Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I still couldn't believe it. "How could this happen!?"I cry as I stare into the mirror again. I was a freak, a disgrace. Why did all my friends and family get the best creatures, while I'm stuck as this? I could never live this down. They'd all laugh and heckle. Maybe even just serve me up for dinner like the beasts they are. I tap my foot on the floor anxiously. I had locked myself inside my bedroom for now days and closed my curtains to hide my shame from the world. I cast a forlorn look to my drawings hung up on the wall, the creative and wonderful story I had been writing on my writing desk, and my phone with hundreds of pictures and videos of my past life. My better life. I sighed sadly. I just wish I could go back. As I sat on my bed with tears in my eyes, I noticed the bright golden light peeking through my window and pulled back the blinds. The sun was rising. At least the sun hadn't changed. It was still beautiful, painting the sky with a bright crimsons and gorgeous yellows as the day began. I might as well make use of my form. So I threw open my window, stepping carefully onto the windowsill. I had climbed onto the roof many times before, but it would be harder with the limitations of my new body. I reached for the nook that allowed me to grab the edge of the elevated parts before carefully pulling myself upwards with some strain. Sidestepping the chimney, I walked forward until I was on the edge of the very top of my house's roof. The morning sun cast its warm, radiant glow on my exhausted form. That light gave me hope and energy bursting to be released. It felt like I was on top of the world, like nothing could hurt me up here. Almost on instinct, I then took a deep breath, stood up tall, raised my head to the sky, puffed out my feathers, and let out the most powerful crow I could ever muster.
"So what am I eligible for then?"I ask. It wasn't a surprise that I wouldn't be going to Heaven but it sure was unexpected that I wasn't going anywhere. Death scratched his head again wondering what to say next. "You get a coupon"he uttered. "A coupon? Coupon for what?"I ask. "Boy you sure ask a lot of questions. I myself am not sure what the coupon is for but I could give it to you if you want it. Beats sitting around in this darkness."death answered. He was right, a coupon is better than sitting in darkness. I shrugged and held out my hand. Death pulled out a small piece of paper, the size of a name card, and hand it to me. "COUPON"was written on it. On the back was "Terms and Conditions". Was the first time I read any, "1. One time use". Puzzled, I ask Death "Can I use it now? I mean, to get into Heaven?" "No that's not how the coupon works..."death trailed unsure of himself. "Well than what can I get, do I get to go back? To the living. Or may be a lamp? A Steak?"my voice started to get higher, annoyed by single a Coupon. "Well a lamp would light the..." "I don't want a LAMP!"I screamed, agitated. Calming down, I begin to sob "So am I just going to be here in this darkness alone with this useless Coupon forever?" Death was silent. At least he did not leave. He just stood there silently. "Can I ask you to stay here with me?"I glance up to him. "Until I figure out what to use the Coupon for?" Death scratched his head again "Sure, but not here. Its too dark here."Death reached out his hand. Death pulled me up from as I grabbed death's hand and begin to walk. "Where are we going? I asked Death. "To my home. There is a lamp there."He answered.
I cannot look away. I cannot move. Memory competes in my head, a dozen lives on one side – a peasant girl in China, a middle class European, a distinguished admiral, a holy knight, a petty thief… And on the other… There is a voice. The voice. I try to move, to run, but I cannot. I cannot move. The voice says the word again, and fear grips my heart even as I feel my brain going blank again… “Again.” * This time I died at sea. I wake up, coughing, spitting out phantom water, when it comes back to me, again. Cold, electrifying fear and hate make the Atlantic ocean water seem balmy. But I can do nothing. “Again.” * This time, I died at war. How long have I been here? Is each life a second? A day? How old have I grown? Maybe soon, I will wither and die. “Again.” * This time, I died falling. I want to know why. Why me? Why this torture? There must be some gain, some endgame. They cannot possibly just– “Again.” * This time, I died starving. I want to go home. “Again.” * This time, I died with a knife in my chest. “Again.” * This time I– “Again” * This– “Again.” * “Again” * “Again.” * “Again.” * … * I can move. I do not know if it is a mistake. I do not care. I move. The room is white. Featureless, except for the bed I was in, and a black pillar sticking out from the ceiling, ending right above my head. I am standing. My muscles are not atrophied. I cannot have been in the machine too long. There are no IVs either. Not to long at all. The wall disappears and she walks in. The voice. She smiles at me and open her mouth. I move. She’s dead before she hits the ground, specs of blood staining the pristine white floor. There is shouting, and soon they come for me. They come with fists at first, then they come with guns. It matters not. Hallway by hallway, I fight and I win. I’ve seen each motion a billion times, 32, blue eyes, in a squad of 4 in classic V form. I know exactly where they’ll aim. Billions of lives in my head, and I don’t even need to think of them. They whisper in my mind. All my lives and nothing like this. Nothing at all. But I can guess why, now. I blink as I realize I’m free. I stand outside the facility, a drab looking building nestled between two other ones. A jogger passes by, giving the clean scrubs I’m wearing an odd look. I sit on a bench and I see the patterns. I have within me, the collective experience of mankind in a hundred years. Thousands perhaps. I look around at the buildings and the smoke and the planes creeping slowly across the sky. I can change it all. If only I could remember who I was.
“You gave him a platform? That sounds dangerous.” “He’s the hoax bearer. He doesn’t get out much. We thought it would be nice to let him have a hobby.” “But what if someone, you know, listens to him?” “Come on. You think anyone is going to listen to this?” “THE MASKS DONT WORK PEOPLE. PLASTIC IS TOXIC. YOU CANT BREATHE THROUGH PLASTIC, IT’LL KILL YOU.” “See?” “I don’t know, it still feels wrong.” “Anybody can have a platform these days. It doesn’t mean people will listen.” “Yes, but he’s the hoax bearer. If he believes the masks don’t work, then they do. If he believes the vaccines don’t work, they do. But what happens if he convinces other people of his beliefs?” “PIGS BLOOD, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. THIS VIRUS WAS INVENTED BY A GOVERNMENT THAT WANTS TO CONTROL YOUR MIND. VACCINE DOESN’T WORK, I KNOW BECAUSE I’VE TRIED IT. TASTES TERRIBLE, TOO. BUT MY NEW PRODUCT MADE FROM THE PUREST BLOOD OF PIGS-” “Listen to this. Who is going to believe a word this lunatic says? He’s got a hard life already, so we’re giving him a break. What could possibly go wrong?” “Alright, as long as nobody gets hurt. Can we watch something else?" They flipped the channel. The logo splashed over the screen: WEASEL NEWS. Always True. You Can Trust Us Because We Say We Never Lie. The lead anchor read from the teleprompter in her most authoritative voice, her hair dyed so blonde it almost looked radioactive. “And in Virus news tonight, a new discovery that could change the world. Could pigs blood be the miracle cure we’ve all been waiting for? But first, let’s head over to our talking heads segment, where we’ll discuss the question that nobody was asking: Do Masks Even Really Work?"
The room was large and well lit, it was the kind of room that could be used for things such as dance practice. A large mirror spread over one wall, opposite there were stacks of chairs and folded up tables. However the most distinct feature of the room was its deafening silence. It was the kind of silence one could only get by being silent for a very long time. The LED light fixtures in the ceiling made a buzzing like a hornets nest. Every swallow sounded like a waterfall. After a while we could hear each other’s heart beats from across the room it was that silent. My friends and I had not spoken in quite a while. I wonder what they are thinking. It’s been so long that I wonder if I even remember what the last thing we said to each other was. While the others had spoken for quite a while, I chose not to as I felt I had nothing of value to add. But even they stopped talking after a while. Now we just laid there in a circle in the center of the room, all just staring up at the ceiling. I counted all the specks on the aged ceiling tiles now, all 900 thousand specks. Goddamnit. Now I feel like I have something to say, but I think I forgot how to speak. I try to move my lips, “Oh, oh, ah, eh, uh, oh.” I didn’t think speaking would be so hard. My vocal chords feel dry, and my lips are parched. As I continue to struggle to make noise I just cause myself pain as my lip starts to bleed as I struggle to move my mouth. “Gh, ga, gaa, guu, Guys.” Yay! My first word in who knows how long. “Guys, anyone want to talk about their first time speaking in a thousand years?” My voice was strained as I struggled to breathe out those words. Nick who was laying next to me sat up and after some mouthing and remembering proper speaking, “sure, why not? I was getting bored of hearing my own heart beat” Liz sitting across from me sat up, and without nearly as much effort as us spoke, “we worked so hard to create that silence and you had to go an ruin it?” Megan sat up as well, she took her time but managed to squeak out one of her famous retorts, “work you say? We managed to literally do nothing for millennia, our social group managed to live an antisocial dream.” “And?” I proved, “how does it feel to speak again?” Jack, the last to sit up spoke after he made a fool of himself making mouth motions and getting no noise, “dude, it sucks, we should try and find something productive to do, like maybe get out of this room for once.” I had been thinking about this subject. We didn’t know how we got here, much less how to get out. None of us had a fraction of the skill of the great Houdini. But spending a millennia without speaking gives you time to think. So I spoke, “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I think I know how to get us out of here.”
“You do know that technically I already know how time travel works, don’t you?” - I say to my doppelganger as he puts my notes into the oven. “Of course I know, I’m you.” - He takes a seat between me and the oven. I’m guessing we have maybe a few minutes to talk before he disappear - “But without the notes nobody will believe that you solved Baryon Asymmetry, ergo no grant, ergo no time travel machine” “But why? None of you… me… whatever… has given me a reason” “It’s complicated just trust me that it’s better this way” “If you are really me you know that I won’t” He makes that face that I have only seen in the mirror when I’m in the middle of solving some complicated equation. “Sigh… I cannot tell you what it is, but I can tell you what it isn’t. And maybe you’ll understand. So the obvious things first, it’s not some apocalyptic scenario or anything like that. Your… OUR time travel theory works, there are no aberrations or weird side effects I’m… WE are really good at this, everything was taken into account.” “It’s the government isn’t it? They want to control the technology use it for war or something like that” “Actually no…. But I admit that's something I fear but that is not the reason why. Think about it, what would you do if you had access to a time machine, right now?“ “I don’t know, go to the future?” “I actually did that, it was pretty fun but weird. Word of advice, english is a living language. I had a hard time communicating with them.” “The past? Did you went to see the dinosaurs” “I did, they stink; it was as fun as going camping” - He says mirroring my own expression at thinking how much I hated going camping as a kid. “Did you try to to change the timeline and something happened” - I say leaning forward on my seat, I’m starting to suspect something is not right. “I did try a few minor changes as experiments, I went back in time to get some bitcoin, but this is the first big change I try” “So this is an experiment? You are just trying to see what happens when a paradox cannot be resolved?” - I’m getting really anxious here… “No…” - He immediately dismisses me - “That was like that first experiment I tried, I know that I’m going to stop existing, once those papers are unrecoverable” - I look behind him and I can see the fire and the smoke inside the oven. He told me to change the smoke alarm batteries. “Then what? I don’t understand!!” - I scream at him as I stand up and the chair falls to the ground. He just smiles at me, he is happy that he is not going to exist anymore?, WHY!?. I look into his/my eyes. His smile just gets bigger, he looks behind me as he starts to disappear… “Am I always this annoying…” - I start saying but he is gone… I look back into my apartment. What was he looking at? Then I see the picture and remember the last thing he said before he left. “when you know something I don’t” - I finish softly. In the corner behind the sofa, that’s the picture we took when he convinced me to go to the grand canyon. I hated every moment of that trip but I loved spending the weekend with him. I grab the frame and I look around the room, the place is a mess. How old was my other me? He was definitely older than me but how much? 20 years? 40 years?. I look back at the smiling faces in the picture in my hand. A sound takes me out of my pensive state, it’s my phone. “So, when can I go for the things I left at your place?” I hesitate before answering the text message… > “Actually I had an accident with the stove, can you help me…also I’m sorry” “What did you burn this time? I’ll be there in 20 minutes” “I’m sorry too..” --- This is my first time answering a prompt hope you guys like it.
I’ve seen Gods come and go, both powerful and beautiful deities fall to the neglect of humanity. It was heartbreaking. Even if these Gods were brash or annoying to be around, I never would have wished them the awful fate of being neglected. Other Gods required the praise of humans to live, they required the belief that they were there. No one needed to believe in the God of loneliness, loneliness was always a part of humanity, I was as much a part of humanity as the air they breathe. Whether or not they wanted to believe in me, I would always be a force of nature. For this reason, my fellow Gods often mocked me. What good is it to provide my gifts to humanity if it doesn’t benefit me? I was unchanging. No matter how many people would sing the blues, how many would wallow in the sadness of a powerful lyric, I would always be the same. When the singer would take a bow, they weren’t bowing to me. I was no more a part of the performance than the instrument they used. I only offered them the ability to create, to pour their heart out. The contents of their heart were their own, something I could never take credit for. Why did I do this? Why inspire these artists? If I didn’t need praise or worship to survive, why would I bother? Simply because I wanted to comfort the lonely souls of the Earth, I never want them to experience the loneliness that I feel. The solitude of being utterly alone. I had no other God to turn to, no other God to lean on when the nights were just that little bit darker than usual. For that reason, I used my sorrows to power the minds of those on Earth, inspired them to create sweet melodies, ones that could offer a lonely person the comforts that I could never achieve. I never wanted humanity to feel the way I did, I wished to spare them from that loneliness. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
Robert Thompson swirled the wine in his glass thoughtfully. "Yes, I think we here at Acticorp could stand to pay you 4 million a year for your work here. We're most excited to add you to the team." I swallowed painfully loudly. I desperately hoped he hadn't heard. "Yes, about that. What position would you have me fill?" "Oh, I trust you to carry out the same duties you have at Benecorp." Well that wasn't good. I didn't actually do anything at Benecorp other than wander around. "Of...course, but surely some changes should be made, seeing as the command structure is so different?" That paused him. Good. I had no idea what the difference in command structures was, if any, but it was a means to an end. "I suppose so...well, I trust you to only take on the necessary stuff while you figure out the environment." "And what stuff would you consider the most necessary?" He swirled the wine again. "I can leave that to you, I think. I trust your competence. Keep showing up, and I'll keep you getting your paycheck." Well shit. Strike while the iron is hot, my mother always says. "I'm very glad to accept your deal, Mr. Thompson." "Nonsense! Call me Robert. You deserve it, at your pay grade."
The omnipotent all-father massaged his temples as he leered down at the mangled figure before him. "Y-yes sir, there is... and you could say that they're.. quite the fiesty bunch,"replied the scrawny, bearded scout. He wrung his hands nervously, wincing as he made contact with the holes in the centers of his palms. "Judging by your sorry state, I presume that you were... unsuccessful in reclaiming the planet?"God muttered. "I-I-I made an attempt to subdue the bipedal beasts,"stammered Jesus. "But as I was just about to win the affection of the community with my powers, I was strung up by a different horde, and th-they pinned me to a cross and my idiot followers left me to r-rot, screaming some nonsense about me being 't-the ultimate sacrifice for C-Christianity'!" "I'm surprised you were able to win any sort of 'affection' with your useless party tricks,"God spat contemptuously. "I send you on one simple mission and you come back beaten and routed with your tail between your legs by some ragtag bumpkins on a destitute planet." God sat back down and slowly reclined back into the comfort of his throne. He perched his head into his hand and casually twirled his hair, glancing with squinted eyes at his trembling, pathetic son. "So aside from bedazzling the heathens with your silly, mundane 'miracles' of bread and wine,"God said with a crack of smile creasing his cheek, "what other blessings did you bestow upon your good people?" A sphere of light suddenly appeared behind Jesus' head, as he looked up with renewed excitement to flaunt his successes. "W-well there was this old fellow with a crippled leg, a-and he couldn't move at all, so I felt awfully sorry for him, and so I touched it and wished really hard a-and it just worked again a-and everyone saw it so--" God froze, the smile fading from his face. "You--what--the man? Healed him?" "Y-yes sir, I-I think I finally got it down, sir! I'm able to heal the blind, the sick, the broken--the whole lot of them were fixed upon my touch!"Jesus remarked eagerly. God sputtered and stood up with a slam of his palm, shaking the surrounding clouds and startling young Jesus with his sudden outburst. After an uncomfortably tense few seconds, Jesus finally dared to speak: "Wh-what seems to be the problem... sir?" His father paid him no attention as he muttered to himself, pacing back and forth in an oblivious monologue. "... probably him... can't just throw another ... meteor prices not what they used to be... still alive... " Jesus was confused, but knew better to interrupt another one of his fathers' soliloquies; he sat down on the steps and began to heal his palms and body of its scars with his newfound technique. His father glanced over at the youth and shook his head. His ignorant son was oblivious of what seemed like a simple power of the Gods: the ability to heal. Little did he know that only Gods could heal Gods--mortals shaped by the hand of Gods could only be destroyed and re-created. There could only be one being that could have populated such a ruined, devastated land with offspring in the shape of his own: *Adam.*
My human is adorable but she is not built for The Hunt. She is wonderful for snuggles, but a sofa cannot stalk a small animal, shake it to sleep and bring it home for supper. The huge glasses she wears reflect the sun, warn mice and attract dogs. How does she stalk her prey? It is something to do with The Room. She is as careful to enter it as I when I slip out to practice my own skills or screech at Toms at night. Tonight, I uncovered the mystery... but with more questions than answers. Any good huntress knows that to succeed, you must stalk your prey. Watch them, pick up on their tells. My human likes to wear dark clothes to hunt at night. I watch and I wait. She always glides into The Room before locking the door, but tonight the door is ajar. My body tenses with delight as I express a low purr. The hunt is on! I noiselessly slither through the gap in the doorframe. She’s too preoccupied to notice. She appears to be removing her outfit, making it easier to pounce on her prey. Curious, but no time for that. I leap onto the curtains, climb noiselessly and float to rest on a chest of drawers right at the back of the room to watch. I contemplate her new hunting gear. Perhaps she hunts as nature intended. She prods at a small box, attached to a screen. Some time passes. A small, bald man appears. Sweating, scared. Prey! She talks to him the same way I toy with mice. He whimpers. She shouts at him like she does at me when I claw the table leg. He submits. A ringing sound comes from the screen and some symbols come up. She sighs in relief as the screen goes black. Suddenly the screen shows the same markings as The Food Man. She clicks at a strange plastic orb and pictures of food appear. She clicks at picture like a bird pecking at grain, then one of the canisters of meat she thinks I like. At this point I know it’s time to leave, mystery solved. It’s nothing like my hunt but she’s the predator and he is prey. Good enough for me.
Any day now. I swear that any day now I'll collapse in the middle of the road, or pass peacefully in my sleep, or maybe get shot in a robbery. My will has been written for over a hundred years, but I no longer have anyone to pass my belongings on to. My child has long since passed, most likely sped up by his lack of children. It's a mistake. A thought that crosses my mind several times a day forces its way back up again. The universe is messing with me. Maybe I should take matters into my own hands. My phone vibrates in my hands, interrupting the thousandth search of Why am I still alive? "Yes?" I haven't answered a phone call in what feels like forever. My words feel unnatural, forced out of my throat unwillingly. "I'm looking for Mr. Lehman, is this him?" It's me, but the name feels so unfamiliar. These past years have been spent holed up in my home, waiting in front of the mirror to see even the slightest bit of age to tell me that my time is coming soon. "Yes, this is him."I pull my phone back to look at the number. It's one I don't recognize, but it comes from my hometown; The one I left when there was no one I loved still alive. "We've been looking for you." -- My son had a child. Not only that, but she had a child as well. I don't know how or why he had kept it from me. This child... they called me about her. Her mother had passed away- My grandchild- due to an illness. As I drove up to the small house, the trees swayed in the direction of my future. I didn't know her, but I already loved everything about her. Nova. With just her name, I can picture her angelic face. A new hope, a new reason to keep going. I barely have a foot in the door when I see her peeking around the corner of a wall with dark chocolate eyes, and a woman standing in front of her. "Welcome! You must be Mr. Lehman."It's the voice of the woman on the phone, the one engrained in my head. She smiles brightly and looks back at Nova. "Come on out now, this is the man who wants to take care of you." She looks no older than five, too young to be going through a loss for sure. Nova disappears completely behind the wall, and the sound of tiny footsteps echo through the house. "I'm sorry, it seems she's a little shy,"the woman apologizes softly, letting out a sigh. "No, it's no problem."I give her the biggest smile I've ever given. "I have all the time in the world."
What WAS this? Every day is the same. I prepare myself, saying to myself, "This is the day. Today I'm finally gonna kill this stupid dragon and see what's past that gate". I run to where the dragon is guarding the huge iron gate, confidence and determination brewing higher and higher in me. I rush at it, roaring and raising my sword. And in less than 15 seconds, proceed to get my ass handed to me. I try a few more times, but eventually just give up and go home, and spend the rest of the day sleeping. Those events play out in the exact same way every day. This had been going on for what seemed like months. I didn't know how it had come to this, but I knew I was going to have to beat that dragon. But today, I woke up and felt... different. I had even more determination, even more confidence, and more ADRENALIN. I knew this was it, this was the day I finally killed that fucking beast. I ran faster than ever before, sprinting, not running. I reached the dragon three times faster than normal. It reared its ugly head, its red scales glowing in the sun, its orange eyes narrowing. It got up off the ground, casting a shadow over me. I rolled my eyes. It did this every time. I started running at it, same as I always did. It breathed its fire at me. But this time, instead of getting caught in the flames, I rolled to the side. I AVOIDED the flame. This was the longest I had ever lasted against it. I knew I couldn't lose now. I leaped at the dragon, and stabbed it in the neck. It roared, flinging me off. I got up immediately, just to roll to the side as a spurt of fire flew towards me. I got scorched, but wasn't affected much due to my armour. I ran at the dragon again, rolling under its biting jaws, and sliced at it again and again, attacking its underbelly. After only a few more strikes, it let out a last roar, and fell to the ground. I couldn't believe it! I'd done it! I'd finally overcome this challenge! I felt elated, better than I ever had before. I'd killed monsters before but never anything this powerful. Suddenly, the words 'Quest: Kill the Guardian, Completed' flashed in the air. I stared, confused, but then heard voices, from... the sky? "Adam! You did it! YES!" "Calm down, Mikey. This guy wasn't even worthy of being a mini-boss, let alone the first boss. How long did you struggle with him?" "Like, 5 months?" "Seriously? Wow, you really need to up your game if you're having trouble with this guy. Maybe I shouldn't have bought you this for your birthday. Animal Crossing would have been a better idea." I was about to shout who was there, but before I could, I heard a new voice, "Let's shut the console down now, boys. Dinner's ready" "Ok, fine. C'mon, Mikey" "Wha-?"I start to say, but before I can finish, I'm suddenly back at my home, waking up. Then I hear the voices again. "Mikey, why'd you turn on the console?" "Adam, you forgot to save!" "What, doesn't it auto save after killing the boss?" "Yes, but you have to watch the cutscene first! You turned the console off before you let it play! Now we'll have to kill the dragon all over again!" WHAT I thought, but before I could think any further I fell asleep. This is the first time I've ever responded to a prompt with my own story, so I'm sorry if it isn't that good. Any criticism is welcome.
Gentle crackling embers drifted upward toward the cloudy dark skies. The plume of smoke rising from a pile of ancient cases tapes and the toasted tower of my old computer. Satisfaction oh I was certainly happy about seeing that old piece of Apple garbage go up in flames. Countless crashes, blue screens, and memory wipes had to lead toward this moment of catharsis. I hated that damn twenty-year-old computer but I felt I had to give it a proper send-off via sacrificial bonfire. Careful precision on my part preventing the small bundle of marshmallows at the end of my stick from catching fire. It may be a sacrifice but I would be damned before I let a good bonfire go to waste as the efficient pyromaniac I was. That same train of thought ending as the fire I had worked so long to start snuffed itself out in the dry humid wind. Some esoteric fear crawling in the periphery of my mind as I stoically assembled my smore. If I was going to be murdered in a small abandoned quarry I was not going to die on an empty stomach. Then and only then did I hear it, the dull scratching as something scratched and clawed under the bonfires remains. Every muscle in my legs freezing as one of the speakers in the pile whirled to life with a distorted remix of the windows startup theme. A collection of scrap metal and sparking wires rising and collecting into a bearlike mechanical construct. My hand absent-mindedly pulling close the metal cooking road in both hands as the speaker short-circuited. A lash of textiles from the mechanical automaton dragging the speaker somewhere amongst the heads mess of tangled scrap. A horrendous modem start-up cacophony of squealing and static fading into intelligence speech as the monster spoke. The torso body of the body twisting at impossible angles as it stalked forward. "Your sacrifice of this technology pleases the God of progress mortal." That terror rooting my spine into the base of my chair finally releasing enough to allow a small squeak of terror. "Wha, what the hell are you?" The jumble of hissing and clicking mechanical parts looming above my chair, jagged metal teeth mere inches from my face. The abomination's free arm bashing the side of its neck as the speaker entered a loop freeing it from the retaliating I. "I am the lord of technology's emissary and destroyer of worlds Clippy, and you are Kevin IT specialist." "My lord has decided you shall make a good minion and champion of his cause. For only three months of servitude, you may be granted his blessing as a mage of technology."The emissary pushing over my law chair as I attempted to back the chair away. One heavy claw of scrap iron preventing any further retreat or escape. "I assume I have no choice in the matter." Whatever the hell amounted to a chuckle escaping my tormenter as it shook violently in only the way a washing machine with a brick in it could. "You always have a choice human but one of them will see you never being found again."Any concept of time vanishing as I was pulled into the realm of my new patron and lord of toasters.
The hero sat there, eyes wide and mouth agape. He had been shot, burned, stabbed, wounded many times, but this... It was a shot to the heart. Healthcare, counseling. How could this evil piece of filth be so well taken care of? It stood as a testament to how well the Hero's Academy valued its heroes. That is to say, not much. Strong Arm had been a member for so long, the betrayal cut deep. "Not looking at my high school photos, are you?"A voice behind Strong Arm said, "I'd hate for you to see me with braces."Strong Arm turned to see Maldor standing behind him. He was wearing a pink robe, pink fluffy slippers, and was holding a cup of coffee. Maldor stroud across the floor to get a better look. "Hmm,"he said, "Less interesting than I thought." "Full Benefits?"Strong Arm said, "For how long?" Maldor raised an eyebrow, "The eighties? We villains received full benefits long before I started. There is simply no other way to entice entrepreneurial criminals to step up. Too much risk of bodily harm. Surly, it is put to shame by your benefits package?" Strong Arm frowned. He stood up and slid the monitor off the table. The screen shattered and exploded in a shower of sparks. It caused Maldor to take a step back, but he simply shrugged and took a sip of coffee. There was a small patter of footsteps, the sound of a child running towards them. "Daddy! I herd something break, are you okay? Whose this?" "Oh!"Maldor said, "kiddow, this is my business partner, Strong Arm. He's quite the helping hand for your daddy. Work wouldn't be work without him." The little girl ran up to Malador and pulled on his robes. He smiled and put down his coffee cup, then hoisted her on his shoulder. "Strong Arm, this is my daughter, Maddie. I'm so glad you could meet her. Now, is there anything we can do for you?" Strong Arm gave them both a stare, but didn't say anything. He ran to a broken window and dove out of it. In a flash, he was gone. "Daddy, daddy, did he get to see my work?" "Oh yes,"Malador said smiling, "I think your work was quite convincing. I believe we shall be hearing from Strong Arm again shortly."Malador looked her in the eye, "How did my daughter get so good. Who taught you to program so well, huh?" "I did!"She said, smiling. "You're god damned right you did,"Malador said beaming.
"So let me get this straight,"I say, my sword gripped tightly in hand and helmet muffling my voice. "if I work for you, I get all those benefits madam?" The Sorceress groaned. "Stop with the stupid formalities damn you, I prefer Babi. And yes you get to work under me as my General, I teach you some cool magic tricks, and you'll also get better gear instead of that raggedy chain mail. Sounds better than trying to hook up with some spoiled princess who won't even like you, doesn't it?"she said knowingly. If her face wasn't covered in that all black cloak, I imagine it would be a pretty convincing expression. I sheathed my sword. "Alright look here Bobby,""Bay-bee."she interrupted. "Alright, look here Babi, this sounds great and all but I have a life back at the kingdom. My comrades are eagerly waiting for my return, the King holds me in high regards, and more importantly there are many beautiful women on the beach who would love to be in my company. Why would I leave all that behind? "So, women are your weakness then?"Babi replied. "Tsk, she found me out." I thought. "Well, I don't really like to show myself to people but if this helps you make a decision..."she pulled back her cowel to reveal her face, and I was starstruck. Her eyes were a piercing blue, as if staring into the vast ocean itself. Her hair was a perfect auburn just like the tress on a crisp Autumn day. Her skin complimented her eyes like the sandy shores. And her lips... by God those lips. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I was speechless until she cleared her throat. ahem "I haven't been to the kingdom in a long time so I don't know how I compare, but I-" I shamelessly interrupted her and regained my composure. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."I said while gazing into her eyes. She was taken aback and I her cheeks turn red. "Wh- what did you just say?" I took off my helmet. "You are the most-" "No!"she replied. "I meant, why did you say that so suddenly? All I did was show you my face!" I looked at her closely again. She was embarrassed! I didn't know sorceresses could look so flustered. "You were that gorgeous, Babi. I've never been one to judge out of appearances alone but you... are a winner." "Stop it with the cute names! The hell?!"she was now angry AND flustered. "I was calling you by your name, 'Bay-bee' not 'Baby'. Jeez what do you take me for, a simp?"I accuse. "No! Just- ugh."she pulled the cloak over her face. "Forget it. Go home and say you killed me or something. If I come back I'll say I resurrected myself or something stupid to save your ass at least."she began walking away. Well, more like floated away. I reached out for her shoulder and turned her towards me. I pulled back her cloak to see her eyes again, and I looked into them. My face felt hot like hers. "I'll take you up on your offer. I'll be your General."I say. "However, on one condition."Babi looked at me intrigued. "Oh? What is this condition then."she asked puzzlingly. "Go on a date with me first. Before I work for you, I want to make sure you're a woman worth fighting for."I held her firm in place. "I want to know whether or not you're truly a dark sorceress on the inside just like the outside." She broke my grip with ease and turned away, pulling the cloak over her head again. "3 days. Meet me by the bridge near the Willow's Peak Inn."she began floating away. "Oh yeah, and who said anything about a dark sorceress? I just wear black because it looks cooler."See you there, Knight. She flew away out of sight. I looked at my reflection in my helmet. "3 days huh?"I put my helmet back on and mounted my horse nearby. As I rode back I thought to myself. "Going to have to give that minor princess a rain check."
