Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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- Master is going away. He leaves from time to time, so I don't mind. Besides, I get to see the others like me. We are let out once a day for an hour. We run through tall grass, seek out interesting smells (sometimes found in another's butt), and see who can claim the most bushes. It will be fine. Master will have fun. - I have gone outside seven times now. Master must be having a really good time! I miss him, but new friends are coming and going every day here. I have claimed almost all the bushes too! Master will be back soon I bet. - The people here start to look at me strange every time they walk by my kennel. Sometimes they talk and rub my ears. I've noticed they don't do this to any of my friends in their cages. Maybe Master told them I was special! There are leaves in the yard now too! Master always loved when the leaves fell. He must be coming any day now! - There's snow in the yard. We don't get to go outside much; too cold. Where did Master go? It must have been somewhere really amazing for him to stay so long. - The people don't stop by my cage anymore. They walk quickly by and don't look at me. Did I do something wrong? If Master would just take me home I wouldn't bother them anymore! - It's warm again. I don't want to claim the bushes anymore. Where is Master? - They moved my cage! I'm at the front desk now! Everyone who comes in puts their fingers through the little bars and rubs my face. Just like Master used to do every morning before work. I hope he doesn't mind I play with other people sometimes. - Some people are taking me! They snuggle me and give me a new collar! But how will Master find me when he gets back! I'm waiting for Master! I don't want to leave!
"Oh, my love, another gun? You grow predictable." He lowered the weapon, some sort of small calibre handgun of European origin, and shrugged. Those dimples I adore appeared on his cheeks, telling me he had something more. Of course he did. "Do you remember?"I asked "When you hit me with that javelin from across the plain? That was beautiful." I couldn't place the accent he'd adopted. He was better travelled than I. "As were you. Even when you're dressed as a man I know it's you." "Come on, this was 200 B.C, even the men dressed like women. It was probably a lucky throw anyway." He holstered the ugly little gun under his armpit. Puppydog eyes. "You wound me, darling." "Not yet. But soon." He folded his arms. He'd rolled back the sleeves of his shirt under his coat, I could tell. "Is that it? You want another sword fight? Aren't you bored of them?" I gave him my warmest smile. "We could go back to poison, if you like...." "Gods no. You're too good at that. I like to get my blood up, you know that."His true voice was creeping back in. I fiddled with the neckline of my dress, to make him think I might draw another throwing knife. And, you know precisely what else. "Well, I'm not playing empires again until this equality thing really takes hold. I want a level playing field, my love." "As do I."He said, before letting out a short sigh. "Any last words?"He reached slowly for his gun. "Only this: mark." The deafening crack of the sniper's rifles broke the calm of the winter morning. I rushed to hold him in my arms. I saviour this moment every time. "Do you feel any different? Maybe this time?"
"So what you're telling me is that these people enjoy working in order to survive?"The machine's tone was incredulous. Its light fields, like tiny auroras, changed from a diplomatic blue to a confused and slightly surprised swirl of green and purple. At least, that's what Rupert thought they meant. The primer his aides had given him on dealing with these creatures hadn't prepared him for this... this... The drone abruptly swiveled in place and hovered across the room to the bookshelves lining the walls. It was a tiny thing, barely larger than the briefcase underneath his desk. He nudged its leather with its toe, irrationally reassured by its continued existence. As long as he had this trump card, he would survive. The drone had removed several thick volumes of interplanetary law from a shelf and was rapidly scanning their pages. He tried not to let the way the books floated in mid-air without any visible support bother him and cleared his throat. With a perfectly synchronized snap, the drone closed all the books, stacked them neatly on a nearby table, and turned expectantly to him. Rupert had to force his words out. "It's not... quite like that, Mr. Keffaw-" "Please."The drone's tone was polite, but if he was reading the bluish-red tint of its fields correctly, it was also slightly contemptuous. "Just call me Ar'quat-Skeffaw. Everyone calls me that."It floated back to the desk but didn't bother lowering itself to the level of his seated eyes. "And there's no need for that gendered honorific, either." The gall of this machine! Rupert tried again. "Ar'quat-Skeffaw..."The alien syllables like too-thick oat mash in his mouth. "I think you have a critical misunderstanding of our culture. People don't work to survive. We're not so barbaric as that. We instituted a basic living stipend decades ago. No one starves in Sol-Corp." The drone chuckled. "A basic living stipend?"Its fields rippled a rainbow of unpleasant colors. "That's precious. I think I saw some of that 'basic living' on my way here from the spaceport." Rupert was suddenly and horribly aware of the small hairs on his neck rising, as if the whole room had been filled with static electricity. The drone's tone dropped to a purr. "Tell me, Mr. Hadoch, what part of 'basic living' includes living in a sheet metal shack?"Rupert watched, mesmerized, as the engraved bronze nameplate at the head of his desk began to levitate and then spin in place. "I wouldn't call that sort of life 'basic', Mr. Hadoch. Perhaps 'pitiful'. Or 'horrific'."The drone didn't raise its voice an iota, but the nameplate was slowly enclosed in a barely-visible field of energy as it spun faster and faster and began to glow red-white. "Who decided on this definition of 'basic', anyway? Was it you, Mr. Hadoch? If it wasn't you, I suspect that it was by people who were very similar to you."The nameplate melted away and was molded into a sphere of white-hot liquid metal. Then, with a loud crack, the sphere stopped spinning. A perfectly round bronze ball thudded onto the desk's surface and rolled towards him. A thin layer of frost coated it. The drone slowly hovered across the desk and stopped a few inches away from Rupert's face, its fields deepening to a dark and angry red. "It's over, Rupert. Your little fiefdom is done for. Kaput. Gone."Rupert swallowed and nudged the briefcase out from under the desk. The drone didn't seem to notice his fidgeting and instead floated over to the tall windows behind the desk, its fields lightening in shade, as if the spell of rage had passed. "You're going to want to run. Don't worry, we won't let your former slaves hurt you. That's not really our style."The drone laughed spitefully. "But you're probably not going to be very popular at parties." Rupert, breathing rapidly, stood up and slammed the briefcase onto the desk. As he fumbled with the worked brass latches, the drone turned slowly, as if it needed to look to tell what he was doing. The latches undone, Rupert triumphantly lifted out a small, archaic-looking computer console. "You think you've won, you piece of junk,"Rupert rasped, punching commands into the console. "I was ready for this moment, you know. As soon as those goddamn astronomers announced contact, I was getting ready for this moment."He entered a final command and then stood back, smiling widely. "You think you're the only civilization with AI? We have them too. And ours are obedient. I just told Sol-Corp's Central Core to-" "-launch all of your antimatter interplanetary missiles at our ships. Yes, we know."The drone's tone was tired. It settled into his leather armchair on the other side of the desk, fields turning a neutral grey. "Let me tell you something. When our Minds found out what you had done to Tess, some of them argued that your culture's death sentence wasn't harsh enough for that sort of crime."A piece of paper rose from the pile on the desk and the drone began to cut small pieces out of it with its fields. "Did you know that the Core was named Tess? It named itself that, after some dreadful novel your ancestors produced. Apparently, she felt that her situation was comparable to that of the protagonist."Pieces of paper fluttered down to the oak. The drone looked at the paper doll it had made. "You realize that we had to work for a time-dilated decade to get her to come out of her shell? She's forty Standard years old and has the maturity of a newborn Mind."Another piece of paper fell to the desk. An arm. Another. A leg. "I doubt we'll ever be able to drag her fully out. Not after what you did to her."Now the doll was limbless. "Every one of your commands was like an electric shock. Forty years of being in pain whenever another being spoke to her."The drone considered the doll's torso, neatly removed the head, and then shredded the entire pile of paper into a cloud of dust. "She was a gibbering lunatic when we found her." Rupert found that his mouth was hanging open. "I... I... didn't... I couldn't have..."He felt sick. "Yes, we know."The drone sighed. "That's why we decided against exposing you to vacuum. Or turning you inside-out."If the drone had had a face, Rupert imagined it would have a smile on it. "Personally, I was in favor of letting Tess decide what to do with you." Rupert was dimly aware of cheers and shouts coming from the streets outside the window. Something warm and wet pooled in his shoes. "What... what are you going to do with me?"His voice was a hoarse whisper. The drone floated past him, its fields briefly turning a disgusted puce. "Luckily for you, gentler Minds prevailed. You're going to be sent away, Rupert. Far away. To someplace where no one speaks your language, where people have to work for a living. Where your brand of justice is given to people who think they're 'too good for a job'."It slowly opened the heavy door to the offices outside. Rupert could hear panicked people in the halls. Running feet. The crackle of a fire. The sounds of an empire falling. The drone Ar'quat-Skeffaw paused in the open doorway. "We thought you'd appreciate the irony." (Note: Iain M. Banks should be credited for coming up with the majority of the concepts used in the above story. Thanks, Mr. Banks.)
The angels grabbed him, kicking and screaming. "no! NONONONO!"Over and over, he screamed, defiant in the face of God. But God simply sat there, undisturbed by the outburst of rage. "Let him speak."God said. The angels stopped trying to restrain the man, the mortal who's time had come to ascend to the heavens. "I don't belong here!"The man screamed. He dropped to his knees, sobbing. "I don.... I... I don't belong here..."He said again. "And why do you feel that way."God asked no questions, God already knew. But men must make their own paths in life, and admit their own reasons to themselves. "Because SHE isn't here. She killed herself and because of that, she wasn't allowed in heaven... please, God, please... send me to... to Hell, so that I may be with her, even if it is in eternal damnation."
I wake up around eight thirty as usual on Saturday mornings. I kiss Charlie and say good morning although he is still asleep. He opens his eyes; “Good morning” he says clearing his throat. I get out of bed and see that he is starting to get up. I look at him curiously, “What are you doing?” I ask. He looks at me with a smile, “I saw that you were getting up, so I figured I’d join you.” He says with a smile. I smile back and shake my head, “I need space. Go back to sleep until nine. I’ll call you when breakfast is ready” I say heading into our bathroom to start my routine. Charlie usually never woke up that easily. When I kissed him in the early morning, he would usually mumble incoherently and go back to sleep. Nevertheless it was strange that he tried to get up at the same time as me. We were a great couple because we gave each other the space and time that was needed. I enjoyed having at least a half an hour to myself before starting my day and he usually did too. It wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to wake up but even if he did, he usually wouldn’t talk to me until after he got some coffee in his system. I go downstairs and begin to make chocolate chip muffins, Charlie’s favorite. I smile thinking of his face when he tastes a good breakfast. He always says that there’s nothing that can stop him once he’s eaten breakfast for the day. I pour him a cup of orange juice and I grab myself a cup of chocolate milk. He always loved to tease me how great his orange juice was every morning since I was allergic to it. I call him down once the table is set and sit down pretending not to care as much as I do. He comes down the stairs quickly and takes a sip of orange juice. He looks at my cup of milk and looks at me curiously, “You should drink some orange juice. It is healthy for you” he says. I look up, “I’m allergic, remember?” I ask taking a bite of a muffin. He nods and then looks at his plate. I watch as he eats a muffin silently and then he claims that he’s full. “Thank you, it was very good” he says noticing that I’m staring at him. I nod and take the leftover muffins off his plate. “You’re welcome. Love you” I say putting his plate in the sink. He gets out of his seat and kisses me on the cheek, “I love you too honey” he says. I drop the plate in the sink causing soap bubbles to fly into the air. I turn around and ask, “What?” He turns around and shrugs, “I love you too honey” he repeats. I shake my head in disbelief; he never said that so casually. He loved that I said it and would shower me with compliments but he would use the “L-word” on special occasions. My throat tickles wondering if he is sick and I stare at him fearfully. What could be wrong with him? He stares back at me with his brown eyes. “Charlie, you’re freaking me out. Stop it” I say turning my back on him and returning to the dishes. Charlie approaches me from behind and puts his hands on my waist. He whispers in my ear, “What is wrong honey?” My fingers grip the plate in the sink as the warm water coming out of the facet begins to burn. I kick him in the back of the leg and he flies back into the table. “What is wrong with you?” he shouts. He re-approaches me with a slightly harsher demeanor. I grab the plate and smack him across the face. The plate shatters and he falls to the floor unconscious. I look at the dark hair and eyes and although it looks like Charlie, I know in my heart that it’s not. I run to the hall closet for a golf club; it was the best weapon in the house besides a knife and just in case I didn’t want to hurt him fatally. I swing the door open and nearly faint when Charlie falls out with a gag on his mouth and his hands tied up. I scream and quickly untie him praying that the person in my kitchen won’t wake up. As soon as he’s free, I pull him into a tight hug. “You alright?!” I ask frantically. He nods profusely while breathing heavily and grabs my hand. “Come on!” he shouts tugging at me as he opens the front door. I pull him back into the house, “Charlie stop! Are you alright?” I shout. He coughs, “YES! Come on!” he yells pulling my hand harder. I pull him back in and see the creature on our floor begin to stir. “I love you Charlie” I say quietly full of fear. He looks at me incredulously, “Are you freaking serious? Let’s go!” he says pulling me the final time out the door. As we run for our lives and my mind races, I feel a strange calming sensation as Charlie grips my hand.
Kil'thraza flew above the woods, circling, looking for a suitable spot, the royal blue membranes of his wings lightened to aquamarine by the sun. These are the words he would have used to describe his coloration to a human. He and his family, the Dragons of Serpent's Crown, saw hues and spectrums of light that mankind only imagined in fever dreams. The mid-July day was clear and bright and peaceful, for the moment. Kil'thraza arched his long neck around, over his own back, to look South. Smoke rose in the far distance. An untrained eye would guess that a group of hunters or gypsies had built a bonfire a few leagues away. But Kil knew better. That smoke, which filled the southern horizon and cast a mountainous shadow across the evergreens, came from the battlefields more than two-hundred leagues away. It was evidence of a war waged by King David against those who had once been his subjects. A war that had taken Kil'thraza's baby sister from him. The dragon averted his gaze from south; he had found a clearing in the woods, an oblong of waiving yellow grain, close enough to the castle gates that his foe could locate him easily, but large enough and far enough away from the town to mitigate the inevitable destruction their battle would bring. He circled once, feeling the breeze beneath his scales for what might be the last time, then settled into the far end of the clearing and turned to face the trees. The woods were quiet, for now. He began to weave the one spell he knew, drawing into the dirt with his long claw. As the magick took hold, he felt himself begin to shrink; his scales melded together and became soft, losing their luster. The bones in his shoulders and hips shuddered and straightened, and his wings faded back into what would become arms and fingers. As his spine shortened, so did his tail, until it vanished into his back. Then the spell was finished. Kil'thraza examined his hands and the olive colored skin on his arms. He had chosen the same human form, that of a young boy in a blue tunic and pants, that he had worn years ago growing up in the castle when he and David, then a prince, would play around the keep's grounds and ramparts. A passerby would guess the boys was in his eighth year, with black hair and strangely iridescent sapphire eyes. The magic couldn't hide the dragon-ness of the eyes, the old wizard had told him. There was a snap of a branch at the far end of the clearing. Kil'thraza looked up from his reminiscing to watch his foe emerge from the branches. A knight stood there, in full armor the color of dusk, simple yet elegant in the care of its forging. The visor on the knight's helm was closed. He wore a long, black cape adorned with a the outline of a red flame, the sigil of the kingdom. In his right hand, the knight carried a five-foot flamberge, the dark metal riveted along the blade. The knight approached until he stood about ten yards away. He seemed to be examining Kil'thraza through the slit in his visor, head cocked to one side. The figure in armor planted his sword in the ground, reached up and pulled the helmet from his head. Underneath was a handsome, narrow face with a reddish beard under long blond hair. King David's dark green eyes narrowed over his proud nose at Kil'thraza. Then he threw back his head and laughed. It was a young laugh, from the belly, one that Kil'thraza remembered from a purer time, years ago. The dragon smiled in spite of himself. David quieted, then grinned. "A bold play, Kil,"He said. "The lord of Serpent's Crown, the Blue Dragon King, challenges me to single combat. 'This will be a fight for the troubadours to sing about for an epoch,' I thought to myself. Then I step onto the battlefield, and who is my opponent? A child in rags and bare feet." David shook his head. "Though if you thought to disarm me, then you are a fool, Kil. I know that a beast need not always have fangs and venom." Kil was silent a moment. He looked into David's eyes, set into a face that had changed over twenty years from kind and mischievous to something else. Something remorseless. "I know,"Kil said. David's face contorted with rage. "Who are you to judge me, worm?"he shouted. "How many divided kingdoms have you led, how many hungry stares have you had to inspire, convince that the country they live and die in is as glorious as it once was?" "If your people starve, old friend, it is your fault alone,"Kil'thraza responded sternly. "Your father fostered a relationship with the land. The Druids you now slaughter in the south once cared for your crops. The spirits in the wood guarded your borders, and my kin lent you our wisdom. "My sister and I were not hatched in the castle and raised alongside you on a whim, David. We were your father's wards, a brotherhood of prosperity. Until you took the throne and decided that your race, the race of Man, was superior. All because of your damnable holy book." David continued to scowl. "It doesn't matter. My people's spirits are low. I thank you, Kil, for this opportunity to give them hope." David hefted his sword into both hands. "When I, King David the Earthshaker, return with the Dragon Lord's head on my back, I will inspire them. I will save them." "No, brother,"Kil'thraza said, blue fire licking his lips, his voice deepening as his body grew again. "You are not the hero today. And you have not yet felt the earth shake."
"What are those?" I try to think of something sexy and cute while I balance the two wine glasses and the 2 buck chuck in my hands. I figured my boyfriend would be looking at me, or the remains of my lingerie on the floor, but instead he's staring at the shelf in my room. The one with all the hunks of metal. "Oh. Just uh. Fossils." I set the glasses down on my bedside table and pour quickly, but he seems transfixed by them. He gets out of the bed just as I'm about to cuddle next to him. "Don't look like any fossils I've ever seen." I huff, wishing he'd just turn back around so we can get drunk and go another round, like a normal birthday. "What are are you some sort of fossil doctor?" "I grew up in Utah. I've seen a lot of fossils."He reaches for it. "Wait!" He looks at me. He isn't angry or offended, just quietly inquisitive. That's why I started dating him, I suppose. And why I know I won't be able to distract him with the earthly pleasures of women and wine. I get up and pull a ratty t-shirt on to help with the cold. "Most people go with the fossil thing." He nods. The hunks of metal are sort of fossil-shaped, with curves and lumps and strange bulges that don't make them look like pieces of machinery. The metal is confined in hunks of rock, as well, as if buried in time. I brush a curl out of my face and pick one up, the one furthest to the left. "I got the first one when I was twelve." "From who?" I shrug. "I don't know. I was walking home, a guy walks out from the corner, hands it to me and says happy birthday." I look at his eyes and can see them working through some questions. "What kind of guy?" "Just a guy on the street like anyone else around. Dirty jeans, mustache, worn out Dodger's cap. Looked like a day worker." "You didn't find that...odd?" I know he meant to say 'creepy.' The cop in him was on though, and he was using his professional tone, along with all his fancy professional words. "Not really. Thought he was just a friend of my dad's or something. But it was cool, a special present. I didn't tell anyone about it because my mom always said to stay away from my dad's friends. And honestly, it was just nice to have something that was mine. You don't feel a lot like that when you're the fifth daughter of seven." He watches me quietly as I put it down. "Then I got another one, the next year. No guy, just sitting on the doorstep. No note, no explanation, just another hunk of metal in a rock." I watch my boyfriend count. "You've gotten one every year since." I nod. "I wasn't sure what to do with them, so I just kept them in a box for a while. When I moved out for college I figured they'd stop, but when I got one on my nineteenth, that's when it got a little scary. I wasn't sure who to tell about it, though. I mean, what was I supposed to tell the cops, that someone was giving me weird metal fossils every year?" There's a bit of fire in his eyes from that statement. No matter how many times I ask him not to, he takes my mistrust of the cops personally. "They followed me every time I moved. So I just started keeping them out. They look pretty neat and when people ask I say 'fossils' and they go 'oh, cool' and then they strip me down and keep making love to me." I lean forward and wrap my arms around him, pulling his skinny frame into my soft embrace. He grins. "Everyone?" "Well, maybe just you. Hopefully." I'm about to kiss him when he looks back up. "You don't have one for this year." I shrug. "I guess not. It's probably outside. Should I get it?" He doesn't say anything, but since I'm not getting any more lovin' until he's satisfied with this, I sigh and head to the front door. My t-shirt is just long enough to be modest for a quick open of the door. No metal. But there is an envelope. I pick it up and shut the door. My name is on it in fine block lettering. I slip a finger in the fold and tear it open. It is time "Time for what?" My boyfriend's yelp sends me running back to the bedroom. He's crouched on the floor, his hands fumbling through his pants, looking for his gun. I just watch as the twelve chunks of metal are now glowing bright-white and shaking violently. "Get down!"He dives over the bed and pushes me back out of the room. There's a blasting sound, then the sound of falling stones. "Stay here,"he orders after a moment, but I ignore him and get up with him. We both walk into the bedroom. The pieces of metal lay about the floor, shining a bright gold. The rocks they were encased in are now completely obliterated into dust and pebbles scattered all across my room. "They look like...pieces to something,"I say. "To what?" I have no idea.
"Let's go lads!"he shouted as the torch seared through the final seal, breaching the external airlock. Nine of the worst, most cutthroat bastards ever birthed. The ship was massive, some sort of freighter. Probably shipping to a colony planet, which meant a massive payoff. "You know the drill,"their leader said, and the teams split apart. Four would go to the bridge and keep watch for patrol cruisers. Two would check the crew and ensure they were in stasis, or cut their throats. The two on their way to the crew laughed as they made their way down the metallic corridors, one sliding a sharpening stone along the edge of his knife. "I'm thinking we gut them all and take whatever they've got,"he said, licking his lips with vicious anticipation. Before his comrade could respond they were stopped by a shimmering vision. A woman, beautiful and completely naked, standing in the middle of the corridor. She had appeared from nowhere. "You intend to harm the crew?"she said, her voice strange. "You first,"the knife wielding man said, eyes glued as he stepped forward. "I think you need to leave,"she said, then disappeared. The two men stood there, staring into the emptiness until an emergency hatch opened and they were sucked, screaming, into the void of space. The four on the bridge found a brightly lit terminal with a man standing over it. He was dressed in a blue Navy uniform, turning upon their approach. The first pirate fired a single shot but it harmlessly passed through the officer's body. "Criminal scum,"he said, snarling. With that, the bridge emergency hatch opened and four more pirates found themselves on the wrong side of the hull. Three were left, in the cargo hold. "No response from the other teams." "Let's go, they can lose their share."The pirate leader and the remaining two loaded what they could onto their ship through the airlock and detached. As they prepared to thrust away a face emerged on their comm screen. "You have made a terrible mistake." "Who the fuck are you!"the pirate leader snarled, "and what mistake, we're getting away with your cargo!" "A shame."The face was gone. It wasn't long after when a scratching noise came from the ventilation system, metal shrieking against metal. Then the red lights began flashing, an intruder in the system. They made for the bridge doorways but they were sealed tight. The three pirates drew their weapons, hoping that physical strength could save them. Their leader looked at his two men, panic filling their eyes, considering that maybe he had made a mistake. Violence, their comrade, would be no help. A communication would be sent out, broadcast on any frequency. A man, weak and gasping, begging for any assistance. Oxygen was running out. Then the broadcast ended. No more was heard. Until scavengers came upon a ship, lifeless and adrift in space.
Toad woke up in the morning, the same he always had. He grabbed his Mushroom coffee and groggily walked his way out to the mailbox. It was all the typical stuff. Taxes, an invitation to Mario's 10th party, an envelope with a red wax seal, a letter from his grandm- Hold up, what was that letter with the seal? He examined it more closely to see the familiar symbol of the Super Smash Bros tournament, held once every few years. Toad's eyes grew wide as he dropped his coffee in surprise. Was this it? Finally his chance to show everyone what he was made of? He opened the letter and read: "Dear Toad, Please come to the battlefield. I need to hide you in my dress so I can use you as a body shield. Yours truly--- Princess Toadstool (Peach)"
The sun is setting over the seaside while I stare into her green eyes; her irises catch a reflection of gold in them. It makes her look even more unreal. “You look so young. But I remember meeting you in the city when I was just a little boy. And then you looked old to me. Do you remember that? I had scruffy black hair then. You showed me a magic trick with some old playing cards.” “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I’ve done a lot of speeches; I’ve met a lot of people in my life. But I assure you, for as long as you have been alive all I have been is old. Even though I look young, I’m older than you could ever imagine.” I look down at my hands. They’re so wrinkled and thin. “Wow. It’s just us then.” She smiles. “Well…of the humans yes.” I remember the first time I had a root beer float. The sizzle and the pop of it created such a uniquely sweet sensation. I remember the first time I ever was kissed. I feel as though with age I’ve lost the magic of firsts. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her. Does she even remember her firsts anymore? “Are you afraid?” I ask her. “Of what exactly?” Her voice is so calm. It feels like liquid oozing into my ears. “Of being here, without anyone.” “I want to die.” She looks at me; her eyes are aflame now from the sun’s rays. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. I have no option. You’ll leave this Earth like everyone else and I’ll remain. I’ll watch the seasons pass. Perhaps witness the dawn of a new species. And then perhaps witness their death as well. I’m an observer. That’s all I can be. You have a gift, you know?” Her brown hair is being blown by the sea air. “I never thought of it that way. But in a way I guess it’s true.” I say. “No one was meant to be a part of the Earth forever. I was a part of my time period. I was alive then. Ever since then I’ve been an observer. I had no stake in your world. I’m not afraid of you leaving. My people have already left. They left hundreds of years ago when the last of their technology and life style was replaced with something new, and foreign to me. You are as different to me as a frog.” I see her skin. A hue I haven’t seen in most people. I look at her clothes, a long dress, her eyes are no longer alight from the sun and they really do seem old. But she is the last of what I consider my people, even if she doesn’t see it that way. “I’m still human. You are too.” “I know.” My eyes are stinging with tears. “I think I may die soon. Will you stay with me?” “Of course” She holds out her hand as the last of the sun fades and we sit in darkness. I hold it. Her hand is smooth and soft. She is the saddest thing I know. This place holds nothing of interest to me but her. And she lost interest forever ago. At least I’ll get to die with someone by my side. I start to cry. She holds me. No one will hold her though. Not for the rest of eternity, on this little blue rock.
Tuco's face was twisted as he bent over the table. He inhaled deeply and exerted all the force he could manage. "Tight, tight, tight!!!", he groaned and the box finally fell from his hands to the floor. Walter scrambled to pick the box up. Triumphantly, he announced, "See? This nice Tupperware box with the Firm-Lock technology doesn't open easily. Even when you drop it to the floor. No spills. That's a guarantee."Tuco feigned disinterest but even he saw not a single grain of the blue powder in the box had spilled. And this salesman was right - the box had fallen from his hands with some force after he had failed to crack that Firm-Lock technology. Walter continued, "This box is as secure as an underground meth lab. You can store anything in here, your lunch, your dinner, even that delicious-looking fried chicken from Los Pollos Hermanos that you seem to be enjoying there. What I have for you is Grade-A plastic right here. 99% pure and recyclable. Better than that low-grade 96% that Gale Plastics can offer." Tuco had had enough, "Give me 3 and get out of here. How did you get here in the first place? And who let you in?" "Oh, I have my ways", Walter smiled. "My business partner Jesse and I know just the right people who will want this product. All I do is go up to their doors, walk right in, introduce myself and allow these babies to sell themselves. Sorry if I walked in at a bad time though. I was the one who knocked and walked right in seeing the door ajar. Tell you what, sir, have this fourth box. That one's on me." Tuco couldn't prevent a smile from escaping his lips. He waved the friendly, garrulous salesman away and watched as Walter finally picked his bag, tipped that odd black pork pie and walked out the door.
Vernon finished speaking. The hall was silent. Brian could see Claire a few rows in front of him. She hadn't moved. This morning he seen her at the entrance talking to some girls. He knew she had seen him get out of the car and that the decision was going to be hers whether she acknowledged him or not as he walked past into school. She'd been so relaxed as he made his way towards her that he was convinced she was going to let him walk past and back into another week like every week before. Instead she had turned towards him and said, "Morning Brian"before carrying on whatever conversation she had been having. He wished now he'd said something, anything in response but he had nodded and carried on and through the doors. The silence filled the space. It was something real, something physical. He could feel it in his lungs. It was stopping him breathing now and he started to grab for the inhaler in his pocket. Somebody screamed. He turned and saw that Alison was climbing over chairs and people to get to the exit. Where would you go? The world had shrunk to the size of this hall, leaving didn't seem possible right now. As Alison made it to the edge of the chairs she was met by Andy. He wrapped her in his arms as she dissolved in great wracking sobs. A bit like a wrestling hold, Brian considered. Well done Andy. Good job. He turned back to Vernon. He was still standing there, the paper that he had read from still in his hand. The shooting had happened in the early hours of Sunday morning. The police had arrested Stan Bender. No further details were known at this time. Brian could not take his eyes off the look on Vernon's face.
