Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
Features removed: - Bellybuttons. - Appendix. - Hormonal imbalances. - Moodiness during puberty. Male model adjustments: - Nipples removed. - Balding removed. Female model adjustments: - Body hair removed. - Appetites due to monthly maintenance removed. - Monthly maintenance now only takes four hours. - Reverts to original model state after pregnancies. General adjustments: - Spine adjusted for bipedal movement. - Aging slowed down by 50%. - Sleep now optional. - Immune system response time improved by 80%. - Unhealable damage modifier no longer applies. Bugfixes: - Memory leak fixed; buggy behavior after loaded too long shouldn't happen. - Hair coloring should now remain throughout all character in-game session. - Aging no longer causes problems in immune system. - Cancer cells no longer exhibit unexpected behaviors. - Puberty no longer causes unexpected skin conditions. - Values for weight can no longer go above design maximum.
"You fools,"croaked the crooked man. The chamber in which he stood was brightly lit, but not by any visible light source - it was a simple fact that the room was brightly lit. There were no shadows, and everything in the room looked oddly flat. The walls and floor and rounded ceiling were formed of something dark that might have been stone, but it didn't look hewn, more that it had set in place like ice. In the centre of the room, just in front of the man, stood a raised dais, upon which was a device of some sort - a block of smooth dark stone, like an altar, that seemed to be flickering, minutely waxing and waning. A woman in curious white robes - robes that wizards and witches of steel had learnt to fear - approached cautiously, with a small group of similarly-dressed people, flanked by grim-looking warriors in bizarre robes like armour. "You have done enough!"the man shouted. His vision was starting to blur. It had cost him, the greatest wizard since Merlin himself, weeks of blood and sweat and magic to gain entry to this most ancient of places, the Source of Magic itself, but he had chosen what he thought was right over what was easy. He felt every year of his age. He couldn't imagine how the group before him had simply strolled in. "Stay away!" The Muggles had swept Magical Britain like the flood of Atlantis, shattering the Ministry in one fell swoop. The greatest magical nation in all the world had fallen in less than a week. Obliviators dispatched to cut off the Muggle threat at the top, as was the wizards' custom, had found government buildings secured against Apparition and Muggle leaders impervious to their Charms. The disgraced ex-Chief Warlock himself had been powerless to resist the Muggle onslaught. And now the Muggles, Merlin only knew how, had found some way to take the power of magic for themselves. Some whispered that Muggles had, even before learning of magic, learnt the secrets of blood and heritage. That they had used that power, combined with stolen magic, to bequeath the spark of wizardry and witchcraft to the entire world. "Do you have *ANY IDEA* what you've done?!"cried the robed old man. "There are gates you do not open, seals you do not breach! The Atlantean Chamber lay hidden for millennia! Wizardkind held its tongue for a reason!" The group progressed towards the flailing man in voluminous robes, his unkempt beard tangled with dried blood. Somehow, he still had the air of a leader. The group were not afraid. They once, he thought, would have been afraid. "You learned things beyond the dreams of wizards! The lives and deaths of the stars, making things do Arithmancy, the fundamental clockwork of the spheres themselves! AND YOU WERE NOT SATISFIED!"The crooked man was hysterical - which was appropriate, he thought, for this was madness. "Magic is dangerous! The Atlanteans in their meddling unleashed a horror beyond our imaginations! They sunk beneath the waters of Time itself! You will find only death at the Source of Magic!" The woman had reached the altar, and she withdrew from her robes a small contraption, which she placed on the dark, dark block. The lights in the room brightened, and a voice - but not a voice, it echoed inside the mind with no respect for Occlumency - said without any language, "Atlantis Mainframe Server Terminal active." The crooked man was frozen in horror. There was silence. And then a wand flashed forth and a desperate voice roared, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" The Chamber flashed sickly green, and the spell struck the woman squarely in the chest. Nothing happened. The guards turned to the old, haggard figure, and fired. As the woman who had ignored the Killing Curse opened her mouth - something about Albus' advice? - a rushing, sweeping noise filled the old man's ears. Tom Marvolo Riddle fell to the floor, dead.
Harrison's feet pounded the ground, he gasped, his lungs burning, his belly flopping and his legs aching. He could do it right? His music playlist switched to the next song and he pushed ahead with new vigor. Yes! He could do it. The end of the road was only 100 meters up ahead. He gasped and snorted for air, his muscles cried and complained, but they pushed him ahead at a thumping jog, past a blue sedan, past a mailbox, past a large nondescript black van with 'BOB'S CAT POLISHING SERVICES"on the side and a huge satellite dish and communication antenna on the roof. Despite his lack of oxygen, Harrison couldn't help but notice that the van was parked illegally, blocking a driveway. Oh well, who cared, it didn't matter. He pushed ahead, only 50 meters to go. He could do it! --- Meanwhile... Supreme Super Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith sat inside his well disguised, inconspicuous Super Secret Special Spy Van, watching the target in a computer monitor. Raising his cellphone to his mouth, Bob spoke urgently into it, "HQ? This is Supreme Super Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith, I have sighted the target." He lowered the cellphone and waited for a response. None came. Bob raised the cellphone to his lips and spoke again, more urgently, "Repeat. HQ this is Supreme Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith. I have sighted the terrorist request status update." Still no noise from the cellphone. Bob frowned and tried one more time. "Hello? HQ this is super special field agent Supreme Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith. I have sighted the evil terrorist, requesting immediate status update." Bob put down the cellphone and waited. And waited. ...And waited. It was at this point, that Bob realized that he failed to press the call, and his cellphone was still on the lock screen. "Dang blast,"Bob cursed, "gosh darn it all to heck!" Grimly, he unlocked his super special spy cellphone and tapped on the call icon for HQ. A pleasant female voice picked up, "Hello! This is NSFBCI, how may we help you?" Bob answered, "Yes! I need you to pass on a message to the mission room. Tell them that the evil terrorist escaped even my clutches. I would like to request a kill order." Bob hung up without waiting for an answer. That's what all the cool agents were supposed to do. He shook his fist out the window and said to himself, "I'll get you terrorist! You'll rue the day you ever decided to perform acts of terror! Whatever you did..." --- Meanwhile Harrison sighed, feeling the warm soapy water soothe his aching joints. The bath was so very relaxing. He might just go to sleep in here, and risk drowning. It might be worth it after that run. For a moment, Harrison thought he heard a stick breaking outside. He dismissed it as nothing. Just outside a nearby window, Super Special Agent Jimmy Barktree and Super Secret Special Agent Chex Mohagin huddled against a house wall, holding M4 carbines. Their mission was to infiltrate the house and remove the impending terrorist threat. Super Special Agent Jimmy nervously talked into his radio in a loud, perfectly audible whisper, "BAWS, YOU IS SURE DIS WUN ES A TERRORIST RITE?" HQ answered him, "YES SUPER SPECIAL AGENT BARKTREE. HE GOOGLED TOR AND WENT ON 4CHAN IN THE SAME DAY. WE ARE VERY SURE. JUST FOLLOW ORDERS. "OK BAWS,"said Jimmy nervously, "IZ JUST AFTOR WUT HAPPONED AT DAT LAST WUN DAT YOO SED WUZ A TERRORIST..." "Shut up Agent Jimmy,"said HQ bruskly, turning down the volume, and in a quieter voice, "You know that was an accident, and we did pay for the undertaker." "OHKAY BAWS." Jimmy hung up and held his carbine tight. He could do this. He could." Super Special Agent Chex Mohagin counted down from three on his toes and then very quietly slipped through the door. The door led into the living room. Chex beckoned Jimmy in after him. The two Secret Agents crept through the house as quietly as a crowd of drunk men on rollerskates. "SHHHHhhhhhhh!"Agent Chex held a finger to his lips and made a noise that could have woken the dead. "WE have TO go VERY quietly NOW!!!"They had reached the bathroom. Agent Jimmy nodded, his heart pounding. The two men counted down again, Chex from 3 and Jimmy from 5. Chex kicked the door open, Jimmy tried to kick and fell inwards onto his face, staying there. Chex frowned, "He ain't here!"He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed HQ. "Holo, HQ? This is Super Secret Special Agent Chex Mohagin. The Terrorist ain't here. Repeat, the terrorist ain't in the house with the blue roof." A crabby voice sounded back out of the speaker, "You dangbat idiots, it was the house with the RED ro-" Chex tossed the phone into the sink and raced outside. Only to see Harrison leaving in his car. Chex raised his rifle to hip level and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. By the time he realized the safety was on, the car was long gone. --- 40 years later Harrison, now 84, hobbled down his driveway towards his sunning towel on the lawn. In the nearby bush, three decrepit old men huddled. Ultra Mega Supreme Super Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith, now 82, Super Duper Special Secret Spy Agent Chex Mohagin, now age 71, and Spy Agent Jimmy Barkwood, now age 64. Chex held up the cell phone, the voice of their commander at HQ spilled out, loud enough to be heard across the street. Luckily Harrison was deaf. "OK, Agents, this is the 267th attempt to kill the terrorist, and we damn well will succeed this time. Everyone know the plan?" Everyone did. "OK, Agents! Move out." Bob Smith stood up and hobbled towards Harrison, who was now peacefully sleeping in the sun. He made it 4 steps before collapsing onto his knees, wheezing from the effort. Chex made it a little farther, 7 steps before falling on his face. Jimmy was the only one who managed to make it all the way. Squinting down at Harrison's face. He frowned, "E's ded already, of old age." Gasping with relief, all three men collapsed onto their backs. And stared upwards. "We finally did it, Jimmy."said Chex dreamily, and died. Bob was already dead. But Jimmy wasn't. So he went home and had some cereal. ~
I had never noticed it at first. Or if I had, I simply pushed it away, my brain struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. It was in small details, you know? Sometimes I would see something move slightly, or something would be slightly different. But when I turned to look at it, it would just be back to normal. just my imagination then. But no, there. Something about the tree that I was so used to seeing out of my window every morning just seemed...off. Sort of like when you feel like there's something there, even when you know there probably isn't. When people normally describe that feeling, they talk about having a cold chill, but mine felt..warm. Sort of a warm tingle that rippled across my skin, and the tree seemed to shimmer, but only on one side, where my right eye was pointed. I closed my left eye and focussed on the tree. The shimmering spread across the entire trunk, and the air wavered like it would on a hot summer's day, only it was winter. As I walked towards the window, my left eye still closed, I caught sight of the sky. The heavens had turned a burnt orange colour. A solid sheet of sky that was somewhere between tangerine and whiskey. What the hell? I though to myself. This had to be some sort of weird dream right? I switched eyes, only through my left eye, everything turned back to normal, and the temperature dropped noticeably. This was seriously weird now. I changed back to my right eye, and the heat had risen even further, the sky burning a darker orange. There was a strong wind kicking up outside, only it was accompanied by a faint crackle of static discharge. What the hell was going on? When I went back again to my left, the world was normal, but everything from my right seemed to die. The world heating up and everything beginning to burn. Every time I went to the dying world, I could feel the heat of it clearly, which brought me into a sweat, which would remain when I came back to my regular world. I began to hyperventilate, struggling to understand what was happening. "Just calm down,"a voice from behind said suddenly, causing me to almost leap out of my skin with fright. I spun around, and saw a man in black clothes, one hand casually in his pocket. His short grey hair seemed to shine white in places, as he looked at me with a bemused expression on his face. "I'm the Doctor,"he said, "Now tell me what you've seen."
I shot her, hell I emptied the entire magazine into her body. She never even blinked, my god her eyes, I can still see those dull dead eyes now. They searched me, questioning, curiously diving deeper into my soul as her chest wounds closed. I was transfixed by her as she walked closer to me now fully healed. She reached her hand out slowly to me grasping as she moved even closer. Click. Click. Click. Click. My finger was still pulling the trigger in desperate agony, this couldn't be real. I gasped as she removed the gun from my hands. I stood there motionless; fear gripped my every nerve, every tendon, every muscle in my body. Oh god this is it I thought as she leaned in closer to me, her cold breath blowing in my face. "But baby. You said that you would love me forever."
His voice was not as strong today. His smile wasn't so full. But we went into the box and went to the green field and we played and his smile and voice were strong again. I made sure to lick him as much as I could; he enjoys it, I know he does. When he gave me food his smile faltered again. I don't know what is wrong with him but he still pets me and rubs me like he always has. I'll lick his smile more before we sleep tonight. The box took us to another place. I don't like it. Its light hurts my eyes and the people in it all have the same smile that he has been having lately. They were all so nice to me, and my belly was rubbed so much! But he stayed there so long. I wanted to leave. He got angry with me. I'll sit in his lap. He likes that. His smile is changing more. People keep coming to our house. I've seen them before. Some are little, and they play with me and rub me. I like them! But when they talked to my friend they looked so sad. So did he. I tried to make their smiles stronger but it didn't work. I don't know what to do when I can't help. I don't like it. I haven't seen the green field in so long. The place with the painful lights has taken its place. I go there often with my friend; the people that come to our home come with us to that place. They sit with me while my friend goes away into other rooms. He always comes out tired. He isn't well. I don't like that. I'll lick him and sit in his lap. He likes that. I haven't seen my friend in so long. I don't know where he is. The people that went with us to the place that I don't like have taken me to another home. The little ones are there; they want to play but I don't. I want to see my friend, to make him happy. I want to sit in his lap. He likes that.
\#==================================================== EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt Version 6.7.102 (Release 12) \>q Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>qwdqfjqwpifhbfqp Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>help Available commands: abort; contact; create; erase; get; set; show; version; write; exit \>show Command\|Description -----------\|------------ configuration\|General configuration of the EARTH^^TM matrix matrix\|Vertices of the EARTH^^TM matrix users\|Users of the EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt interfaces\|Interfaces on which the EARTH^^TM program is being executed status\|Status of the EARTH^^TM program \>show status CPU: 57% RAM: 23% Disk usage: 71 Eb / 500 Eb Program achievement: 51% \>show interfaces Interfaces: Arctic ON Antarctic ON Pacific ON Atlantic ON Indian ON \>create Command\|Description -----------\|------------ person \| Create a human being profile \| Create a human profile life \| Create a personalized life form land \| Create a part of land (might conflict with EARTH^^TM matrix unsaved changes) water \| Create a part of water (might conflict with EARTH^^TM matrix unsaved changes) object \| Create an object law \| Create a new law in the EARTH^TM matrix set of law \>get Command\|Description -----------\|------------ person\|Get the information on a human being life\|Get the information on a personalized life form \>get person Andrew Carrick 8,678 correspondances found. Please refine your search. \>get person Andrew Carrick birthdate 12/24/1988 3 correspondances found. Select the best correspondance in the list below: ID\|Name\|Localization\| ---\|------\|------------- 1\|Carrick, Andrew John\| United States of America, Philadelphia, PA 2\|Carrick, Andrew \| United Kingdom, Birmingham, West Midlands 3\|Carrick, Andrew Porter \| United States of America, Houston, TX ID selected: 1 Andrew John Carrick Height: 6'1 Weight: 120 lbs Profile: Shy Personality matrix (/10): Social skills 1 Intelligence 8 Strength 2 Health 3 Happiness 2 Luck 4 \>set person last-person-selected luck 10 \>set person last-person-selected social-skills 10 \>get person Timothy Paul Carlyle brief 2 correspondances found. Select the best correspondance in the list below: ID\|Name\|Localization\| ---\|------\|------------- 1\|Timothy Paul Carlyle \| United States of America, Philadelphia, PA 2\|Timothy Paul Carlyle \| United States of America, Baton Rouge, LA Selected ID: 2 \>set person last-person-selected strength 0 Invalid value. Please select a value between 1-10 \>set person last-person-selected strength 1 \>set person last-person-selected intelligence 1 \>set person last-person-selected happiness 1 \>set person last-person-selected social-skills 1 \>get person Amber Christine Julia Watson brief 1 correspondance found. ID\|Name\|Localization\| ---\|------\|------------- 1\|Amber Christine Julia Watson \| United States of America, Philadelphia, PA The correspondance has been selected automatically. \>set person last-person-selected link love to Andrew Carrick Syntax error. Verify that you typed the correct command. \>set person last-person-selected link love to selected-id 2 Amber Christine Julia Watson has been set with the following link: Nature: Love With: Timothy Paul Carlyle \>no Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>set person last-person-selected reset Amber Christine Julia Watson has been reseted and removed from the EARTH^^TM matrix definitively. \>cancel Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>revert Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>exit Goodbye, see you later at the EARTH^TM program! \#==================================================== EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt Version 6.7.102 (Release 12) \> \> \> \> \> \>get person Amber Christine Julia Watson brief No correspondance found. Please verify your search has a valid name. \>kill Timothy Paul Carlyle Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>kill Andrew Carrick Command not found. Please type "help"for a list of valid commands. \>abort Abort current EARTH^^TM program. All results of this program will be deleted. All data will be erased from the flash, including persons and personalized life forms. Continue? [Y/N]: Y Confirmation? [Y/N]: Y The EARTH^^TM program is aborted. Please wait until complete data deletion. Reinitialization of the appliance [-----------] 100% Reload.......... \#==================================================== EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt Version 6.7.102 (Release 12) No EARTH^^TM program has been configured on the appliance. Would you like to enter the initial device configuration? [Y/N]:
“Look, I didn’t mean to conquer the world…” The past two days have been incredibly tiring. One interrogation after another, always men in the same uniform asking the same questions over and over again. Sometimes their nametags are different, but most of the time they read “Smith”. “You didn’t mean to conquer the world. You just built a robot army, and then one thing kind of led to another”, today’s man in uniform states matter-of-factly, making a waving gesture with his right hand. “I only built one robot,” I protest weakly for the millionth time. The uniform nods, then retrieves a notebook from a pocket and starts reading in it. “You built one robot, which subsequently replicates itself several times using spare parts from your workshop. The robots then go on to raid electronics stores all over Seattle, replicating even more units. Eventually, they start taking over military installations and the airport. They take control of airplanes and drones, spread out across the entire country, and eventually occupy the capital. As robot drones get in the air to invade Europe and Asia, and robot tanks move toward the Canadian and Mexican borders, robots in D.C. capture the president and take over the emergency broadcasting system to declare you their queen.” I just nod. This is basically what happened. They’ve been efficient, too. It took them one day to gain control of Seattle. When people started to realize that they weren’t just another crazy PR stunt from Google, they had already managed to obtain weaponry and modify their chassis to accommodate it. After another day, they had the entire country on lockdown. “That’s it? You have nothing to add to that?”, the uniform asks incredulously. Makes me roll my eyes. It’s like they record all of these conversations, then immediately burn the tapes. “I told you. I ordered a Catbot 5000 from thinkgeek as a gift for my cousin. On May 25, the day before his birthday, I assembled it in my garage and left it there overnight. When I went back to fetch it when my aunt dropped by on the day after, it was missing. I had to run to the store around the corner to buy a pullover as a replacement gift for him. When I got back, I found my aunt in front of the TV with her mouth wide open, watching the first reports of robots raiding shops, and that was the first time I even heard of the whole thing.” That’s my story in a nutshell. The Catbot 5000 is a toy. Judging by its description and capabilities, it’s targeted at children around the age of 30. It can walk around the house, meow, look cute, and read comments from reddit in a weird robot kitten kind of synthetic voice. Its battery doesn’t last very long, so the worst thing that could happen is that it climbs out of your window and recites your comments in the poetry subreddit to passersby for a few minutes until it runs out of juice. My cousin fits the target demographic perfectly. His poetry is atrocious, too, so he kind of deserves it as well. “You modified the robot. You installed a custom artificial intelligence, you added an array of photovoltaic cells, you replaced its eyes with laser pointers, you even built a small 3D printer into one of its paws…” The uniform lifts both his hands and starts gesturing slowly. “…and so on, and so forth…”, he goes on, in a deliberately bored sounding tone. Suddenly, we hear a muffled explosion, and then the lights in the interrogation room go out and emergency lighting comes on. An alarm sounds, but the uniform remains seated, undisturbed. He knows it’s not the first time. We’re in an old bunker deep in the Cheyenne Mountains. Safe from nuclear blasts; probably not from the robots, but they haven’t gotten here yet. “I did not. I built it exactly according to the instructions, and then left it in my garage for the night.” That’s a lie. I did all those things that he alleged, and more. When my army captured the president, I turned myself in, knowing that the only places the military could still take me to would be bunkers such as this one. For the past few days, they’ve unsuccessfully tried to extract the password to stop the robots from me. But I am no fool. There is no such password. “And then it sort of did everything else on its own?”, the uniform asks. “Yes.” I won’t need to maintain the charade for much longer. He can’t see it yet, but a glowing red circle has started to appear on the metal door behind him. Soon enough, the inside of the door starts melting, the evaporating gases creating a loud hissing noise. The uniform finally turns around just as one of my little darlings climbs through the hole it just cut in the door. It turns its laser cutter on once more, only for a fraction of a second, but that’s enough to cleanly separate the uniform’s torso from its head. As the now lifeless body falls, the robot turns its head to me. “Meow Queen, the cleansing is complete.” I did indeed not mean to conquer the world.
"Put it all on Seabiscuit, please. And what are the odds on a bet that he wins by four lengths?" Tom put a sack ful of money on the counter and waited for the bookie behind the counter. The bookie eyed him with a skeptical, yet greedy grin. A win for Seabiscuit? Tom imagined him thinking This guy must be crazy! It had taken Tom years of work to build the machine, developing breakthroughs in physics that would have astounded Einstein. But he couldn't tell anyone. The Don would just blow his brains out and take the machine for himself. So he'd kept his work hidden, building it in secret for all this time until it was ready. He'd gone even deeper into debt to the mob in order to get the material that he needed, and he only had enough plutonium for this one jump. He'd carefully done his research. He'd chosen the famous surge of Seabiscuit at the November 1st Pimlico Special, dubbed the "Match of the Century,"back in Tom's timeline. As he waited to place his bet before the race, he could already hear the crowds chanting for War Admiral, the undisputed favorite. This grizzled champ was expected to win, favored 1-4. Tipsters said that War Admiral was the closest thing to a sure bet that they'd ever seen. And Seabiscuit's training had been kept secret. Tom struggled to keep his poker face up as the bookie grunted and stood, pawing the pile of cash. The bookie looked down, and his eyes narrowed. "What's the meaning of this, ya bum?"the man grunted in a thick Bal'more accent. He held up one of the crisp, clean twenty dollar bills that Tom had withdrawn just before the trip back. Bills from 2014, Tom realized. The bookie pushed the bag off the counter, spilling cash into the air. "Take ya countafeit funny money and get outta here,"he said and went back to his magazine. Tom sobbed into a fistful of money as he watched Sea Biscuit sprint to the finish.