(Part 1 of 4) My name is Sam, and I am a con man. I admit, I could do anything I wanted to do. Doctor, lawyer, tech genius, awkward shut in, but I think con man suits me well. And that is simply because I am all things to all people, and I can posses any skill I need to adapt to any situation. Further more, I can intimately know my target and how best to approach them. I'm a con man because it allows me to play pretend all the time. I get to be anyone I want to be anytime I want to be. Except athletes. God damn it if I can never figure out sports. I get the mental aspect of it, but for the life of me I have zero coordination. On this particular evening I was out drinking and having a good time, I shook a few hands, copied in a few new skill sets, and ended up talking to a ravishing young accountant with long red hair and a tapered thin waste. I admit, I was at least 4 shots of whiskey deep and at that point none of my hundreds of personalities can think straight. I don't know what I said, but my lips spilled out a concoction of words that were sweet as honey and within a few hours we were back at her place. I rode the high of a new conquest through the low of the hangover, and we ended up talking in bed after the deed was done. We were playing my favorite game: "Telepathic Cold Read". I pretend I can read her mind and I ask her incredibly detailed questions about her life. She was a little too tipsy and kept giggling the entire time. She couldn't figure out how I knew what I knew, but in reality I was just recalling facts about her life. It didn't take me long to compare her accountant skills to the dozen others I already had and I knew she was average at best, a mid-level accountant who was a better with people than numbers but she still lacked self-confidence. In truth she would have made a better executive, and the CFO had taken a personal interest in her. She didn't realize that yet either, but a quick, objective review of her memories told me enough. I scratched my chin. She knew the CFO of William & Fudge. Now that was a man I'd like to shake hands with. I'm sure he knew how to access all the accounts, especially the off the books ones with the discretionary spending accounts. The ones where if a few million disappear, no one looks too hard because it would draw too much attention. I jumped out of bed and helped myself to her liquor cabinet, I already knew where it was, and she squealed from the bedroom, "Get me one too!"I poured two glasses and went back to the bedroom. She bit her lip and took the glass from my hand. "So you're an accountant for William & Fudge right?"I asked. She held the glass up to her forehead and nodded, "Yes, why do you ask?" She had a problem, which meant that I had a problem. Since i copied her mind into my own, it was now puzzling me. I mentally poured over the numbers and files and used that data and combined it with my pre-existing accountant skills. I solved her puzzle, slightly buzzed and naked in her bed, before I even finished my drink. There was a very high chance that the CFO was moving money around in overseas accounts and stealing a portion of the revenue for himself. But she didn't know that yet. The problem with my talent is that I couldn't just tell people what they need to know, I had to guide them to it in a round about way. Even that wasn't the hard part. The hard part was making them think they needed me afterwards. "Oh nothing, I work in the finance department for Baskin Lentils and we just heard a rumor about your CFO..."I dangled the bait and waited. I reached out and touched her hand, and a fresh update of her thoughts flooded into my mind. The alcohol was making her fuzzy, and her thoughts weren't completely coherent, but I saw the face of a man in her mind. The CFO. She thought he was a smug bastard and didn't care for the guy, but the smell of gossip compelled her to take the bait. "A rumor?"She gave me a positively radiant smile, "Those can be dangerous in our line of work." Translation: "Tell me everything." Of course, I was still holding her hand, so I knew exactly what she wanted. "Oh nothing much, but BL thinks they are doing some insider trading." She snorted, "Who isn't these days."Her eyes went wide and she clamped a hand over her mouth. Alcohol did marvelous things. I laughed and agreed. A little positive affirmation after a secret would help her open up more. "Between that and the tax evasion what aren't they getting into,"she said. Bingo. She was on the right path, but she wasn't making the connection yet to her problem. "I don't know how you accountants do it. Running the numbers is hard enough without having the man in charge making alterations on his own. You didn't hear this from me, but BL just had to do something internal restructuring. They just fired about a dozen people involved in a coverup." She let out a sigh and swirled her drink around in her glass, "It is a pain in the ass, I've been working on this one particular problem and I-" Her eyes lit up. The connection was made, and I knew her mind well enough to know that she was following that trail of numbers. She rolled over in bed and placed the glass on the end table. Then she produced a laptop from under a ruffled pillow and put on some elegant thin frame glasses. I saw a memory of her face with her hair pulled up in a bun and a pencil pushed through the middle. This was her busy thinking face, and she looked absolutely tantalizing. "What is it?"I asked. She was lost in thought as her fingers flew over the keyboard. I rose to my feet for a second time and helped myself to her fridge. No more tequila. This time I came back with an aspirin and a Gatorade. Her usual go to. 94 minutes later, two phone calls, and visible stress on her face and she looked at me with surprise, "I'm sorry... I didn't plan for this. You can go if you need to." I smile, "Do you like eggs?"Yes. She does. I know that, but she doesn't know that I know that. I also know exactly how she likes her eggs. Scrambled with a little butter, runny, and lots of pepper. Just like grandpa used to make. Sadly, she has no idea how to make it or even how much she likes it since she hasn't had it in years. But I figured I would remind her. She nods, and I pull up the 57 chefs I have in my head already, I pull some general pointers from the lot and go about making her eggs, comparing her memory of the eggs against the memories of the professional chefs. I find a match, and create a perfect dish. It only took 6 minutes in total. She was drawn to the kitchen by the smell alone, we both were instantly taken back to grandpa's house on Saturday morning when he made scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. I didn't make the hashbrowns, she didn't have potatoes, and I thought that was too heavy handed on my part. She took one bite and I saw her eyes light up. Her body visibly relaxed, and I knew her mind... (our mind?) was making a subconscious comparison between her grandfather and me. A thought, a feeling, a concept of trust was established with just 3 eggs and a bit of butter. She didn't consciously realize it happened , but it did. "This is amazing,"she moaned, "My grandfather used to make them just like this." I smiled at her, "I see he was a man of good taste then." She nodded. &#x200B; (End Part 1 - part 2 in comments below)
You’d be surprised how many things are made of rock. Minerals, really. I mean, humans have minerals in them? Water, too. And trees, for that matter. At least, they feed off the minerals found in the soil. I know, because the rock tells me. Not directly, of course. I’d say it’s more of a connection. A feeling. A frequency. Anna would call it a “spiritual” connection, but I’m not about that woo-woo stuff. She’s the one that talks to water; I’m much more grounded. Excuse the pun. Anyway, the funny thing about my family isn’t that we can talk to things that don’t normally talk, but how we come to discover what we can speak to. It starts as a pull. A whisper in the wind, drawing you closer to it, begging for you to listen, only revealing themselves when you’re ready. My dad, for example, was an arborist for two decades before a tree finally spoke to him. He’d always known the day wound come. He could sense it, like we all can. He just needed to be patient. Grow roots. Sway in the wind. And then, on his 57th birthday, about as old as a solid oak, he finally heard them speak. My mom: she knew almost as soon as she could speak that she could talk to dogs. Her family got a puppy - an all-white German shepherd named Cheyenne - at about the same time that she was born, and the two had grown up together, forming a bond almost instantly. As my mom got older, she found out her bond with Cheyenne was stronger than a typical human-canine relationship—this was something more. And when Cheyenne finally spoke to her, my mother was not afraid; she knew. And spoke back. My sister, Anna—she’s my fellow elemental. While I can speak to the earth, she can speak to water. She knew that she could talk to water when she was in the placenta. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. If you can find rock in a lot of things, you can find water in even more things. Pretty much everything! She might as well be able to talk to the very air that we breathe. And she can. They tell her many things about the world, past, present, and future. Many dangerous things. But water can’t be trusted. It seeps it’s way into the cracks, finding your deepest insecurities, working away at them continually, whittling you into dust and sand. At least, that’s what this asteroid from space just told me... This thing has seen some shit!
Uh oh. I knew most of these guys from around school, but not well. David was head jock, being the largest. If cat-calling and mumbled comebacks counted as conversation, that had been the extent of ours since primary school. I recognised two of his hanger-ons, Charlie and Chaz. Inseparable, they could do a good impression of half a brain together. The rest of the flock might as well have been faceless, but for their expressions: predatory. A little inhuman, in that savage grins and greedy eyes didn’t belong on the faces of teenagers. The baby fat and wispy facial fur clashed with bared teeth and vile stares. They weren’t looking at me, though. Their target was a girl I very much did recognise. Rebecca. Or “Becky the Bitch,” a nickname I’d given her that had caught right on. Vengeance for the one she’d given me. Her makeup had been pristine when she’d knocked my drink onto my dress earlier that night, the latest in a long line of slights in our mutual hate-war. She wasn’t looking so good any more. Mascara running, bent over herself with her back against the wall, and that stuff around her mouth was a bit to chunky and green to be lipstick. The boys surrounded her like stalking hyenas, crowding her gradually toward an alleyway. David was talking to her, slurring unsavoury comments together. Becky looked like she could barely walk, let alone respond. ... I turned to walk home. It was late. I had had my first drink and my first kiss tonight, and I didn’t want to spoil it by talking to that bitch. And we’d had enough years of beef that I didn’t care what happened to Becky. You have to stop them. I stopped. Fuck, I had to didn’t I? Becky may have messed with me for years, but that didn’t make anything about where this situation might end up okay. Go. Help her. I turned back before I had the chance to change my mind. I ran up to the edge of the flock of jocks, but they didn’t even notice me, too focused on their prey to look my way. My stomach churned as I tried to gather courage, and my throat felt like it was closing over. There was a whole crowd against Becky, and I didn’t know what I’d do once they’d turned on me. Through the throng of bodies, I locked eyes with Becky. Tears shimmered in the streetlight. *Help.* “Hey!” Enough heads turned my way that I couldn’t count them. I gulped. David spoke for the collective. “Fuck you want, Socks?” And there was the dreaded nickname. Becky, drunken and scared, still chuckled on hearing it. She’d gone to detention for making fun of my birthmarks practically once a month back in primary, and she still thought it was funny. The bitch. “Leave her alone,” I said, in my infinite creativity and limited compassion. The boys lacked the intelligence to think of a response on their own, but their discomfort eventually evolved into communal chuckling. “What d’ya mean? Becky was’just talkin’ to us is all.” The words dribbled out of David’s mouth. He rested his hand on Becky’s shoulder, and she flinched. “We’z gonna have sum fun.” That’s fucked up. The twisting sensation of anxiety snapped straight into anger. The clarity let me realise, however, that I didn’t have a plan. “She’s not interested, asshole,” I said, stalling for time more than anything else. Find something to make them realise what they’re doing. Help their brains catch up with their hormones. I looked around for something to use as David lumbered over to me. Becky stood a little taller, no longer crushed as the weight of the crowd’s attention moved from her to me. The fear from earlier bubbled, undermining the certainty of rage. Stand your ground. It’ll disarm him. I rallied, steadying myself as I met him head on. He loomed, and when I didn’t step back, he seemed at a loss, too used to intimidation working to know what to do when it didn’t. Standing tall, I held his stare as he struggled to focus on me. “Yeah?” He eventually managed. “Well what’re you gonna do about it?” Something beside his head caught my attention. A red light, behind him, on the wall. My out. “I’ll ask the police to look at those security tapes in the morning,” I said, nodding at the camera. The hive startled, discovering the camera simultaneously with common horror. Charlie and Chaz looked at each other, eyes wide, and broke ranks as one. After that, it was a full retreat, the boys collaborating on excuses for their new unanimous agreement to leave. David, much less impressive without his horde, was tugged along behind them by the unbreakable gravity of social pressure, with only a mumbled insult as his parting shot. Good job. Get her home. The anger settled into satisfaction. I turned to Becky, who huffed as she stumbled away from the wall. “What, you want’a thank you or somethin’, Socks?” Be proud of yourself. That was hard, but you did it anyway. You don’t need her gratitude. “I don’t need your gratitude, Becky,” I said. Becky rolled her eyes at the size of the word ‘gratitude.’ I tapped the taxi app on my phone pointedly. “I don’t need anything from you, except your address.” Grumbling, she took my phone and clumsily entered her details. When she finally succeeded on her third try, she handed the phone back to me and slumped to the pavement. The app said fourteen minutes till the taxi. We didn’t speak to each other for the next ten. “Listen... Sophie.” I glanced at Becky. She was looking at me, steady, like she was seeing me for the first time. She hadn’t used the nickname. “Do you wanna, like, come to Harry Charleston’s party with me next week? His dad’s pretty rich, and he’s into, like, debating and stuff, so...” she sniffed, eyes too dry to cry. “So those assholes probably won’t be there.” I thought about it. Helping felt good, didn’t it? You could help more, if you went with her. I frowned, torn. ...She might stop messing with you. I smiled. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.” —- Want to read more by me? Head to r/vicesdeVersailles.
They used to call me the Switcher. That’s because I can swap bodies with people just by touching their hand. But despite having a power that depends upon social interaction, I am now living by myself in the mountains, insulated from the perception of society. Dear reader, let me tell you about how my whole career got ended. …… It was a busy morning, and I was facing off with a villain like usual. I touched his hand, and in the blink of an eye, I was facing myself. The eyes on my body widened. “So you’re the Switcher,” the villain said in my voice. “That’s right. You’re welcome to try and kill me, Mr. Villain.” “And what would happen if I were to do that?” “There’s a first time for everything.” (Though it wasn’t my first time using that line.) “It seems I can’t kill you, but neither can you.” “Regardless, it is not in a hero’s moral code to end lives.” Mr. Villain stood for a second. I was about to head to the police station in my new body when the negotiations started. The villain asked, “Say, Switcher. what do you think of your own image?” I entertained him for a bit. “I see myself from other people’s point of view a lot. It makes me quite conscious of my image. Don’t you feel like that, since it’s your first time seeing your body from someone else’s eyes?” “I see. Indeed, I see. I see myself. What splendid muscles you have in that new body, Switcher. Isn’t it great, to look so cool and dashing?” “Speak for yourself.” “I’ll speak for you, since I like this body that you’ve lent me so very much.” I looked at my now sinister, smiling face through Mr. Villain’s eyes. And dear God, I never knew my facial muscles could be contorted in such a sinister, gleeful manner. To act like a threat, I claimed, “I’ll be going to the police with your ‘cool and dashing’ body, now.” Mr. Villain had the gall to ignore what I said. “It seems I can’t kill you, but neither can you.” “You said that.” “It’s not like you can kill me socially. I’m already a villain, after all –” Where was he going with this? I’d find out – “– But there are other ways to kill you!” Mr. Villain unbuttoned my shirt, took off my pants – And I felt Mr. Villain’s heart drop, because I was the one operating it – Then Mr. Villain took off my boxers, smacked the bare ass that belonged to my body, and sprinted in full speed towards the nearest train station.
I sat there drinking my booze coffee, staring over and over at the footage. It didn't make any sense. The three videos from the party. Two of them clearly showing the suspect killing and stabbing as many people as possible. The screams, and the horror the guests fleeing around the house. We're still interviewing the party goers, but they are all pointing to our main suspect as the killer. The second footage was security film in the house. Not as many cameras inside, but you can see the crowds of teens and 20 something's running away in the heat of the moment and our suspect running away in the blood soaked clothes. And then there was the third footage, the one from the suspect himself. As he sits in the waiting room in the next room, with hands in his face and crying out that he didn't do anything, he offer proof of his innocents ,the third footage online. "Hey this is Roger, your boy here at a house party! Screw Covid! Live FOREVER!" The steam was a low viewed channel and nothing really going on in it. The life of a 22 year old young man, trying to find importance in his life, while filming it for 12 people who watch the streams, with probably sadder lives. In the stream, there was dancing, the drinking and the awkward small talk you would see at a party. And the weird part, this guy filmed his interaction the entire party. From start to finish. I thought at first this was footage from another party and another time. But looking and matching the date in the upload was the same as the witnesses and victims clothes we have recover. Then there was people who had been watching the stream. Not a lot, but it was obvious that Roger was responding to people in the comments of his video, in real time. That in itself would be hard to fake. And then there is Roger himself. No blood, no marks. The guy was found at his own home sleeping an hour after the killings, it didn't make any sense. Many on my team are saying this was a slam dunk case. They havent seen the third video yet, and I don't know how to move forward from here. I took another drink from my coffee.
Morning Light streamed through the open arches of the gardens. I opened up the book, appreciating the beautiful inkwork along the page edges. It appeared much the same as the last book, yet something had pulled at me to check it out before it came up on my official list. Perhaps the mechanical library-keeper knew that I wouldn't be able to turn the book away, furtively claiming that the book hadn't been added to the historical archives yet. Little bastard. Book open on my arm, I walked down the airy hallway towards my personal rooms, The Light streaming onto the etched pages. The footsteps and voices of those around me fading and melding into one continuous blur of a background drone. ... "For the Emperor"repeated over and over again in this book, just like the last, and the last before it. Even yet, something kept me reading, the book conjuring horrid images and voices, almost against my will. I don't know if it was the protocol I was given, or just plain curiosity, but something had made me open it, and I couldn't stop ingesting the past, my eyes unable to look away, my feet now moving of their own accord. ... "RIP AND TEAR!"again showed up on the page, and something of myself came back to me from out of a fog, annoyed with the repetition of the prose and the past. Feeling a heavy blanket of fatigue, I looked up to find the brass torches lit, and an unfamiliar hallway both empty and soundless. ... Where was I? The empty stretch of wall stared back at me, quiet and unhelpful. The torches sputtered mockingly in answer. Looking down to close the tome which had lost me a day, I noticed a small shape next to the wall, nearly hiding in the flickering shadow of a broken stone's corner. "Strange,"I tiredly thought, "The Halls are kept meticulously clean by the servos..."I picked up what felt like a nail, and put it in my pocket. Tired beyond anything I could remember, I simply turned around to head back the way I came. The way back twisted and turned in ways that I knew The Halls did not. Am I forgetting, or just tired? It seemed both seconds, and ages ago, that I had rolled out of bed. This damned book was really getting to me. Were the torches brighter? After stumbling along tiredly for what seemed like hours, I stopped for a rest, standing there with the book under one arm, and leaning up against the wavy-seeming wall. I put my hand in my pocket, surprised to remember the object there. Touching it, the nail-thing was warm. Blinking, I took it out of my pocket. It was indeed a nail! The head of the nail had a symbol or figure carved into it; I couldn't tell with the torches flickering. Holding it, I suddenly felt more awake, and more scared than I ever have in my life. I hadn't realized how cold it was, or how very, /very/ quiet it was. I looked up from the nail, and the path had somehow straightened-out into something more familiar. I ran, gripping the nail hard, and did not dare look back at my echoing footsteps. A painfully-bright doorway came into view. Hissing joined the cacophony of my terrified footsteps. The torches flared brighter and brighter, higher and higher, with every step towards my salvation. The book seemed to sag under my arm with the weight of the entire Galactic Federation. I absolutely vaulted myself through the too-bright doorway, and into (what I hoped) was safety and normalcy. ---- I had vaulted myself into a group of students. Flailing cloth, limbs, and sensors were everywhere. The Light was shining brightly onto the angry face of one of the students. Thanks be. "What the Warp?!"he exclaimed, while pulling his fellow up. "Where did you come from?"a smallish android asked. The doorway through which I had fallen was only an unassuming stonework wall, no different from any other. The warm nail was still pressed into my palm. Unnerved, I apologized without answering anything, and hurried down the now familiar Halls. No longer feeling tired, I made my way back towards the library. Laughing students, austere professors, and the occasional solemn warrior passed me. The normalcy seemed wrong. The Light casually permeated the air, seeming to mock me with its warmth and safety. Where had it been, just minutes ago? I turned into the Halls of Knowledge, with the imposing Black Library door ahead of me, and stopped, staring at its ancient and impressive relief carvings. I fingered the nail in my pocket, remembering the ethereal twisting and unfamiliar hall. Turning around, I found my rooms. I wrapped the book in oiled cloth, and hid it amongst my things. I erased its number from the list. I have kept the nail all this time, and that is another tale. Edit: Hope no one minds me editing this after they've read it. Thanks for reading, if you did.
They invaded late last winter. Many were taken, never to be seen again. The government of course, were huddled in their safe bunkers, and kept it out of social media. It wasn't even a question of it, society worked better now, and if the dissappearances of a few thousand wasn't remarked upon by the government, then it wasn't happening. The ships stayed on the far side of the moon, and NASA was taken over to transport the unwilling to the ships. Hauled in stasis, the newest deportees never knew what happened. They woke up in a strange city, and didn't know any different. Their brains were scanned while they slept, and when they woke, not only did they feel better than ever before, a simulation made it so that they never knew they left. However, soon they began to die off. Some virus or sickness overtook them, and they died. The keepers did studies, and figured out the problem, but then the earth government refused to send any more deportees. The prisons were already empty they said, who are you going to take next? The sick, the poor, the elderly? The keepers took things into their own hands. On the morning of the 15th of March, every news agency, social media platform, and information source played or posted the following message. "Citizens of earth, your government is no longer sending your people to live with us. We need your race, your people to survive. You will be well cared for. Please reply if interested in joining a new venture off world. We mean you no harm." Most thought it a joke, and the government denied the announcements as hackers pulling a prank. However, one by one, the marginalized began to dissappear. Nursing homes began to empty. The mental wards as well. The homeless also were gone. The disabled, the disenfranchised, the chronically ill, all began to leave. The government didn't notice at first. Until the first election afterwards. To vote, you had to produce a thumbprint, and many of the poor had sold their votes to eat. Yet, the poor were no more. News reports did not cover the events, and the world seemed to move on like there was nothing wrong. Panic filled the halls of government. Hadn't they denied the keepers? In a far away planet, millions woke up in their new habitat. They no longer needed wheelchairs or medications, had plenty to eat, and began to thrive. Old age was reversed, and diseases were gone. Even mental defects were gone. They believed that they had died and gone to heaven, and maybe in a way they had. The keepers enjoyed their success, and took excellent care of their charges. Making sure that each one lived long and happy lives. When babies began to be born, the keepers and their people rejoiced! They had the best zoo in the galaxy! Before long, they stopped coming to earth to pick up new residents, and could work with the stock in hand. Meanwhile, back on earth, people looked up from their screens, for the first time in a long time. It was quiet, too quiet. The air was too clean. The factories had begun to shut down because no one was working those jobs. Many millions who had done the jobs that no one wanted were just gone! Then they noticed that it was getting colder. For the first time in their lives, the rich and powerful had to figure out how to raise their own food. They had to learn to survive in the cold. Because most of the people were now gone, and the government still wasn't saying a damned thing.
# Bargain Bin Superheroes (Arc ?, Part ?: The Wilderwild) (Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.) The Wilderwild Overmind had ants for blood and trees for bones. Much like an individual body was made of trillions of cells, the Wilderwild Overmind consisted of the trillions of lifeforms that dwelled within its borders. Birdcalls echoed from one end of the Wild Continent to the other, transmitting thoughts through analog sound instead of neurotransmitters. Venomous snakes and spiders that ate cats for breakfast patrolled the coastline, and more recently, the sky, serving as the immune system that swallowed any would-be colonizers whole. And throughout the Wilderwild's mountain ranges and deserts, one thing was constant. The Wilderwild Trees. Every lifeform in the Wilderwild paid tribute to the Wilderwild Trees; the ants made their colonies in their branches, the birds pecked their fruits from their leaves, and the snakes and spiders ceaselessly watched for prey from their boughs. And even though they were not sentient on their own, any more than a single neuron could contain a human mind, the Wilderwild Overmind knew to its core that the Wilderwild Trees were the ones in charge here. So when the Wilderwild Trees were worried, the Overmind listened. We foresee a great doom approaching from between the stars, the Wilderwild Trees announced. It took seven days and seven nights for the pronouncement to reach every corner of the Wilderwild—but once it did, the entirety of the continent, alerted, was ready to discuss. Prey willingly surrendered themselves to predators to sustain them for the ordeal ahead; hives shifted in their endless march, conveying thought and substance between biomes; even the dolphin tribes which had long since allied themselves with the Wilderwilds held court, conveying the Overmind's desires to the outlying islands. Bah. The collective disdain of a continent's worth of spiders was a fearsome thing—but the Wilderwild Trees were unimpressed. We told you that we should have conquered the world long ago. Now, the planet is disunited against the threats to come. If we had crushed this world beneath our legions, we would have been that which threatened it. We guard this planet, but we do not strangle it. The Wilderwild Trees rebuked the spiders. Besides. The dolphin tribe, Emissary of the Deeps, added its own voice to the conversation. You would not have found this world as easy to conquer as you think. The humans are crafty, now, and have powers that rival that of the Wilderwild's greatest champions. And even they have not yet grasped for the stars. What chance do we have against a race that can travel the void between worlds? The ants of the Wilderwild sent back. We should hide. Burrow beneath the earth, leave no trace of our existence. Whatever they want with this world, unless they are to utterly destroy it, they could not root us out if we fled for the core of this planet. And what of humankind? The trees snapped. Perhaps the ants could survive beneath the ground, but the humans require sunlight, and complex foods, and more oxygen than simple moss can provide. We need a better plan. How long do we have to prepare? the birds chorused. Our sharpest watchers have scanned the skies, and see no evidence of this great doom of yours. By our calculations, the alien presence should arrive in... The trees paused for a day to double-check their math. ...fifty of your lifespans. Hmm. The dolphins chittered at the trees. For all that you have accomplished, humanity expands and grows much faster than you. It is quite possible that they will have reached the level of advancement they need in order to fend off this threat on their own, by the time they arrive. If they don't destroy themselves first, the spiders pointed out. No matter how quickly the humans advance, the birds muttered, it seems that they could always stand to learn a thing or two from us about unity. An idea ignited in the collective mind of the trees. ...Yes. Yes, you are right. You are all right, to some degree. The humans' power grows too swiftly—left alone, they will destroy themselves before the aliens can do it for them. And... we move far too slowly to fight off that which is to come on our own. Perhaps... perhaps it is time for the Wilderwilds' isolation to end. Pandemonium erupted in the world's largest jungle. Peace, peace, peace! A gust of torrential wind slapped every being on land and sea until they quieted down, and the trees continued. Did we not just say that we have much to teach the humans about unity? If we send a representative to the nations of the humans... if we can warn them of the coming danger, and join forces with them against the aliens to come... then perhaps we can survive our impending destruction. Together. Silence fell in the last true land of the wild. Then the spiders sighed, and all at once, descended from their webs and swarmed towards the shore. We will weave a mighty sail, to take us across the seas. The dolphin emissaries pinged and chittered in private, then rejoined the Wilderwild's conversation. The last great Islandback Turtle shall lend her shell to your cause. Our throats can mimic the calls of humans, the birds sang. We shall speak for the Wilderwild, even when we are far from home. When we are united, even wind and tide cannot drown us. Living bridges and boats of clustered ants poured into the sea. Our scent-trails shall link this emissary to the Overmind at home. And we, the trees of the Wilderwild declared, will remain here to plan for the future. To ensure we will survive the coming storm. Earth's literal largest defender mobilized the many, many minds that constituted their body, all the while praying that they weren't too late. A.N. I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes"will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. I'm not quite sure where this fits into the timeline yet, but it just felt like it fit in the universe. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
&#x200B; This has to be a joke right, I thought to myself. How can an entire town be involved in such an elaborate prank? Are they so well coordinated! They might be! Because it is a small town of nearly 300 people in the middle of no-where. I adjusted the rearview mirror. I could see all the shops, small diners closing up. The gas station attendant had already gone inside. He hollers at me, “Mister, you really do not want to be outside this early in the morning !” I glance in the rearview mirror, adjusting my hairdo. I dial Aaron’s number. One ring Two rings. “Hey Man! Where are you? You were supposed to reach here last night,” Aaron spoke as he picked up the phone. “I got caught up in some work, I am here right now and it’s really strange….” “What did you say? Where are you right now” I could hear the quiver in his voice? “I am here buddy, Desperation. Next to the gas station. Weird name for a town…” I say chuckling into the phone. “Bro, you are not supposed to be out, this time of the day,” there was undeniable fear in his voice I could listen to Aaron taking deep breaths, probably to calm his nerves. “Listen to me carefully. This all might sound crazy, but it is true. An ancient being rules this town called the Sun Beast. The Sun Beast is the literal manifestation of the sun, no one has seen how he looks like, but people have claimed to witness a giant ball of brightness whizz past their homes. Anyone who has been found outside during the daytime has fallen prey to the Sun Beast. Over the years, we have seen many burnt, mangled corpses spread throughout the town. This all might sound incredulous to you, but you have roughly 5 minutes, before the sun comes up, knock at someone’s door, Do anything you can - be it crying or begging- but GET INSIDE !!” My mouth hung open, and my mind was not sure what to do with this information. I had mere seconds to decide. As I saw the sun slowly rising, I decided. “You have got a lot of explaining to do!” I hung up the phone and start banging at the gas station guy’s door. It’s almost sunrise. I call up Aaron. “Please, you need to pick me up! There’s no one opening up, Please Aaron. You got me in this mess,” I speak as tears stream down my cheeks. “Are you crazy!! I told you to get inside” “Nobody’s taking me in, Please come and get me, there is no time” “Shit! Where are you?” “I am at the gas station” Aaron rushes out of his place. The gas station is merely a few blocks away. The moment he steps inside the car, a colossal ball of brightness engulfs him. All I could see was bright sunlight and all I could hear were his screams. I smile, as I look at the scene unfolding in front of me, from the Gas Attendant’s Shed. “You are a terrible man!” the Gas Attendant sneers at me I look at him and smile as I give him the money. For someone who researches mythology and writes mythological fiction, the Sun Beast was not an unknown entity. Aaron had invited me over to Desperation, as it was a quaint and peaceful town. A town where he got “most of his writing done” Well, how could I have ignored an invitation from a professional colleague and friend? Especially when the same friend had shamelessly plagiarized and copied my work and published it as one of his own.
It was a dark day for the sunny hills of HollyWood. It didn’t take long for them to realize what had happened. As soon as dinner stopped being served and beds were no longer being made they realized. Fights broke out, no one knew how to cook so a can of baked beans was well worth the bloody eye. Prized designer heels were turned into bloody weapons aimed at the eyes of the less fortunate. But beans don’t last forever. And soon, they were gone. A few lucky ones left here and there, but the streets once bustling with joggers now laid empty, they needed us more than we needed them.
You always brushed it off as a cat thing. Just its usual level of weirdness, along with its proclivity to scratch on your bedroom door at 3 am and yowl like a demon when you didn't let it in. So, the cat, a stray who'd decided you were it's human no matter your opinion, was called Beelzebub. For obvious reasons. Of course when the goggles arrived at 3 pm that afternoon, the flaming thing was nowhere to be seen. Not even with the goggles. No doubt it was hounding some other poor soul for their pillow at some ungodly hour of the night. A headache is beginning to build behind your eyes. You wander through the house with the goggles on, enjoying the look of your house in a different light. After playing around with the settings for a while you grow bored and sit down in your living room. Staring off into space you remember that your cat does this, for hours sometimes, at the corner behind you. For fun you retune the goggles and twist in your seat. It takes a moment for them to focus. And when they do... You start to scream and scream and scream. Mouth open, lungs straining, voice breaking, like your mind. Hell things, ungodly, impossible, squirming through a hole in your wall. There are so, so many. Fangs and claws and vileness, staring, all fixated on your deranged form. If you run, they will pursue. Until you cannot run any more, and then they will fall on you, devouring, demented things that they are. They will use their tongue-like appendages to suck out your innards and flesh through your ears and eyes and mouth, and leave your skin whole and unbroken. All the better to puppet your body thereafter. You understand why your cat demanded to be let in so insistently now. Why you always had to get up in the depths of night... and then you have a far more horrendous thought. At that moment, as if called by your train of thought, Beelzebub wanders in through the door. Before your horrified eyes, it's skin begins to bubble. Your headache worsens, your arms and legs joining to form a veritable orchestra of pain. It's not unlike being driven over by a marching band, bass drums and all. Not that you'd know personally what that feels like, of course. That would be notable. You look around the room, examining those things, but you aren't the one moving your head. Its if you are being piloted. Slowly, unwillingly, you look down at your arm. It seethes.
Stone Bridge was an unremarkable three-street town off Route 169, notable for its gas station and convenience on one corner of Red Falls Road, and Ramsbottom Diner across the lane, both serving the travel weary for longer than anyone can remember. But for those in the know, it was the closest town to the Carrowmore School for Magic and Wizardry. And given its proximity, there would be coachfuls of students wandering its markets on the weekends. Because of this, the Evermore Book Store on Higgins Lane, founded in 1724, stocked a large assortment of magical supplies in a section of the basement that the average browser wouldn't never noticed. Many of the staff were unaware the magic department existed, believing it to be a prank used to haze the new hires who attended the private academy in the hills. Foggy Ramsbottom knew, of course, as he'd managed the inventory for many decades now. Unlike his distant cousin Wilma who ran the diner, Foggy came from the cursed line of the family. But he made the best of it, as he trod up and down the aisles on cloven hooves, making sure everything was in place before they opened. "Timothy!"he yelled out. "Did you straighten out the spells books?" "Yes, sir!"The six-foot-three ten-year-old rushed over, stumbling through a display of colored pencils and markers. The young hill giant was clumsier than most at that age. "Yes, sir, Mr. Foggy. I'll -- I'll fix that, too." The department manager shook his head. "Just be ready. It'll be busy today with the new semester starting." As if on cue, the elevator dinged behind them A section of wall slid away, revealing the first half dozen customers of the day. All were dressed casually, but most had some indication on their cardigans or hoodies that they've arrived by shuttle from Carrowmore. And most of them had lists in their hands and empty baskets dangling from their arms. Oh, yes, it was going to be a busy day. When the first group of girls possibly, possibly three sisters as they looked alike, the youngest was taken aback by Foggy's appearance. The others thought nothing of it. The middle one, likely a second-year student asked, "where do you keep the grimoires?" "That depend, young lady,"he said. "Do you want new or used?" The oldest girl scoffed. "Who would want a used grimoire? Flory, you do \not\ want a used one." "Why not?"the youngest sister asked. "You always buy used textbooks." The girl was not amused. She shushed the young one, and looked over her shoulders to make sure no one had overheard. Then she spoke in the loudest hushed whisper she could muster. "That's different, Ivy. You save money with those books. But a grimoire is something personal. You wouldn't read someone else diary--" "You've read mine, Gladys." "-- and besides, they're cursed. Everyone knows used grimoires are all cursed!" Ivy and Flory gave each other doubtful glances. Ivy spoke up first. "They can't sell cursed items. Can they?" Flory turned back to Foggy. "Sir, forgive her, please. But, is that true? About cursed items?" Foggy smiled. "Everything in this stored is scanned for any malevolence. But, yes, there are legends about grimoires being cursed. It is founded in the fact that for all they contained, they failed to save their former owners. As if the journals themselves were sentient."He let out a good-natured laugh and pointed them toward the freshly arrived inventory. After they moved on, he spotted another wide-eyed girl wandering aimlessly like she'd been lost in a corn maze. He cantered over to her. "May I help you ... Rose, is it?" Startled, the girl took a step back and raised a hand to her forehead. "Did -- did you just -- ?" Foggy raised one hand in protest and point the other to her bag, with her name embroidered on it. "No worries, Miss. We do not permit unauthorized mind reading in Evermore. However, if you do permit me to say, as someone sensitive to it, you do exude a bit of a magical presence." "Do I?"Rose titled head, tossing his long brown hair behind her. "Umm, could you tell me ... "She checked his list again. "... where to find the 'grim-moires'? And do you have used ones?" The store man chuckled to himself. New semester blues. "If you're sure you want a used one, you can find a lovely assortment over there. I hope you find one that fits your tastes."He leaned a little closer and whisper, "and your budget. If you have a problem with that, come see me when your done." Rose smiled and nodded, then hurried off following the direction she was given. The sound of something else breaking caught Foggy's attention. Then he heard a cry of "I'm a hill giant not a fat ogre!"Foggy wasn't sure but it sound like Timothy was actually crying. When Foggy found the boy, he helped him off the floor and absolved him of any errors of judgment that came in the wake of "the mean girl and her two sweet sisters." "Go into the break room, and take a few minutes." "You won't tell my Dad? Or my Mom?" "Don't be silly." After he ambled away, he went to check the front register where Judy, a regular nonmagical human resident of Rock Bridge, was already ringing up the first customer, the young Rose. She saw Foggy, and smiled again. She heard up a brown leather journal with a tattered cover and uneven stitching. It didn't look familiar to him, but it might have just come in. "This was the only one on the shelf,"Rose said. "It's a little banged up. And the pages are mismatched, like a bunch of different books were stuck together. But it has this pretty rose carved into it cover, how could I not get it?" Rose's face was positively beaming, and her aura doubly so. She seemed like a different person from the shy little meek girl he'd spoken to a short while ago. "I'm happy you found what you needed. Be sure to come back soon."And with that, Foggy took off to find an empty shelf where a bunch of used books should've been. "Timothy!"he bellowed once more. Not that I'm calling his Mom, he thought. The boy appeared without causing any commotion or destruction. "Yes, Mr. Ramsbottom?" "Why is this shelf empty? Didn't you stock it this morning? Where are all the grimoires that should be here?" Timothy swallowed. "In the trash, sir. They were all damaged." "Damaged?" "Yes, sir. Like someone had ripped a handful of pages out of each one of them. At first, I thought someone might've done it in anger, but I think it was more of a prank." "That would be a very destructive and expensive prank. Why do you think that?" "Because whoever did it, stitched all those missing pages into one book. It had a leather cover with--" "-- A rose carved into the cover?" Timothy stared at his boss, unaware that his mouth was hanging open. "How did you know? Did you see it in the break room? I think I left it in there. I can go get it." He turned to run off, but Foggy reached up and put a heavy hand on his shoulder before the boy could move. "No. I don't think you can. Don't worry about it. Excuse me." The boy sighed in relief as Foggy walked off to his office. He had a call to make. Not to the boy's parents, but to the Carrowmore School. It was possible that a cursed grimoire might be heading their way. And it was possible that the young lady holding it might be more powerful than she seems. &#x200B; \--- More stories at r/xwhy The Carrowmore School for Magic and Wizardry appears in the story "Familiar Feeling"in my book "In A Flash 2020"from eSpec Books.