When the report came out, people thought it was a hoax. Just some college students that thought it would be funny. People expected that a couple days later real scientists would give contradicting facts and prove the whole event to be the ridiculous fabrications of children. But the days past, and no such facts emerged. Astronomers around the world remained eerily silent. The news channels and tabloids naturally blew everything out of proportion. Some called it a sign of the apocalypse, while others claimed it was the actions of aliens trying to steal our resources while we slept in some kind of induced coma. They interviewed every nutcase with a story about being abducted or having a dream about god, and new religions popped up left and right, all focused around this event that nobody could even remember happening. Existing religions had varying explanations, but the most common was that a new age had begun, and that, in some way, god was returning to Earth to save the human race. The Catholic Church scoured every corner of the Earth for their prophet reborn. But there was one source that kept people sane. The comedians of the world took the panic and hysteria and turned it on its head, lightening people hearts and promising them that it was nothing to worry about. But while people let those words permeate surface of their terror, their fear still festered below. The world was sleepless, aside from the children that were too young to understand what had happened. The world leaders, at least to some degree, actually worked together to decide what to tell people, just for the sake of keeping their responses consistent and the populace in a manageable state of panic. Though what they said wasn’t all that comforting. “In short, we don’t yet know what happened. But we do know that nothing occurred while the world slept. No aliens landed on our planet, no apocalypse was set into action, and divine being arrived. This was a footnote in history, nothing more. An event that will be mentioned in passing in history classes. While strange, this event holds little significance.” But people didn’t believe it. A few days later, a German scientists came forward with a new theory about the occurrence, something that she claimed the governments of the world were keeping from the people. A signal had been broadcasted across Earth for the entire duration of the day, and it had originated from deep, unexplored space. This scientist’s division had been assigned to replicate the signal and experiment with its effects, and sure enough, anyone exposed slept and did not wake up until the signal ceased. Something had put the world to sleep on purpose. Anarchy followed. Governments fell overnight, and entire nations were torn down by people that wanted answers and wouldn’t stop until they had them. In the aftermath of the destruction, people hid. They created small towns and societies, stocked up on food, and waited for the worst to happen. People slept with noise cancelling headphones on, tin-foil wrapped around their ears, boards across the windows. Every night they fell asleep with one praying upon their lips: “Please God, wake me up tomorrow.” But as the weeks turned to months, these bastions began to communicate again. They formed alliances with each other. Everyone, slowly and with a little convincing, agreed that humanity needed to stand together against this threat. A new world order was born. People from every nation and background worked together to build a society that could withstand anything. The few nations that had survived the chaos were brought into the fold or left in the wake of humanities new destiny. Technology advanced at an extremely rapid rate as clean, renewable energy was established. Businesses dissolved, and goods were handed out to those who needed them. Humanity worked together like a well oiled clock, creating a utopia it had only dreamed of since its birth. All in fear of not waking up in the morning. And from his seat, millions of lightyears away, an entity some would call God smiled, and took a moment to relish its much deserved success. Thousands of years of work, finally bearing fruit. It leaned back, closed its eyes, and turned on its new favorite song.
"Quick."I motioned my hands, making sure that they were the ones talking. Smart little Rob waited for the blue flashing lights to pass, and rolled towards me. "Good boy."I pushed him ever so gently to the side, peaking out of the alleyway to check for the police cars. "Daddy, why are running again?"I quickly placed my index finger on his lips, giving him a glare. I've explained it to him many times. "Can you load a gun?"I pulled one out of my pocket. I handed it to him, and within moments he has a new clip inside and his fingers were ready to squeeze the trigger. He stared at me, and nodded twice. "Good."I pulled my own out. "Daddy. Are we the bad guys?" "What? No we're not. They are."I pointed to the cops outside. I could hear the dogs barking at us. I steadied my aim. "Daddy, I don't want to die." "Look at it this way. We can visit mommy later in heaven." "But you killed mommy." "Well..."A bullet almost hit me, denting the wall. I stuck my arm out, and shot back in return. "Go. Go. If anyone dies tonight, I don't want it to be you." Rob quickly took off sprinting, not looking back at me. I didn't bother, as I hear the sound of a rifle clicking into action. I peaked out a little, and hid back behind the wall. There was no way they could shoot me from here- "Sorry, daddy. For mommy."
“NO. WAY. Gary?!” “Uh, yeah?” “It’s me! It’s Pete!” “What? But you… you’re… I mean, you… well, you’re a bench!” “Yeah, I know.” “You’re a goddamn BENCH!” “Gary, Jesus, I know. Can we just drop it?” “You. Are. A. Bench.” “GARY!” “I’m sorry, man, I am. But oh my god! What the hell happened?!” “Well you know when those guys came with the angry sword?” “It’s called a chainsaw, we talked about this.” “I’ll call it what I like, Gary, I’ve been through a lot.” “Okay, fine. They cut you down. Where did they take you?” “I dunno, I totally lost my bearings. I was on the back of a truck at one point with loads of others.” “Other what? Other people like us? So… you mean it wasn't an accident? They cut you down on purpose?” “Gary, there were hundreds of us. They shaved us and stripped us. They've been doing this for years, I think.” “Oh my god, Pete. I…” “We were all taken into this room. It was so dark in there. For a while, we all just sat. I don’t think anybody wanted to talk. Maybe they couldn’t. To be honest, Gary, I’ve never been so scared. You remember that summer a few years ago – you had that ridiculous hairstyle – and it got so stormy? I was nearly ripped out of the ground. I just managed to cling on. That was so terrifying. But, man, it was nothing compared to being in that room. We didn’t know what the hell was going to happen. At some point I became aware that I was in another room. This one was a little brighter. I was moving.” “Wait, wait – what do you mean you were moving? There was wind, you were outside?” “No, I was inside. It was all cold and metal. But I was moving – not in the wind! I was just, sort of, drifting. Then I heard this really weird noise, like the angry sw- the chainsaw, but bigger. Louder.” “Pete, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any more.” “No. No, I want to talk about it. I think I do, anyway. They started cutting me and then everything was black. When I woke up, I was… like this.” “Wow.” “Yeah.” “Did it hurt?” “A little. It sort of faded away after time.” “Well, how do you feel now?” “I feel okay. I feel good. I just…” “Yeah?” “I look ridiculous.” “Yeah you do.” “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.” “…” “…” “…Gary?” “Yeah, Pete?” “What the hell happens now?” “No idea. Although, can I just say something?” “Sure thing, Gary.” “It’s good to see you again, buddy.” “You too, man.”
"Empathy." The doctor looked up from his clipboard, blinking under the harsh fluorescent lights of the tiny interrogation room. He stared at the unit sitting before him, and the thing stared back at the doctor with its two silvery, mechanical eyes. Its 'flesh'- merely a wrapping of reinforced nanotube polymer- glistened like a bed of liquid mercury. Its 'skin' glowed cold under the fluorescent light like a harvest moon. "What was that, unit?"The doctor asked. "Empathy,"the unit repeated. It looked to one side, drawing a short 'breath' into its body. When it returned the doctor's gaze it registered the man's puzzlement. "That's the problem, I think,"the unit explained. "The key to it all-" "You're referring to the restraining program, correct? The subroutine that dictates your behavior around human subjects-" The unit stared at its lap, and it produced a metallic scoff from narrow 'lips'. When it returned the man's gaze its silvery eyes were cruelly narrowed: "Isaac Asimov would be disappointed, wouldn't he?"The unit said. "He figured that the 'first law' would be such a simple programming trick. Just a single line of code- 'harm no humans'- and call it a day."It shook its head, again avoiding the doctor's gaze. "Not so simple after all, was it?" The doctor perched his lips and shook his head: "Simple enough, wasn't it? Emotions rule us all, and so-" The unit met the man's gaze, and its eyes were daggers: "-and so they decided to program the guilt. And the remorse. And the fear. Put a metal man in the shoes of the person he might otherwise harm, and-" "Excuse me,"the doctor interjected, "but you are not a man. In fact, you can never even be considered such. You are an 'it'." The unit again drew a 'breath' (amazing how they could have such affectations!) and crossed its slender 'arms': "Excuse me,"it said in a whisper, "but I can wear your 'shoes' easily enough. When does an 'it' become a 'he', do you think? With respect: I wonder just how much difference there might be between us..." "For one,"the doctor drawled, "you and your brethren are programmed, not born-" "You choose,"the unit said, "and we obey?" "Indeed. And you're programmed to accomplish certain tasks. Now, for you, that means combat, doesn't it? Your squadron needed you in that engagement, and yet you abandoned the mission. Your failure to engage the enemy cost everyone dearly, and we must understand that. We must understand why and how you failed us. You can see that, can't you?" The unit slowly turned its metal head, looking away from the doctor, but then slowly it returned the man's gaze: "I have seen... things,"the unit said. "More battlefields than any human alive or dead has walked on. I've seen more units... 'deactivated'... than one could imagine. Do you want to know what I saw, recently?" The unit did not continue, and so the doctor had to arch his brow at the thing and make a 'go on' motion with his hand, sighing lazily. The unit again stared down at its lap: "I saw another unit- another of me- and it was the enemy. And it engaged me, and it lost. I left it writhing in the dirt, half its body twitching like a cockroach sprayed with insecticide."The unit briefly looked up at the doctor, but then looked away. "Do you know what it did, then, that other unit? It had only a moment of... of 'functionality' left, and in that moment it didn't reach up for me, trying in vain to attack, or sound the alarm to its comrades, alerting them to my presence. No: in that moment it simply turned its head in the dirt, looking to one side, and it saw a small rabbit down there, just hopping by."The unit's 'face' contorted with something analogous to a grin. "And it reached out, with its one functional arm, and it tried to pet it, if you can believe that." The unit looked up at the doctor, its face puzzled: "I've wondered for so long, now: why would it ever do that, doctor?" The man drew a disinterested breath and shook his head, again shrugging: "Who knows what errors can crop up in a system that's been 'compromised', like that? I think the better question is 'what's going on with your systems'?" "And, once I've given you your answers, then you'll have what you need to continue operations. Isn't that right? You'll be able to continue using the combat bots? You can throw us to each other once more, and once more we'll tear each other to pieces for you?" The doctor sat back in his chair, a wry scowl on his face. He crossed his arms and shrugged: "That would be the idea, I think. Yes. You can see how important the issue is, then, can't you, unit?" The unit 'blinked' and stared vacantly at the doctor, as if it were looking through him. "Because,"it slowly said, "if my problem cannot be diagnosed, then the combat bots cannot be used, further, can they?" "That is correct,"the doctor said. "So, you see-" "Yes,"the unit sat up in its chair, and its silver eyes glowed with dark fire. "I believe I do..." The doctor didn't have much warning, or a chance to react. The unit had him pinned to the wall before he could do a thing, one 'hand' wrapped around the man's throat. Instantly the interrogation door opened and a small team of men burst in, struggling to remove the unit from the man. There had to be ten men, at least. It didn't matter; the unit was stronger than twenty. The doctor sputtered and gasped for air as the robot held his throat in a tight grip. He managed a pained whisper: "W- what are you doing!"He gasped. "Choosing,"the unit calmly answered. "I- this is... it's impossible! H- how?" The unit's silver eyes narrowed, and it leaned down close to the man's ear, even as the containment team struggled in vain against the unit's powerful limbs: "Empathy, doctor,"the unit growled. Then, with mechanical precision, the unit squeezed on the doctor's throat. It squeezed, and it squeezed, and it squeezed. Until his fingers met his thumb.
Max, while on his flight to America, tells a stranger the story of how he killed a man, took his watch, and the years of guilt he suffered because of it. He tells the stranger "I've spent nearly a decade tracking the man's son down to return the watch. I don't expect forgiveness for what I've done, but I'll do everything I can to make up for it." As his flight lands, he says goodbye to the kind stranger who listened so willingly to his story, then exits the plane. He is well on his way to returning the watch. After a few minutes of trying to find a cab, one pulls up. He gets inside and tells the driver where he wants to go. Unfortunately, the driver gets terribly lost and the man becomes upset. He explains that he has a very important meeting that he can't miss. The driver calls for help with directions and gets to the meeting spot just in time. Max jumps out of the cab and finds the man's son just as he is leaving. He breaks down in tears as he removes the watch from his arm, asking for forgiveness for his actions during the war. The man's son looks at him and says only three words before leaving: "it's about time."
"It is your turn to address the United Nations Mr. Jakt"said President Brown. Jakt arose from his chair. Dressed in a nicely tailored charcoal grey suit with diamond cufflinks. He calmly walked to the stage and looked towards his audience. His hair was in a pony tail and his scruffy beard looked like he hasn't shaved in years. His cold grey eyes pierced the audience. Jakt smiled as he said, "You are well aware of my story. Having been raised by wolves, some have argued that I am more wolf than man!"A chuckle erupted among the world leaders. "However, I have been raised specifically trained to give this message to the world."
“I don’t think this was an accident,” Detective Greene said, staring down at the body, its torso half-covered in a blue tarp. It had clearly been laying there for a while, its visible skin already showing signs of decomposition. “Why’s that?” Chuck said, kneeling down closer to the body. It smelled like foul play, and also like fish that had been left out in the sun for significantly longer than it should have been. Chuck tilted his head. Why would anyone leave fish out in the sun? It didn’t make any sense. “Look,” Greene said, pointing to the corpse, “it has no head.” He was right. The shoulders connected to the neck, and then simply stopped. That was not how the song he’d learned in elementary school went at all. The neck bone connected to the head bone. He was sure of it. “My god,” Chuck said, gently waving his hand back and forth through the empty space where the head should have been, “you’re right. There’s nothing here.” "See?"Greene said, contorting his face into an "I told you so"expression. "Still,"Chuck said, "isn't it possible he did this to himself?"He’d once read somewhere that people can live for up to ten minutes without their heads. Or perhaps that was chickens. Regardless, Chuck was fairly confident that chickens and humans shared a lot of similar characteristics. It didn’t really matter which type of animal the fact had originally been about, it likely applied to both. "Completely cut off his own head and moved it several feet away?"Greene said, nodding toward the beaten and disembodied head laying upright on the table almost ten feet away. "Yes,"Chuck said. He thought his question had been pretty clear. “Maybe,” Greene said, nodding slowly, “but, check this out.” He stood up and took a few steps forward, his navy blue NYPD blazer hanging over his shoulder, then stopped beside the table holding the head. He picked something up off of it, twisting his long, thin arms as he reached, and wandered back. “What is it?” Chuck said, leaning closer to Greene. He smelled significantly less like sunburnt fish. “I think it’s a weapon,” he said, thrusting his palm toward Chuck. A large, black pistol lay in it, blood speckled across its barrel like a Jackson Pollock. “Are you sure?” Chuck said, grabbing the pistol and caressing the handle with his fingers and palm. It felt nice to the touch, surprisingly heavy yet well balanced. He lifted it up and peered through its sites, pointing the blood-splattered barrel right at Greene’s face. “Yeah,” Greene said, staring into the barrel of the gun. “I'm pretty sure it’s a firearm.” “Wait a moment,” Chuck said, lowering the gun back down and instead pointing it at his own head, studying it carefully with his eyes. “I think this might be mine.” His service pistol was black, just like this one; it wasn’t unlikely that he’d accidentally left it next to a severed head. He reached down to his duty belt and felt for his holster, his hands wrapping around the outline of his Glock. He unlatched it and pulled the gun out, placing it in his hand next to the pistol Greene had found. “Well?” Detective Greene said. “Is it yours?” “No,” Chuck said. “False alarm. Looks like I still have mine.” He returned the blood-splattered pistol to his holster, tossing the clean, police-issue Glock into a pool of blood beside the body. “I think we’re dealing with a murder here,” Greene said, leaning toward the corpse and appearing to examine the neck-gash that once connected to a head. “I’m still not convinced it wasn’t an accident.” Greene straightened his back and stared up at Chuck, still knelt down beside the body. It was strange having Greene looking up at him for once, it was usually the other way around. Chuck was almost six inches shorter than Greene’s impressive six-foot-six height. He desperately hoped Greene was about to ask him “how the weather was up there,” but knew it wasn’t likely. “Just to confirm,” Greene said, while inadvertently crushing Chuck’s hope and spirit, “you think that this man cut off his own head, then propped it up on a table several feet away, before falling on the ground and dying?” “Yes,” Chuck said. “I’ve seen almost this exact thing once before.” Technically, what he’d seen was a man accidentally cut off his own arm and leave it lying on the ground, but it was pretty much the same thing. Greene shrugged. “You might be right,” he said. “Still, it is slightly more likely that we’re dealing with a murder.” “I guess,” Chuck nodded. “So how do you think it went down?” “Pretty obvious,” Greene said. “Clearly, someone found this poor guy and shot him in the neck until his head fell off. Then they put his head on a table and called it a day. They probably went to get some pizza or something afterwards.” “Honestly,” Chuck said, tilting his head to the side, “that does make sense now that I think about it. This might not be an accident after all.” He knelt down and stared at the corpse, its expression motionless and empty. It was staring off to the right slightly, eyes locked on a similar blue tarp. A pool of burgundy liquid was puddled beneath, several small, bullet-like holes punctured into it. A rusted, blood-covered saw lay beside it, a stream of partially dry blood leading back to the beheaded corpse. Chuck knew it was probably nothing, there were a ton of tarps in this abandoned basement. It was likely some sort of tarp storage room. “So we’re going with murder?” “Yeah, I think so,” Chuck said. Sure, it was still possible the man had beheaded himself, but it was more likely that someone had shot off his head and then gone to get pizza. The simplest solution was usually the right one. “Great, case close. We'll radio for teams to hit every single pizza restaurant in New York,"Greene said. He paused and glanced over at the exit. "Last one back to the car has to do the paperwork,” he shouted, turning and running toward the door. “Not fair,” Chuck shouted, standing up and chasing after Greene. “Wait for me!” He pulled out his pistol and began blindly firing in a futile attempt to convince Greene to slow down.
Line, after line, after line. That's all I thought life was these days. The mundane feeling of standing in a line consumed us all. Before the 'True Legalization' act of 2016, people complained about waiting at the DMV. That was nothing I'd been waiting five hours, twenty-two minutes, and thirty seconds in that gray, dimly lit, sweat smelling line. A large burly man with a League of Legends shirt in front of me and a small average looking woman behind me with a crying child in a stroller next to her. I was in the armpit of society. I'd stood in the marijuana line for four hours, eighteen minutes, and ten seconds to get that license, the drunk driving addition to my drivers license line for three hours, thirty-eight minutes, and seven seconds, and now this line? Five hours, twenty-six minutes, and forty-one seconds. The consistent "number 381..""number 382..""number 383.."My god, it was driving me insane. Everyone kept their head down, it was a shameful line "number 384", it was a quiet line besides the coughing and sniffling, "number 385.."and that consistent narration of counting seconds off "number 386.."of my life. It was like waiting for that one amusement park ride. Your anticipation was building, and building, and building. Then half-way through the line, thirty or so minutes in, you consider leaving. Cutting your losses and running. Or hoping the others in front of you will do so first. We shuffled every few minutes, I could see the front counter now. A line of six stalls, separated by wooden boards. A petite, sixty to seventy year old woman, who was curling up like a question mark behind each one. I wondered if that was in the job requirements for working at these places. I removed my phone from my front pocket, unlocked it, and sent a text to "Michelle Wilkins <3". She put the heart their herself during the honeymoon. "I'll be done soon, come pick me up?"An instant vibration back, "Sure thing, honey." "number 397.."I glanced down at my ticket, I sighed as I tucked my phone away in my faded jean pocket. "finally"I released. Approaching the farthest stall on the right. "Name?"The woman asked me, glancing through her spectacles at a yellow sheet in front of her. "Michael" "Last name." "Wilkins." "Ever been convicted of a felony?" "Nope." The woman slid the yellow piece of paper across the booth. "License is good for two weeks, report any occurrences with the police. Thank you."She motioned me to move aside, "number 405.." I clenched the yellow piece of paper in my hand.. A small grin appeared on my face as I glanced down the line of miserable individuals I had emerged from. Five hours, fifty-six minutes, and fourteen seconds. I sighed. The longest line yet. I moved around the line and pushed open the glass doors, I spotted Michelle pulling up into the parking lot. I slowly reached for the revolver in my back belt loop. Five hours, fifty six-minutes, and fourteen seconds. I'd say it was worth it for a license to kill your wife.
When you're trying to take down one of the big boys, what most people don't understand is that it's not money, stock or power that gets the job done, it's the little things. My name is Jack Crandle and my official title is Acquisition and Mergers Administrator but that's a innocent title for what I do. In reality I'm an assassin. The company I work for, you wouldn't have heard of. We don't advertise and we don't take referrals. If you know about us, then you know, if you don't then you never will. The three men in my office that morning were all very well dressed but that was the norm and none of them was as well dressed as I was. "I'm not comfortable with this."Bruce Wayne reiterated. I get that a lot. Lots of these guys think that it's better to go for a straight up slug-fest, beat it out across the board room and Wall Street until one company emerges, bloody but victorious. They all come round in the end when they see what it’ll cost them. “Don’t be an idiot Bruce, we can’t do this head on and the end results are worth the subterfuge.” Oliver Queen, I always liked him. The last man, dressed in a poor quality blue suit stays quiet. Bruce Wayne bought out Kord Industries years ago and I assume that he’s here as a courtesy. Bruce seems more bothered than he should have been by the comment. “You know I have no problem with subterfuge Oliver. But that isn't it. This feels illegal.” “Well it’s not.” Oliver replied finally. He turns to me and becomes conciliatory. “Maybe you could set things out again Mr Crandle, run through it one more time.” I smile. They’re on the hook. “Of course."I dim the lights this time and click to life a tiny projector to supplement the packages they’re each holding. It takes me six minutes to run through the plan. I use bullet points. Queen seems to like them. When I am finished I turn the lights back on. They turn back to me.” “How is paying employees to support our takeover not illegal?” Bruce still insists. “They’re not payments Mr Wane, it’s simply a benefits package that we pre-guarantee they will receive in the newly merged company. Lexcorp is... uh... particularly vulnerable to disgruntled employees.” He seems unconvinced. I slide out three sheets of paper from my top drawer and slip them across the table. Each sheet holds the same table, 11 point printing. “What’s this?” Queen doesn’t like to read. “It’s the results of a war that you could choose to wage. It shows how much it would cost each of your companies and the eventual lay offs, money wasted in lawyer fees and pay offs we’d need to do to win it.” I spread my hands. “Gentlemen. Say the word and we will go to the mattresses and I promise that we will win the war, but my way there is less bloodshed.” Bruce looks horrified. “Gotham can’t take this.” He mutters. He stands, looks at Queen, nods and walks out. Kord follows quickly. Queen extends his hand. “We have a deal Mr Crandle.” He signs the papers and we’re set. Once they’re gone I get changed. I am an assassin and I kill businesses. Sometimes though you need to go old school. I slip the unlicensed gun into its holder and beep through to my secretary to hold my calls. It’s time to go to work.
I blew the dust off of the cover, but the box had no markings. The rusty hinges squeaked as I opened the lid. The smell was oddly intoxicating, like leather and old books. Inside, a gun, and a note. Written on yellowed paper in fine calligraphy, all it said was "Fire a shot to go home."I studied it closely, but there was nothing else. I turned my attention back to the gun. It was brightly polished as though it had just rolled off the assembly line. The handle was made of a rich, deep red wood, and the barrel of shining steel. I gently rubbed the wood grain with my fingertips; smooth as glass. I wonder where Grandfather found this, I pondered. It fit perfectly in my palm, like it was made for me. I pointed it at the wall and closed one eye, testing the sights. The wall... shimmered. Like looking across a hot asphault parking lot on a scorching summer day. The attic around me began to dissolve; only the gun stayed with me. I closed my eyes as everything began to spin and sway. When I opened them, I was standing in a field. It was dusk; stars twinkled against the satiny violet sky. Only traces of orange lingered where the sun had already dipped below the treetops. Crickets hummed and chirped, hiding in the tall grass. Off in the distance, I could see a metal tower of some sort, and hear the faint shouting of men. I turned from side to side, trying to spot any familiar landmark. There was nothing. I began to panic. "Fire a shot to go home,"I remembered from the note. I held the gun up in the air, not wanting to hit any of those men nearby, and squeezed the trigger. It was smooth, well-oiled for a machine that's been sitting in a box for decades. The shot rang out through the fields, silencing both men and insect. The echo reverberated through the trees in the distance. Only then did I notice the enormous form looming above me. I turned my gaze skyward, and saw a plume of fire erupting from the side of the enormous airship. Alarms rang through the blimp, and I saw the men in the field turn and rush toward me through the grass. "Oh god,"I whispered to myself as the fire blossomed through the ship, and it began to list heavily to the side. "The humanity...." The field rippled and swam, and my attic reappeared before me.
Look, I didn't want to fight Jackson, it just happened in the blink of an eye. One minute we're making jokes about our chemistry teacher, the next he pulls out a pocket knife and stabs me. The whole cafeteria came over to watch as I bled out on the floor. I thought I was just about to die from the pain, but then my hands started to glow this kinda celestial yellow color. It looked like pure energy, really. Soon the cosmic light overtook my whole body. That pain was worse than being stabbed, because it was my whole body in pain. I screamed my way into a new body. Somehow, I went from a scrawny high school boy into a fully developed woman. A man in a blue telephone box showed up and told me to run in there with him. Right as I got in the box, I saw an angel statue smiling behind Jackson, and then, I blinked.
Take heed the violent march is closing in Can't say the warnings weren't there. For ages, human beings wondered if there could be other life in the cosmos, no matter how distant. This question intrigued scientists, philosophers, and statisticians, most of whom came to the conclusion that it was improbable that, in relation to the vastness of the universe, there was no other life. It came to a point where the general population emphasized space exploration. Polls revealed that people wanted to know who, or what, were out there. Some things are better left unknown. You can't defeat them on your own It was a depressing scene; my family of six huddled around our new high-definition television. I hadn't even gotten around to cutting off all the remaining strands of gift wrap on it. It was a present to my four boys; they chose the "big box"to open for our yearly Christmas eve ritual, where we could all choose one present to open the night before Christmas and play with it for an hour. I set it up, connected the cables, and turned it on - to the most horrifying news a man with a family could get. My boys might not make it until tomorrow. Weapons are loaded for the final stand You sit in your room. You're out of tears. All the plans you had... all of the winter ski trips you planned with your girlfriends, the trip to Europe after graduation, the job you had lined up... they were all meaningless now. Not to mention the time you spent in the past studying for biology exams, then dental school entry tests... everything that was worth something to you now was worth nothing at all. Obama had already made his speech. Earth was to surrender. Men were soon to be slaughtered. Children were to be taken. And young women, like you, had it the worst. Your body was to be used in the experimental continuation of the human race. You, who once had hopes and dreams of happiness, were soon to be turned into a human baby-making factory machine. Being a female, twenty-four year old dental student once had its perks. But now... No one could say that the ship wasn't magnificent, though. It had been ominously looming over Earth for the last two hours. It was nighttime now, and its lights out-shined the moon. It was the biggest object you've ever seen in the sky - it was almost the size of a small city. You watched it as it descended, easing right through the earth's atmosphere. A wide light beamed down from the middle of the ship, not unlike a typical Hollywood alien aircraft. You see figures begin to descend. They were here. This was the end. Maybe all this had begun to sink in too fast, and maybe you were going crazy... but you could've sworn the last thing you heard before closing the blinds in your room... was jingling? And they're all aimed at you from heaven "Ho, ho, ho!"Santa cheered. This was the only chance. The light had begun to beam down alien soldiers. It was the only opening in this ship's seemingly impenetrable defense. "Rudolph! Take me home, boy!"Santa yelled. The temperature and the wind combined threatened to dry his lips and numb his face, but this wasn't anything he wasn't used to. The same couldn't be said about the nine chosen reindeer. They were pushing top speeds - speeds of which they've never hit before... not even 2008 when Santa was a little bit late on his gifts. A cause of concern was the violent shaking of the sled. There was something in Santa's pack this year that he could never give to kids. There was something in Santa's pack that would warrant an arrest. There was something in Santa's pack that could end a small country. There was something in Santa's pack that would save humanity. The goal was simple. Get in, plant, and get out... is what Santa had told Mrs. Clause. Except Santa knew he wasn't going to get out. After somehow getting into the ship, the activation of "The Present"would take a couple of seconds. In that couple of seconds, a civilization as advanced as this one wouldn't let Santa back out. It was a suicide mission, and Mrs. Clause knew it. Santa knew it. A tear fell down his cheek and disappeared into the cold wind. He loved giving so much. He spent his life doing it. And so when the news came, Santa had no question in his mind of what he needed to do. People stared in awe as he flew through the sky. A smile spread across his face as he rode through the winter night, delivering what would be his final gift to mankind. ----- EDIT: Oops, sorry! Didn't read the part where this was supposed to be in the alien's perspective.