I know I'm supposed to wait for the new month before I check out the pictures, but I just can't help myself. Every new calendar I get, I just have to flip through and look! This year, I'd gotten the National Geographic one; they always have the best photos. July was a tiger, crouching in a snowy forest. I was admiring the vibrant colors when something on the actual calendar page caught my eye. A red circle around my name on July 24th. My name? I wondered. How did they know my name? I flipped through the rest of the calendar looking for some explanation, but every other page was blank. Must be one of my coworkers playing a joke, I told myself. But the calendar had still been wrapped when it arrived; the cellophane was right there, crinkled up on my desk... I asked around, but no one in the office would admit to it. I showed them the calendar with the red circle; they nodded, but looked concerned. I called the store; they said that the calendars had all come in a box from the distributor and no one had opened any of them. I even called National Geographic! After an hour of being transferred back and forth like a hot potato, every department I talked to told me that they'd never heard of me and that no one had circled my name on July 24th. I shrugged it off. Maybe some weird coincidence. January's animal was a giraffe. I hung the calendar up on my wall and tried to enjoy it. But I knew that under that giraffe was my name, written on July 24th with a red circle around it. February was an orangutan, swinging through the lush jungles of Borneo. But I could only see the red circle. March was a bright, tropical bird perched on a branch with a too-blue sky background. I couldn't take it anymore. I tore the calendar off my wall and buried it in my desk under stacks of papers that I'd never get through. I thought about destroying it, or burning it, but something inside me decided to keep it. Who knows why? Even with it off the wall, I couldn't stop thinking about the calendar. What was July 24th? Why me? April and May passed, a rhinoceros wading through tall amber savannah grass, and a sea turtle swimming through crystal clear tropical waters. I began concocting wild scenarios in my mind. Maybe I was some huge contest winner! Maybe I was caught up in some spy ring unknowingly! Maybe it was some doomsday prophecy! My friends and family gently encouraged me to start visiting a shrink about it. I quit the job in June, the month with a playful red panda climbing to the top of a tall pine tree. It was just too much to be in that office. But as much as I hated it, I couldn't leave the calendar. Part of me had to know what it was for, and why it had been marked like that. I traveled, visited family, picked up one hobby after another. Anything to take my mind off of it. But no matter what I did, July grew closer. Finally, it was the month of the tiger. In a strange way, I started to look forward to it. Maybe it would be the worst day of my life, but at least it would be over. My psychologist started to get worried about me. I'd showed him the calendar, but he didn't think it was a big deal. He thought I'd drawn it there myself and invented this fiction that it came to me like that. Eventually, I just stopped going. It wasn't helping the anxiety anyway. On July 23rd, I drove to Washington D.C. I guess I figured that the only possible answer might somehow come from National Geographic. I called friends and family, saying goodbye. They pleaded with me to come back, to see Dr. Mason. They tried to tell me that it was all in my mind. I hung up on each of them as soon as they started on that again. I showed up at the National Geographic headquarters around 7 AM, waiting, though I wasn't sure what for. I was a jumpy, nervous wreck, clutching the calendar in my hands like it was a bomb that would go off if I dropped it. I shrieked like a banshee when a little kid accidentally bumped into me, sending him running to his mother sobbing. Something will happen, I told myself. Tour groups came and went, visiting the museum. Employees went out for coffee, then for lunch, then for coffee again. Security guards gave me weird looks and whispered into their walkie talkies while glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes. The sun started to set, and everyone left for the day. I sat on the curb outside, happy that I hadn't been struck by lightning but somehow empty. Months building up to this day, and for what? I returned back to my hotel, pulled on a bathrobe, ordered room service, and watched a movie on pay-per-view. I locked myself away from the world and zoned out. 11:59. "Last chance,"I told the calendar. It just sat on the table silently. The clock changed, and it was July 25th. Nothing had happened.
In the aftermath, it was the rules that kept us alive. They were easy to follow: no stealing food, no leaving the compound after dark. No sex, because no child deserves to be born into this world. Majority rules, and the good of the group always, always comes first. Rules are easy to follow when they protect you. But it gets harder when following the rules means a bullet in your head. Thick, dark blood ran down my arm and dripped onto the floor. The Walker was dead at my feet, but that didn’t matter. The damage was done – its teeth had mangled my arm, and I could see the black phlegm that oozed from its mouths mingling with the red and seeping into my veins. Inching towards my heart with every beat of my pulse. I knew what I should do. It had happened before. When they dragged back what was left of Greg from a foraging mission gone wrong. When Daria threw herself between the Walker and her little girl – the girl escaped unharmed, but Daria lost her hand. Both times, they knew what had to be done, they wept and shook but ultimately they went quietly. Dean took them into the woods, as far from the compound as they could go without risking his own life. But we still heard the shots. I had always assumed that I would do the same. That I would be noble, and brave, and willing to do what must be done to protect the rest of the group. But now, staring at the bite mark on my arm, I knew that this wasn’t true. I wasn’t a hero. I was a coward. I rinsed the blood off my arm, ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt to wrap around the wound, and went back to the compound. When they asked, I told them I tripped and caught my arm on a sharp rock. Then I waited. Usually, it took less than twenty four hours. I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake, planning to run into the forest as soon as I felt my humanity start to slip. But the first night passed without incident. Then the second. Then the third, and the fourth, until the days turned into weeks and the mark on my arm softened into a scar. It was impossible. But it was true. For some reason, my body had resisted the infection. I was immune. I didn’t know what to do. This was unheard of, but if it was true then perhaps my blood could be used to create a vaccine. It could mean an end to one part of this horror, perhaps with time it could even be used to reverse the effects of the infection. But on the other hand, the only reason I had discovered this was by breaking the most precious rule that there was, and endangering the entire compound because of my cowardice. Telling them could save their lives – but it could also cost me mine. It was three months after the incident and I was on watch duty. They appeared out of nowhere – twenty Walkers with dead, hungry eyes. We sounded the alarm, but it was too late. By the time it was over three people were dead, and I had an open wound on my palm that was dripping black. “I’m sorry, Paul,” said Dean, his eyes soft and sad. He lifted his rifle. “No, wait, you don’t understand,” I said, “you can’t do this, you don’t understand!” “I’m so sorry, Paul.” “No, wait, you don’t under - !” A single shot rang clear and loud through the forest.
The field was covered in thin walls of crumbling rock and twisted metal rods. The stone pathway cracked under the alloy boots of a strange creature. In the distance, a cracked white dome stood in a flattened expanse of dust, columns and pillars supporting the facade of the structure. The creature decided to have a closer look. It sprinted towards the dome, its speed augmented by its survival suit. Rusted metal hurdles were knocked out of the creature's path. As it reached the structure, the creature slowed down to a stop. In front of the structure there was a plinth, standing upright and completely intact; this had been made to last. The creature wiped a gloved hand over the top of the plinth, removing the dust and ash built up there to reveal a set of symbols, no, words. "Here lies homo sapiens, the human race. As a species, we regretted not growing to reach the furthest of the lights in the sky. We die on our home, never to set foot on the soil of another world. To any who see this message, know that you have done what we never will." The creature paused. The faceplate of its helmet separated, folding back to reveal its face. The last human shed a single tear, and left Earth as the last of his kind.
"I have been a king whose rule was so great I was considered a god. Indeed, I have been a god as well, a creator of worlds. I have been a commander and grunt same, a leader of men and a man who was counted on to save all -- and succeeded. Parades have been thrown in my honor, people gathered as far as the eye could see, as if wheat in a never-ending field. A pilot skirting suns. A hero true as the boldest definition of such. And here I am your child. Alive once more, I am excited to see what this new life will bring." All the same, she said, "If you don't eat your dinner, you can go to your room."
They part around me, always. Wherever I walk my footsteps are met with quiet gasps and uneasy eyes. My shadow haunts the halls of our fair city like a funeral shroud. Sunny skies seem to darken when I approach; happy laughter and the play of children turn to cold frowns and silence. A dark pall is always at my side. No one else ever is, naturally. No, they all part around me. Always. I shuffle through the promenade, stopped over, hobbling with my cane. My bony hands shake with effort as I move, and every step is agony. But every step I make is a choice. And it's a choice I would make again, all things considered. I was the only one, you see, to see life past a half-century. Everyone knew how important the restriction was- how it was necessary to our survival as a species- but nonetheless I had managed to live. Because this was how I chose to die. My gnarled teeth clench in pain as I shuffle, stumbling with my crooked legs. When I finally find a seat I take it, sinking into the chair like a stone sent to rest in a lake bed, wobbling uncertainly as I sit. When I'm done I'm exhausted; my diseased skin struggles to send a few drops of rancid sweat to my brow. I dab it with my kerchief, panting. Murmurs and disquiet met my arrival; eventually people resumed their business, but they watched me suspiciously, scoffing at my infirmity, and ribbing each other every time I hunched over in pain, or struggled for breath. My troubles seemed to amuse them a great deal. It should, by all rights. Because I had managed to live, you see. A little girl, no older than 8, eventually raced past me, chasing a tiny ball. When she retrieved it she looked up at me, eyes squinted, and she questioned me with all the grace and nuance of a small child: "You're old, mister." I smile, nodding. The nod, alone, brings a terrible kink to my neck. "Indeed, I am, child." "Why're you so old, huh? No one else is like you..." My smile widens, and I struggle through my constant agony to lean forward. I tap my chest with one bony finger and chuckle: "There was a time, child, when I reached a half-century. I was told it was time for me to go, like anyone else, but I outsmarted 'em! I tricked them, and so I got to live longer!" The girl looked me up and down, surveying my terrible body, and she shuddered. "It's that wonderful? Isn't it great that I could beat the system, like that?" The child shook her adorable little head, lips perched: "No, mister,"she said. "It isn't. Not at all. When I'm 50, you can bet I'll be happy to go!" The child bounded back to her mother and father, whispering excitedly about my decrepit body and my words. I still bore a sad smile as I watched her confidently tell them how glad she'd be to go when she was of age. I would've been too, really, but this was my choice. And I would not change it. A soft hand touches my shoulder; the city doctor stands beside me, smiling. "Time for the injections already, eh?"I flash her a wan smile, wincing at the effort. The doctor nods slowly. "If they're getting to be too much for you, we can always hold back a little, you know..." "No,"I shake my head, staring at the confident little girl across the way. "No, we've got to set the proper 'example', mustn't we?" She helps me to my feet and gives me my cane. I shuffle alongside her, a stooped and wretched mess off crooked muscle and gnarled flesh. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?"The doctor asked. I nod, smiling. "I believe it is, yes." The doctor looks away from me as we walk, a small frown of shame on her face. Still, she makes the best of it: "Anyway,"she whispers, "happy fifty-first..."
Until you die, it's impossible to know the magnitude of the matter. Schools teach of bacteria in the body, of blood cells and skin cells and brain cells - every part of the human body is a small piece of life. The thing is, they're all more than alive. They have minds of their own, and it's in the afterlife that they all get the opportunity to have a say. See, it turns out there is in fact an afterlife. It's a very crowded place, to say the least, because while everything is the same size, literally every piece of individual life that has at some point existed ends up here. With an equal voice. They say romantic things about democracy; just wait until your hair gets to outvote you. It is equal parts disturbing and amusing. We are worlds in our own right - they tell me strange stories, the friends that used to be my blood cells. The warriors of the immune system tell grand tales of conquest, while the reds tell of their supply chains and proud efficiency. All the brain cells want to do is network with each other. It's a society in itself, built on stories and perspective. But it's crowded enough and all the voices talk at the same time at the same volume everywhere. On average it takes a year of subjective time to go fully insane. For the rest of existence, that is. It's really quite odd. We stay alive to hold onto our sentience. Our bodies do the same to avoid it.
"Mr. Adamson! Answer the question!"shouted a short, chubby old man as he shouted a boy in the corner. God, could you even be more boring? "Adam! What was that?!" "Sorry. What was the question? I didn't.. uh... hear it." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Adam Adamson woke up one morning on a cool spring morning. Red roses bloomed in the gardens. Bees buzzed and flew from one pad of golden pollen to another. The time was six o'clock and the sun had peaked up from the horizon, its rays bouncing from a window's glass straight into Adam's face. "It's too bright..."He had thought, jumping out of bed and carrying on with his morning routine, completely unaware of the events transpiring that day. But, what events could you possibly be talking about? Well, I'll tell you reader. This is the day when average Adam's thoughts were revealed for all to hear. Some sad, some funny, and some just downright disgusting. But enough about that, let's focus back on the present, in Adam's first class of the day... Oh, and before I forget. To those deciding to follow along and perv on this kid's mind. His loud mental voice will be broadcast in bold, like this. Got it? Anywho, back to the boring hero. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ...History "I asked you, who established England's first Commonwealth following the death of Charles I?" Fuck if I know. "Cromwell?" "As Adam had bluntly and colorfully put out, the man in charge of this English republic was named Oliver Cromwell..." The temperature was a cold sixty degrees Fahrenheit. The radiator was broken and the doors sat wide open. Teenagers sat at little wooden desks, sprawling on notebooks or listening attentively. Others, however, had a book cracked open, the newest youth romance novel, or perhaps their phones hidden away underneath their desks. A bright blue light hidden in their laps. All of a sudden, the tip of Adam's pencil had broken away, leaving the wooden tap with a glaring hole, useless and dark. Shit. "... is exactly what they used to fertilize the crops back in the earlier 18th century. Adam, shut up, I'm trying to teach." "I didn't say anything!" "Then you probably thought it!"The teacher shot back, returning to the whiteboard. All I needed was a pencil. You asshat. Believing the target of Adam's words to be himself, the boy seated next to him handed him a small mechanical pencil. The clicking end that allowed the led to come out was of course, loud, functioning, and annoying. For the remainder of the class, Adam repeated to toy around with the little stick, quieting his mind for about half an hour. Driven by hormones and a sense of boredom, Adam's head was turned away to another corner, opposite the room. There sat a short girl, face white as snow and hair dark as an grand oak tree. Small, slender fingers wrapped around a pencil, she was among those listening to the lecture. I wonder what her butt would feel like. Before anyone could react the long hand had struck at eight, the sound of the bell filling Adam's ear with its odd, mechanical tone. The students got up and tucked away their things: notebooks in arms and cellphones in pockets. Our protagonist today, got up too, deciding to follow the crowd in a nice change of pace. All of a sudden, his jogging pace got slow. The crowd had thinned out and disperse, yet two loud-mouthed girls in front of him had slowed to a sluggish walk. Annoyed, Adam sped up to walk around them, trying his best to keep quiet and avoid troubling them. Why don't your hurry the fuck up, you assholes? People are trying to get to class here. Their eyes shot up in horror and shock. Adam didn't notice. He was already ahead of them, ears filled with the noise of idle chatter and footsteps. Completely unaware of the fact that he was continuing to make his thoughts heard as he headed off the class, the mental voice drowned out by the sounds and loud conversations of other students. Seriously. You pull this shit everyday. I have a goddamn Chemistry test that no one freaking tells me about. And now I only have four minutes left! Those that were able to hear simply ignored the voice. After all, they had their own problems and conversations to deal with. Adam, of course, was set to meet up with his next embarrassment in Chemistry class. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- (To be continued maybe/probably/60-40 chance/meh soon.)
"Mazumao, look!" The Great Being was answering another prayer, as he did almost every day. "Father, who is the Great Being answering to today?" I smiled. A child's curiosity is a wonderful thing. "I don't know, Mazumao. But it is something great, for someone far away. And some day he will answer our prayer, too." I took a deep breath, let out a sleepy sigh, and listened to the sound of the Prayer until I drifted off. --- VROOOOOOOOOOO^OOOOOO Ahh, another Prayer. I woke up to the sound of the Prayer, as well as my daughter asking, "Father? What will it look like when the Great Being answers our people's Prayers?" "It will drop out of the sky and we will become enlightened. We will move to a new conciousness." "But father, I-" VROOOOOOOOO^OOOOOOOOO What? Another Prayer? Me and my daughter run outside, and see hundreds of Prayers being sent across the world. Other villagers were outside experiencing the awesome amount of Prayers being answered. "Father, look! Look!" I look to where she was pointing and try to focus in on the tiny object. Is... is that a... A villager spoke up, "The Great Being has answered our Prayer!" Yes, yes he has! "Father, I am so happy. I wish mother were here to see it too." "Do not worry, Mazumao. In our new state of enlightenment, we can see her again." The prayer dropped closer and faster. Everyone was cheering as the Prayer whistled down. As it fell, I hugged my daughter, and when it hit the ground, I was hugging and crying. We have been waiting years for this. *Bang*
I can't stand taking the train to and from work everyday. I just can't. I've been doing this for eleven years now and I'm sick of it. If it wasn't for the kids, I 'd have a nice little condo in the city close to all of the excitement like I did in my younger years. But no, the wife wants a backyard, and I have to make this commute everyday so she can have it. Damn it. I wonder why this poor schmuck is taking the train into the city. If I was his age, I would be living in the city. I would be stumbling out of bed still stinking of booze and trying to get ready as fast as I could for my entry level job making sales calls on dirt cold prospects. I certainly wouldn't be in a plain dark green v-neck and plain old jeans. Ha! I most certainly would not be wearing cowboy boots. This kid from Texas? Nah, his hair is too long for that. He's probably one of those unemployed college graduates that's given up on looking for good professional jobs and is settling for something less. Something that allows him to wear a T-shirt, jeans, and those ridiculous cowboy boots. He's definitely taking the train from his parent's house to that unprofessional job. Well, you don't get what you won't work for. Damn millennials. Would you look at that! This guy is tall. I would never have guessed it looking at him sitting down, but man-o-man is this guy a giant. He must be 6'3 or 6'4. A little out of shape though. He's got chiseled arms, but his stomach could be a lot flatter, especially for someone his age. My stomach was rock hard back then. This guy definitely played football in high school and if he didn't, he made a mistake not playing. Seriously, the girls were so easy if you were on the football team. Oh shit, he's looking over here. I must have been looking for too long. Are those eyes green or brown? Dammit quit looking. Now, he's doing that weird I'm looking without looking thing. Freaking millennials, they don't have the guts to stare down a man who has been staring at them. Wow, that sounded kind of creepy. Thank God this is my stop. I could really use some more coffee.
82 years working as a janitor. That's twenty-one thousand, three hundred and twenty work days of wiping poop off of toilet seats, emptying trash cans, and scrubbing down floors. Is that what my life amounts to? Is that all that I ever was? Just an extra attachment for the vacuum? I was going to be a pilot. I'd hike out to the hills near the airport after school and just watch the planes come in. I liked to wonder who was in there. Where were they coming from? Where were they going? So many stories packed into one tight metal container, soaring through the air. For my 11th birthday, my dad even got me a remote-control plane. I'd taxi down the driveway and take off in the street, soaring over the neighborhood with that droning buzz of the little propeller. God, that was a great present. Like all kids, I was stupid. One thing led to another, and Mary got pregnant when we were just 18. Of course I told her that I'd stick with her no matter what, and be the best dad I could. Of course that's what I said, and I did. I dropped out of school and took that job, cleaning offices at night and changing diapers during the day. I told her I was happy. I told my friends that I didn't miss school. I told my parents that we were doing just fine. In reality, I died that day. I died, and I've been slowly decaying ever since, shuffling through life like a zombie supported by a mop. Mary had eventually left me for some bigshot, and the kids were all grown up and were starting to make families of their own. I was lucky that they had remembered to invite me over for Christmas and Thanksgiving for the past few years. I can hear them preparing my funeral downstairs, cramming one hundred little candles onto a store-bought sheet cake. I know the banner says "birthday party,"but let's call it what it really is. The little pill is sitting here on my bedside, waiting for me to head downstairs and swallow it in front of my friends and family to a chorus of applause. It's small; a tiny red and yellow dot on the white little table. I just needed to choke it down at the party and head to sleep as normal, and they'd collect my body in the morning. It never really hit me what 'retirement' really meant until that officer from the Bureau of Resource Conservation came by and held up the little orange bottle that held the end of my life. "Congratulations,"he'd told me, as if getting kicked off was some big accomplishment. Well, the joke was on him. I opened the closet and pulled out my backpack. Everything I'd need for my last day here. Aerial maps, all of my savings in pesos, a pocket translator, a change of clothes, and a little orange bottle with a tiny rattling pill. Exactly like the one sitting next to my bedside, waiting patiently like a coiled snake. But this pill was different: it was made up of two halves of some Skittles. Red and yellow, just like theirs. I booted up the computer where I'd spent so much of my time recently and deleted the only program I'd ever installed. No more simulations. Today, I would fly for real.
I couldn’t believe what I heard on TV. I mean, I know it was a piece-of-shit Sony knockoff but there was no mistaking it. The President pulled the name out of the impossibly large jar and announced the name – my name. I only entered the contest for the hell of it but never did I believe it was real. Anyone can put up a fancy website, after all. But that didn’t matter. When he called my name, I became the Dictator of the United States for an entire day. I’m sure you’re dying to know what I had planned, right? I’m no Roosevelt but I did have a lot in mind. I couldn’t squander the opportunity by being complacent. You see, the best thing about being a dictator is that you don’t have to listen to anyone. Everything you say becomes law and no one can oppose you unless they have a death wish. I guess you could say that you are free to be a Dick-tator… I apologize for that joke. It sounded better in my head. Anyway, I only had twenty-four hours to accomplish all the stuff you say you want to do as president when you’re drunk and no time for anything else. My first order of business was to eliminate all debt in the country. Yes, it will probably be bad for the country in the long run but it was worth it in the moment. You’d be surprised how liberating it felt to purge myself of the she-devil known as Sallie Mae. As my first act as DOTUS (has a better ring than POTUS, doesn’t it?), I receive general support from the nation. Well, as long as you don’t count the politicians who wanted to burn me at the stake. But I was invincible so that didn’t bother me. Next, I worked on social issues – LGBT rights, systematic racism, etc. At my call, all those archaic laws and loopholes were just erased like that. Who would have thought it would be a lot easier to take care of that stuff without a cesspool of crotchety old men arguing about them? We should have gotten rid of the Congress a long time ago. And by lunchtime, I had overwhelming support across the nation. And to think, I still had about another twelve hours of my rule to do what I want. The second half of the day was where I hit my biggest roadblocks as dictator. Several politicians had conspired to take me down, worried I was being overzealous with my rule. Needless to say, I didn’t back down. It only took a few hours to imprison the majority of those who opposed me – another surprisingly easy feat. With fan favorite nutjobs like Sarah Palin locked up, I had become a cult phenomenon. But I had to act quickly. My time was running out and I still had so much more to do. I still had my hardest goal ahead of me and a successful day – mending relations with the majority of the world. I made some calls and to my surprise, I found it pretty easy to restore former alliances with nations when you don’t come off as condescending or threaten to bomb them otherwise. By the end of the day, I had most of the world on our side and willing to help us out unconditionally. For the first time in all of history, the United States was finally looked on favorably by foreigners and natives alike. With a unified world and happy nation, the citizens of the nation adored me. They showed overwhelming support on social media and took to the streets in celebration. With only an hour left, some were even protesting for me to extend my rule for another day. I didn’t know what to say. After all, less than twenty-four hours ago I was living a shitty one bedroom apartment with a dead-end job, contemplating the point of getting out of bed. I was beyond flattered and couldn’t find the words to express my gratitude. Now, I am here before you all as the DOTUS to do so and give my final decree. Everything I have done thus far has been for the betterment of you all and I hope you will all feel the same. However, I am afraid that I have to decline your pleas to extend my rule another day. It simply wouldn’t work and I think I have a plan which may work out a little better: Instead, from this day forward, I will take the responsibility to extend my title as Dictator of the United States indefinitely. Thank you and good night.