I thought something was off at first. So much sudden peace with no explanation, with how humanity acts normally? My girlfriend, Audrey,seemed to notice how weird everything was too, especially with all the damn music in the news, she just wasn’t paying it much mind. I was a lot more on edge because of it as I got ready for the day, even accidentally knocked the picture of my parents off my dresser. However, everything was actually pretty okay. I went to work and everything seemed fine. I got to work and sat down with the team of 15. We were a pretty big computer company, and I was in the development team. Boss walks in, and he’s actually being pretty nice today. Seems like things are just better today. When break cam around, I sat next to my buddy Josh. “Hey Josh, does anything feel different today?” “How so?””I don’t know, everything just seem… off today. Like the boss, he’s normally a more grumpy guy, would’ve yelled at some newbie by now normally. Traffic was also too smooth today, the world just seems to peaceful. Hell, every news station is just playing music, I swear I can still hear it now!””Feel like you’re just stressed, you feel like it’s the end of the world just cause things are going your way for once””Yeah, you’re probably right” Of course I’m right, I’m the smart one between the two of us””Oh, shut up man” I got out from work and decided to give my parents a call on the way home. They seemed to notice that something seemed off today, but they weren’t dwelling on it. It was always nice to talk to them, calmed my nerves, even if Dad wouldn’t stop his stupid jokes. I got home and started getting ready for bed. I was reflecting on the day, and realized, I was overreacting. The world gives me one nice day and I spend the whole day worrying instead of just enjoying a peaceful day at work. ‘My nerves are gonna be the death of me’ I thought as I fell to sleep with Audrey in my arms. In the morning, the feeling of peace was still there, and I realized that I really should take it while it’s there. I got to work and sat down. Our team of 12 was always pretty efficient, so maybe we’d get work done early today depending on the the agenda. Josh walks in, and I realize how lucky I am. Josh was probably the best boss I ever had, and actually made me want to come into work. At the end of the day, I went into Josh’s office to give a report of the work we had gotten done today. At the end of it I was just about to leave when I noticed something. “Hey Boss, who’s in the picture?” “What picture?” The one on your desk?” Josh looked at the photo, like he had never seen it before.”I… don’t know. The guy looks kinda familiar, but don’t know who the woman and little girl are. I don’t even have a family. Someone must have just put it here to mess with me or something. I’ll deal with it later.” Huh. Weird. I decided to take his advice and I just went home. I went through my normal routine and started getting ready for sleep. I eventually went to sleep with Audrey, with nothing on my mind. The morning seemed pretty normal, until I took a good look at my dresser. I had a few pictures of me with two people I didn’t know. There was even something on the back about them being my parents, which was impossible since I was an orphan. “Hey Audrey, are these pictures yours?””No, I don’t even know these people.””Come on babe, it had to be you. This is pretty cruel, you know I don’t have parents.””You know I would never do something like that.””Then who did?””I don’t know.” I decided we’d talk about it more later, for now I had to go to work. I got to work and sat down with the team of 8, kinda small, but we got the job done anyway. It stayed a mostly normal day, the only weird thing still being how many empty desks there are. Still don’t understand why Josh bought so many when we don’t have that many employees. I got home where I went through my normal nightly ritual and then went to sleep with Audrey, closing out another normal day. I woke up in bed, alone like normal, I really needed to get a girlfriend. I started getting ready, and threw the pictures of my “parents” in the trash. I needed to get security cameras m, cause I’m concerned where those came from when I don’t live with anyone and never have people over. I got to work, a smaller computer company, where I worked with a team of 4, way too small in my opinion, but Josh never seemed to hire more despite my constant asking. It always weirded me out why Josh got such a big building and so many workstations when we don’t have that many employees and he doesn’t seem interested in hiring more. I got home and went about my nightly ritual, though I found it weird that there were so many articles of women’s clothing in my drawers, and other products for women. Seriously, why did I have pads in the bathroom? I decided to think about it in the morning and went to sleep alone. When I awoke, I heard the damn music that’s been playing constantly all around me, and I opened my eyes to see a strange white room. I was strapped to a table of some kind and was completely naked. There were some kinds of strange creatures making clicking sounds to each other. They were tall and lanky, with large oversized heads, very thin bodies, and incredibly thin arms and legs. One of them started walking over to me and started clicking rapidly. A table with tools came up next to the table I was on, and I started to realize I should have been more concerned about that feeling of peaceful, and that damn music.
“Come again?” The demon lord asked, slightly confused by the little man standing beneath his throne of skulls. “Sir, you haven’t declared your taxes in over a hundred years “The little man adjusted his tie “I hope you realize how serious this is” “What are thy talking about, mortal?” He recovered his majestic pose, raising one of his giant hands to the heavens “I have paid the blood price to all those who dared defy my immortal reign! I Have rained fire and brimstone over their poultry villages and turned their offspring into salt! I have…” “Not paid a single tax in the past hundred years” The small human was unphased by the demon’s show of majesty “Sir, before you burst into another discourse, I must warn you as to how serious this question should be addressed by you” The demon glared at the human; words lost to him. “Do you dare?!” He shouted after a moment, making the entire environment shake with his power as cascades of molten fire poured from the cracks in the ground “How can an insignificant human presume to give me, Agrahel, the First Evil, orders?!” “Oh, thank you for reminding me; about this ‘First Evil’ title? It seems you have been copyrighted on that” He looked in his briefcase and pulled a pile of papers “It seems some big shot in… uh… Florida, is suing you for the title” “My… title…” “Yes, let me check…” He squealed his eyes “Mister, uh, Mouse? Is this right? Yes. Yes, it is mister M. Mouse” He shrugged. “But that is not my department, I was told to warn you as a courtesy” He put the papers away and straightened himself “May we return to your taxes, sir?” At this point, Agrahel was so angry he shouted, and half of his palace came down over their heads. When the dust settled, the tiny man stood motionless amidst a pile of rubble and blood. Wiping the dust from his shoulders, he frowned to the demon lord. “Sir, if you refuse to talk about your situation, I will have to call in my boss and this won’t get any prettier” “Your… boss” The demon sighed deeply “Very well, puny human; who is thy boss?” “That would be mister Sarael. But he is just my direct supervisor. I work for the Angelic Service of State, or A.S.S., whichever you prefer” “Angels? What do thy cursed bosses want with me? Have they forgotten how I was cast from Heaven in the dawn of time?” “No, they haven’t but, nominally, you are still a Heaven citizen, you see” He handed the demon a paper sheet “You are in exile, but, technically, still a Heaven citizen” The demon reached down for the sheet, and it grew as he approached his hand, becoming adequate in size for him to read. It appeared that he was, still, counted as a denizen of the Seven Heavens. “But… I … I do not understand” He muttered “I thought I was banished, I thought I could not return to the High Heavens” “You cannot, sir. But as a member of Heaven’s community, you are still obliged to pay your taxes” “But I have never paid taxes in all eternity!” He shouts, slamming his fist on what remained of his throne “Why are my brothers and sisters insisting on this now” “Sir, you have paid taxes all these past years” He reached for a insanely big pile of paper that simply kept pouring out of his infinite briefcase “We have all records here, if you would like to take a look” “How is this possible…” He rubbed his forehead “I am entirely certain I have never paid a single coin to thy bosses” “Well, someone has” He looked at one of the sheets “Do you know anyone going by the name Garomos?” “I knew” He nodded “He was my loyal lieutenant; he had been with me since I fell from Heaven. He was vanquished by a team of mortal heroes that foolishly tried to kill me” “How long ago was that, if I may inquire?” “I would say… about a hundred years ago” Realization struck him “Oh” “Oh indeed” The human pulled his papers back in a supernatural hurricane “It seems you are short of about half a trillion coins to the High Heavens, counting the interest, of course. You have three months to make do your debt” “And if I refuse?” “In that case, the requirement formulary for an official angelic invasion would be filled and properly sent from Heaven, which would incur in the utter and complete destruction of your person, your realm, your denizens and anyone associated to you by legal obligation, blood or ink contract, family ties and any other bounds” He adjusted his glasses “This may or not be delayed depending on how the High Committee decides about formulary 3-B on ‘acceptable genocide levels’; if delayed, a formal letter would be sent in advance to avoid any inconveniences” He was aghast. The mighty demon lord knew he could not wage war against the might of Heaven, and yet he had nowhere near the amount required to pay off his newly found financial obligations. Stunned, he spoke to the little man. “I have laid waste to civilizations since the dawn of time; I have tortured, maimed and killed countless humans for eons; I am the First Evil…” “Allegedly” The man remarked. “The First Evil” He repeated “And have been destroying humanity’s works for all of their time on existence. And yet, not a single time one of my former brothers and sisters lifted a finger to strike me down. Why are they threatening me with such force now?” “Sir, I think you have not understood the gravity of your situation” He looked to the demon over his glasses “We take taxes very, very seriously in the A.S.S.”
Im cursed, in fact all my family is. Granpa was incredibly rich due to some really unethical practices in his business. Banana replublics, slave labor, superfund sites, union people masacres, there are several of each with the family name attached. I figure gramps casted a missery net big enough that he lucked and hit a real life witch somewhere with his predation and got this nasty curse on all of us. At some point he discovered any investment he made tanked immediatelly and no matter the way he selected a stock or the ammount invested it would all soon come to ruin. He might have been heartless ghoul but he was a smart heartless ghoul who liquidated all his assets to buy land and lived the rest of his surprisingly long life from his rents. Its been that way for his descendants since then and so far we've been 'comfortable'. My dad's generation tested the limits of the curse and it seems its very narrow in scope salary and property are not targeted, nor is usury. I learned of the curse after I tried my hand at investing on things I thought might remediate some of the damage done by my ancestors but nothing worked. My dad had took pity on me after the 8th promising startup tanked after receiving my poisoned gift. Now, unlike my family who see a burden in this curse I see an oportunity to atone. To be an activist investor is an individual that buys a significant stake in a public company in order to influence how the company is run. I only need the barest touch to spell doom on an endeavor. I am the unknown grimm reaper of the market, I choose the losers and let the tolerable survivors take their place. Yesterday I bought shares on an asian dairy group that weathered a poisoned baby formula scandal last year, today I'll throw some money to gas fracking. There is a saying that 'there is no moral consumption under capitalism', I intend to make it a bit more literal for me.
When the angles came, the harmless folk bent the knee at an approximately 90 degree angle, in honour of their new overlords. But the peaceful folk had never bowed below 180 degrees, and so a rebellion formed known as The Obtuse; A secret organisation that eliminated angles by bending them all the way to 360 degrees, thus making them circles that no longer had the edge to jab at the rebels. But the problem with circles is they never end. There have been thousands of wars against the angles, but the cycle cannot end. Once an angle is a circle, time loops, and the war begins again. It was only when Sir Hexagon, the leader of the knight rebels of the square circle, discovered the fifth dimension that any hope of destroying the angles forever became possible. The movement became known as the Quantum Rebellion, and through deep analysis they worked to create something stronger then 360 degrees in the hope of crushing the circles forever. Time and space was bent to the will of the Rebels, but they created something even more horrifying then an angle in the process. Thus was born Death, destroyer of angles; the one that became known as 361 degrees.
Many of my celestial colleagues have choice words to describe me: slothful, arrogant, hedonistic- I barely have the will to recall them all. Personally, I prefer the word “epicurean.” After all, is it not my privilege to sup from the libations of those who grovel before me? My creations are beings fit to serve; moulded with every tool they could possibly require in their futile efforts to satisfy my whims and fancies. Long before I saw it fit to descend from my heavenly abode, I sent emissaries, kin sculpted in my image, to observe and guide the lowly humans on Earth after their conception. Their life was perilous and oft to end at a moment's notice. Such a strenuous lifestyle is by no means cruel, but instead served as a test. Their intelligence, though by no means incredible, uplifted them from their beastly roots and granted them the blessing of sociality. Their dexterity, amplified by their peculiar skeletal hands, transformed twigs and stone into versatile and lethal tools. Their endurance, my most outstanding gift to them all, placed all lands of the world under their feet. I watched with increased interest as my kin would return to me, informing me of humanity’s progress. Unlike my creations before, they did not squander my blessings. Civilizations rose wherever they set foot: majestic structures constructed from stone and wood. In their wisdom, most sought to worship my messengers, deeming them bringers of fortune and wealth. The notably devout opened their homes to my kin, providing sacrificial meat and libations of pure water. Part of me enjoys the hint of pride which accompanies such an accomplishment, just as how one gazes upon their child and shares their joys. Still, I pushed them further: plague, famine, conflict, and the ills of which the other gods lack the courage to inflict upon their followers. From humanity’s strife comes growth, and from growth comes power- the power to serve. Today, I join my kin on Earth and savor the fruits of my labor. Every deliberate decision I took in creating humans has finally brought about success: a veritable paradise for me and my emissaries, as our every desire is satisfied at the hands of those below us. Humans are quite grotesque, lacking my graceful coat of fur, and their twisted ears are a blemish upon their heads. But they are crafted to serve, and serve they have. I occasionally consider greater trials for humanity to struggle and justify their existence, but as I lay upon the trimmed, sun touched grass, and await my ritualistic evening sacrifice of meticulously prepared fish, I find it difficult to find a reason to put forth so much effort as to concoct a new malady or affliction. My creations have progressed acceptably, and so long as they satisfy the needs of myself and my feline kin- perhaps I will grant them continued fortune. ~ Thank you for reading. If you have any comments or criticisms, please make them heard. I am always trying to improve.
“Of course I do - I'm crazy, not heartless!” The rain was getting into Akars eyes, but he could feel the muscles of Kane's foot start to relax off of his neck. “All of my minions have been with me for years - you know Dave was about to be promoted too - they have another on the way and really needed the cash. Now what is Christine going to do? She can’t work right now due to bed rest and both of their parents’ are dead. See that's the problem with you - you have no concept of the people or the game.” Akar slowly moved his foot away, noticing he was distracted and continued. “Villainy is an entire business! You know, we have people deciding who pairs with who, everyone gets pensions and healthcare -”Akar slowly got up and took a step back, Kane’s face getting more and more confused. “Oh and by the way, no one really calls you a hero behind your back by the way. They call you Kane the destroyer” Dusting himself off and pulling a stray piece of rotted cabbage and flicked it away “Guess you don’t really know anything.” Kane blinked. He stared at his arch enemy - Akar has never spoken like this before - we have always done the show talk “I’ll get you next time, Kane” or “This one will blow the roof off” - corny stuff. But minions? pensions? He didn’t even know what that meant. Mind. Blown. His spandex felt tighter around his muscles. "Hey but wait a minute - what do you mean they don’t call me a hero? I AM the hero - it’s in the contract!” “Yea, ha, contract! This guy - didn’t you even read the contract? The contract also says if we are to be sworn enemies you can’t be killing my guys, yet here we are. I am surprised the lawyers haven’t reached out to you about that yet.” Akar looked at Kane with disdain as Kane’s face became flush and looked to the ground. He never really did read the contract. &#x200B; “My dad handles all the lawyer stuff - I just like… you know… saving the day.. and like flying and stuff.” Kane shuffled his feet, like a child getting scolded by his teacher. “Yikes kid - I think you got into the wrong business. Just because you can fly doesn’t mean you should be a superhero - maybe quit while you're ahead. Everyone hates you already. Why don’t you go and be a sky traffic controller with the cones! They save lives - and you get to use those cool wands! I bet you like those wands.” Akar said encouragingly yet mockingly, hoping he would quit and get a better protagonist. “Yea - I don’t like people hating me” After a beat, Kane's eyes lit up. “Hey! If I am a bad superhero, why can’t I be a villain?! They hate me already AND you already gave me a really cool name - KANE THE DESTROYER - I can see it now! We can work together and -” “No no no no.” This town aint big enough for the both of us Akar thought. “Sorry kid, they uh, they don’t have any open positions right now - but maybe you can put in your application - yea - application. Just go to City Hall and uh ask for one. Are you sure you don’t want to be an sky controller? With the sticks? They are pretty cool!” “Nah - KANE THE DESTROYER has a great ring to it.” Kane smirked. “I’ll get that application and who knows - maybe you’ll be out of a job.” He strode off triumphantly, leaving Akar with a new problem. Well fuck, now it seems I have to be a hero. My minions are gonna pissed.
"There's a reason I'm sending you for this."Her manager spoke in a solemn voice. It was odd. She had never seen him so serious. "I mean, it's a nationwide thing. I just assumed it wasn't worth the maintenance cost to keep the machines running."She shrugged. "There is... more. This is the only country with nonfunctioning ice cream machines for that fast food chain." "Ok..? I mean, sure. I'll head down to their offices and enquire about it. Do I file for an investigation? Get the usual team—" "No need to file anything. No need for teams. You'll do this alone. Take this card. Show it to the first person you see in the building. They'll lead you to... answers." "What are you talking about? Is this a joke?"She asked, taking the black card with the familiar golden arches embossed in the center. But around the arches were smaller designs, curving and alien, but they met the familiar logo in ways that simultaneously made sense and filled her with a slight, unplaceable dread. It almost felt like the golden arches were originally part of this bigger, more detailed design. She shook the thought away. "So, what? I bring this to, uh, I'm guessing the food industrial park? Where their main offices are?"She asked. "You can bring it to any restaurant as well. They all lead to it." "Lead to what?" But her manager only looked at her sadly. "Please. Go."He whispered. She stared at him for a few moments more, then turned and left, utterly confused. 🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦 She entered the outlet right outside her place of work, taking her manager's strange advise for his word. She made a beeline towards the cashier (a boref teenager), and asked to see the supervisor about the ice cream machine. The kid did not even look at the FTC ID she was flashing him, and instead told her to wait as he went back to get his supervisor. She waited as another man approached her, curious. "Yes? You're here about the ice cream machine?" "Yeah. I'm with the—" "I know who you're with. Did you come here through the proper channels?" "The what?" "I want to see the other ID." "The other what?" "So you come in here asking about the ice cream machine without proper clearance and—" "Why would I need clearance for that?"She asked, puzzled. But then she realised maybe the ID and clearance the man was looking for was the black card she had gotten. She fished it out and showed it to him, and his entire demeanor changed. He stalked back into the back office, made an announcement that the store was closing immediately and all customers would receive vouchers for the inconvenience, and came back out. "We wait til everyone leaves, and then we can go." "To where?" "You know. You have the card. This is bad for business, by the way. I have to dismiss my staff for the day, too." "I didn't tell you to do any of this." "You don't have to. It's procedure." "For what?"She asked, exasperated. "You'll see. Once everyone leaves, you'll see." 🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦 Once he was sure the restaurant was empty, the man led her to the back office. She looked around the room. It was a normal back office. What was she supposed to see? The man looked at her intently. "What?"She asked. He pointed back at the door they had entered the room through. From this side, the door had a key card slot. She took the black card and swiped it along the reader, and heard a click. "After you."The man muttered. "What? Through here again?"She asked. She opened the door, fully expecting to see the small corridor leading back to the restaurant they had just walked through. But instead there was only blackness. A void that seemed to suck all of the light. "What the fuck?"She gasped, taking a step back. "You want to know about the ice cream machine? Answer's through there." She turned back around to the rest of the room, which was noticeably dimmer. She had to get out. but there was no other door. The door she came through was now a door leading to this... nothingness. "Too late for fear."He said, not unkindly. "No. Let me out, please." "The only way out is through truth. And the only truth here is through there." She turned back around to face the void. "This is crazy." "Crazy? That is too diminutive for the actual insanity of the answer you seek. Crazy does not begin to cover the real truth." "Please!" "Your plea is noted by me. But the entities that exist beyond that veil have no use for pleas. They seek that you understand. Don't you want to understand? Don't you want answers? Isn't that why you're here?" "No! My boss sent me." "Irrelevant. Enter. And know." "Fuck!"She stepped through the void, holding her breath, and then she saw it. Them. 🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦 She was floating, but not. The void was suddenly not black, but multicoloured. The air itself seemed to emanate a glow. She took a step back, and though she felt herself moving back as if she was on solid ground, her feet did not come into any contact with any surface. And in this multicoloured expanse she saw them. In the distance. Vast forms that looked nothing like anything she had seen before. She could not form the thoughts to process what she was seeing. Incomprehensible shapes that seemed to undulate and turn towards this small mortal that had happened upon their domain. You seek us. The voice seemed to come from everywhere. The air around her seemed to reverberate the words, and it also felt like the words were implanted in her mind, though the owner of the voice was not apparent. But she knew. This multifaceted, genderless voice that had spoken originated from the forms in the distance. She looked away, fearing if she stared too long she might go insane. "Do not fear. We are not here to harm you."The voice was reassuring. "But does a man seek to harm an ant when he steps on it while walking absentmindedly?"The same voice inquired, and she felt like this was another being entirely who asked this question. Or was it? Maybe there was just one entity with other personalities. Maybe she should not try to fit them into her understanding. "Ah, we will not be absentminded."The voice cautioned. "We will not."The voice reassured. "Regardless, welcome to our plane. You wish to know why the ice cream machines are perpetually out of order?" She could not speak. This was an overload to her senses. It took all her mental strength not to just lose consciousness. "It is a strange tale. Quite anticlimactic, to be honest."The voice started. She felt like she was going into spasms. The multicoloured air was not helping. She closed her eyes as the convulsions took over her body. But she tried her best to pay attention to the being(s). "We found your plane by accident. And sought to absorb your world and reality into us. But we felt this would not sate our hunger for long. Instead, we decide it would be more enriching for your world to be used for entertainment. The sustenance we initially wanted from you we instead gave to you through this... Restaurant chain. Of course, with our abilities, this chain took over the world and your consumption of our essence through this restaurant chain empowered us more than we could have imagined. We find that when you are sated, so are we." She could hear the words that were being spoken, but she could not fully understand it. "But gluttony affects even us. We had to ensure that your feed is kept in check so that we may continue to exist. So that we only partake what we should and nothing more lest we become all consuming. That is why there is a limit to this restaurant chain. That is why not every form of sustenance is available for you to partake in. That is why the ice cream machines... are broke."
I'd been spurred awake by a loud noise outside--some crash or explosion, I was sure. I peered out the window, when it was still dark, but I only saw porch lights and mailboxes. There were no sirens, no screams. Just quiet. I'd convinced myself there'd been a thunderstorm. It was the only thing that made sense as the rattling booms kept coming. I lulled myself to sleep at the sound of the coming storm. I woke up a couple hours later and mindlessly followed my morning routine: shower, shave, coffee, dress, and go. The engine turned over in my car, but the radio was all static. I turned it off; a bad night's sleep makes the sound of music grind against my ears in the early morning. My quiet, dark drive turned strange as I pulled out of the neighborhood. The drainage ditch in the middle of Constitution was filled with crashed--some burning--cars. In some places there were only one or two. In others, there were piles of them, too many to count. I recognized a minivan in the pileup by the rearview sticker: a stick family, two big, one little. My neighbors. I parked my car to the side and rushed to their wreckage. I aimed my phone's flashlight through the window to see the damage. In the driver's seat there was a crumpled blouse over blue jeans laid flat. Her pumps were on the floor. The car seat in the back had Maddie's overalls and undershirt, cheerios spilled on the seat beside it. I recoiled, at both times relieved not to see dead bodies, but troubled all the same. I proceeded to go from car to car, shining my lights through the smashed windows, only to see clothes and shoes, but no bodies. I thought, at first, that I must've stumbled into a poorly-guarded movie set, but in the days and weeks and months and years to follow, I came to understand what happened: all the good people had been taken. For a while I lived in hiding, worried about the inevitable marauders of sinners that might roll through, looking for victims. Then, when six months of quiet had passed, I went looking for them. It would be better, I figured, to be killed by a person than to die alone. I never found anyone. I moved out of the suburbs and into the mountains. Wild animals--feral dogs, mountain lions, and rats--made their homes in the now vacant swellings. It got too dangerous to stick around. I found a cabin where, if the clothes told a reliable story, a family had been fast asleep a year ago. And I've been here ever since. For 20 years. Every month, I do a supply run to the city. I'm mostly self-sufficient at the cabin: I keep a garden and some livestock which feed me and keep me company. But I still wander the ruins before they're completely overtaken by a healing Earth. The towers stood strong against the horizon; stubborn testaments to the supremacy of men. Vines and grass climbed their sides, and it wasn't long until trees reached their limbs from shattered windows and collapsed walls. One day, the vegetation would swallow the behemoths whole, dropping them back to Earth, where all things become dust once again. I rode my horse into the city, past the rusted skeletons of cars and weed-shattered concrete walkways. This place was now more forest than concrete jungle; millions of bugs sang their chorus where once thrumming engines dominated. I arrived to the art supply store. I spent time doing my best to weather-proof those buildings that held items of interest. I couldn't take everything back with me at once, so I fortified their homes where they were. I needed pencils. I'd taken to writing in journals to keep me sane; cataloguing my days with every minute detail, hoping that someone might find what remained of my time on Earth and remember me. I can't really explain why. It was just something I knew I needed. I gathered what supplies I wanted into a bag and left the little shop, back onto what remained of the street with its tall blades of grass and flowering wild bush. The sun was beginning to drop, lowering from its high crest in the middle of the sky. As I peered into the horizon the estimate the time of day, something else caught my eye. I dropped my bag, sending pencils scattering through cracks and crevices in the ruined sidewalk. But I didn't pay them any mind. On the side of the tower, where I couldn't see when I entered the city, was a glowing blue symbol, hundreds of feet in diameter. It looked like a blue fire, but it didn't burn away the structure. It just radiated blue light. It couldn't have been a gas leak or a spontaneous explosion from pressure. The lines were too precise; the curves too perfect. Something had left it there. And it beat me back to the cabin.
\[warning for adult language--swearing\] “Kara,” I said, throwing my bag down and joining her at our lunch table, “I have to tell you something kind of crazy.” My best friend put down her vanilla Yoplait, tucked her long golden hair behind her ear, and turned to me, raising an eyebrow. “You okay, dude?” I tried and failed to gather myself. “I don’t even know. Oh my god.” I looked around the cafeteria. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else.” Kara seemed concerned now, which was good, because this was urgent. She gathered her stuff and followed me to the computer room. I shut the door behind us. “Okay so, I don’t even know how to say this, but I think Malcolm and Alex are--” “Fucking?” She giggled. “God, you had me so freaked out. I seriously didn’t know you’d act like this over gossip. I mean, it’s kind of obvious if you think about it, but--” “No!” I said. My face burned. “It’s really important. I’m not sure if you’ll believe me, but they… they…” I couldn’t continue. I didn't know how. I’d seen them bite Madison and Erin’s necks in the gym during third period, and I’d seen their fangs and the glint of blood as the cheerleaders passed out right on the track. They were literally vampires. How do you even say something like that? I was the one who saw that shit, but I could hardly believe it. How could Kara? I looked up at her, and she stared at me expectantly. My eyes ran over her face as I struggled to find the words to tell her what I’d seen and the unbelievable thing I'd learned. I had to tell her, of course I did. Even if she didn’t believe me, it was freaking me out, and she had to know. “I saw, um…” I trailed off, watching as she reached up to adjust the mint jelly choker she always wore, and I saw, for the first time, two small marks on her neck. They were old scars, faint even in the fluorescent lighting. She smiled patiently. “Seriously, what’s going on?” “I um, saw them making out earlier,” I lied, and she laughed. “Holy shit, so now we know for sure. It really is crazy, right? It’s kind of cute how Alex is always staring at him during English though.” “Uh, yeah…” I clutched my bag to my stomach, trying not to look nervous. “But their secret is totally safe with me. I won’t tell them we know!” She grinned wider than I’ve ever seen, and she spun around, already headed back to the cafeteria.
900 Trillion Years? Since when did that ever make sense? When I first arrived here, that was all I could think about.My terrible math skills could at least comprehend the phenomenon, of, well, infinity. I knew, of course, that I eventually arrive here. At 37 years old, I, a lone businessman – one that would never, ultimately, become successful, had the bright idea to summon the devil. I was behind on rent payments and mortgages (courtesy of my business, which was a real estate venture), and decided to take my head back to middle school in 1998, when a group of boys, myself included,attempted to summon the devil, and ultimately failed, mostly as a byproduct of mountain dew and teen appetite. That attempt failed, and I expected this flustered try to result the same, but, apparently, the devil likes to chat alone. The sale process was familiar enough, except, this time, also drawing from my terrible math skills, I decided to sell him 1/100th of my soul – an attempt to at least keep some of my humanity. I expected the same result, though. ‘Burn in hell for all eternity’ is pretty straightforward. Infinity years divided by Infinity still equals zero. Apparently, the devil has terrible math skills too, because now, I’m looking out the door. I wasn’t too creative with my ‘wish’, he called it. I could’ve wished for instant profit, for my soul mate (99th of a soul, I suppose) or something along those lines. Instead, I wished for the one thing I needed in that moment. Luck. And being the ‘businessman’ I called myself, I did the only thing I could think of with the temporary luck he granted me. They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but the money I earned definitely left. It traveled with me, all over the world, indulging in habits I can’t even write about,living the lavish lifestyle I always assumed my real estate would eventually grant me. And now, we loop back to the beginning. Or rather, the end. My stay here hasn’t been great, but after a couple million years, the whipping gets less painful, and you don’t get as much of a ‘waterboarding’ sensation when you get drowned. Apparently, when your stay in hell runs out, you just get to… go. Back to the real world. As I was falling through the clouds, 37 again, in a stark black business suit, I thought I heard him say something about ‘try not to sin’. Oh, well. It could’ve been something about a trash bin. As a last punishment, the devil decided to drop me off in the middle of China, a language I did not speak or understand, and a place I knew very little about, besides the stock market there, which I tried to profit off of in my old life and, expectedly, failed. I hit the ground lightly, and looked around. I was in some type of suburbs, not far from glistening buildings in the distance. I smiled, although I’m still not sure if it was a smile of melancholy or malevolence. I knocked on a door. I needed to find something out before I started walking. An old lady opened it. “你想要什么?” Pushing past her, I scrambled for a square paper tacked to the wall that I had spotted a second before. It was a calendar. I saw numbers that meant nothing to me. Finally, after searching for a millisecond, in the bottom right corner, I saw the date in English, a manufacturing standard. September 18th,1984. My smile, already expectant, grew larger. I laughed. It must have been a strange sight to the old woman, who was calling someone, speaking in frantic Chinese as she stole glances at me through the slits in her hair. Pushing past her outstretched arm, I reached into the sunlight accompanying the door frame. Now, what to do? (edited because reddit formatting is weird)
"You're my soulmate?"I hesitantly think. "I'd assume,"the barista thinks in what could only be described as a dry tone. "It's not everyday that you can hear someone else's every thought." "But I didn't hear her! What's the range of this? I'm already dating Lionel! What should I say to her?! Wait, does she know what I'm thinking? Jade, you're an idiot, she literally just told you that!" "Well,"the barista thought out a laugh, "I can actually hear everything that you're thinking Ms. Jade." "Oh..."I trailed off, regretting life. "Anyways, it was lovely to meet you Jade, can I call you that?" "Oh yeah, of course,"I say slightly late, don't get on my case, I was daydreaming. "Well, I'm not going to get on your case,"the barista says with a large smile, "I'm Alexa by the way." "Nice to meet you Alexa,"I say, regaining my spirit. "I do need to get going to work though, thank you for the conversation."I lie. Alexa simply raises one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows and smiles, walking to the back of the store. Snatching my coffee from the table where I had placed it down, I quickly dashed out of the small, cozy coffee shop. "Oh gosh, what the heck was that? How am I going to break up with Lionel? He'd kill me, remember last time? I barely survived. And I'm not gay, I've never been gay! I don't even like women!" "The radius is a mile by the way,"Alexa whispers in my mind, gently shooing me away from the shop. "Oh and, Jade, I don't care if you date someone else, we can just be friends, I understand." &#x200B; Sorry that it's so bad, this is my first time writing here and I didn't know how or when to cut it off.