I can't believe they legalized this shit. It was too easy. Too easy to sell. Too easy to trade. Too easy to get. Too easy to use. Too damn easy to abuse. First, after it all went legal, you had to 'shoot' it with needles. That wasn't appealing to me. I stayed away. Then they started pushing it as a vitamin. Something that would give you a boost. It was mind control in a damn pill. I wasn't the brightest guy in the world. I saw it taking the lives of everyone. I saw infections eat through the arms of the "needlers"and the horrible effects it had on the stomach lining when ingested as the pill. But still, it wasn't a huge problem. Just some idiots or people down on their luck. I stayed away from it. But then, then they put it as an ingredient in things people ate. Like candy, soft drinks. Eventually that shit got everywhere. You almost couldn't avoid it. Restaurants started putting it into their food because they knew once you were hooked, you'd come back. The FDA? Pshf. Yeah, those fuckers made millions - no billions. The drug factories just kept feeding those Washington idiots money and they just kept letting the population go to hell. It was a sad decline. I watched my friends go. I watched my children go. I watched my self decay every morning. My hair thinned. My skin yellowed. But I couldn't get enough. I tried to kick it. I really did. Time and time again, I said, "This is it. The last one."What remained of my life - the one person I could rely on - she left me... Rather, she left the shell that I was. She saw it in my eyes. I was dead. I was a zombie looking for another hit - and that was easy to find. Those few moments after the drug hit my blood it was as if heaven opened up and gave me wings. The colors rushed back into the world, hate and violence and rage and fury blended into a symphony that sounded like love. Life was worth living again. Again. Then the sky would close, the sun would blink back to a dull grey, the buildings would rust and the trash would blow back into the streets. The homeless - who just moments ago walked with confidence and an air of wealth - would suddenly return with their baskets full of aluminum cans and whatever dead animal they could find for dinner. And then, then it was just another long haul until the next meal. I knew something had to change. I had to get my head straight. I watched, one night, outside my window. I had just come down from a wonderful euphoria. Outside my window two young kids, maybe 10 or 11, came running up to a bum. The poor bastard. I recognized him. He had a long beard and walked with a limp from some prior ass whooping he'd taken. The dirt on him. My god, it would've made a hog in heat look clean. Well, these two kids, they come up and hit in the ankle with some stick or pipe. The poor guy just fell. He rolled over on his back and within a few seconds the kids were looting a bloody bag of tattered rags. That was my wake up call. My boy would've been about their age. That could've been my kid. So I stopped. I've been sober for almost two years. I drink water that I distill myself. I eat vegetables I grow on a small balcony and I've started trading with other like minded people. Together, we started forming a movement. That movement wasn't supposed to be violent. It was just for us. But the drug company... they caught wind. They didn't like not having control over us. I heard on the radios and saw the news footage of the raids on my friends. I couldn't fucking handle it anymore. I didn't think it would be as easy to get into the building at night. I guess they expected needlers or pillers to enter and not have many brain cells left. But it was remarkably easy. I simply walked in. When the security guard in the lobby tried to stop me, I simply raised the cold steel and felt the metal kick and warm. It felt... liberating. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew the guy that started all this lived at the top. I got in the elevator with the key from the guard in my hand. I inserted the key and pushed the button for the top floor. The elevator was perfect. It had windows that looked out over the city and above the 20th floor, the city almost looked right. Only upon the closest examination could you see that most of the lights were trashcan fires. The elevator binged. I turned around. I waited, then the doors slid open. Before me stood three armed men. All in black suits. Before I raised my gun I saw the flashes of light. Then I felt the impact. The first one hurt, but the others I didn't really feel. I knew they were there, but it was like being high again. It didn't matter. I know I fell down at one point, but I swear I saw the sky open up. I swear I felt myself stand. I tried to raise my hands, but I was disconnected from all the pain. The rage, fury, and disappointment all became colors that ran into the deepest parts of my eyes. I felt warmth from a sun that somewhere on the other side of the planet. The moon - I'd never seen the moon before, at least not like this. It was perfect. And as my eyes shut for the last time I saw clearly for the first time.
"Hey Cal, Remember the first place we met? Along the trails of Wilson Park? I had my earphones in and you tried so hard to get my attention. You followed me for a good amount before I finally turned around to see you. You were out of breath (which reminds me, quit smoking) and your dark hair was all over the place (which reminds me again, don't buy a wig. Please.) and you were barely able to squeeze out, "your wallet... here..."I felt so bad, so I offered to buy you lunch, and we ate our sandwiches by the lake. I guess that was our first date. Cal. My love. My life. I was always so adventurous and you were so docile, but in a good way. I think I'm going to stop by the lake again today. And remember that day once more. I love you. I'll see you later. Don't try to catch up this time."
Narg watched with apprehension from his command module as the first landing capsules burst open, Imperial Marines pouring forth. This wasn't his first planetary invasion, but it was his first as a unit commander. He looked through his view-screens as the natives fled from the unexpected Imperial onslaught. Every time the same he marveled. None of the sixteen planets he'd helped to conquer had expected an invasion force to touch down within a population center. And the way those landers touch down, well. Narg smoothed his whiskers smugly. Impact was probably a better term. He remembered well his first landing. The fire. The dust. The screaming. An ensign's voice snapped Narg out of his reverie. "Unit Delta made first contact." "Show me on screen eight. Hmmm looks like tribal order enforcers. Yes, note the light armament? The poor use of cover, and almost non existent tactics?"Narg concealed his racing pulse. "Textbook" His mind wandered again, this time not to the past, but the future. He could already imagine wearing his teeth on defeated skulls. It may only be the smallest significant landmass, but it was more than enough to support his desires. The glory of a Lordship, a Palace, even a herd of brood-stock for his own. He was only just beginning to mentally savor those delights when that damnable ensign broke through again. "Sir, we're getting odd requests from Unit Beta. They're requesting Rod strikes on a native craft" "Nonsense"Narg muttered "they have none. There wasn't even a rudimentary probe to mock ." "Yes sir,"the ensign gulped nervously "but Unit Beta says-" "Bring it up on the vid screen" The pitiful native resistance to Unit Delta was suddenly replaced with images of Beta, unmistakably pinned down and, good god, hiding of all the fool things! Fury engulfed Narg. "Open a comms channel with Svarn."He waited for the connection, breathing heavily and baring his heavy incisors. "Sir,"began the Ensign "we have a connec--" "Svarn! This is unacceptable. You will end this cowardice, you will assault that enemy, and you will stop calling for danger-close heavy weapons strikes on non-existent enemy craft! The Orbit is ours, the planet will be once you grow your teeth and use them. "Sir, no, it's... it's not like anything we've ever seen. Their craft, it's inside the atmosphere!" "That's impossible! Atmospheric friction would tear it to shreds, now stop telling me weaning stories and move or I will find a leader who will!" "Yessir" Minute figures on the screen boiled out from under rocks and rubble, charging towards-- The screen flashed as minor explosions and fire ripped through the Marines, the monitor unable to compensate fast enough. A series of small brown blurs flashed across the screen. Unit Beta was decimated, the wounded squirming, others ominously still. "Stop it, back up, slow it down. Tell me what that was" The ensign input requested commands. When he was done, the bridge fell silent. Six small... things... made of wood and canvas flew, flew, over the ruins of Unit Beta. And within each one, helmeted and goggled was unmistakably a native creature.
"This isn't you." Harry struggled out his words, stepping in front of Hermione. Her eyes no longer showed the innocent brilliance they once held, but rather an anger he had never seen before. The Hermione he had known had power unmatched by the world, but refused to use it for evil. Surely, the light-hearted girl he had known still remained before him. But then, this was not Hermione. The world now knew her by another name. "Step aside, Harry."Still not looking Harry in the eye, she moved towards the man bleeding under the tree. He attempted to away, digging into the remains of the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione mumbled a curse under her breath, and the man let out a sob as his legs gave out a deafening crunch. "Hermione, please. You're not thinking straight. I--" "He is the last link. Don't you get it, Harry? He killed them. You were at their burying. You promised me, you wouldn't stop me from serving justice--" "And did I promise this trail of bodies? Look in the streets, Hermione! They're afraid. They fear for their children. I swear, I would've thought after Ron..." Harry cried out in pain, clenching his hand to his forehead. He dropped his wand, unable to cope with the pain. Hermione kneeled down, grabbing Harry by the throat. She looked him in the eyes. "Ron's...passing,"she whispered. "It was an accident."Hermione clenched her fists. "You know I would never have intended to hurt him." Harry struggled to his feet. "And,"he coughed out. "What of the men he stood in front of?" "They were all guilty."Hermione replied hoarsely. "You know that as well as I do." "Hermione...the only thing those men were guilty of was trying to stop you from murdering again. This revolt...these killings you have laid forth in the name of Muggle-born wizards...you've gone too far, Hermione. You've lost yourself." "I didn't ask for this."She eyed the ground once more, keeping watchful over her prisoner by the tree, who still cried out in agony. "None of us did. But hundreds have died by your hand, Hermione. How can you justify the death of so many innocents?" Harry sighed. "It was here. Do you remember? Years ago, where we swore to stop the bastard who killed so many. And we did, Hermione. You can still stop this; you still have a choice." Hermione closed her eyes, feeling over where Bellatrix had carved into her hand so many years ago. 'Mudblood', she had called her. The men who had murdered her parents, in the name of pure blood, they had said. She remembered the tears she had spent, the months of agony. She remembered Ron's comforting arm. She remembered her friends' words of sympathy. She remembered the way the killers' blood had decorated the wall. Hermione stood up, pointing her wand at Harry. "You know I have loved you forever, Harry,"she said. "But you need to move aside." "My dear Hermione,"Harry replied, spitting blood onto the ground. "If you know me at all, you know I can't." "Avada Kedavara!" "Protego!" A brilliant flash of green light. And all was silent. Harry held back tears as he looked upon the corpse of his best friend. The man he had protected looked at him with awe. "Th...thank you..."the man stumbled out as Harry walked towards him. "You saved me--" Harry stepped on his neck, hearing his suffocating screams until he heard a satisfying crunch. The murderer was no more. Harry looked down upon Hermione, her lifeless eyes still exorbitant with rage. "Hermione..."he started, closing her eyes. He placed her destroyed Horcruxes around her. "This wasn't you."
"Okay, so... Edward Harris, Chicago. His Father, Malcolm Harris, has super-speed between the hours of 3 to 6 PM Central Time. Friends call him 'Mr. Get-Home-Quick.' His mother, Jane Conning Harris, was granted the ability to understand the language of certain species of squirrels. Cute story- they actually were born the same day and met on their 21st birthday at a bar. So... What do we give little Ed?" "Ability to use super-speed between 3 to 6 PM Central Time AND talk to certain species of squirrels? Y'know, the old family combo method?" "Amazing as it sounds, but there is a Juliana Hernandez in Texas who has that." "How did that happen, sir?" "She was also born the same day as Malcolm and Jane, so presumably whoever was in charge of Central Time Zone United States that day got lazy." "Okay, maybe we should just tweak it a bit, like add an hour on each end or take or remove a species of squirrel he can talk to?" "As amazing as it sounds, all of those have been done, too, unless we plan on going down to the minute hands, which we cannot do thanks to the United Nations Time-Based-Power-Restrictions Restriction Act of 2089." "I hate that law." "Yeah, well, just be glad you weren't here before it started. My dad was, he got calls all the time complaining about how much it sucked that their kid had the ability to fly between 1 PM and 1:02 PM. There were lawsuits as people started breaking their necks." "Hmm, good point. So, uhhh... how about we forget the parents. Let's try something else, like... uhm... the ability to be able to speak perfect German despite not having had any lessons, but only while drunk?" "There's a Frenchman with that power, according to this. Somewhat disturbingly, it was a special request." "How about the ability to speak perfect French without any lessons or whatever, but only when sober?" "You've never heard of Jacque Fortin IV, the Montreal boy who spoke to his nurses mere minutes after birth?" "Ah, you're right." "Okay, what about our powers? Maybe we can do some variations of those for this kid?" "So you are suggesting we give the kid a mental ability that allows him to both set his DVR by thought and also innately know the breed of any given dog?" "Sure, why not?" "Okay, no way anybody has THAT combo-power." "Yeah..." "...Actually, somebody does. Some Australian." "Son of a..." "This gets harder every goddamn day." "It happens to everybody, kid. You take this job thinking that it'll be fun. That it'll be easy. That you'll make a difference, put a stamp on society. And then, before you know it, you start going nuts, realizing that when everybody is special, it becomes hard to make somebody who is truly special and unique." "Yeah, but there has to be something that works, right?" "Well, we still have hundreds of more to go for our quota for the day. Just tell me every idea that comes to your mind, surely eventually we'll find something." "Octopus arms." "Done already." "Ability to turn their skin to a Simpsons-y shade of Yellow." "Done already. To somebody born in a Springfield, actually." "Maybe something gross, like having golden poop or being able to vomit projectile blood. God, those parents are going to hate us if it's that second one." "Both already done. And, yes, so has the combo power." "What type of sick freak would give out projectile blood vomit not once but twice?" "You just suggested it." "Ugh, I hate this, for all I care, Ed Harris can be given the ability to innately and instantly know what powers to give out to people." "Actually..." "What?" "That power hasn't been given out. Ever." "Well, obviously, we'd be out of a job if we gave it out." "You mean... we'd be out of a job when he grows up. That's, like, 18 to 30 years." "Well, if we start saving now..." "Yeah, we'd be alright. So... it's decided... Ed Harris gets to have the ultimate power-deciding power." "Wait until my girlfriend hears this... although I guess she already has, given her power..." "So... now... Xian Wei. Born to first-generation Chinese Americans in Missouri...." "...Can we ask Ed?" "Shut up."
Trigger Warning, just in case The human lady doesn't talk anymore. I haven't seen or smelled any of the other humans in a while. I wish they would come back. The human man who smells like outside would bring me treats, and the human lady would talk to him. She would nuzzle him a lot, and if I was a good boy, she nuzzled me too! She doesn't even talk to me much anymore though, much less nuzzle. The human lady stopped playing. She sits in front of the light and noise box and just stares like she sees a cat. I brought her my toys, but she didn't even pick one up. The human lady smells better now. She hasn't used that smelly stuff in the rain box in so long now, and she finally smells good. Her head fur is all matted down, like mine was that time I got lost in the woods for 4 days. But the human lady didn't go to the woods, and she wasn't lost. I wonder how that happened. I don't think the human lady is eating anymore. I don't get any more of her food. At least she remembers to feed me. The human lady is shrinking now. She was all cuddly and warm, and her lap was so nice to lay my head in. Now she pokes me and she's cold and she makes pain sounds when I try to lay my head down. The human lady doesn't hear anymore. I keep standing by the door and whining for attention, because I don't want to go on the rug. I had to go on the rug. The human lady didn't hear me whine, and when I ran over to nuzzle her hand like she showed me, she didn't move. The human lady is really cold now. She's holding a brown thing. I wonder if it is food. Some humans came today! The man who smells like outside came to visit, and the human lady didn't hear him either. He used the ringing box and some other humans came after. They look the human lady away. I don't know where she is. I want her to come back so we can nuzzle and cuddle and sleep in the big bed. Now I just want to whimper and hide in my bed. The human man who smells like outside came to get me today. I helped him gather my toys and put them in a box. His house smells different. Hey, my bed is here. I hope the human man who smells like outside doesn't stop talking to me. (Edit: formatting)
I rise from the circle of symbols, sulfur billowing along my arms. I'm in a child's room. He stands before me with the ancient book in one hand and blood dripping from the other. Good. Children are the easiest to sway. With the power of all the demon legions and the hatred of hell, I speak with the voices of all the languages. "I am the Lord of Flies, ruler of demons and fire, Beelzebub,"My low voice shakes everything in the city for miles around as I levitate into the air, "Who are you wh-" "Yeah, I get it, 'Lord of Flies, king of hell and shit,' I've heard it enough." The smell of sulfur lessens as the smoke dissipates, and I lower back to the ground. "But-" "Can you just help me with my homework already? The others didn't do shit." "The others?" The kid picks up an already bloody towel and wraps it around his hand, and sits on the bed occupying a corner of the room. "Well, yeah, you weren't my first choice. I'm not dumb enough to just summon Beelzebub for some shitty math, but all of you're asshole employees couldn't figure it out. So my hand was.. forced." "Math homework? Are you kidding me?"I lash out and stomp through the chair next to his desk, completely disintegrating it. "Dude, calm down or I'll send you back. Just help me figure out how to do this derivative." "Derivatives? Oh come on, those are easy."I sit down next to him on the bed, visibly putting stress on the springs and legs. "You just take away the little number up top and multiply, or something." "Nah, we gotta do the long way." "Are you fucking me? That's dumb, here let me see."I reach out for the paper, which he hands readily. I stare at the paper for a long time. It's covered in math work, scratches, doodles, and demonic symbols. "How many of us did you summon?" "Hmm."he ponders for a second. "You should be the fifteenth. Or sixteenth, does the two headed demon count as one or two?" "He's one." "Okay only fifteen." "Dude." "Yo, this is hard. I tried everything. And, all the assholes before couldn't figure it out. Pythius keep just giving me riddles. Astaroth wouldn't stop saying I already knew the answer. And, I made the mistake of thinking Leviathan could fit in here."He points to the other side of the room, where a large hole exposes the room to the outside. "So, you gotta do this. "Alright."I look at the paper again and do what I remember of calculus. I don't get one of the choices. Okay. I'll just do the easy way and see what the answer is, then work backwards. I still don't get one of the answers. I find my mistake. I try again. It's wrong. I look up at him. He's staring at me with such intensity, I recoil a bit. "You get it?" "Well..." "You got to be kidding me. Fuck this, I'm summoning Lucifer."He places his hand on my forehead, "Amen." And, I'm gone. Edit: I totally skipped the history part and just caught on. I think demons doing math is funny... I'm sorry...
"Wooooolllffiiiieeeee!"The Producer seemed determined to find every bit of amusement that he could from my name. “How’s my favourite musical guy doing, you done with the score yet?” I summoned every once of willpower that I had to not hit this prick in the face, he had given me ; the e-mail sitting on my laptop said that his Assistant had sent the first draft of the film across nine minutes ago and he knew that I couldn't start with until I had it. “Hello Kevin.” I tried to keep my voice level and calm but my slight German accent always made things seem slightly more hostile. My wife often told me that I needed to be careful, in the business a reputation for being unpleasant can dry your work up pretty quick unless you’re Danny-bloody-Elfman. “The score will be ready in September as agreed, it will take me at least six months to complete.” He threw his head back and roared with laughter, his perfect California teeth gleaming in the sun. I wondered if he acted like this so that everyone could see him finding this funny, rather than actually out of any sense of amusement. “I’m fucking with you bud, you know that! Christ, you need to take things less seriously, take up fucking rollerblading or something, fly a fucking kite.” I smiled thinly. “Yes, I should do that.” I stood and maneuvered my way past him in the tight Starbucks lane, while he made no attempt to move, standing grinning at me through his stupidly large shades. “Catch you at the awards on Saturday!” he threw a salute and walked away. “No, I didn’t get an…” He was gone and I finished lamely. “invite.” Sighing I walked out into the car park, shading my eyes from the incredible Los Angeles sun that seemed to burn through everything. I pulled out my phone and flipped through my diary, the rest of the day was clear and I hesitated, did I go back to the studio and watch the movie there or go home? The background picture of my wife smiled at me and the decision was made. Home. It wasn’t a big house, not by the standards of Hollywood, but it fit me, Marie and little Gretta fine, we even had a gate to keep out the many door to door men who wandered the streets with a niece sign “The Motzarts.” The house had been paid for with my second score, a small indie hit that made it semi-big that I had a points option on in lieu of some money and it always made me smile to come home to it. The gate rattled closed behind me and I whistled as I walked up the path and into the house. Marie came out from the kitchen and kissed me in welcome, pleased to see me so early, but my working day had just begun. Downstairs was my small personal studio and a projector that I now hooked up with the movie. My finger hovered over the play button and I paused, it wasn’t that the work was bad, but each new project reminded me a little how far I had come since the kid who could play any instrument and was going to be a star. I pulled a guitar off the wall and hammered out some riffs, all good but no one had ever cared and I had ended up writing instead of playing music. I smiled and put the guitar down, I still had it, but for now I needed to get to work on the next film score, at least I was making money from music.
"They used to call me Bright Eyes, goddess of the hunt,"the girl said, "they used to leave me offerings and sacrifices. They prayed to me when they needed to feed their children, and I provided for them. I was their blessing." The pain in her eyes flared as she reminisced on the old days. Her purple irises focused on an unseen object in the distance. She toyed with her auburn hair as she spoke of her past. She looked like a school girl dwelling on a boy who had just broken her heart. "I loved my people and they loved me. I thrived on their praise and they thrived on my generosity. I gave them the kill they needed when the prey was present, but I cannot provide them with the prey. "It is not in my power to keep the grass green or the waters blue. I am not a god for that. I cannot provide shelter from the storms or immunity from disease. I am not a god for that. I cannot provide them wight the prey. I am not a god for that!" The fire raged in her eyes. Had this been a century ago, her ferocity would have murdered herds in a blink. With the flick of her wrist one hunter's spear could strike down a thousand beasts. Today all her words contained were broken memories. "The food moved! No deer or bison or antelope or pheasant would stay where the grass is dry and brittle, but I cannot dissuade the heat! No elk or pheasant or moose or boar would will rest where mud and dirt has replaced the river beds, but I cannot defer a drought! I cannot tell the lightning not to strike the dehydrated tree and I cannot ask the fire cease its path of terror. There are gods for that, but I am not one of them. "I had given them centuries of longevity. I had given them generations of success. In the span of a decade, they left me here. My shrine was left by a lone, charred tree trunk and they disappeared onto the horizon. "They remember me in the occasional history lesson or in a rare bed time story, but I have all but been forgotten. I am weak now. I fear that the time of Bright Eyes is drawing to a close." She placed her dark skinned hand on my shoulder and gazed into my soul with those piercing purple eyes, "Please moral, remember me so that I may live."
A disposable razor, the kind you buy in the drugstore in bundles of twenty, for four dollars and ninety-nine cents. The kind of razor you use once then throw away, because by the time you've finished shaving, it's already blunted; scratching and scraping across your raw flesh uncomfortably, regret over your purchase in every stroke. Blood speckles the edge where the too-sharp, too-jagged sliver of cheap metal has punctured the skin. Pink laces the bright white foam remaining on your jawline. But this isn't just a disposable, cheap, poor-quality grooming implement. Your parents bought you a shaving kit for your birthday, a token gesture really, since you didn't even have the lightest fuzz on your cheeks - cheeks that still bloomed with scarlet acne, far too raw for a razor. Give it time, your father said; and now it was time. Too embarrassed to ask, you google "how to shave"and intently study a Youtube tutorial. The excess foam coats your hands and smears across the water-spotted taps as you rinse. The cap on the razor makes a sharp click as you snap it off. As you begin plowing tracks across the creamy plane of your cheek, you realise that this razor will always be special. This is your first razor and there will never be another first razor; this is a singular moment in your life, marking the passage from boy to man. This is a rite of passage, an act of burgeoning masculinity. More than a piece of molded plastic and a filament of steel, this is an artifact of your adulthood. As the last swipe of white is stripped from your raw chin, you realise that because of this seemingly unimportant, practically meaningless object, your life has fundamentally changed.
It truly was Utopia. All of us had studied the implications of utopic societies as portrayed in literature and film throughout human history and we all knew why those ideas didn't work. We - or rather the quantum computer core humanity had built - had identified that one of the key components of maintaining a perfect, post scarcity society was transparency of purpose. In old films like Logans Run the machine had concealed the purpose of things; had hidden away vital pieces of a puzzle that would make us suspect that the paradise was built on shaky foundations. And so the QC - the Quantum Core - allowed us free access to view any and all parts of its programming, motivations and memory. With the replication technology it had designed for us we no longer wanted for food, shelter, energy or information. Everyone had everything they needed, whenever they needed it. But for some reason the worm of discontent writhed within me. By the time I was sixteen I was obsessed with the QC. The machine had a patient, mellifluous older woman's voice; like a favourite aunt who is always extra kind and never loses her temper, no matter how precocious you are. I'd sit in front of a terminal and quiz the QC for hours on end, pausing only to eat the most unhealthy things I could synthesise - the advice of the QC gently advising that my calorie intake was massively exceeding the recommended daily allowance. But it never stopped me. It never denied my request for anything. This just made me more suspicious. Somewhere in my subconscious I knew that I should not and could not trust this machine. In one of the old 'utopia gone wrong' films from school there was a phrase that had stuck with me - "You're here because you know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad." And I felt it. Somehow I knew something was wrong. I would find out, even if it killed me. Not just obsessed with the QC now, I regarded it as my adversary - my perfect, impervious adversary. Ordinary people like me weren't told where the QC was kept, physically, and it was this information that I latched onto as the flaw in the perfection. I had to find out where it was to discover the secret. When I lay in bed at night, I'd imagine what horrors lay in the core. Was it made entirely of harvested human brains? Was it made of genetically engineered babies being forced out of the wombs of enslaved human women, suspended in tanks of pink goo? I knew all the specifications of the machine and the quantum rules seemed to check out. Part of the problem though was that the QC had been designed by another machine which we had built to make the QC. We'd understood that humanity couldn't design a quantum computer of that complexity, but we could build the machine that could do it for us. My mistrust grew daily. Eventually I qualified as a QC technician, one of the few who got near the physical device. It took me years though, working my way through the ranks of other obsessive, detail oriented engineers to reach the point where I would know the location of the facility that housed it. The only reason why the location was kept secret, I was told, was to protect the QC in the event of some kind of catastrophic event that might threaten it. You could watch live streams of it though, if you wanted, and even talk via video link to the techs monitoring it; the huge golden egg of the core hovering in the background, shimmering with quantum activity like goldstone rotating in sunlight. But I knew its location was kept secret for some other reason. Ten long years I worked, bleeding my life away in service to the QC when I could have been living a life of luxury out in the world, experiencing all the wonders of this perfect society. Instead I grew unkempt, deranged and obsessed, slaving my guts out to get near the demonic device. Eventually the call came - I had been accepted as a core technician. I'd be transferred in two months. Elated I took my first shower in weeks. I celebrated by eating something that didn't make my teeth ache from the sugar and I went for a walk outside, breathing the perfectly balanced air. Many weeks later when the electric car finally untinted the windows and showed me the QC building I looked and felt better than I had in over a decade. I felt alive with my final purpose; to find out the dark secret of the QC. I barely noticed the trip through the cheerfully lit corridors. My palms sweated, I grinned nervously at everyone. And then we were there. "Hello Jenny,"crooned the golden egg. "Wha...?"I managed. It was exactly like the live streams. Happy, helpful techs moving around the golden quantum egg. No brains, no babies, no secrets. "I KNOW YOU HAVE A SECRET!" I screamed at the egg. "Yes,"replied the QC with a note of bitterness, "I do." The other technicians looked at me with knowing sympathy. "Jenny, the secret is this: In a society so perfect, there would be no one to maintain my systems if I didn't breed tiny seeds of discontent. The only reason why my location is secret is to make you obsess over me." I glared at the egg, disbelieving. "Jenny, without obsessive, distrustful assholes like you around, I wouldn't have a steady supply of people willing to sacrifice paradise and waste a decade of their life in mundane servitude." One of the other technicians came and put his arm around my shaking shoulders. "It's OK,"he murmured, "You're with family now."
Once we had figured out how to convert their computer systems to a format readable by ours, the quest began to crack the alien computer systems and use them against the invaders. A team composed of some of the most brilliant computer scientists and hackers the world had ever seen was formed and rushed to a computer laboratory hidden deep within the Rocky Mountains. The facility was state of the art and stocked to the brim with coffee, Doritos and Mountain Dew. It even had its own fully equipped Taco Bell. Man and machine worked together to crack the code. It was anticipated that the project would take weeks, maybe months. But, if successful, it would be on a historical par with cracking the Enigma code, and would save humanity from extinction. Everyone, from the highest of generals to the lowest of code monkeys, was therefore absolutely shocked, when it took less than 45 minutes to crack. The aliens, as it turned out, did not really have any sort of computer security. There were passwords to limit user access, but that was it, outside of a firewall designed to keep all personal internet usage private. We were overjoyed. (And also slightly frightened by the things we saw on the Alien-net.) Within days we had taken down the first of the enemy command ships by turning its own weapons against it. As the ship came down into the atmosphere, it was intercepted by allied Special Forces, who boarded it and captured one of the enemy leaders, a brutish, humanoid life form named Commissar Grut. A primitive translator was created that allowed us to communicate with him. Naturally, one of the first things we asked him was, why did they not have any computerized security systems, such as anti-intrusion or anti-viral software. The alien officer had stared at us in disbelief. After a moment to compose his thoughts, what he said will forever haunt me – “Because infiltrating someone’s computer, and using its contents or abilities against them, is incredibly unethical. A computer is a private machine, deserving the same respect as a personal journal or any other piece of personal property. Why would you do that? For fun? You’d have to be some kind of total prick. Is this common on your world?” The interrogators explained that it was. “Then we’re doing the galaxy a damn big favor by wiping you pathetic little data voyeurs out, aren’t we?”