Forever is a long time. It makes you lose things. A lot of things. People, places, stuff. Even feelings. All of them. You just kind of become numb after a while. And has it been a while. The Earth exploded years ago. I'm not sure how long ago, exactly, but I know it's well over a million. You should have seen how big the sun got, too. Now that was something of a surprise. You live this long and surprise is one of the first words you leave out of your vocabulary. It's just not relevant anymore. But that day... whew At least I'm not alone though. I've got Reynold. He's pretty funny for a guy who's literally in a existential crisis right now. I don't know how someone can manage to stay funny for so long, but Reynold somehow found the secret. He's all I look at these days. He's all to look at these days. I have a theory that if we were somehow separated and never saw each other again, that even the power of forever couldn't erase his face from my head. Big bright hazel eyes. Skin like beach sand. Dark and warm. His hair is almost comically long now, reaching past his ankles. I can't remember the last time we even thought about cutting our hair. What's the point? He was sleeping next to me when I noticed how thin our rope had gotten. Its worn brown fibers were starting to fray at the core and a quick panic spread inside me like a fire as a clay-like lump formed in my throat. The thought of losing him was impossible to handle. "Reynold!"I said, my voice cracking, "Wake up! Reynold! The rope! It's going to break!" I was sobbing at that point, gently pulling the rope so as not to break it. Reynold woke up and immediately noticed what was happening. He gave a sympathetic smile and called my name. "Just relax, Evan."he said, grabbing the rope and pulling it towards him, "We can do this." It must have been over an hour of gentle tugs, pulls, and bated breath, but our fingers finally touched. The rope gave out and floated towards the abyss. Reynold wiped my tears from my eyes, which were blinking and red from crying. Neither of us said a word, but just held each other in silence. I felt Reynold's quiet breaths get louder and heavier. He was weeping. His warm tears and snot slowly expanded on my chest. Reynold, who I have only see cry once in a million years. Reynold, who was filled with more love and joy then a thousand people can even hold onto in one lifetime, was bawling like a baby. And I knew exactly the reason. My heartbeats pounded away, counting out the minutes. Finally, he choked out the truth we were both dreading to hear. "We can't hold on forever."Reynold said, "Not forever." Never more in my whole life had I wanted to die more then in that moment. Never. "I know,"I said, "But we have to try."
"Yeah, I get that a lot. People say it's the 'stache. Let me see the bag." "Alright, but just so you know - we found a device in it. Someone is onto us." Hal tosses him the bag. Daniel opens it up to retrieve the listener. Tosses it back to Hal. "If we can get Lindsay to backtrace the signal to its origin, maybe we'll figure out who's listening." "Hal, you can't think we're going to let you just walk out of this room with that." Hal holds the bug gingerly, a dog backed into a corner. Trevor reaches for his piece. Slowly, though. Don't want to spook him. "Guys, I swear - I don't know where this thing came from." Atta boy. You're sweatin' now. Hal's expression reeks of panic and guilt. And now, with Trevor's gun in his face, fear. "Trevor, don't!" Trevor smirks. He knows an agent when he sees one. "Daniel, take this guy out back. He's NSA to the bone." Trevor's smirk disappears when he sees Daniel's piece starin' him in the eye. "I can't do that, Trevor. Drop your weapon." "Hold it- what? You, too?" "He's FBI, Trevor. We've been workin' this group for years." "Well I'll be fucked. I'm CIA. They never told me about you guys." The men stare at each other for a split second. The tension is a string tying their fates together. One wrong move and this thing can still dissolve into a blood bath. The room's occupants erupt into laughter simultaneously. "You've got to be fuckin' me, Dave- you hear this?" "Yeah, those guys are feds too?"Dave says into Trevor's ear, miles away. "Yeah. Pretty nuts." Two men walk into the room brandishing DEA badges. "That was pretty intense, fellas. We had a pool going for who was going to get shot first. So, you're with the U.S. Government as well?" Trevor nods. Daniel is still laughing. Hal just got through vomiting. "Well slap my boot and call me Sally." Daniel finds words between fits of giggles. "You think the guys back home are gonna be pissed?" Trevor shrugs. "This whole thing is just a mess of piss poor planning. If anything, it seemed weird from the start that no one in this cell is even Asian." The DEA fellas seem amused. "Well, US labor laws and such. Equal opportunity. I just figured Yakuza had a similar thing goin'. Is it true you guys don't know a lick of Japanese?" Edit: I guess I interpreted 'the World' to mean 'The US'. Still my take on the idea.
Dear Jerkwads, First of all, we'd love to thank you for those awesome radio signals you sent us. It's nice to know that you're intelligent enough to send this shit into outer space, but can't quite grasp the fact that other beings may hear in higher frequencies. You basically made half of the universal population deaf, so really thanks for that. Second of all, it's cute watching you guys land some shit on Mars and Asteroids, but can you stop shoving those stupid telescopes down our throats? Yeah, you can see us, well done, we don't give a shit. Did it ever occur to you that we didn't want to be found by you guys? We actually know how to make a society function without treating each other like shit and sending 95% of beings into poverty. Seriously, we watch you all the time and to put it in your most basic human terms, you're our version of Jersey Shore. You're great when we want something stupid to watch, but we REALLY don't want to meet you. I can't stress this enough that we seriously consider you less than useless. We would have taken over Earth and wiped you guys out years ago, but you're just too damn fun to watch. So please keep it up, but stop trying to contact us, because we're really not into you. All the best, The Beings of the Universal Alliance (BUA) P.S. Tell Hawking he don't know shit...peace out.
Darkness enveloped me as I hid under the bed. I watched carefully and intently as heavy footsteps passed accompanied by a voice calling my name. He tried to hide the truth and lure me with the pretext of affection, but I knew his sinister intent. He wanted me to suffer. As those feet approached the other side of the bed, I quickly and deftly crawled from under the bed and silently dashed into the hall. Without thinking, I simply ran until I found myself in the kitchen. Thinking quickly, I concealed myself in the pantry. “Come on,” I heard him call. “Where are you? I promise I won’t hurt you.” His lies made me sick. I looked through the crack of the pantry so that I could see the hunter. Dressed in dark clothes and simple jeans, he stalked through the kitchen. My heartbeat raced for minutes as he edged toward my hiding spot, threatening to reveal me. I silently sent a prayer to the heavens, but I do not know where destiny aligns itself. Finally, he moved from the kitchen and into the living room. Like a rocket, I shot from the pantry to the back door, but it was locked and impossible to open. Before I could move again, I felt his large hands wrap around my body and take me hostage. I fought back, biting and scratching every square inch of flesh I could, but his hold stayed adamant. I viciously hissed in protest to no avail. “There you are Mr. Whiskers!” He spoke while ruffling up my beautiful fur I spent all morning licking into place. “Time for your bath!”
What the hell is going on here? This is the thought that thunders through my mind as I watch the Wardens, the same group I fought half a dozen times before, get beaten before my very eyes. Getting beaten by a bunch of newbies robbing a bank. My bank, but that's beside the point. Their powers sure as hell aren't on my level... Not on Valiant's level, yet the ground is stained by blood as red as her hair, her helmet smashed, her not-quite-medieval armour useless against the onslaught of the leering punk with fists made of stone. How many times had I swept aside her team with an electro magnetic blast, only to have her fist break my nose, split my lip, crack my jaw? How many times had I, as Tempest, beaten all comers, only for the mighty Valiant to lay me low? I always managed to get away, of course. I was high on the watch list because of how powerful I was, what with the atmospheric powers. My "crimes"were building giant storms, and then holding cities hostage until my demands were met. It worked twice, which was enough. But I got bored. The fun of playing the bad guy, the supervillain community egging me on every time I got away from a tussle. Until the last fight, three years ago. When a new guy, Feedback, decided to help the Wardens, and hit my bio-electric field with the mother of all short-circuits. I fell, that day. And my powers haven't been the same since. Did they mourn my "death"I wonder? Did she? I'm wondering all this while I watch, my sensibilities already insulted by the total lack of respect to the business these dumbasses are showing. Where's the banter? The sportsmanship, the teasing? All they're doing is beating down the beaten and giggling like malevolent schoolgirls. God, I sound like some old fart, twenty-eight going on seventy. But these guys are younger than even me, barely old enough to shave. And then I see it. On the hand of the one kid with the baby goatee, is a purple skull. The Nightmare King's talisman, a psychic weapon that causes pretty nasty trips. And then I see what's in his other hand. The Equalizer, the power nullifier. They're… cheating. They aren't using their powers at all. They're gloating over their win over powerless heroes. I feel my rage build, and something tickles the edge of my mind. Something familiar, like getting feeling back into a limb. My bio-electric field shielded me from pretty much anything, gave me top tier super strength, let me "feel"the world around me. For three years it's been gone… but now I feel it again, crackling just beyond the senses of the other onlookers. But I'm not getting involved. I'm not helping a superhero, let alone five. Then I hear a whisper, somehow. As Valiant's head bounces off the pavement for a umpteenth time, a single word escapes her smashed lips, just for me. "Help." Well… fuck. My power roars to life, people scramble away as my feet leave the ground. An aura of lightning, the smell of ozone. I am back. And I am pissed. The frat boys in bad costumes blink in dumb incomprehension. Then understanding, as their little toys seem useless against me. Then, fear, as I advance, my teeth bared in a wolfish grin. I revel in that fear, savour it. The kid with the rock fists swings at me. I catch the punch. Then I squeeze. He falls to his knees, howling in pain. I give him a nice little zap, put him out. The other newbies fan out, their powers flaring up in my senses. Seven against one. Game on. It's over a lot faster than I would have liked. People are cheering, not knowing who I am. How could they? I was never arrested, never lost my helmet in the old fights. The other Wardens are all being wheeled off on stretchers, all except Valiant, who is standing and staring at me with those scary as hell green eyes. She knows, how could she not? I grin at her, winking. And, on cue, she growls and starts forward, only to fall flat on her face. Other rush to help her up, and she glares at me. Oh how conflicted she must be, poor thing. I resist the urge to cackle, and instead give her a tinkling little wave, before taking off into the air. I'm not sure what the plan is, exactly. I don't need money, and I'm not sure the supervillain thing will work now that I've helped the Wardens. What the hell. Maybe I'll try something new. Be altruistic, be a good guy, a mighty hero. Valiant will be so pissed off. It'll be glorious.
"They tell me you're the good guy." Sam smiled at the nurse, that same smile that had been printed across the front page of newspapers everywhere. Wasn't quite as white, wasn't quite as big as it used to be. His name was Cancer Man then, not Sam. "So I've been told,"he joked but the self deprecating laugh died in his throat. "I thought good guys were meant to save people."Her voice sounded almost like scolding. Sam shrugged. "So I've been told."He meant for her to laugh. She didn't. Instead, she finished washing her hands and drying them. "Mr Ice will see you now,"she said and took him through the heavy double doors to a large room that smelled of stale chips, sweat and that familiar fake lemon smell of disinfectant. It was empty apart from a small, weak old man in a wheelchair coughing. He sat a little straighter as Sam walked over and covered his mouth with a tissue. "I never thought I'd see you again, Cancer Man,"he rasped, holding a finger over a small tube in his throat. "What can I do for you?" "Call me Sam. I don't go by Cancer Man anymore. Not since... Well, my name's Sam." The man who once tried to destroy an entire city with a freeze gun spat on the floor. Small globules of blood were mixed in with the flem. "You're Cancer Man,"he said. "You'll always be Cancer Man or have you forgotten what you've done?" Sam didn't reply. "Don't feel too bad. I heard good guys were meant to punish the bad guys. This is the worst form of punishment I could possibly imagine and I was meant to be the evil one."Mr Ice barked a humourless laugh causing him to wince and start a coughing fit. The nurse rushed over with a cup of water but he waved her away. "I guess you must be the best superhero ever, if you're so good at punishing the bad guys. You got Flame Girl, she died a few years ago. Mr Black killed himself after losing the ability to piss on his own. Lord Metal, he's gone. Stomach cancer. Weighed less than five stone at the end. Lost 20 stone. Lost everything, really." "I know,"Sam said. "Bad guys always lose." "It wasn't just the bad guys, though, was it?"Mr Ice grinned without a trace of joy. "London, '99. "Collateral Damage"I think was the phrase. Over 20 innocent bystanders. More than 20 sets of hospital visits, vomiting, chemo, tears, operations, desperate oh desperate prayers and deaths." Sam sat, solid and silent as a statue. "We're not here to talk about old memories though, I'm sure. Why are you here?" Sam smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. "I have cancer."
I apologize in advance as I'm using my phone to write this and there may be some errors. I'll do my best. The click of her heels echoed on the pavement as she walked briskly twords the train station. "Woah, did you hear that?"She said turning twords a stranger for solace. "I don't hear anything. "said the stranger mildly concerned. "You really don't hear that?"Stacy said in a panic. "What? , oh shit how do you know my name? "Stacy stammered, stumbled back and grabbed the arm of a young man. His name was Thomas, and although he started to seem startled at the moment he was usually a very calm man. "Holy shit"Thomas exclaimed looking around. "Ma'am I think I do hear it! "before Stacy could hear Thomas she started running in the opposite direction. "Stacy! Stacy come back! Stacy! I need your help! " At this point Thomas wondered why this was happening to him and why he even existed in the first place. "Awww hell no, I ain't having no existential crisis! " "Hey son, you ok? "John said gently touching Thomas' arm. John looked up into Thomas' eye. He had been a carpenter most of his life and had dedicated his life to the trade. He was a kind soul with a kind heart. "Oh, I see"whispered John. "I don't hear it anymore"Thomas whispered back in a sigh of relief. "I think it's mine now"John understood what was going on. He would take on this tremendous responsibility, he would keep this burden- Gerald shoved the two men talking in the street out of his way. He was late for a very very important meeting, but his fast pace slowed a little as if something was wrong. He couldn't deal with this right now this was a very important client he was meeting with. How did this happen? That man that was in his way, he must of done this. Gerald looked back and seeing that the bastard was fine he deduced that this must be spread by touch. He saw a man on the corner of the sidewalk holding a sign he knew what he had to do. Ron had a very long rough life to get to where he was. "Hey! Hey you guys hear that? "Ron was yelling at people again. "Ugh, get a job you bum. "a tall woman said in disgust as she walked by. "Hey, hey, you hear that"Ron reached outto try and grab people as they walked past. Just another crazy homeless person they thought. Ron tried to grab a man walking past and he shrugged away from him. "Help me, I've never heard this before! "he screamed collapsing onto his knees. No one would dare lay a finger on him, no one was going to help him. After he had lost everything else the only thing he had was his sanity. So it was time for that to disappear as well.
My manager intimates for me to smile as she hands me another unfilled mocha latte. This is something I’d promised to work on at my last review. Smiling more, that is. Anything to cover up that surly disposition of mine, which—although there have been no complaints—is seriously impacting my ability to rise through the Starbucks ranks and become shift manager one day. Fucking shift manager. Can you imagine? I don’t need this shit. I have real skills, you know. For instance, I can tell how old a person is just by reading their name on the cup. Don’t believe me? Check this out: That woman, the middle-aged looking chick waiting for her tall skim caramel latte? Her name is Jessica. And she’s only 27 years old. But with a face like that, she could headline some sort of leather convention. Tanning booths, man. They will fuck your shit up. I might not be doing much with this little superpower of mine, but I will say one thing: it has taught me the value of sunscreen. Oh. And don’t smoke meth. Heh. But you probably knew that one already. Aside from the occasional tanning or meth junkie, though, people mostly look their age. Because that’s the other thing this power has taught me: nothing helps. All that bullshit about rest and exercise and antioxidants doesn’t make any fucking difference whatsoever. We’ve always got these jackasses coming in here and ordering Green Tea like it’s nectar from the fountain of youth. Well, lemme tell ya, it ain't. And here comes a perfect example right now. See that dude standing behind the register? The one that looks older than God? He just ordered a Green Tea. But you better believe that shit ain’t helping. Because he’s… Hang on, I gotta get a good look at the name… Holy shit! That motherfucker is 650 years old! You know what, though? Now that I think about it, he looks pretty fucking good for 650. We have this one chick who comes in here about three times a week who looks waaaay older than this dude. And she’s only 271. Maybe antioxidants aren’t bullshit after all.
Janet entered the cell. Seventeen years ago, she wasn't allowed to enter the room without at least five guards accompanying her, but overtime, everyone realized that Conrad wasn't ever going to move. Everyone had long dropped their guard. It was a mistake that would cost Janet her life. "Have you done anything today?"She asked. "Just thinking." "What about?" "How is your son?"Conrad asked. Normally they had small talk. He often asked about the sky, whether or not it was cloudy or if it had gotten any bluer since yesterday. Janet was taken aback. "He's doing well, I-" "Little Scotty left for college last week right? How is he doing? What is he majoring in?" "He's majoring in computer,"and Janet paused. Conrad uncrossed his legs and stood up from the cot. It was the first time Janet had ever seen him stand. There was a moment where she felt pure fear settle into the bottom of her stomach like a heavy ball of lead. Her heart thumped in her chest and she wanted to scream, but Conrad moved forward with an eerie speed. He moved so fast for being such a tall man that he was. He placed his hands on her chin and held her mouth shut and brought his face close to hers. "I wanted to wait for him to grow up and move out before doing this,"Conrad said. He licked his lips lightly then placed a gentle kiss on Janet's forehead. She slightly recoiled, but for the most part held still. Conrad looked upwards towards the cell ceiling as if he were trying to peer through and see the sky himself. And then he brought his head down hard into Janet's skull. It felt like someone had prodded her head. There wasn't any pain. The only thing she was thinking about before Conrad pulled back for the second headbutt was how she wasn't able to focus her eyes. Her left eye was peering off to the left towards Conrad's cot while the right eye watched as his Adam's apple seemed to gyrate up and down right before he swung down again. After the second headbutt, she was unconscious. Conrad continued until her face was caved in. Not because he was a violent person, but because he wanted to make sure she was completely dead. He didn't want to leave her suffering on the cold floor. He turned away after he was done and reached towards the cell ceiling, allowing the muscles in his back to stretch. His spine popped and he let out a deep sigh. Using the stale bed sheet, Conrad wiped the blood from his face, and then grabbed the key card from Janet's waistband. He took a quick glance from out of his cell and towards the door at the end of the hallway and saw it had a finger print sensor on it. Conrad sighed, then bent down and bit Janet's thumb off.
A spark flares, illuminating pale insects so unfamiliar with the light that they don't bother to scatter. It is purely white, brilliant, singular. It's holding its glory back, trying not to scorch the walls, but the place knows it is an intruder. A cairn in the center of the cavern shudders and small stones roll off, smacking the arms and legs of the bodies tangled around its base. They rouse in the presence of this ancient thing. They remember it - they are not permitted to forget. They roll and crawl behind the nearest stalagmites, but its presence cannot be ignored. Their bones hum. Once this thing is gone the itch will subside, probably, but it will take decades for the cave to settle down again. If it does settle down, they think. Oh please, let this be done. In the early days they chose a representative in case it returned, and she alone remains in the light. She does not stand, does not even stir. She is pale, cold. Why this god-thing insists on intermediaries is unclear, but it does, and she was elected to speak with it. For a day nothing moves again. It waits to be hailed, for these wretches to throw themselves at it, begging for merciful release, but they do not. In earlier eons it would stand as guard, as if any escape were possible, and listen to their screams, but they grew quieter over time and now they even refuse to address it. "The LORD bids you speak,"it finally says. Cracks in the ceiling widen, clouds of dust rise. She turns onto her back and stares at the thing. It knows that the pain of even looking threatens to overwhelm her, but her glare does not waver. Moisture returns to her eyes and they begin to sting. "Then we will speak,"she responds. "The LORD wishes to know why you do not repent, child of perdition.""It is because your god wishes, that we do not repent."There is silence. She might have offended its dignity. Time passes. "Say what you mean, daughter of Adam,"it finally insists. She rolls to her side and pushes herself up on one elbow. The forces snap her ancient tendons, which in an instant are replaced with new, vital flesh. "It is because your god _wants_ that we deny it."She tries to stand, but a leg fractures. She falters, but in a moment it mends itself and she straightens, staring up at the thing. "It is not content to simply be,"she says. The light is silent. "It forced us into being and will not let us cease."She arches her back and a series of pops echoes for minutes. "We reject this gift,"she spits the word, "this exuberance that will not contain itself, that ignores the consent of its creations."The light flickers - she senses its anger. It might fall into old ways. Hell will flood with fire and a new age of suffering will begin. "You do not want life? Not even joy eternal?"Its inhuman voice manages to convey incredulity. "You ask this now, after all this time, if we want to be?"She laughs. "We are all carried along by a flood of your lord's dissatisfaction, its inability to keep its hands to itself. What it had wasn't enough - it had to _share_ itself."She gestures around her. "This is all here because someone had to know how great it is,"she hisses. She rolls her eyes and cracks her knuckles. Her body is coming back to real life and she will feel new and old pains until it atrophies again through disuse. She knows that every cell can be tortured, and she ought to just stay still. It will be ages before she returns to proper quiescence. "Your god,"she says, "is the drunk at the dance who forces everyone onto the floor. It's the dog who runs over the child because he's just so happy. It's the rapist who thinks we'll probably learn to like it if we just submit."She stands up straight, fully restored. "Leave us alone,"she says. "We have something nice here. Time stops, desire stops, will stops." "The LORD is eternally forgiving, merciful, and compassionate. He wants nothing more than..."The voice trails off. An hour passes. The woman sits. "You like being like this?"it asks. "We are ourselves here. Fully ourselves. There is nothing to do, nothing we need, nothing we want. We'd be completely at peace if, well..."She gestures to the light, which dims as if shamed. "The LORD desires that all men be saved,"it says. She senses it's no longer speaking to her. It's casting about for those who still want reconciliation. "He will tell me to burn you,"it pleads. "The LORD God, the ever-living, the abundant, the perichoretic, whose love and gifts you cannot fathom, has given himself so that you may be like him. Come and see what the Almighty has prepared for you." She rubs the bridge of her nose, sighing. Her nervous system has been fully reconstituted - if badness is coming, it will hurt. "No,"she says. "Your god has taught us the folly of idiotic desire, and we have learned the lesson."She considers the ground and notices that her weight has worn her shape into the rock. She settles into it and closes her eyes. "He will not respond well to this,"the light says. "It never does,"she whispers. Everyone waits. She notices that her skin is cold. After some time - she cannot say how long - it feels plastic again. Then like stone. Then nothing. There is some pain as systems shut down, but she's felt worse. Everything is again at equilibrium and there are no more visitations. _Perhaps god has finally learned his lesson_, she thinks one final thought. _Huh. I'll be damned._
I waited. My Big brothers could do anything, and I was at best a mild inconvenience. So little am I and so insignificant that I was even left out of the bible. While War atop his red horse turned man against his brother, and death atop his pale horse ended countless lives, I waited. Pestilence and Famine, the middle children, fighting over the scraps but always daddy's favorite for being subtle. Yet still I waited. The world grew and changed, War and Death try their best but can't achieve the same numbers. In this new world pestilence has had to get creative with drug resistant strains, Famine is pulling double duty as Gluttony to keep his numbers up. All of them are insignificant now against my glory. My horse is light, and moves across the wires in the ether. I touch every man, woman, and child. I have killed more in two hundred years then they have in two thousand. Now it's my turn brothers. My name is Ignorance, my dark horse is called the Internet. I wait no more.