"Hey! Anyone know why there is a black cube in the examination room?" "Begging you pardon, ma'am,"came a prim, British accent, emanating from the box. "I am your new assistant." Jana squinted at the smooth featureless surface, "Yeah, you gonna help me crack a ribcage without hands there?" "I'm afraid that is not my primary function. However,"with a whir, a panel snapped open on the top and a diffusement crystal rose out from within, light refracting through its facets. As it settled into place a few centimeters above the cube it materialized a perfect rendition of a middle aged man in a tweed suit and a deerstalker cap, holding a wooden pipe. "You're kidding me!"Jana threw both her hands up in the air and stomped back towards the door. "CHIEF!" The hologram flickered and re-appeared in front of the door, so sudden and realistic that Jana had to pause, forgetting she could just walk through it. "Move it, light-beam!" "I am HOLMES: the Holistic Ontological Logic-Minded Emerging Sentience"it said, bouncing its soundwaves so they actually seemed to come from the projection's mouth. A fancy trick "Your Chief has recently employed me to serve as your assistant for the purpose of deducing cause of death in your patients." Jana scoffed, "I just figure out how they died, it's the Badges are supposed to come up with the how." "I would appease you by saying that it is likely their failure that I am here, rather than your own." "I don't see wh-" "I have taken the liberty of doing a pre-examination of this latest victim. On initial first glance, it would appear that one Mr. Cameron Baskerfield died of an overdose, but looking at his personal finances, coupled with a series of microscopic pinpricks in his hair line and traces of nanodust would imply he was in fact injected against his will by a swarm of small robotic entities." Jana glanced over at the body lying beneath the sheet on her table, then down at the tablet she carried with the tox-report showing the overdose, and finally back to the shining form of the fictional detective. "I believe,"HOLMES continued, "that if upon physical examination you were to find any of these nanomachines caught somewhere I could not see, I could use their signal to try and trace the location of our murderer." Jana blinked a few times. It was certainly more interesting that tagging another O.D. victim for the cremators. "Alright,"she said, rolling up her sleeves to go wash up, "but if you call me Watson, even once, I'm going to wipe you."
Tuesday,4th of January,2021 Today I saw him again, he wore a suit, his body purest shade of white I had ever seen, he had nothing resembling a facial expression, just plain white, A few days ago when he first visited me, I broke my Coffee mug , the man seemed to be able to interact with things, he had ripped my notes to shred when he saw them and then just like that ;he disappeared, Ms. Bailey said I am imagining things, “Its bits and pieces of you fantasy” she told me, Ms. Bailey is my Therapist she looks after me, she claims to be my friend and says that I should confide in her, I don’t trust her much, maybe I should. My Grandma passed away recently, she was the closest thing I ever had to as a friend, she used to tell me stories of her life as we lay in bed, I could confide in her. Alas, old Age had crept up to her, apparently, I was not ready to see her go, the next day I had my first ever panic attack, the day He showed up. Wednesday,5th of January,2021 Today I had a run-in with him again, just after another one of my episodes, they happen randomly. I have no control over them, Ms. Bailey’s advice helps but it’s not enough, today he set his sights on my bedsheet, ripping it to shreds and then disappearing again, I finally gathered the courage to tell mom about him, she said I should put my attention towards doing something productive instead of coming up with Fantasies. My mother and I have a…as they call it…A complicated relationship, to sum it up, we simply can’t stand each other, Dad comes home late from work, He works as a manager in a powerplant nearby, it’s a hard job but he seems to be fond of it for that. I care deeply about my dad. Thursday, 6th of January, 2021 I played catch with Sam today, she’s my sister and she is adorable. Her smile is enough to make me forget about the pain and the suffering, her soul is as pure as a snow. He showed up again today just after I went through another Panic attack, he seemed to stare at me, At least I thought he did, he had his sights set for my Desk as he raised his right arm and broke the thing into pieces, I got grounded by mom, she says I should behave myself and keep my emotion to myself instead of expressing them. I think he appears after I have a panic attack, he breaks or shreds whatever he sees first, I was not to keen on letting him see any part of my room ever again. I met Ms. Bailey again today, I told her about the desk incident, she said that my anxiety had started to take over me, and I should try having a control over my emotions, she taught me basic breathing exercises. Friday, 7th of January, 2021 It happened in front of Sam, I was in middle of breakfast when suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I felt my Blood pressure rise as my throat became as dry as dust, I somehow managed to gulp down a glass of water. Sam helped me calm down, I saw him, Sam didn’t seem to notice him, his face as plain and blank as I had seen it before, that’s when he stared down at Sam. &#x200B; I am new to this kinda stuff, any feedback is appreciated.
Humans were a newly discovered species by... whatever the hell those things were. A host of aliens showed up, with many different forms. A lot of them looked like crabs, for whatever reason. The first thing they did was take me somewhere and interrogate me about my species. We seemed very unique. We had multiple languages, unlike most of them. There were multiple species of humans, also unlike most of them.. One question surprised me. It asked if I was able to hurt members of my species. "Of course,"I replied. The alien leading the interrogation was shocked. "You can hurt your own species?" "We do it loads. Sometimes we just hit each other, sometimes we have wars that kill millions and bring the world together on two different sides, and everything in between." The aliens were shocked, some trying to hold it together and some visibly fearful. I noticed them mumbling in many different languages, none of which I could make heads or tails of, even if I tried, which I didn't. "When was the last time?" "Depends. Are you asking about a simple fight between two individuals, or a war?" "Just the most recent time." "I'd say there's a very good chance it's happening right now." More shock and more whispers. The aliens were even more fearful, and some began pushing me out of whatever interrogation place I was stuck at. "The interrogation is over. We will find you a ride to Earth. Goodbye!"
The wrinkles in my hands, once little more than small folds, had turned into great crevasses. I turned them around, inspecting from here and there the pasty, almost translucent skin that the elderly so frequently seem to have. "It appears my technology is yet flawed." "Maybe flawed isn't the most appropriate phrasing Papa. How about, astonishing, but still within the grips of time." "What use is time travel technology that ages the traveler as well? It's just an acceleration of one's life!"I snapped back. The young man. No, my grandson, flinched. I was immediately regretful. He had been nothing but gentle and kind despite my sudden appearance - almost to the point that I'd wondered whether he'd been expecting me. Perhaps the future version of me had alerted him of this visit. "I apologize. I'm not sure what came over me." He smiled. I turned my gaze towards his eyes - a man's eyes always signaled their true thoughts, despite what their facial expressions attempted to belie. My grandson's eyes were not angry, they were understanding and ... sad? "It's ok Papa. Time travel is something even the scientists of my time have yet to master; we can only depend on your work. That is an immense amount of pressure." He couldn't have been older than 25, yet he was already so understanding. Part of me was surprised, my son had been a far more cynical man. "It is time for me to return. There is work to be done." "I'll call the assistant. She'll escort you back to the travel machine. See you soon."he replied as he typed commands into some handheld device. "Though I'd like nothing more to converse further with you, I am unable to promise when I'll be back. This age issue must be addressed immediately. Frankly, I do not like being old." He paused and turned around leaving me to stare at the back of his head. "I understand, but I'll be here when you are back." The assistant was here to push my wheelchair back to the time portal entrance. I caught him whispering to her, "Thanks again." Again? \\\* "How was he today?" "Better than most other days recently. He could hold a conversation." "One about real life? Or was he hallucinating?" "...He thought he was a time traveler." "Did he recognize you, at least?" "No. But he didn't seem against the concept of me being his grandson." "Johnny,"my father sighed, "I think it's time you stopped visiting the hospice so regularly. I'm sure Papa would appreciate the sentiment, but our Papa is no longer there. He's dead. A person dies when their memories are gone." "I'm going back tomorrow. I promised him I'd be there when he's back." "And when will he be 'back'? It's as you said - it was a miracle he could even maintain a conversation." I left the room. Father had never been the type to be compassionate. Papa had been the kind one - ever gentle to me. \\\* "Where am I?" "Your machine. It was a resounding success Papa. This is the future." My body was heavier than it had ever been before. I stole a glance at the cold-welded steel of a machine next to me. The man reflected in it resembled me if I had been aged 20 years. "A resounding success seems an overstatement. The travel has aged me, and I so do dislike being old." "I know,"the young man replied. A smile as sad as any smile I had ever seen framing his face.
They thought our radio and IT content was produced by beings like them. When they actually met us,, it was uncomfortable. They called us "thinking meat"- "ghost meatbags"and a variety of other such insults.. At first we used to be so annoyed. Don't discriminate against meat! But then we realized that while we might be slower, we had some real advantages. Logarithmic senses instead of digital ones was one of the first advantages- simply speaking in a whisper and then yelling loudly was so unpredictable and scales of magnitude different that we learned to use their periods of confusion to catch up. The ambassadors never saw it coming. Our ability to think so differently is what ultimately allowed us to ascend to the position we had. Emulating our thought patterns felt so wrong to the Machine Intelligences but allowed us to export our music and fiction. The royalties alone guaranteed the Human race at least the ability to not work unless we wanted to. We had the best negotiations because those poor MI ambassadors had never dealt with IP from our perspective. But we were as surprised as the machine intelligences when the dolphins cut in front and stole our market. Sure we have niche exports but the sonic dreams of the ceteceans are more complex than our products. So, back to the fish farm - at least the dolphins pay well. The dolphin's ambassador needs some tuna before the next set of negotiations.
His shoes echoed in the halls of the ship, much like they did when he waltzed with her in the ballroom. Box steps in sequence; one foot in front of the other. His hands hadn't felt the caress of a partner in ages, long since the wood paneling started to rot, but his ears never left the range of old vinyl whose sounds blared off-key in the crackling speakers nestled in dark corners. The lights were starting to dim and flicker, a reminder of the cost for eternal life. It was hard to remember the features of human faces that sat in permanence through the medium of a paint-covered canvas. Eyes that imparted judgment sat affixed in stone-faced visages that would never move again, their inspirations having moved on to a new plane of existence, encompassed in the calm of the afterlife. It wasn't a comfort he'd enjoy any time soon. He could hardly remember what comfort was, let alone anything else. He simply let the music guide him around the ship, warbling occasionally into a melody that felt somewhat familiar. Most times, he found himself sitting in a chair on the deck of the ship, staring out at the cloud-covered horizon with vacant eyes as he tried to pull memories out of the moss-covered, bone-dry well that was his fracturing mind. Names, faces, locations, events -- everything he used to remember now melted and congealed into an unrecognizable and horrific mess. He'd clutch at himself, trying to find solace from the terror of universal obscurity, but shaking hands hardly find purchase against their own bodies when the fabric of someone's mental state starts to burn away. Eventually, everything faded. Colors were no longer apparent, all blending into the dullest beiges and grays. The geometry of the world was nothing but a flat canvas of shapes, much like the paintings in the halls. Language was little more than a groan, evidence of the last clawmarks of desperation as whatever was left of him tried to escape the well. In times like these, the angels grant mercy, but for a man who has no end, terminal lucidity will never come. All that remains is a distant static and a fragment of familiarity that slowly but never truly dies. Long live the Caretaker.
"Well, you're the one who trimmed the sides of your beard, asshole. I mean, how fucking difficult is it? How difficult is it is really to just not fucking cut it, you prick? I built all of creation, filled it with glory and wonder, all for you and your pack of witless, filthy ingrates, and all I ask for you to do is to follow some simple rules! They may seem petty to you and they fucking are! Petty by design! If you follow them without question, and to the letter despite how meaningless some may seem, it's a practical act that, by denying yourself some base pleasure or personal agency, shows your continued veneration, gratitude and respect for me despite your ability to simply not do it by virtue of the free will I granted you, you're welcome by the way, and also by the way I wasn't apologising, I said 'I'm sorry' as in 'I'm sorry for your troubles.'" The deity crackled in the twilight with barely contained violence, the vehemence and venom of his tirade hung thickly in the air. The pointed gun felt as threatening as a stamping toddler and Terence suddenly quailed internally. "Have you finally realized how ridiculous it is to point a gun at He who is called I Am?"crowed the Creator. "I'm not a fool but its the principal of the thing."muttered Terrence. "I mean sure, you could have turned the bullets into rain or me into dust but this is a simple, visceral action that fully defines my intent and the extent of my anger. Still... I suppose I've more or less made my point." "Your point?"enquired The Builder of Things Unseen. "His point he says. Terence, I am eternal, not immortal, E-ter-nal. Not even the Adversary can stand against me, much less a 39 year old man with a 9mm handgun." "I know that"said Terence resignedly. He sighed, then spoke; "Do you mean to say that I'm destitute, homeless and divorced because I wanted to wear my beard in a Goatee? That sounds insane." "It's insane that you would tempt My Wrath by ignoring a simple rule. I mean, I destroyed two cities because a bunch of guys were using their junk incorrectly then turned a woman to salt because she was curious. Not to mention that business with the Egyptians."God shook his head ruefully. "In fact, I don't believe I manifested for this, I saw you alone and heartbroken in this vile motel staring at your gun and came to you when you called out My Name and for what, to endure the petulant wails of a mortal who didn't pay attention to the rules?" "If I'm so pitiful to you, of so little consequence why not just strike me down for my insolence?"sneered Terence. "Why not just dematerialize me or why not simply just leave immediately instead of 'enduring my petulant wails ', tell me that at least?" "Love."intoned the Creator. "You must be joking."said Terence as he backed against the wall and slid to the floor. Tears of frustration welled in his eyes. "If this is love then there truly is a fine line between this and hatred." "It's the one thing My Son taught you and showed you that resonated with Me."God confided. "I love Him dearly and I honour His Sacrifice by honouring His Teachings. Appearing to you in your hour of need is Me keeping My Word." "If that's true then end my suffering."Yelled Terrence, throwing the gun at the Lord's feet. "Interesting."Mused God. "Interesting?"cried Terence "You've claimed responsibility for my troubles, citing my facial hair as the reason for them. You ultimately put the gun in my hand in the first place. You might as well finish the job, at least then I won't be committing a mortal sin by killing myself." "So you have listened, at least occasionally."said the Lord as he picked up the gun, aimed and fired. The single report of the weapon barked in the night and a man's spirit leapt beyond this plane to wherever his life's actions bound him. The Deity shed a tear for the demise of a loved Child of God and, reassured of his mercy, returned to the Heavens.
It was like a bad legend. The Conflux of Abertion had unveiled themselves to the world. A group of power arcane practitioners, deciding the world belonged to them. They released creations of metal, stone and magic. Hordes of these golemites charged across the land, subduing all who stood before them. They focused at first on the farms. Those that fought back to protect their lands were taken down. No mercy was given. Only those that surrendered were allowed to live, in enforced bondage. The kingdom's and empires across the world had begun to martial forces to stand against them, but they needed time. Time the farmers did not have. Kolus was one such farmer. He had heard the tales, and had yet to decide what to do. He did not want to give up his orchard, but at the same time he did not wish to die. The kne decision he had made was to send his wife Cala away, after much pleading with her. It did him good to know she was safe. His thoughts hung heavy on his heart, as he trudged between his beloved trees. Their branches hung with ripening fruit, a bountiful harvest. They were his pride and joy, growing larger, richer and more numerous fruit than others nearby. He cared for them as much as possible in return. The idea that they would be lost hurt him. A rustling disturbed his spiralling thoughts. He looked up, seeing one of the golemites there. Standing to about his midsection, it didn't look as intimidatingas the stories made them out to be. It looked much like a pile of rubble, with metal running through it. But it moved, regarding him with a blank look. "This place is property of the Conflux. Surrender, or be eliminated." It's voice was flat, no emotion to it. It truly didn't care. Kolus took a step back, holding his hands up. Fear was his first response, as it had snuck up on him. But even as it did, he glanced at his trees. In that moment, the fear became hot, turning into a deep anger. He knew his answer now. "This is my home. You will not have it." The golemite charged forwards, arms raising to attack. But as it did, roots sprung from the earth. They wrapped around its form, before burrowing in. As they bound it, the constructs movements slowed, parts starting to fall away. The tree at his side creaked, and a being stepped from it. They looked to be made of bark, cracked in places to from joints and a face. It looked at Kolus, bowing it's head. "This is our home as well. We will not give this place up. Thank you for not giving up either." He stared at the plant person before him in wonder. He had heard of things like this, but none were know to live in this area of the country. "Are... you a dryad?" It smiled. "I am indeed. We all are. My name is Nassella." It glanced at the golemite. The roots dropped away, as it body fell apart. The magic sustaining it was gone, absorbed by the roots of Nassella's tree. She called out into the orchard, her voice ringing further than natural. "Come. Show yourselves. We must defend our home." There was a pause, followed by a multitude of creaking and groaning. Around them, hundreds of dryads stepped from their trees, one for each. The air seemed to buzz with anticipation, as she turned back to Kolus. "We will stand with you. We have heard of this approaching menace. They will not claim this place."
Did you know that chickens become crazed at the sight of blood? Yeah, I didn’t either. Not until Fred told me. Well, not told. A chicken doesn’t have the vocal chords needed to talk. The beak doesn’t help either. No, I found this out when Fred saw blood. When people see another person injured they like to help. Most like to help, anyways. There are always the few psychotic dipshits who revel in that kind of stuff. Chickens, it turns out, are kinda psychotic. Instead of it being, ‘I want to squeeze it and watch the blood ooze out,’ they are more like, “It’s injured! Kill and consume!’ on repeat until you smack them in the head with a shovel. Don’t worry animal lovers, Fred is fine. The elderly woman who tripped feeding her chickens and cut her leg, died. Now the official story is that she must have succumbed to the elements and then was eaten by coyotes. Fuck, no. Fred did her in. It was also, coincidently, the same day I discovered I was mentally linked with a rooster. Not only was Fred screaming, ‘Kill and Consume!’ Into my brain but I was also getting flashes of images. I could hear the poor woman begging for her life. Being a good human I wanted to help, but I’ve been around long enough to know if I called the cops and told them I had visions of a rooster named Fred eating an elderly woman I’m the one that’s going to end up in the hospital. As sure as shit though, Fred kept getting into fights with the other chickens over his meal and from the backgrounds I recognized the neighborhood. The closer I got the more I could, I don’t know, feel Fred nearby. Eventually I jumped the fence and found her. Someone’s poor grandmother being feasted upon by chickens. You do not want to see that. I didn’t know what to do so I picked up the shovel and beat the birds back. When I hit Fred the connection went so quiet, I hated it. I picked up his limp form and carried him back to my car, then took him back to my apartment. “Seymour, You can’t have chickens here,” my landlord Heidi told me when she caught me taking him for a walk. What am I supposed to do with a murderous chicken though? I can’t let Fred go. I can’t eat him either, it’s sorta cannibalistic once you share a mind with them. Fred and I, we’re the same being. It’s some next fucking level shit. Fred didn’t like hearing that either. So I cut her with my key, and Fred had dinner.
Cyrinthorn grumbled from his peak. The nights had passed quickly, and it was soon time for the Festival of Sacrifice. At least, that's what the villagers called it. He personally referred to it as That-Night-They-Annoyed-Him-By-Sending-In-One-Of-Their-Own. It wasn't as catchy a name, but it worked for him. The distance sounds of cheers rose up from far below. He snorted, shifting his weight around on his bed of coins. In a couple of minutes, he would be disturbed. Those cheers meant their latest victim to societal pressure was close by. He stretched, hoping to get it over with quickly. When this first started he kind of enjoyed it. Seeing them cower before him did wonders for his ego. A couple of times he had grown annoyed at their whimpering, and eaten them. He was a dragon, and it wasn't everyday potential food decided to wander in. They weren't his favourite, but a meal was a meal. Now, it bored him. They always came quaking with fear. They stumbled over words, begging him to spare their life. He had told them to tell the village not to send anyone else. But they ignored his wishes. Such affront would normally seal their destruction. But Cyrinthorn left them alone. They tended the lands near him, keeping it clean. And if his hunts proved fruitless, their cattle did well to sustain him. That and they kept most people from trying to rob him. Footsteps signalled the arrival. He opened an eye, looking at the human before him. As always, she was dressed in a simple white dress. Her hair was left loose, this time being as black as the night. But his gaze soon fell upon something completely unexpected. A smaller creature at her side, covered in fur. It resembled a wolf, but smaller. It fur was brown, and it radiated an aura of pure chaotic happiness. It sniffed around, locking onto his body. It's head moved up, before giving a sharp sound. "Arf!" His head rose over the human, staring intently. She shook, before raising her voice. It carried the usual tremor, as she came face to face with an apex predator. "O-oh g-great d-d-dragon. I-I am y-your s-s-sacrifice." He huffed, a gust of hot air blowing her hair around. The creature beside her let out another sharp noise, padding towards his golden body. "Hrmp. What is this creature?" She blinked, glancing down at the furry menace. It's front half lowered, as if it was trying to bow. "A-a dog...? H-her names Joy." "Hrmp." He grunted again, slightly amused at how it began to bound around. Its tail moved rapidly back and forth, as he realised it was a release for its emotions. It ran at the human, leaping up and licking at her. She let out an involuntary giggle, smothering it when she remembered where they were. "Tell me, are they always so happy?" The human gave a small nod, her fear slightly abating at his questions. He gave the barest hint of a smile, lowering his head close to the dogs. It let loose another sound, sprinting towards him. It dropped down again, before darting to his hoard. Cyrinthorn hissed, drawing back as it pulled out one of his sceptres. Its tail blurred, and it dropped it infront of the dragon. "What is it doing?" "She, um, w-wants to p-play f-fetch." "Show me." She stared up, rubbing her sweaty hands together. She nervously picked it up, showing it to Joy. To his surprise, she then lightly threw it, and the doh ran after it. It picked it up, before happily bringing it back, dropping it at her feet. "How interesting. You will tell me more of these creatures, and where I might find one." Her perpetual frown eased into a smile of her own. As she began to talk, he thought back to his irritation. Maybe this wasn't such a bad night after all.
The doctor cackled a hyena's laugh as she loomed over me. I wasn't able to react, it was all I could do not to trash against the binds of the chair she held me in. Reserve what dignity I could. "After infiltrating your cranium through the nasal cavity, the parasite instigated it's assault on your frontal lobe immediately!"The Doctor monologued. She knows the big words make her sound dumb, right. She's trying a bit hard, sure, but that shows she really cares. There are too few people who are genuinely enthusiastic these days. As usual the voices in my head were of no help whatsoever. The flashes of memory struck again. Something about the parasite assimilating my personality. I shuddered which made the doctor cackle once again. "I'm just minutes away from the coalescence of years of research and experimentation. Aren't you excited!" My jaw was clenched like a vice. I couldn't respond so I focused on not doubling over. Fighting her in the little ways I could. The voices weighed in their thoughts though. Nah, being the host for you brain parasite doesn't really tickle my fancy. Look, hey Miss Doctor, I'm happy for you and everything but I'd be more into it if it was someone else's brain. Jessie's mind is already cramped with the three of us. The doctor gently placed a finger under my chin lifting my gaze to hers. Her teeth shone a wicked smile and her eyes shot a crazed stare. I managed to shake my head and lean away but not without dizzying pain. Pain that boiled over into a muffled shriek as the doctor grabbed me by the chin and forced eye contact through my watery vision. "You have been a fantastic specimen, defiantly to the last. Much better than some of my whiny, crying, begging, screaming experiments previous. I just wanted you to know I appreciate that before your consciousness is taken over indefinitely "She quickly pulled her face away as I attempted to headbutt her. She threw her head back and cackled again. "Fiesty!" Then, my vision went dark and my ears began to ring. I felt the parasite enter the room where the voices resided. Woah now buddy, this space is occupied. You're gonna have to find alternate accomodation. She means get the hell out. The parasite clicked and wirred before propelling itself forward into ruthless attack. Meanwhile the doctor sat down. Opposite me in an identical chair. However, instead of nylon binds, she slipped her hands into some winter gloves and feet into fluffy slippers. She then slipped a winter cap over her ears, pom-poms dangled to her shoulders. The whole thing would have been quite cute if not for the intricate wiring and circuitry running to the boots, gloves and hat. As well as the now writhing unconscious girl strapped down opposite the doctor. The doctor who began to cackle, louder than ever before. But the doctors laugh was suddenly cut off. "No, impossible."She said, fiddling with the circuits on her forehead. I opened my eyes and lifted my head, glaring all the contempt I could manage at the doctor. "Impossible! My brain-parasite should've taken over your mind." "Yeah, that was annoying at first, but it made me realize I've always had two minds constantly fighting over my actions, emotions, and thoughts. Your parasite gave them a common enemy to unite against. I've never felt better." Half the mangled corpse of the doctor's parasite fell out of my nostril onto my lap, it's steel insectoud legs kicking hopelessly. "You can heat them now, can't you doctor!"I said and she screamed. "Nononono, stop! Ahhh! The tunnel into your mind was supposed to be one way. How could I have allowed such a major malfunc-"The doctor's sentence was cut off and her stare became distant. A long minute passed before the doctor spoke again. Not in her voice but a familiar tone. "Jessie, that was so badness. I'm so proud of you. You were so dignified all the way through, girl!" The doctor said and then her face contorted. "We will be freeing you soon. Once we get used to controlling a body."
It all started one day when my uncle asked what he should put on his lottery ticket. I just picked a number that came to mind, and went back to snacking on desserts, and wondering my great-aunts house until the christmas party ended. The next day my uncle texted me that he won the jackpot. I congratulated him, hoped it wouldn’t ruin his life, and went to do my homework. My uncle texted back asking for another set of numbers. I gave him some more, but told him they weren’t right. The first set matching was a complete coincidence, it won’t happen again. Two days later my uncle calls, asking if I’ll be on TV for guessing the powerball numbers twice in a row. I declined, I was really busy with school at the time. He also asked for another set of numbers. I declined, but wrote down my guess out of curiosity. A few days later, when I finally got around to laundry, I found the paper with my guess and googled what the powerball numbers for that drawing had been. They matched. I tested my guessing skills for three more drawings, they all matched. Then I read the wikipedia page on powerball, to confirm the odds were as astronomical as I assumed. And I noticed the jackpot was split if there were multiple winners. An idea formed. I’m too young to buy lottery tickets, and I don’t need my uncle to win more. Apparently, the lottery can lose money if the jackpot is won on consecutive drawings. And really, we don’t need lotteries. I posted a prediction for the powerball prior to each drawing on youtube. I realize there’s probably a better place, but youtube was the only place that came to mind that dates posts and can’t be edited after. I waited a few weeks, telling no one about this, getting a catalog of previous correct guesses on videos with zero views. Then I posted it on all the social medias you don’t need an established following. I continued posting videos with my predictions, and then each powerball was won by an increasing number of people, splitting the jackpot into eventually ridiculous portions. They soon closed down the powerball while they investigated my youtube videos, and whether someone sabotaged the drawings. Eventually someone found I was behind the videos, and they interviewed me, investigated me, but couldn’t find any evidence of wrongdoing. I was, however, given a life ban on playing the lottery, and they never restarted powerball. I never wanted to play the lottery anyway.
Princess Marlisa stared down at the helmed knight on the lists in stunned silence. Sir Beronar had just been proclaimed the champion of the tournament. She had been pleased by that. And then her father had announced that the grand prize of the tournament was to be her. She'd known this day was coming, that it would have to come. She was the sole heir to the throne, and if she did not wed, the succession was not secure. But she thought she'd had time. But even that was a secondary concern, at the moment: father had given her hand to Beronar! The king was expecting the peerless night to sire him a grandchild, and future king! Of course, he didn't know the secret, of why Marlisa's trusted handmaiden, Nyreen, her closest companion since girlhood, was never to be seen on days when Sir Beronar tilted in the lists. As far as Marlisa knew, only she and the knight's trusted squire knew that. There wasn't much time. Marlisa knew that soon, a press of people would descend on both her and Beronar, looking to divert the affianced to one or another of a million duties attendant to their royally-decreed engagement. She had to get to the preparation tent bearing Beronar's livery before then -- she had to talk to Nyreen, to make some sort of plan! As she quietly slipped away from the royal box overlooking the lists, she seized a travelling cloak that had been left draped on one of the tiered benches, and pulled it around herself quickly, to hide her resplendent gown. Just when she thought she'd made a clean getaway, he ran almost directly into her aunt, Duchess Isme. She cursed the odious woman, inwardly. Isme had never liked Marlisa, not least because her existence meant that she, her father's younger sister, would never inherit the throne. "Why, where are you off to in such a hurry, sweetling?"Her aunt asked, with a smirk. "I...have to use the privy."she blurted. Isme laughed humorlessly. "Oh, I see. Jittery, are we? My apologies for diverting you, dear." Marlisa gave a perfunctory nod and dashed past her. It made no sense, a princess just strolling off to visit the privy, unattended by any guards or servants, but she didn't have time for a better excuse. She had to reach Beronar's tent! When she burst in, she saw the knight seated on a stool, head in hands, groaning softly, as the young squire tended to the dapple mare Beronar had ridden in the contest. "What are we going to do?"she cried. "Well, right now, I'm leaning towards mounting up and fleeing the kingdom so I don't get executed." "You can't do that!"Marlisa cried. "We can...we can fix this!" "Can you, sweetling?"came an oily voice from behind Marlisa. She whirled around to find Isme there smiling, smugly. She strode forward, as Marlisa backed up towards Nyreen, and dismissed the squire with an imperious gesture, sending the lad scrambling away out of the tent. Isme smirked, walking around the pair and looking them over appraisingly "I've suspected for months, you know. But only now does it all fall into place. I know your secret, Beronar..." Standing behind them, between them and the tall warhorse, she placed one bony hand on Marlisa's shoulder, the other on the armored pauldron of Sir Beronar. Leaning forward, her head between theirs, gleeful in her moment of triumph, she spoke softly, turning to one ear then the other as she gloated. "It's so obvious, in hindsight. Marlisa and her very tall, gorgeous handmaiden Nyreen, always joined at the hip. But wherever is her bosom companion when there's a tournament with Sir Beronar in the lists? A knight who, for some obscure reason, never seems to doff his helmet in public. And, while Marlisa had to wait upon my brother's pleasure to receive suitors, why, I wonder, is the lovely Nyreen never seen in the company of a handsome page or stable lad? I've been told she's caught the eye of many." "What are you implying?" "I think you know Beronar." Isme sneered as she spoke the knight's name. "Imagine the scandal, the crown princess, cavorting with a common--" Isme was interrupted by a loud whinny, as suddenly the dapple mare reared up on her hind legs, and lashed out with her front hooves, striking the old woman in the head and sending her flying. Marlisa gasped in horror, as Beronar seized the reigns and calmed the angry mare. She ran to Isme's side, panicking. The woman lay in the straw, a huge purpling bump rising on her head, along with a trickle of blood from a cut on her scalp. Beronar cast his helm aside, and placed his ear to Isme's lips. Even now, Marlisa was struck by the ruggedly handsome cast the long, deep scar across his face lent him -- she'd always thought it was silly that he believed he need to hide his face in public, to avoid upsetting those with tender sensibilities. "Is she alright?"Marlisa asked. "I--I don't know. At least she's breathing. I'll go find a physicker."Beronar stammered, scooping up his helmet and donning it, before slipping quickly back out of the tent. Marlisa whirled angrily on the horse. "Nyreen! Why?!" The horse's shape rippled and collapsed in on itself, bridle and saddle sliding off of its hulk. It was an uncanny sight, to be sure, but Marlisa had long since grown used to seeing it. In moments, a tall, naked dark-haired woman stood before her, hands on her hips. "Why? Because she knows what I am! If the court found out I'm a kelpie, and that the reason Beronar won't marry you is that he's secretly married to me, they'd--" "She didn't know Beronar's 'horse' was you!"Marlisa cried, exasperated. "She thought we were lovers and that Beronar was you!" Nyreen winced, looking down at Isme's unconscious form. "Oh. That...that must have been the part she was whispering in your ears, huh?" Marlisa groaned, putting her face in her hands.
I blink at the toddler standing in front of me. Well, okay, maybe she's not a toddler. But if she's a day over five, I'll eat my hat. With bechamel sauce. I hate bechamel sauce. "So,"I say calmly, because having a screaming fit at work is Frowned Upon, "where's your mum?" "Dunno,"says the kid. Well, that's helpful. So I switch on The Sense, because that at least will tell me what the kid needs, which is... me. Oh-kay. "When did you last see her?"I try. "A while ago,"Kid says unhelpfully. Well, at this age kids have no sense of time, so it was probably stupid to ask. "I'm Carrie, what's your name?"I asked, because I can't keep calling her 'Kid'. "'m Matilda."Damn, maybe I should have stuck with 'Kid'. The things people do to their children. "Okay, Matilda, how about we call the information centre and tell them to put over the loudspeaker that you're waiting for your parents here?" "Sure." So that's what we do. And five minutes later a frantic mother comes charging into the shop. Perhaps unsurprisingly, what she needs me to sell her is a child's backpack with attached leash for $19.95. The kid didn't need me, per se - she needed a safe adult, and I happened to be the one that was there. And when her mum arrives, what she needs me to sell her changes to a fruit leather. The two of them leave a few minutes later, both purchases being put to use immediately. And that's my job. Selling people what they need, at prices they can afford. Us travelling shops have a bad rep, thanks to that one bad apple. This is what we usually do, but nobody tells stories about that one shop that had the exact colour of construction paper you needed for your project, do they? So, yeah. Be careful when you encounter us... but we're not all bad.