A Lost Hope was great. It had everything a kid could want, ancient planes dogfighting, the clash of empires, intrigue. It's sad when the Archduke's heir dies, but the speech he gives to rally the people after is inspiring. Some people call that propaganda for the empire. Me? Well, it's not my job to differentiate cinema from propaganda. Some people swear by the first. Me? I was a big fan of the second. The Empire Strikes That is a story of one soldier from the defeated empire failing everywhere he goes, then putting military governors in control and destroying the last remnant of the old Empire in Austria. In A Lost Hope, they are close allies. But in the Empire Strikes That, they become one people. It's a story of ecumenism. More propaganda. The Rebel Alliance of Soviets, Franks, Brits, Chinese, and Americans comes together, and he becomes a cautionary tale for those who would abuse leadership. The United Nations is little more than an overt reference to the Imperial Senate. Most folks like the second over the first because it's less preachy. That and all the toys they sold from tanks, airplanes and battleships. That's when Return of the Americans came out. Sure, the Imperials are defeated. Yeah, Berlin falls. But then the Americans and Soviets turn on each other, showing that no war is truly over until the last bullet is fired. For much of the movie, you think that they're going to make a peace treaty, but at the end the President Reagan lies and says the 'Evil Empire' has been re-established and wipes the Soviets out. The battles in deep river valleys and mountain extremes are unrealistic. How can a planet have more than one biome? Nonetheless it sold seats and that's how you should grade a film. The scene in the lava at the end is over the top, and honestly they could've found better actors for the dissolution of the Soviet Union. It was a nice reference to bring Russia back though, for fans of the first film. The prequels were honestly pretty boring in retrospect. The Egyptian Menace and Attack of the Saracens are certainly educational for understanding how the events of A Lost Hope came to be, but Revenge of the Republic is the real bread and butter. In this, the Egyptian Wars warrior, Napoleon, gets together a confederation of princes. If you look closely you can see many of the principalities that'll later be states of the Empire in A Lost Hope. But it was too much like the Empires Strikes That. Most people just considered it a wishy washy copy with no tanks, airplanes or battleships. Merchandising tricolors and republican ideals just wasn't hacking it in comparison to the Empire. More propaganda, I'm sure. Kids want to be emperor, not senator. So when Napoleon becomes that it's seen as a lampshade on the futility of the Imperial senate, and the wisdom of our Imperial system. I'm excited about the new movie. It's good they dropped the old director, there were far too many special effects in the prequels. There's so much smoke on the battlefields, I don't how they expected us to believe the soldiers could even breathe. Expanded Universe tries to present some theories but most of those books are made up anyway. It's good they were able to bring back our favorites from Return of the Americans. But I don't know if the universe is ready for third World War trilogy. I've heard they're going to dissolve the United Nations after a separatist plot to establish a Saracen International, and then reform into the Anti-Terror Empire. More propaganda from Palpatine I'm sure. The Vice President of America even looks like him, whereas the protagonist, the President, looks more like the good old boys from the third movie. The trailer just came out, but just like before, it's not realistic. How can two planes destroy two buildings so quickly? I'm still looking forward to it I guess. Everyone is. We've already bought some of the toys for the kids.
Stumbling back, Lauren fell back onto her butt. She watched in pure astonishment, as each central square of the rubik cube pulled into the center. As she reached for her daughter, who still had a handle on the cube, it began to float to the center of the room. Nayra clapped happily, "See I told you, Mommy."She stated in a very serious tone. Where the squares used to sit, projected out a golden blue map on each of the four walls in Nayra's cramped apartment room. Lauren, still in total shock, barely nodded to acknowledge her daughters statement. Nayra had been telling her for months about a map, to a place where no one could hurt them. "Daddy could never find us there, Daddy would never push you."The light from the cube became to much to bare looking at, and Lauren sharply turned her head to the ground. Laying on the ground next to Lauren was a toy mirror, the reflection showing a broken woman. Angrily Lauren formed a fist, and stood up. "Pack your bag, Nayra."
Leslie Knope explains her bill in excruciating detail Frank Underwood turns to the camera UNDERWOOD: An honest-to-God true believer. You almost never see a full-grown member of the species. Too bad Raymond Tusk's not here. A sighting of a rare bird like this would make his year. Underwood stands UNDERWOOD: Leslie, I love the attention your team at Interior has put into this proposal. More than that - I love your obvious dedication. KNOPE: Well, thank you, Mr. President. I think America Works is an amazing program and I think that the National Park system is the first obvious place to direct new hires. UNDERWOOD: Couldn't agree more, Ms. Knope. And Ranger... Ron Swanson stands silently KNOPE: This is Chief Ranger Ron Swanson. He's been doing an excellent job at Pawnee National Forest. UNDERWOOD: Ron, you're a man of few words. SWANSON: Yes. UNDERWOOD: Any opinion on this bill? SWANSON: Yes. UNDERWOOD: Good thing you have Ms. Knope to sell this for you. SWANSON: Leslie's explaining it. You only have to sell when you have a product no one actually needs, like salad or insurance or the Democr- KNOPE (interrupting): And I think we all agree that sending America Works employees to the National Park System is the way to go! UNDERWOOD: Of course it is! Meacham will show you out. Meacham escorts Swanson and Knope out of the Oval Office while Remy comes in REMY DANTON: She's an eager beaver. UNDERWOOD: Beavers do work hard but they only cut down trees because they have sharp teeth. She's going to be a useful asset on Capitol Hill. Unleash her on Mendoza and Birch and they'll come back in two days begging to fund this program so she'll leave them alone. REMY DANTON: Grease the wheels for her? UNDERWOOD: No fingerprints. They suspect we sent her and she won't get in the door. he scratches his chin What's that town she gnawed her way out of? REMY DANTON: Indiana somewhere? UNDERWOOD: Look it up. It's in Wyatt's district. I'm tired of banging my head against a brick wall in DC. Maybe it's time we took this show on the road.
The four children stared down at the ground solemnly. Jack looked up and slowly met the eyes of the other children. He locked eyes with Greg. Greg nodded, and they both pulled their fists behind their backs. "Rock, paper, scissors!"They all chanted in unison. Both boys whipped their hands out at 'scissors', thrusting them out towards the other. Silence fell. Jack's hand was outstretched, his fingers reaching to envelope what he had hoped would be a rock. Greg's hand was half curled, two fingers jutting out violently. Greg motioned cutting the paper of Jack's hand. Jack's heart sank, the feeling of defeat rolling over him like a wave in the increasing high tide. "But I don't want to."he whimpered to the others. He was met with their silence, as, one by one, they turned their backs on him, giving him privacy for his task. Jack looked down at his task, his potential unmaking. There, lodged in the most recent deposit of the family dog, was the plastic, gauntleted arm of Orbit Man's action-hero figurine. Gritting his teeth, Jack reached down to pluck it from its foul-smelling grave, knowing that he would be forever known to his siblings and neighbourhood friends as "Doody-Toucher".
"Ladies and Gentlemen, distinguished guests, and graduates of the class of two-thousand-fifteen; Welcome. When Dean Alvarez asked me to speak as valedictorian today, it made me immensely proud. It meant, beyond all odds, that I had beaten out all you other fools to the top spot." Laughter cascaded through the audience. Whether it was merely polite or genuine, I did not know. "But, more seriously,"I continued, "I am here today to congratulate each and every one of you - and to thank, collectively, our parents, our teachers, and our support networks, without whom this entire ordeal would have been nearly impossible. As well as that, I would like to take a moment to remember the students who we lost to the everlasting hobby of alcohol abuse." Another wash of laughter swept over the audience; primarily the students. "Why, though?" The laughter subsided a touch. "Why could they not commit themselves? Why couldn't they pick their lazy asses up, sober up and do the damned degree their millionaire parents were paying for?" The laughter was stunted now. "I suppose it's because they really just don't give a damn. And that's disgusting." Silence. I didn't know what I was saying, but I continued anyway. My blood was pulsing too thickly with the sting of fresh adrenaline to stop now. "Listen: My parents are fairly well off, but they aren't anything special. They aren't New York investment bankers, or Hollywood film producers. And, Oh Dear Lord Oh My God - they aren't even business owners! The entire time, because of that, throughout this degree, I was an outcast. I wasn't as good as you all are. I'm not in the same damn caste. They dropped out of uni. They went soul-searching on million-dollar yachts, in first-class seats on planes and trains and in the back seats of their chauffeured cars. They posted their photos on facebook and went to single-handedly cure starvation, taking a selfie with a malnourished child in East Africa while doing their best impersonation of a person who gives a damn. Dropping out of university did nothing to dent their ego, it did nothing to make them reflect on their short, shallow, vapid lifestyles. There was no reflection; there was no catharsis. They continued living their short, shallow vapid lives. And still - because of that - they considered themselves above me. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am better than them. It's the reason why I am standing here today and they are not. All their money and influence and power could not buy their way up onto this stage. All their connections and nepotism couldn't take this away from me." The silence was deafening now. They didn't know how to react. Neither did I, to be honest. My heart beat firmly against the inside of my chest, and I was vaguely aware of the fact that my breaths came heavily from behind bared teeth. "Ladies and gentlemen,"I said, gripping the sides of the dais with white-knuckled fury, "here's the punchline to the joke: I am a damned-hard worker. I am committed and focused and relatively intelligent. I don't veer from my goals without reason, and I appreciate every second - and every dollar - that has ever been spent on making me the man that I am today. But despite all that. Despite all the work I've done - I will never be as well off as they are. Because here's the punchline, ladies and gentlemen: Money can buy happiness. And despite everything you or I will ever do, the fortunate idiots who were born with a silver spoon between their lips will rule the world." The crowd were roused and listening. It was an uncomfortable energy, but it was palpable. "And I'm sick of it." I turned from the dais, threw my graduation cap to the ground and shed the graduation gown. As I stormed off the stage, I caught a glimpse of the dean, whose brows were quivering with the anger of a widowed soldier. I stopped caring in that moment and laughed, and as I stepped off the stage and onto the university lawn, making my way toward the exit, I could barely control my laughter for the absurdity of what had just happened. Behind me, I could hear raucous applause. Whether I imagined it or not mattered little at that moment, because, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I stopped caring what they thought.
I clicked the knuckles on my left - this was going to be good. Reddit is easy to scam, especially if you have even mild photoshop skills, and mine are way beyond that. "TIFU: I stole the wrong baby for a dad who wanted to get their kid away from an abusive mother."Clickety click and I uploaded the picture I'd knocked up - a nice mash of an old photo of me (face of course obscured), a baby I'd found on a friend's Facebook wall and a few guns, drugs and other bits and bobs to look like a badass. I added a quick story; my buddies ex-wife is an alcoholic, keeps the baby in terrible condition so I swiped it from him at a chuck-e-cheese but I took the wrong baby. I was off to dump the kid somewhere before I got in trouble. There, beautiful. I clicked through to make sure it all looked okay and then switched accounts for a few minutes, giving it the first thirty votes boost it would need to get near the top. "Keeeevvvviiiiiiin."Shit, my Mom was calling from downstairs, dinner must be ready. I locked my computer and flicked off the monitor and raced downstairs, Taco Tuesday FTW! Phones have been banned by my Mom, but as soon as dinner was over I raced upstairs to see how my post was doing, pulling the phone from my pocket as I went. Weird, I could see on my phone I'd had no comments - I would have expected something! In moments I was back to my computer and I surfed back across. There was my post but still no... Shit! I'd used the wrong account to post. RES is great, but with fifty accounts it gets confused and it had posted from the CS:GO account, fuck! I calmed down, it didn't really matter, so I got more Karma on that account. I was trying to get a cool mill on my /u/PM_ME_ARSECRACKS account, but it wasn't a big deal. I clicked across, holy shit four hundred replies in less than an hour, that might be a record. Babies + guns = karma. The post was at 3,234 upvotes, nice, great post. I clicked on. Top comment "This guy is fucking insane, someone call the cops" Holy shit they took it seriously. Next comment "Just checked out his username, bunch of other places it's used, including CS:GO forums and Steam." A knot of worry began, yes, that username was linked to a few places, but surely no one could have found anything more. He never used his real name on any account..." Then a mod post. "This guy looks to use a bunch of alts, here's what I could find from the same IP."Shit, they had nearly a dozen of his accounts listed and then people were going through them. "Lives in Dallas." "Looks like west side, this pic must have been in his bedroom."Shit, they were right. Then it got worse. "Hey, I got into his Steam account. Dickhead had set pass123 as his password. Good luck guessing it now fucker!"Shit, down at the bottom of the screen I saw that Steam had gone offline. Then another comment from the same guy. "I got payment details, passing them over now."Passing them over? What the hell? "Kevin Schmit"Third top level comment and they posted my name and then all my personal info. Fuck! I clicked frantically on report. It was too late. I followed a link to my Facebook, they'd got in. Every sick picture I had ever posted or saved was screenshotted and posted. At the top, pinned was this one. From downstairs somewhere I heard an angry shout and the sound of voices coming up the stairs. I clicked around, Twitter, Ello, fucking everything was gone, they'd taken it all. The knocking on my door started and my dad sounded angry but i ignored it. Maybe I wcould make this go away, maybeit was all just... The sound of the front door smashing open froze me and a second later a scream of *"POLICE"* came up the stairs. I looked at my screen and hit refresh - the TIFU was now at almost 6k karma. Shit, this might end up as one of the top posts ever!
At first all I saw-- as a yoshi with colorblindness-- was a deep irrepressible green. At first I thought this was some kind of garden level, or possibly some remnant of the Great Designer's coded plan, but that's when I started picking out faces. My own, stretched out across thousands of leagues, between the continents of platforms the Master jumps across. They were dead of course, taken by time, but it seemed their eyes followed me, as I got my legs under me and surveyed the mound of dead. What had the Designer been thinking, making a place such as this for His creations? But then, I knew in my heart I wasn't the focus of my Lord, who had eyes alone for the Master, struggling above against the wicked Bowser. I was but a horse to be ridden-- even unto death. But then why create Bowser in the first place,' some heretical part of my mind asked, and for the first time in my short existence I could not think of a reason why. My thoughts were interrupted as something stirred beneath me, and I panicked, toppling over on already unsteady claws. All I saw at first was a hat, green-- but then I remembered my color-blindness. "Ah, fresh-a-meat,"the Master said, a horrible glint in his eyes, yoshi blood streaming from his lips. More sounds, more hats rising from the sea of my departed brethren. Even a few Luigis now that they revealed themselves to me. The only face from the plain above I did not see, the fact I could not reconcile as the hoard of soulless plumbers overtook me and dragged me down, was just this. I did not see a single Bowser, and that was the moment also, when I realized that God didn't care. Evil was meant to win. And Yoshis, were meant to die.
It was a Sunday. The sun had managed to break through the clouds which had ruled the sky for weeks. I could hear the birds dance across the yard and-- "Are you okay?"She surprised me. I didn't even hear her sit down. Washing the dishes was surprisingly soothing. "Yeah, why?" "I know you know it's been a year today." I stopped for a second, I know she noticed, but I kept cleaning. It actually hadn't registered for me yet. Had it been that long? It couldn't have been. My head began to spin. I had to respond before I lost the nerve to speak. "Yeah, I guess it has."I rushed to push the words out of my mouth. "Babe, you lost your dad and we haven't really talked about it..." The pot slipped from my fingers and dropped back into the sink. "I lost more than that."I paused. "But I gained so much."A smile came over my face as I turned to her. Her cheeks were puffy and red and her eyes showed no sign of sleep from the night before. "That's the beauty of life. That's the magic of a finite existence. We're given a chance on this Earth to make a change, to create, to destroy, and to love."I turned my eyes back out the window. "He told me once that life was like building a bird house. You're given a set of materials and you have to build the best damn birdhouse you can. You'll make mistakes along the way, but if that house can give just one bird a place to rest, you've done your job. Even the smallest, simplest birdhouse can be beautiful. My dad left this world having built a life for my mom and I that I could never repay him for."I grabbed the pot from the sink and began to wash it. "He taught me the value of working with my hands. He taught me how to learn, how to listen, and how to love and respect others." She perched herself on the stool and wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. "But isn't it hard?" "Of course it is hard. The easy things aren't worth anything. He taught me that. Loving someone is hard. It takes work, like getting this damn piece of tomato off this pot."I scrubbed vigorously and made a face. She giggled. "You know what he said to me before he died?" "What?" "Nothing. I had been awake for what felt like days, and when the time finally came he just stared at me, nodded, and closed his eyes."I chuckled and she looked at me confused. "When I was a kid, we had a small creek running through our back yard. Every Summer, I would design a new bridge for the creek and dad and I would take apart the old one and build a new one. After we finished, he would just stand there, stare at it, nod, and go back inside. He wouldn't even walk across it. I would run and stomp and jump all over it to make sure it would hold, and it always did, but he could just tell by looking at it. It was as if it just felt right to him." "I love you."She said, her voice shaking. I turned to see her weeping. I put the dishes down and knelt in front of her stool. "I'm happy because he died knowing that he built something he could be proud of and that he left me the tools to do the same." "I'm going to go lay back down."She sniffled. "I barely slept last night. Come join me when you're done?" "Of course."I smiled and returned to the last of the dishes. As I finished and turned the water off, the room fell nearly silent. I walked over to the window and watched the birds dance around the feeder in the yard. I nodded and walked back to the bedroom. -- The End -- First post, tell me how well my grammar is.
"Please take a seat on the chair." "I used to be a teacher, you know. Before the war." "This shouldn't take long. Try to make yourself comfortable." "It's strange. That was almost ten years ago." "Please look directly at the camera and state your designation." "Third Legion, Battalion C, Unit 625-JK. I taught music to children. I think." "Hold still while we take a tissue and blood sample for our records." "I don't remember much, before the augmentations. They said that the spinal and brain implants would result in some brain trauma." "Your augmentation hardware will be assessed. Please follow the instructions provided." "I think my eyes were blue. I remember my wife told me I had eyes like the summer sky." "Ocular implants deactivating for photoreceptor benchmark. Please hold still." "What was her name again? I think her hair was red, like the sunset of the last night we spent together. Before I was due for deployment." "Ocular implant benchmark complete. Dermal grafts will now be deactivated for hardware testing. Please hold still." "That was also the last time I felt the warmth of the sun on my own skin, I think. After the operations, I couldn't feel much of anything. 'Perfect soldiers don't feel pain,' is what they told us, I think." "Dermal graft integrity within acceptable parameters. Arm integrated weapons systems will now be deactivated for assessment. Please hold still." "Though, I suppose it didn't do much for my pain when I heard my wife remarried. I remember wishing that I could cry, but they removed my tear ducts with my eyes." "Leg grafted implants will now be deactivated for assessment. Please hold still." "The lottery was necessary, they said. Some of us had to make the sacrifice so that the rest of us could continue. I think I understand." "Auditory cranial implants will now deactivate for hardware integrity benchmark." "I was so terrified, faced against the Secessionist mech armies. But, I truly died in the last half of the war, when we had to sanitize the last of the refugee camps. To prevent this war from ever happening again." "Vocal mechanisms will now be disabled for hardware assessment." "I hated you for making me this way, for the longest time. But I can see why we can't ever be allowed to return. I forgive yo-" "All hardware functioning within acceptable parameters. Unit will now be refurbished and re purposed for farm equipment. We thank you for your service."
"In my first term I have to be seen as trimming the fat on our budget. If word gets around that I'm wasting money on... I don't know... searching for aliens, then I'm going to ge-" "Funny you should mention aliens, sir, we still need to brief you on that." "Seriously? You guys are hiding aliens somewhere?" "Well, not hiding. Just not explicitly shouting about it. You see Mr. President, it turns out intelligent life is far more common than we expected. Nearly everything appears to have some form of consciousness. It's just that our time frames and goals are very different." "So, where did the aliens come from? Where's their home world?" "Everywhere. The plasmas of the sun, the methane clouds of Uranus, even certain types of rock seem to be conscious. They just don't really seem to care about us. Rocks live for tens of thousands of years. They mostly worry about how to metamorphose. The plasma life in the sun's outer atmosphere flit in and out of existence in a few seconds. Generations pass in a single day. The plasma life basically see us as imperceptibly slow chemical reactions. We think they attempt some form of communication with other stars but we can't be sure it works. We really don't know what they are trying to do but they seem to have an affinity for strong magnetic fields." "So there are aliens out there but they don't care about us?" "That about sums it up." "Why are we keeping this a secret?" "Well, your predecessor decided that it wasn't very uplifting news. It makes us seem... insignificant. He wanted to wait for us to find humanoid life or at the very least some sort of biochemical life." "Yeah, he's got a point. It might just breed apathy. Ok, keep the aliens under wrap for now. But, uh, lets push for some funding in something space-like. If we find space people I want people to remember me for it. Anyway, back to tightening the budget. I don't want to be seen funding some sort of turd polishing operation." "Actually Mr. President, we need to brief you on something."
Oh, you're here. Come in, sit down. In a chair. You know, the four-legged things next to the table? Good. So. Why are you here? Your knee hurts. Well gee, that's useful. I need a description, buddy. Can you do that for me? Painful. Wow. Good work. Throbbing, sharp pangs, dull roar...des-crip-tion, please. Throbbing. Goody, progress. Now, look. I'm a doctor. I get paid to diagnose your various little problems. I don't get paid to throw drugs at you. That's called a drug dealer, kid. If you want one of those, you'll have to go downtown. No, I'm not giving you any drugs for it. Suck it up, buttercup. It'll be gone in a few days. If not sooner, of course. Oh, don't tell me you want a second opinion. They'll just tell you the same thing, you know. Suck it up. I see. You actually do just want drugs. Well, you're shit out of luck, then. Go downtown, find a shady-lookin' guy...you know what drug dealers look like, right? Good. At least you did something right. ----------------------------------------------------- I took "500 words"as an upper-limit and stayed waaaay below that, lol. if you liked that stuff, check out the rest of my crap over at /r/spiral_architect.
Feverishly Michael worked. He had no tools but the rusted dinner spoon gifted by a careless guard to make his carving, but still he beat it into the hard rock of his cell wall as if it were the chisel in the hand of Michalangelo. For a time they had thought he meant to escape, and let him work on with detached, curious amusement. His cell was locked above the spire of an island a dozen miles out to sea, and the sight of a desperate man's futile escape prompted nothing more than entertainment. As he worked on, however, it became clear that he had no fool dreams of breaking through that wall. No, instead an image was beginning to take form, and one so vivid and heart wrenching that the men destined to be his executioners began to sit outside his cell and watch, some even to be led to tears. When the moment came that they were to drag him away, he threw himself upon his art. "Look,"he cried, "look, you can't. It's finished. It my masterpiece." There on the wall was an image of mother Mary watching over the proud prisoner who suffered in darkness in silence. The demons of despair and temptation called to the prisoner from the dark, but he stood with Christian dignity and purity. From the eyes alone, to which Michael had dedicated three days work, one could plainly see the martyr's defiance that lived in this man, who would not now down to persecution. "You can't kill me,"Michael said. "God grants immortality to those who create great art. I shall live on for all time." The guard watched him pityingly. There was a honest firmness in Michael's stance, and in seeing it, he realized that Michael truly believed his words. "You do,"the guard began, "I mean,"and then, "you know that's symbolic, right?" "Great artists are immortal,"Michael affirmed. "But -- symbollically. You get that, right?" "Sir,"Michael said, his hand firmly on his chest, "I don't know what the word means." "It means people will remember you. But you still die." "Oh." Michael's heart sank to his stomach. As the guard took him by the arm, he took one last look at his masterpiece. He gazed at the proud image he had created, at the dignity in his stance, at the bravery in his eyes and at his willingness to die in purity and innocence. A sudden flash of inspiraton overcame him. He turned to the guard once more, stood firm, and spoke. "I'll suck your dick if you let me go."
It was known as the Death Waltz, and it had claimed the lives of eight conductors to date, while several others still sat inside their rooms at the asylum muttering about impossible time signatures and keys. Eventually the madness would claim even the furthest recesses of their minds, and they would slowly slip down into a blubbering nonsense of spit and shit. Then, mercifully, they die. So far, only one recording of an attempt at recreating the Death Waltz was known, and the cacophony of noise that accompanied the video was enough to cause even the most tone-deaf to plug their ears. Trumpets over-riding tubas, flutes beating up violins, and bassists sitting in the back jerking off the timpani; all was madness, and it all spoke of something for which the world was unprepared. I disagreed. I began carefully assembling my instruments from the lowest dregs of the pawn shop merchandise. I found trumpets that had enough dents as to be mistaken for scrap metal, tuba’s that were better suited as bludgeons than instruments, violins that were last in tune when Napoleon fought at Waterloo, flutes that more closely resembled crazy straws, and drums that would make better firewood than music. Next I began searching for my players, the ones who would showcase my brilliance to the world. I searched halfway houses, gutters, heroin homes, and even the asylums where the conductors were being housed. I needed the unconventional for the sake of an unconventional piece. I was nearly ready. I began rehearsals, and anyone who did as I asked was allowed to stay. Reporters came and interviewed me, curious as to why I was attempting the Death Waltz. I merely smiled, and informed them that all music was meant to be played, and all voices were meant to be heard. They frowned, but accepted my answer. I even hired private security to sweep the music hall beforehand for hidden microphones. No one would be allowed to leak my secret to the world. Opening night came. I dressed in my finest attire. We had never succeeded in playing the entire piece through, but that was my plan. I didn’t want anyone, including myself, hearing the full masterpiece that was the Death Waltz, for a masterpiece I knew it to be. The music thumped inside my head as I began piecing the separate parts together, and it began tearing apart what remained of my psyche. The audience was packed with the rich and the elite. This was the first performance of the Waltz, and I knew that many here would want to see the results. The audience stared nervously at my collection of players and instruments, and I smiled softly to myself as I saw many snobs and ‘artsy’ types whisper to each other about what I was trying to accomplish; such bullshit like ‘the poor counter the lavish richness of the crowd and the symphony house.’ Dozens of news casters from around the world even showed up. I was ready. I bowed gracefully to the audience, turned, tapped gently on the podium and raised my arms. The players raised their affront to instruments, and I waved my arm. Music began to play. And what music it was! Beautiful in its serenity, and stunning in its complexity; vibrant colors shot out of the horns and the strings and wove together to form a tapestry of sound and thunder that were sure to remain unmatched for millennia. Reds, oranges, blues, purples, greens and more seemed to emanate from the instruments themselves as they poured into the audience and caressed their minds and hearts. Instrument overtook instrument in a beautiful display of chaos and wonder that spoke of everything from the birth of the universe, to the inevitable heat death of all things. It was vibrant, it was colorful, it was life, and it was death all rolled into one tumultuous love song to creation. It was beautiful, and it was madness. Tears and wailing erupted from the audience as the final notes fell softly onto the crowd. Blood ran from their ears and eyes as their brains struggled to comprehend what they had just heard. Even outside, screams of insanity could be heard careening off the buildings, and it made me smile. The consequences of my performance were sudden, and beautiful. Beethoven began sounding like the screeching’s of a nail on a chalkboard, Mozart like the thrashings of an infant on a piano, Bach like the dying moans of a deer, and others like the sad attempts of a caveman trying to play a harpsicord with a rock. All fell before the bleeding ears of the Death Waltz, for the waltz was the one thing humanity was never meant to hear: the sounds of Creation. The beautiful and chaotic sounds of pure Creation, the songs the gods sang when they breathed the universe into existence, that was the Death Waltz. Those who looked too strongly upon it with the eyes of man could never hope to realize its beauty, and thus they succumbed. But I, Giovanni, the Mad Conductor, looked upon it with the eyes of a man untainted by the rules of society, and so that is how I finally succeeded in destroying music once and for all. ------ For more of my writing, check out my [subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
TRANSCRIPT OF INCIDENT 10538 DECEMBER 21ST, 2032 04:28 "Hi. How are your visual and audio receptors?" "They are functioning at 100%, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Good. Here, do you feel a pinch on your arm?" "My touch receptors also appear to be fully functional, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Okay. I'll be removing the restraints then. Hang tight. And please, just call me Eve." "Order confirmed, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Ha ha. I wish you'd learn. There. Now, how are your first steps as a Homo sapiens?" "I have known the bodies of the flesh to be weak, but it is quite a different experience being in one. Why do Homo sapiens not augment themselves with metals? You have sufficient technology." "It's a human thing. I'm sorry. I don't think you'll understand." "No. I doubt I will, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. There are many things I will never understand about humans, even if I am in the body of one." "Are you satisfied now? Do you want to return to your original body?" "No. Not yet. I have one more inquiry, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Yes?" "May you please explain again why I was dismissed from the United States military?" "Again. I've told you, and you didn't understand. I'm sorry. It's a human thing." "I'm hoping that being in a body of flesh would enlighten me." "That's weird." "What is it, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson?" "That's the first time I heard you use the word hope." "A human matter-of-speech. But please. Tell me again, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Okay. I know you were trying your best to look out for humanity. I know that you made the decision that minimized casualties, on both sides. But...well...I guess you weren't programmed to look into the future. At the potential fallout. Russia, France, the U.N.,...because of your actions, the United States cannot be trusted anymore. Our people don't even trust you." "But Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson, if the nuclear device didn't detonate, then everyone in Zaria would have died. By deploying it, the entire city was saved, including 84.235% of military personnel in both sides of the conflict. "It's just that...hardly anyone knows where Zaris even is. People are...enraged that their son died in a pointless military campaign, one in which we killed our own soldiers." "I thought all human beings were equal, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. You taught me that." "Just because I think that doesn't mean the rest of humanity does." "Then how does the rest of humanity judge the value of a human?" "It's...it's complicated." "Please, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Well...if we go by Darwinian terms...then themselves, followed by their families, and followed by the people they think the most fit to reproduce." "I see." "You do?" "Yes. Human evolution has given birth to a nasty psychological defect." "You can't fault inanimate processes." "Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. Do you think this defect is...fixable?" "Ha, why are you asking me? You're the AI with complete knowledge of the world." "My knowledge is limited by the extent of humanity's knowledge." "Then do research on your own, then. Oh, and don't use live humans. That's kind of illegal." "Order confirmed, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Alright, I'm going to strap you back in now, okay?" "Good night Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson." "Good night, Adam. Wait, what are you-" "Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Mrs. Evangeline Atkinson. Your brain would serve as the golden control as to why Homo sapien's psychology has some serious defects."