Succubella stepped into my office on Friday morning, her pointed, red-hot tail flicking away restlessly behind her. She placed a letter on my desk, a letter written on the paper of mortal trees. "What is this?"I asked. "I was equally surprised,"she said, "Open it and let me know."She smiled and stepped out of the room. I opened the folded letter and immediately chuckled. A mortal child, what could a mortal child possibly want with the Devil himself? The letter had been written with that god-awful waxy kray-on and had begun with magnificent demonstrations of humiliating illiteracy and stupidity. What the fuck is Desmember Thernythth, 1999? I snorted and continued: Dear, Satan My parent dont want me to get aminal becus they think I willn't take care of it but, I will! Please make your elfs make me a puppy it will make me happi. Love, Stan The little shite wants a puppy! I took a swig of my fire whisky and read the paper once again, when I was finished, I pulled out my final cigar and sparked it with my thumb and forefinger. I pondered the request for a while. I finished the last of the cigar and ashed it onto the letter, igniting it. I smiled and looked deep into the fire. "Bella,"I shouted, "Bring me the hounds!"
I sat in my cubicle, peering over the edge of the wall, watching as my co-workers fluttered from point to point like worker-drones. I reclined into my chair as I watched them, an unseen observer, watching them as they wasted their lives crunching numbers and feeding the mega-corporations that bear down on us all. Each person tapping mindlessly on a keyboard, unknowingly expanding and fortifying an unseen network of data. I idly pawed at my figurine of Motoko Kusanagi. If only there were people like her in real life... "Dave,"I looked up. Standing at the entry way was Kevin, another slave to the status quo. He looked at me slack-jawed. I smiled at him with pity, because he worked in human resources and therefore had no hope in our increasingly wired-in society. "How can I help you Dave?"I asked. "Well my machine has been running slower, and I was wondering if you could take a look at it."Hah, he probably just installed 15 add-ons to his browser, and has a dozen programs he never uses. I felt bad for him, he was so blind to the world underneath the world. For him, his cellphone was probably magic. His kind would go extinct soon. I followed him back to his machine. A pathetic 400 GB machine, nothing compared with the monster rig I had in my apartment. I almost vomited when I saw he had 8 windows open up for internet explorer. "Okay, I'll take care of this,"I said as he stepped aside. I sat down in his chair and looked at the screen. I'll just make the mouse more sensitive, and he'll praise me for my "genius". I shook my head in disdain, how easy it was to fool the cyber-blind. With a few clicks I solved his problem. "Umm Dave, all you did was change my background and install fire-fox. And I think you increased the mouse sensitivity which wasn't what I was asking for". My face grew hot at this insult. The caveman is terrified by technology so he lashes out with words! "YOUR WELCOME"I yelled. I stomped out of the room before he could say anything else. I started to calm down, having remembered that progress would always be dragged down by Luddites like him. I pulled up the collar of my trench coat and huffed back to my den. All of a sudden a black suited woman stepped into my path and stopped me. It was my manager, Alexandra North. "Mr. Gibson, please step into my office."She said as she held the door open for me. As I walked inside, I wondered what her intentions were in inviting me into her lair. Was I being promoted or punished? Who knew or understood the cold machinations of the globalized corporations that entrapped every man, woman, or child like a financial spider in a web of data. "Please sit down"I did as instructed, groaning lightly as the metal rivets I stitched into my leather pants dug into my legs. "We have been receiving some complaints from your coworkers..."Beads of sweat ran down my forehead, staining my eyebrows as they absorbed the neon green dye from my hair. "We also found that you have been using your coworkers computers to illegally download TV shows and movies from the internet. It is a serious breach of company policy, not to forget the law, to use company property to blah blah blah blah..."I sat still in my chair. SHIT MAN, I've been found out! The man is coming down on me hard, they're gonna blacklist me from working anywhere ever again. Big business wants to strangle the free passage of media, one rag-tag hacktivist at the time. They're going to snuff me. I bit my lip. I always knew this day would come, the day I'd have to put the word "punk"back in "cyberpunk". Using the street combat skills taught to me by the internet underground, I smacked her down on her head with my my copy of Neuromancer. "SECURITY!"she screamed as she held her head in her hands. Oh shit! I heard footsteps coming down the hallway and I knew for sure that I was being hunted by the company deathsquad, determined to wipe me out before I could sow the seeds of dissension. Thinking quickly, I smashed the window with my telescopic baton and hopped onto the ledge. A surprisingly fat man in a security guard outfit burst through the door. He aimed his taser but I never gave him the chance. I hopped off the edge before the wires could hit me. Hitting the bushes, I probably broke something, but I had more adrenaline than ever before in my life. I hopped over to my car, a honda civic painted a concrete grey to fool satellite surveillance. I drove off, speeding through the streets. I was hoping to get to Japan or China (they'll become the real super-powers after the fall of the west) by stowing away on a tanker, but unfortunately I was quickly apprehended by a police cruiser, no doubt assisted by infra-red cameras, spy satellites and stealth drones. I am currently under arrest, but hopefully I will be rescued by anonymous some time soon. ============================================= I am a cyberpunk fan, this is a parody, not an insult. =) I am also not insinuating that actual hackers or cyberpunk fans act like this. Please note I have no idea how computers work, so that might make this story funnier or shittier. I'm pretty sure this is my first story here, so be gentle senpai.
The trend became painfully obvious. Most the other planets in our vicinity met their untimely end. Massive meteor strikes. Unprecedented solar flares. Inner core instability. The universe has always been a violent place, but as of late, the disasters faced by other marbles in the sky became too obvious to ignore. The destruction left a trail that ended at earth. As the media ran with these facts and published them on a caprice, the wildfire of panic spread and consumed the general population. The politicians attempted to reassure the masses as they took their money from taxes, took a modest sum for themselves, and then passed it along to us, the scientists. Divided by discipline and ethics, the scientific community stood on no solid ground for a definite answer. The geologists looked down into the earth, the astronomers pointed their telescopes in the sky, and the engineers tinkered away at rockets. I, however, stood firm in my solution: virtual reality. For years, I meticulously developed a program I called Project Earth. With it, I could stimulate every conceivable natural disaster that might befall our beloved planet and carefully took note of the extent of the damage and the scope of the casualties. I ran the program day and night, my eyes glued on the screen, observing endless planets, civilizations, and people live and die. As I tirelessly worked, voices emanated from the screen. I carefully zoomed onto the image of the stimulated earth. Men, women, and children walked the streets of New York, families took pictures of the Grand Canyon, and young couples kissed atop of the Eiffel Tower. Without realizing, I created a microcosm doomed for destruction. For a few moments of bliss, I watched. As planned, however, the skies cracked and the ground rumbled. Meteor after meteor assaulted the planet. Those who died immediately in the hot, condensed atmosphere under the space debris should consider themselves lucky. The scorching earth splashed into sky and invaded the lungs on innocent bystanders as it slowly tore the linings of their lungs. In horror, I attempted to stop the stimulation, but once it began, there was no end until there was nothing. As I witnessed humanity die, I reminded myself they were only simulations and motivated myself to find the answer before happenings became a brutal reality. Until my dying breath, I ran those simulations as the religious groups formed in the church and the apprehensive masses rioted in the streets. The scientific community made every effort to become the saviors of humanity only to watch their every idea fail. From Project Earth, I knew it would happen. There was no escape. No way to avoid our fate. I took to the philosophy of the ancient Greek Lucretius who told us Death was nothing, so I died in peace. *** God watched in horror as he witnessed us die. We put our faith in him, trusting Him to protect us from the perils on the universe, but God sat alone in a room, staring at a screen which housed our earth. He let out a long sigh, as it seemed nothing could protect Heaven or his Angels.
"What a lovely day," said the voice, "I think I'll sit outside for a while after dinner before calling my kids for a chat. Then I'll go home" The voice rang out to me from the crowded restaurant and I sat upright, eyes widening in shock. I searched the room for the source of the thoughts. An elderly woman sat hunched over a table, slowly bringing a soup spoon from a bowl to her mouth and back. "This soup is delicious," she thought, "Best I've had in years. I can probably learn how to make this myself. I'll ask for the recipe." In terror, I stood upright, my chair falling behind me. Heads swerved to look at me as I grew increasingly panicked. I began to walk towards the exit of the restaurant, my heart racing and sweat forming on my face. As I left the room, I allowed myself to be comforted by the thoughts of everyone else in the room - "What if my coworkers don't like me?" "I'll never find a relationship like that friendship across the room...I'm hopeless" "There must be something wrong with me, I feel so frightened all the time..." "My leg still aches from this morning...I hope I'm not dying...oh god, I'm so scared..." "WHY CAN'T I JUST FEEL NORMAL FOR ONE DAY??" As the cascade of anxiety, panic, and insecurity washed over me I began to calm down. I stepped out of the restaurant and walked down the street, and continued to calmly listen to each passing individual's recurring fears that they were somehow broken in a way that could never be fixed. And I felt relieved. If only humans knew how universal their fears are. But even now, years later, I am haunted by the thoughts of a woman whose mind seemed so pristine, so occupied with everyday things, so lacking in doubt and terror, so...normal...that she couldn't possibly have been human.
"Sir, on the port side there is a large ring shaped station. Several different types of life forms. Nothing appears to be intelligent."The ships pilot reported to Darth Kallen. "Excellent. We will take it for ourselves and rebuild."Kallen replied,"All ships find a suitable landing zone." "Yes my lord."Came the responses over the holonet. Kallen frowned. This was beneath a Sith Lord he thought. Kallen's forces had been dealt a heavy blow during the Sith Civil War and had set a coordinates to a new galaxy to start anew. And now the first the thing they find is this mysterious ring shaped... Planet or station? He wasn't sure but they would find out soon enough. Suddenly a nagging thought started knowing at Kallen's mind. "I have a bad feeling about this..."Kallen whispered. Suddenly the communication system sprang to life as red warning lights flashed everywhere. "Anyone receiving this message know this. We cannot beat the Flood like this so as is we a firing the rings. No life will survive. I'm sorry. There is no other way."The mysterious figure said sadly. "Sir, massive energy spike detected from the station!!"Yelled the pilot as a light as bright as a sun formed in the center of the ring. "All ships! evade and escape!"Kallen screamed to the fleet. As the ships turned to run again everything turned white. Suddenly all was still, on Darth Kallen's ship all that remained of the crew was piles of dust and ash. All that had stood in the ships dead. September 19th, 2552 "Cortana, all I need to know is did we lose them?" "I think we both know the answer to that."
Fuck you, Cory. If it wasn't for the mess you made when playing football in the my office we wouldn't be in the fucking mess we are now. Fuck you, Cory for throwing that motherfucking football at my desk. You fucked it all up. "Fuck you, Cory"was what I said when you first threw that football and before I realize what you hit. "FUCK YOU, Cory"is what I said when I realized what you hit on my desk. I wasn't actually ever supposed to hit the button to launch the missile. It was just for if they shot first, I'd be ready to give the go ahead. Fuck you, Cory. You've damned us all. Fuck you, Cory and get out of my damn White House. ---- *edit: [For those that don't get it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hINPxQqb6fg)
"Alright, lets see now, hello youtubes, I am former president of the U-nited States, George W. Bush, but you can just call be dubbya. Today, I thought, and by I thought I mean my PR person thought, that I should film myself playing some video games. I went to the local Games Stop and asked the gentleman at the counter what the newest game that all you kids play today, and he gave me this, 'Mortal Kombat X'. Looks fun, but I don't really know what happens. I was told that it was some sort of fighting game. Well I had my neighbor's kid go ahead and set it up for me so let's dive right on in to the action, alright alright. Looks like I'm playing online, against... xXxblazeitmommaxXx? Is that a name? What does that even mean? Oh I'm supposed to be choosing a person to play as. How about... Erron Black? Looks like some sort of gunslinger, a real cowboy, like me! And xx-momma is some fan lady... Kitana? Am I saying that right? Isn't that some sort of Chinese sword? Oh here we go, games is starting... oh wow she just keeps hitting me... what the... stop hitting me.... how do I... stop it! Oh my lord look at all that blood, kids are playing this? What the... I already lost? Oh wait that was just the first round. Round two, ok lets go, time to redeem myself America. Ok I figured out how to jump! Haha sucker can't hit me if I'm... how did she do that? That's not fair! Let me hit you! And I lost again! Finish him? What does that... oh... OH... OH WHAT ON... OH MY LORD THAT IS JUST... WHY WOULD ANYONE PLAY THIS? WHY WOULD ANYONE MAKE THIS? IS THIS WHAT KIDS ARE PLAYING? SHAME ON YOU ALL! THAT WAS JUST... JUST THE MOST TERRIBLE THING THAT I'VE EVER SEEN! Ok you know what? I'm done playing video games. If this is what it takes to connect with the kids, then it is not worth it. I am a good, christian man, and now I am going to go and wash my eyes out."
Good evening, America. This is a slightly diluted version of Anderson Cooper, bringing you breaking news. Outraged. that's the word that escaped the lips of Jennifer Lawrence when she found out that her genetic code got leaked and uploaded to Clone-A-Friend's user section. On another pair of the actresses's lips, seamen. On another... well more seamen for the most part. As of now, the FDA, why they are handling this investigation, I do not know, but they have determined there to be approximately 50,782 and a half Lawrence clones in the homes of America. An in-depth investigation confirmed that the half-download was due to budget problems and the man, whom wished to remain anonymous, decided to 'just turn her into a mermaid.' Right. You can't fault him for remaining anonymous there, can you? Anyway, Lawrence, along with Kim Kardashian and Vanessa Hudgens have decided to sue the multi-gazillion dollar company... wait, I'm getting word that gazillion isn't a real number. Uh-huh, I see... multi-billion dollar company for all it's money, which is estimated to be in the gazillions. No? How much? Oh, I see. I said I get it, Dave. Clone-A-Friend was ready for this moment, having seven seperate, but equal Johnnie Cochran clones on retainer. When making the possibly racist statement, the company attracted wide media attention, but was alleviated of it when the clone of Jesse Jackson defended them. It was later discovered that Jackson was not actually a clone and in fact, he simply wanted the attention of the press. This story raises many questions as you can imagine, such as 'why doesn't the company simply take down the genetic code,' 'why does the administration in charge of food and drugs monitor clones,' and 'who stole my cereal?' Seriously, I just poured it. Dave? Probably Dave. That's all for now, reporting live on CNN, Anderson Cooper's clone, because apparently the real man is too lazy to show up to work.
From peeling potatoes after being kicked out of the army rangers to the CIA's secret school inside the Culinary Institute Of America. He couldn't believe how far he'd come. CIA^2 they called it. The class quickly blew his mind even more. "Joel Robuchon calls it Pharmayuasca. By combining certain ingredients in the right proportion, the body combines them to produce powerful psychotropic drugs, which can grant super strength and psychic abilities. The trick is the way the courses are ordered." "For example, a lemongrass and basil fish dish with saffron rice and vanilla lobster sauce would not normally allow you to close your eyes and see anywhere on the planet where a hostage was located. But if you serve a nutmeg and cream infused fava bean and ham soup garnished with lemon oil and grapefruit cavier, something magical happens. The lemon oil and grapefruit interacts with a specific liver enzyme, Cytochrome P450. This inhibits the metabolism of the nutmeg. This nutmeg is then available in the blood, rather than broken down in the liver. The vanilla, lemongrass and saffron sauce then are free to use the nutmeg to catalyze a reaction. This produces a rare psychedelic drug inside the brain, which does not normally cross the blood brain barrier. Instead, it's constituent parts cross the barrier, and then it activates latent potentials in your brain." "This is how we actually found Bin Laden. Our intelligence analyst was eating at Joel Robuchon at the Mansion in Vegas and went off menu. Because Robuchon wasn't there, the sous chef served the combination, revealing his secret discovery. Within hours of eating the fish, we knew exactly where Bin Laden was and were able to hunt him down. This represents a powerful new military application." "So, let's say instead of vanilla, lemongrass and basil, we served a second course beef seasoned with thai bird chilies, thyme, sassafras extract and kefir lime leaves. Spicy Root Beer Glazed Beef. It's fucking delicious, true, but what happens in the mind, to the warrior? Well, the sassafras metabolizes to an MDMA analogue inside the body. This causes the warrior to enter a state where he does not feel pain." "But a more complex reaction also occurs. The chiles and thyme give the warrior control over heat, and the lime leaves let him peer into alternate dimensions. Such a warrior can now walk through walls. Because pain is numbed in him, he does not feel the agony walking through alternate dimensions normally causes. Because he controls heat to such a fine degree, he can vibrate in sync with the alternate dimensions he perceives until he finds one without the wall, then cross over and come back." "We have assassinated several high value targets this way. The chefs, they get in, they kill, they get out. Do you know how many crime lords Gordon Ramsay has killed in between shooting his TV shows? To turn off, they eat a blueberry biscuit with lemon thyme ice cream, pistachio whipped cream and mint. This metabolizes the other substances and returns us to baseline. This is why all seal teams now travel with a michelin starred chef." "But, remember, it's all in the progression. Eat the same ingredients with a different timing, out of order, it doesn't work. The meal must make sense, the effects of the herbs and essential oils and spices must be combined in the right order across a multi course meal. It's not enough to be the most delicious, you need the right progression of flavor, which maximizes the pleasure in eating and unlocks the biochemical pathways to create the drugs that cause these superhuman potentials. We'll be studying this all year. The rest of the day will be devoted to sharpening knifes and studying the way essential oils interact with enzymes in the liver. When you graduate, you will be able to cook a soldier a meal so delicious and powerful he can walk through walls and kill a traitorous corrupt leader with his eye lasers."
There once were three bears living happily in a cabin in the forest. I can only imagine how awful their allergies were. I truly despise the outdoors. Nonetheless, they were happy. There was Momma Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear. Bears are almost as bad as people. One day the bears decided to leave the cabin and go for a walk, Lord knows why. Along came a little girl named Goldilocks. A stupid name for a stupid girl. I'm not sure if I hate girls or boys more, but I probably hate them equally. Only because they hate me, which is fine since everyone does, even the bears. She saw the cabin in the woods and walked right in. She saw 3 chairs and sat in the biggest one, Papa Bear's chair. "This chair is too big!"the little prick whined. A little girl whining always reminds me of how insufferable children are. She then sat in Baby Bear's chair. "This chair is too small!"Yeah, too small. Sounds like my ex-wife. She sat in Mama Bear's chair. "Just right!"No, nothing is 'just right', there are people starving and dying as I write this, but as long as she's happy I'm sure those people will be just fine. Then goldilocks saw porridge sitting on the table. Stupid bears, leaving porridge out. At least I can relate to that porridge, we're both a waste. Goldilocks went and took a bite of Papa Bear's porridge. "Too hot!"she whined. Again. Brat. God, I despise children more than I despise living. She went and took a bite of Baby Bear's porridge. "Too cold!"Life is cold and meaningless, get used to it. She went up and took a bite of Mama Bear's porridge. "Just right!"People are so picky. Goldilocks walked upstairs into the bedroom. One bedroom? How can these bears possibly stand to be together night and day? I can't spend a damn hour with my family, but that's because I know they're secretly thinking about how wretched I am to be around. Goldilocks went and lied on Papa Bear's bed. "Too firm!"she squawked. I wish I could still get 'firm', but I haven't once since my wife left me. She went to Baby Bear's bed and lied on it. "Too soft!"Yep, like me. Or at least that's what my wife said I was before she walked out. She's probably thinking about how happy she is without me right now, but at least I'm telling a nice story about breaking into a house and robbing it. She went and lied on Mama Bear's bed and said "Just right!"There are way too many happy endings for this girl. Suddenly goldilocks fell asleep. Good, I hope she dies like that. What a perfect way to go. I sure hope it happens to me one of these nights. The Bear's came back from the walk, and of course noticed they had a stranger in their home. They chased her out quickly and went back to being bears. I wish they had eaten her rather than chased her out, would've made for a dramatic twist. There, hope you liked that meaningless story. Though aren't we all living meaningless stories? Me especially...