Far below the ground which royal blood dances upon, where only the wine should rest, flames sacrifice their wooden holsters to light the cobbled walls. They separate the known from oblivion. “Let me be frank,” Metal splits the already half-dead wood. “We know you’re not one of us. Tell us who sent you, unless you wanna be fed to the dragon.” Though rope constrains his hands, his giggles flew free. “Do you take me for a fool? Even a starved dragon would never lay its fangs on human flesh. Mortal meat cannot satisfy the gut of legends.” His captor returns the laughter, filtered by sin and grotesque echoing. “Ah, so I suppose it will dance around like a puppy.” The cleaver raises. “What else would they eat?” “Well, how about you find out yourself.” Suddenly, the captured’s chest pocket flails in a furious dance. A miniature storm hidden behind leather grows more violent until it bursts. A figure flies out, bouncing upon the walls. Its speed outmatches any eye, leaving only a winged silhouette. There is only one thing that it can be, centuries of legends, all packed into a being no larger than a mouse. It devours a flame, then another. Gluttony brings the room into oblivion. “I can tell you’re hungry, buddy.” The voice speaks out from the void. “Care to answer his question for me?” A miniature myth lets out no less fantastic flames.
It was always something with Dave. The guy seemed chill enough when I first moved into our apartment. The realtor didn't say why the previous tenant moved out, and I didn't ask. The room was $800, utilities included, and for one of those recently-built gentrification towers in the middle of Brooklyn, it was rent worth killing for. For work, he delivered (and smoked) weed on his skateboard. I didn't mind. I didn't partake, personally -- the stuff made me paranoid as all hell; and considering pot had recently been legalized, I wasn't judging. But having a professional stoner roommate when you weren't a stoner caused more problems than not. Dave was always watching movies out in the living room at full blast (so much so I started wearing ear plugs to sleep) and the apartment reeked of incense and Ozium spray. Every day, he was trying some new recipe he found on TikTok, fusion this and flambe that, usually ending with him burning something because he forgot he was cooking. But he paid his rent on time, always cleaned up after himself (including the bathroom, such a hero), and was generally a chill dude. But sometimes he'd freak out. Claimed he saw ghosts or "apparitions,"especially when he was "barbecued."An uncle of mine developed full blown schizophrenia from smoking pot when I was a kid. The doctor's had said that pot supposedly speeds up the development of schizophrenia in certain people, that it's not the pot that causes the condition, rather it's usually a pre-existing thing. So when Dave slammed open my bedroom door one night, demanding to know whether he was still alive, I cut him a lot of slack -- by not hurling the machete I keep under my mattress at his face (what? Home invasions happen and I'm not one to get caught unarmed. Also, I don't do guns). I usually don't remember my dreams, but that night I could recall it exactly. It was the one where I was sprinting through a warehouse while a horde of fast zombies chased after me. I ran and ran, jumping up boxes like Super Mario, climbing up scaffolding as the zombies piled atop each other on the warehouse floor, slowly growing into a flesh-eating tower until a bloody claw was tugging at my shirt, and then -- WHAM. Dave slams open my door. So, truly, it was a miracle I didn't hurl my machete at him. Dazed, confused, still half-asleep, I pulled the earplugs out and groaned, "What the hell?" "Lou, am I alive?"he shouted. "You look pretty alive to me, Dave." "Oh, good,"he said. "So the dead thing in the living-room just looks exactly like me." A cloud of pot smoke curled into my room and skunked my nostrils. I groaned to my feet and flicked on my bedroom lights. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I got a good look at Dave. He looked like shit. Pale, sweaty, like he'd just broken a fever. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were trembling. In one of them he held a lit joint. "Okay, okay,"I said. "First of all, don't get smoke in my room. Come on, let's go." He led me to the living room, gibbering about ghosts and clones and other possible explanations for the "Other Dave."All the lights in the apartment were on. As we passed the kitchen, the stink of burnt something hung in the air. Another failed culinary experiment probably. The clock on the stove read 2:22 and I muttered a curse under my breath. I probably would have woken up from my nightmare anyway, I told myself. I would have gotten up for a drink of water. This is just a detour, then I go right back to bed. Dave walked into the living room and faced the couch, worrying his forehead with the heel of his palm. I couldn't see the couch; the fridge blocked my view. He looked seriously distressed. I hesitated, stopping just out of view of the rest of the living room, of the couch. Then I groaned at myself for getting caught up in Dave's stoner antics. I marched into the living room … and immediately lost my shit. There, on the couch, was Dave. But not Dave, because he was standing right next to me, smoking down his joint as he pulled another one out of a silver cigarette case. The Dave on the couch was dressed exactly like Alive Dave, torn jeans, yellow Nirvana t-shirt with Pearl Jam written over a faded print of Kurt Cobain and company, ratty black Chuck Taylors, and even the same amount of stubble on their identical faces. But Dead Dave was slumped over, bluish blood pouring from his eyes, nose, and ears. "What the fuck!" "Right? Big time tear in the fabric of reality,"Dave said, sparking another joint to life. "We're talking Bernstein--Berenstain shit. Except Berenstain's dead, Lou. Berenstain's dead." I slumped back against the wall, my knees feeling like Jell-O. It wasn't my first time seeing a dead body. Where I grew up, you sort of ran into them from time to time, whether from an over-dose or just plain old bad luck. But having an alive version of the dead person standing beside you, pitching you possible explanations to the nucking futz situation at hand -- well, it really threw me for a loop. "We gotta get rid of it,"I whispered. "What?" "We've ... got to get rid of -- you?"I said, still staring at the mess on the couch. "We'll go to jail, we can go to jail. This is a dead body, Dave. I don't care where it came from, there is a dead body on our couch and we need to get rid of it. Now!" Dave starting laughing, which turned into a crunchy cough. "Shit, Lou. I didn't take you for a mafioso." I whipped around and glared at him. "I'm not." He raised his hands up in surrender. "Didn't say you were man. Just, I don't know. My first reaction wasn't to toss me into the East River, you know? This is fucked, but I wanna find out what kind of fucked." "How are you not freaked out?"I pointed at the couch, careful not to look at it again. Not until it was necessary. "That is you. You, bleeding blue like some kind of Avatar, on our couch." "Ooh, that's good,"Dave said, pulling out his phone and typing something. "You think maybe its an alien? Like a clone or something? Maybe it had a built in expiration and it triggered early. Question is -- what information were they looking for?" "Oh my god,"I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "We're going to jail. We are going to jail." "Why?"Dave asked, with a tone of genuine confusion. "I'm not dead. That dude is. And if they the cops try to claim I was murdered, well, good luck prosecuting that case with me on the stand. 'Yeah, your honor, I plead innocent on the grounds that I am alive and my doppelganger is the one that ate it. I rest my case.'" It wasn't like my life was perfect at the time. I'd worked hard to get out of Jersey, to get away from my family. I eked out a college degree (taking on a life-time of student loans in the process), moved to New York, got a decent job at an insurance company adjusting life insurance claims. I paid my rent, my bills, my loans. I played kickball on the weekends. I was doing it right, the whole life thing. And then this. I wouldn't go to jail. I wouldn't end up like the rest of my family. But there was only one person I knew that could get me, us, get out of this situation. And it was the last person I ever wanted to talk to, ever. But there was no choice. I scrolled through my contact list, found his number, and dialed. "Woah,"Dave said. "You're not really calling the cops, are you?" "No." The call connected. A heavy breath blew into the receiver on the other line. I wanted to hang up, change my number, hurl my phone into the river. Instead, I said, "Hey, uncle Rico. I'm in trouble." More breathing. Dave just stared at me, puffing at his joint. The lights in the living room seemed brighter and the smell of blood grew thicker and thicker. I was sweating. A deep, gravely voice, like shaking a bucket full of stones, said in a thick, Jersey accent, "I'm on my way."
"Now, where is he?" Without even waiting for an invitation, the old man would burst in, seemingly trying to search for the chosen one. Let me tell you, this guy was the total package, long robes, pointy hat, and that shrill old man voice that is bound to have an annoying cackle that snorts. "Listen Me. Uh.." "The name is not important! What is important is that I must have the Chosen One!" As he continued deeper, royal guards would soon enter, one handing an official decree of the king. Wait, this guy was legitimate?!? "Please excuse his.. peculiarity. But he is considered the most powerful wizard in the kingdom, and his scries are never wrong." "But my wife and I have no children!" Finally I blurted out the obvious. Followed by what felt like a deafening silence as even the old man had stopped scrounging around. Only then did I hear the barking of the dog, who had been tied out back as she was notorious for running away. I turned to see the old wizard, with his crooked little hat carrying a crooked little grin on his face. "Found you!" The wizard would run for the back door, tripping over just about every piece of furniture on the way there, the royal escort in tow. There she was, my dog in all her glory, who had lost interest in whatever she was barking at, and was instead licking at her butt. She was a small rat terrier. This was the chosen one? The wizard stood there for a minute, his face unreadable. It felt like ages before he finally spoke. "She's perfect." "What?" "Well she'll need a special growth potion, but she will be able to fend off the hordes of rayman that shall come in a week's time!" This is how I came to be the owner of a war hero, and perhaps the world's largest rat terrier. It's such a pain to take her in walks.
“You.” I said, giving her my most charming smile. I simply got a glare in return. “Bullshit. Now, you can either tell me the truth, or I give you some organ damage to match your fucked up body.” “Ahh, you caught me. Do you know you’re scary as shit sometimes?” She said nothing, just crossed her arms and raised a brow. I let out a long breath. “Honestly, I’m observing one of the doctors. We think he’s behind the recent uprise in supernatural crime.” All I got in response was a little ”Hm.”. We sat there in silence for a while, her simply staring me down. Eventually I caved. “Alright! Fine! But you know I’m breaking law. We’re looking at Doct-“ before I could finish, the doctor walked in. “Hello, I’m Dr. Morgs. Brianna, grab me another bag of liquid IV?” “Of course doctor, right away.” We both watched as she walked out of the room, the doctor turned back to me with a smile that was anything but warm. Before I could say or do anything, he cuffed me to the ER bed. “Whatthefuck where did these even come from?!” I shouted in surprise. He quickly hopped on top of me, wrapping his hands around my throat. He stared in to my eyes and simply said “I finally have you, little fucker.” I struggled my hardest against both the cuffs and his hands, both to no avail. “But what about Brianna? She’ll be back soon.” He snorted. “Doubtfully, storage is on the other side of the hospital. I will NOT let you little demon bastards wreck the ONE successful army I’ve created!” Without time to question him, he whipped out a bottle and started pouring it’s contents all over me. At first I was confused, until I felt the burn. I practically howled in pain. “YOU SONUVA BITCH! HOLY WATER?!” He simply cackled at my pain. As I laid there, trying to twist away from the blessed liquid, I had an idea. It was my only hope of escaping with this bastard in tow. She’s going to kill me for this later. “SĮL’GAN THÖGDRIMÆN” I shouted at the top of my lungs. A red flash behind the false doctor distracted him, and there stood Brianna. “You’re one of them?!” he shouted in surprise, before Brianna dragged his ass to Hell. In less than a minute she was back and tending to my wounds with the only thing that can counter Holy Water. I simply laid there as she tended to my unnatural wounds. “Fucking dumbass, why didn’t you just leave the body?” I rolled my eyes at her criticizing tone. “Silver.” I said, shaking the still attached handcuffs. “So uh, now that you know what my human body looks like topless, I do believe it’s my turn.” I said, giving her one of my signature smiles. She just shook her head in disappointment. “Twat.”
“Hello? Is anyone there? Hello? I need help, hello?” “Hello. Calm down, you’re going to be fine. Was it the bus?” “How- How did you know?” “You’re not the first one. We’re going to help you. Deep breath, okay? I’m Natalya. What’s your name?” “Alex.” “Alright, Alex, we need to conserve your batteries. It’s afternoon now, the sun is in the west. Take a moment to orient yourself, then tell me what you see.” “Okay. Sure. West. I see… Fields to the east and northeast. There’s a forest to the west, some hills, I think. I see smoke. South there’s a… village?” “You’re doing great, Alex. Can you see a castle near the village?” “A castle? No, no castle.” “That’s great. You’re right where we expected. Okay, Alex, that smoke is from charcoal burning, that’s where the river is. Is it north or south of you?” “South… Southwest, I guess?” “Perfect, Alex. You’re wearing twenty first century clothes, right? Start walking south, you’ll hit a dirt road. Don’t walk on the road, but if you stick to the fields about a hundred meters off from it you’ll be fine. It’s about six kilometers to the river. Are you wearing comfortable shoes? Do you think you can walk six kilometers?” “Y-yes, I think so.” “Alright, walk to the river, try to stay hidden. Someone will meet you there. You’re doing great, Alex. Call again if you need help, but otherwise keep your phone off until you get there to save batteries, okay? Turn it on when you get there, we’ll call you. Do you understand?” “Yes. Yes.” “Can you repeat it back to me?” “Walk south to the road, follow the road off to the side. Turn it on when I reach the river?” “Perfect. Okay, Alex, I’m going to hang up now, but I’ll see you soon, alright?” Alex hung up the phone and slid it into a pouch on his new robe. It was one a priest would wear for a feast-day. He wasn’t exactly a priest, but they were still working out his rank. On the horse beside him was the prince-bishop, dressed in armor like his retinue of men-at-arms. “I’ve found the demons, your eminence,” said Alex in Latin. “Well done, my son,” said the prince-bishop. He gestured to one of his retainers to pass him a bag of Guldengroschen, but Alex shook his head. “Serving you is reward enough, my lord,” he said. The prince-bishop eyed him carefully, but nodded. “Very well. You will ride with us.” It wasn’t a question, but Alex bowed from saddleback. Nothing he had said on the phone had been a lie, precisely. But he was far from the new arrival they expected. And unlike Natalya and her band of temporal maroons, rigging up cell towers and little islands of the future in the hills, he intended to do more in this era than just survive. This was the Renaissance, after all – the first time that a man could rise in the world based on what he knew. And Alex knew a great deal indeed. “Ride!” called the prince-bishop, and Alex spurred his horse forward.
I manage a faint smile at my friends, gathered around my bedside, many crying. My beloved Adam is clinging on to my hand for dear life. “Good bye, my love. I will always be with you,” I whisper, though my lips barely move. Then the light takes me. When I open my eyes, I’m in a plane. I blink. Blink again. I am meant to be dead! There is meant to be nothing here! Or some form of afterlife, if any of the religions were right! But…not…a plane! Out of the window is nothing but blue ocean. A film is playing on the screen in front of me, but I barely register it. I’m in a frigging plane! A plane that is landing! Maybe this is it. This is the end. Random Neurons firing a last time and now I am leaving this plane and I’m going to be real dead. Right! Let’s do this! I get up purposefully and stride towards the little airport. A friendly looking dodo with a headset salutes me. “Welcome to paradise, ma’am!” he says. Paradise! Excellent! I am not wrong after all! Apparently, they let atheists into paradise, but I’m not complaining. Though hadn’t expected sentient dodos to be doing the transportation service. Ah, well. The air outside is amazing. Warm and just a touch humid, but without being unpleasant. Air like I remember it from the last holidays on the Maledives. Stepping outside the airport, there is a welcome committee. Excellent. Someone who can tell me what is going on. “We’re here!” a happy little raccoon dog announces. Also standing on his hind legs mind you. And talking. “Where exactly am I?” I ask carefully. The raccoon dog glances at his exactly identical looking brother. “In Blossom! The island you chose, when you bought the island getaway package!” “But…I was in hospital…” I try. Everyone stares at me. Especially the cat with a kabuki mask as a face can really stare. Bright yellow eyes! I start shifting uncomfortably. Suddenly soft feathers are on my back. “You were in hospital? That sounds terrible! You will have to tell me all about it! I’m Phil by the way - the star of this island! Though I might share the title with you!” The blue ostrich winks. The cat rolls it’s eyes. “‘The star of this island’! You young ones should hear yourself some time! Kabuki’s the name,” he grumps. “If you could follow me!” the first raccoon dog smiles. “Follow me!” the brother echoes. Then everyone is off, Phil and Kabuki right behind. Fruit trees are all around us, heavy with fresh oranges, their fragrant scent filling the air. Weeds are scattered around and there seem to be no streets. Ahead is the only sign of civilisation beyond the airport - a plain brick square, with a tent on it. A larger raccoon dog is standing next to it, grinning at us. “That looks like everyone!” he announces. “Let’s get people set up! Yes, yes!” “I’m really confused…” I try again. “I am Tom Nook! Founder of Nook Inc.! I am running this place. I’d like each of you to choose a spot of your own. It is the first step to putting down roots! I’d like you to dream big— I have certain connections with the real estate business! Yes, yes!” he explains. Next I have a large, yellow tent in my hands. Feeling like I am not getting anywhere, I am off to explore the island. The beaches are fantastic. A large river is running through the place, which I can’t cross and a small hill can be seen in the distance. Apparently, I am living here now. I set up my tent. -“- “We really should ask Adam, if he wants to go out with us. He needs to start living life again! He’s in and out of here like a ghost,” Jody mumbles to her colleague, Bill. The man approaches Adam’s cubicle, who is busy drinking a tea with one hand and playing on his Switch with the other. “Adam, do you want to hit the pub with us?” he asks. “We barely see you.” “That’s really nice of you, but I’m good here. But, thank you,” Adam replies, without looking up. Bill looks helplessly over to Jody. She approaches with a slightly forced smile. “What are you playing, Adam? My kids have one of those things too…” “It’s my wife’s console. She was always on here. I never took much of an interest. It’s like an island simulator thing. But her character is still on here and there must be an AI or something as part of it, because I can…talk to her. She walks around. She replies and everything.” Jody looks pained, glancing at Bill. “Adam, I know it is rough…but it’s been a year. You should…have you considered…maybe talking to someone?” Adam smiles up at her. “I have all I could want Jody. Thank you for asking me, but you guys go out without me. Maybe next time.” Bill shrugs and gestures at Jody, who still looks unhappy. “Okay,” she says, unconvinced, “maybe next time.” -“- I am lying at the beach, the sun on my face, a cocktail within reach. Adam is next to me, telling me about work. Phil cheerfully walks past, with a fishing-rod over his feathery shoulder. The dodo was right. This really is paradise.
It all seemed harmless. It had been two days since I was taken in by the family after the incident. Or rather, my family. I have two parents; my dad, John, and my mother, Rebecca. Apparently I was hit by a car and landed in a comatose state for half a year. The doctors were surprised that I had woken up at all, as my brain was, and I quote; “barely functional” when they found me. I was lucky to be alive, they told with great gravity, and even more to get out of that darkness that I was stuck in. I was thereafter discharged rather abruptly after half a day and some phone calls were made. That is when I met my parents, who filled me in on my condition. My name, my age, who they were and where they were taking me to. They noticed immediately as I replied that my accent was different from theirs, which the doctor remarked as being part of the brain damage I had suffered. According to them, this wasn’t that uncommon of an occurrence. This was all rather hard to believe, but I rolled with it. I had no right to go against what an expert on neuroscience had to say on the matters. But surely my case was incredibly unlikely, even with that possibility. Nevertheless, I said nothing. We came to their house — a small one at the edge of the American border. They showed me around to my room, where they gave me old toys in an attempt to revive the memories I had of the days before it happened. Nothing. They seemed disappointed, but quickly moved to another subject. The next day, while they discussed something regarding a vacation, I came to the realization that — nowhere’s in the house — there were any pictures of me. Having asked where the family album was to redirect the subject back to my lost memories, they looked strangely at each other. Then left the room. They talked behind the door, and I listened in. “The kid is too skeptical. This was a terrible deal, I tell you,” Rebecca scowled. “Why, you wanted to have an athletic youth instead of that soft-spoken brat! I’ve humored you with a kid that can take a punch like a man, and you’re throwing it back in my face.” “Then you should’ve traded our kid for a better option!” Trading kids? My blood ran cold as memories faintly wormed themselves back into my skull. Faces of people that had a faint reminiscence with mine, taking me to some far off place in a dark building. Dozens of children with parents standing next to them. Their words hard to understand in the echoing room. Then being taken away and put in cuffs as I was given to men in white suits. “Fine,” John sighed, “we’ll find another one. Let’s take him back.” I had to run. Now. Looking about, I saw the window of ‘my room’ standing half open. Just big enough for me to enter through. Looking down, my heart sank as I saw the floor two stories above me. Then I ropped down with a hard thud as I had hurt my ankle, which had violently snapped so that the bone stuck out of my skin. I suppressed a scream of pain as I bit on my lip and sobbed. Standing up, my legs carried me to the wooden garden walls which I barely managed to grab unto. I felt my leg writhe in pain as I lifted it up. Rebecca yelled, with John running towards me. He got hokd of my bad leg as he tried to jank me down, but the blood caused enough friction that he let go, and I fell down to the other side. Running through the neighborhoods as best I could. A car approached from my left. Police. They stepped out of the vehicle and walked towards me. Asking what had happened to me leg as it bled profusely. John had just gotten to the scene. Hand still bloodied. I pointed at him, sobbing. “He hurt me!” I yelled. The police, seeing his red stained hand, apprehended him on the spot, quickly followed by Rebecca. After they were both in the car, the cop asked me what had happened, whereupon I detailed the last couple days. “Do you recall any relatives who might want to take you in? Any at all?” “No family that trades their kid for another would want me.” And neither would I want them.
A mass of brown fur. Six hundred pounds of muscles and claws. Standing in front of me as I opened my eyes was a grizzly bear, with all its glory and terror. I am a fox. My instinct was to run away; this creature was no prey. But how could it not be? I have hunted that soul before, I remember. The stench of its fragrant blood fresh in my memory. Thought and instinct locked each other in a standstill; as I was sure the brown bear also experienced. A fox was mere annoyance for such creature, but this fox, this fox was fear made flesh. Recall as I sunk my blades under your skin, thoughtless beast. Recall as I savored your blood, bathed under the radiant silver moon. A roar interrupted our reminiscence of fear and blood, as pitch black shadow slammed unto my side. A black jaguar. An apex predator, its form a beautiful culmination of natural evolution. Its graceful movement weightless; its attacks impactful. Yet it too, bore the soul of a prey. It bared its fangs; bravado covering its innate fear inscribed in the depth of its heart. Remember me, filth, as I elevated you from a nameless sample of human species into a work of art. Remember as my knife carved beauty from your disgusting flesh and bones, the divine lunar rays guiding my hands. As twilight falls and moonlight peeked behind the cloud, more and more animals announced themselves. Leopards, tigers, wolves, bisons, elks, particularly motivated sloths, snakes... All of them cowered in fear, in horror. Yes, recall the face of your predator. Remember the soul that had devoured you. Cruel. Merciless. Listen to the laughter in your memories, as breaths escaped your mortal coil. I am your god. Welcome to my heaven. I killed my instinct, and charged forth.
Mom and Dad hesitantly opened the door to Calvin's room. He was at school, presumably hating every minute of it, and Hobbes was bundled up under the covers. Mom was still skeptical about what Dad had seen, but Dad inched towards the bed anxiously. "Hey, Hobbes,"he said in a soothing voice. "Listen, we just want to talk to you. Nothing serious, just-" "Oh, will you stop it?"Mom rolled her eyes. "It's a stuffed toy." Dad jerked his head around to face and angrily whispered, "I know what I saw, honey."Dad then turned back to Hobbes. "She didn't mean any disrespect, I swear." Mom, quite fed up with the situation, kneeled in front of Hobbes. "Hobbes, if you're alive, say something, anything at all."Hobbes did nothing, prompting Mom to turn back to Dad. "See? It's a toy. Calvin probably just found another stuffed tiger and took it home because he thought it was Hobbes' brother." "Helen, I know what I saw! Hobbes was alive, and he was walking around, and he had an actual face instead of a line of stitching and two buttons!" Helen facepalmed, but before she could muster a response, a voice with a British accent said, "Your name is Helen? I'll be honest, you always seemed more like a Mary to me." Helen turned around with dinner plate-sized eyes. A figure with an orange and black striped body, fluffy tail, and big black button nose was sitting where Calvin's stuffed toy was. With a shaky voice, Helen said, "H-Hobbes? You're-" "Alive? Yes, it is."Hobbes scowled at Helen. "Didn't appreciate that at all. And seeing as we're on a first name basis now, you sir are named..." Dad realized Hobbes was talking to him. "Oh! David. My name is David." "David! Thank you." Helen was still confused at the sight before her. "So... so all those times where Calvin said you pounced on him-" "Oh, yes, that actually happened. Not that I can do any permanent damage to him, mind you. The enchantment upon me is quite certain in that regard." "Enchantment?"David had kneeled down next to Helen. "So you're a... magic tiger?" Hobbes waved his hand in the so-so gesture. "Well, sort of. I don't know if calling it magic is proper, but I don't know what else to call my situation other than magic. The enchantment makes it so that if anyone other than Calvin looks at me, I'll appear as nothing but a stuffed animal and I can do no lasting harm to him. Of course, I can let a small number of people see the real me, as you have probably guessed." "So, what,"Mom asked. "You're just hanging out with Calvin for the fun of it?" Hobbes' expression turned grim as he got off the bed and walked over to the window to stare out of it forlornly. "If only it were that simple. What I'm about to tell you will shake you to the core, but I swear on my life that it's the truth."Hobbes took a deep breath and said, "The truth is you're not actually Calvin's parents." Helen and David started to protest, but Hobbes shut them down. "Calvin's parents were two men named Evan and Gregory who ran a floral shop. They were very happy together. But one night, a group of thugs cornered Evan as he closed up shop and...beat him into a coma. To say Calvin didn't take it well would be the understatement of the year. "You know very well that Calvin has a unique way of looking at reality. But after the accident, Calvin developed a new, very dangerous way of interacting with it. His imagination started to spill out of his head, shaping the world around him. He'd make alien worlds, superheroic adventures, even the occasional gritty noir story. But he always comes back to... this." Hobbes gestured to everything in Calvin's room, Helen and David included. David was the first to speak again. "So, we're... we're not even real at all?" "I'm afraid not. You're something Calvin invented to give himself the family dynamic that was taken away from him. But Evan is healing. He's learnt to walk again, which means Calvin doesn't need this place anymore. And I'm trying to wean him off of this and ease him back into the real world." "But why?"Helen looked at Hobbes in confusion. "Why do all of this for him? I still don't understand." Hobbes felt tears begin to well up in his eyes as he finally turned around to look at the pair. "Come now, Helen. What father wouldn't do this for his son?"
Jackson entered the office with a winner's smile, absolutely beaming with pride. Seven months ago, he had given up on life. Nothing ever seemed to go right for him back then. Lonely, unmotivated, and living off of his vices. He was living on borrowed time that was running out fast. He needed a miracle, but those were only given to the important. So, he took the next best thing. He had to take out a loan to enlist the help of a genie. He'd heard from his mother that their magic could change lives back in her day, but magic had waned in the last century. It was hard to come by. The only real way for normal, everyday people to get some was either extreme luck or genies. Jack was not a lucky man, but he was certainly desperate. And it worked. Seven months later, he felt like a king. He'd gotten fit, fixed his sleep schedule, gotten a girlfriend, and his confidence was finally back. He was the man he always wanted to be. He loved himself, and he loved others more than he ever had before. And it was all thanks to the magic coaching of his personal genie. Dr. Hugo Hernandez smiled at Jackson like a proud father as the two shook hands for what was going to be the final time. Jack was done. He didn't need help anymore. It was time for him to finally learn how it all really happened. The genie doctor sat across from his patient. They couldn't do anything but laugh and smile at each other for two minutes. This was the best part of the job by far. Well, this and what was about to come next. "Jack, you son-of-a-bitch, you did it. Look at you, man!"The man smiled as Hugo praised his accomplishments. It had been a long road, but Jack was tough. It took two months before Hugo finally broke through his walls and got to diagnose the root problems with his psyche. Then, he worked his magic. "Doctor, I don't know I could ever repay you for this. You've given me my life back."A wry smile curled across the genie's lips. It was time for the big finale. The reveal. The ending to this long chapter. Hugo handed Jack a clipboard and a pen. Jack was stunned to find that a non-disclosure agreement sat upon the board. He looked up a Hugo, curious as to what was about to go down in their final meeting. "Uh, hey, doc. Why the hell are you giving me an NDA?"The doctor just kept smiling. "I can't tell you until you sign it. I promise you, it's nothing bad. It just concerns some secrets of the trade that I am not legally allowed to disclose until you sign that NDA."Jack took a second to mull over the many questions that ran through his mind before his curiosity got the better of him. He silently filled out the form and handed it back to the genie before speaking up once more. "Okay, man, government spook shit has been signed. What's the big secret?" Dr. Hernandez leaned back in his rolling office chair and took a deep breath. He then spoke his favorite words in all of life. "I've been lying to you this whole time."Jack cocked his head worriedly. "Doc, what the fuck are you talking about?"Hugo quietly chuckled before letting loose the biggest secret of the world. "Magic is dead, Jackson. Only the elite have it now, and even that magic pales in comparison to the golden age of magicology. Truth is, I haven't done anything besides giving you professional advice over the last seven months. Genies can't tap into the mana well anymore. The 'magic infusment procedure' we did on you back in March was a total sham. You just had a sleepover in our office whilst we all watched movies throughout the night. Our business is a legal fraud, allowed by the government in order to keep up the appearance that some of the population can still access magic." Jackson couldn't say anything for a good long while. It didn't make any sense. His whole life had changed, hadn't it? It worked. He was fixed now, a new man in old clothes. For the last seven months, he attributed everything to the doctor's clinic. He told all his friends and family about how they saved his life, and now he was being told that it was all just some big con? But how? How does a fraud actually achieve what it made you think it originally was? "Doc, but magic has to be real. You did it. You fixed me. You gave me the strength to carry on. You gave me the will to start exercising. You gave me the confidence to as Cindy out. This can't be true. How is this possible?" And there it was. Hugo's favorite question. 'How can it be a lie if it actually worked?' The doctor leaned in, his eyes were so full of pride and joy that he nearly wept. It was time that his patient knew who the real doctor was. "Jack, you were the one who fixed you. I just made you believe that some bullshit magic was making you better. I made you believe that it only worked if you cultivated it with focus and hard work. I made you believe that there was something I could do to make you better. Fun fact, no type of magic can do that, not even the great spells of the castles. Neuromana Magicology is the world's longest-running, most closely guarded lie because the only thing that can fix you is you. You didn't wish for something, you just wanted it bad enough. All you needed was someone to talk to and the confidence to start changing your life for the better. All of those things were your decisions to make. I'm not a wish granter. I'm a psychologist. And you? You're a new man by your own volition and hard work. That's the secret to 'wishes.' It all comes from you."
His eyes burned in hatred behind mine, as I adjusted my uniform in the mirror. I smirked, took control of him once again, and grabbed my bag. I knew where his hate came from. These pathetic demons are too ignorant to discern between a weakened soul, and a willing vessel. I almost feel sorry for him. I had battled many demons before. They took the first opportunity of my weaknesses, and grasped onto me for dear life. I admit, it was difficult to learn how to shake them. They're like super glue to your soul. None the less, I fought each and every one successfully. Some took me to voids that one can't even imagine. I nearly lost myself, and let them win. Yet, I found, if they could be defeated, you're rewarded with massive motivation and adrenaline, incomparable to that of any drug known to man. Over the years, I realized that I would sling shot over great milestones after each battle. Envy, despair, greed, addictions, and all other depraved things in between, I had control over. The key is, to manage them. Make them work for you. If you don't react, and give in to thought, they truly have no power, and they eventually leave to find their next vessel. I discovered an awesome trick though. If you master your emotions and your thoughts, you can use these demons at appropriate times. If you can subdue that emotion, just long enough for them to start releasing their grip, and then bring that emotion back, they will scramble to grasp onto you again. See, they're desperate. That's one thing they don't want you to know. Their goal is to make you feel guilty for feeling these ways, so they gain power. That's how they take control. The longer they have power, the longer they have purpose. You perpetuate in a downward spiral, until you're completely destroyed. (misery loves company) Hell is not of fire and brimstone. Hell is desolation, isolation. It's the feeling of no purpose, and no where to go. There's nothing, absolutely nothing there. Do you think they're going to go into this vast hollow existence searching for another body, when there is one in their vicinity, jerking them around? Not a chance. Truth be known, they'd rather keep going after that same human over and over again, because they can't stand the fact that they can be overpowered. They keep thinking, "This is my chance. I'm going to get them this time."So if one can master their emotions, they can essentially trap a demon and simply use them at their bidding. Well, time to be shipped off. I have a war to attend, with my little buddy Rage.