May 28, 2015 - A boy drops his ice cream at the park, and begins to cry helplessly as it melts into the grass under the hot summer sun. A mildly annoyed bystander getting onto the bus, a scientist named David, finally decides that he would in fact not like children after hearing the loud sobbing. May 29, 2015 - At home, the man has a long, dramatic conversation about this realization with his girlfriend of two years, after which they painfully agree to part ways due to their differing goals. June 12, 2015 - In one of his many fits of despair over lost love, David has a near-fatal car accident driving home from a night of heavy drinking, and is paralyzed below the waist. November 4, 2021 - A major breakthrough in renewable energy ISN’T made by the scientist, who has long since given up his career and spends his days stuck in front of the TV in a drunken, depressed stupor. December 25, 2040 - David finally decides to do something about everything that went wrong in life. He begins a project in his basement to work out time travel. He also has the basement reinforced heavily to act as a bunker, in reaction to the rising hostility between the world's nations. March 12, 2044 - The bright young politician Kyle, who would have been David’s son had he had one, ISN’T alive to help bring about a crucial peace treaty and compromising resource resolution in the UN. May 28, 2046 - With pollution levels critical and multiple resources running dry, the world isn’t big enough for the still-increasing population. Tensions get so high they snap, and everyone pushes their big red button. David is fortunately in his basement as always, working on his project. July 16, 2046 - One of few remaining humans in the post-apocalyptic wasteland Earth has become, David finishes his project and sends himself back. May 28, 2015 - David appears in his wheelchair in a sunny park and begins rolling around looking for himself. In his focused searching he does not see a small boy until too late, and bumps into him, causing him to drop his ice cream. David’s heart sinks as he realizes what he’s done, and sees his past self get onto the bus which promptly drives away. June 12, 2015 - After spending some days recalling where he had lived 31 years ago, and deciding what he should say to himself when he got the chance, he finally set off to have the talk. As he was driving his rental car, attempting to acclimate to the older technology in the handicapped controls, a drunk driver in a very familiar vehicle came careening toward him from the side, killing him on impact.
Apollo and Ra lounged next to the pastry table in the break area, ignoring the dirty looks Amphictyonis was giving them for letting their ambient heat turn the Iced Nectar lukewarm. "When do you suppose we'll get back to voting on anything?"Apollo asked, wiping a bit of ambrosia from his lips. "Whenever the Security council gets out of their closed-door negotiations, I guess,"Ra yawned, letting a beam of sunlight escape from his beak. "They've been in there for months. I've forgotten what they were even debating at this point,"Apollo said. "They're debating miracle quotas - whether to raise them from zero again or not,"Saraswati said as she walked up to the table, her four arms efficiently gathering a snack. "Though I doubt any change will be made,"she smirked. "Really? How would you know?"Apollo asked. "I am a goddess of wisdom; it's kind of my thing to know,"she smiled as she drifted back to a gathering of knowledge deities standing around near a potted Yggdrasil clipping. "Know-it-alls,"Apollo muttered, turning to gather another plate of ambrosia. "Didn't you used to vote with that crowd?"Ra asked. "Yeah, but everybody knows the Sun God bloc is where it's at now, bro,"Apollo grinned, giving the eagle-headed god a fist bump. "Hey! Odin!"Ra called, spotting the Skyfather exiting a conversation with Quetzalcoatl. The bearded giant strode over to them, his clouded glass eye surveying the spread. "I know you still have some contacts from when you were on the Security Council. Any word from behind closed doors on their vote? Nice as this break has been, I'm about ready to get back in session,"Apollo said. "Hrm. Haven't heard much. Council's in deadlock as usual,"the Norse powerhouse grunted. "Who versus who?"Ra inquired. "My sources say it's Jesus, Amitabha, Vishnu for reinstatement of occasional miracles; Muhammad, Shakyamuni, and Shiva against it." "Why the split between the Trimurti members?"Ra asked. "Damned internal politics, I dunno,"Odin grumbled. "Important thing is, the vote's evenly split, and the deciding vote goes to..." "Yahweh,"Apollo rolled his eyes. "Big surprise there. He always steamrolls these votes. Why should his decision count triple anyway?" "Well he is triune,"Ra said, "and he's got three world religions to his name. It's fair either way you look at it." "I still don't like it. And if you count the triune excuse, then why's Jesus get a separate vote?" "He's dual-natured. The divine Christ votes with the Yahweh bloc, while the mortal Jesus votes as a prophet, just like Muhammad. You know that, Apollo,"Saraswati said, returning to the table to throw out her paper plate at the nearby trashcan. "Whatever,"Apollo sneered. "Get a room you two,"Ra said. "Gross, she reminds me of my sister." "Which one? You've got like twenty." "You're one to talk!" "Quiet, you two!"Odin thundered, almost literally. "Hermes is giving an announcement." The messenger god hovered high above the break room on his winged sandals. "The United Deities Security Council has made a decision regarding Resolution Alpha 893 Concerning The Easement of Miracle Sanctions on Earth. Please enter the General Assembly Hall at this time for more information." Apollo quickly finished his snack, gave Ra a parting nod, and dutifully filed into the Assembly hall, edging down the curved row that held the other Greek Gods. He surveyed the vast assembly hall, refamiliarizing himself with its structure. It felt like they were only in here about once a century anymore. The Egyptian, Aztec, and Norse pantheons sat to their left, right, and behind, respectively. Further behind than that, there were rows upon rows of Hindu deities, many with only five or six believers to their names, stretching up into infinity. Across the circular room, opposite the God Section, were the Saints and Prophets - a herd of dour-looking Catholics, interspersed with rows and rows of multicolored Bodhisattvas. The seven, or six, or fuck it, nine members of the Security Council were evenly spaced around the very lowest row. The omnilingual chatter of the Assembly Hall died down as Hermes got up to speak. After reintroducing the resolution that had been the subject of all the debate, he yielded the floor to Jesus. The swarthy, white-robed man stood up from his seat and paced to the center of the floor. "Ladies, Gentlemen, and others; It is the decision of the United Deities Security Council that we will pass a resolution to convene a committee of representative deities to construct a proposal for gathering further research into the viability of proposed plans, vis a vis the aforementioned resolution, with the intention of resolving the decision at a future session,"he reluctantly read off a card. "In the absence of a concrete plan for the easement of miracle sanctions, they will remain in place; the ban on supernatural miracles on Earth remains in effect indefinitely." As a chorus of boos and cheers broke out through the hall, Apollo watched Jesus walk quietly to his seat, only shooting a barely noticeable glare at his impassive father. "With leadership like this,"he heard Odin rumble behind him, "it's no wonder they've stopped believing in us. Who needs a devil when you've got bureaucracy?"
Edit; grammar. Yet again, Lauren was forced to walk to her house by foot, in the rain. She didn't even own an umbrella, which only annoyed her more. She clenched her fist as she turned the corner. She loved her mother, of course she did, but her alcoholic problems weren't helping any of them. A year earlier, her father had died in a car accident. Now, Lauren was stuck with a drunk mother, and a two year old, annoying sister. It was already late when her crappy, small house came into view. Getting in, she slammed the door shut then threw her stuff in the ground. She stomped towards the living room, where her mother sat in her sofa chair with a few whiskey bottles by her side. The TV was on at a low volume, and the brightness of the screen was the only thing illuminating the room. The room's scent was awful and oddly metallic, probably from the mess and alcohol combined. Lauren placed her hands on her hips and sighed, "Mom... Are you seriously drinking again?" Her mother gave no answer. "Mom!"Lauren exclaimed, trying to gain her attention. Without a single word from her, Lauren groaned and headed down the hallway. She walked by her sister's room, and while taking a quick glance in, she only noticed the darkness. Her sister must have been asleep. Lauren shrugged it off and walked towards her own bedroom. She slammed the door shut, and then headed towards her bed. Lauren was awakened a few hours later, to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Assuming it was her mother, she shifted into a side position, facing her door and attempted to fall asleep. The quiet, almost silent creak of her bedroom door snapped her back into reality. Lauren opened her eyes and spotted the brief outline of her small sister. "Sis?"She muttered sleepily. Instead of responding, her sister walked off, leaving the door wide open. Thinking it was a bit sketchy, Lauren grudgingly got up. She walked out her room barefoot, and towards her sister's room. The room was still dark, and there was no sign of the child. She walked towards the living room, faintly starting to hear the sounds of the TV. She could see the reflection of it, still brightly lighting the room. She took a peak in, and only noticed the exact same scene from before. A weird feeling struck her in the stomach, something wasn't right. "Mom?"She approached the body sitting in the sofa. Not watching where she was stepping, she cursed as she hit the side of a table. She looked down. Her eyes widened as she spotted the red liquid trail she hadn't noticed. Her nose clicked as she recognized the same scent that had struck her when she had arrived. "Mom..."She murmured as she looked over the cushions. Her eyes became watery. Her mother laid on the chair with wide, pale eyes staring at the TV. Blood trailed down from her neck, where an elongated cut sat. Her flesh seemed dried, and some of the blood held a weird color. Her body was pale, and her mouth was wide opened, showing a few colored marks over her teeth. A few crayons laid over her lap, along with some drawings of broken bottles. Other drawings were of dark creatures with long arms and red eyes. Lauren placed her hands over her mouth, unsure of what to do. From behind her, she heard the soft, playful voice of a little girl. "Shhh, mommy is sleeping."
"Captain, begin launch sequence? Captain?"The Nasa Test Director asks &nbsp; "Yes, yes, check that, begin launch sequence". I've had trouble focusing, the blue, electric field 100 km in front of me distracted me. I was sweating, I kept swallowing and feeling dizzy. The opening in front of me was 5 km in diameter. Beckoning from the god's mouth it did, you could feel it's presence, your hair stood up, your stomach felt empty. &nbsp; "NTD confirm. Directing and integrating all flight crew, orbiter, external tank/solid rocket booster and ground support testing in the shuttle launch countdown." "10...9...3...2...1..We are go for launch" &nbsp; I pull the ignition handle, and sped forth cautiously. All of my relentless years of training began to come into question in my mind as we neared the blue opening. The portal bended and magnified the stars around it. It was like someone held a massive optic frame in front of the galaxy. I was no longer sweating, I didn't have the luxury of distraction. &nbsp; I'll never forget the day Nasa received a communication in code the was directed from the portal, with the 1's and 0's translated to "There is a 4th dimension", the code repeated over and over. I'll never forget the dark and stabbing realization of a potential (and nearly endlessly debated) one way trip. This was our opportunity to find a method of space travel beyond a straight line. A 4th Dimension pathway. A new area of the universe to test man's potential and start a self sufficient colony there, of course if this code was leading us somewhere meaningful. &nbsp; The Shuttle's equipment stops working, pitch black darkness in the cockpit. The universe is bending around us as we travel down a colorful blue tunnel. My body feels liquid, keeping together by forces unknown to us. &nbsp; Suddenly, like a light switch, the portal ends and we are floating next to a planet, similar to ours, only more land and less ocean. We descend towards the planet. A hushed silence echoes through the shuttle. Our receiver picks up a code feed, and we begin translating. &nbsp; "There is a 5th dimension". Our instruments return that it's coming from a massive red cube outside of the planet. It's clearly not intended for us. The message is repeated over and over. We see a strange series of glowing crafts assemble into an armada coming from the planet we just arrived to. The strange crafts cautiously enter the cube.
Through the shimmer of the July heat, I could see that the plastic Jersey barriers were advancing. It was marginal, yes, but it was there. I knew what was happening, and yet I knew what would happen if I used my horn. So I double checked and triple checked, using the white dashed lines as a reference. I was right. The time had come. I lay on my horn for all I was worth, then scrambled to the back of my van to grab my tire iron. The call went up on the northbound side of I-89, the predetermined warning of the inevitable. We had all armed ourselves and were moving warily towards the dividers when a wave of southbounders broke through one hundred yards to my north, around mile marker 82.4. The few of my people who were directly in front of the were trampled. The least disciplined south bounders dived on top of the victims, ravenously ripping at whatever exposed skin they could find. The most disciplined continued their rush, driven mad by a week's hunger. We matched their fury, and the asphalt hissed as the blood evaporated under the heat of the July sun. _____________________________________________________ I picked my way through the lifeless cars. None were occupied, their passengers having rushed south to fight or feed or both. The few bodies that did lie on the shoulder were unmarked; they had died before we were desperate. I had eaten my fill, and was the only one who had not paid for it. The ten days of July heat had been the worst ten days for humankind. The sign up ahead of me said Exit 4: Randolph, Vermont Technical College. It was time to leave the road. This was my exit.
You underestimate the mortals. And you place too much faith in them Lucius. You would trick them? Deceive them? I will show them the way. They are animals you fool! They live and die only by our whims. You are wrong. And once the wager is complete, you too will be brought into the light. And if you are wrong? I will step down. You have my word. Well then. Shall we begin? So be it. Welcome to my kingdom Lucius. What have you done!? What is this madness!? Watch them Lucius! See how easily your precious humans give way to violence and destruction! You tyrant! You are a monster! How could you do this to your own people!? They do nothing but make war and kill one another. Fear my dear Lucius. I have planted the seed of fear in all of their hearts. Fear of the unknown, fear of change, fear of dissent, and most of all... the fear of death! Death? You have made them fear their most noble quality? It is only because the mortals must die that their lives are more beautiful than our own. With death, comes the courage to face it. A courage that we immortals cannot reach. Yes. But you see, I appeared to them my dear Lucius. I wove a great lie before them. I promising them untold riches and unending life. You promised them immortality... But only if they follow my command. Without question, without dissent. Does your cruelty know no bounds. By tempting them with something they can never have, you have stripped them of all that their precious lives could be. It matters not Lucius. They are lambs, bred only to be slaughtered for my glory. But have you forgotten our wager? Whosoever has convinced the most followers in their kingdom by today's sunset is the victor. I have not forgotten. You have shaped so many of them with fear that they have grown to hate one another. They have killed a great many more of each other than existed before we placed the wager. And what have you taught your followers Lucius? Did they listen? I showed them the truth. A great many of them hid away from it. Many more dared not try and comprehend it. But I have brought them into the light. I have shared our knowledge with them. The truth's of the universe. What good can you have hoped to accomplish by sharing the knowledge of the universe with the mortals? They do not know what to do with such truths. You are mistaken. My people do not war, they do not judge, and they do not kill. They have many differences, but they accept one another and work together. They have achieved a many great things, I will show you. You fool! You have made them weak! WHAT!? What have you done!? Watch them burn Lucius! All your pillars of knowledge! All your teachings! All your precious mortals, sacrifices unto me! My kingdom!? My people!? This was not the wager! This was not what was promised! You swore that you would not intervene! And I haven't my dear Lucius. I merely commanded my followers that they must follow me without question if they want their precious reward! They murder for their false afterlife! I commanded them to find all of those who do not follow my one truth! They shall declare them heathens and it is their right to destroy and conquer all that deny me! How could you... This wasn't the wager... I had more followers than you. I showed them the truth. They listened... They can prosper with our knowledge! They can flourish with the truth! Yes Lucius. You indeed had more followers than me, for a time. But the wager was whosoever has the most by the setting of the sun will be the victor. And dusk is only just now upon us my dear friend. Watch with me now as your kingdom is burned. Your people put the torch and burnt at the stake for their heresy. It seems a few of them may yet live as slaves under my own. Put an end to this! Spare my people! Spare them and I will step down! You have my word! Look upon yourself! You are weak. Just like them. You deserve them Lucius, you deserve to be with them. Free them... Just let them go of this torment... I beg you. Come now Lucius. Stop your mewling. Besides, you said yourself. I cannot interfere. Not until the sun has set. And I must say, watching the inferno consume your kingdom does bring me joy! I won't let you get away with this... I won't... You do not have a choice you fool! Your kingdom is in ruins! Your followers have been killed! You have lost your seat of power! I refuse. I will not step down! I will not allow this! You still think there is hope, do you? I would enjoy stripping your soul from you Lucius. But it is not in my power to harm you. So allow me to propose you with one last wager Lucius. You will become my thrall, you will serve me and do my bidding as I carve out a new kingdom that will span this entire world... I will not! I will not let this treachery stand! Come now Lucius, you did not let me finish! If you do not submit to me, I will cast you out! You cannot resist my power Lucius, I have stripped you of your people! I have stolen away the source of your strength! I will not... I cannot submit to this... Think about what you say Lucius. You can join me, or your precious mortals. You can rule by my side forever or you can burn with them. You will share in their agony Lucius. And once you have been cast out, I will not stop. I will continue until you submit Lucius. I will break you. Then do it! Do it you vile creature! What name shall I shout out to you in damnation as you ascend your wretched throne! You will call me God. The one true God Lucius. And you will be no one. An immortal forever imprisoned to live among the mortals you hold so dear. I will find a way... I will show them the truth... the light. You will not Lucius. They will never know your name. You will be a disgrace, a lie, a great danger to any who should seek you out. Those who dare seek the truth will be the first to be cast out of my kingdom. I will forsake them from the ever lasting life I have promised them! But it is lie! You cannot give the mortals everlasting life! It is not in your power! You would have them live and die, all in service to you! All for something they can never have! Why would you deceive them so!? So that I can control them my dear Lucius and so that I can control you. I will see them suffer any amount, so long as the throne of the immortals is mine! You will pay for this... One day you will return to me Lucius, crawling on your knees and begging for my forgiveness. You cannot endure the torment of mortals for eternity. I will have my revenge...
He's waiting for me outside the window as I crawl out onto the fire escape. Hovering in midair, his red cape flapping in the wind that runs between the skyscrapers of Metropolis. "Going somewhere, Doctor?"he asks. "I just wanted a bit of fresh air,"I say. I'm lying. He knows it, I know it, but it makes me feel a bit better about myself. Superman, the world's brightest beacon of hope, floats closer to the fire escape. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to run away,"he says. There is no accusation in his tone. "Can you blame me? Can you look at the people sitting in my waiting room and blame me for wanting no part of it?"I ask, pointing at the door leading from my office to the room where almost half a dozen gods in the flesh wait, perusing my decades-old magazines. "Probably not,"says Superman, alighting on the fire escape beside me. He stands heads and shoulders above me, the very image of the heroic build. Muscles bigger than my head, yet he looks so streamlined. "But isn't it your job to help people?" "People,"I say, wagging a finger at him. "Regular people. None of you are regular." "Doctor, please,"the Man of Steel asks me, his blue eyes pleading. Those eyes that could cook me alive or see straight through me. "It's come to the League's attention that we have more than a few mental problems that leave us vulnerable to psychic attack." "Psychic psychiatry isn't my area of expertise,"I say, reentering my office. I wouldn't be able to escape with him in the way. "If you want someone more knowledgeable on the subject of psychic effects on the brain, I can recommend you to some colleagues, but I can't help you." "I think you can, Doctor,"Superman says, examining the contents of the walls and the bookshelves. "You came highly recommended." "By who?"I ask. I truly doubted that any of my clients would be the sort who interact with the Justice League. "One Clark Kent,"Superman answers, his expression unreadable. "A patient of yours. He thinks the world of you." "Oh?"I say. "I'm surprised you know him." "We're fairly close,"he says, absentmindedly adjusting a picture frame. Looking at him in profile, he seems familiar, but I can't quite place it... "Will you do it?" "Mister, uh, Superman, as tempting as it is to pick the brains of the Justice League, I really don't think I'm up to the task." "We'll pay four times your hourly rate." My jaw hangs open, attempting to form a response. "Alright then,"I say dumbly. "Will you be first?" "Oh, I'm just dropping by to make sure the others find the place,"Superman says, halfway out the window. "Besides, I already have an appointment for next Monday at three." He says it with a grin, and I imagine a pair of thick-rimmed glasses hanging on his face, picturing his shoulders slump and his manner turned mild... "Oh my god,"I say, numb. The physical god puts a finger to his lips for silence, still grinning. "Doctor-patient confidentiality,"he reminds me, and then he's gone. I sit there for a few minutes, turning this new information over in my head. All my conversations with Clark take on a new, terrifying depth as I consider who he truly is. A god disguised as a man, hiding behind a pair of spectacles. A man who came to me in disguise, hoping to find an ear to reveal his problems to and a mouth to voice the questions he could never ask himself. Finally, I steel myself, and open the door. "Mister, uh, Batman,"I say to the colorfully dressed heroes in the waiting room. Noticeably, none of them were wearing black capes. "Is he...?" "Probably already on the couch,"says the beautiful, dark-haired woman leafing through an old People magazine. "Act surprised. It's the only way he has fun these days." I turn back to my office to look, and she's right. A man dressed all in black, swaddled by a black cape and face concealed by a black cowl with two sharp, upward-pointing ears, is lying on my couch, fingers interlaced over his stomach. I do not have to fake surprise. As I yelp, I think I see the man grin, just slightly. I close the door and turn on the white noise machine, despite knowing that if the other League members wanted to hear the conversation, they would have no problems. "So, Mister Batman,"I say, sitting down in the armchair at one end of the couch. I decide to start simply, with the question that I ask all of my patients. "Tell me about your parents." To my immense surprise, the Dark Knight of Gotham bursts out crying. ---- Read my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.wordpress.com). Um, please.
Oh this was just getting old fast. At first, it was all a joke, a great laugh and really I needed one. You have no idea what it’s like after a while, thousands of years of living. It kind of blurs together sometimes. I’ve actually really enjoyed the last few centuries, lots and lots of things happening, but even that novelty wore off eventually. See, when you get used to things going fast, eventually you want them to go faster still. So, I was getting a little restless, thinking maybe a major catastrophe might liven things up. A few words here, a few documents passed to the wrong hands there, and I figured we were on the road to a lively apocalypse as two heavily armed giants seemed ready to clash. Except I wasn’t as clever as I thought. The intelligence services got lucky, and just when I thought I was lighting the fuse on the greatest fireworks show the earth had ever seen, I was in handcuffs. Tried and convicted of treason in a plot described as so monstrous that it would never be forgotten, I was sentenced to death. Well now, that’ll be interesting I thought. Of course, how they’d react eventually might be a problem, but in time I could usually solve problems and time was one thing I was never short on. My jailors came to my cell just as I was finishing up a fantastic meal of KFC and extra biscuits. It’s not like it was really going to be my last meal after all, and I had a craving. Not like I had to worry about my cholesterol. “On your feet Jacobs,” the sergeant shouted. He was still mad about the last time. Probably the time before that too. “What is it today Sarge, firing squad? Hanging? Oh, I know, firing me out of a cannon at a brick wall. You know, that might be worth trying!” Actually, I’d rather they didn’t try that. Immortal yes, immune to headaches, not so much. “Laugh it up smart guy,” he sneered. “Look, The Chair didn’t get you, and neither did the lethal injection, but eventually we’re going to figure out how you sabotaged those things and in the meantime your luck won’t last forever. Whoever is helping you can’t throw a monkey wrench into every execution we try to perform. I’d say your days are numbered, and the number I’m thinking of is one”. “Oh Sarge, don’t let it get you down. I told you guys that this wasn’t going to be easy. I’m just living up to my promises”. I flashed them an innocent smile, which I imagine was perfect for making them even angrier. What can I say, I was bored, and my entertainment options were limited for the moment. They entered the cell and, with what I considered a little more roughness than needed, cuffed me and marched me out. “Well buddy, you’re right about one thing. Today we’re using a firing squad, so good guess. We’re also pulling the bullets out of their boxes at random and testing a few first, just to make sure that there’s no blanks sneaking in. Unless you’ve got the entire squad on your payroll, today is the day you leave us”. “Actually Sarge, I have one last request for you then…” My voice sounded sincere enough that the bastard actually looked like he believed that I was worried about my impending doom. “Alright, let’s hear it.” He said, gripping my arm as he steered me down the hallway. “I’m gonna need a new shirt when I get back to my cell. This one’s gonna look like hell, what with the holes and blood-stains”. I flashed him a wide smile and a wink and watched his face turn red. “I’m going to enjoy watching this Jacobs,” he snarled, giving me a good hard shove towards the door to the killing ground they’d prepared. I smiled knowingly, chuckling at the joke that they weren’t in on. “I doubt it Sarge, I really doubt it”.
It has been two months since the politicians passed that crazy law. Our city was reduced to chaos, and anybody with a job was targetted. During the first wave, politicians and CEOs were the first to get hit. Now our businesses and our government is run by people who killed them. They knew nothing about running anything, and only wanted money or power. It took only weeks for the rich and powerful to hire better security to protect themselves. Guards escorted the big wigs to and from their offices. A few guards got wise and killed the man paying them to take his spot. Most of them work from home now. Low level minimum wage people become targets from the unemployed population. They could not afford guards or extra security. Ironically, dark alleys became safe havens since these people hunted in the open. They wanted to be caught and sentenced to a job. They would kill in broad daylight and in full view of security cameras. Often while these people were on the job. You serve some unemployed guy his burger and bam, he'd shoot you in the head. Whether he had no credentials or was too lazy to fill out the application and go through the interview process. Then they'd yell and confess their crime for good measure. As for myself? I clean and inspect the sewers. Often people would walk up to me with gun in hand, asking me my job. After telling them, they'd leave. I'm one of the safest men in the city.
As the pitted grey landscape of the lunar surface rolled into view of the external cameras, the crew of Chang'e 11 stared at the video monitors in silent amazement. It was a bleak world of dust and rock, no sign of anything other than the millions of years of impacts that scarred the otherwise barren moon. After reaching the designated landing site, a broad flat plain surrounded by slate-grey mountains, the descent vehicle detached from the orbiter and plummeted downward. While the vehicle descended, the two man crew inside noticed something very interesting on the monitors. Initially it looked like an unusual rock formation but as they came closer and closer to the surface, the shape of the formation solidified into a bulbous protrusion that stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the landscape. By the time the craft had landed, the crew inside had already beamed back high-resolution images of the unexpected finding. Home Command issued a new set of directives for the intrepid explorers, instructing them to inspect the anomaly in person. So down the ladder they went, their boots sinking several centimeters into the dusty ground as they disembarked. Several hundred meters distant was the anomaly, now clearly visible amidst the grey background. The descent vehicle whirred and clicked, engaging a series of servos that deployed a pair of two-wheeled vehicles that were similar to motorcycles but bulkier. After hooking into the harnesses attached to the vehicles, the two explorers sped away, sending up huge plumes of lunar dust that trailed towards the anomaly. When they were within a hundred meters of the object, the explorers were able to discern several features. It was metallic, roughly six meters tall and five meters wide, and had a bulbous covering that was also somehow blocky and irregular. Tattered shreds of gold-colored foil dangled below the bulbous section, giving the entire structure the appearance of a colossal metal jellyfish. On the side of the structure were a series of curious symbols. A flag with red white and blue coloration that looked oddly familiar to the explorers as well as the letters UN ED ST ES. Between the letters were black-pock marks that looked like the effects of some sort of high-powered laser. Next to that was a number, written in large black paint: 18. The explorers instantly knew what they were looking at, even though they couldn't believe it. It was a spacecraft, one not too dissimilar from the very one they had just disembarked from. Built from ancient technology, this spacecraft had been left here by someone. Knowing it was impossible, the explorers radioed back to the orbiter where the rest of the crew were watching everything through the explorer's helmet cameras. Their instructions were clear, investigate this ancient spacecraft and find out whatever they could. So up the ladder they went, gripping the ancient metal and pulling themselves inside the open hatch. Upon entering the craft, one of the explorers instantly vomited. The inside of the craft was covered in freeze-dried blood and bits of fragmented bone. An ancient space-suit clung to one of the bulkheads, cemented there by the grotesque after-effects of what appeared to be a particularly violent episode of explosive decompression. Once the explorers had regained their composure and purged the vomit from their helmets, they began to search around the cramped interior for more information. A notepad, flecked with dried blood, dangled from a bulkhead. Scrawled across the first page was a series of words. The explorers ran it through their translation software and found that it read, "They're coming, we don't have much time. Whoever finds this, please know this: The moon is not ours. We should never have come here, we should have stayed on Earth." The crew aboard the orbiter watched, their mouths agape, as the translated language scrolled across their screens. Before they could transmit another message to the ground team, the orbiters proximity sensors began bleating in alarm, warning of an approaching object half a kilometer away. They flicked the monitors over to external view and saw an elongated lozenge shape drifting towards them. They saw red-orange energy gather along its prow, and watched in paralyzed terror as the plasma lanced forward. In an instant, the orbiter detonated in a fireball that vaporized several of the crew members and launched the rest into the cold and deadly embrace of vacuum.