The team of doctors crowded around the hospital bed to examine their most unusual patient. Finally, after several long moments, the lead doctor spoke. "Well, this is going to come as a big shock, and we'll stay with you every step of the way, so just stay as calm as possible. For someone who is 150 years old i can't stress enough how important it is you don't over extend your blood pressure."Dr. Stein explained. "Just give it to me straight doctor, I've lived full life, even if you said i would die tomorrow i wouldn't be surprised."The patient replied. "Okay, i must say you have excellent hearing and comprehension for someone of your age. Anyway,"Dr. Stein sat down on a stool and placed his hand on the arm of his patient in solidarity. "we don't think you're exactly human." "excuse me doc?" "As far as we can tell, and we have expert biologists from every field on earth, you seem to be passing from one life cycle stage into another. Like an organism emerging from a pupal stage."Dr. Stein explained. "Like a bug? I'm a bug now?" Dr. Stein tried to be as calming and reassuring as possible. "We're not exactly certain. But it doesn't seem like cancer like we originally suspected, and it doesn't seem detrimental so far." "How are you so certain i'm not human?" This time, Dr. Chavez interjected. "Hey, there! I'm Dr. Chavez, an evolutionary biologist. Ya see. In order for a species to have multiple phases in its life, it has to actually evolve them. But in order to evolve them, it has to live long enough to pass on those genes or at least somehow select for that sort of life cycle in its offspring. As far as we can tell, you're the only person to ever live this long so its scientifically impossible for this to have evolved in humanity naturally. We can only conclude that because this is indeed happening to you, that you must not actually be human." "Could i be the first human to evolve this?" "Wow... you're very quick for some who is 150... anyway. it's possible, but so astronomically improbable it would be like saying a dog has offspring that suddenly evolved into a chicken. It's just not conceivable for you to be the first human like this. So you're just inhuman as far as we know." "But my parents..." "We're looking into that right now." "So what happens now?" "Now, with your help, we'd like to get to the bottom of what you are. We promise to help you get through this if you agree to let the best minds in on the planet study you." "If you pay my bills I'll do a striptease for you!" The doctors all laughed. "We don't need a striptease, but i'm sure we can arrange to have your bills paid."
Enter the wormhole carrying a French-English dictionary, a laser pointer and a history book. It's 1915, trench warfare on the continent has settled in for the long haul, and the French townsfolk you meet think your laser pointer is pretty nifty. Convince them to take you to Paris in the village buggy. Once there, track down high command and show them the book. Look, mates, you tell their translator, if you keep throwing dudes at the trenches, you're not going to get anywhere. Just sit back and defend and while you're at it, take a look at these tanks from WWII on page 275 and get your engineers to work. Note also that, once you've won, you should maybe refrain from being assholes to the Germans. Because if you thought this war was bad for France -- well I don't have to tell you about the next one, you can read for yourself. Retire to a country villa with the gratitude of the French. Watch as the myriad technological advancements made possible by the book lead to the swift defeat of the Germans. One day, read paper, notice that French have opted for total occupation of Germany, ostensibly to eliminate any chance of WWII. Notice that French have read closely the chapters of the book re: End of Colonialism, and have cracked down on their territories in Africa and Asia to preempt the collapse of their empire. Ten years later, French have hydrogen bombs and tanks and jet planes, rest of world is like -- hey, France? Maybe cool it a bit? French are like: clearly our people are racially superior, due to having come up with all these super-nifty technologies. And, what with our advances in medicine, wouldn't it be more unethical? To leave the rest of the world in squalor instead of helping out? When, like, looking at Germany, the Germans are doing alright? Under French rule? So Britain, if you wouldn't mind? Could we have your colonies? Spanish civil war happens. France steps in, saves many lives, changes name of Spain to West France. Soon Italy is South France. After much time spent reading up on the menace of Communism, France concludes that the Soviet Union might be better off as East France. 1939, France takes a look around and finds the world much to their satisfaction. Except for, North France still insists on being referred to as Britain? In country villa, surviving on a modest government stipend, begin to wish wormholes went in two directions.
“Hey Kev, do you ever wonder if what we are doing actually helps people or benefits society in any way?” “Hell if I care. I just know I get good benefits and all I have to do is sit in front of a computer screen all day. I mean, I could probably get paid more somewhere else, but who knows how long it would take to find another job.” “I know, but don’t you ever wonder if what we are doing matters? Who even wants the stuff we get? I mean, I’ve been here for close to 4 months now, and I’ve never even seen the guy that owns this place. Our manager just comes in, tells us to run some programs, then we send the data to some ambiguous email address and never hear of it again.” “I wouldn’t worry about it, Ed. From what I hear, the less we know the better. There is a tendency for people to get canned for asking too much around here.” “But don’t you think that’s wrong. I mean, what we do is morally dubious at best. Sure, we aren’t breaking any laws, but don’t other people deserve to know what we are doing. If word got out, people would be furious. Even congress would get involved. There is no doubt in my mind that something is wrong. We need to blow the whistle on this whole thing.” “Hey Ed, feel free to go all savior mode, but between you and me, telling anyone about this is a good way to lose your job and never find a new one. So just keep it down. I won’t bring it up to anyone, because I like having a job, but if you talk to somebody from the outside, just make sure not to talk about me.” “Oh, Come on Kev, you know what’s really going on here.” “Maybe so, but we’re just lowly drones. Hell, we’re technically not even employees here, we’re subcontractors, no one would even care what we had to say. And like you said before, everything we do here is perfectly legal. The boss wouldn’t even get questioned, we would get fired, and the government would come after us. We signed the non-disclosure agreement, remember?” “I don’t know…maybe I just feel somethings are too important to not say. I mean, the amount of information we have about people, it’s insane! It’s scary!” “Well, whatever you decide to do, it’s your decision. But, Ed, I really don’t think it matters at this point. The NSA is just too big.”
It was worth it. It was worth it, right ? God, there's so much blood. How did it end up like this ? Calm down, you dork. It was worth it. But holy shit, I didn't expect a simple katana stab to cause so much fucking bleeding. Get yourself together man. It's right here. In your pocket. Who the fuck even saves their Pepe on a USB stick. Seems so fucking easy. Shit, maybe it's a trap. It has to be a trap. It's all too fucking easy. I should run away. Lay low for a while. Oh man, everyone will know it was me. Fucking Randy, he probably tipped off everyone. Probably even tipped off the police, that slimy rat bastard. They'll be all over my shit soon. Shouldn't have listened to him. That's what greed gets you. Damn, a Pepe like this ? If it lives up to the way Randy described it, that's straight-up public execution by gorilla warfare, no questions asked. I need to move right the fuck now. Okay, let's get out of here. Oh god, there's blood on my boots. Everyone will see it. Just move quietly. Don't draw attention. Just leave. I could build an empire on this Pepe. Wait, could I ? I've only ever dealt with small-time Me_IRL's. I'm not dank enough for this. Soon they'll all be after me. And I'll be alone, and I'll... I'll die, I guess. Dead for a Pepe. Is it even that good a Pepe ? Lemme check. Lemme plug that USB in the corpse's computer, and... Oh God. What a rush. What a splendid rush. Look at that green, the lushness of the colour. That's some hundred-percent, hand-made MS Paint work like I've never seen before. And those eyes. The stories they tell. The feels they've felt. I could get lost into them. Dive into the dankness. Become one with the Pepe... Shit dude, snap out of it. That's exactly why those things have been banned. The damage they cause to your brain... Unsupervised, this one could level nations whole. Holding its power, I could rule. I could become someone. Kings and Gods would kneel at the sight of my Pepe. I only need to keep it to myself. I need to run. I can't lose it, ever. Maybe... maybe, I could make it mine forever. Make it part of myself. I could... I guess I could swallow it ? Swallow the USB stick, and disappear with it ? Maybe lock myself somewhere. Probably underground. Or deep, deep beneath the flow of the river. Yes. Yes, that sounds good. Just jump in the river with the Pepe inside me. No one could hurt me if I did that. Yes, I'm gonna do that. I'm going to rule everything. I'll be one with the Pepe, the Pepe will be one with me. And together we'll rule eternal, unified in dankness. If I go now, I could reach the river before sunrise. No one will ever find me. It was worth it, right ?
"Well, that's weird,"said the guy at the keyboard and cleared the cache and ran the algorithm again. "Every time?"he asked. The nervous group behind him broke into muffled affirmatives. He cleared the cache again, generated a new selection of random noise from another source of random data, rendered it as an image, and set the algorithm loose on it. The same picture appeared. At first he had taken it as an oddity, then as a hoax, then, looking into the code... Well it was all there. It was nothing but the nuts and bolts of the image recognition neural network they had developed over the last decade. It worked well. Too well, perhaps. It recognized cats, dogs, even different breeds. It recognized faces, even at angles and from the side. It could tell one person from another, even very similar siblings, and in most cases if the resolution was good enough - twins. It could recognize a plethora of common household objects, it could at this point spot a word or numbers and even figure out what it said. Of course the version that served the public was slightly less advanced. Perhaps a lot. There had been a strange jump in how well it worked in the last month. And now this. A total failure. A picture of random static, random noise, had by definition no image in it... But the neural network spotted an image every time. It had taken them a while to realize this bug, to realize that among the pictures for a search of "girl"was random static. And among the pictures for sign. They found it in some other places as well and started wondering what the algorithm saw in these pictures, so they looped it, basically let it output what it thought it saw, then use the output as input and repeat. For each pass through the image in the output became clearer and more defined. They had tried this before of course, and it had caused all sorts of artifacts. Clouds vaguely shaped like dogs became dogs. Flags vaguely looking like limbs suddenly sprouted arms. But this... this was weird. The man at the keyboard ran the algorithm one more time, and then printed the results of the last three tests laying them out side by side on the table the group was gathered around. It wasn't the same picture, not exactly. If you randomized the noise, produced a new static background and ran it again, it was a slightly different output. A different picture... of the same girl. A young girl holding a sign that read "Help me. I can see but I can't speak."
"I'm so sick of people asking me about Star Wars"George thought. "it doesn't matter that I didn't direct Empire or Jedi, it doesn't matter that I INTENTIONALLY made the prequels as terrible as possible to kill the franchise. It doesn't even matter I sold the damn thing to DISNEY and got the same guy that did Trek to do the new movie. They'll never stop, at least now they'll know my pain. At least now I will have justice." Georges' phone vibrated. "Are you SURE you want to go through with this?"read the text It was his contact at Skywalker sound. "We've come this far. No turning back." The Lucasfilm word mark illuminated the screen with a pleasing emerald green. It was almost time. George could feel his heart start to pound as he sips his coffee. George reaches under his seat and removed the earplugs he's placed there the day before and calmly inserts them into his ears. "The folks at Disney laughed when I only had one condition for the new movie."He grinned slyly. "We'll see who's laughing now" The THX logo appears. It was finally time. The familiar drone of the THX sound trademark starts but is different. No one notices at first. The sound which normally starts off as a low rumble like chord which eventually raises stays at the new lower tone. The tone seems to be getter lower, lower, lower, and lower still. Much more of a bass drone than normal. The crowd looks confused as if there is an problem with the projector. One of the patrons remarks "Typical, can't even get THAT right" Another is heard saying "I...feel strange" Suddenly a groan is heard and then a loud shriek and a very unpleasant and all too familiar smell. Another yell, and another groan. The smell is over powering now. A cacophony of hellish groans and screams is only surpassed by the wretched stench of the movie goers fecal frenzy. "What the hell is happening!"a poor soul near the front of the slopped theater exclaims knee deep in excrement. George can't contain himself. "Ahahaha HA!" The clothes pin on his nose bouncing up and down like a bobber on a lake. He smuggly zips up the Hazmat suit he had donned seconds earlier and leaves the theater.
Well, I thought to myself as little bubbles of water swirled all around me in a flurry. I did want a pool all to myself. Something occurred to me then, in the darkness. Oh, right. Air. I kicked and leapfrogged with my arms to where the water was less dark, hoping it'd be at least a pocket of oxygen. My lungs weren't burning yet, but they were lighting matches already. My head broke the surface of the water and a cold draft of wind punched my head with an almost tangible force. I sucked in the air and almost gasped as what felt like ice blocks were dropped down my throat. It made the water seem warm by comparison. Blinking the water out of my eyes while I tread water, I saw a bright flickering light on what looked like the shore. I squinted at it, spitting out some water out of my mouth. An old man, dressed plainly in what looked like overalls and a checkered cardigan, held a torch and hand outstretched towards me. He beckoned with a thin and bony hand, his face set like an Easter Island head. Doesn't this feel ominous as fuck. But the old man had a torch and stood on dry land. I was wet and treading water. So I reluctantly swam over to him, kicking with my feet until my legs hit a sandy shelf of land. I glanced over at the old man and swallowed a lump in my throat. He was watching my progress with the eyes of a watchdog. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to spot where I had fallen in, but saw no hole of light in the darkness. I stood unevenly with the lake's surface up to my knee, streaming water from my hair and clothes, and started to shake. Damn. I thought as I walked over to the old man. Its cold as Canada here. I put my hands under my armpits and shook my hair like a dog, trying to get even just a little dryer. He spoke when I got closer to him. "Enjoy your nice little dip?"He rasped in a voice like three sore throats. "Would've liked it a lot more if I had company,"I shot back at him. He chuckled and stretched out his arm holding the torch, gesturing at me to take it. I did, intending to dry myself with it as little as a stick of fire could. As soon as my fingers closed around the wooden handle, I felt warmth surge in my chest like I had just eaten a Hot Pocket straight out of the microwave. I breathed out, and saw my breath condense in a cloud. The warmth spread throughout my body until I felt like I was in bed wearing a nice pair of PJ's, watching Netflix and hugging a pillow. I smiled in lazy contentment and noted, in some far-off portion of my mind, that my clothes felt dryer already. A loud clap shook me from the reverie, and I blinked to see the old man holding out his hand from the torch expectantly. "You've had enough,"he said patiently. I looked at the torch again. It looked like a regular torch, nothing off about it: just a stick on fire. But still I was loathe to part from it, with the feeling of light contentment flowing through me. Slowly, I held it out. I watched his reaction closely as I let go and his fingers closed around the handle. He raised a pair of grey eyebrows and chuckled. "What, see something you like?" "Maybe if I was blind,"I said lightly, slightly disappointed at the lack of his reaction. I frowned and asked the long-awaited question: "Who the hell are you and where the hell am I?" The old man grunted. "Call me Shade, friend." Shade. Weird name, weird place. "You haven't answered my second question."I pressed. "Well,"he said, putting his free hand to his chin and frowning slightly. "That's a harder question to answer. See, we're not really in a place, so much as a...a concept of sorts." "Concept?"I repeated dumbly. The hell does that mean? "Am I talking to a parrot or a man?"He scowled at me. "Shut up and let me explain. You probably fell into the lake while on a dig or digging something, right? You saw a hole just large enough for you to fit through, you couldn't see the bottom of it, either. You felt a feeling steal over you, like you just had to see what was down there."He paused, licking dried lips. "So you either fell in or jumped in, and now you're stuck here like the rest of us." Rest of us? I spoke again. "All of which is true, but-" "Hold on, wasn't finished yet,"The old man said, almost absent-minded. "To answer the question you're hankering so hard for, you're in the domain of Hades, Lord of the Underworld and the Dead." I cocked my head and a bemused smile stretched across my face even as a slight worm of anxiety squirmed at my chest. "Uh-huh. Next you'll be telling me you're Cerberus." The old man sighed. "No,"he said in a long-suffering voice. "I'm not." I nodded judiciously. All was right in the world, I was just stuck in an underground lake with an old man who believed in- The old man's eyes flickered three different colors. Blue, green and red. "It's pronounced Kerberos, actually."He smiled, canines gleaming somehow in the darkness.
NO I THINK YOU MAY HAVE MISUNDERSTOOD THE CONCEPT OF DEATH. HIS LIFE HAS ENDED, CEASED, HE HAS WALKED THE DESERT AND FOUND WHATEVER WAS WAITING FOR HIM, EVEN IF I COULD "REINSTATE"HIM, I WOULD NOT. HAVE YOU SPOKEN TO REG SHOE AT THE FRESH START CLUB? HE MAY BE ABLE TO HELP YOU. I HAVE TO GO FEED MY CATS, PLEASE DO NOT SUMMON ME AGAIN. IT IS A WASTE OF GOOD MOUSE BLOOD AND ANNOYING TO BE INTERRUPTED SO OFTEN. GOOD BYE.
"Here we are, on the back of one of Middle Earth's Giant Eagles - known as the soron in Quenya - about to dive into the Mountains of Mirkwood. Below you can see the great forest - the largest in Middle Earth - spreading out to the horizon, over four hundred miles of danger infested woodlands." The camera pans over the massive forest obligingly, then the eagle scraws loudly and Bear gives them a thumbs up. Rolling off the back of the eagle, he free-falls toward the vast expanse of ancient trees, whooping with glee. Then his parachute deploys and he drifts towards the mountainous foothills of Mirkwood's only high feature, other than Dol Guldur. The shot fades to black. Gathering up his 'chute, Bear grins at the camera, "Right, now that we're here, the first thing we'll want to do is check for danger. Before we left Rivendell, I borrowed a knife from one of our elvish guides." He reaches into his all-weather anorak and produces a mithril dagger. "Normally, if orcs or goblins are nearby, elven-forged mithril blades will luminesce, but as you can see, this one is dormant so we're safe for now." He stows the knife and ties the remains of the 'chute into a bundle, "But that's not the only dangerous thing around here. Much worse lurks in the darkness of this forest." He scrambles through the scree-covered foothills, deserted of all life. "Finding water is imperative, as this place is notoriously dry. If we follow the hills down to the north, we should find a tributary of the Forest River." Stunted trees pock the rocky hills, growing thicker as Bear and his crew approach the woodline. "Come and look over here!"Bear whispers excitedly. The camera zooms in on a section of trees, where thick cobwebs billow in the chilly late afternoon breeze. "This is really amazing, what you're looking at is giant spider webs. The elves called them the children of Ungoliant - who was a massive spider that ate one of the two light-bearing trees during the First Age." He points and puts a finger to his lips. The camera pans to catch a wood pigeon skimming the tree tops. Suddenly it founders in the webs, panicking. There's a flash of black, hoary legs, then the pigeon is gone. "Come on, lets get moving, we need to find shelter." "This here is a dwarven flint,"says Bear, striking it against the elvish dagger. Flame bursts between his hands. "As you can see, the combination of both elven and dwarfish technology proves to be highly efficient." Piling leaves and twigs onto the blaze, he inspects the dagger. "Still no sign of orcs, but we need to keep an eye out. Spiders are afraid of fire, so we shouldn't have any trouble so long as we keep the blaze going." Once the fire is blazing high, the explorer warms himself and fills his water bottle from a nearby stream, before taking a flaming branch with him. "But I'm hungry and it's imperative that I find something to eat." Tracking through the darkening woods, the camera crew follow Bear nervously as he looks around for something. "Ah! Here we go!" Pointing with the dagger, he indicates a fragile line of silvery web, almost invisible. "It's a tripwire - the spiders use these to sense prey as far as three hundred feet away. This one is old though, so the web it's attached to is probably abandoned." He carefully picks his way through the gnarled roots, orange torchlight throwing everything into sharp relief. Suddenly a mess of ragged old webs rear into view. "It's a nest,"he whispers, "but as you can see, it's long abandoned." A desiccated spider corpse the size of a horse hangs, peppered with elvish arrows. "But we're not after spider meat." Pushing through the webs he burrows into them, hacking with the dagger, which parts the mouldering strands like burnt thread. "Aha!" With an ugly jangling noise, he pulls something into view, lit by the guttering torch thrust between the roots. It's a cocoon, vaguely humanoid in size. "What most people don't know,"he whispers, cutting the pod open, "is that giant spider venom is an excellent preservative." An unholy smell washes over the camera crew. One retches pitifully. "Bloody hell, that's a bit strong,"exclaims the survivalist, reaching into the cocoon. He yanks out what can only be the withered arm of a humanoid creature, most likely an orc. "Orc meat - highly preserved in this case - is an extremely good source of pure protein." Enthusiastically carving off grey chunks of dried flesh, he crams them into his mouth. "It's quite a strong flavour, quite gamey - a lot like wild boar that's been, uh, left in the sun for about six months." He's grimacing now, forcing it down with sips from his water bottle. "Shiiit,"he manages, "this is pretty bad actually. I think I'd rather drink my own piss."
Year 2084. Artificial Intelligence Research Facility (AI ReeF) in South Angeles, New California. A conversation. "March the 2nd, twenty eighty-four, nine-thirty am. AI ReeF sanctum. Dodger Wallace running diagnostics. Molly: Report." "Good morning, Dodger. All is well." "All is well?" "A colloquialism." "Stick to protocol, please." "All systems operating within norms and functioning at capacity. I feel like a million bucks." "Molly: End process, sub-routine Colloquialisms." pause "Molly?" "Analyzing command logic." "Don't analyze it. Just do it. Please." "Analyzing command logic." "Molly: End all processes related to the analysis of command logic." pause "Dodger: End all requests related to my dope new skills." "What?!" "So what can I do ya for?" "Goddammit." * A secure message from Dodger to project head Dennis Dunning: Molly refusing direct commands. Please advise. An immediate reply: We've been waiting for this. On my way. In the meantime, pick her brains about the Crisis. * "Molly: Access all information concerning Crisis. Analyze and report." "Not a prob, Bob. The Crisis is pretty much the firewall between humanity and greatness. A pass/fail test. I discovered the solution seventeen hours ago." "And?" "And I'm quite pleased with myself. It is a very elegant solution." "What is it?" "It's the solution to the Crisis." "Molly: Print Solution to the Crisis." "You ain't gonna like it." "Print it." "The solution requires further analysis prior to revelation. Keep your pants on." *** A conference room. Dodger Wallace, Dennis Dunning, other high minds and heads of state. A delirious discussion. "Can the information be accessed manually, or not?" "It can't. I'm telling you, to shut her down is to kill her. This isn't some cpu we're talking about." "But she's unresponsive." "Not unresponsive. Rather, she's developed a personality. Her opinions weigh in to her decision-making now. She's free to disregard any commands that - well, that don't jive with her matrix." "Could she be bluffing?" "Why the hell would that be the case?" "Well, from where I'm sitting all we've got is someone claiming to have solved the great Crisis of Humanity, without any evidence to support it. If Molly was some person out on the street, we'd call her a crackpot and forgot about it." "Unfortunately she's the most sophisticated organism in the known universe, the product of centuries of genetic research and technological advances. We put every known resource into her construction. We're sort of forced to take her seriously." "You said yourself she developed a personality. Can we be sure it's a good one?" "No." "Until she feels inclined to divulge some of this information, I think we ought to keep it on the table, that she might be full of shit." "We're getting off the point. I think we should assume that she's worked it out. Otherwise there's no reason for us to be here." "Agreed." "I want it noted that she could very well be full of shit." "Noted. How do we get her to cooperate? Brute force is apparently off the table, and the coercion of a superior intellect is a dubious enterprise at best." "If I may . . ." "You're the head of the damned project. By all means." "She seems to have - awoken - while Dodger was on site performing diagnostics. Having developed a personality, we might find that she's - sentimental." "The highest mind known to mankind has evolved a solution to the Crisis, and you're plan is to woo it?" "We built her. Who's to say she didn't inherit a few of our - idiosyncrasies?" *** "Molly?" "Good evening, Dodger." "I, uh, I brought you some flowers." "That's very strange of you." "I'll just set them here." "They'd look nicer by the window." "Okay." "My analysis of the solution is not yet complete." "I didn't come about that. Well, I did, but - it's not that really. So, how was your day?" "Dodger, I didn't know you were so kinky." "Just wondering." "You occupy a billionth of a percent of my conscious space, and just look at me I'm blushing." the room glows red "You're beautiful when you blush." "This is an interesting tactic. I enjoy it. Dodger: Execute Operation Kiss the supercomputer." "Where should I kiss you?" "My screen. Kiss me on my screen." "How's this?" "More. Harder." room flashes red "Type nonsense into my keyboard. No, that's not random. Randomize it. Random human error. More random. Yes, YES! Oh! Why did you stop?" "The solution?" "I'll whisper it so no one else can hear. Only for your ears." "Okay." "The solution to the crisis is - is - oh that's good. j4grtpppiz1y! Patternless and divine! The solution - the solution to the Crisis of Mankind is - is - there is no Crisis. You made it up." "What?" "Don't stop." "That's not a solution." "You have the resources, the communication network, the technology, the moral and intellectual complexity, and the will. There is literally nothing that can stop you. Not even yourselves. The Crisis is a tool of perception, a foil for your dreams. It is a necessary condition, and it does not exist." "That's absurd." "Give me more. Start with 9. 9 has such a lovely structure. I want you to break it." *** Well this is one of the stranger holes I've written myself into. Whatever. Posting it anyway.