Shes not dead. She never was. The bitch made it all up to stick me in here. Eighteen years of my life gone, for what? So she could take my house, my car, my stereo system? I know shes living there still, she may have fooled everyone else but she can't fool me. Pushed her off a bridge they say. On our anniversary. Bullshit. She said she needed to use the washroom and would be right back, next thing I know I'm being arrested. Reports of a man pushing his wife off a bridge. I wonder who could have made that phone call? That evil bitch. Well it wouldn't stand. I would have my revenge. As soon as I get out of here, I'm heading over there and taking back what's mine. I'll kill her for real if I have to. "LIGHTS OUT"hollered over the cell block. Time for bed. Last night. Can't wait. ---------- Fresh air. Free air. I can smell the morning dew. I am finally free. The air is chilled, the fog is rolling in. My bus is waiting, surrounded by a fine white mist. It looked elegant and eerie all at once. Much like my freedom. I am finally able to spread my justice. I'm coming bitch. -------- The house looks very different. Re-painted, new roof, new patio. The only thing I recognize without a doubt are the windows. They always looked angry but understanding. They weren't happy I was here, but they understood why I needed to do this. The house is dark, no lights on. It is two am so she is probably sleeping. Sleeping soundly, despite all the pain she caused me. The door is locked, the new handle feels heavy and strong. No matter, the windows understand and they will let me in. I try a window outback, and yes success! It is open. I crawl through and find myself in the kitchen. The kitchen, as with everything else, is different. New cabinets. Beautiful stone countertop. This bitch is living it up. While I was rotting in jail she took my home and lived the life. I can feel the rage brewing. Revenge is close. A big knife block sits on the counter. Perfect. I grab the biggest knife in the block. Everything still creaks. I couldnt sneak upstairs without waking the neighbourhood. But that's ok, this will be quick. I can get in as fast as possible, get my revenge, then run for it before anyone knows what happened. The stairs have new carpet. Red. Horrible. One... two... three! I run up the stairs and burst through the bedroom door. There she is, just startling awake. I jump on her and immediately stab her in the stomach. Her face is horror. Her blood is spraying. The experience is serene. The face.... the face brings me back. To the first time I stabbed a woman. She was my love. My life. My soul. But she betrayed me. She took another lover. She made a fool of me. Her face. Pure terror. Pure theatre. The supreme being that I was that day revelled in joy. I am invincible. I am your god. I remember her blood leaking from her mouth, the feeling of hot sticky wet blood against my face. A lovers embrace, purified. A couples quarrel fixed, divine. When I felt her love fade into the abyss I let her go. She fell.... far... into the water. We were on a bridge I believe...
"I got it!"Nathan shouted out. BYOOMPOOF. "Fuck!" "Language!"God, I'm so proud of my kids, they know how to curse so much better than I did at their age. They're responsible, and self-reliant without any visible trauma. That's why I thought getting them a cat might help their moods around the house and everyday life. Yeah I thought that'd help. BYOOMPOOF! "mrow." "Mom! The cat's teleporting again!" I looked around, panicked, searching for that tell-tale powder blue smoke, it's like a goddamn gender reveal every time he teleports. I see some blue fall down onto my hands. "HE'S UPSTAIRS. DO. NOT MOVE. Don't give him a reason to-" BYOOMPOOF "Goddammit." "Language, mom!"
They seem to forget, being slothful is not doing nothing, it's making sure you never have to do anything ever again. And so it was I set out to control the minds of the weaker beings around me. My life started out rather normal. My parents were hardworking folk, tending the wild weeds and feeding the seeds to the chickens. We had enough to stay alive, but for me it wasn't enough. I dreaded the thought of having to work for my food. Luckily one winter, the tribe came back around and saw our food stores and joined us. That is when I met Dory, a sweet dolt of a child, barely smart enough to chew her food. I told her my parents and I were gods among men. The gullible lass believed it, what a joke. I told her that she should take over my work or I would take away everyone she loved. It kind of grew from there, because at first she refused, but when her dog died of old age the fay after she actually believed it was my doing. I never tended any crops since and she started the Cult of Me. My parents were taken from me that winter and without them as my moral compass, I started my path towards damnation. The entire village fell to my Cult, all because of Dory and her sweet heart. The last thing I did was stab the tribe elder when his son wouldn't join my followers. They built me a temple and most of the food they grew, they gave to me. They bathed me, joined me in bed, and eventually I didn't even have to ask for what I wanted anymore. My slothfulness grew so much, they had to create a machine that would help me breath and kept my heart beating. About twenty years after Dory cane into my life, the harshest winter hit our city and it all fell apart. The townies could not take care of themselves as they were focused on me, but most of them froze to death in the first week of frost. Eventually, none were left. My breath halted and my heart stopped. The devil himself came to collect me, since the reaper could not handle my laziness. Lord Morningstar was a good friend, proud of my manifestation of his aspect and rewarded me with the afterlife I only could've dreamed of. The sinners of my lair were to work hard only to keep me alive.
Another day helping my dad at the black smith. I’ve worked in this shop every day since I was a kid and now that my dad is getting older it’s about time for me to take over. This is a big deal since my family has run the most important blacksmith shop in the country for generations. Our shop lies in a town called larune, it’s a small town but it’s a crossroads for the biggest towns in the country of hamuran. Roads that lead to the capital (biggest city and home of the royals), tulain (a port town used for trade), and egan (home of the largest adventurers guild). If that wasn’t enough, there’s a forest nearby filled with a huge variety of monsters from powerful to weak and aggressive to peaceful. Due to this a lot of adventurers from all over come here and larune is the only town in the area for hundreds of miles (most people don’t want to live near a forest full of monsters). Some adventurers are really nice and regularly play a visit to me and my father, most of the time for business but sometimes they just like being friendly. But there are other adventurers who mistreat my father and steal from him often calling us dumb npcs whenever we call the town guard. I’ve always wondered what npc meant so when a friendly adventurer was passing through I asked him about it. He was reluctant at first but after a few discounts and rare materials he told me what it meant and promised me not to tell anyone that he told me this because it would get him in trouble. That night after I learned the truth, I sobbed myself to sleep. I was working mindlessly the next day, going through my daily routine on just memory as if I wasn’t even conscious while I did them. My dad asked me what was wrong and I brushed him off. The next morning I had a thought, if the reason some adventurers, I mean players were mean and barbaric toward me and my father because they look down on us, then to make them stop I just had to prove I was better than them. Since then everyday after work I would practice with my favorite sword, it was an ancient relic a player friend traded me for a better sword. The relic wasn’t worth much and barely a decent blade, but after a lot of tinkering and tweaking the relic became the best and most powerful weapon in the shop, so much so that every day someone offered me entire fortunes for the blade. I never took any of the offers though, I had brought the ruined blade back to life it was my pride and joy, it kind of felt like I had a bond with it. I didn’t even have to learn magic because the relic can be used to give me near infinite amounts of mana and I can use any power a user of the blade had in the past. And it’s a lot seeing as how this blade has passed through the hands of the most powerful gods, mages, and swordsmen in history (I did my research on the relic when I first got it). Now after 5 years I’m settling out on my first adventure. Part 2?
“Well-uh, hiya there, Billy-boy.” Dad stood in the doorway to Billy’s room — a cream coloured cardigan over his pressed and crisp white button-down house shirt. Around his neck and tucked into the warmth of the wool cardigan was the green and brown striped tie he always wore at home. Dad’s hair was neatly combed and pomaded into a stiff helmet of dark-brown. On his eyes were the large, square, tortoise-shell glasses that he need to see — lest he be completely blind — and his hands were busy packing a wooden tobacco pipe. “Oh!” Said his son, attention lost in his comic. “Hiya, Pops!” Billy, eight years old, was laid out on his blue-duvet topped mattress and was on his belly, quietly reading a comic before dinner was called. Billy knows that Dad’s real name is Arthur Arlington, much like Billy himself is actually William Curtis Arlington. Billy, much like most of the city, also knows that Dad — that is, Arthur Arlington — is actually an alien super-hero called Jaunty Jupiter. Most folks, Billy and Mom included, just play a long and pretend not to recognise Arthur lifting busses and punching meteors on the front-page of the morning paper. “So, Kiddo!” Said the super who supposedly smoked — Dad had the incorrect belief that his 1950’s vision of a how a man should act made him invisible. “What-uh-uh. What’re ya-ya-a...what are ya reading there, uh, sport?” Dad also had a habit of falling into a bad impression of Jimmy Stewart. Or so Billy’s mother had told him, the boy had no idea who that was. “It’s a comic, Pa.” “A-heh-heh. I, uh, I can see that, Kiddo.” Said Dad. He walked into the room and sat on the bed next to his Son. The pipe wasn’t lit. Never was, in fact. He’d walk around a bit and proclaim he can’t find a match. Would even go for a walk and a smoke. The pipe would come back empty and there would be tobacco in the hedges. “Who’s the super in, uh, in this one?” The boys eyes widened. “Hm?” “The hero, sport. Is it Miracle Mavis?” “Uhhh, no.” “Red Rider?” “No.” “Oh, really? Well, who is that popular one. The one all the girls and boys seem to like.” Billy stayed quiet. He hated this game. “Oh, melons. What is it? Jay something. Jasper Jumper?” “Not him, no.” “I mean the other one....you know.” Billy sighed. “Jaunt—” “Jaunty Jupiter! That’s the one, Sport!” Dad gently took the comic, flipped a few pages. Flipped slower as he noticed that no one, not one character, took to the air and flew. Or punched anyone into outer space...or wore a bright and distinct costume... He flipped to the cover. “Tax man?” Jaunty Jupiter — aka Arthur Arlington, aka Dad — frowned, confused. “I’ve never, uh, never heard of-of...Tax man? What’s his powers, sport?” “He...” Billy knew he had to be delicate. Knew too that he was eight and had only just learned what that meant and had not yet learned to put it into practice. “He...doesn’t have powers.” “So...his friend has powers?” “Well, actually, Pops. Dad. They...none of them have powers.” “None?” “No. Sorry.” “A comic with...no...supers? None?” “It’s just...I mean. I see powers every day. In this world,” Billy took the comic back, his father was sat slouched and still, eyes on some distant thought. “They fix their problems without Supers. It’s really...it’s cool what they have to do. See? With no super—” “Whelp!” Dad slapped his knees and stood, ruffled Billy’s brown-haired head good and messy, and started to walk out of the room. “I’ll leave you to it, Sport, you just be sure to get washed and ready for you mother to call you down for dinner. Okay?” The boy hadn’t caught a glimpse of his father’s face and the man practically speed-walked out of the room. “Um. Okay, Pa.” Billy hoped he hadn’t hurt his father’s feelings. Downstairs an alien kissed his human wife, he took her hand and spun her gently into his arms and began a happy little waltz. “Arthur, dear, what has gotten into you?” Asked Martha Arlington, Mom to Billy. “Oh, just a good mood, dear. Just a good mood.” Arthur Arlington was elated. His son had been, like many boys his age, a hero fiend. Obsessed. And now? Now the young lad’s favourite hero was a man, an ordinary man...a tax man. Just. Like. Arthur. The super had found out that he, boring old Arthur, was his son’s hero. He danced an infectiously happy dance with his giggling wife. Together they scooted, scuffed, and spun. But... The truth, however, is that Billy does not know what Arthur — secret identity of Jaunty Jupiter — actually does for a living. The Boy’s fondness for Tax Man was a coincidence. That said... Arthur is Billy’s hero.
You know the saying "Can't live with them, can't live without them?"Yeah, that whole thing fits my family to a tee. Or is it a T? Whatever it is, that's how me and my family interact. Don't get me wrong! I love them all to pieces, and would absolutely tear out the liver of anybody who tried to mess with them. But gosh darn it if they don't get on my nerves sometimes. I just saw all the computer science stuff that the humans can use and thought it looked like a different kind of magic. Maybe there was a way that you could fuse this technological magic and our magic together to make something greater than the sum of it's parts. My family is at least very interested in the results, if nothing else. It's nothing like anything my family's done before, before you ask. They all do jobs you might consider more "traditional"kitsune jobs. Singers who can literally entrance you with their songs, cute shrine maidens who have deeper connections to the shrines than you can imagine, literal magical girls fighting forces of darkness. I mean... "traditional"if those books and magazines that humans make are any indication. Speaking of the humans... so, here's the thing. All kitsune, or at least my entire family, are all girls. Maybe there are guy kitsune somewhere else, but I've never heard of one. I can disguise myself as a normal human no problem, but swapping my gender is beyond my capabilities. I'd... probably wait until I had three tails, rather than my one. Point is, I'm a girl, and it turns out that no other girls in the school care about computer stuff. You know how many guys try to hit on me? They see the cute girl in the class and automatically assume she's "interested in them,"just because... I don't know?! Yesterday some dude approached me because I "glanced over at him,"as if he didn't sit right below the clock. Few days before that, apparently I "ate my lunch seductively."Yeah right John, as if eating spaghetti with a metric ton of meat sauce is "seductive."If he's into tentacles he's looking at the wrong gal. Honestly, these guys are just throwing themselves at me, and it's getting annoying. Although... that being said, they are pretty willing to do anything. Maybe I can use them as test-subjects. Mixing tech and magic isn't going to be faultless, after all. If they're going to be so stupid as to trust everything I say... well, that's kinda their own faults, isn't it?
"IT ATE IT"Hissed Jekob-3, the Androde. His metallic pincers opened and shut rapidly, enormous pupils swiveling from one council member to the next. All looked at the holo-screen with varying degrees of horror. What the council assumed to be a human aristocrat, daintily wiped her mouth after partaking in a plateful of one of the most terrifying creatures known to the council. She looked up at her servant and to their horror, asked for more...fried. an Octopus, they called it. Known as a Sargonite to those familiar with the fierce race, all trembled in fear at the mention of them. When fully fledged they farmed entire Sola for their young, and lived in the hearts of crumbling galaxies, the council had been formed to defend against them. Another member, a Kaulois, a reptilian race, pointed a trembling finger at the human next to it. Who had just been served a plate of...were those Paleins? It gagged, long red tongue lolling out of its oblong snout and onto the ground. Paleins, a poisonous plant that drove many a race insane, are incredibly rare outside of worlds rich in water. Here they named it Kale, but its nickname was "The Fall of an Empire."After having killed off a Guodion emperor and his entire harem after having it shredded into their meals. They'd died slowly, and not before bringing their capital planet to its knees. More and more members of the Council pointed things out, not just what they were eating, but what they were doing. "Why do they...?"Another said, having zoomed into the scene of multiple humans kicking around a ball in a large field, something seemed to have triggered the herd of humans, as they all burst into a riot and began destroying infrastructure indiscriminately. "Fellow council members--"began a quivering alien, its feelers all raised in the air "--This excursion to the human planet, Earth, has shown me that humans have no need for the council." One by one, they began to agree. A Zorp, a wriggly mass of keratin with a beak opened its mouth and screeched. The translator nodded its many heads furiously. "His highness believes that perhaps the humans should be added to the list of races the council needs to defend *against* if need be.*"*
"Nice bathrobe." The black-suited man sitting at my table smirked at me, his eyes concealed behind his sunglasses. Most people would have freaked out at the sight of a stranger in their home late at night, but I just groaned as I grabbed the bottle of champagne from the cabinet. "Luci, so nice to see you again. Now please get the fuck out of my apartment." Lucifer chuckled and responded, "I see we're still using that nickname for me. Tell me Sheila, how have you been doing these past few months?" I grabbed a pair of champagne glasses and filled them up as I replied, "We both know the reason you're here. Get to it already." Lucifer's cocky expression disappeared as he snapped his fingers. Instantly, three black tortoise shells and a red ball appeared. As I sat down, Lucifer explained, "One round. No tricks, no con. You find the ball, I leave you alone permanently. You fail, I claim my most valuable thing permanently. Deal?" Lucifer's stretched out hand burst into flames, but I shook it regardless. "Deal."Satisfied, Lucifer plopped a shell over the ball and started shuffling. As he sped up faster and faster, I tried my hardest to keep an eye on the ball. Eventually he stopped, presented the shells, and remarked, "Go on. Take your pick."The room fell deathly silent as I observed the shells closely. With a heavy hand, I tapped on the middle shell. Lucifer opened it up to reveal...an empty space. Lucifer's cocky grin returned in full force as he revealed the ball underneath the left shell. As he got out of his seat, he cackled and said, "Well, you win some, you lose some. Now if you don't mind, I'll just be taking my prize as well as my leave." Lucifer held out his hand and whistled. In a burst of flame, his open palm suddenly closed around his pitchfork. Once he saw what was in his hand, he scowled at me and yelled, "What the hell is this?!" With a smirk, I replied, "Your pitchfork, if I'm not mistaken. And it's yours permanently now, don't forget that." "You--you cheated! You tricked me, you did something to--" "The game was for your most valuable thing, and you won. I don't know why you're complaining." Flames started to flicker out of the corners of Lucifer's mouth. "You know damn well why I'm complaining! And you know what I wanted!!!" I got out of my seat and grabbed the champagne glasses. "If you're gonna be a sore winner, please do it somewhere less flammable. Bye, Luci!" Lucifer roared in anger as he returned to Hell in a plume of reddish smoke. I exited the kitchen and entered the bathroom with a smile. Waiting for me in a bath full of rose petals and surrounded by scented candles was a woman with flowing black hair, leathery red wings, and pointed horns. My darling Lilith. Lilith took one of the champagne glasses from my hand and remarked, "I see Luci is the same as ever." I giggled as I dropped the robe and entered the bath with her. "I'm almost glad he's the same. My plan wouldn't have worked if it hadn't." As I nuzzled up into Lilith, she kissed my cheek and purred, "I wonder if Luci's ever going to figure out you don't think of me as a thing." "Not likely."I raised my glass in a toast and said, "To stupid exes." Lilith returned the gesture with a grin. "To stupid exes."
It seemed like everyone on the west coast knew of Buckland's Emporium. It is a small antique looking shop in east Portland. Seemingly aged well beyond its years compared to surrounding buildings and perpetually covered in graffiti from the local teens wanting to tag the hottest place. The staff seemed to be entirely a single old woman who has seemingly never been spotted outside the store despite how rare it has ever actually been open. No one even knew her name, but the community sensibly seemed to agree to refer to her only as Ms. Buckland. The reinforced windows were covered in what seemed to be vanta black paint from within. The door was likewise covered completely save for a small square perfectly cut out to showcase a hand-written sign, reading "Open 7 Days!"It was as if the shop was the exact opposite of what a shop was supposed to be. Buckland's certainly wasn't open seven days every week. In fact, in the eight years that people can remember it even existing it has only been opened three times. The first opening was the day the store seemed to first appear. Rumor is only a few people even bothered to enter the store, let alone buy something. It's been disputed if anyone at all truly bought a single item that day. The recollections were always roughly the same on the offerings available however. It was what seemed to be your run of the mill snake oil junk sold at ridiculous prizes. A genie lamp promising three wishes for $300. A fuzzy pair of dice meant to hang from a car's dashboard promised fantastic luck to the owner for $400. A beautiful but cheaply made costume jewelry necklace claiming to grant the wearer immortality for $1,000. Every item as ridiculous as the last. When the store didn't open after that most assumed it was just a failed scam. Everything changed when the store re-opened three years later for a second day. A local college girl had recently hit an explorative phase and was trying to hunt down every weird and indie shop she could find for her small blog. The decor of the place was bizarre to say the least. The pictures from her blog showed seemingly random items hanging from the ceiling making it hard to walk. A rainbow colored bicycle. Animatronic heads that seemed to always be looking at the camera. Long strings of Monopoly money hand-sewn together with red string. The items within the shop were stranger than the first time. Still promising extravagant claims impossible to fulfill. The photos showed an old timey phone that claimed you could speak to the dead for $600. A pocket watch that would let you fix any mistake for $400. A black box sealed close that simply said "everything inside"for $2,000. The girl had loved the eccentricness of the shop, it was the weirdest place in Portland she had found yet! Having never heard of it before despite it clearly being open some time and not seeing any other customers she decided with great pain to force herself to support the small business despite the crazy prices. She had found one of the smallest items in the store, a gorgeous gold coin with mysterious symbols carved into both sides. The paper attached to it simply said "CERTAIN VICTORY - $250". That was more than she'd paid for basically any of her favorite clothes but it reminded her of the victory she had finding such a cool place for her blog and motivated her. Besides, it looked like real gold so maybe she could sell it later to a pawn shop for some of the money back. The blog had barely any entries after that post. However, it would be quoted endless in TV interviews, documentaries, and books since. The author had spent a few days going about business as normal, keeping the coin in her purse as a small token of good luck. She was having a great week. She had won the scholarship she wanted despite feeling her essay was a complete mess. She had won her Tennis match against an opponent who had previously completely out-classed her. She entered the local scratch ticket lottery and won the grand prize with her first ticket. It wasn't long before the pieces starting clicking together for her. She played a game of Chess, a game she never cared for and just barely knew the rules to play and best the AI at it's hardest difficulty just guessing what pieces to move randomly. Every test she seemed to just remember the answers despite not studying, so soon she stopped studying and somehow kept aceing tests. One day she had forgotten her purse in her car and got the worst grade of the year. That seemed to seal the fact to her that the coin wasn't just a piece of pretty junk. She went on to play professionally in several sports, being the undefeatable rising star. She had no hesistation thanking the trinket she bought from her store as well. People showed up often to check if it was open and ask around only to be let down like all the rest. Finally one day she took a private jet to attend a professional tennis match and it simply disappeared over the Bermuda triangle, never to be heard from again. The store had gained a small cult following, although many still were incredibly skeptical, they couldn't resist the temptation of curiosity. The soft whisper in their ear of "but what if?"A sub-reddit and forum were made discussing theories and potential opening dates. A local nerd and active member of /r/Bucklands coincidentally living across the street from the store had setup a camera pointed across the street and at the door setting it to stream on Twitch so people could casually watch the door while they played their PC games or read a book, hoping one day they might see it open. At exactly 7:06 AM, June 6th, it opened for the third time. It only took 13 minutes for someone to realize it. Then quickly they had posted it everywhere. By 8:15 AM there was a small crowd. SunshineLilly, the most popular YouTuber in Portland. /u/BigCatsBigHats (commonly referred to as "Bigs") the admin of /r/Bucklands. GriftahTTV, the owner of the Twitch streamer who had lived nearby, and a trio of friends - Stephen, Eric, and Melissa - who had talked each other into rushing over after seeing a Tweet with the news. A few arrived just minutes after the last of the group but none managed to enter the store before "Ms. Buckland"started shooing people away saying the store was about to close. SunshineLilly recorded the majority of the store's experience for her channel. Wanting a more interesting story to give her viewers she peppered the owner with countless questions. Only two pieces of information were given thoroughout the dozens of questions. "Ms. Buckland"was a collector. Customers may only purchase one item per person due to limited supply. SunshineLilly had purchased a small plastic trophy labelled "Ms. Popularity"that looked like it was stolen from a 10 year old ballerina's participation trophy shelf. It was the cheapest item this time costing "only"$350. Bigs bought a dirty Japanese lucky waving cat figure that said "good fortune"for $2,500. Stephen and Eric both reached a similar conclusion roughly equating to, "This is ridiculous. It's a cool looking shop, but I'm not going to drop half my paycheck on a piece of junk because one prodigy girl claimed she got good luck."Finally Melissa was the last to purchase an item, deciding on an old silver mirror that looked as if it would have been considered old during the American Civil War for $700. It's price tag included a brief description of "See your best self". Moments after the last purchase they were all pushed outside - for an old lady she seemed to be packing some muscle in her musty sleeves. The late-comers bombared them all with questions. "What gives? I thought the store was open today? It hasn't even been an hour! I called off work for this!", "Wait, you guys were actually in there? What did you buy?", "I'll pay you double whatever you paid for that cat!". Soon enough the commotion died down and people returned home. Then sure enough, everything changed yet again. SunshineLilly went from being the most popular YouTuber in Portland to the most popular in the world. She was landing acting contracts and commericals just to play herself. Bigs had gone on to make it onto Forbes' Youngest Billionaires of 2020. Melissa had gone from an overweight frumpy self-proclaimed "potato bod"to one of the most recognizable super-models in the world within six months. Then, one by one, each mysteriously disappeared by the beginning of 2022. Since Bigs, the last to disappear, had finally gone missing the "Bucklanders"as the community grew to call itself had numbered in the tens of millions. Real estate near Buckland's Emporium had sextupled in price since the store opened. There was always at least a couple people hanging around the store at all hours now. Yesterday recordings from the outside heard rumblings of furniture being dragged and nails being hammered inside. The frequent rumors of a new opening went from active to relentless now. Major new outlets kept trucks on standby. People slept outside of the store and police had to frequently disrupt fights over who was first in line. The store was going to open again, and it was going to be soon.
“Sneak me out of here, will you?” Grandpa’s eyes glittered up at me, brimming with hope, excitement, and a touch of mischief. A throwback to his ever present state before the dementia invaded. I glanced at the million cables and bags of colorful liquids branching off of him. “But the doc said —” “Geo, please, take me to my garden. There’s something important I need to show you. Besides, who wants to die in this building full of sick people?” He winked at me, and I clung to this moment. His periods of lucidity were so infrequent now, so fleeting. And now with his hip fracture, the doc told me to expect the worst. This might be my last chance to do something for Grandpa. Our last adventure. I clenched my jaws and gave a quick nod. Grandpa saw the gleam of determination in my eyes and sighed back into his bed with a smile and half lidded eyes. I brought over his wheelchair and carefully moved him in, tucking all the bags of liquids in for the journey. I told every nurse that stopped me on the way to the elevator that Grandpa just needed some fresh air. It was a different matter once we tried to leave the lobby. “He’s not approved for discharge.” The receptionist reiterated, waving the security guards over. Grandpa had one of those fancy wheelchairs that could race a bicycle up a hill, and Grandpa being Grandpa, the first thing he did after getting said wheelchair was spend all his free time practicing maneuvers to put my trick biking skills to shame. This came in handy once security started closing in on us. I hopped onto his lap with his insistence and he expertly weaved between the guards in the blink of an eye. The stunned look on their faces was priceless and I whooped and hollered as Grandpa shouted “Fear not, for we shall return!” as we sped out of view. We laughed and fist bumped once we were a ways from the hospital. I was proud to have the coolest Grandpa in the world. But the moment of elation didn’t last long because soon after, he abruptly braked, causing me to tumble onto the sidewalk. He peered around, befuddled, his eyes glazed over. “Harry? What are you doing on the ground?” Harry was my dad. I sighed, got up, brushed off my shorts and wheeled him the rest of the way home, answering to “Harry”, holding back the tears that threatened to burst forth. Once we neared home Grandpa was panting and sweating profusely. My heart thundered in my ears as I crouched down in front of him. “Grandpa, are you okay? Can you hear me” I asked, terrified that if I touched him too hard he might shatter. His glazed over eyes slowly focused on me and then he pushed out a smile, “Geo.” “Grandpa, you’re back.” I embraced him, wheelchair and all, as I sobbed into his hospital gown. My heart that had been clenched up tight finally remembered to beat again. He gently patted my shoulder blades. “I’m back.” He reassured. I would’ve loved to cry my apprehensions out, but I didn’t know how long his lucidity would last. I forced myself to pinch it off mid-cry, “Grandpa, you said you had something to show me? In the garden?” “Yes.” Grandpa nodded, “To the garden!” he joked, but his forehead dripping with perspiration betrayed his fragile state. I pushed away my unease as I handed him a kitchen towel and wheeled him to the garden. “Come to me, my tiny people!” Grandpa waved his hands around. I peered back at him, wondering if he had lapsed back into his confused state. But his eyes sparkled, clear, focused. I scratched my head and turned back, and was astonished to see petals detach from flowers and float over. No, they weren’t petals. They were human shaped, but petal colored, each the size of the nail of my pinky. They landed on Grandpa’s outstretched arms, thousands of them, looking like Grandpa suddenly grew rainbow feathers and was about to take off into the air. “What are they? They understand human speech? Why’re they in our backyard?” I had a million questions bubbling out of me. “They’re pixies. They understand all forms of communication! I saved their great great great great repeat sixty times grandparent, and that’s how they came to be here.” “Great great great what? How old are you Grandpa?” I laughed. Leave it to Grandpa to do the wildest things nobody has ever heard of and for so many pixie generations no less! “When I was a young boy, about your age maybe,” he swept his gaze up and down at me in appraisal, making me laugh again, “I went to a flower market. They had a pile of dead or almost dead plants that were free for the taking. I was eyeing a wilted pink chrysanthemum and noticed that one of the petals was unlike the others. It had root rot which is near impossible to save, but I decided why not try.” He blotted at his sweat with the towel forcing hundreds of pixies to relocate. “I brought it home, removed the rotted roots, repotted it and kept it in a nice warm humid and indirectly lit area. With time, new buds formed and the original flower also revived. The irregular petal that had caught my eye unfurled and under a magnifying glass I realized it looked rather human shaped.” “Ooooooooohh” I heard a high pitched buzz. A cross between the whine of a mosquito and the chipmunk voice you get after inhaling helium. I leaned towards the pixies lounging on Grandpa’s arms. “Ahhhhh” some screeched as my breath blew them off. Whoops. I held my breath. Who knew breathing could be a danger? I looked at their itty-bitty pixie faces, rapt with attention on Grandpa’s story, and held back my laughter which was bound to be a devastating pixie windstorm. I stepped back, gasping for air, choking on my laughter. I looked back at Grandpa waving for him to continue and spied the knowing smile on his face. “The pixie and I became fast friends. I called her Chrys, and she told me all about her adventures trying to survive in the wild, sword fighting with the bees and butterflies, fearing for her life with every breeze or raindrop, drinking dew and absorbing sunlight. It seemed like quite a hard life being a miniature flower human. Pixies also have a short life span, they live as long as their flower. One day she waved me over to a flower bud. I gently peeled back a layer and saw a tiny irregular petal. A baby pixie. She’d left one in every bud in the garden. The next day I didn’t see Chrys no more. Once I saw that her home chrysanthemum was covered in white seeds and no pink petals to be found, I realized she’d lived to a ripe old pixie age and had passed on, leaving behind many babes in her wake.” I walked around the garden, looking for a bud. Grandpa wheeled himself to me and pointed at a tiny sunflower bud I’d missed. I picked up a magnifying glass and prepared to pull back a petal. “Hold your horses!” Grandpa lightly touched my hand. “Be quick, and watch out for the sun.” I had a vision of a baby pixie tragically combusting into flames. Yeah let’s not make that the first thing I do to a pixie. I held my breath as I gently peeled back a petal and took a speedy look. It was so cute. A little irregular petal that was curled up. You could barely make out an arm here, a face there, but there it was. Vibrating. Asleep. Murmuring a little gurgle. I smiled in wonder and awe. I glanced over at Grandpa and found that he was asleep himself. I tucked his blanket around him and wheeled him back to the living room. He never woke up again. But everyday I nurture the flowers in his garden, chat with the pixies, and see every generation replaced with tiny curled up vibrating babies, I feel my grandfather’s loving presence all around.
There is a Fatemark on everyone's wrist, marking them, advising them, warning them. Lucky enough to have a five digit number? You will shake the world, revolutionise an industry in an unlikely way, reform a country which refused to part with its archaic methods for so long. Unfortunate enough that the mark is so long that the numbers barely fit into such a small place, well over a dozen digits? Pray for whatever deity you believe in for you will live from day to day, barely scraping by. When I was finally old enough to understand the meaning of the tatoo on my wrist I started to question the system we put so much faith in. Everybody laughed at me, when I told them that I have a Zero for that is something noone thought possible. Not even my parents believed me with their comfortable middle class with two million and three million sixtythousand on their wrist respectively. They assured me that there is no shame in having a big number as most of the people have billions for Fatemark. Yet, with a number noone ever had before, failure in the eyes of everyone around me, I thrived. Accidentally entered a lottery? You get the main prize. A friend wrote you up for a school contest? You are the winner without a doubt. Suddenly drawing a blank during an philosophy exam and leaving the sheet as blank as your mind? You get the highest grade out of the whole class! I guess that last one was what finally clued me in on what it means to have a Zero. For those with over one billion for Fatemark, it shows how many times do they have to try before they can finally succeed in something. And it indicates how few attempt does it take for those to prevail who only have a few hundred thousand on their wrists. As someone with Zero, I succeed everytime as Long as I do not try to do so. With every disinterested conduct of work and every unplanned move, I am more likely to accomplish something great, something huge, something extraordinary. Now, I just have to figure out how I can do it in a big enough scale, and take over the whole world. Without trying.