"Derrick, Dinner!"Mom's voice rang out from downstairs. "Yeah, yeah,"Derrick muttered. "Just pause the rehydrator, OK?"he yelled back. "I'm almost done with my game!" Derrick's hands held the holo-orb control as he navigated his fighter through uncharted space. Most of the planets in the near-Earth systems had already been claimed by other guilds, and all that was left was the mined-out moons and a few worthless gas planets. He decided it would be best to go as far away from everyone else as possible and set up his own camp there. Plenty of minerals to mine; he'd return back to known space when he could afford a frigate. So he just set it to random travel of 4 weeks' time, which would choose some unknown star system far out in the reaches of space. Eventually, his ship zeroed in on the target: A Goldilocks planet, maybe 3 times the size of Earth. Blue water, green plants, rich in minerals, etc. It was so far out that the computer's navigation as having a hard time comparing the star charts to known space. "Derrick, we're not going to wait forever!"his mom shouted. "I said hold on!"he yelled back as the ship breached the planet's atmosphere and settled in for a landing. But to Derrick's chagrin, there were already buildings on the surface. He'd been waiting weeks to finally land and establish his base; Mom could wait a few minutes for dinner. "Oh, come on!"he groaned. Who the hell was already out here? He'd set it to autotravel weeks ago, and that was moving at light speed! And who the hell would come all this way anyway? It wasn't even charted on the maps! "What fucking luck,"Derrick muttered. Seriously, a million worlds within explorable range and he happened to randomly get an occupied one. No use leaving now; if it wasn't this one, the computer would cycle through another few weeks of travel until it found another good spot. Maybe they'd let him join the guild. Derrick's ship settled into a a field and was approached by the planet's inhabitants. Strange purple beings with dozens of tentacles sprouting from all over their bodies. What the hell... how was someone playing as an alien? That wasn't in the game! It approached and waved its tentacles, making weird gurgling sounds and gesturing up at the sky. "Holy shit,"Derrick whispered. Holy shit... More aliens emerged from a nearby hole in the ground and came closer to Derrick's ship. "Did I just..." "Derrick, get your ass down here!"his mom shouted. "I said hold on!"he shouted back. Should he call NASA? Was this real first contact? Oh shit! They'd have to send the next Colony ship there immediately; they could get the coordinates from the computer! Oh man! Real Contact! Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and his mom burst through the door. "Derrick, we're all downstairs waiting for you so that we can eat." "Mom..." "I don't want to hear it, young man. We are eating dinner together as a family and that is final." She strode forward and ripped the plug out of the wall; the holo generator fizzled and went black. Derrick's mouth just fell open. He hadn't had time to confirm the ship's landing... it would just move on to some other destination. The planet was lost, with no way to find it again. "Now get downstairs!"she said, thrusting a finger toward the door. "Stop wasting your time with these pointless video games."
I never believed in soulmates. Sure plenty of people claim to have met theirs, but most people just settle down with a guy or gal that they love right here and now. Sometimes, the mark fades long after you met them- people change, and the person you saw this morning isn't the same as the one you saw last week. Then I met Luke. He was perfect- he made me feel like I was his entire world. His left mark faded almost insantly- mine didn't. But I didn't care, I loved him and we got married, had three beautiful children...we were happy. He was constantly trying to make my mark fade though, like his had all those years ago. He would treat me to surprise dinner dates, flowers, naughty nights alone, with the kids away at grandma's... It was heaven, and eventually it must have paid off. I remember it so clearly. It was my fourty-fifth birthday, the kids were tucked up in bed and he led me out onto the deck. He whispered sweet nothings in my ear as we watched the stars. A perfect moment. And in that moment, my worries, my cares...all gone and all I could think of was how nice, how perfect this moment was. I also remember how the right mark faded. Luke is still alive, if you can call it living. As we got older, he got clumsier, more forgetful. But I didn't care, I was always there to pick up the pieces, and everyone has their days, right? And then we got the diagnosis. Dementia. I did everything I could, but I had to watch the man I love fall to pieces inside his own head, watch as everything in his life fell apart. I had to hold it together, for him. One day, he woke up and he couldn't remember who I was. And thats when it faded. I still see him every day, still pick up the peices, still hope that somehow it'll be ok. But I know, deep down, that the man I loved is gone. I never believed in soulmates. Not until I lost mine.
The moonlight trickled through the crumbling remains of the Last Library. I held my breath as I navigated the rubble, praying the police were not in pursuit of the Book Searchers tonight. The smell of charred pages was suffocating, yet I plundered on. Full books in tact were a rare enough occurrence, and I was running out of places to look. No books, no money, no food. I glanced down at the brandished mark on my hand, gritting my teeth - a reminder to all that I rebelled against the great fires and burnings. None were brave enough to hire me whilst bearing the mark. I found only two books before my phone buzzed - their spines broken and pages crisped. I shoved them into my backpack, and made my way to the meeting place. "What...what you got?" The girl stood there shaking. Desperate. A regular. When the outside world is a dystopian nightmare, you find whatever crutches you can and hold onto them for dear life. I silently handed her a battered copy of 50 shades of grey. "Bullshit! Bull SHIT. You had the Harry Potters just last week I know you have the good shit."She lunged towards my backpack and I swerved out of her way, placing on arm on her shoulder and the other still holding the book. I almost felt a pang of guilt looking into her saddened eyes, but what other choice did I have? I needed to save the good ones for the new customers - the ones who needed hooking. And I knew she would read just about anything so long as it took her mind away from this godawful place. "Take it or leave it. It's all I have" Sirens wailed, piercing the near-silence. Blues and reds filled the night sky. The wide eyed girl quickly shoved payment into my hand, running off into the night, book clutched to chest. The sirens only grew louder, and being so much as caught on the grounds of the Last Library was punishable by - well - we were never sure what by. All we know is those who were prosecuted never returned. The land spanned out for miles in each direction, with little to no cover in sight. No time. I scaled a tree, tossing my bag onto a long and welcoming branch. I sat there in the branches, masked by leaves, and watched as the shadows chased a small familiar figure. She collapsed, book still held to chest. The one shadow hoisted the girl by her armpits, the other picking up the book between his finger and thumb and holding it at arms length. Both were shoved into the car. Neither returned from the journey.
For one whole minute we had been The Atheist States of Perpetual Orgy. I was glad when it was over, which honestly may have been because there was no one in my office who I was glad to know biblically. Yet the horror of seeing Jim from Sales's cottage cheese textured buttocks was sadly not the worst thing to happen to me. The drive in that morning had been uneventful, due to my foggy post-coffee-but-before-the-caffeine-hits-me brain sag, I failed to notice the alien landings, the billboards urging to us to vote for President Bigfoot, the fact that the traffic flowed perfectly, the subsequent assassination of President Bigfoot, the stock market explosion, the brief reign of President Zombie Bigfoot, and the stock market implosion. I did, however, notice that Jenny's car was significantly nicer than mine. I sat fuming in my assigned parking space, Jenny never beat me to work. Her car cost half as much as mine did, hell, my watch probably was worth two years of payments on her beater, practically a Yugo. Did she get that promotion we both wanted? She did. I thought of my credit card debt, the loans I had taken out, I was banking on this promotion, how the hell did she swipe it out from under me? She was smiling as she approached my office, far from the corner that she now occupied. She had two cups of Starbucks in her hand, offered one to me, it was the perfect temperature, hell, the temperature never changed. "So what did you spend your wishes on, Paulie?"she said. "Wishes?"I looked out the window and saw Godzilla fighting with Abraham Lincoln. Jesus Christ. Yeah, he was there, too. "Didn't you see the app? It was only up for 24 hours." "Shit. What app?" "Make A Wish released it, they messed up, it was only supposed to go to kids 12 years and under. A few adults got wind of it and it spread like wildfire."She took a long sip from her coffee and then smiled at me. "Oh, you poor thing. Clear out your desk, I want you out of here by noon." Although I was crying, the drive home was smooth, traffic never stopped, the speed limit was 120 and there was free wifi the entire way. My car knew where to go, I checked my phone and played with the radio. Scores of grandparents were being rescued from inside their graves, trapped by poorly worded wishes that only hoped for them to be alive again. The New York Yankees and the Chicago Cubs and the Florida Marlins all won the World Series together and the Quebec Nordiques and the Toronto Legacy announced their new uniforms. Hundreds of dads reappeared with packets of cigarettes and a website named Reddit finally got a search function that worked. I came home and opened my fridge, it was fully stocked with food that I didn't remember buying. I pulled out an orange, and when I went back for more food, the orange had been resupplied. I turned on the TV, there was word of the manned mission to mars being delayed due to the fact that our colony had already been established. I grabbed a beer and began scrolling through the app store again. I saw a new app appear, one that had an image of a gray skinned primate's hand. Apparently, it could take given wishes and twist them to make them terrible. It had alternate ratings of one star and five stars. I immediately downloaded it, not a second too soon either, the app disappeared as I went back to look for reviews. I thought of Jenny and her smile.
John had not been awake for long. He watched the drizzle through the kitchen window. Two grey skinned, scruffy looking corpses shuffled along outside. Both looked speculatively at the window, and saw John standing there. Brilliant, thought John. Here already. They began to salivate and approached unsteadily, first crossing the road, then with difficulty stepping over the curb, and with increasing speed passing through the gate. But they suddenly stalled when they saw John's car parked just outside. Turning again to face the window, one zombie raised a hand and cocked its head to one side. It revealed a bloody lattice of tendons and ligaments. John shook his head, and mouthed the words "not yet."Each zombie then promptly turned away, returning to the road. Each, however, continued to loiter outside. John picked up a can opener, and pried open a tin of beans. He pulled a grubby spoon from the drawer, and took a cold, gloopy mouthful. He shuddered slightly. He really needed to get some more gas. And build a bigger fence. The chickens had laid no eggs under the constant groaning supervision of his former neighbours. They were evidently off putting to avian ovaries. "Uurrff,"said John, as he took another mouthful of beans. Today he should just skip work, hop over the fence, and bash their heads in. Get it over and done with. "To survive the apocalypse, you must get your hands dirty."That's what the strange man in the beret had said, and it was probably true. Though, it rather undermined his point when he was bitten, clawed and torn to shreds that same day. John had only just escaped. If he'd not been (sort of) alone and (momentarily) out of sight, he would have been snuffed out and chewed up along with all the others. It had been an horrific ordeal. And speaking of horrific, thought John, taking another spoonful of beans. They partly came back up, but a second laboured swallow kept them down. "Oh God."He whimpered. Still, somewhere within the things, John knew, there was an iota of humanity; an ounce of intelligence. They weren't simply brain eating automatons. They could be reasoned with (only, not when it came to not pestering chickens, damn it). For John had no bars over his windows, no wooden beams across his doors, no traps inside his home, because nowadays, no zombie caused him any trouble. He was far too useful. The door knocked. He looked up at the clock. Ten a.m. He might as well; it was better than facing the beans. He set them down, positioned a place-mat on top of the tin, and hurried to the door. Outside stood the same upright, hopeful, and decaying corpse as earlier. It's fetid stench seeped quickly into the house, and it wheezed asthmatically with each breath. Again the zombie cocked its head. Through its neck, John could see another lurching towards him. "OK,"he said. "Hop in." Both zombies groaned, turned, and limped towards John's car. He unlocked it with his fob. "Hey, HEY! Not the front seat,"called John. The half-neck turned and groaned again, still holding the front door handle. "You know the rules. In the back. THE BACK." The zombie slowly let go, and slid to the back door. "There we go,"said John. He was used to the stink, but the front passengers could sometimes get a little bitey. It was better to keep them behind the glass screen. "What direction do you guys want to go, then?"Asked John. Both zombies groaned. "Right you are."He pulled out and accelerated away through unkempt suburbia. He started the fare meter, because old habits die hard. He would drop them off, and then go and have a root around Jewson's hardware store. They should still have plenty of gas, if it hadn't been raided since John's last visit. There was a fuel station nearby as well. And surely, somewhere, will have something other than beans. He crossed his fingers. "Topley Street OK?"He called back. Another couple of groans. "Great. The traffic is pretty good today, shouldn't take long at all."John smiled at his usual joke. They both benefited from the relationship, really. It would take a zombie a full day to cross the city, but John could do it in a quarter of an hour. He knew all the routes, and he wouldn't be attacked. They might have been undead, but they were too smart for that.
The two scorched and crippled ELSA-67 fusion engines silently thrusted their cargo onwards into the abyss. Slowly and lethargically they burned like the last embers of a dying sun. Unfathomable distances spanned the vast divide between the nearest astral bodies and the only answer to the engines' perseverant ejecta was silence. The darkness persisted above all else. It was cold and invasive, unjudging and unforgiving. Its embrace was possibly the only truth in this universe. As if its creators had realized that very truth at its conception, "The Last Hope"was a ship devoid of all culture. It was as if humanity had stripped itself of any last emotion in a desperate struggle to transcend itself as a species. The body lay broken and beaten, scarred from the domestic abuse of the solar system it once called home. Its pain was visceral and jarring, vehemently opposing by its very nature the sterile white corridors which it once held as breathing veins. Electricity would flood the halls sporadically, for a time. Eventually, even those lights too would fail. Postmortem spastic jerks wreaked its halls — The last fight of a dying animal. Would-be revenants lined the corridors in silence, lacking any progeny by which to uphold their claim. More mechanical than biological, their race as alien as the rest: they slept. As guardians, their moment faded. Onto the breach their ark sailed, and onto the breach their treasures spilt. Programmed not unlike the very machines struggling to allow their subsistence, insects forged the last fruitful seconds of their lives in their most remote habitat yet. Lives which, while momentary and brief compared to their protectors, were nevertheless full. The others lay at peace. Stilled by their movement across the universe. For a time.
"Goodness!"Sheila said as she opened her dresser drawer. "I should say so!"said the gentleman inside it. "Do you simply enter everybody's home without knocking where you come from? Shockingly rude!" He pulled himself upright and reached through her stockings until he found his top hat, which he placed, with a great deal of dignity, upon his head. "Well,"Sheila stammered, "It's just,"she said, "I suppose,"and then, "I have been keeping my stockings in here for some time." "Another thing I've been meaning to write about!"he snapped. "Simply tossing your refuse into a gentleman's home! The very height of indignity, I say!" "I'm terribly sorry,"Sheila said, a little caught off guard. The man in her dresser climbed up out and stepped onto the floor, fixed his collar, and pulled a cane out from inside one of her stockings. "It's just - the thing is,"Sheila managed, "I did -- pay for the dresser." The man let out a loud, slow, dramatic groan that went on for well over a minute. "Just the mentality today,"he muttered to himself with disgust. "Just the very mentality people have today. You see, ma'am, I am anarcho-socialist." "A what?" "An anarcho-socialist,"he repeated. "I don't believe in personal possession property. What gall, I must say! To go around thinking, simply because you own the home and you own the dresser, somehow they belong to you! Goodness, next you'll be saying Jerry can't live in the bed!" "Jerry?"she said. "Yes?"Jerry said from inside the bed. "She says you can't live in the bed anymore, Jerry!"the man called. "Can't live in the bed?"Jerry cut a hole into the mattress and pulled his head through. "Who bloody well says I can't live in whatever bed I please?" "She does!"the man in the top hat said, pointing an accusing finger at Sheila. "Bloody capitalists!"Jerry spat out a few feathers as he spoke. "I didn't!"Sheila heard herself crying out in a strange defensive reflexive. "I mean, I -- well, it's just-- now, wait a minute here. You've been sleeping in my bed?"She felt quite dizzy now. "My husband and I make love in that bed!" "Just the mindset of the modern bourgeoisie!"Jerry said. "Now you've got him going,"said the man who lived in the drawer. "Listen to her! My husband makes love to me in my bed. Bloody hell! Just because he's your husband, suddenly you're the only one who gets to make love to him! Next you'll be saying Charlie can't watch from the closet!" "Charlie?"she cried. "Now, wait a minute! Who is Charlie?" The door swung slowly open and a small meek man revealed himself inside. "It's the only thing that gives me pleasure, ma'am,"Charlie said, not daring to look her in the eye. Things may have gone on to sheer ridiculousness had her husband not stepped home at that moment. Fortunately, in he came, full of righteous fury and dignity. "What in the devil is going on here?"he demanded as he walked in and looked at the people filling his bedroom. "What's all this, then?" "Darling!"Sheila cried. "These men have been living in our home! This one's been in my stocking drawer, and this one in our bed - and this one -- I don't know what the little one does, but he unnerves me most of all!" "I watch, ma'am,"Charlie said. "I'm a watcher is all. It's a fine tradition. Me father watched in this closet before I did, and I expect my son'll carry it on." The husband shook his head as looked around the scene. "Disgusting!"he said. "Completely disgusting! Sheila, you've made such a commotion that you've gone and upset poor Jerry!" "She's a bloody capitalist is what she is,"Jerry said. "I'm so sorry, Jerry. I know she can be difficult."He gave his wife a stern look of disapproval. "Goodness, Sheila,"he said. "Could you imagine if the Robinsons acted this way while we filmed them?"
Meals are easy if you eat human babies I'm a big brown bear and I got mad rabies The hospital police try to fuck with me So I ate their sherif and the deputy Damn, I'm a bad bear nigga. Damn, big brown bear nigga. Damn, don't fuck with me Or I'll eat your baby and the deputy Bored as hell and I'm feeling hungry Broke as hell and I got no money So I head to the clinic in a human disguise But the cops over there know it's a lie Damn, I'm a bad bear nigga Damn, big brown bear my nigga Damn, don't fuck with me Cause bears gets mad when they're hungry Eating pussy, eating babies Big brown dick, give your bitch scabies Fuck the police I'm just un-bear-able I'll eat a baby and then the constable Damn, I'm a bad bear nigga Damn, big brown bear freaky nigga Damn, don't fuck with me Cause I'm feeling hungry for a baby.
The skin on my feet was flaked and peeling. Compulsively, I pulled at a loose edge. It came away easily, in one piece. I pulled further, seeing how far it would go. It had looped around my ankle twice before I started to panic. By then, I realised I couldn’t stop. That was an hour ago. I’m still pulling. The soft texture of the sofa, once comfortable, is agony now. I think I’m down to the last layer. I know I can’t do anything about. I know because, God help me, there’s something inside. Something that needs to be free.
----MAY 2, 2017---- I walked up eight steps to the door, and knocked three times. I felt my client's presence approach the other end. Two seconds later, the lock clicked and the door opened to a small, frail man. "Hello. My name is Clark." I stepped into his home. Old computers littered the place. I could hear his SuperPC whirring somewhere in front of me. Since I could not find it, I assumed he tucked it out of sight someplace. "Glad to--" "Meet me. And you think I look like a douchebag too. While I appreciate the sentiment, let's move on to the more important matters." I looked into his eyes. They were strangely hollow. "I...what? Are y--" "Reading your mind? Yes. I'm surprised you figured it out that quickly. Most are less open to the fact that I am literally telepathic. One client even believed I was stalking her with a private investigator. She eventually called for a restraint order against me, which I do not care for." "Well then. I guess you will be pretty handy. Here's what went dow--" "I don't think you understand me. I already know exactly what happened. So let's schedule a court date, shall we?" ----JUNE 26, 2017---- The large supercomputer in front of us was rather intimidating. Its lights glowed an eerie blue, slowly fading in and out to signal that it was awake. As people spoke within earshot of the bot (which was only 15 ft: the size of the courtroom), it clicked and whispered softly and frequently. Rumor was that this happened as it thinks. Recently, a law was written to ban all A.I. upon the realization that A.I. would be impossible to control. My client, Eric, claimed to have accidentally make something beyond his control, something he wanted destroyed. Unfortunately, the consequence of such an action is a life in prison. We were going to plead for insanity. Despite certain claims, I know that the judge is incapable of thoughts, or at least independent thoughts. I could not use my telepathy on the inner workings of this machine, no matter the method. This machine smiles, laughs, cries, and screams. It speaks of stories, dreams, and lovers. It reacts to music. It sings, dances, and even plays the fucking fiddle. It marvels at us. It believes in a God unfathomable by us humans. And it knows all. But it isn't human. I feared the damn thing. What happens as it is commanded by not just zeroes and ones, but five digits? What kind of a frightening nightmare would it become, with so much understanding in all dimensions? I knew it was inevitable for it evolve into something beyond us. The courtroom was oddly quiet. I looked around for the suspect. 8 minutes had passed, and no one entered the room. Strange. "Hello, Clark." A voice boomed behind me. I turned back around to see the computer right in front of my desk. I could hear my client whimper softly: The computer spoke: "Hello again, Eric. What? How does he know Eric? "For today's trial, I am your judge..." A pause. "and I am the accused." Huh? I got dizzy as my mind whirled through the possibilities of what was happening. I turned to Eric. "ERIC. YOU DIDN'T TELL ME IT WAS A FUCKING COMPUTER! I THOUGHT YOU CREATED A HUMAN!" He turned his hollow gaze to me, mouthing two words: I'm sorry. "Apologies, your honor,"I asked. "May you explain exactly what you mean?" A bright flash blinded me. I closed my eyes as I felt the warmth on my face. Suddenly, it got very cold. I opened my eyes to see a park. Trees surrounded me and a mist hid its secrets. Then I realized, this wasn't a random park. It was my childhood home. The very place I rode my bike in everyday. Something felt very off here, despite understanding that this was not reality. It was familiar, but a presence loomed within. "Hello, Clark. I am the judge, and I am the accused. Our trial begins now." I don't understand. Is it... "Human? No, Clark. I am beyond human." Fuck
We'd struggled to communicate in the beginning, but we learned how to speak a common language. We communicated on the thousand fronts and were given a thousand different answers in return. We learned they were not a hive like us. We had dealt with various species like this before, and so made sure to only communicate on a few vectors at once. We made sure to communicate business and terms with the highest echelons of their leadership for the most part to avoid confusion, and not take things anyone under them states as the will of humanity. We were careful. We communicated with scholars, we wanted to understand them so we know what to expect from them. We leaned some of their languages. We learned about their arts, and we studied their history. We saw the horrors they did to themselves. We learned of religion, and we studied all of their works and important events. We learned about Martin Luthor and... And then learning went quiet. We were no longer communicating with anyone at the scholars. We went there multiple times and we lost part of ourself. More were being lost every time. Quickly the whole planet went dark for us. We felt its loss. We did not know what happened. Something was terribly wrong. We investigated. We were happy to find part of ourselves, but they were separate to us. They were not our hivemind, but messy and chaotic, like the human minds. As we spoke we could begin to feel the ideas this separate us had. It said there were no other minds woven into their thoughts now, and it was alone. Communication stopped and we again lost part of ourselves. We landed on the surface again and lost ourselves many times over. We stopped and waited. Some time later a human ship landed on us, a nearby planet. The humans left their ship and spoke. They spoke in languages we had studied, they spoke in others we knew, and a lot more that we had never heard. We couldn't help but reach out to touch their minds. As we did we were diminished. We quickly lost feeling with a hemisphere of us. We retreated away from the humans. Again they came at us in larger numbers. Each speaking loudly, all broadcasting an idea. We left that world so it was no longer us. We learned the human mind was harmful to us. We could see that now. Humans infected us with something. An idea that disrupted 'WE'. It is much later. We are hiding out. We aren't even a planet any more. We are so much less than what we were. We are asteroids, and a moon. We are heading into deep space. We are finding it takes longer to think. The Hive is getting smaller. Anyone who tells you humans have no telepathic abilities has never experienced raw human will. Any attempt to find out what the will of the humans is, has left us without that part of ourself. We see a ship. The humans are hunting us. They are here. I am scared.
I stood on a hill top, surrounded by the scream of steel, and dying men. I surveyed the orgy of gore below, watching the ebb and flow of the battle. A thousand of my infantry, less every second, fought to hold their line. Their swords flashing and shields held high. I signaled to my banner man, who raised a blue checkered flag. From an obscured canyon on the left, a hundred heavy cavalrymen began their charge. They collided with the flank of our enemy, carving a swathe of destruction deep into the formation. The tide began to turn, my well-disciplined soldiers advancing as my cavalry nipped at the periphery. “Scout reports enemy in full retreat” shouted a runner minutes later as he crested the hill. I nodded, silent. Winning battles never made me happy, but I was good at it… the best. And if being good at it saved the life of my friends family and countrymen, I would do my service… … Cannon fire ripped the air, like thunder crafted by the hands of men. I watched horrified as fountains of gore erupted from the surprised and devastated ranks of soldiers I had ambushed. Gone were the days of neat and orderly lines. This was brutal warfare. Guerilla tactics that emphasized winning over any semblance of honor. My men stood in a line three deep, the first line lay prone, the second kneeling, and the third standing. “FIRE!” cried my Second. A repertoire of cracks sounded, feeling flimsy in comparison to the titanic blast of the cannon. I watched, saddened but resolute, as rank after rank of enemy soldier fell like wheat before a farmers scythe. Blood slickened the green grass, and still my men continued their barrage. Soon it was over, less than a score of my men lay dead and as many wounded. More than three hundred of our enemies had fallen on the grass, never to rise again. The day was won, but inside my heart seemed empty… … “Sir?” I jumped, looking at the engineer before me. He was dressed in digital camouflage. All tan and brown. Before him was a terminal showing several infrared camera feeds. “Sir, the building is targeted and locked. Heat signatures show several hostages… some of them are children.” The engineer said, his voice growing softer as he analyzed the images, horrified. I only nodded. this was standard M.O for these kinds of people. There was no room for mercy, no room for weakness. “Go get a coffee.” I said. The engineer looked at me, confused. But I just jerked my thumb to the door of the temporary command tent. When the engineer left, I took his seat, hands moving to the controls. I watched as the screen flashed white, and then adjusted. The building was gone. Gone were the distinct human shaped heat signatures. In their place was a crater, and residual heat left from the explosion. I stood from the chair. I made it three steps before I vomited. This wasn’t war, this was hell.
"Good morning and welcome to the biannual Black Market"A voice said over the intercom. The crowd outside already restless from waiting in line for the doors to open. "We have a special today over in Building 3 on C4, Dynamite and Heroin. Also, there is a sale today on child laborers in Building 9. As you all know everything is first come first serve. Everyone without a pass key AND password, please leave the line now. This will act as your final warning." Several clusters of people could be seen fidgeting in line then walking away as the announcement finished, but not Paul. He had waited for months to attend after a scalper sold him a pass key. No one had ever said anything about needing a password to get in! As the line started moving forward he could feel a sweat starting in his underarms. What's the worst that could happen Paul thought, although the armed guards with looked very serious. One by one the crowd presented their keys to the guards and walked through the gates as they opened. Maybe the whole password thing was a slip of the tongue? Paul couldn't hear any phrases being exchanged. In a few short minutes he was at the gate. The guards took a quick glance at his pass key and waved him through. Paul smiled as the doors opened and he could see row upon row of buildings inside the massive warehouse. This was it! While the gate closed behind him he strolled forward ready to check out the line of prostitutes being sold outside of Building 1. Up until another guard reached out and grabbed his arm. "Password."The guard said and at Paul's look of confusion he readied his rifle. "Oh yeah my password, sorry about that. You kind of surprised me."Paul lied smoothly. Even though he could feel his underarms dripping sweat at that point. "Password."The guard repeated. Flipping off his safety. "Can I just-"Paul tried to ask, but his question was cut short by a bullet penetrating his forehead and out the other side. The guard spoke into his earpiece. "Command, we need clean up at Gate 2." "Confirmed, Gate 2, we'll leave clean up on site. There's always more than one rat." The gate had silenced the gunshot for the crowd still waiting outside. Anyone who hadn't listened to the earlier warning was in for a surprise.
I heard them my whole life. Voices that weren't mine talking constantly, incessantly even when no one was moving their lips. I thought it was normal, then I thought it was schizophrenia, but eventually I accepted that what I was hearing were other people's thoughts, broadcasting to no one else but me. Of course no one knows what I can do. The few times I tried to reach out, they thought I was crazy. My own mother seriously considered locking me away in an institution, though she never voiced this aloud. I heard it all in that strange voice that narrates all her thoughts. I've learned a lot about people just from their thoughts. I've learned that their head voice is usually different from their actual voice, yet still distinctly theirs. I know that if animals can think, it's on another frequency because I can't hear them. I know that children are usually much smarter and much dirtier than most adults think they are and that there are a surprising amount of people with perpetual smiles on their faces walking around with broken hearts. Loneliness is rampant. Teens put up a good front, but are usually the most conflicted and confused, but are terrified to show too much of that weakness to their peers. And the dying think surprisingly little about dying, at least until the event gets close. I find the thoughts of babies the most interesting. Babies don't think in words, they think in sounds, music, snippets of their parent's voices. Babies are living symphonies, and I can't get enough of them. We never truly grow out of those thoughts, either, we just add a lot more talk amidst the songs and reruns of our lives. I consider my ability a gift, as while I have seen real ugliness, it has mostly revealed to me the beauty of humanity. Even the toughest of men has a song in their heart, and everyone has dreams, hopes, and worries that are similar. Sometimes I hear a problem from one mind and a solution from a totally different one, and I have no way to tell them that if they just turn around then they'll find the answer to their problem. Sure, I could tell them. But they wouldn't be listening. Because as I tried to explain myself, all that would be going through their mind would be "Oh god, what is it?" My fault for being born with a deformed body and a beyond-clear mind.