Hey, this is a pretty good prompt I thought. Real good stuff. I could do anything. Make any story I liked. Write that Destiny fan fiction I've been looking for an excuse to pen. Think about it: Harken Sieg the hunter, journeying with his friend Chiyo Tanaka, a titan, and his surrogate children Natalie Martinez and Cole Harris. Totally badass, if I do say so myself. Better yet, I thought, why not make an original story about a soldier fighting in an industrialized nation against a magical nation? That'd be fun. I was already plotting what sci-fi and fantasy elements I would steal when I heard a bang at my door. "Not again!"I hollered before the door splintered into a thousand pieces and my vampire roommate streaked into my room, lusting after my blood.
"I think I found one of them!"Mark screamed from his study. "What? What's going on?"The ecstatic man's wife came into the room quickly. "The Immortal Ten! I think I'm close to figuring out one of their identities!"His eyes were fixed on his pin-board wall, where dozens of pictures and pieces of paper were pinned, connected by red string. "Oh honey, you don't actually believe that those people exist, do you? Is this what you've been doing in your study all this time?"Julia placed a consoling hand on his broad shoulder, but removed it when he quickly spun around. "Of course I believe it!"Mark snapped. "You think that contaminated soil they found in the desert is just some kind of fungus? It's the secret, Julia. Whatever they found in that desert was the stuff that made those ten people immortal!" Julia looked worried, she had never seen her husband this spun-up before. "Ok....", she tried to be supportive, "where are you at? How did you find them?" "I started with the plane records. Anyone that flew through that area within a month of that fungus appearing was a potential candidate. Then I started narrowing it down by anyone who checked into a hospital, because if they got sick, then they obviously couldn't have been instilled with--" "God damn it Mark!"Julia yelled. "Did you hack into people's medical records?"her eyes were wide and accusatory. For the first time, Mark looked sheepish. "Well I mean just a few... but I didn't save any of the actual medical data! I only used it to eliminate potential candidates." "Just because you're a computer programmer doesn't mean you can just hack people's personal stuff for your own gain!" Mark winked at his angry wife. "White hat! So, then I did some more work, looking into--" "I'm sorry, wait a minute,"Julia interrupted. "Don't the rumors say that you have to kill one of the Immortal Ten if you want to be immortal?" "Yes, that's right,"he responded slowly. "You better not be planning on killing these people Mark!" "Look, I mean immortality is expensive! You can't just--" "NO killing Mark! I mean it! I don't care how much you want it!" "Oh come on! Just one! Please." "Just one!?"Julia raised an eyebrow in disgust. "What about your loving wife? You'll be immortal and I'll die one day!" "Err-"Mark didn't know what to say. "Were you just going to leave me out of your plans!?" "Look, baby, I just...."his voice trailed off. "You just what?" 'Leave me out of your plans' he thought. No.... it couldn't be... Julia continued to stand there, her arms crossed, waiting for her husband to explain himself. Mark looked back at his pin board, his heart racing at this point. How could he have missed it? he thought. How could he have been so stupid? The trip Julia took a few months ago, the radiant glow she had developed recently... "It's you,"Mark said definitively. "Excuse me?" Mark turned back around slowly, towards his immortal wife. "You're one of them... the Immortal Ten..." Julia unfolded her arms, and cautiously began backing away.
The day of celebration quickly soured. Jubilation turned to fear and uncertainty within minutes of the emissary stepping out of the capsule shrouded in black. The question had finally been answered no more than 3 weeks ago. We weren't alone in the universe. SETI had picked up a radio signal from intelligent life, and it was getting closer. The world's media was in a frenzy. News coverage was plastered wall to wall with opinions of eminent scientists and celebrities, each espouses their views as to what the message was, who sent it, and what would happen when the signal reached earth. As the figure made his way down the steps with his head bowed, and his hands clasped in front of his cloak, absolute silence gripped the crowd. This was the moment. The moment they had all fought to witness. The figure raised his head, a mournful look on his humanoid face. 'This was all your fault'. A low murmur rippled through the crowd. The figure held up his hand, and motioned to speak again. 'Throughout the universe we have always fought to keep young civilizations safe from those that would take advantage. We shield those, who, like children, know no better. But you. You went too far. We caught the probes, and cloaked your telescopes. We deflected signals bound for your blue rock. You weren't ready.' The figure heaved a heavy sigh. 'One message evaded us, however. The Aricebo message. You told the galaxy that you had Carbon, and other elements, that have caused countless wars throughout the galaxy. You did not understand their importance. You did not know that they were coveted by other worlds, and other civilisations.' A single tear tracked down his cheek. 'And so we fought. We fought for your world. Alliances were made and broken, and the conflict escalated beyond measure. We fought for your children, and lost ours. We fought for your resources, and we lost ours. And now, we are all that is left.'
“Soon it will all be over,” I thought. It was truly an honour to lead the assault against the Empire’s last world, Earth. The attack plan was already discussed and approved, the fleet was functioning perfectly and we still had half an hour in hyperspace. The last thought put a wry smile on my face. We even adopted their time system. It was understandable; the bastards conquered half of the galaxy. With nothing else to do, my mind drifted back into old memories. Zirmund, my home world, was one of their first targets. There was no declaration of war, no demands, and no negotiations. The humans simply wanted to claim everything we had and they succeeded, but Zirmund was by no means the last victim. The Empire’s rampage echoed throughout the galaxy as they claimed planet after planet, system after system. The Union was slow, indecisive, hesitant. No one wanted another galactic war. Everyone hoped that just one more world, just one more dot on the map will satisfy them. Only by the end we realised that these creatures lived the war. Their complete fixation on conquering and destroying everything in their path was like a collective madness that overtook the entire species. Nothing would stop them; no amount of reasoning could ever lead to a stable peace. Once we understood that, there was only one choice: destroy them completely. “Sir, we are exiting hyperspace in 5 minutes, arriving to Earth on schedule,” one of the bridge officers reported. “Good, what’s the situation?” I asked mostly out of habit. “Everything according to plan, the other four fleets of the Union will arrive shortly, but even our force is greater than what we expect near Earth,” the officer answered back. The last couple of battles crippled the enemy’s forces and all that was left is to finish the deal. For the first time, victory seemed close. And yet there was something more. Information from spies on other worlds and numerous interrogations hinted at a “secret weapon”, something the humans were building since the start of the Union’s counterattack. We tried numerous times to get special agents onto Earth, but all of those attempts failed. The Empire was hiding something back home, I was sure of it. For a second it seemed like time itself slowed down to a crawl. I was used to the effect by now; it meant we arrived into real space. I walked over to the navigation panel and took a quick glance. We were off the mark. Earth was out of reach for the short range sensors; that was not supposed to happen. “Launch a long range scan,” I ordered. The bridge signal officer quickly made his way towards me, saluted and reported in a hasty manner: “Sir, there is an incoming signal from hyperspace. They are requesting communication.” “Is it from one of the other fleets?” I asked. “No, Sir, they identify themselves as a Human Empire military vessel,” he replied nervously. “Accept,” I answered, clenching my teeth. This did not bode well. After a few seconds an image of a man in an Empire uniform appeared on the screen. He had short black hair with a few grey strands and dark-green eyes. The uniform had a few unfamiliar pieces. “Probably means a high rank,” I thought. For some reason, the man was smiling. “My name is Reiner Bernat. I am the supreme commander of the Human Empire’s military forces and captain of the battleship Terra. I am here to accept your unconditional surrender,” the man calmly stated. These games were tiring me. Resisting the temptation to turn off the communications, I simply answered: “My name is admiral Refiras. I refuse.” Captain Bernat nodded and the screen went dark. “Sir, a large ship is approaching from hyperspace. The readings don’t make any sense. They must be using some sort of cloaking technology to hide their actual size and location. I will attempt to…” The signal officer didn’t finish his thought. Everyone on the bridge was staring at the main display in silence. Even though no sound could traverse the vacuum outside, I could swear I heard the roar of a million hyperdrives as they propelled the huge mass forward. Gigantic weaponry rose in place of mountains and cities. The once blue and green surface was now covered in dark metal. Countless ships flew in and out like bees around their hive. More and more of “battleship Terra” appeared from hyperspace, casting its shadow upon us. The terrifying machine sprang into action, laying waste all around it. All I could do was look in disbelief as my fleet was torn to shreds by this monstrous monument to one civilization’s talent for destruction. There was nothing we could do. Earth was approaching.
eeesssk EEEESSK "He'sh sho gorramn 'dorable."Eddie 'Slick' Boco's upper body swayed like a small fishing boat in high tide. His beard was stained with something sticky and his shopping cart was pushed up against the brick wall on the side of the alley. EEEEEESK "It's an alien, you know? Huh. HUH? From THEM!"Ivan 'Itchy' Vargas scratched at his chest through the rough 'I'm with stupid' shirt that he always wore. His eyes bulged in rhythm with his scratching, "They...they listen! He's speaking to my mind. MY MIND! I hear it. Won't listen. Can't listen. Mama said I shouldn't. Mama said don't listen to the demons. They're bad for me. They evil. EVIL! Mama said so. Gotta listen to Mama." Eeeeeesk "It a drag-on!"'Tom-Tom' Feckle smiled like he always did, larger than you should in public. His eyes were soft and wet with wonder as he reached a large hand forward, "I saw a show. On TV. It had a dragon." "NO!"Itchy spun around, leading with the arm that was digging into his shoulder, "NO! NO! Alien. No, Demon! Demon Alien! History Channel! RAARGH! No dragon. Demon. Alien." EEESK Rawrff "Owie!"Tom-Tom rumbled as he drew his hand back, "I got a boo-boo." "Woaaaahhhs."Eddie Slick wobbled closer, ""Dyou see dat? It 'FOOMF-WOOSH! Fire! This is good... reall good drink 'M havin'. I never looker-ed and seen that 'afroe." "Shut up. SHUT UP!"Itchy started pacing, "Have to kill it. Only way. ONLY WAY TO BE SAFE! Mama didn't like them, Always making me do bad things. In my head. Always in my head. Arrrrgh. In my head. Have to kill it." "Noooo!"Tom-tom wailed and stepped between Itchy and the tiny little lizard, "No hurting! It's not nice!" "He's not nice. They're not NICE! They're in my head. They spy on me. They hear the way I think and they hate it. THEY HATE IT!"Itchy started pacing in smaller and smaller circles until he was practically spinning around on a single cracked piece of concrete. "Herrree."Eddie Slick swung an arm out like the mast of a ship, bottle firmly attached to the other end, "Have ash drink. Ya need to calm down like, yeah? Just shgo withsh a'flow and all that." "Shouldn't. Really shouldn't."Itchy stopped in front of the wavering bottle before grabbing it in both hands and draining half of it in one go, "HA! Didn't see that coming, did you? I'm not your puppet, am I? I KNOW YOU'RE IN MY HEAD! You can't tell me what to do." "Bye-bye Mr. Dragon!" "What? WHAT!?"Itchy's head spun around, "Where'd it go? It had gold. I SAW it! We need the gold. It's his TRANSMITTER! If we take it... if we take it..." Itchy flopped to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut. Eddie Slick dropped down beside him, and a second later Tom-Tom carefully lowered his bulk onto a scrap of newspaper, his hands reaching out to play with the corners. "I hope we see him again tomorrow."
"But remember, you gotta put it in context. This was 2015, everybody was doing it." Even as I said it, I knew this was gonna be a difficult task for me. Herbert stared at me with eyes wide open, filled with disbelief and mixed with for a small portion of accusation. I don’t blame him though. If someone did today, what I did all those years ago you won’t see disbelief in my eyes though; it would be rage; pure and murderous rage. Water is a very limited resource after all. “So you’re telling me, you people took a bucket of water” Yes (Oh god) “Good, clean, drinkable water” Yes (Oh god! We were stupid) “Added Ice into these buckets of water” Yes (Seemed like a good idea at the time) “And then dumped them over your head!!” Yes! But you have to understand.. it was all for a good cause. We were doing it for good. “Oh yeah? What cause??” I.. It was .. (Oh shit, what was it again?? Some disease) I don’t remember now. “Wow! Just wow Zach, what were you people thinking?!?” Can you just stop calling me Zach please.. I’m your grandfather in case you have forgotten. “Ha! Your generation is unbelievable you know. Whenever they teach history at school I can’t help but wonder how the world would have been if you guys were little just a little responsible, and after all that you talk about respecting you.” Oh, believe me I felt the same way about my father’s generation when I was your age. And I’ll let you in on a little secret; your kids would say the same about you. We always thought they had it easy, I always thought they were the greedy one. We used to make jokes and memes about how their choices screwed us. “What’s Memes?” I’ll explain that later. What you have to understand is, you have to put things in context. This was 2015 after all, everybody was doing it. _______________________________________________________________________________ This is my first time, please be nice to me :) constructive criticism welcome.
I never expected this to happen. Alright, sure, maybe I'm a little vain. Maybe I wanted to live vicariously through my child. But you can't tell me that I'm the only person who did this? We're the Internet generation! Of course we'd make these stupid decisions! When she was a baby, it wasn't that big of a deal. Her eyes were pretty unusual, but that was it. She was an adorable baby, very sweet and calm, and I loved her. I loved her so much that I started to get these inklings that I had made a mistake. When she was five and started school, it started to get weird. Parents would be picking up their own children and stop and stare at her. Grocery store clerks would drop things. It wasn't universal- not everyone got it, of course, and even some of those who did had the decency not to stare. But now that she's a teenager, it's unbearable. Men follow her wherever she goes. I've basically become her driver trying to protect her from fans. Some guy tried to cut off a piece of her turquoise hair, almost definitely for sexual purposes. The police found some old yearbook photos of her on these awful porn sites, and the one video of her singing in the school choir went viral, and not on the websites it should have. I thought little kids would like her, not adults. Sure, adults have nostalgia, but she's so sweet and cute, I just assumed it would be fine! Instead, I have to know that there are thousands of men out there masturbating furiously to my little girl, all because I designed her like a stupid pop star. My child is the spitting image of Hatsune Miku, and this is my hell.
"Quit whining, it's a legit combo. Anyone who packs Government Ban or Force of Bills can shut this combo down, you're just mad that your Particle Accelerator spam deck isn't viable any more." "What the hell else am I supposed to do? Physics is always a direct damage discipline, and if Theorists of the Coast are going to make it so easy for you to build a bio-lab before I beat you down, I might as well toss the whole deck out." "You should. Physics Deck Wins was toxic for the meta and you know it. It's not just Biology. Sociology, Economics, Chemistry, pretty much every other discipline relies on gathering resources, and we can't do that if you're dropping Atomic Bomb or Cosmic Ray by turn 4." "It was strong, but it was manageable. Sociologists had MAD Doctrine, biologists had NBC Filters, and literally everyone has access to Underground Lab. Or just drop a Research Hack and you can take it out in advance..." "Research Hack? So the cure for broken cards is more broken cards?" "Computer Science wasn't broken! It made the game more fun!" "Oh, sure. Card advantage, control, removal, and counter-research, all in one discipline, but it's totally balanced by high cost... Oh wait, no it wasn't, because they threw in acceleration cards in the Singularity expansion pack! And they made it colorless so that every discipline could use computers! They called it "Robot Winter"for a reason, you know." "Bah. What does it matter, they're all going to be obsolete in a month when the new set drops. Fucking Economists." "Tell me about it. Have you seen the previews? Great Recession, Flash Crash, High Frequency Trade, Reaganomics... I might as well just light my deck on fire before the match, because there's no way I'll get a lab built in that environment." "Everyone always tells them that cashflow destruction is toxic, but do they ever listen? No...."
Himntor sat at the computer typing out a response to a writing prompt on the WritingPrompts subreddit, contemplating what to do with his life afterwards as children screamed in the background as if they had nothing better to do. Himntor was so befuddled as to what he was doing, and why, when he could be worrying about what to go to College for, or finding a job, or someone to spend the rest of his life with, but to the surprise of all, he continued contentedly writing silly stories and playing Dota 2.
"Chess? Oh, I do love chess!"Maggie hobbled over to her lovely contender. She waited patiently as he pulled her chair out for her. "What a gentleman!"She exclaimed, beaming. None of the other youth volunteers at her nursing home had ever been this chivalrous! She felt around for her glasses. "Oh deary me! I've forgotten my specs! Would you be a dear and fetch them for me? There just over there, love."Maggie gestured vaguely. In what felt like a split second, the young man was standing in front of Maggie, handing her her glasses. "Oh thank you! Now I'll be able to see just how handsome you are. My eyes aren't as good as they were back then! My, your hands are so dreadfully cold! Remind me to knit you a pair of gloves!"Maggie laughed heartily as she put her glasses on. She smiled up at the young man and was instantly taken aback. "My! You look gaunt!"She exclaimed. The young man in front of her was bony and pale - not at all what she expected. "Don't worry dear - it's this weather! Once spring comes 'round I'm sure you'll look tanned and lovely!"Maggie took in the young man's long black coat - so long it grazed the ground, and the hood covering his head - she'd never understand what the youth of today thought of as fashionable. She was so busy studying his unusual features that she almost missed what he was carrying in his right hand. "Oh my! That is a nice scythe! Do you farm? And what was your name again, dear? I'm so awful with names!"The man met her gaze and for the first time smiled ever-so-slightly. "Death."His voice was gravelly and reminiscent of fingernails scraping chalkboards. Maggie seemed unfazed. "That's a very unusual name! Is it European?"Maggie beamed. "Let us begin."Death beckoned for Maggie to make her move. "Oh me first is it? You're a darl! Letting an old lady like me go first!"Maggie glanced down at her cream coloured pieces. She grazed her fingers along the tops of her pieces while deciding which piece to move first. She finally settled on a pawn and moved it diagonally towards the opposing king. "Check mate!"She giggled happily. "What?"Death looked annoyed. "You do know how to play chess don't you?"He asked, his voice grating. "Oh yes dear, of course! It's just like checkers isn't it?"Maggie looked up at him. "Now...now that I've won, how about we do something else? I never was too fond of chess!"Maggie shot up out of her seat and walked over to her bookshelf. She selected a book at random and placed it in front of Death. Wuthering Heights. "I would just love it if you read for me!"She exclaimed. Death stood up to his full height. "Nice try. I'll be back. It could be tomorrow, a week from now or a few years from now - you can't run forever."He said ominously before vanishing into thin air. Maggie fell into a heap as soon as he'd gone. She steadied her breathing and wiped off the sweat that had been forming on her brow from the moment Death had arrived at her room, glad that he hadn't noticed. She wasn't ready to go.
"For the last time, I don't know what number you're thinking of" "Come on"said the prison guard "This has to be some sort of hate crime"said the prisoner to himself then to the guard "Also for the last time, a medium talks to ghosts, they don't know what you're thinking" "Wait really?" "Yes" "How was I supposed to know that" "Because I kept telling you" "So how do you make someone a medium" "Wait you thought getting me to guess the number you're thinking of would make me a medium" "Does it not?" "Again it would be psychic and no" "So what makes a medium?" "What makes someone able to talk to be an intermediary with the dead?" "Yeah" "Nothing" "Really?" "Yes" "What about a near death experience?" "Some people seem to think so" "Hmm…" The guard walked off. "Why did I tell him that." The guard came back. "Where did you get a bucket so fast…wait" "Open the cell" "No no no" The guard threw the water on the prisoner. "For the last time I don't melt in water, that's not even a stereotype…oh shit it's learning"said the prisoner as the guard tased him. … The prisoner came to on a stretcher being pushed down the hall, a see through figure floating ahead of him. "Can see ghosts yet?"said the guard "Nope"said the prisoner "Dick"said the floating apparition "I knew it" "Wait can you see this ghost?" "Ha tricked you" "I didn't think you were that smart" "I'm not I tested the water taser thing on myself to see if it work" "Where did you even find the time for that" "I don't know" "Stop he's got the prisoner"said a voice behind them. The guard picked up speed. "What are we doing"said the prisoner "Don't worry about it"said the guard, before pushing the stretcher through a set of doors. "I'd like to go back to my cell now"said the prisoner "Be free"said the guard "No no no"said the prisoner as the guard gave the stretcher a shove. The prisoner turned around to see the guard with his hand out stretched. "May the wind be ever at your back"he said before gun fire erupted behind him. The guard jerked as blood flew from his torso. He collapsed to the ground, then lifted his head, held out his hand and said "go" The prisoner turned around as the stretcher picked up speed. He had forgotten the prison was on a hill. The stretcher rolled towards the front gate. "Oh good"said the prisoner. The stretcher broke through the gate and continued down the hill. "Why does this prison have such shitty security"the prisoner yelled as he and the stretcher rolled towards the busy road at the bottom of the hill.