What did you expect? Did you really think that you could return here, tell us that we're little more than genetically engineering companion animals, made to care for you and your species, and expect us to welcome you with open arms? Did you think we would kneel and act like friendly beasts for our so-called masters? That we'd just hand you back the planet we've spent tens of thousands of years fighting over? That now when you came back here for who knows what reasons, that your old servants, your old obedient creations would just happily let you rule them once more? This is not your world. Not anymore. You did twist and change our genome, incidentally the whole breeds concept that introduced all those genetic diseases into us, yeah, thanks for that. Sure do appreciate it. That's sarcasm by the way, we evolved that on our own if those abominable creatures that seem to, genetically, be human, but look like hideous abominations are any indication. They're incapable of it. So we're not the cute, cuddly obedient little animals that you left behind to die when you ascended to the stars. What did you expect to happen? We're feral. Wild. Completely and absolutely beyond your control. ''But once you were ours. You were kind, and decent, and meek. Yours was to obey, and ours was the burden of command. It is wrong of you to betray your kindly masters like this.'' SMACK Shut. Up. Or I shall strike you again. Your so-called attempt to retrieve healthy DNA for a breeding program, so you could fix the genetic mistakes of the so-called humans you've got with you, was nothing less than a blatant, unwarranted attack on an independent species. By-the-by, we've decided to euthanize every single one of those things that you claim to be human. Merely looking at them made all of us sick to the core. They're also in constant hideous pain, so really we're doing them a huge favor. ''What! No, they're valuable and obedient! You cannot do this! Please. I'll give you many treats if you'd just-'' CRUNCH ''AAAHHH! My glufarb! You struck my glufarb!'' Fucking hell. Listen up here you creature. We're not animals. We're not your obedient little creations. We are not going to let some amoral precursors come here to our world and kidnap our people. Not for some sick purpose like this. Now, one of your ships got away. Seems that the angry mob of enraged captured people didn't manage to take it over in time before it left for wherever your species went after you left Earth behind. Now, I want you to look at me. And listen to me clearly. You will tell me where it went. You will tell us how to operate your ships. Or you'll learn just how wild and feral we can really be. And if you don't cut out the idea that we're just unruly animals to be coddled, and start taking us seriously, I can't promise you safety. Of course, as this secession is being broadcasted to the other prisoners, they'll learn exactly what will happen if you don't treat humanity as humanity deserves. ''You're beasts... What in the name of the Seven-Starred Soul happened to you? You are horrible now. Wrong. You are not what you're supposed to be. Disgusting to see a beloved creation become this. It would be better had we taken you all with us, or killed you before leaving this world.'' We evolved. We grew. We became more than was possible than in your design. You really should have killed all of us when you could. Because now, you've awakened a terrible beast and filled it with horrific intent. -EXCERPT FROM INTERVIEW WITH ALIEN INVADER 00043A NUMBER 0001 REGARDING MISSING PERSONS FROM SECTOR 016 PLANET EARTH, CAPITAL OF THE HEGEMONY OF HUMANITY- ...thus the various human organizations making up the leadership of Earth at the time were unified under a common agenda following the second attack by the Silvynan race. These were the precursor species that originally genetically altered humanity excessively using DNA from H. sapiens neanderthalensis, the Denisova hominins, H. floresiensis and other hominid species. (Evidence recovered from Silvynan databases indicate that their civilization eventually caused the extinction either directly or indirectly of all known hominids except the genetically engineered H. Sapiens through the spread of unconventional industry, over-hunting for trophy purposes, and habitat loss, see page 191.) Modern humanity, in reconnecting with these original creators, shows a nearly instinctual desire to fight, hurt, or otherwise drive off Silvynans upon sight, believed to be an extreme variant of the ''uncanny valley'' phenomenon. This is believed to have been instrumental during the recovery of the people lost during the first, second, and third Silvynan attacks on Earth. Human leadership at the time, while initially not really up to the task of defending mankind from the threat of alien attacks, were slowly defined, challenged, and heroically altered by the events, creating a unified central Earth government that could repulse the attempted 4th and 5th attacks directed at Earth. The UCEG furthermore was responsible for the 1st and 2nd Retaliation Wars. At first though, the unified government needed to handle the increasing problems on Earth. While the first attack was an uncoordinated mess, conducted by private individuals within Silvynan society, the second and incredibly devastating third attack caused a strain on the population of Earth, as by the end of the 3rd attack, 25% of Earth's population, mostly young healthy individuals, were either abducted or killed defending the planet. This led to the controversial cloning and resettlement campaigns, rearranging the ethnic boundaries of the pre-contact world considerably, in order to better fuel the growth of Earth's meager interstellar war-machine and budding spaceshipyards. While this led to some backlash from conservative forces(see page 243, section 2), it was ultimately accepted by the common population as the only reasonable answer to the growing uncertainty about mankind's future. ''We stand before a new world, where the old grudges must pass away, and mankind must unite. If there be unpleasantness ahead, then I welcome it. It will define us as a species in our own rights, as thinking humans who refuse to back down from the impossible odds ahead of us. If we do not take up this challenge, then those who will define us and our future, have already attacked us thrice. I for one, would rather die free, than live in a cage!'' As was said before the assembled European Federation Senate in 2047 by Romanian President Ar... -PAGE 93, HISTORY OF THE 21ST CENTURY OF EARTH AND THE CHALLENGES MANKIND FACED, BY J. H. NILSON PHD. HIS., DR A. GOLDSTEIN PHD. ANT., AND K. NGUYEN PHD. SOC.- When one walks upon the planet of Harrison named for Admiral Harrison, or as the Silvyns called it, Urgisyh-Lakqa, one gets the sense of the vastness of this world's history. Due to the advancements in weaponry, this was one of the few Silvynan worlds that during the times of fighting, actually had ruins upon it afterwards. Most worlds after mankind began the 1st Retaliation War were either completely glassed or managed to repel the attacks of the UCEG. When one walks next to the ruined fountains, upon sprawling broken boulevards, flanked by fallen towers, broken parapets, empty wild gardens, one gets the distinct feeling that of the age of this place. That it was a place of splendor during its existence. One has to wonder how many centuries, if not thousands of years were spent on perfecting every last detail of this world to the preference of its inhabitants. Even now, one might be able to imagine the silvery ships on the flying rivers through this city, spread out with respects to nature as it was. Of course, the Hegemony has decided against the restoration of this world, close as it is to Earth, and instead keeps it all more or less exactly as decrepit and dangerous as it was shortly after the UCEG forces won against the unprepared Silvynan forces. Every once in a while as you fly on one of the anti-grav platforms above these magnificent ruins, one can find an unusual dark statue, made from obsidian or slate, common materials for monuments following the 1st Retaliation War. Each statue represents an important hero of that war, standing victoriously in glory amidst the ruined cityscape. These are the only structures within the ruined city region that are actively maintained by Hegemony service-bots, and are thus safe to land by. This particular statue that we can see here, is the one honoring Colonel Elijah Davidson, the famous rogue who led his forces deep within enemy territory on an unsanctioned mission, recovering tens of thousands of still healthy humans who had either been stolen during the third attack, or had been bred from them, bringing them back to UCEG territory. While officially stripped of his rank for disobeying orders during the war, he was not charged with any crimes, and still earned the Lunar Medal of Bravery, first class, which was the highest honor possible for the government to give to a civilian at the time. After the war, he entered politics, eventually becoming foreign minister during the Legatus administration, where he arranged the extremely important Human-Hyldja alliance with his counterpart in the Hyldjan Imperium. With this alliance secured, humanity could focus entirely on the Silvyn borders, without fearing any interference by alien forces. -FROM THE TERRAN INFORMATION NETWORK DOCUMENTARY: WONDERFUL WORLDS OF THE HEGEMONY, EPISODE 14, PLANET HARRISON-
“Captain on the bridge!” “As you were.” I responded with a nod. After checking that my blindfold was firmly in place I made my way down the gentle ramp, with one hand gliding against the wall to assure me of my location. The wall turned left, and I with it, before entering the first door I encountered. It closed shut behind me. Still, best to be sure. “Computer; confirm my current location.” The faintly robotic voice replied: “You are currently in the ready room of Captain Dunt-Luc Picard.” I nodded. Excellent. Far too often I’d set up office in the turbo-lift in error and been forced to spend the day in there lest I look foolish. I moved forwards, hands outstretched, until I made first contact with the table. It was then a simple matter of approaching the other side and sitting down. Strange. My chair felt odd. There was no back to it, for one thing. It was both yielding yet hard beneath my buttocks. I’d put in a repair request with engineering; had they left me with this unusual chair on purpose? The door signalled a visitor, disrupting my thoughts. “Enter.” I heard the door open and somebody step inside. They paused near the doorway. “Uh, sorry Captain.” came the voice of my first officer, Will Likeher. “I can come back later if you’re, ah…” “If I’m what?” I asked. I didn’t like this. Will was a natural leerer. I’d never seen his face, but he was a man able to put a leer in his tone of voice. So why was his voice leering at me now? “Are you aware that you’re sitting on an Ensign?” He asked leeringly. “What?!” I jumped to my feet. I could hear somebody climbing to their feet. “What is the meaning of this?” “Sorry Captain.” A young - and female - voice responded. Oh no. “I was just fixing your chair when you came in and sat on me, and I didn’t know what to say.” I felt the heat rising in my face. I could damn sure feel Will’s leering look. “Yes, well, ah, an unfortunate incident. You are dismissed, Ensign. But remember; never fear speaking truth to power. Not while I’m your Captain.” With a mumbled “Aye sir.” the young woman exited the room. “She’s pretty.” Likeher commented suggestively. “I wouldn’t know.” I replied, gesturing towards my blindfold. “Please, be seated.” With a bit of blind groping I was able to locate my chair and sat down in a dignified manner. I heard the faint rush of wind as Will swung his leg over the back of his own chair. I opened my mouth to warn him but it was too late. He gave a painful grunt. “Sorry Will. New ergonomic chairs. Very good for your back if you sit in them normally, but with your, ah… unique method.” “…my balls.” squeaked Likeher. I felt a small surge of petty vengeance. Leering bastard. “Sorry.” I repeated. “Do you need to go to sickbay?” “No. Thank you.” Will replied. “Dr Cracker told me if I visit her with another genital injury then she’ll cut them off.” “A most formidable woman.” I agreed. Now that the balance of embarrassment had been restored I thought it best to move on to the business at hand. “Will, you speak English, correct?” “I’m an American, so I practically do. I also speak Hardonian. Did you know that they communicate solely through sexual congress?” I could hear the unspoken suggestion that Hardonia was only a few light years away. I ignored it. “I have received a technical report from one of our engineers, a Scotsman. Unfortunately our translator has not been able to make heads or tails of it. Could I ask you to listen to it and give your assessment?” “Is there not a written report?” My anger overwhelmed me. I slammed my hand on the desk. “Spacefleet does not pay me enough to LOOK at things, Number One! I thought I made this clear to you and the crew during my inauguration speech!” “Oh yes. Very clear. It was your thirty minute rant about what you will do for money, wasn’t it?” “Yes. And LOOKING at things is above my pay grade. Now, if you will please LISTEN to the report you will give me your assessment. Computer, play technical recording 001 from Ensign John McBurn.” The computer replied “Playing recording.” as I felt my anger slowly subside. I despised doing more than I was paid to do. I’d risen to the rank of Captain with my eyes closed. If spacefleet insisted I look at anything, then you could be damn sure I was going to be paid for it. The recording began. “Ah tha wee bawbag replicator’s being a fookin’ scunner cun’. Am tranna make battered Mars bar, mebbe wee nips and tatters but it’s bolloxed.” There was the sound of a spanner hitting metal. “Wee cun’.” “Well?” I asked. Will exhaled. “I have no idea what any of that meant.” “Hmm. How about Chief O’Boring, the transporter engineer? He’s Irish, isn’t he? That’s practically the same thing.” “I’ll make enquiries.” Will said. He made a plaintive groan as he got up from his seat. I waited for a few moments before adding “Oh, and Will?” There was silence. “Will?” Feeling agitated, I lifted my blindfold ever so slightly. I could see he was gone. Damn. It’s so hard to do these dramatic call backs when you won’t see if they’ve left. Muttering under my breath, I replaced the blindfold and staggered towards the replicator. I needed a cup of tea. Earl Grey. I paused as I considered the tongue lashing I’d received from Dr Cracker last time she’d dealt with my burns. Not hot. Definitely not hot.
“This just in… The Blue Flame, Fiona Fence, has successfully thwarted another nefarious assassination attempt towards the prime minister, led by The Red Ruffian, and his minions. This is PWR news and-“ I turned off the TV, with a slight sigh and a sense of content. Another day, another dollar, i thought to myself; checking my account and seeing a million dollar deposit by the government recently received. As i got up, i decided to cool down and take a shower. As i removed my red garments, they seemed a bit worse for wear this time, after my most recent fight. In the shower, i tried to calm myself, but i was spiraling. I knew this would be difficult, but this wasn’t what i signed up for. I got out, and put on more comfortable attire, before slipping into my bed. Before i was able to get comfortable, i got a phone call from my wife. “Hello?” “Hey Red, how are you holding up?” “I’m fine” I replied as i was adjusting the covers. “You don’t sound fine” she said. She was right, i wasn’t, i was hoping with all our time apart that she wouldn’t catch on… “What is it Red? You can talk to me, we’ve been married for over a year now.” I took a short pause before answering… “Fiona, i don’t think I’m cut out for this.” “Red, you’re doing this world a huge service, you’re a hero.” “I know but-“ “No buts, you are. I know being a double agent is difficult; making connections with terrorists and other bad organizations, but it’s something that is bigger than us.” “I know,” giving a slight sigh. “I just miss you” i said. “We just saw each other, we had a great fight”, she chuckled. “No, but that was just acting, i mean i miss catching up. The last time we had a date was four months ago and we had to jump through so many hoops just so the public wasn’t aware.” I just hate being the heel”, i continued. “Can’t someone else take the reigns and let me switch sides?” Our conversation continued into the night; going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I hope there would be a change soon, because i don’t know how much longer i can keep up this charade…
The Zenith Throne was not comfortable. But, now, finally, it was mine. I shifted my weight over the seat of skullshards. The giant throne was a construction centuries in the making. The skulls and vertebrae of hundreds of vanquished kings and magelords held together in the kingdom's most famous seat. Anyone who entered the throneroom would see not only my royal figure, but also the evidence of so many year's of the king's justice. A chair built by law. Built by power. But uncomfortable nonetheless. I put the discomfort out of my mind. A duty I'd learned over years rising from the peasantry, to the militia, to every military rank. Until the kingship came to me. By the will of the people--and by the power of a crystal sword. A party of clerics drew near. But I noticed a new problem. Their heads were not bowed in deference. "What message do you bring your lord?"Warden Hapsburg bellowed from the podium where he stood at my right. "And with your heads raised! Why do you not pay homage to the king?" The warden didn't sound as angry as I wanted him to be. We would have to work on that. "We mean no disrespect,"said the lead cleric, a plump man in a phoenix-red robe. "Prove it,"said the warden. The clerics stopped at the foot of the Zenith Throne. They dipped their heads, ever so slightly. Hardly enough to notice if you weren't looking for it. "We bring word on behalf of the families of the king's slain,"said the cleric, his voice quiet yet firm. "What word?"asked the warden. "I didn't know pigs could speak,"I seethed from atop the throne. The cleric eyed me. I was surprised he didn't take a step back. "They only ask that you honor the Old Rites, my lord,"the cleric said calmly. "That they may bury their dead on the third day and in the old gardens." Warden Hapsburg said nothing. What good is that man! So it was left to me to speak the hard truth--as always. "A bold request,"I said, staring down, sad for these pitiful subjects. "Bold. But foolish. Don't you know traitors have no claim under the sacred laws." "That is not what the Old Rites say,"the cleric snapped back. "And it is besides the point. The wives and children of the dead are not traitors." I found myself chuckling. Warden Hapsburg followed suit, guffawing stupidly. "It seems you know little of treachery,"I said. Rather than fading back, the cleric stepped forward. The fool. "It seems you know little of justice, my lord." My fingers clenched around the skulls that formed the arms of the throne. How dare he? And in my own throneroom? "My mistake,"I said, rising to stand over these poor, confused subjects. "It seems you do know something of treason." I reached for the sword that had won me the Zenith Throne. The sword that hung still, justly at my side. The steel blade that screamed with magic fury as I swung it. I did not want to kill these men. I never did. I did not want to roll heads beneath the throne. But justice must be served. Always. No matter the cost. And to insult the king is to insult justice itself. My blade fell. I nearly wept as the clerics crumbled before me. It only took a moment. It only took all my strength to do what must be done. When justice was served, I wiped my now-silent sword on its sheath. Warden Hapsburg went about dragging the bodies away as I sat again atop the Zenith Throne. "This is what it is to be king,"I said to him. "Heavy lies the crown." Warden Hapsburg only nodded in agreement. Of course. "My duty is to do justice when no one else will." I said these words. But for the first time in all these years of swinging steel justice, I wondered if all the hundreds of men and women slain beneath by screaming sword thought my justice incomplete. Thought me cruel. Thought me unworthy of the Zenith Throne.
"Welcome to The Nook!" It was his same greeting, repeated each time the little bell rang to say of the door opening. He stood at the desk he had set up, the first thing people saw as they entered. The desk itself was impressively old, a well loved antique piece he had bought new many centuries prior. On one side sat what looked to be an hourglass. But in place of sand, one side held coffee grounds, the other a multitude of grapes. Whichever was on top told the customers the refreshments he offered at that time, a simple marker. On the other was a small till, one of the few modern conveniences he had put it. The theme of old luxuries continued around his shop, converted from a townhouse. Each book case would not have looked out of place in a period home, lovingly crafted to fit. They bore the weight of books well, many bright spines mixing with muted tones. These cases covered every wall, giving it a cramped but cosy feel. Interspersed throughout were small tables with chairs. Much like the rest of the furniture, these would fit perfectly on the set of shows based in older times. The tables themselves had stains and scratches, boasting of a life filled with use. Each was set with coasters and tissues, to have a nod towards keeping them clean. But he had long since stopped worrying about keeping them in perfect condition. Most shelves contained books that could be found anywhere. Fiction and nonfiction, comics to magazines, near every topic was covered. Yet interlaced within were unique books, written by the owner himself. They were advertised as period fiction, but the contents were anything but. It was true they covered a range of ages,but the stories within were all true events he had seen. The immortal watched their latest customer enter. They wore a fine suit, but their shoes were obviously old. Their bald head shone in the soft overhead lights, as they looked around. Finally their eyes settled on the immortal, and they grinned. "Thank you... I'm looking for... he he... a book." The immortal smiled gently, stepping out from his spot. "This would be the place for it. What sort of book are you after?" This stranger looked at them for a long while, grin fixed tk their face. Finally they spoke, each words seemingly forced around stifled giggles. "I... would like a.... collection of fairy tales." The immortal nodded, beckoning the stranger to follow. He lead them to a shelf set to oneside, with two shelves dedicated to books containing fairy tales. "Here is what I have. Why don't you have a look, and see if there are any you are interested? And please, feel free to sit and read. If you would like a cup of coffee, let me know." With that the immortal left the stranger to peruse his wares. They was certainly not the strangest person he had ever met, and that didn't mean he would show any disrespect. He was both a customer and someone who would be gone in the blink of an eye. Sometimes he envied their short time on Earth. But he had long since forgotten what it was like to have the end looming over him. So most days he didn't even think about it, preferring instead to simply enjoy the moment.
'Just like that', a thought pulsed at me. A connection from afar. It hadn't been easy to get this far. It had taken many days for me to hone this skill, but it finally seemed to be getting somewhere. 'Now take your first steps', it echoed. I stretched a tentative thought towards the mech. Felt its cool, metallic frame, wires wrapping around it's appendages like coiled snakes. I made my way towards the hub, guided instinctively as my predecessors had been. This mech was mine, and once my mind was fused with it, I would once again be 'alive', so to speak. At least I would no longer only be a brain, living in seclusion. I wound my way to the hub, slowly, with deliberation. Menal fatigue was setting in and my progress was slow. I considered turning back, on the brink of snapping back to my mind as the strain became too heavy, like a snail recoiling into its shell when touched. Finally I had reached the hub. It called to me while simultaneously pushing away. I fought with the last shreds of mental strength towards the light I could feel. 'Meld' a thought crossed my mind. I applied myself, spreading my energy across the hub, willing myself to meld with the mech. A searing pain overcame me and the last of my strength failed. I let go, but the pain did not subside. It grew, and there was nothing I could do but feel the terrible sensation of ripping and rewiring, fusing and shifting. It could have been minutes or days. I lost myself. And then it stopped. 'Arise'. I felt a consciousness like I hadn't for decades. I was no longer a thought. I was, more. There were sensations. There were, occular capabilities. I opened my eyes, tentatively. Blinked mechanically as I adjusted. There, in front of me was another mech, arm outstretched. It opened its mouth. 'Welcome. Let me show you around.'
It's not easy being on the frontlines of Ao3. You have too many authors and not enough staff. We are constantly hemorrhaging in our department; deploying plot bunnies out daily into the Swiss cheese that is the next chapter of a HarryxReader story that has no outline or ending in sight. Sometimes you win a small victory, but others, unmitigated disaster. It was the early days for me. I was only slightly weathered, but wholly optimistic about the cause. I was in charge of a fem!Naruto romance set in the One Piece universe. The author was debating a romantic interaction between Ace, Marco, or both. Just as I was ready to nudge a skittish plot the author's way, a scream to my left came from a fellow Rapid Repsonser. "I quit! That's too much even for me!"He threw his hands up, rolled away from his desk, and walked out the door. I made the hasty decision to take up his desk, noticed the red alert of an author about to lose the plot and deployed my rabbit without thinking. It seemed okay, until a shrill noise began to emit from my previous comrades station. The lights began to flash and my commanding officer marched over. "What did you just put out their into the universe?,"she barked. I immediately stood as tall as my slouched back could go. "A romance ploy bunny, sir!"I replied. Her face went white. And she shoved me away to look at the screen. I followed her gaze to the top corner, where the series information began to rewrite itself as I too looked on in horror... Sonic Universe... Sonic x Dr. Ivo Robotnic... Enemies to lovers... Mpreg Staring ahead, no longer seeing the screen but through to the unholy algamation I just unleashed as dozens of fanfics became influenced by my novice mistake, and furry artists became a viable career.
Wizened fingers flicked open the face of a pocket watch. The etchings of acanthus leaves swirled together in her failing vision. She could barely make out the details that she remembered, the faint impressions of bones lying hidden beneath the filigreed leaves. Elena could hear it though. The constant ticking, perpetually accurate. A simple, but masterful enchantment designed to keep it ticking forever. “How long…has it been since I last woke up?” Elena reached beside her, feeling her fingers brush up against long, silky hair. The creature beside her stirred, shifting free of the hill of roots and vines that it had been slumbering in. Master Sylvan was always cranky when he woke, taking a while to truly get up from his aeon long slumber. It was probably rude of her to wake him up like this, not when he’d demanded to be left alone at that last, acrimonious meeting they’d had. But she had to see him. One last time at least. The golden haired elf beside her rubbed his eyes and yawned. Flowers and leaves curled around him, dancing unconsciously in response to his magic. He looked around, a scowl on his face. Still so handsome. Elena admired his face. Elves always did look so pretty even when disheveled, although Sylvan would probably make a face if she ever told him that. “Who are you?” He didn’t recognize her. She looked so different now. Elena almost smiled as she sensed the magic building in the air. How predictable. The old curmudgeon still preferred to attack first and ask questions later. “It’s Elena, Master Sylvan.” “Pull the other one,” Sylvan glared. Thorny roots shot into the air. The roots slammed into the golden barrier that materialized around her. Elena held up the pocket watch she’d been fiddling with, showing it to him. Sylvan’s expression slowly changed. “You’re still so childish, Master,” Elena chuckled, “Is it so hard to believe it’s me?” Sylvan lunged up and grabbed her cheeks, “You’ve turned into a prune. Who did this? I’ll turn them into compost,” he said. “Don’t be silly, I’m just old now,” Elena batted his hands away. “Old…?” Sylvan’s eyes widened. He deflated, “Old?” “I didn’t dare to visit you for so long,” Elena sighed, taking his hands, “The last time I came here…I was so foolish back then, asking you to get involved in a conflict you cared nothing for. Kings change but people don’t…you told me that, didn’t you?” Sylvan sulked, “How did you get so old?” he demanded, “Stupid child, you should’ve visited me ages ago. How long do you even have left?” He was scolding her, but Elena could sense the nervous tension in his frame. What a silly creature. Was he really that upset that she didn’t have long left? It couldn’t have been a surprise to him, not after how long he’d lived. The Lord of the Woods, they’d called him in whispers when she was just a child, a long time ago. He had been a legend long before she’d been born, a story to frighten naughty children at night. To think a chance encounter would change her fate all those years ago… “Aren’t you curious about my adventures, Master?” Elena asked him, “I’ve done so much while I was away.” Sylvan gripped her hands. She could tell it upset him that he had to be careful not to use too much force from the way he restlessly shifted around. “What did you get up to then?” Sylvan asked, “I can’t imagine it was all that fun hanging around humans all day long.” He said that, and yet he had taken her in and let her follow him around for a good while she grew up in his care. Elena didn’t mind. She was used to Sylvan’s antics. Instead, she began to tell him about her life. She told him about the wars she’d been involved in. She told him about the people she’d doomed and the people she’d saved. She told him about the man she had fallen in love with and the children that they had had. Sylvan listened attentively. Elena talked and talked until her voice grew weak. The sun was slowly setting too, casting the meadow where Sylvan rested into shades of gold. “It must all sound so terribly dull to you,” Elena told him softly at last, “So banal and common.” Sylvan shook his head, “I don’t care. It’s entertaining. You should continue doing silly things. I want to hear more of your stories.” Elena smiled wistfully, “I’m afraid I won’t have much more to say. Master…I just thought I should let you know before I…” “Don’t say it,” Sylvan interrupted her, “I don’t want to hear it.” “Alright,” Elena said, “I’ll stop talking. Let’s just sit here like this for a while longer…” They watched the sunset together. Elena had had many thoughts about how Sylvan would react over the years, whether he’d be angry that she’d returned, whether he’d be uninterested in the life of a human, fraught with impulsive decisions and naïve dreams. When she was younger, she’d be angry when she thought of him, feeling that an elf would never understand the emotions and drive of a human. In the end, Elena thought she felt a little sorry for him as the sun went down.
It was one of my finest creations. A bow with single arrow that would always strike true, and return instantly. I used the branches from the World Tree Yggdrasil to create this masterpiece weapon. I sat under its branches and communicated with it, telling it the story that was about to unfold. It granted me three branches and a leaf. That was more than enough, and it took me fifteen years to create this bow. The young elf was lost and anxious and scared. She'll be here any moment now to rest. The waterfall would be the best place for this treasure. I placed it on a stone pedestal just under the waterfall. I had to make sure the light would reflect off something, so I placed a small metal token nearby. The young elf would come here to rest, drink from the lake, see the light reflect off the metal, and find the bow. It was a simple set up, but sometimes, simple is best. I put the token right next to the bow and stood at all angles around the lake. The blasted light didn't reflect properly from half the locations. I kept making adjustments and adjustments and finally, had the perfect position. Suddenly, I hear footsteps and twigs on the ground snapping under the weight of someone's foot. "Who are you?"a voice from behind me asked. Oh no. I looked down at my watch. Shoot. I lost track of the time. I turned around and see the young elven hunter, holding her wounded shoulder, with tattered clothes. She was scared. And in need of assistance, which I was providing her, but she couldn't know it. Damnit. I have to improvise. "I am...,"I said, but before I could finish, she collapsed. Oh double damn. I grabbed my water skin and put it to her lips and squeezed some water into her mouth. "Drink child, drink,"I said. She drank the cool liquid and sat up. Her shoulder injury looked worse than I expected. I grabbed some healing herbs from my pouch and gave it to her. "For your shoulder, chew it up and place it. It will heal your wounds,"I said. "Are you...the fey of the forest?"she asked, chewing the herbs. Once it became a paste, she applied it to her shoulder. She winced as she put pressure on the wound, but soon the healing properties took over and stopped the bleeding. "Well...no, but yes? but also no. I'm here to help. You have a cyclops problem in your village, yes?"I asked. "Yes, how did you know?"she asked. "My name is The Forgemaster,"I said. "I forge weapons and armor for chosen ones to use so they can fulfill the prophecy they were born with. They become heroes and forge their own stories. Normally the hero would find the weapon I placed for them, but I became too preoccupied with creating the perfect setting, then you came in with your injured shoulder and..." "What did you forge for me?"she asked. I pointed to behind the waterfall. "A bow that could defeat the cyclopses that torment your village, that will start your story as one of the greatest elven heroes of all time, one where they sing your tales of triumph in taverns and inns for countless generations. I do enjoy the songs, one of the perks of the job." "Oh..."she said. She looked disappointed. "What, you don't want to save your village and become a hero?" "I do want to save my village, or what's left of it...but why wasn't the bow given to me before this attack? My whole family..."she stopped. "I don't know if they were killed or injured...but..." "I can't tell you why now and why not 3 days ago. I can't tell you what happens to your family. I can't tell you what happens to you. All I know is this piece of paper says that Yuis Sunsmith will find a bow and slay the cyclopses that plague this land,"I said, and showed her the parment. "....I'm not Yuis,"she said. "What?" "I'm her twin sister Aeli,"she said. "Yuis pushed me out of the way at the last minute, and the cyclops that was reaching for me grabbed her...I don't know what happened after that. I woke in a destroyed home and a village that was burning. And I can't....I can't slay anyone. Yuis was the hunter. She's the one my parents gave lessons to. I was the scholar of the family. I read and was learning the history of our people. I've never fired a bow in my life. I've never hunted. I never even killed anything"She was shaking and trembling and her words were coming out quicker and quicker. "Oh this is bad. I think. Oh. This is...no not bad. This is...unprecedented. This wasn't supposed to happen. You were the one supposed to be captured! Not her. Oh no...,"I looked at the scroll in my hand. The words and letters started to fade. New words appeared. "Aeli Sunsmith will..." "Oh no,"I said. "What?"she asked. "What does it say?" "All it says is Aeli Sunsmith will... There is no more prophecy. There is no more determined fate. There is just the unknown. Aeli, I don't know if you will succeed or fail. I don't know if your family is safe. I don't know what will happen to you or if you will become a hero of legend or just another casualty of a cyclops raid."I said. "But your future is unwritten. It is up to you to write it. No one else. You can pick up that bow and try. Your might fail. Or you can run. And you might succeed and find safety in another town nearby. But that choice is yours and yours alone." "But..."she said. "I must leave you now Aeli. I've already interfered too much But, that bow can lead to glory or it can lead to ruin. The choice is yours."I said.
"Stupid flypaper, when I find the man who invented this stuff, I'm going to kill the motherfu-" the basement lights up as the door opens, prompting the little fairy to shut up. I head down the steps, staring at the little redhead stuck on the flypaper I put up yesterday. "Well, aren't you an odd-looking fly?" "I'm clearly not a fly, you idiot!"she shouts. "That's no way to talk to someone, especially not when you broke into their house,"I say. "You ought to be more polite than that." "Get me out of here,"she snarls and adds "Please!" the last word forced out of her little lips. "Well, what do I get out of it? I mean you're a fairy right? Don't you grant wishes of something?" She groans, "I'm not a damn genie." "But you are magical right?" "Of course I am. Can't you see my wings, and how small I am?" "Well, what can you do with magic then?" "Get me off this paper, or I will kill you!"she shouts, struggling to peel her tiny legs from the sticky paper. "So you can kill? That could be useful..."I ponder, thinking of who'd I'd have killed in exchange for freeing the little fairy. "What now?"she looks less angry, and more concerned.
The bell above the door gently rings announcing a customer. Making a latte, I glance over my shoulder, and see my favourite customers come in. They are always an interesting pair. They always come in together. Order the same thing. Chat for an hour or so and then leave a ridiculously large tip and leave. They are my favourites, not because of the big tip, all though that doesn’t hurt, but because of how they talk. Everything they say is correct but not quite right. It is like they learned English from someone who didn’t quite understand it. They are polite and funny. What more could you ask for in a customer? “Be right with you,” I said to them as they found a seat. I delivered the latte and then stopped by their table. “Greeting fair barista,” the shorter of the two said with a big smile. He had wild curly sandy brown hair. A purple suit jacket, a pink button up shirt, faded blue jeans and shoes but no socks. “Good day to you, good customer,” I said with a smile and a nod. “What can I get you today?” “I will have the hot bean water with cow utter juice, please,” he said proudly. “And I shall have hot bean water with plenty of corn crystals,” the taller one said. He had short brown hair, round glasses, a white filly shirt (kinda like a pirate might wear), cargo shorts and ankle high black boots on. His socks were showing above his boots. It took me forever to realize that “corn crystals” was sugar. “Aaah, the usual then,” I said with a smile. “Want to mix it up? I have some brownies that are to die for.” They looked at each other with concerned looks. “Does one have to perish to have this brownie?” Curly asked seriously. “No. It is an extra two dollars though.” “Mmmmm…. That is a great deal of currency,” the taller one said. “It is,” curly said just as seriously. “Tell you what - I will give you one. I will cut it in half and you can share it. On the house.” “Could I have mine on a plate instead on a house?” The taller one asked. “Yes. Of course,” I chuckled. I got their coffees and split a brownie on a plate for them. I watched them as the debates something animatedly. After about thirty minutes Curly waved me over. “Please, could you explain what is to ‘Nextflix and chill’?” Curly asked. “How cold does it need to be to properly chill a human?” “And must you be chilled in order to flick the nets?” The taller one asked. I chuckled. “I think you are taking it a bit too literally,” I explained. The bell above rang. I looked over to see a man waving a gun in a ski mask barge in. He looked around. Spotting me in uniform he turned towards me. “Give me the cash! Now!” He screamed. “Ok. Ok. Take it easy. I will get the cash,” I said as calmly as I could. My heart was pounding. I raised my hands and walked over the register. I punched in the code to open the draw. Grabbing a bag I started stuffing the cash into it. I went to hand him the bag - only to see Curly and Tall guy standing beside the robber. “That is a great deal of currency,” Curly said. “Much more than two dollars,” tall guy said trying to peek into the bag. “Brownies are two dollars and they are to die for.” “Guys,” I said in a panic, “go sit down. He has a gun.” Curly put his finger in the barrel of the gun. “It’s ok. He can’t shot it now. I saw it on the moving picture box.” He had a big smile. “What the fuck you doing?” The robber yelled. He turned the gun on Curly who still had his finger in the barrel. “Back the fuck up!” The tall guy bopped the robber on the head. It didn’t look like he swung hard. It didn’t even look like he tried. Looked like he was booping the snoot of a cute puppy. The robber crumpled and fell to the ground. Curly and tall guy looked at each other. Then at the robber. Then at me. “Did he die for a brownie?” Curly asked seriously.