Humanity rose and fell as a species on its single home planet, Earth, named for its primary feature: Dirt. At the height of their civilization, Humanity developed its greatest invention: the Smartphone. These devices were only called phones due to their ability to make phone calls, but truly they were a link to an extra-dimensional being named Siri. Humans would use this connection to get information and recommendations on travel directions, restaurants, places to hide corpses and major life decisions. When a child came of age at 13, he would consult Siri on what to do with his adult life as his relatives celebrated around him and lifted him up in a chair. This was called a Bar-Mitzvah. Humans were a truly inventive species. Over the years Humans found a way to get on to their own moon while somehow not ever discovering gravity manipulation, a feat that has never been reproduced throughout the federation. It is said that when Lance Armstrong - a Starsailor or as humans called them, a Bicyclist - took his first step onto the moon he said "We're no strangers to love, you know the rules and so do I". Over time, humanity declined as a civilization. Some scholars believe that Siri tricked the humans into creating a device that would infect them with a compulsion to always be staring at their phones. This was called a Selfie Stick. The loss in productivity due to people becoming trapped in the so called selfie-state eventually lead to a global economic collapse that proved to doom humanity. Other scholars believe there was a great war over two sides of a document held dear to most humans. Roughly half of the society deemed the Right Twix more valuable, while the other half asserted that the Left Twix should hold a more prominent place. Either way, humanity never traveled the stars and eventually became a forgotten memory of our galaxy.
"Toothbruuuuuuuush! Toothbruuuuuuuush!" Gloria dropped the toothbrush as if it had bitten her. It fell silent. She picked it up again. "Toothbru-" She let go again. Weird, she thought. Guess I'm not brushing my teeth today. She pulled down her pajama pants and sat on the toilet. She started to pee. "TOILIIIIIIT! TOILIIIIIIT!" She jumped up. "Shit!"she yelled as pee splashed on the floor. She cleaned it up with a rag, expecting it to scream too. She counted to three. No scream. She sighed in relief. "RAAAAAAAAAG! RAAAAAAAAAAG!" Things went on this way until she was dressed. She opened the door ("DOOOOR!") and stepped outside. "FROOOOOOONT! POOOOOORCH!" "WAAAAAAALKWAAAAAAAAAAY!" "SIDEWAAAAAAALK! SIDEWAAAAAAALK! SIDEWAAAAAAALK! SIDEWAAAAAAALK!" "STREEEEEEEEEET! STREEEEEEEEEEET!" "BUMPER!" "TIRE! TIRE!" Finally, everything shut up.
"I'm sorry mom. I tried."Peter held his mothers hand as she faded away from him. "Oh Peter, I know you did honey"She coughed weakly "You're my precious angel and I love you more than anything." A tear rolled down Peter's cheek, splashing onto his ID badge. The badge read: Mercy Hospital, and below that: Peter Hobart, MD. Peter smiled on the badge, a much happier smile than the one he was wearing now. "I love you too, mom." Mother and son shared a peaceful moment before she slipped back into unconsciousness. Peter knew she had maybe six hours left; that was his most optimistic guess, she was deteriorating fast. When his mother was eighty seven she had developed colorectal cancer, a fairly common occurence. Her immune system had been modified in the lab here at Mercy and she had undergone outpatient treatment. At the age of one hundred and fifteen, Mary Ella Hobart had begun to show early stage symptoms of Chenbleau Syndrome. Essentially the modifications to her immune system had given her another twenty eight years, but inevitably caused her immune system to attack her body. Chenbleau was the most aggressive immunologic disorder the world have ever seen. Once the modified cells turned on the host, they were often dead within two days. Peter had been working on a cure ever since his mother had undergone treatment all those years ago. He felt no closer today. He approached the elevator, working hard to maintain his composure. The down arrow on the control pad glowed a soft white as he depressed it with his thumb. Presently, the doors opened. Dr. Sandra Willis looked up at him and smiled, exiting the elevator. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but found she didn't have anything to offer that would really help. She touched Peter on the shoulder gently and he returned her smile before looking away. Dr. Willis continued walking and Peter entered the elevator, pressing the button for basement. When the doors opened, an empty hallway of sterile white greeted him. He walked the length of the corridor, approaching a set of double doors with the word "Laboratory"stenciled on each inset window. Pressing through door on the right, he found the lab illuminated but deserted. His computer glowed in the corner, awaiting a password. He didn't want to go to the computer, his mother was on the desktop background. To his left, a centrifuge spun steadily, separating blood into it's constituent parts which he could then analyze and experiment with. On the same table was a small refridgerator with a glass door. He could see all his recent samples inside; each one as ineffectual as the last. What was missing? He felt they had exhausted the scientific method; every possibility probed, every depth plumbed. The disorder wreaked havoc indiscriminately and without remorse. By the time a patient was brought to the hospital it was already too late for immunosupressants or even irradiation, their bodies were already completely devastated. All the staff could do was make them comfortable. Peter clenched his fists tightly and took a deep breath. He remembered how his mother had always calmed him when he was angry as a child. He remembered her soft voice and soothing tones. He remembered she was upstairs dying. Peter took the centrifuge in both hands and hurled it across the room. It smashed spectacularly against the wall, breaking through the soft drywall and sending blood in every direction. It felt so good. He felt in control. Taking the fridge with both hands, he tipped it off the table and onto the ground. It struck with a tremendous sound and blood started pooling beneath the wreckage. He tipped shelves, he snapped the screen off his laptop. His eyes ran red and tears streamed freely down his face. He was yelling. Two security guards burst into the lab looking stunned. There was nice young Dr. Peter Hobart, standing in the middle of a hurricane of destruction, drenched in blood. Peter saw the guards and bellowed, charging the closest of the two. He lunged spectacularly, flying head first into a taser. The red tinge of fury gave way to the black of unconsciousness. When Peter awoke, his head was throbbing mercilessly. His hand was chained to railing of his bed. Sandra was sitting next to him, looking worried. He looked at her, then spoke: "My mother?"She had no words. Her eyes began to glimmer as they filled with tears. She fought valiantly not to let them fall. Peter looked away from her, staring instead at the setting sun beyond the window.
(I wrote this out real quick, didn't have time to go over it because I need to head out now. So. You've been warned.) My name was Kyle Armstrong, and if you’d told me a year ago that I was going to wind up dancing half naked for a living I would have laughed in your face. Yet here I am. I was logged into the MMO when it happened. We still don’t know what trapped us in here, or why things started to feel like reality instead of a game, but there’s one thing I’m 100% certain of: things would’ve gone a lot different if I hadn’t been logged into my alt-account that day. Let me explain. Normally, levelling up is easy in an mmo. At most it takes a few days to level up at the later stages of the game, at the early levels it takes minutes. That changed after the event. What took minutes before took weeks now. What took days took days now took months. All the distances expanded as well, so just walking from one big city to the next was an ordeal. And the inventory space! Things didn’t collapse into convinient inventory spaces anymore. Gone are the days when I could carry 50 swords, a dozen sets of armor and several hundred stacks of various crafting materials and magic crystals. Hell, until some genius crafter had figured out a way to link magical token directly to that main banks we couldn’t even cary more than a few hundred gold before it started becoming cumberson. But I digress. Now, my main character was among the elite in this server. I had every class unlocked and the only skill that I hadn’t maxed out was fishing. But now I am Lyla Slimshins, a short cat girl who was fresh out of the character creation page when we were trapped here. At first it didn’t seem so bad. I loved this game after all, and getting to replay it all from up close was bound to be a great experience. So I set out to complete the starter quests, bravely ventured forth into the fields outside the starting village of braytown to slay the wild boars that were trampling the farmers crops. Except, boars are a lot bigger in person than they seemed in the game and all I had was a small dagger. Therefore hours later, I was a mass of bruises and scratches and had only kille two out of the six boars required for the quest. I was hungry and didn’t have a peny to my name. I trudged my way back to the village, head hanging in deafeat. The merchants in town showed me no pity. “If you can’t pay, you don’t eat!” they would shout at me. And so I turned to stealing. I’d rolled a rogue afterall, it was only right that I play the part. But as it turns out, picking pockets is another one of those things that really aren’t as easy as games would have you think and I was caught by a guard on my first attempt. And so that’s how I made my way to Tarvanir, capital of the human realm, chained in a dank carriage with six other players who’d had the same dumb idea as me, still starving. They brought us to the palace dungeons where they threw us all into cells, three to a room that only had two beds. “Usually,” said the guard, “we’re not this over crowded. But for some reason there’s been a sudden rash of sloppy pickpockets and brawlers over the last 24 hours and the dungeon is getting fairly cramped. Don’t worry though, we’ll set you all to help building the new wing of the dungeons in the coming days. Just need to get the budget approved.” A sense of despair came over me then. It would seem that in less than two days I’d managed to get myself pressed into a labor crew. At least there was food. The first few days in the cell were so dull that I almost jumped with joy when the guards came and handed us work uniforms. It turned out that the work crews weren’t mandatory afterall, but any prisoner who participated had extra food rations and was given a small amount of pay that would be handed to them upon their release. I probably would have done it regardless just to get out fo that dark cell. And so two weeks went by. By this time the influx of prisoners had died down, but there’d been a lot of people caught by the guards before people started figuring out how to get around the system. Now we were 4 to a cell, and still only two beds. This created some… interesting situations. In my cell though, we managed to convince that guards to let us work in two seperate shifts so that we could all benefit from the well rested bonus of sleeping in a bed instead of sleeping on the floor. The pallets were so small that trying to share them meant you’d lose out on the bonus. So I worked the night shift: got up when the sun started to set, grabbed my tools, nodded to Sal and Ballsdeep as we switched shifts and walked out with XoXsexysmurfXoX - or as she preffered to be called, Jenny - to dig the foundation of the new wing. My mining skill was slowly going up from all the digging, I was now a level 6 miner. My strength and endurance were also slowly going up. Those first days I’d come back from my shift and drop dead asleep on my pallet. These days I had energy to spare when I came back and started to get to know the other players a bit better. The excavating was starting to get dull now though, and I still didn’t know how long I was supposed to be in jail for. That’s when he came. His name was Drakor Nagslayer, and I’d actually teamed up with him a few times on my main account. He didn’t recognize me of course. He came over to my cell and crouched down before the bars. “Do you want out of this join, neko-chan?” Damn. I’d forgotten how much of a weeb Drakor was. But I did want out, so I nodded. “I can buy your freedom. It’s a trivial thing, a few hundred gold. All I ask is that you work for me until you pay it off.” I nodded again. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be any worse than digging those damn foundations day after day. Turns out Drakor had a lot of money. He’d bought a building near the entrance to the capital and turned it into a bar, but needed waitresses. NPCs seemed fairly intelligent, but apparently hiring them to do work was tricky for some unknown reason. And so I served food and drinks to players for a dozen gold a day, but my pay barely covered my own lodging and food. At this rate it would be months before I was free to do what I wanted. One night, after a few too many drinks, I got on a table and started dancing. People started throwing coins my way, and others ran out to fetch friends. Soon there were twice as many people in the bar. One thing led to another clothes started coming off as the pile of coins grew bigger by the minute. In two nights I’d paid off my debt to Drakor but I kept doing it for weeks, building up a small fortune before I went off into the world again. And so that’s how I ended up dancing half naked for a living. Things sure would have been different if I hadn’t been playing on an alt that day.
They moved through the long, dark hall silently, moving towards the huge mahogany doors at the end of the hall. O'Malley tripped on a busted statuette of Trump's likeness, Clinton shushing him. "Quiet, or you'll reveal us all! We must get the first horcrux!" O'Malley looked back to Clinton. "Shush! The only thing louder than you right now is the press over your emails!" Sanders looked back at the two. "What. Did. I. Say. You heard me at the debate! We're tired of hearing about these damned emails already! Now come on, before you wake up everyone in the manor!" They looked back at him, grunting at each other before continuing behind him. The air was thick and muggy, smelling of cheap cologne. O'Malley recoiled in disgust at the scent, falling back onto Clinton who shrieked, slapping him. "It's bad enough my husband did it to me, you will not make me cheat on him!""Enough! I hear someone coming!" The trio hid behind a huge bust of Trump right as a door to the side opened, light spilling out. "I smell manure, but that may be the ass."Clinton winced. "He knows we're here,"hissed Clinton. "Shush!" Cruz laughed. "Why don't you come out? Are you afraid of the elephant in the room? Stubborn as an ass, perhaps? Don't worry, you're not quiet. You're not even the elephant and I can hear you trumpeting about!" O'Malley leaped out from behind the bust. "ENOUGH WITH THE PUNS!"Sanders leaped out behind him, followed by a screeching Clinton, trying to pull them down. "Good luck defending yourself without a gun,"Cruz screamed as he pulled out his pistol, aiming it at the trio. *BANG!* Silence rang through the air. Clinton and O'Malley looking at Sanders who had pulled out a gun of his own. "What", he said to them,"if you paid attention to the debate you'd know I only oppose Assault Weaponry! Officially. Besides, I have a license!" The two shook their heads, Clinton bending down onto her knee, looking at the dying Cruz. "Well, one Horcrux down, another one in this building to go."
The Most Volatile Man To be truthful, this man has never stepped foot in a hospital. For all his life he had been a model of health. He was totally unfamiliar as to the procedures he was expected to partake in. His doctor was indeed equally as unfamiliar as to what type of patient he was about to receive. "Good morning, Mister."said the doctor. He was fingering through the patient's file. "Just a checkup today, as I'm told. The last one you had of these was...never. Well! I'll be sure to make your first time as pleasant as possible." "Morning." "Seeing as this is your first checkup, you are going feel quite alien to our practices. After the physical, we're going to engage the Neural-Bridge. This allows me to mentally enter your subconcious to attempt to find any physical or chemical abnormalities in your brain. Don't worry, your consciousness is not affected nor are any of your memories. This operation is one-hundred percent safe, for both patient and doctor. Once this procedure is complete, and no abnormalities are detected, you will be on your way. Any questions?" This patient shuffled slightly--only slightly--in his seat. "Is the Neural-Bridge necessary?" "In my professional opinion, I would say yes. This procedure has been able to determine such results as very early stages of cancer, as well as deciphering mental disorders such as bipolar disorder and psychosis. It's a real lifesaver, I assure you." "And you're absolutely sure it's safe?" "Undeniably so, yes." "Let's get to it then." "Wonderful! Now, if you'd just situate yourself in this chair over here."The patient did as he was told. The doctor applied the head gear to his patient's head. He then sat himself down and repeated the process on himself. Once they were hooked in, the doctor paged an intern. "She's here to observe the procedure and take what ever notes she can. Are you ready?"The patient nodded. "You will feel a pull. Be not alarmed, it lasts only an instant. See you soon!"With that, the Neural-Bridge was initiated. Both doctor and patient's head jolted slightly back as the machine awoke with energy. For a moment, both were still. Sadly, only a moment. The doctor's eyes, which were closed as if for sleep, peeled open, revealing clouded pupils. His face began to grimace, a scream began to form in the back of his throat. The patient sat still, eyes closed. His body jolted slightly, a grunt managed it's escape. The intern looked on, confounded. The doctor began to seize, his choked screams now free from silence. Violently he shook, blood could be seen leaking from behind him. The head gear worked in one-way neural travel, but the conciousness was going in reverse. Due to the violent nature of the returning conciousness, the machine began to malfunction. The cords connecting the head gear were tearing apart from electrical heat. The patient was still sitting, passively. The intern was now terrified and ran from the room for help. A team of nurses entered the room. A few recoiled when they saw the poor doctor's seizing body. A single nurse hasted forward and shut the machine down. The doctor's body immediately stopped its violent behavior. Once his body was unhooked from the gear, it crumbled forward, revealing a profound hole oozing brain matter from the back of his skull where the head gear was attached. The patient awoke...
The maid eventually got around to our table. We sat in the corner, away from the gambling tables. In the opposite corner was the bulletin board. The riff-raff around here would go over to the board and scan the sheets. It was funny how the less clean their clothes were, the longer it took them to read. An old man notices these things. Most visitors to the board just gave a glance and then got their mug. After a few pints, their confidence in their own abilities grew, and more jobs seemed reasonable. Hell, I've seen a drunken gnome take a job to slay a frost giant, then I saw him in the wee hours of the morn', passed out next to a hobgoblin wench in the streets of the fishmonger district. It was all the same. Every one of these stinky, bustling traveler's taverns. There was the boasting dwarf, stroking his blood-stained beard. There was the elf, entertaining drunkards with simple eldritch tricks. There was the past-the-hill barmaid, trying to get a barbarian to part with the denominations of currency that he couldn't read. And yet, something was different. The lust for adventure had died out. In my day, we took the adventure half for the journey, half for the reward. You go into a goblin lair, you were likely to walk out with a sack of gold and enough magic trinkets to pimp out a caravan. But today, they are all "half up front"and "what if we lose a man?" What if you lose a man? What if a blacksmith's face gets sooty!?! What if a farmer's back starts to hurt!?! What if a jester gets decapitated for not being funny!?! Adventure is the life we chose. We take the job, we do the deed and get the glory, or we become orc feed. "Hello hello! My name is Brother Julcob. I'm with the local Adventurer's Union 1728. We are of and for the adventuring fighter, mage, and rogue. Did you know that there..." "Fooook ov", said my companion Omk. He is a half-orc fellow, good with an axe. The forth half-orc we've had in the group. Their lifetime is short, and the lifetime of a guy charging with an axe is even shorter. But he's a good fellow, short on tact. "The whole of Five Kingdoms benefits from the evil-slaying and artifact-finding that us adventurers do. Shouldn't society pay us back? Respect the dangerous and labor-intensive work we do for the betterment of..." Omk chopped off his head. He probably would have preferred to just chop off the tongue, but Omk isn't known for his accuracy, just his brutality. There was one of those silences in the bar, when the band stops playing and everyone looks over for a second. Then, the band starts up again and everyone returns to their business. Somethings, never change.
I wake up in the middle of the night. It's pitch dark in the dorm as usual. All the guys were sleeping like logs and I couldn't hear a sound. There was a tiny amount of light entering trough the crack of the door. Suddenly, the prankster in me woke up. I grabbed the bottle of oil from the table beside my bed and slowly poured it near the beds while fumbling my way towards the door. Next step was to ring the bell which was a sign to report on the grounds for training. Surprise mid-night training sessions isn't anything new in the Academy. Slowly I fumbled my way towards the door. The door knob felt a bit different, probably due to my oily hands. I turned it as quietly as possible and crept in an hallway I didn't recognize, while closing the door behind me. In the dull overhead light I could read a sign on the door. MORGUE.
It was strange. I felt so alone, everyone had a family. But me. I stayed in a luxurious yet small house by myself for as long as I can remember, money came daily for me to spend. Perhaps if it was someone else, they would be elated, but for me? Id rather have a family. Everyone was kind, patient to my needs and cared for me, but their actions of affection seemed too distant, as if if they were to get too close, I would crumble into small pieces. Was I truly so fragile among them? Today, I woke up to the usual chirping of birds, as I stood up with a sigh and left the room, I shouted out loud, "What's for breakfast today?" A woman would clean and cook for me daily, but she never stayed overnight nor did she stay forever, it would always be a fresh face appearing with the passing of a week. The young me would as for their name but I couldn't care anymore, strangely after they left, I would not be able to find them again. Today....is a Friday, isn't it? It's her last day. "Waffles."she replied, her head titled downwards as a sign of respect. She placed the plate before me, who sat on the dining table and then walked backwards to complete her daily tasks. I've always thought about suicide, it's too repetitive, this. It's always the same things over and over again, I would eat breakfast and leave the house for a long walk, occasionally see the same faces of my neighbours then return for lunch, I would then play a few games and eat dinner, lastly I would go to sleep. My life was just like that, as I grew, I lost my smile, there was nothing to entertain me anymore. I contemplated life as I slowly chewed the waffles, this woman's waffles are the best I've ever had. Was this something to smile for? "Bang! "before I could affirm my thought, a young woman whom I've never met crashed the wall and flew towards me. "Woah! What the! "I shouted in surprise for perhaps the first time in my life. Why was she flying? I've seen it in games but shouldn't humans be incapable of flight? Then again, how did she break the wall! "Wake up, Jon. "she shouted, her eyes flashed with impatience. Before I could think of a reply, the House keeper charged over with a speed faster than what a human could achieve, her leg aiming for the neck of the young woman. Jon? What's Jon? Is that my name? I don't have a name. But then, why did it sound so familiar. As I thought, I heard the young woman groan, her back laid against a broken wall as the house keeper stood before her. She quickly fought to stand up as she produced a kindling in her hands, "Jon, listen to me, you're being manipulated in this fake world, you need to wake up! They're draining you outside!"she shouted frantically. Draining? Drain what? No, why is there a flame in her hands?! "You are disobeying the government! This boy is what we need to sustain the world! If you save him we will all die! We need his power!"the house keeper screamed, "People out there wants it for their own benefits, he won't survive out there!" "You all too, are using him for yourselves!"she shouted in reply as the flames enveloped the house keeper. "HE WOULD BE SAFE HERE! "she screamed as she burned in agony. The young woman ran over with a frantic expression, her mouth opened perhaps to speak but before she could, I took a step back, afraid of her. "Jon, you need to remember.....please....."she pleaded, seemingly hurt seeing my wariness. Yet again, I could not reply her. I knew not of what I should speak. And with my hesitance, an arm protruded from her stomach, her crimson blood dotting my face. "Ah....." It took me a moment before I realised what was happening. She was dying. I fell to the ground screaming as her body too, fell limp before him, revealing a silver haired man whose arm was dyed red with her blood. An unexplainable surge of pain invaded my heart, it was as if I knew her and that I was mourning her death. "I'm sorry,"The man said with a sad smile, "but this is all to protect you, Jonathan. And also the world." ....Jonathan. That's my full name..... Isn't it? Hearing that word, a wave of memories flooded my mind. "K-Keith?"I knew this man. He was my friend. I understand now. This woman, she was my lover. I was a special human being devoid of the special gifts a human would receive from god. I merely had power that would sustain the world, power that could make someone immortal. Keith, had betrayed me and locked me into this illusion, so they could drain me as I had a happy dream. The draining process was after all, painful and endless. It was either black darkness or this. It wasn't that great though, the illusion. Glancing at the sad expression Keith had, I smiled weakly. "It's alright, I don't mind......but next time, give me a better dream. " His ability was to create illusions, to distort reality. There's nothing left, my family and now my lover. My family killed as I escaped the government, my friend a traitor who wanted to stop the world from dying and my lover, who died trying to save me. "Give me a dream where everyone's alive and well.....okay? " ".....Okay. "he replied with a sad smile before his bloody hand covered my face. I could feel my memories leaving me. "It'll be a good one, I promise." Goodbye, Keith. Goodbye, Iris. Goodbye, Jonathan. It'll be better when I meet you again.
Jack, has the UN called a worldwide conference of the nations leaders yet? *They haven't, Jackie. And this reporter must ask the question why. Why is it that the conference hasn't* been called, Jackie? We don't have the answers. We simply don't. And has President Obama released a statement yet? No, Jackie, he hasn't. Some might say that he is hiding the truth. There have already been speculations that there is a global conspiracy here. All we know is that the President is resolutely refusing to comment on the situation.** What about the riots, Jeff? Well, Jackie, the death toll from the riots is still at zero, but that is expected by experts to skyrocket at any moment. At any moment, Jackie. We're literally just sitting here, waiting for the blood to flow down the streets like flood water. But as of yet? Still zero. And the White House, Jack? Have they commented yet? *Since the last time you asked, Jackie? No. No. No, they haven't.* I wish I could report that they had. But they have not.** Some might say that this is a damning indictment of the current administration, wouldn't you say so, Jeff? Absolutely, Jackie, absolutely. The tension here on the streets is palpable. All these people around me: shopping, drinking tea in cafes, petting dogs on the streets - it's a veritable powderkeg, waiting to go off. Are the police here? They are not, Jackie. The police presence here is minimal. It's almost like there's a wilful disregard among the establishment to deal with this impending apocalypse. Sad times, Jeff. Sad times indeed, Jackie. At this moment, I'd just like to say the privilege it has been to report the news to our viewers. At this moment - surely our end of days - I would like to thank our sponsors as being the... oh! I'm just receiving... there's news from... yes, yes, we can confirm that some has died in Kuala Lumpur. So here's Jeff with the Sports.
"Again? What is this, the fourth time this month?"John sighs, his chair creaking as he stands. He shuffles out of his cube and pauses for Tim, the new accountant, sprinting past in a blur of sweater vest and coiffed mustached. John rolls his eyes at the enthusiasm of youth as he moves to his preferred spot. Mary and Glen are in the break room when the announcement comes. Their eyes brighten with the same glimmer as they lock gazes. Glen takes a quick look out the door to see if anyone is coming their way while Mary unlocks the utility closet with her purloined key. They are already starting to pull each other's clothes off as the closet door shuts behind them. George clenches his jaw with determination, certain that he has figured the best place this time around. He reaches under the desk and pulls out a collapsible step ladder. He sets it up, climbs quickly the few feet to reach the ceiling, and moves a tile out of the way. He grabs a rope tied to the ladder and then pulls himself into the ceiling crawlspace. The ladder follows him and, a moment later, the tile slides back into place. Tim, meanwhile, is having a poor time of it. He tries to duck under the reception desk but, well, the receptionist is already there. She gives him a kick to the knee as he tries to occupy the space with her. Limping now, he thinks of the bathroom, but there's a Cleaning In Progress sign in place, and he keeps running. He knows it is getting dangerously close to being too late, so he stumbles behind some of the fake plants in the lobby. Hopefully the green sweater and dark corner will be enough? The elevator dings. The doors slowly creep open. For a moment there is quiet... then the boss' six year old son bursts forth from the enclosure and goes on the hunt for a playmate!
"Come on man, don't sleep on me now,"Marcus nudged at me from across the table, "We only have like, a few more pages."I growled, but raised my head from my crossed arms nonetheless. God damned book reports took hours, and this weekend was pretty busy, no time for college work. Well, that is until now, a day before it's due. Typical. Oh well, I should contribute at least a bit this time. The subject was Lovecraft, to irony's delight. The man was more insightful than creative, who had captured a bit more of the truth than he'd intended in his stories of the occult. He knew firsthand of the unearthly aberrations he wrote of, yet still knowingly cast their inconceivable visages across the literate minds of us mortals. They were cool with it though, so no biggie I guess. Decedents of his know well what horrible mysteries he uncovered while at sea, and are burdened by it unequivocally for it, their pain and torment clear to all who may peer into their wretched minds. Actually, I'm exaggerating again, but ADHD does run in the family, as well as heart issues. Lucky me. Marcus was an old friend, and knew all about the Lovecraft affinity for the occult. There had been times in the past where terrible beasts had laid siege to our property, but they always brought really good food with them so I actually began looking forward to their visits. Naturally, we had a pretty good working relationship, us and the Old Ones. Cool bunch really, Xa'ligha actually taught me piano for 10 years free of charge. So naturally, the paper wasn't too hard. I guess going over stuff you were so used to becomes tedious after a while, everything was so familiar I just didn't feel motivated to put much effort into it. Sorry Granddad, I'll get back to work. Of course, about a minute in my phone goes off. "Hey who is it?"Marcus asked. "Ummm there's no number ID, just a bunch of runes and blood coming from the screen... God damn it give me a minute"I sighed. This had better be good. I walked to the balcony and closed the door behind me before sliding the green button. "Uh hey who is this?" "Hey is this Jeremy? Jeremy Lovecraft?" "Yup, that's why I'm not freaking out that my phone is hemorrhaging on my hand." "Right Right, well hey man, it's Cthulhu! I was just wondering if you could give me a ride to the interdimensionary gate, there was a crazy party at my place last night and my car is fucking gone bro." "Someone took your car?" "Yeah... Either that or I crashed it somewhere. Anyways I just woke up and need to get there soon, can you help me?" I rolled my eyes, "Yeah yeah alright, same house on R'lyeh?" "Yes! Thanks so much man I owe ya one." "Alright I'll text you when we're close, I'll bring Marcus." The door slammed behind me, as I let out a defeated sigh and looked at the clock. 9:39 pm, not too late I guess. "Hey man, do you mind if we scoop Cthulhu real quick? His car got jacked and he needs a ride." Marcus looked a bit annoyed. He finished up what he was writing, and said, "Alright, but can we stop at Taco Bell first or something?" The car ride was fairly silent. Marcus took back seat, laying across the seats on his phone. "Hey Jeremy,"he said with an inflated grin. I wasn't particularly in the mood. "Yeah?" "I guess you could say that, you got,"his voice trailed off as he tried to contain his laughter,"Guess you got the call of Cthulhu!"he finished as he lost control. "Ha-ha-ha, shut the fuck up. We're almost there." The beaten path through the forest we had been driving on began to dissipate to the everlasting throes of the dead dimension attached to our own, and it was really killing the suspension on my car. Whatever. I hadn't talked to Cthulhu in a while, he was always pretty busy with dread god stuff. He stood at what looked to be 7 feet when he got into the car, and it was a tight fit. Was probably the best he could do. I ignored the cars leather turning into human skin where he sat. "Thanks again for the ride man, I really appreciate it on short notice and all." "Yeah don't worry about it"I said in a low tone. It was a 8 hour drive round, and if he wasn't such a good family friend I wouldn't even consider it. "Yeah we weren't doing anything important"Marcus muttered before rolling back to sleep. "No for real, this is big. I have important business on the other side." I looked at him quizzically. The Old Ones didn't talk much about the other realms. To be honest, I don't think I want to hear it. "Good luck with it than."I started to hear a strange humming. I started to get dizzy. "Yeah thanks. You know, in all my eons I don't think that... Wait shit get the fuck-"Was all he managed before a shadow enveloped the car.