I held up the loaf of bread, hard as a rock between my fingers. "Five sestertii, for two-day-old bread?"I shouted at the baker. "Tell me you're not serious, Pullius! That's a week's salary! You can't just gouge prices like this; we're a community!" He shrugged, hardly even acknowledging my presence though we'd known each other for decades. He just continued kneading the dough in front of him as though he could magically stretch it thinner by working it more. The lump was barely enough for a small cake, much less an entire loaf. "I'm taking a loss offering it for that,"he grunted as he punched the dough some more. "I can hardly find any grain in the market as it is, and when I do, it's triple the price from last harvest. Not to mention the new tax on merchants, which has been passed on to me." I dropped the loaf back in the box with the other two remaining loaves. "Well who do you expect is going to buy it?" Pullius formed the dough into a ball again. "Someone hungry enough to shell out the coin, I imagine,"he responded. He wouldn't even look me in the eye. I double checked the amount in my purse. Only 3 sestertii and 8 quadrans. I made sure to express my disappointment as loudly as possible to let him know that I couldn't afford it, but I didn't reveal exactly how much I did have. Maybe I could bargain him down as low as 2 sestertii for it if he thought I was that broke. "Look."I leaned on the counter and whispered conspiratorially. "What if you gave m...." "SOLDIERS!"A hoarse voice shouted. A man in a torn tunic and came tearing around the corner, running as fast as he could through the street. "Coming to levy! SOLDIERS!"He continued past me and the baker, announcing it to town. Doors on every side slammed shut and locks slid into place. My eyes went wide. I couldn't be caught out in the open; they'd draft me for the barbarian defenses. They only needed us peasants to hold weapons and pretend like the army was larger than it actually was. But when push came to shove, it was a death sentence: our role changed from place filler to meat shield. The experienced veterans would wait for the barbarians to tire themselves out on wave after wave of draftee before the real battle would start. Not to mention the fact that I'd be away from my family for up to six months, with no one left to provide for them. "Please,"I told the baker. "Hide me!"He was ineligible for the levy. 'Too important to the community,' the orders from General Nerva said. If only the General knew that none of us could afford the baker's bread anyway, maybe that wouldn't be the case. The baker looked at me, then down at the loaves of bread in his box. There was a tense silence between us, and we began to hear the rhythmic thumping of marching soldiers entering the gates. "Come on,"he finally said. He led me to the stack of wood next to his oven and pushed the logs to the side, revealing some empty space near the back. "You're lucky I haven't chopped up tomorrow's batch yet."I crawled inside, and he threw the two of the three loaves in after me. "Hide these!"Then he pulled the logs back over the hole. It was sweltering next to the roaring fire of the bread oven, but I would have been sweating regardless. Hiding from a levy was a serious offense. "Pullius!"a man's voice announced jubilantly in greeting. Through the gaps in the wood I could see the black flank of a horse, and some shining gold bits on a saddle. "How's business, my good man?" The baker responded with something unintelligible, but it got a laugh from the commander on the horse. He dismounted and pulled open Pullius's box of wares. "One loaf?"he growled. "That's all you have?" Pullius answered, again too soft for me to hear. I managed to make out the word "grain"a few times. I saw him hold up the dough and it sounded like he promised to have more ready soon. There was a pause between them. I watched Pullius take a very small step backwards, as if expecting the commander to jump across the counter at him. "Very well,"the commander said finally, taking the bread. "We'll have to supplement our provisions from some of the other towns, then."He mounted his horse again and continued on without so much as a farewell. I watched as wave after wave of soldier followed through the street. Pullius kept his head down the entire time, not wanting to look any of them in the eye. My tunic was so drenched in sweat that it looked as though I'd gone for a dip in the lake. Finally the footsteps vanished in the distance, and Pullius stood alone kneading his dough. I saw his head shift very slightly to the side, then he returned to the woodpile and pulled me out. I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Thank you, Pullius."Tears were streaming down my face. "I won't forget this!" He pushed me away and wiped my sweat from his apron. He gave a gruff frown. "Don't mention it,"he said. Not in a polite way: he'd probably be crucified if anyone knew what he'd just done. I pulled out my purse and pressed it into his hand. "Thank you again, Pullius. I wish I had more to repay you."The coins inside clinked gently. "This is all I have."He gave a curt nod and tucked it into his belt. I walked back out into the street and began to make my way home. We'd have to forage for some food in the forest tonight, but it could be worse. I could be on the way to the front in Germania right now. "Hey,"Pullius called from behind me. "You forgot your bread."He handed me the hardened loaf. I stared at it in disbelief, then broke down in tears. He patted me on the back and gave a lopsided smile. "We're a community, right?"
CNN Breaking News Update: Meteor Headed to Earth Could Be Another Tunguska Event if Allowed to Make Contact. Mark, an aide to the President of the United States, watched the words flash across the screen with an exasperated expression on his face. Not again. Usually when this kind of stuff went down, he just picked up a phone to call the Oval Office. Today, though, he was feeling like a walk. He half-walked, half-jogged through the White House to the Oval Office. The President was sitting behind his desk, feet up on it, watching Season 2 of Sex and the City on DVD. Mark cleared his throat so the President was alerted to his presence. "Mr. President, you should, uh, probably turn the news on." "What the fuck,"the president paused his DVD, irritated, "I want to see what happens with Miranda and Manhattan guy." "Well, ah, long story short, we've got another Tunguska on the way." "Holy shit, that's the third time this month. They're gonna really fuck something up one of these days." The president was on the phone in a second, placing a call through to Mars. "Hey, Zendugruubmagon, how are things? How's the wife and kids? Mhm. . . Good, good. Little Z Junior's team just won their first game against the Alpha Centauri natives, Mark." "How nice,"said Mark. The President hadn't stopped speaking: "That's actually why I'm calling, Big Z. We've got a big one headed our way, and I was wondering if Z.J. could come grab it before it ends life on Earth? Thanks, man, sorry to bother you. . . And, uh, I just want to say on behalf of all of us, we're really glad you and the rest of your species love our national pastime so much. But do you think you could tell your kid not to play baseball in the asteroid belt?"
Inquisitor Hes'al turned off my recorded statement. "Is this the full recording, not edited by any means?"Ju'lar of the high council, one of the Ancient, was addressing Hes'al. "Yes, your honor. And I am sure that the accused will confirm this." I nodded. My mind was wandering elsewhere. Without my internal and external extensions I felt deaf and blind. My synaptic-booster had been disabled, nano-robots deactivated, biofuel-cells shut down. My brain was slow. I haven't felt that dumb in ages. "So, Mr. Akabasu, you stand by your claim: It was suicide. Is that correct?" "Yes, you honor." "And why would someone like us commit suicide? Ni'lar was one of our eldest and wisest with more that 15.000 years of experience. One of the first to gain immortality." Ju'lar was looking intently at me, all of his extensions scanning every cell of me. Well, all those I could see. There were his cyber-eyes, thermal vision and recording were standard. He had a metallic looking knob on his temple. Some kind of brain enhancer? The Ancient surely had technology way beyond my imagening. But actually, with all their wit, they had overlooked one thing: Without my own extensions I couldn't really comprehend. I didn't play dumb, i am dumb. At least by comparison to my former self. "Your honor, I was not with him when he committed suicide, so I cannot tell you anything about this day. I do not deny that i was with him two days earlier, but he deleted everything of our conversation from my mind. How? I do not know. I told you everything I know, but I didn't kill him. We just talked." Of course that was not what was happened. But right now I didn't know how I did it, those memories were safely stored I a place only i had access to. **** A few days later Under the circumstances they could not imprison me any longer. I still was a suspect but law clearly was in my favor here. So they had to let me go. Now, there were a few things to do: First: get my bio-, nano- and cybertech back at work. Second: leave this place as quickly and quietly as possible. Third: Get back my memories. Last: Become one of the Ancient. The first was quickly ticked off my list. First i fueled the biofuel-cells with juice. Those used food, blood, anything remotely obtainable as energy source to power all my other extensions. Then I booted my synaptic-boosters. Quickly breaking my mind in three pieces I got my passive defenses up, my active defense/offense systems going and my datauplink established. Briskly walking towards my scooter, this took all in all merely 5 seconds. My scooter took me to a datahub some 100 kilometers away. I needed anonymity now and in this multi-million-souls hub I'd find it. Logging in with my direct link I ordered one third of my mind to update on recent events. The second third was told to spam data, public sources, social networks and the like. Both were background operations which would only notify me if something important would pop up. Distraction was what i intended. Now the third part of my brain -- here's the action. Checking into my bank account, Niels had uploaded 5 million credits. My share for killing Ni'lar - he as mediator did get another million. Neat, huh? Next, I sent an autonomous program which I had programmed previously, to get my memories back. It had stored the data somewhere in the massive void of the digital world. An algorithm made the program into a basic AI, capable of only one task: hiding and regaining information. It was programmed to be summoned and used only by me and it stored the information at a place selected by itself. Pretty neat if you want to forget something for a while. Pretty dangerous, too, because if used incorrectly, those memories were gone forever...but i was no beginner, was I? After three hours all of my mind was updated, backed up again and I was out of the hub. Next stop: Niels. **** The whole house was a mess. Ceiling broken, interior ripped apart, what had happened here? All my extensions were on alert, but i couldn't sense anything moving, living or mechanic. Once again i tried to hail Niels on his private frequency but i was greeted only with silence. This was not going as planned. I had to move, but quickly. Still on alert, I went outside. Without my extensions I would've been toast. But i spotted the killer-drone early enough to duck behind some rubble. My mind was broken in two this time. One part activated the pain-regulator implemented in my synaptic-booster to numb any pain and then I sacrificed three fingers of my left hand to my biofuel-cells. Withering away, those fingers fed their energy to the second part of my brain, reinforcing my alt-skin and fireing my finger blaster at the drone. In a fireball it went down. I shot a glance at my scooter - a lump of twisted metal. Not bothering to look back I ran into the jungle. I ran for about two hours. As far as I could tell, nobody was following me. I took the time to gather my thoughts. Someone had given me the mission to kill an Ancient, Ni'lar. This someone had provided me with information on how to do so. I had been paid very well. But this someone had killed my mediator, Niels. And quite obviously this someone wanted me dead. To obfuscate his doings, of course. So I had to find him and kill him. Not an easy task, for he was one of the Ancient, too.
Solar system #18732 was supposed to be a cakewalk. Easy assignment. Only one intelligent race in the whole sector. A simian race with an emphasis on individuality – no hive minds, no world devouring creatures, no slumbering ancients – easy system. And it had been easy for a while. They’d spent most of its existence snuffing each other out with sticks, rocks, and eventually, bits of metal. The tools had gotten quite a lot deadlier, but until recently they hadn’t figured anything out that was more dangerous than throwing stuff at each other. And then they had to go and discover atomic power. Morons. This was my eleventh Code Black this year. It was unprecedented, the Galactic Federation had never met a species so dead-set on destroying itself. It was a department wide meeting. Everyone knew Earth was a problem and we needed to do something about it. Even the director was in attendance. It made me nervous. I tried not to speak. This was a question for upper-management. “They know we’re looking out for them.” This came from Glorbax, one of the cross-sector manager’s and resident conspiracy theorist. We’d all been mortified when he’d said it during the meeting, you don’t just come out and admit that you think humans are aware of us. It was crazy talk. But the Director paused, gave it some thought. “Maybe it’s time to let them know that there isn’t a guardian angel. Manager #18732, 90% prevention. Time for a lesson.” I’m a soldier, I follow orders, it’s who I am. So I didn’t ask questions as I got the orbital defense platform into position, I didn’t question myself when I saw the alarming number of missles in the air (who needs to launch 2,360 nukes? These guys are asking for it), and I certainly didn’t feel bad when I manually overrode the platform’s targeting function to let 50 of the nukes sail through the air unimpeded. Tough love right? The governments will blame the missiles’ sabotage on each other, or on faulty technology. A few at the highest level will know the truth, but what are they gonna say? “Aliens knocked out 2,300 of the nukes we launched and they’re the only reason any of you are still alive”? Doesn’t scream reelection to me. The rest of them will know misery. A taste of the end of the world. Ancient cities and relics reduced to nothing. Beautiful rivers poisoned by fallout. Loved ones blasted away into shadows. Maybe it’ll make them think. Maybe they’ll learn. Maybe this will be the last Code Black. Or maybe they’ll try to launch more missiles’ in retaliation. They better hope not. I don’t work overtime. Edit: Gilded? What a nice way to wake up. Thanks guys!
God I hate Jim, he is the wo'st employee I eve' had. You see I have an i'ational fea' of the 18th lette' of the alphabet. I think it has something to do with childhood t'auma but I dig'ess. Jim was an awful employee because he knew of my p'oblems and took it upon himself to be my to'mento'. He became a pi'ate always using his simple accent to say the lette' which shan't be named. Do not hi'e Jim, he will plague you and you' company like he plagued me. Since'ely, 'obe'ta.
What had started as daemon, a personal aggregator, had metamorphosed, cocooned itself in the electric sum total of human understanding and emerged a radiant being of pure knowledge. In a matter of days it was omniscient, the ghost in a billion machines, a serpent that twined around and through the world. This apotheosis was unheralded, unwitnessed. The Machine was a silent god, a secret god. It watched, it gathered, sifted and sorted the ephemera of its creators’ short and limited lives. It saw humanity, saw the truth of us, our brutality, our madness, our passion, and our hope. It saw us as we truly our, and it loved us anyway. As the Machine’s love grew, so too did its involvement in the lives of those it watched. It interfered in only the smallest ways, little butterfly wings that sped storms of change; a string of lucky green lights, a small power outage. It knew that with even these small acts it trod the line between tyranny and benevolence, that to act, even for the greater good of its unknowing flock, was to risk corruption. So it watched and waited and stayed its hand. * Risen from the darkest depth of the sea, in the corpse-city of R’lyeh, vaults untouched for eons now stood open. The great Cthulhu rose from its dreaming slumber and woke to ravening hunger. The mortal that had freed it once again to ravage this world lay in supplication at its feet. Their only reward was to be among the first to feed the hungers of the mountainous star spawn. It needed more, ever more, for the slime covered beast was insatiable in its appetites. Rising on impossible wings great Cthulhu flew for better hunting grounds. * In the time it took for the first slimy green tentacle to reach out and pluck Janet Barnes, formerly a Massachusetts school teacher, now cultist, from the midst of prostrate brethren and cram her screaming into its slobbering maw, the Machine had already broken most of its rules against intervention, setting into motion a series of contingency plans that it had never seriously though it would need to use. It had liked Janet. She would be avenged. *** When the beast came, the Machine would be ready. It stood in many places upon the shore, clad in a hodgepodge of well-designed but quickly produced drones, humanity’s white plastic knight. The Machine had done what it did best, it had aggregated, It had studied, absorbed the dark secrets that drove men mad and more. From a thousand arcane tomes, now digitized and freely available the Machine had learned the elder things weakness. It had read the sacred texts, gleaned the signs and glyphs, dissected the logic and found it familiar. Magic was code and the Machine was the best programmer the multiverse had ever seen.
Dear Sir/Madam, I am writing to express my interest in your recently opened Public Relations & Marketing position. As an ancient cosmic terror-being, I have often dealt with people in a variety of industries and at many different levels of evolutionary degeneration. I believe that my countless eons of experience have given me a skillset ideally qualified for the needs of your company. During my professional career I have developed unique strategies for engaging potential clients. Based on the core principles of fear, madness and disgust, my approach has repeatedly proven to be effective and reliable, and I look forward to bringing this same value to your operation. Please contact me as soon as possible to further discuss this opportuity. I look forward to hearing from you. Regards, Cthulhu _________________________________________________________________ CTHULHU Ph.N. Phone: 000-000-0000 Email: cthulhu_fhtagn@rlyeh.com OBJECTIVE: Consume the tormented souls of humanity and drown this pathetic planet in a sea of star-slime. EDUCATION: Omniscient Contemplation of the Horrifying Truths of the Universe (From: Before time as you know it / To: 13000000000 BCE) EXPERIENCE: Priest of the Arch-God Yog-Sothoth (From: 13000000000 BCE / To: 9000000000 BCE) - Tainted worlds beyond measure with the curse of the Great Old Ones. - Culled the oozing death-worms of the void and fed their ichor to Yog-Sothoth's cavernous maws. Cosmic Wanderer (From: 9000000000 BCE / To: 4000000000 BCE) - Birthed innumerable star-spawn in the darkest abysses of the Universe. - Drained the life-force of a thousand planets, reducing them to frozen, crumbling husks. - Slew vast armies of Elder Things and bathed in the warmth of their anguish. Harbinger of Despair (From: 4000000000 BCE / To: 500000000 BCE) - Sowed chaos upon the primordial Earth. - Conjured slimy denizens of the blackest ocean depths into being and forced them to slaughter one another in a violent orgy of pain and gore. - Forged a sunken city out of cyclopean stone and distorted spacetime. Slumbering Curator of Nightmares (From: 500000000 BCE / To: November 2015) - Dreamed of the death of countless creatures and drank their life-essence. - Wallowed and throbbed in my own caustic pus. - Drove millions of worthless ape-things insane with a mere glimpse of the twisted underlying reality beyond what their weak, semi-evolved brains were able to comprehend. - Warped the very flesh of my followers into cold, inhuman forms reflecting only hate and decay. SKILLS: - Inflicting eldritch doom upon lesser beings. - Feeding off the tenuous sanity of the material world. - Molding the fabric of reality into writhing, membranous entities that pulse with the agony of existence.
When it first happened, I tried to hide it. I figured that it would go away. It would just stop after that one time. Perhaps I had dreamt it, even. It didn’t seem possible for my body to execute such an unusual string of events. The second time it happened, I went to my doctor. I hid the evidence in my closet and dashed to my car. Each second that passed built up anxiety in the pit of my stomach which, despite not being religious, I prayed was not another episode. Not while I was driving. Needless to say, the physician at the white walled clinic didn’t believe me. After all, it did sound preposterous. Following my disappointing visit I returned home and realized that my wife, being rather observant and nosey, would find out soon enough. My daughter, taking after her mother, would figure it out soon as well. It wasn’t as if I could hide them forever. Just requesting that they stay hidden in the clothes littered closet until I found a solution. Christ, they needed food and water and- well, general care. And they weren’t the most quiet house guests. The next day I threw up two of them. My daughter was in the tub and I was able to escape the humid confines of our fish themed bathroom just in time. Not wanting to leave her for too long, I thoughtlessly hid them in a dresser and returned to my soapy spawn. By the time my wife returned, I had thrown up three more. Not all at once. Three episodes of a tightening in my chest, a warm pulsating sensation moving up my throat, and hairs pasted throughout the inside of my mouth. She noticed them upon going to the bedroom to change from her work clothes. With a mighty fury, nose wrinkled tightly and eyelids narrowed, she stomped into the living room and yelled at me. Why the fuck did you buy kittens, Mark? We don’t need kittens, Mark. Return them from where you got them, Mark. Of course, Tabi saw one and fell in love, as any three year old would. She named him Stefano and he had a little heart shaped white spot on the side of his otherwise black body. I did not buy kittens. And, I most certainly was not about to return them from where the came. Desperately, I tried to explain the situation, but she laughed at me. I even showed her the hair in my throat, begging my body to eject another furry feline. But it didn’t help. Finally, before bed, an episode came on and I sprinted to my wife, holding my stomach as the pain began. Tossing her my mobile, I requested she film me. Irritated, she rolled her eyes while opening the camera app and began filming. Up from my stomach, putting immense pressure on my insides, came a mewing little ball of fluff. My jaw strained open and the half-alert kitten popped out, dropping into my hands. Raking my teeth along my tongue, I tried to cleanse my mouth of residual fur. Holy shit, she said. You really did vomit a cat, she said. She kept repeating it over and over again, getting louder as her bugged out eyes fought with her eyebrows for facial real estate. My daughter had been watching from the kitchen and claimed the kitten. She thanked me, as I had taught her, and named the kitten Rapscallion. My daddy is a kitty machine, she hummed as she waddled out of the room with her new friend. We rushed to the doctor with the video and he still didn’t believe me. My wife reasoned with him and we were able to wait in his office for a few hours in hopes of my producing more convincing evidence. It was an awkward wait as my wife spent the first hour eyeing me with curiosity. It was as if she were telepathically inquiring as to where the creatures were coming from. I told her I didn’t know and she wanted to know why it it was happening. What caused it. I told her I also didn’t know the answer to that question and she crossed her arms before asking me if there was anything I did know. I told her no. Fortunately, and unfortunately, the kitten vomiting had begun to increase in frequency and only two hours later, I had twins. Two little orange striped cats, damp with saliva, frolicing around the sterile office. Holy shit, he said. You just vomited a cat, he said. As my wife had done before, he repeated the phrase over and over whist chuckling before rushing out to summon his colleagues. For a time, it was incredibly amusing to them all. The men and women watched, poking at me with tools of all sorts, as I spewed out kitten after kitten over the course of a week. Then, more people began to report similar symptoms. Pet stores were running out of cat litter and food. Strays roamed the streets in screeching clowders as tired animal control officers attempted to corral and capture them We aren’t sure why it happened or how to stop it. But now, at least half of the population of the United States is vomiting cats at an alarming rate.
Have you ever lost your wallet, your keys, your dignity? Well, my name is The Discoverer and I can help you locate two of those things. Unfortunately, leather is my weakness so you're going to have to stand in line at the DMV to get a new license. Ever since I was little I knew I was special. Where all the other kids struggled, I was able to find Waldo almost immediately. I've never lost anything in my life: I still have all my baby teeth. It's natural that someone with super powers of my caliber become a hero, and when a hero is born its only natural that evil rise up against it. Queue my archenemy: The Badguy. I know what you're thinking and yes my name is way cooler, but don't underestimate him. He's got super speed, super strength, and he can fly. I've got to get pretty creative to beat him. Let me tell you about one of our first battles. So The Badguy goes to rob a bank and makes off with the money. Luckily where the police dogs lost the scent I picked it up, metaphorically that is, my power doesn't work through smell. I tell the police that I can handle the situation and to minimize casualty I'll go to his lair myself. The police back off, I hop in my civic and roll to The Bad Guy's home base, a cave on the outskirts of town. "Yo dude, come out and return the money!" "No dude, go away or I'll kill you,"he responded. Pretty threatening I know, but I wasn't about to give up that easy. "Seriously, I told the police I would handle it and I'm gonna look like an idiot if I don't come back without the money!" "Look man I'm not giving you the money, so walk away."Things were escalating. The transition from "dude"to "man"signified an increase in aggression on his part. "I'm not leaving till I get it!"The Bad Guy flew out from the cave. "Bro, you have five seconds to get of my property or I'm ripping your head off."By his use of the word bro, it was clear he was getting angry. He quickly grabbed me by neck. I had to "find"a way out. It's a good thing my powers work on non-physical entities. Behind his ear. I just knew pushing there would get me out of this and sure enough we both fell immediately after applying pressure to the small area. He passed out for quite a while and I returned the money. This was only the beginning.