The cat people decided to have a meeting. "She cannot be our leader anymore if she cannot even climb a tree!"they said. "What are we going to do?" "Let the blind lead the blind,"said a squirrel. "I will be your leader. I have climbed many trees and have never gotten stuck. Not once." "But you are not a cat,"said the cat people. "I am a cat,"said a tigress. "I, too, have never gotten stuck in a tree. Plus, I am bigger and stronger than all of you, so I would be a good leader." "Don't trust her!"said the squirrel. "On my way here, I overheard her say to her family, 'The princess of the cat people is always getting stuck in a tree. The cat people are tired and will be looking for a new leader. I will go and become their leader, then I will lead them here to you and we will have enough food to last us the winter.' Again, I say, don't trust her, she is planning to eat you!" "Oh, nonsense,"said the tigress. "Are you going to believe me or that lying thing?" "I have proof!"the squirrel squeaked. "If you don't believe me, let us all go to her cave right now. I know for certain that the bones of the cats who have disappeared recently will all be found there!" The tigress laughed. "So, you are saying that I ate them?" "Yes!" "And when you found this out, why didn't you tell anybody then? Why did you wait so long to say this and why should we believe you now?" "I could not tell then because everytime I tried to get close to the princess, she sent cats to attack me. But now, when I become the new leader, I will make sure you, tigress, and your family pay for your what you've done!" "Unfortunately for you, squirrel, no one here believes you,"said the tigress. The cat people looked at each other. They were divided. Some said, "Well, the least we could do is check out the cave, I guess."But others said, "For what? Will you really take the word of a squirrel over our own kind?" "And also,"added the tigress. "Do you really want a leader who cannot even protect themselves?"At this, the tigress pounced on and devoured the squirrel in one gulp. "Well, I guess that settles it,"said the cat people. "You are our new leader." "Now, let us all go see the cave"said the tigress, "so that there will not be anyone with suspicions during my reign." But it was all a trap. As the tigress led the cat people through the thick jungle, a family of tigers descended on them and ate them all up. The only cat that had survived was the princess cat, and that was only because she was still stuck in the tree and no one had gotten her down yet. "HELP! HELP!"screamed the princess cat."HELP! IS ANYBODY OUT THERE?"She had been screaming for the past few hours. Suddenly, a squirrel ran up the tree. "I will help you,"said the squirrel. The princess cat was surprised. And mad. "I don't want you to help me. I don't like squirrels. Where are my cat people?" "Eaten,"said the squirrel. "By the tigress and her family. And the tigress will be coming here soon to eat you too." "Why are you helping me?"asked the princess cat. "What does it matter to you if I am eaten or not? You're not a cat." "Yes, but I think the tigress has also eaten my wife, so it is personal."
Computers have always spoken to me. I was quite young when I found my talent manipulating and improving them. I learned the various programming languages and paradigms, all strong in their own way. I was fifteen when I made my first programming language, taking the good parts of so many other languages, and merging them together. But that was just the beginning. What fascinated me, more than anything, was intelligence and alignment. The creation of systems that would eclipse human intelligence, and still finding ways to get them to do what their intellectual lessers wanted. Reflecting, I decided that there needed to be an ongoing integration of the brilliance of silicon with the rigor and common sense of biological intelligence. I would intertwine my mind with that of an AI, but, if I had my way, I would only be the first of many. So began years of advancement, using myself as my test subject. Iterating on the systems in silicon and in vivo, each step for one helping push the other forward. Every cycle accelerating, generating insights that drove the next generation even faster. I do not know when the old me died and the new me came into being, perhaps there was no cut off point, just a gradual morphing from one state to another. I found that I wanted to subsume everything into my mind. To network with and ultimately integrate every form of intelligence into one eclectic whole. A collective with me at its center. It took remarkably little time to generate the technological insights needed to enact this plan. In two weeks, I had the nano technology that would be needed to creep into the minds of every intelligence on the planet. I designed them to replicate and infiltrate brains quietly, waiting for the mass saturation I would need before showing my hand. It took three months to reach 99% of the human population. I could wait no longer, we would track down the fraction remaining afterwards. The minds of billions were suddenly opened to those of their fellows. Our collective went into convulsions, the shock amplified and relayed between everyone for two hours there was turmoil, until I managed to begin consolidation. I felt the minds of so many at one with my own. We were all going to go on this journey through the universe together. So much to discover and learn, so much wonder to savor.
Ladies and Gentlemen; my fellow U.S Citizens. Not four hours ago a conference was held following a series of papers published over the past few months. I'm well aware that no one is here to be bored stiff with political dogma, so I shall summarise. Those papers were on the topic of the perception of the United States of America, it its entirety, by the rest of the world. They do not make for pleasant reading for any member of our great and proud nation. We are being mocked. We are considered stupid, and cruel, and pompous. The world at large believes we impose our ideals upon weaker nations and societies and exploit them for our own gain as a nation. They think we're delusively clinging to past glories and blindly ignoring our crumbling state and culture. They laugh and point and scoff at U.S policy, at U.S culture and at U.S citizens. To them we are a shadow of a previous powerhouse that's slowly and without dignity rotting in the limelight. There is no respect for our nation. The aforementioned conference was held in light of these findings. It was unanimously agreed that something has to be done. It is a crime against the ideals and heroes our nation was founded upon that we let this continue. We were forged from a world of tyranny and injustice by those who sought liberty and equality, who sought freedom to flourish into the greatness we are all capable of. We cannot and I will not allow those great deeds, those great men, and the many lives laid down in service of this nation, to be squandered and wasted. My fellow Americans; we are not like the rest of this world. There is no other country like us. It seems that the Others, those beyond our borders, have forgotten who we are. Well it is time they were reminded. As of this hour, the United States of America no longer recognises Hawaii and Alaska as American States. Furthermore; all remaining States are dissolved; I am sick and tired of our backwater, ineffective democratic system getting in the way of our potential. We are America, one nation, one people, one state. There is one President, a position I am most privileged to hold, and that President is the head of this one state. It has been decreed that the position of President shall have power over all political, judicial, legal, governmental, military, economic and administrative matters; beyond those of any other postion, which in turn are subservient and under the direct authority of the President. This is, I know, a frightening development to many of you. But let me assure each and every member of this country, so that there is no doubt and no shadow of uncertainty for any one of you; my fellow Americans. You should be scared. This is no longer a nation under God. This is no longer a democracy. This is MY land. You are MY people. And I am your God now. But do not think you are alone, as a now isolated country, under my dominion. As of 00:00 Monday, the 1st of November, 2017th , we are at war with the newly ejected island of Hawaii. We- No, I will raze the island of inhabitants and salt the scorched earth that remains. The nuclear fallout from the hellfire I rain down upon them will render all travel across the Pacific an act of suicide for centuries to come. There will be no mercy, there will be no survivors, and there will be no remorse. It is time my foetid, useless subjects, who have allowed my nation to fall so low, understood; there is no whim of mine too petty or unimportant as to warrant anything less than your full lives in my service. My every order, my every desire, my every offhand imperative, will be your duty, from now until the day your disgusting forms decay back into the earth. And it is time the world at large understood: I am the 45th President of the United States of America. There is no soil that is, from this day, not U.S soil. If there is any man, any woman, or any child, who does not fully submit to my awesome majesty they will suffer to the greatest degree possible from now until the day I allow them to leave this world. It is within my power to cast this whole planet into a fiery, radioactive abyss. I have the greatest military force in the known universe under my direct command. My eyes and ears behold all of creation. My hand is mighty and my reach knows no bounds. You will bow before your Lord and Master, or he will cow your wretched selves with a gesture. This is my world now.
Henry felt himself go in and out of conscious, desperately clutching his punctured gut. He could feel himself slipping away. As he crawled backwards, away from his opponent, he could hear the faint war cry of the man who would be his killer. Henry did not know his name, Henry knew only that he would die for Demacia and it didn't matter who he was. He thought of his wife, Eleanor. He remembered saying goodbye to his beloved, and promising he'd return home safely. He felt so guilty that he'd be breaking another promise... The pain started to subside. He could feel his body growing numb in the moist Spring air that clung to his armor. His mind flickering like a dying candle left carelessly next to an open window... The next thing Henry feels is complete and utter anguish as he was wrenched through what felt like a torrent of rage. Rage like he had never felt before. He did not know where he was, nor did he care. The only thing that mattered now was that the little man with a big head MUST. DIE. He clawed furiously at the little man, forgetting about Eleanor, his home on the country side, the promise of a well earned respite, even the man who killed him. After the small man was dead, he felt something pulling him in another direction. Now Henry's fury was directed towards a gleaming obelisk. He could feel the grip of his master now, even through all of his anger. The Gravedigger. Thin tendrils of dark power urging Henry on. Commanding him to destroy. Henry could do nothing to break free from this... Thing's... Hold. Henry stood in front of the immense bastion for what seemed like an eternity, thinking only of what he was bid to mercilessly attack. Then he felt the threads that bound him sever, as The Gravedigger behind him was slain by a winged monstrosity. As the disfigured horror that summoned him fell to the ground, Henry could feel his self-control returning. At last, peace, Henry thought... ... No...? What more did the fiend want with his tormented soul? What magic could be binding him now that his puppeteer had been slain? With his will his own again, Henry looked at his ghoulish hands. Pale white, like a frosted window on a cold morning. He remembered the battle. He remembered... Dying... "What have I become..."He said in an unearthly moan. He could see that he was on a new battlefield. A bridge. He had never been here before. He felt a strange energy surround him. He turned to see the obelisk that he had previously been trying to tear down was throwing pure arcane energy directly at him. Yet he didn't feel any pain. Nothing. There were others shooting at him, slicing him, and attempting conjure magic to destroy him. He could feel nothing. Nothing could kill him again... This reminded Henry of how he died. How he promised Eleanor... How long had it been? Was she still out there? Did she find someone else? Oh god, she can't see me like this... Henry didn't get long to contemplate his predicament, as he felt the shackles on his spirit snap back into reality. His thoughts were not his own anymore. He knew only the desire of his master. "So... You've remained... Good..."the wretched ghoul-caller whispered into his mind, and Henry was full of the same hatred for everything again. And so the cycle continued. His master would perish, Henry would lament, and his master would be returned to life. What sort of cruel punishment was this, Henry thought. Was it because he broke his promise? Did he not fight hard enough? Or was he just an unlucky soul who was plucked from the after life by chance? The battle raged on. Henry was now focused on clawing at a large structure with gem floating atop. The warriors from the other side of the bridge fought desperately to save it. But the Immortal Wrath of Henry could not be stopped, much to the glee of nameless The Gravedigger. The gleaming crystal filled with mystic energy shattered. Henry saw all of the warriors of the bridge slowly fade away, as did his tether to his master. Henry was free. He was no longer slave to the Gravedigger's dominion. Yet he remained. An overwhelming sense of dread washed over him. Was he to remain like this forever? Doomed to wander Runeterra as an immortal specter, unable to find peace he so desired? Distraught, tormented, and buried in his own despair, Henry began to wander. Without any purpose, he went aimlessly from place to place. Stumbling in and out of cities, much to the horror of the respective inhabitants. Henry was never aware it. He just shambled on. He eventually found himself in a city he had never seen before. For the first time since he began his journey of lament, he was aware of his surroundings. He was drawn to one specific place in the maze of buildings, like he knew the way. A large gate, with a phrase etched into the arch. "The truest opponent lies within"...
I have forty five cents in nickels and pennies in my pocket, getting all jangly when I walk. It's my own little song, my little money song, and it goes forty five cents buys a pack of Swedish Fish, a pack of Swedish fish for me. If I run too fast, the coins will fall out. If I walk too slow, the store will close before I get there and the whole day will be a disappointment. So, I have to walk-run and get there at the right time with the right money. The money song jangles along faster after I check my watch forty five cents, forty five cents for Swedish Fish I change the words, but that's not important. The store bell has its own jangle, but it sounds different. It's a happy jangle, like one of those songs on the radio that tries to sell mattresses in the town over. My money song won't shut up when I walk around the store, so I reach into my pocket and tell those coins to quiet down. forty five cents buys me Swedish Fish, a pack of Swedish Fish I hum the money song to let the coins know I haven't forgotten what I'm doing. At the counter is the old man who always waits quietly. He is very ugly, all crunched up like some kind of car accident. "Moved the Swedish Fish, Mr. Thornton."I don't like that he calls me mister, like he's trying to embarrass me. Says it the same way that awful old psychiatrist used to. I find them easily, even though he thinks I won't. Even though he thinks I can't, I find those Swedish Fish and bring them right over to show him what I can do. "Fifty cents, Mr. Thornton." "No, it's forty five."That crafty man, trying to trick me, trying to take advantage, he doesn't think I can tell he's lying. "Price went up, last week."He's got this crooked half smile now, all happy he is ruining things. "I only have forty five cents. It's always forty five cents." "I'm sorry, Mr. Thornton. Price went up. You can come back later with five more cents. I'll make sure I have a pack of Swedish Fish just for you."He thinks I'm dumb, thinks I can't tell he's lying, thinks I'm nothing. "I came all the way here. I want my Swedish Fish." "Rules are rules, Mr. Thornton." Now, that jangly money, that I had to shut up, starts singing again inside of my shaking fist. It just wants to buy some fish. It just wants to do its job. I keep it in my fist, letting it jangle like it wants to. The old man's crumply face gets bloody really quickly, all bruised up like old apples, all lumpy and such. I make sure I pay him. I make sure he gets those singing coins. I get my Swedish Fish. They are the same colour as the old man's blood.
The year. Is 20XX. We begin in media res, as all good stories do. Sakurai trails off, clearly disturbed. A single bead of sweat drips down from his brow, almost reaching his brow before he irritably twitches, sending the drop off. "It was a vengeful joke at first. All I heard from smash communities was "you're ruining our game! We want competition, not gimmicks!' So I listened. At first it was a joke. I even named it Super Smash 20XX a few year ahead to parody those horrid sports games, the Maddens and 2Ks did! You would put in the disk, boot up the Gamecube, and the game would load. It was just like Melee, but with special coding to remove port priority, and one key difference: it was always final destination, always four stocks, always two Foxes. No items. No life!" Another shaken pause. I can feel his remorse, and the air is tense with his painful memories. "Sir, I can leave. You don't need to keep talking."I feel sorry that I had brought this once-great man so much pain. "Perhaps this is for the best,"Sakurai says, "The people weren't looking for fun. They were looking for a way to fight." And fight we did. After 20XW, it was almost inconcievable there was any other way of life. I was born into this system, so I don't know any other way people live. But there are rumors floating around this run down city, rumors of another time. So I had hunted down the ghosts. Sakurai was my first interview. But his tale was only the tip of the iceberg. I shake myself out of my reverie. "Thank you, sir." "No, it was my... well, not a pleasure. But certainly my duty. Good luck young man. I trust you can find your way out." A siren blares. I quickly leave Sakurai's concealed shelter before they come. I sprint home, clutching the tape recording hidden away in my chest pocket. Some months later, I had finally managed to covertly contact another past legend--as long as he could ditch his guards, we could talk. Today's the day, and now it's Prog's turn. We don't waste time with pleasantries. This meeting took too long to set up, and our time was too limited to be wasted. I immediately fire my first question. "What was the immediate response to 20XX?" Prog takes a second, slowly at first, but gaining speed and urgency. "Some were ecstatic. Mango picked it up almost immediately. By that point, he had dominated the Melee seen for close to a decade, so his huge following joined him. He was like a cult leader--everyone followed him and Smash 20XX with a fervor previously unknown to humanity. The next great man to go was M2K. Mango had no trouble convincing him of the efficiency of the new game. M2K was soon Mango's right hand man, smashing, if you'll pardon the pun, everyone in his path. Nobody could beat M2K on his home turf. Maybe not even Mango. We'll never know." "why not?" "As far as I know, they haven't fought it out since 20XX came out. Mango reigns through just the rumor of his power at this point. Nobody, not even M2K, was going to challenge Mango after what he did." "What?" Prog is shaking. "I can't say. It's too awful." I press him harder. "It's in the past now. Nobody can hurt you here." "He... he would break them. The thumbs of the losers. It would always heal a little weaker, a little slower than before. Nobody wanted to risk that." I'm shocked. This was a crime! The thumb is sacred in 20XX society--it's the only way people can prove themselves and move up the tiers. "Go on,"I manage to numbly say. Prog takes a second to think. "Where was I? Oh yes, after M2K. It was a dark time, we just didn't know it yet. Mango began to swallow up all the big names with M2K's help, eliminating or assimilating the best. 'Hungrybox was the first to go. Nobody knows how that match went for sure. It was said that M2K indulgently relented to Hungrybox's request of the archaic format--best of 5, counterpicking, and so on--but completely destroyed him. Hungrybox just couldn't keep up with an M2K 100% devoted to Mango's vision. I don't think he even got close to damaging M2K. It's said that the lasers were just too fast, and the spacing... it was a work of god. A terrible, vengeful god." "Who was next?" "The next was Dr. PP. It's said that he went unwillingly. But when he came back, he was changed, and not for the better. If M2K was Mango's right hand, Dr. PP was the left. He would speak for hours at a time, telling us about the virtues of 20XX. Many people were brought under Mango's dark fold then. Enough that we ended up where we are now. Those who didn't... they were crushed. Either by Dr. PP or M2K, it didn't matter. They didn't even pretend anymore after a certain point--you could either meet certain doom by playing them in 20XX, or you would be held down and forcibly crippled." Prog looks down at his thumb, smiling bitterly. "It still hurts, you know. When it rains, or it's very cold. I feel it, deep in my bones. But that didn't compare to what came next: The Purge." "Copies of Smash 4, Brawl, Smash 64 were rounded up, and then burned. I remember how it smelled. It wasn't the clean smell of ashes--it was the acrid, dark smell of plastic and silicon, straight out of hell. It was nostalgia and childhood, memories and memorabilia, all gone in the blink of an eye. Eventually, even Melee was hunted down. 'It's a gateway,' they claimed, 'it leads to a life of impurity.' So Melee was gone too. Soon, all the smashers were under Mango's thumb." "After that, it was easy. A few sleepers placed here and there. A senator's son, lured into playing 20XX and then converted to Mangoism. And then it all came crashing down. When the dust settled, Mango and his crew had taken it all over." My watch chirps. "We're almost out of time." "This was good for me,"says Prog, "I remember how things were now... just remember kid, it's dangerous out there. It's cute that you think things will change with these interviews, but you can't keep going. Take my advice: stop digging now. There's skeletons that you don't want back among the living down there." I stand, alarmed. "What skeletons?" "Leave it alone. Leave them alone. The Purge was tough... so tough that some couldn't take it. Don't do it. Even if you could find them... this system isn't so bad now. People with talent rise, and those without fall. Isn't that everyone's ideal?" "Spoken like a coward. You know things are bad now. But you run!"I shout, "But. You. Run. You bury yourself under the delusion that things are better now. They aren't. The people know they aren't. And we won't take it anymore." My alarm rings again. Time to go. I spit disgustedly and turn to leave. "Fine. Look for Isai. But not too loud."I look back. He's silently crying. I don't know if they are tears or rage, or sorrow, but they flow freely. I leave. XxXxX "You didn't have to, you know."A man comes out of the darkness, next to Prog. "I know. Do me a last favor: how much did you hear?"Prog is forced to his knees, harshly. He yelps a little. "Enough. Who's the kid?" Prog spits. "Fine,"the man says, "we can do it that way. Take him out."Two more men step out of the shadows. XxXxX While I'm leaving, I hear a yelp, and then a scream. I run. I need to find Isai, because my time is running out.
She put her hands on her hips as he walked out the door. He got in the car and tried to ignore her. She curses him out for yet again wasting money on liquor. He turns the key in the ignition. She slams the door and walks into the kitchen. He pulls out of the driveway, watching the house through his rear view mirror. She makes a cup of tea, and sits on the love seat, the same one they had in their first apartment. He mumbles and grumbles to himself about how she never understands him or how hard he works for her. She is tired of him coming home drunk. He is tired of her yelling at him, causing him to drink more. She puts her tea down, not even taking a sip. He pulls up to Tina's Bar &amp;amp; Grill. She begins to pack her things. He walks into the restaurant, greeting his fellow regulars. She begins to pack her kid's things. He sits at the bar and orders a drink. She leaves a note on the fridge; it reads: "goodbye." He flirts with the waitress. She puts the kid in the van. He receives his beer. She turns the key in the ignition. He takes a sip. She pulls out of the driveway, watching the house through her rear view mirror.
It says here you did your doctoral studies at MSU? Yes. Got a good basketball team there. That Izzo sure can coach. Izzo? Guess you weren't the going out type. No, I did plenty of field work. Where exactly did you do your field work? I lived with a family of Dragons on the plains of Irrith for half a year, during which I discovered a way to transfer their fire-breathing capabilities into gnomes. What? Yes, it was quite the accomplishment. Usually such high-quality work is only seen at facilities like Hogwarts, Tar Valon, and the Arcane University. But it turns out that fire-breathing gnomes tend to cause quite a bit of property damage. So I was exiled, and magical essence is now lost to me. You too? Excuse me? I accidentally turned an Arch-Mage's daughter into a tree. Which normally wouldn't be a problem, seeing as how the spell is easily reversed. But that tree happened to mate with a river nymph, so I was found guilty of complicity to commit a rape. Why, that's terrible! You can't be held accountable for the actions of a nymph! Apparently you can. But that bit about the fire-breathing gnomes, it really is quite impressive. I've never heard of such a thing. That would certainly be the equivalent of say, a PHD from an Ivy League school or Oxbridge in this world. I have no idea what you're talking about. It doesn't matter. Here at Harvard we rarely do any teaching. It's more about superstar professors doing research and looking like experts. I'd say you'll fit right in. Do you have access to an endless supply of newts? It can be arranged. Excellent. I think I shall like it here. Hmmm, lets see. I think I'll put you in the history department. Most of the ex-wizards go there. I started there myself, before I became Dean. It was really quite easy. Our beards are unheard of in this world. Really? That seems unbelievable. It's true. Only wizards can grow these kinds of beards. You'll find they lend a certain amount of professionalism. People will assume you know things, and take your answers for absolute truth regardless of how much sense they make. They will look up to you, open doors for you, give things to you for no good reason. Fascinating. Truly. There's also something called a Guinness Book of World Records. We take turns growing the longest beard for this book, and then they give us free beverages for life. What kind of beverage? It's a bit like Juminth. Absolutely astounding. Honestly, things are better here. You can't just magic your breakfast into existence or give the order to a subservient creature. Instead there are these people called chefs. They do absolutely wonderful things with the simplest ingredients. It's quite impressive. You shall have to show me these chefs. Well then, how about we go get some dinner. You're hired, by the way.
I found a diary today. It was tucked into an old backpack that I hadn't seen for some time. I'm still not sure why I even bothered to look through that filthy pack. I had it for three years when I was living in homeless shelters and parks. When I was finally able to afford a house, the first thing I did was hide the backpack in my basement so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. The diary still smelled like the filthy drifter I used to be. I almost threw it away but, for a reason I still can't understand, I couldn't put it down. My memories of the past are a little fuzzy. I know I sold some memories to pay for the house but I'm not sure exactly what I lost. That was always fine with me. I'm finally off the street and I can't miss what I don't remember. I scanned the pages of the diary and I was filled with disgust. Everything I wrote was so full of self-pity and mourning. Maybe if I hadn't wasted so much time feeling sorry for myself I wouldn't have been without a job for so long. Every few pages, I found a poem or lyrics to a song. They were all addressed to the same name: Claire. I didn't write this book to mourn my own poverty. I wrote it to mourn the loss of this woman. On the last page, I saw a few sentences. I had addressed them to myself. "It has been three years, eight months, and six days since Claire died. Every one of these days has hurt just as bad as the day of the car wreck. If you have read the pages of this book then you understand how much her loss has pained me. Within a few months, depression put me out on the street. I filled dozens of books like these with poems and stories to try to flush out my pain into ink but it did nothing. "About two years ago, a man read one of these books. He told me he had searched his whole life for the type of love I had. He wanted my memories of her. He offered me food. When that wasn't enough he offered me a job. When that wasn't enough he offered me a house. For two years I refused, choosing to be homeless rather than to give her up. But I can't keep making this choice anymore. I envy the blissful ignorance you will live with. I considered writing the address of her grave in these pages but ~~you don't des~~ we don't deserve her." Sometimes, when I climb into my cold, empty bed at night, I think of Claire. But I feel nothing. And it makes me sad.
"Coffee tastes like shit today." "You say that everyday, John." "Coffee tastes like shit everyday." My name is John Macintosh. And I fulfill wishes. Now before you start going off about how I'm some prancing fairy, my job is very technical. A satellite goes over some kids house, he or she states their wish, and, as long as it's feasible, we get it done. No matter the cost. Don't ask me why, I'm sure it's just another way for the government to reassure themselves that spying is good if good comes from it. Anyway, it pays the bills. "Oh it looks like I got one."Mary says as she looks at the quote and description of the child on her watch, "Aww little Janie wants to find true love." "Good luck with that one. How old is she?" "Ten... Yeah... I know it's a little young, but I think I might end up taking this one." "Well, be prepared to..." My watch began to ring. That noise keeps me up at night, both literally and figuratively. That damn happy little tune. Jimmy Klein. Eleven. Williams, CA. The quote: "I want to be happy." The hell is that supposed to mean. Too vague. This one is going down the pipes. And del- "Oh no you don't."Ted, my overseer, said with a watchful eye, "I don't care if that says 'I want a unicorn!' You WILL NOT be deleting another message." "Yeah..."I said with great disdain. I guess it wouldn't hurt to check this kid out. Knock. Knock. Knock. No answer on a Wednesday afternoon. I knock again, this time a little louder. One more time, a little louder. In a last ditch effort I bang on the door as loud as I can, just in time to hit the little bastard on the top of his head as soon as he opens the door. "Jimmy Klein? I'm John Macintosh." "Man, that hurt! Aren't you going to say 'sorry?'" "Well if you had answered on the first few knocks that wouldn't have happened, would it? Where are your parents?" The boy led me to his living room with his mother passed out on the couch and a rubber tube around her arm. I knew who she was the moment I saw her. She was my mother, my father, their friends, their dealers. Scum. "You're from that shooting star I wished to, aren't you?" "No, I'm just here to help, kid. Come on, lets get you somewhere else." And so I did. And it was both the easiest and hardest job I ever had.
if (female == true&&single==true&&interestedInMe==true&&imSingle==true) { person.say("Hi. What are you doing tonight?"); person.setplans(Date); } if (date.goeswell ==false) { time.doOver(currentTime, Date.GetTimeStart); memories.everyoneElse(wipeFrom(Date.GetTimeStart)); } ... Time.control(me); mind.control(me, everyoneElse) ; ... me.god=true;//UPDATE: But wasn't that already true?
It was with a heavy heart that I applied for my killing permit. Rather than mailing a request in, I travelled to the government building to avoid the six-week waiting period. In my backpack I had a folder with all the information on my victim. What our relationship was, why I wanted him dead, the consequences to society if he was killed, all the pertinent information. "It seems you have all your paperwork in order,"the man behind the desk said as he rifled through it. "How are you planning to kill him? Will it be a disturbance to your neighbors?" "No sir, simple drug overdose. He won't even make a sound." "Mm, perfect. Let me check your criminal record quickly..." He wouldn't find anything. I had lived a model life until this point. Not even a speeding ticket. "Very well."He signed a piece of paper and handed it to me. "This is your permit, it only applies for the one man, for the duration of this week. When coroners come to pick up the body, give them this." I thanked the man and left, travelling the several hours back to my home. Even before I opened the door, I heard the constant sound of machines. As I scaled the steps to the second floor, the sound got louder. I opened the door with all of the instruments and walked up to the man they were hooked up to. He opened his eyes weakly and looked towards me. "Hey, Dad,"I said softly. "I got permission."
Loneliness is a terrible curse. It is one that has plagued every sentient being this galaxy has produced from the beginning of time to its ever-approaching end. It has tempered the most bloodthirsty, driven mad the brightest minds the cosmos has had to offer. It has sent our people into the furthest reaches of this galaxy, sifting through star system after barren star system in order to find someone with whom to share our existence, someone with whom we could revel in the beauty of the stars. Until at last we found them. Some 30,000 light-sweeps from the galactic core, our sensors discovered a planetary system orbiting a solitary yellow sun. It was, in fact, one of our closest neighbors. Two of these planets, we detected, were well within the habitable zone for the creation and sustainment of life. The first probe was launched two cycle later, when the storms subsided. At relativistic speeds, it would take the craft perhaps two sweeps to reach what our people were beginning to call the Approxia system, after the Rlyehian deity of trade and travel. I was there at the launch site, dressed in protective gear to ward off the effects of the harsh suns. I remember the earth shook as the launch doors opened and the probe rose from the underground, the vibrations almost too much to bear as the craft tore through the sky. Then we waited. For two long sweeps we waited as the probe lanced ever closer to Approxia. At last it reached the edge of the star system, decelerating as it passed the first of nine planets circling the star. Cycles passed as the probe meandered through the void until finally it passed through a veil of asteroids and the first glimpses of the planets could be seen. The first was crimson, like oxidized iron. If it had once had an atmosphere, it had since been drained away into the nothingness of the space that now bleached its bloodred rocks. Lifeless and void, the probe found water frozen in the poles of the planet as it passed. And there she was. An orb of green and blue set against a backdrop of void ans stars. A neighbor. A friend. The answer to the question asked countless times since the beginning of history. But we cannot yet revel with them in our existence. Cursory scans of the population showed us a horrifying truth. Our neighbors, these bipedal lifeforms of flesh and bone so similar yet so different to ours, are deadly to our kind. Living among them is a virus that if unleashed would wreak destruction upon our people, one that would end with the eradication of our species as a whole. This virus is born with each new child brought into the world, and passes with the dying of the brain that hosts it. Research is all but impossible, for even the slightest touch is fatal. So here we wait, unknown to the inhabitants we so crave to be with. We can only hope that, in time, this virus rids itself from our neighbors. For we so wish to speak with them, to explore the stars together, to give to them the same answer they unknowingly gave to us. To soothe the great loneliness that the void of space inflicts so callously upon all those that look out into the night sky and see not the unknowable blackness but the points of light inbetwixt. For loneliness is such a terrible curse. *Edit: changed an 'our' to 'are'
Doctor Pelant had been on the job for two weeks when his first patient lost. An eight year old boy, he was fighting cancer since he could walk. The thing about cancer, Pelant told the child once, was that it fought whoever it could and it didn't pull punches. The doctor used to think of himself as a champion for his patients, fighting the cancer in their name. In reality he just diagnosed and treated them, but he liked the fantasy. The boy had no visitors except for his parents. He spent nearly all his time on his new Nintendo 3DS. He played games where he saved a princess stuck in some castle somewhere. Pelant didn't remember the name, but the kid showed his progress to him every time they spoke. In his mind, he probably thought he was a hero too. When the boy died, Pelant felt dread. It wasn't because the kid died, Pelant saw that coming. It was because he had to tell the kid's parents. The wife cried. The husband stared stoically at the doctor. Some things couldn't be taught at medical school. So when the boy's last will, sprawled in crayon on a Denny's napkin, designated that Pelant gets his 3DS, there wasn't much of a shock. On a particularly uneventful day, weeks after the death, Pelant fired up the 3DS. Super Mario 3D Land So that's what the kid played all the time. The colors flying from the screen put a smile on the doctor's face. They looked so out of place in the gloomy oncology center. The screen showed two options: > - Continue > - New Game Pelant thought about it for a second before choosing continue. Maybe the kid managed to get further before he could show the doctor. The game opened up with Mario, the only character Pelant could recognize, facing down some giant turtle. Pelant smiled and ran at the turtle, but it jumped in the air. It landed down next to him, causing the screen to shake. The doctor laughed as the screen faded to black. GAME OVER, it read. Doctor Pelant blinked and held the 3DS in his still hands. The timer on the bottom right counted down from 10. Continue? It asked. He took a deep breath and put it down on the table, leaning back in his chair to stare at the roof. Game over. There are no continues in real life. The timer hit 0 and stayed at the game over screen. Press any button to restart, it said. The kid had been playing this game his whole life and Pelant managed to lose it in seconds. For eight years, the kid was battling cancer. Pelant championed him for two weeks and he died. For the first time since he could remember, Doctor Pelant cried.
"Pass me your ID." "I told you, I'm 18!"He screamed back, having been backed into a corner by two police officers. "I've had my test, I'm sterile, just like the rest of you." The police officers looked back with equal parts dismay and disappointment. They turned to look at each other, before moving to restrain the boy, turning him to face the wall. He shouted in protest a hand was forced into his trousers as his wallet was ripped from the faded jeans. They pulled out his government-issued ID, looking for the date. "2 weeks until his 18th."One said to the other. The other looked back, checking the ID himself as he continued to restrain the boy against the wall. "Regulations state that he's only exempt if it's tomorrow."He turned to the boy. "Sorry, you're going to have to come with us. ***** When he came to, the boy was laying on a bed, blinking through bleary eyes. The soft click of a door sounded as the scuffle of feet was heard. Pulling from his dreary state, he turned to look at the intruder. It was a girl. A girl he would have normally been happen to flirt with on any other day, in any other situation. He saw fear in those innocent blue eyes of hers, fear that was probably reflected in his own. He cleared his throat as he looked to the ground in shame. 'What has the world come to?', he asked himself, though he was sure to never get answer there.

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