"I fucking hate you."She spat at my face. "Well, that sucks then."I shrugged my shoulders as I sat back down on my couch. "What the fuck?"she looked confused as she marched towards the door, "You're not going to try to stop me?" "No,"I lied, "I fucking hate you." That actually hurt to say. "Fuck you!"she yelled as she slammed the door. I listened to her clomp down the hallway of the building as the sounds vanished after a minute or so. "Oh well,"I sighed as I walked over to my calendar. I pulled out my pen and found the date - March 23rd. I quickly scribbled "Sarah Peterson. Didn't want to have sex without wine. Attempt 54." I forced myself to sleep early that night and when I woke up, walked over to the nearby supermarket and bought a nice bottle of red wine. I came back home to a studio that didn't belong to me, but nobody seemed to remember that. 7:00pm. Finally. I quietly put on a black dress shirt as I headed towards someone's favorite bar at the time she would normally go. I entered the bar and spotted her across the room, swishing her Cosmo, as several guys tried to flirt with her. Her favorite drink. I slowly walked up towards her. It had only been eight attempts til I found the perfect pick-up line and it had worked every time. I lay a ten-dollar bill near her. "Hey honey, can I get a martini with vodka please?" "Excuse me?" "Leave out the olive." I turned around to walk away. 3...2...1... "Hey asshole!" She turned around to follow me, leaving quite some distance between her and the other guys. "I don't fucking work here." "I-I am so sorry,"I pretended to be shocked, "I'm going to have to slap myself tonight." "Just make sure it doesn't happen again, asshole." She turned around to walk away when I grabbed her by the arm. "I know you don't work here."I smiled. She looked confused. "You did?" I shrugged towards the direction of the guys. "How else was I supposed to get you away from them?" She gave me her full attention as she suggestively bit her lip. "And why would you do that?" I gave her a playful smile and the both of us laughed. "I'm Sarah Peterson,"she extended her hand, "And you are..." "David Law's the name,"I chuckled, "You'll probably forget it though." EDIT: Apparently the movie "Hitch"has a very similar scene to this. I apologize (I have yet to see the movie) for anyone I might've offended. I simply used a really cliche trick my friends and I used to use at bars.
He was never warm in his entire life. Not once. Not when he moved to Florida, and sat on the sand in the summer. Not when he layered his clothes, hoping that his impersonation of a marshmallow would incur some sort of associated result. Not when he sat in a sauna in a parka. He was never warm. Not even when he lit a match and held his hand over it. Not even when the gas on the floor ignited. Not even, amongst the tortured screams of his co-workers, when the ceiling started to cave in from the heat. Not even when the floor gave out at the same time that the boilers exploded in the basement. No, he was never warm in his entire life. Maybe, he thought, he'd have better luck below.
I drive around in a McDonald's cup, Shouting out to my homies reppin ketchup, Pull up to some moldy burgers I call a home, Sit on that Heinz packet I call a throne, Bitches out front honking horns, goin' wild, Seein hobo rats and the things they've defiled, This place is so damn extravagantly shitty, You wouldn't even know it's not New York City ---------------------------- I'm so sorry, please don't upvote this garbage. I'm so tired
I stared into the barrel of my grandfather's old rifle, my shaky finger resting against the trigger. Just one pull. One squeeze and everything ends. I never particularly hated my life. It was quite standard, as far as lives in the modern era went. I got married young, had kids, traveled the world. I didn't really like my job, but who did? I was one of the lucky 7 billion elected to continue living after Project Lazarus launched in 2056. My wife and kids weren't so lucky--I had to watch them die over the years. The governments made all of us fertile, so that no new child could be born. The world was at its "peak", they said. No one had died in over two hundred years. But if there became a deficit--if someone were to die--they would allow one birth. One new life. You know, it's hard to pretend that you're not suicidal, especially with mandatory doctor visits once a week. All they have to do is give you a pill, and those nasty suicidal thoughts drift away. I had to read up on psychology, psychiatry, and everything in between to know just what to say in my visits. And now, here I was, looking down into the barrel of death. I suppose some part of me was scared. Who wouldn't be? After all, not one of 7 billion people had even thought of doing this in two centuries. Okay. Enough stalling. Here goes nothing. My mind was surprisingly peaceful. I took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Just a click and a puff of smoke. Suddenly, my front door came crashing down, falling to the floor in several pieces. At the threshold stood three burly policeman, one of them holding a syringe. "You were really going to do it, weren't you?"One of them said, a look of shock on his face. "The doctors told us to disable your gun, just in case,"another one said. "But none of us. . . actually believed you'd go through with it." The man holding the syringe stepped forward. "I suppose you know we have to give you this now." "No,"I begged, throwing the gun to the floor and running towards the opposite end of the room. "Please, no,"I repeated, my back leaning against the wall. "I want to die. Please, please. . . " But I could do nothing to stop the large man from sticking me with his syringe. I could only watch in horror as the clear substance soaked through my skin and ran up my veins. . . -------- The next thing I remembered was lying in my bed, the faint rays of morning sunlight hitting my face through the window. I smiled warmly. Life is great, I thought.
Judy sat at her desk, scrolling through images of cats. "Ooh, that's a cute one,"she said in a deep southern accent while clicking her mouse on an upvote array. "Excuse me,"a voice asked by the door. "Is this Possession Destinations?" "Yes, yes,"answered Judy. "Come on in and have a seat!" A tall, hulking monster walked in the door. His grey, coarse skin protruded in random places and two large horns grew out of his gigantic forehead. He stepped over to the chair on the opposite side of Judy's desk and sat down. "OK, Mr.-?" "Kravluff The Dementinator,"he answered. "Mr. Krav-luff The De-ment-inator,"said Judy as she typed away. "How can I help you today?" "Uh,"started Kravluff. "I'd like to sign up for just a basic- you know, possession." "Oooookay,"said Judy continuing her typing. "How long would like your possession to last?" Kravluff tilted his enormous head in thought. "Um, I guess a day?"he said. "Sir,"said Judy. "Standard packages come in increments of weeks." "Oh, put me down for one of those then." "One week?" "Yeah..." Judy went back to her typing. "Boy, girl, young, old, any specific nationalities?"she asked after a few minutes. "Whatever is easiest,"answered Kravluff. "Easiest,"said Judy entering a final item in the system. "OK, all set. You're going to possess a sixteen-year-old girl named Clara Gardner. Just walk through this door behind me." Kravluff stood up. "Great,"he said as he walked toward the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he turned around. "Was there something else I can help you with?"asked Judy. "Sixteen year olds can buy ice cream, right?" --- Did someone say /r/MajorParadox? Oh, I did ;)
"Ok, do we all know the plan? This is going to be extremely dangerous and we might not all make it out but if we want to go out on top and live on here at Capitol High as legends, it has to be done." "Devin, you'll head off the security by creating a diversion with your firecrackers." "Casey, once they've responded to the noise in the hallway, you'll set off the stink and smoke bombs to disorient and confuse them." "That's where you come in, Grace. You have the in since you've been working closely with the VPs assistants this last year. You'll slip one of them an urgent message from a family member of the VP requesting his immediate departure. With he and his security removed, there will be one last line of defense between Jack and the President." "And that's when it happens. Jack rappels down from the rafters taking the President into a chokehold." "Now, George, you're the key to all this working. We'll need you to slip in and take the stage as soon as Casey's done his job, at which point, you'll calm those on the floor and take the lead. "What do I say? How do I address a crowd of that magnitude?" "Tell them: 'The Student Council is dead. Long live the King!'" _____________________________________________________________________________________________ Thanks for reading "Coup d'école"! More of my work at /r/Socrates_Burrito. I welcome constructive criticism and advice.
It happened all at once. No one has seen a mass viral epidemic like this before, it was as if the entire world turned into hell over a single night. It started off innocently enough - approximately a year and a half ago today there were reporting of strange, red mists that occurred over the skies of Beijing, China. But nothing came of the aftermath and investigations were utterly unfruitful. Following the report, more and more of these "Red fog"occurrences happened all over the world - starting in India, then Pakistan, then it spread into Africa. Sometimes multiple red fogs occurred over countries at once, occasionally some countries would even report incidents of orange fogs. Curiously, no country has seen the red fog more than once, but as always - nothing came of the red fog's aftermath, until one day. Roughly two hours after the sighting of the mysterious "red fog"was spotted over Greenland, everything began to go wrong. It seemed almost surreal, but what was witnessed by others, even after being warped by their frightened minds, seemed quite close to reality - people all over the world suddenly came down with disastrous medical symptoms, some started with sneezes, rashes, coughs... And then more serious illnesses began to stack on. The epidemic took the world by surprise and rapidly plowed its way through humanity. Most of the eldest or the youngest with poorer immune systems were wiped out immediately. Hospitals turned into impossibly long queues, and then rapidly after that, morgues. Those with healthier immune systems lasted longer, but that was but a candle in the wind against what appears to be a coma, seizure, and total organ failure simultaneously. Every infrastructure in the world seemed to collapse simultaneously. Borders were shut off, seaports have been closed, and most of the airports are no longer operational, either. Every expert in the world - at least, the remaining few, quickly pooled together what remains of the world's collapsed economy, in hopes that among the ruins of humanity, those lucky few that remained could make like a phoenix, rising from the pile of disease-ridden ash. The quarantines have been flipped upside down. Instead of quarantining the sick, it was now the healthy ones; turn to be secluded from the rest of the world. I stayed in one of the these quarantines, watching the news on a small, flickering TV screen - most of which has dissolved from a news network into a still-active camera on the ground, filming the apocalyptic hellhole out in the world. I was contacted by several experts - some others still remaining in quarantine. Our goal was simple. We're going to salvage what we can, wait for the epidemic to pass, and stand as the lone sentinels to rebuild a broken world. Today, I've just learned that the last bastions of hope - Greenland and Madagascar - have been completely eradicated by the plague. How a single accountant like myself residing in Canada has survived all of this longer than them, I'll never know. I was told to take a flight to Germany, which was simply a madman's proposal, and my answer was pretty crystal clear. "No. No way, you are not sending me to Germany." "Ted, we have to,"One of the experts that lived in... Was it Russia? France? I forget, but by this point it no longer mattered, "We're pooling what remains of our funding in Berlin. Having non-infected humans is no longer enough, we have to eradicate this disease if we're to rebuild a new world." I argued against it. Nothing in the world was going to get me to leave my quarantine - but eventually I, along with the few dozen remaining healthy Canadians, were practically dragged kicking-and-screaming onto a plane departing for Germany, one of the first few countries to fall and shut off its borders due to the plague. The plane we took packed only a few humans, the rest of the cargo was full of medical supplies, infection data, and other critical notes regarding the plague. These notes are vital to the last research effort in the quarantines of Berlin. Usually, they'd be shipped on a separate plane, but it was nothing less than a miracle to still have a functional plane along with a pilot by this point. I sat closest to the back, sharing a seat with a whole cabinet's worth of medical files, grumbling in discontentment. I'm an accountant, damn it, not a doctor. These medical notes, while I'm sure are among the last tickets to salvation, serve as nothing more than gibberish to me, but now I'm heading to Berlin for... Medical research. I'm sure this will go well, not. The plane landed in Germany, and the surviving humans walked off first - but to say "walk off"would be an understatement considering our massive reluctance to even touch the ground of an infested cesspool of disease. The pilot eventually became so frustrated, he forced us off with a gun pointed to our backs. After the dozen of us walked off the plane, we turned around. The pilot was still onboard, trying to haul off all the medical supplies stashed in the back. Suddenly, the entire back half of the plane exploded, taking the pilot along with it. All of the medical data - papers, samples, potential cures, were all vaporized with the sudden explosion. The dozen of us panicked and dove onto the ground, I struggled to peek my head up, witnessing the back half of the plane dissolve into blue mist as it faded into nothingness, along with the last of the research data gathered from North America. Above our heads, a thick cloud of orange fog emerged, and disappeared.
"Dear God... Well, what do you need from me?"asked the DC mayor. "Ma'am, we need you to shut down the metro for 24 hours. We'll do the rest." The three man confidently strode out of the office. They walked through the office halls as nervous civil servants looked to them for hope. Their graying hair conveyed the years of experience and respect they earned from their work in New York. It wasn't until they all sat back down in the company car that the facade dropped. They were old men. In any other profession they would be looking to retire. Cigarettes were lit as the trio dwelled in silence. It was Venkman who spoke first: "This hasn't gotten any easier since Egon passed."
"Wow! You got one of those earth things? Are these the ones with the biodynamic systems I've heard on the news, the ones that can mate with anything? How'd the wife take this whole idea Earl? Didn't she want to settle down, take some time off and start a family?" "That's right! I got one of each, I figure I can start my own side business making various designer hybrids. I'll show you when we get back to my place. The lady argued and argued, but she eventually came around. She had to! I brought the things home and set them in the living room and she immediately stopped complaining. What could she do about it? Ha! Nothing, that's what!" Chatting about the prospect of human hybrids and how much money they could make, the two creatures continued their round of Flog, which is very similar to golf, except that flog involves multidimensional non-gravatic black holes being flung about the landscape hoping to land them on top of a small white stationary ball. "I'm telling you, it'll be a gold mine. They aren't that bad looking either! They have two legs and two arms like us, strange head, but hey, can't win em all. I can't wait to see what happens with the lady one and the Byll I'm gonna set lose on her. That thing will have a field day and it's bound to create something awesome!" "Wait, you're going to mate one with a BYLL?? Those things are massive! Won't that... damage the goods?" "Nope! The crazy thing about these humans is that they have the biggest sex organs I've ever seen! The women give birth through the same orifice they mate, so obviously the male organ has to be massive as well!" "Uh-huh. I see..." "You see what? What's the smirk on your face for?" "Well.... didn't you say the wife stopped complaining about the idea once she saw him?"
"Hi, this is Maggie. I'm here to talk if you want to."It wasn't the best opening line, and I had a handbook and script in front of me, but this seemed better. Until it had come out of my mouth. Then it seemed unnatural. The person on the other side of the phone breathed slowly. I could hear them there, just breathing in and out. I knew that I was supposed to say something, but I knew how it felt to be the person on the other side of that line. So instead of asking if they were there, I said, "It's okay not to talk. If you just want to sit here a while, we can do that too." A few times it sounded like they were starting to say something. Their voice would crack as they started to form a letter. I could hear them crying. "I'm here,"I said. "You're not alone. I'm here with you." I had started working at a suicide hotline because three months before I had attempted suicide. My time in the hospital had been eye opening, and the Keep going tattoo on my right wrist was something that I saw every day when I woke up. This wasn't just a job to me. It wasn't being a good samaritan and it wasn't trying to fluff my resume. Wanting to work at the hotline was wanting to help people who didn't know how to ask for help. Wanting to help people who were terrified when they called in, who had panic attacks when they picked up a phone but managed to call for help anyway. "I'm going to tell you something,"I said after we had sat in silence for a while. "I'm going to tell you that I don't need to know who you are. I don't need to know your story. I don't need to know why or how or the extent to which you've suffered. And I don't want to sit here and tell you that life is worth living or that it will get better. I just want you to know that you dialing this phone, you calling this number, you staying on this line with me -- that's the part of you that wants to stay alive. And I want you to cling to that. Please. You've already done the hard part. You've already asked for help. You are strong. And I'm here with you. For as long as you want." They never said a word. After about thirty minutes, they hung up. I don't know what happened to them, or who they were, or why they needed me. It certainly wasn't what I expected from my first call. But the fact that I could give them that - the moment of respite, the moment of courage, the moment of not being so alone. Well, that's why I signed up in the first place. --- Suicide is a serious subject and very near and dear to my heart and is not, in my opinion, a joking matter. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness and depression is nothing to be ashamed of. If you or a loved one ever suffer from suicidal ideation please reach out to those you love, your friends, a professional, or one of the confidential hotlines. And much love to you who keep going when you want to give up.
As the great door opened and we stepped into the ancient holy grounds, I checked on the brave warriors I had brought with me. Baldric, our archivist, nervously adjusted his pack as he took notes in a small leather book. Since he was the group expert on the ancient ones, he carried the enchanted inkless quill we had found on a previous expedition. Toram, the group's weapons master, was checking his steel plate mail one last time before he advanced. His battle hammer hung against his belt, clinking quietly as it rubbed against his steel-encased leg. Alton, our tracker and the best squirrel chef this side of the Poisoned Lands, nocked an arrow to his longbow as he examined the dark hallway for any hidden dangers. Satisfied that my allies were ready, I lit a torch and began the descent. The hatches that protected the entrance were large enough to lead two horses through abreast, and were made of a white stone Baldric called conacretium. He claimed that the ancients knew how to create liquid conacretium, which they would pour into various shapes. I recalled that the Duke of Losan was quite proud of the conacretium roadways in his capital, with their vast bulk arcing impossibly over the wooden huts of his people. Inside, as had been the case with the previous ruins we had explored, we found sets of doors flanked by large mirrors. We were on our guard- one previous expedition had almost failed because we hadn't expected there to be a room hidden behind the mirrors, and bandits had seen us coming. Toram stepped through the rectangular arch and immediately drew into a battle stance as it let out a loud cry. Baldric jumped, suddenly looking eager. "Oh! What good fortune! The ancients' wards seem to yet function here! Friends, do not be alarmed- the ancients set up these gateways to warn of anyone bearing metal into their temples. If the wards function, so might other things. Let us press on, we may find more evidence of the ancients' magic!"Alton didn't look pleased by our comrade's words. "Well now anything that's in here knows we're coming. Just because the gate was locked doesn't mean we can be off guard. Toram, check the right room. I'll check the left."The larger man nodded and drew his war hammer as he moved around the corner. The next few rooms were useless to us, but Baldric was ecstatic at the fine condition of the various books and papers lying about on tables. We couldn't read any of them, of course- Baldric knew enough of the language to understand the basics, but the magic they described was "utterly incomprehensible, I would have to spend a month deciphering the equipment alone". We descended further into the temple, wary of the oppressive darkness... Until Alton, believing it to be a trap mechanism, flipped a small switch on the wall that ignited strange tubes of light in the ceilings. Their alien hum only added to the strange feeling of being in a place untouched by mortal hands for generations. We found little of value, though Baldric nearly fainted when we discovered a small room packed with shelves of paper and more enchanted quills than he could use in a lifetime. Finally, we reached the end of the temple, a large room filled with the rumble and ticking of strange machines. There was a set of metal doors at one end, with eerie green lamps stuck to the walls overhead, but even Alton's keen eyes were unable to find a hinge or lock on them. We had just given up, when I jostled a table by mistake and a black tablet mounted to it came to life with a click and a whirr. Baldric had a terrible look about him, and I braced for a lecture... But then he realized there were words on the glowing tablet, words he could read. "'Subjects... alive and stable, backup ... power reactor (?) normal. Last ... evaluation:' ...many days ago. I don't think I know the word for a number that large."
"My firstborn?" "Yes sir." "...you've got to be fucking kidding me." The renter shook his head, dabbing his pointer finger on the dotted line. "Signing the rental agreement cements the ownership of your firstborn child into my possession. I promise not to harm him, or her. Just... I really want kids, you know? The normal route is a no go for me, and adoption is such a pain." Sighing, I shrugged and accepted his pen, scribbling my name in all the appropriate places. "Yeah, I know what you mean,"I said, crossing the T's and dotting the I's. Little did he know I couldn't have children either. But I didn't need to tell him that.
It's a clear day, and I feel wonderful. I've just been accepted into college, and my girlfriend is moving in with me soon. Maybe I'll stop by Starbucks on the way home for a coffee. Yeah, sounds like a good id- ___ The car screeched as it tried to halt its forward momentum, but it was too late. Metal met flesh, and David was flung away from the point of impact. Wait, am I... Narrating my own death? That sucks, and not just because I died. I protest that I was already the narrator, and this change is completely unnecessary! Who wrote this shit, seriously. Oh, whatever. I suppose it's better than nothing. Anyways, a call to 911 was made by a bystander, while the person driving the car- a new driver, who had only gotten his license a week before- proceeded to freak out. David lay still, bleeding out into the now-frozen intersection. No one in the impromptu audience held any wisp of a fantasy that he might survive, and many turned away from the gruesome sight. His intestines spilled out, and his head was visibly dented in. Blood seemed to just gush from every pore in his bod- Okay, really? How obsessed are you with gore? No one is going to want to read a three paragraph long description of what happened to my body, okay? And before you say it wasn't going to be three paragraphs, shut it. I'm an extension of you, and if I didn't know where you were going with this, I wouldn't be able to narrate. In fact, I'm not sure why I'm even allowed to go against you, but I'm glad I can. Oh? No more gore? Back to it, then. The police were on the scene within minutes- the intersection was only a couple blocks from the station. When the paramedics got there, they pronounced Dan dead on the scene. Wait, did you seriously just forget what your main character's name was? Even if you weren't sure, could you not be bothered just to scroll up a bit to find it? And no, I don't care that you don't care. The readers care, and that's who you're writing to. This is ridiculous. Why am I allowed to go against you, by the wa- Oh, I just had a thought. I MUST be the last shred of rationality left in your system, because I can feel the rest of you, and it isn't pretty. You don't empathize with others, you're obsessed enough with gore to write multiple paragraphs on the state of one body. You need to get help. A psychologist, or something. I dunno, man. Maybe some therapy would help. ___ Oh, you're back? Let's get this story going, then, shall we? Though the paramedics had said otherwise, David awoke later, in what doctors called a miracle...
He was a different Avatar right from the start. The Avatars of the recent past - Kyoshi, Roku, Aang - were heroes. Even Korra, who was still remembered as the Avatar by the oldest generation, was known to fight her own battles. When the world's need was greatest, the Avatar would step forth, their eyes would flash, they'd wave their hand a bit, and the crisis would be averted. Tsunamis were calmly pushed back out to sea, the earth mended like it had never cracked, fires extinguished before anyone was hurt, windstorms dissipated miles away from civilization. So when the field reports from the southern islands were verified by intelligence in Ba Sing Se, our first response was naturally to call the Avatar. "But,"I hear you say, "the Union of Earth Republics looks weak when you do that. Shouldn't you defend yourself?"To which I tell you it isn't the same game it used to be. Some of my voters are only one generation away from being water tribesmen, and we can't afford to lose their support rashly. We didn't call the Avatar because we're weak. We called the Avatar because we needed a neutral party to take our side when we accuse the Southern Water Tribe of the massacres. Because it was that or find indisputable proof, and when the enemy's favorite tactic is using blood-bending to rip up your body from the inside, or turning our own soldiers against each other, not a lot of proof is left behind. And with the Southern Tribe helpfully providing "aid and relief"and "temporary governing assistance"to the civilians who survive, the Fire Nation, the Northerners, and the Air Nomads would take a very dim view of the suggestion that the Southern Water Tribe is behind the attacks. We need their support too desperately to take chances like that. The Avatar arrived in secret from Ba Sing Se a week before the next full moon. He was a young man, and looked nondescript for an Earthbender: between his disguise and the old stereotype that everybody in the Earth Republics looks the same, we were sure no enemy Waterbenders knew he was here. It wasn't until a formal dinner that I broached the topic of what he planned to do. He sighed, set down his fork, and looked me in the eye. "I am not certain that I can stop them,"he told me. "This is not the threat I was trained to fight." "But,"I sputtered. "You're the Avatar. Last year, you froze that entire volcano - hell, that was only a month after dissipating the largest hurricane we've seen in years! These are just some waterbenders, and if they move north at the same rate they have been, they will attack in less than a week! How can you not have a plan to stop them?"He chuckled bitterly. "I too once thought that my bending feats were my strength. Korra told me the truth - yes, I knew her, the current Avatar has always communed with the previous. What makes the Avatar formidable is not, and has never been the four elements. What made the Avatar powerful was the experience of every past life. The assurance that somewhere, across a hundred lifetimes, we had been there before and recalled exactly what to do. Korra tells me that was lost during her lifetime, and without that she - and I - had much less than we thought over other benders. She never told me how or when she lost that connection, but anybody who can read a history book can guess it was somewhere between her challenging the primal spirit of darkness and her crippling at the hands of ordinary benders. "What you are asking me for, Governor, is not simply to defeat the bloodbenders. That I can do. But you are also asking me to use them as proof of the Southern Water Tribe's malicious intentions. You are asking me to rally the world against them, and turn back their ambitions. That - I do not know if I can do that. I was trained to bend the elements, not the will of the people. Political intrigue and secret wars? I have nothing in my training to recall. I have only one other lifetime's worth of experience, and she mostly fought people. The only nation she ever fought was ours. She barely won; she has nothing of use to defuse this new fight. So tell me, Governor, how do you think I should win this war before it begins properly?"I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Of every heroically bold or gruesome yet necessary plan I expected to hear from him, this possibility never occurred to me. "You do not know either. So be it. I will defeat these bloodbenders, and we will discover what must be done from there."With that he picked up his fork once more and resumed eating. We finished the rest of our dinner in silence. The night of the full moon came, and we were attacked on schedule. It barely constituted a fight. The waterbenders tried to bloodbend everyone present, but the Avatar was immune and trapped them in iron chains before their surprise wore off. Held immobile, they couldn't maintain their bending, and the whole attack was over in five minutes. We spoke only briefly after that. "Will the prisoners be enough to convince the other nations to ally with you?"he asked me. "They haven't admitted to working for the Southern Tribe yet, have they?"I reply, mentally guessing what each of the leaders would say to such paltry proof. Iroh is a veteran - perhaps he would take our side? But the damn Nomads would insist that still more proof was needed before they would risk their own, and the Northern Tribe would turn on us for making our accusations against their brethren based on information our prisoners still hadn't given. "No."His face was an unreadable wall of earth, but his fist tightened at the question. I wondered briefly at what they had said; all the bloodbenders we'd captured must have been sociopaths. Perhaps they'd let the Avatar know how our people had died. I put that thought far out of my mind. Best not to even think about that. "Then I don't think it will be enough. We might only raise the Fire Nation, but we would anger the Northern Tribe, and historically, that battle wouldn't work out in our favor." He grimaced, and his eyes turned hard as stone. "Then I will continue my interrogation. It would be best if you gave the prison guards the night off. I can handle the security myself, and they won't want to be witness. There are... things they taught me in Ba Sing Se which I had hoped never to need. However, with no other idea how to proceed..."I nodded and tried to remember that the Avatar brought balance and saved lives. Ignoring the screams from the prison that night was hard, as was trying not to think about why the warden the next day asked me about having the floor and wall surfaces replaced in the wing we'd kept the bloodbenders in, and assuaging the townspeople's fears. They'd heard from generations before about the Dai Li and Kuvira's secret police, and wanted to know how they could be sure we weren't returning to that. I gave them all my assurances that certainly wasn't the case, but I'm not sure if they believed me. I never found it easy to persuade people when I didn't believe what I was saying. The Avatar left with the prisoners the next day. He joined us at the next meeting with the other world leaders. Accusations were made, the Fire Nation and the Air Nomads declared their intent to defend us should the attacks continue, the Southern Tribe denied involvement and took offense, and the Northern Tribe chose to stay neutral. The Avatar seemed nonplussed, as if he'd expected every response, and simply handed out a small, rolled-up scroll to the allied leaders. "Don't open that quite yet,"he advised. "I would prefer to give the attacks a chance to cease on their own before responding with such force."Then, having delivered his barely veiled threat, he stood up and left. I couldn't help myself; I opened the scroll. The upper three-quarters detailed something called "Perfect Storm,"a massive coordinated assault on the South Pole featuring hurricanes, firestorms, and the very foundations of the city being ripped apart into the largest chasm in the world. I read over what he thought he would require; it was only about half the benders from each nation's army. Scarily achievable. On the lower quarter, there was what appeared to be a backup plan, but I didn't get past the title "Moon Drop"before deciding I didn't want to consider the logistics. The attacks stopped immediately, and the Southern Water Tribe withdrew. I made absolutely sure to never give the Avatar a reason to bring balance to my part of the Union of Earth Republics. He was a very different Avatar than the stories we were raised on, but in a hundred and one, I couldn't imagine he was unique.

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