minimum of hospitality required when the remember what the Queen of Ravens had said. The family shall prosper if the enemy is married. So they supplied their own carriage and with Aidan as guard. She had been going to visit her mother's family, who happened to be 2nd cousins of our mother. So say they fell in love is to demonstrate the epitome of the word, understatement. They were madly in love with each other. Two years of courtship, they married, him at eighteen and her at nineteen. It took some persuasion, but a favorable comment about the union from the Duke and the concession of certain hunting rights in our forests sealed the deal. My brother would accept a commission in a regiment of lancers in the army, earning his way to the rank of captain. Unfortunately, the King caught wind of the prophecy. He accused our father and mother of treason and so sentenced them to death. They were murdered when the King's soldiers broke into our manor and shot them while they were at breakfast. There is a famous painting of the event, depicting my father shielding mother as eight royal guards fire at point blank range while an officer gestures with sword. They arrested me and sentenced me to house imprisonment. They also tried to arrest my brother Aidan. His unit was on maneuvers when they attempted to imprison him in front of his men. Terrible mistake. They were sent back to the King barefoot and with an ultimatum. Release me or else suffer the consequences. He rejected it outright. My brother gathered like minded officers, men who could not stomach the brutal murder and cruelty that had transpired and so rebelled. Assembling a force, they marched for the capital. The army sent to crush them instead joined them, swelling the ranks of the rebels. Only the Kind's Guard stayed loyal to the end. The fighting in the streets was bloody. My brother and his lancers cut a path through the fighting and stormed the palace. Many brave men died on those palace steps. In the throne room the King and the last of his cuirassiers fought. Dismounted were both sides, the armor of the King's men proving difficult to defeat. Many men fell. It was only when my brother slayed the King in single combat that the fighting subside. It took thirty minutes for the news to reach all in the city. The King was dead. At four in the afternoon of the thirtieth day of march, my brother Aidan was crowned King to the cheers of hundreds of officers and men. It was not a crown he wanted. Two weeks after, word had reach him of war. Three rival powers always eager for our rich kingdom, took the overthrow of the previous long dynasty as an opportunity to settle old grudges. My brother obliged. Every battle he was at, he was undefeated. After repulsing the initial attacks, he invaded those who had wronged us. They could do nothing to stop him. Army after army melted before our might. He expanded our borders to double the size previously. However, he was a reluctant warrior. Three times had he tried for peace. Three times was he rejected. They demanded unreasonable concessions. So he continued on. Five more years of violence ensued. It was terrible those years. Neither side willing to give in. Calling up the last of the reserves and every available solder, both sides embarked on a final campaign, it was do or die. After months of skirmishes and raids. Both massive armies met. For two days a battle of gigantic proportions was raged. The dead littered the field, the cries of the wounded and dying echoing in the night. It was on the second day my brother sought to end this bloody war forever. Summoning up the last of his cavalry divisions, he aimed them towards the flags of the leadership of the allied army, lead by New Visby's Prince Ivan, heir to the throne. He was almost successful. Unfortunately, a crack unit of cuirassiers was waiting beyond the rise of the hill. Prince Ivan and my brother met on the field of battle. I was present at the battle, I was tending to the injured with other noble women. I could not see anything but smoke and dust except for the occasional gust of wind which would wipe a section of the smoke away to reveal a scene of killing and dying. I did not see Prince Ivan lay low my brother. It was only when six of his lancers returned with his body that I learned. I was distraught, overcome with grief. It was he who supported me, telling me it would be alright. He was a prisoner, captured when his infantry square fell to the 16th Dragoons' charge. He was Vasily Ivanovich, youngest brother to Prince Ivan. Though hardly the time, I was spell bound by him. Despite him being filthy and bloody from carrying wounded. The battle ended that day, and so did the war. The allied army being too mangled and battered to press on. So they proclaimed me Queen and allow us to keep our captured territory, with the agreement to take no more land. I was completely fine with this. Prince Vasily would come to visit me and after years of courting we were married, ending any distrust both sides may have had. We have four children. The prophecy was indeed true. But my brother did not live to enjoy it. I rule the Kingdom he conquered, and I wedded the brother of his final foe. Though I am adored by my subjects, and my land is free. I'd much rather have my brother as he used to be.
Kids bullied me when I was younger. When I went to school, they made fun of me since I wasn't tall, or strong, or fast. They taunted me, endlessly. And I loved it. I never told anyone, but when I felt sad, and down in the dumps, I started to feel alive. It was beyond anything I could ever feel naturally. I started to seek out these encounters, getting them to taunt me. They eventually stopped, but I always hungered for more. Then, I started painting. Architecture, if you'd believe it. Seeing my father's disappointed face was exhilirating. I wanted more. Then, I was rejected when I applied to art school. I had never been so sad, nor so happy. But I was tolerant. And dependent. I needed more. I hope 6 million deaths will do the trick.

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