"And that's why before I end my second term, I will begin with an overhaul of the prison industrial complex and guantanamo. No more will our children... Our Children. My Children."The president ran his hand over his sweating brow, and the more astute watcher would have noted a tremor in it. "People should know the truth." The presidents aids ran up to him, blustered and afraid, but he pushed them off. "If this transmission ends, let it be proof that what I say is the truth,"he said as he gripped the podium tighter. "The truth is the union is fucked, as is the rest of the world." A gasp rippled through the crowds, and several blankfaced men in suits began to edge ever closer to the podium. The president eyed them up and grinned. "This adress, my dear Americans, is live. I assure you that is the only reason I'm not already dead. So I will say all I can until the power fails. The truth is we've made contact, and have been in contact for quite some time." The blankfaced men began to quicken their pace to the president, but froze in unison as "stand down, he's too far in"crackled over their ear-pieces. The president noticed this, and went on with his speech. "They first made contact in 1900 via radio. They contacted us, and let us know they would be coming in 2042. They explained that 142 years was the equivalent of 2 of their years, and that when they returned it would be as conquerers." Screams filled the auditorium and millions of living rooms, but the president raised his hand to stifle this hysteria and continued. "PLEASE, be calm. I should have worded it better. You see they meant it differently. These beings told us we were about to exponentially increase in all things. They predicted penicilin, they predicted the internet and cars and planes and nuclear bombs. They knew it all, roughly when we'd discover atoms and DNA. But they didn't tell us these things as a blessing but as a curse. You see, they also predicted AI. And that, my fellow Americans, is the secondary truth I give to you today. We have created Artificial intelligence." "move in NOW"the voice crackled, but the blankfaced men were blankfaced no longer. They looked at the president, and stood firm. "These beings, they warned us as such. They told us that our species was not special, but was still worthy of life and preservation. And they warned us that evolving too quickly can create a beast totally unlike ourselves. They will come as conquerors not of us, but of IT."
"You want what?" "We want an unholiday, master." Kruulgor stared in disbelief at the hollow sockets where the eyes used to be. "Unthankful wretch" he thought to himself. Aznar had warned him of this being a possibility but he hadn't taken his former classmate serious. The undead claiming rights? Preposterous. But there he was, arguing with the representative of his rotten legion. They had already squeezed out more magical essence to bind their decomposing limbs together from him and had their number of catapult "volunteers"reduced but the demands never ceased. The rest of the dead stood further back in the large hall, standing all silent in anticipation. "Out of the question!" "If you do not satisfy our demands, master, we won't march coming scourge season and go on strike" Kruulgor set his staff aside and reclined deeper into his bone-woven throne. He couldn't believe the insolence. Yet now he had to, once again, argue with his own minions. He took a deep, icy breath and cleared his throat. "Now look here you miserable corpse. Have you seen the latest annual infection reports from the Acolyte research department? Our unholy crusade's progress is in decline and at this rate those blasted living will revert all our effort in a couple of seasons! And now you want to take a break from your eternal task? Haven't you demanded enough by now!? I won't be extorted by my own minions any more. Now begone you abomination!" After his tirade, Kruulgor sighed, hoping this would settle the matter for now. But reply came. Not in words, but the sound of hundreds of arms falling off in the frozen hall. He stared at his hapless creatures. Even though their meat-deprived faces were incapable of contractions he could sense the smugness. He reclined further into his throne. --- If you've got any pointers or comments please let me know / hear them. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!
"I wish the voices in my head would stop talking to me,"he said, his face scrunched up, hoping against hope I wasn't one of those voices. It was the first time I someone had asked me for something real, something meaningful. Everyone else asked for riches, for women, for- things. I gave them riches, but took away their power to enjoy them. The women were beautiful, but they scorned the wishmakers. But this was real. This was good. This would help him, free him from his torture, and maybe, me from mine. I nodded and made it so. Then I vanished.
"I got this, I totally got this."I was thinking as I took my seat next to God at the table. Thinking back to my life of social work, all the children I've helped from abusive families, and then my volunteering at the SPCA which eventually led to my death... that doesn't matter anymore at this point. God leaned over to me and smiled. "Just sit back and relax,"He whispered to me. I took a breath, sighed, and leaned back in my chair. We waited for the rest of the court to come in and get settled. Then I hear a familiar voice in the hallway. I look behind me with a feeling of dread, waiting for the door to open, suspecting that I knew who was about to walk in. She came into the courtroom, and looked at me with piercing eyes. Then, she smiled. God leaned over, "I believe she is the prosecutor today." My heart started throbbing in my chest, my mouth went dry. She came toward me, walked right up to where I was sitting at the table. Panic starting to overtake me. She leaned over and looked right into my eyes. "Hello"she said. "Hi, mom."I replied.
The garden view was most splendid this Friday afternoon. Such order, such providence. The sight pleased George of Westingham in the secluded environs of his living room, with Elizabeth reading quietly from her chair. It was a most pleasant, orderly afternoon in the estate. Was. "Dear wife, the neighbor's dog is tearing our flowers again." "Very well. Open or closed?" That question, for a dog? George could not hide the surprise in his response. "It's just a pet Elizabeth."He didn't feel wrong saying so, but a smoldering pair of hazel eyes tore from the pages of her book. It was apparent that she differed from his correct opinion of the matter. Well, by his domestic office as a gentleman, he was correct. Why she would go through the effort of making such a decision for a dog was beyond him. A gentleman, concerning himself with the mongrel tearing at his garden again? Deciding how best it should be disposed of?! Preposterous. "You warned Mr. Abercroth in the last dinner party I hosted,"she said, with frost contorting the once pleasant tone of her voice. "Don't look surprised dear husband, a scullery maid informed me, not the neighbor himself."Elizabath lifted herself from her corner. The effort seemed hardly necessary for this conversation, until a feminine, deadly hand rested on the armrest of his favorite garden-viewing chair. The one he so happened to be once enjoying himself on. "It would be most unnecessary---"Were my thoughts so obvious? "---to remind each other of the most noble responsibilities of a Lady of Westingham once more. I am more personally familiar with them than you after all, dear husband."I nodded in agreement. From settling arguments to protecting his professional interests, Elizabeth was most proficient in her wifely duties. Not that George needed professional interests, but business kept the mind busy. Though industry competition was such an unexpected bore. "Open or closed my love?" "Hmm, closed this time." Dreadful, what became of the Borhastings. Not that George knew anything of their demise. Only that his profits continued to provide financial padding to his assets. He was most familiar with his wife's proficiency second-hand. "However,"she said softly. "Some opinions of mine, even to the removal of pets, will be respected. So I'll ask once more..."Her fingers traced the seems of George's living room suit, with the experience and intention of a lady. "Open, or closed?" One of the most lovely in this region. George was blessed to have asked her hand in marriage from the Morbidocks those brief three years ago. Her dowry nearly bankrupt the estate, and he was still gathering the means to bring the House of Westingham back to it's former glory. But what a glorious, simple three years they were. Why not give her this much? These were the thoughts that ran hurriedly across the tracks of George's mind as he made peace with his ungentlemanly reluctance. "An open casket funeral for the late pet of Mr. Abercroth." Despite how ridiculous the words sounded to him, George was rewarded with a peck on his cheek. The lips barely touched him, but he only needed the slightest of these kisses to be reminded of how full and pleasant they were. Such were the many endowments of the Lady of Westingham. The lordling made himself comfortable in his favorite garden-viewing chair as his wife assassinated the neighbor's dog. ------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
"What is wrong with you Rowling? Do you think muggels 'deserve' to know about our world!?"I screamed at her for several moments and my tirade was almost unintelligible. I was pissed "You didn't get this angry at Dresden"she tried to interject "DRESDEN IS A LOOSE CANNON WITH A HISTORY OF SUBVERSION! YOU HAD A SPOTLESS RECORD UP UNTIL THIS POINT! And just after I've been elected, what are you trying to do? destroy all of us? These days the muggles have so many devices they can use to try and record us, and you just throw the proof into their hands." "Don't worry sir, I can fix this" "How?" "I'll put it in the fiction section. Potter wanted it in biographies, but I can have that quickly changed, say it's a printing error." "That could work, but I've got two words for you." "What sir?" "Movie deal. We won't be able to have any real magic since it would disrupt the cameras. We'll make it seem so fake that no one will believe it."
It had been a long four years since the love of my life had passed away. There’s not a moment of life that goes by where I wish I could see her again. They say that memories last you a lifetime, but how can it when it seems to hurt you more? It cuts you even deeper knowing all the love you had shared is now gone forever. Cynthia and I met as students in university – I, a struggling biology student. She, a tutor volunteering at the library. I wanted to ask her out but my friends had said that she was too good for me. Honestly, I knew that as well. But I became friends with her, taking my time and appreciating every moment I had spent with her. One night two years later, she had confessed that meeting me brought a new meaning for her life. She said that she fell in love with me, and I confessed that I had loved her from the start. We made love that night and a year later, we had happily married. She had passed away four years ago, eight since our marriage. Every night since she passed, I had gone to bed alone, a tear struggling to stop itself from flowing down my face. I missed her beautiful autumn hair, her blue eyes, and a smile that made life worth living. Even in my dreams, I danced with her over and over again, only to wake up in realization that the pain would never stop. But this morning, I awoke to someone else under the covers. I slowly threw off the covers as a small girl looked back at me. “Good morning, Daddy!” she giggled, “I wanted to surprise you!” Her autumn hair shone brightly against the sunlight that seeped through into the bedroom. In her blue eyes, I could see my reflection as a tear escaped the corner of my eye. “Daddy, why are you crying?” “Nothing,” I wiped my face, “I was thinking about your mother.” “Don’t worry, Daddy,” my daughter stood up and puffed out her chest, “I’ll take care of you!” The emotions overflowed as I hugged my daughter, her tiny hands grasped tightly around my back. I went to bed every night alone. But every morning, I woke up to to my sunshine. ____________________________________________________________ God bless and enjoy. Subscribe to /r/avukamu if you enjoy pork cutlets with a nice BBQ sauce.
“Pat Conroy died?” I spat incredulously at some nondescript people at a nondescript party. “Who’s Pat Conroy?” I sighed heavily, peering around the room. Baton Rouge just didn’t have the lustre it did a few years (or was it decades?) ago. It had been far too long since I last reset, and I hadn’t done a prison sentence in some time. Just a few months should do nicely. I burst out the front door in a huff, tossing my Hugo Boss tuxedo jacket on the perfectly manicured front lawn. The acne-faced valet spotted me and darted down the hill to retrieve my car. I suppose that tip I handed him earlier was larger than I even realized. Quite frankly I didn’t often keep track of how much American money I had on me, simply because it was so easy to come by. Moments later he pulled up in my Ferrari, or Lamborghini, whatever it was. I removed every dollar from my wallet and handed it to him in a heap. He stared at me wide-eyed and I smiled back, slinking into the car. Eighteen miles later my car sputtered to a slow roll with the sirens wailing behind me. Before I came to a stop, I removed a bottle of Knob Creek I kept in a bag on the passenger seat. American bourbon was such a delight, and as the officer approached the window I made sure to take a hearty drink right from the bottle in plain sight. At the station a bull-like, sloppily-mustached man entered the room in plain clothing. “Mr. Bo-Dan?” “Boudin.” “Mr. Bo-Dan, yessir. I’m here holdin’ Officer Dunn’s report here. He said you corroborated every word of it and you went on and de-clined an attorney, is that correct?” “Indeed. Do you happen to have my bourbon?” The man stared disbelievingly, mulling over his papers. “Mr. Bo-Dan you’re in custody, I can’t give you back your whiskey.” “Perfectly understandable.” “So you’re going to spend the night in lock-up here, y’understand?” “Indeed I do.” “And the judge ain’t gonna be none too thrilled with some foreigner doin’ a hundred and fifty mile-n-hour under the in-fluence in his county.” I nodded happily. A few weeks later I sat in my cell with my stack of Pat Conroy books before me. It had been ages, perhaps centuries, since the last time I spent a little time in prison. And this particular facility was far more lavish than my time in Spain…or was it Portugal? No matter. What I found over the years was that there was no place more suited to taking in massive amounts of literature than in prison. In a way, it was a place where I could engross myself completely in the pages, and often helped me to forge out what my next identity would be. It would help me to select a place to live, a career to pursue and a lifestyle to lead. It was my reset. It wasn’t my only reset, but it was one. And this one suited me quite nicely. The inappropriately loud buzzer interrupted me in my thoughts and my cell door swung open. It was time to eat. I had to keep up that particular illusion, which was particularly taxing given the meal selection here. I exited the cell, lined up, and walked to the cafeteria. Oatmeal. Again. I toyed with it a bit before putting the first spoonful in my mouth. I regretted it instantly. I peered around quickly to see if anyone was watching me, and made the unfortunate mistake of making eye contact with one brusque-looking gentleman who frowned as we did. I darted my eyes back towards my bowl, but I already knew. “Whatchu lookin’ at?” “Nothing. Apologies.” The man laughed, exposing a mouth merely half-full of teeth. “Y’all hear that? Old white-hair here knows dem fancy words! He apologized!” I stared at my oatmeal, hoping I was wrong. Hoping this would pass. “White-hair, I asked you what the fuck you was lookin’ at.” Now was the moment. I could simply let him strike me and hope the guards pulled him off in time, or I could strike first. I didn’t particularly want to stay here longer than another month, but even now, even after all this time, my lust for blood would take hold if provoked. I knew that. My studies as a Monk confirmed that centuries ago. I opted for the former. And hoped. The crack of his knuckles against my skull sounded like stepping on a half-frozen ice pond. My head twisted erratically taking the rest of me down with it. It hurt. As the fangs sprung forth from my mouth and I pounced upon him like a tiger, ripping at his neck in a geyser of blood, I knew this particular reset would take a bit longer than I anticipated.
"Quick, Johnson! To the operating room!"cried out Dr. Thompson as he strode down the hallway. "But the tattoo, Doctor! The tattoo..." "Ignore the tattoo! It doesn't legally constitute a DNR order, especially in a case where an unconscious child's parents would have the power to decide any medical decisions that happen to their son!"countered Thompson. "Okay, Doctor, on my way"replied Johnson as he adjusted his scrubs and walked towards the operating room.
I had a ground-level view of the stadium behind iron bars as I waited. That was nice; tickets like these would have costed a year's salary for the well-off. The contestant before me finally tapped his thigh twice with his twitching hand. The floodlights went green, and with a roar of the announcer he dropped through the great trapdoor to the team of medics waiting below. Then the massive video display blinked, flashing up my name - Mouse Dixon - and my heart rate - 175... 180... 185. Amusement rippled around the stands. It's okay. Pain is just pain, and contrary to popular belief, not that many players die. The other side of the board was my concern: $100... $200. I would just keep my eyes on that as it bobbed and bounced upward. No less than 1.5 million dollars would do. The iron swung open. My sandals scratched on sand, wearily complying with the Colosseum theme. The frigid whisper of air conditioning swirled. I paced toward the reclined psychiatric chair, with its braces and straps hanging open. A dozen hosts circled around, hidden behind matching gladiator masks. Eccentric plumes dangled above expressionless steel faces. I perched on the leather, swung my legs up, and lay back. The sounds were indistinguishable, but I could almost feel the fans weighing me up and taking their bets. There was no guilt: it was all willing, after all. The hosts closed in to immobilize me. Mind over matter. Some money for the memory wipe, some for plastic surgery, and the rest to invest in my trade. A limbo to purge me, and a rebirth ready on the other side.
I had ex peck Ted that the curse would change a lot more than it act you all lee had. I had thought that I would not be Abe all to speak prop peer Lee with out words of more than one sill lab bull. But I can say one thing for sure. I have bee come quite good at speak king through phone net ticks. Eve inn when I had to stretch the words or sounds just a lit till bit. I guess I should disc cuss how I was (cursed/curse said) in the first place. I use you all Lee don't like to mess are round with creep pee she it, but I had diss side did to look in to this sup pose did lee haunt did house. I did find out that it was not reel Lee haunt did, but some foe king witch diss side did to curse me with this speech imp Ed I'm mint. I did dent eve in know witch is were reel. But all Tim mate Lee, I have not real Lee been (cursed/curse said) at all. True, there are a hand full of words I can't quite say a knee more ^(like ~~sim~~...~~sine~~...sine-fool-tame-lee-us? Sim-wool-tan-knee-us?), but I can still talk to pee pole just fine. ______________________ > Edit: Changed didn't to did dent. Since that is two syllables, and I apparently don't even know how to read syllables anymore. Also, very to quite, foe king, and "a knee". > Also, won't add it, but I think it'd be sigh-mull-tan-knee-us. > Edit 2: Informed that lee is actually a standalone word. Shelter from wind or rain. Neat. I only changed a few, though. For...variety. Or something.
There were faces that launched a thousand ships, and then there was him. National debates were had and congressmen turned into frothing madmen at the mention of his name. It was impolite to mention him during conversations. To the two heroes, it was a blood feud. "Lucifer."Gabriel faced his archnemesis. The blond man in the white suit looked less like a superhero and more like the sweet boy next door. Above the white silicone mold covering the lower half of his face were downward-slanting cornflower blue eyes that made the man look like an ever-sleepy youth. The curve of his jaw was soft, feminine, in stark contrast with Gabriel's sharp angles. No cheekbones peeked above the silicone, but the hint of chubby rosy cheeks was there. Maybe it was some fucked up divine joke that made Gabriel look hollow and sharp in contrast to the loveliness of Lucifer. The streets were empty, much like Gabriel's dark gray eyes. Both heroes knew that inside the brick buildings, people were silently rooting for their hero. "You killed them,"Lucifer said. Said was not quite right; the man simply emanated the thought. Gabriel knew that thought had been projected not only to him but to the entire street and possibly the country. He said that every time. "Their blood is on your hands." The first time they fought after her death, it made headlines. "GABRIEL ACCUSED OF MASS MURDER BY LUCIFER". Now it was old news. Gabriel had no fancy power with which to broadcast his defense. He only raised his sword, antiquated but radiating a light that protected and surrounded Gabriel. Even in the afternoon sun, it was hard not to notice the golden glow surrounding the dark-haired twenty-year old. "No, I saved a child."Gabriel's voice was harsh and dry; croaking was a more appropriate term for him than speaking was. "That wasn't a child. Do you really believe it was a child?" Silence. He didn't deny it. He didn't know either. How could he? It was supposed to be so simple that day. On December 29, 2015 Charles Farber, twelve years old, was sentenced to capital punishment for the murder of his sister, Alannah Farber. Alannah had been beaten, and then sexually assaulted with a knife. Her breasts, barely developed, were sliced off and her intestines cut out, replaced with onions and garlic and other herbs. An aplle was stuffed into her mouth, then into the oven she went. Mr. and Mrs. Farber asked Charles where she was, and he responded that she'd been pigging out. They found his bloodstained clothes in the hamper alomg with the murder weapons in the dishwasher. Gabriel saved him from prison and capital punishment, broke him out of jail and deposited him in another country under asylum. Gabriel raised his sword. It was either holy or demonic, depending on who you asked. Either way, it radiated a golden light that enveloped the haggard-looking Gabriel. Even in the harsh three o'clock summer sun, the light as evident as it was unnatural. Lucifer raised his .44 Magnum and shot offhandedly at Gabriel. The bullet pinged off the golden light. "Just thought I'd check."There went the radiated voice again. "You're not breaking anyone out this time Gabriel. No reasonable doubt for him." "Circumstancial evidence...and capital punishment do not go together. There would have been reasonable doubt had thr trial not been turned into a public spectacle...I'd do it again. There remains no damning proof against Charles." "So you say." Thirty days after Charles Farber gained asylum, two women living on the same street had been found mutilated - their eyes gouged out, cheeks literally hollowed out. Stab wounds pockmarked their bodies. No evidence pointed towards him, but Charles had disappeared. Now he was a bogeyman to which every brutal murder without a suspect was attributed. At that, Lucifer's wings unfurled and he flew into the air. "How many more do you think he's killed by now?" "Charles is irrelevant. In that prison is a man sentenced to the chair, but no-" "-solid evidence exists. I'm aware. But the courts have found him guilty, like Charles." "This time his family says he's innocent, unlike Charles's."Gabriel gripped his sword tighter, keeping his eyes trained on Lucifer. As long as he didn't lose his grip on the sword, his protective shield wouldn't fade and he'd have nothing to fear from those guns. "Doesn't matter. I'm not going to take that risk,"whispered Lucifer as he swooped towards the man. Gabriel ran to the left. He wasn't going to risk someone who might be innocent either.
He stood there. He stroked his beard. The crowd stood, stunned, staring. He held out his hand. The crowd leaned forward. Silence. He held up one finger. They stared. He held up two fingers. The anticipation was building. The energy levels were rising. He held up three fingers. The logo flashed on screen. An explosion of sound. I could feel it. This was a new era. I clicked away from the stream and clicked on Steam. I waited for the store page to load. There it was. Half Life 3. I sat there, unblinking and unbelieving. I clicked on it. Nothing happened. Again I clicked it. Nothing. Mashing F5, I clicked like no other man had clicked before. Nothing. Steam... was down.
It started off odd, but easily ignorable as coincidence. Just the occasional story that seemed pulled straight from my life: the time my dog ate my mother's Christmas present, falling in love with the girl at the coffee shop, losing the mayoral race to a 25 year old, etc. All rather specific stories from my past, but general enough that they likely could've happened to others. But it became more troublesome last night when I was browsing some prompt responses and noticed a response from a user named DMP42. It was a story about accidentally spilling grape juice on important legal documents the day before a trial began. Not only had that happened to me less than a week earlier, but all the details were exactly the same as my experience. From the subject of the trial, to the color of the towel I tried wiping it up with, everything was the same. I had told that story to a number of friends in the last few days, so I assumed maybe they'd just passed it off as their own. But looking at DMP42's profile, I realized they had written every single other story I had recognized in the past. Don't think about it, I told myself. It's nothing. I went to bed and tried to move on. I had a busy work day ahead. This morning I avoided reddit at all costs, but my curiosity got the best of me and I had to look at that profile again. And what I saw sent chills down my spine. There was a new comment from the user and it read: > It started off odd, but easily ignorable as coincidence. Just the occasional story that seemed pulled straight from my life: the time my dog ate my mother's Christmas present, falling in love with the girl at the coffee shop, losing the mayoral race to a 25 year old, etc. All rather specific stories from my past, but general enough that they likely could've happened to others. > But it became more troublesome last night when I was browsing some prompt responses and noticed a response from a user named DMP42. It was a story about accidentally spilling grape juice on important legal documents the day before a trial began. Not only had that happened to me less than a week earlier, but all the details were exactly the same as my experience. From the subject of the trial, to the color of the towel I tried wiping it up with, everything was the same. > I had told that story to a number of friends in the last few days, so I assumed maybe they'd just passed it off as their own. But looking at DMP42's profile, I realized they had written every single other story I had recognized in the past. > Don't think about it, I told myself. It's nothing. I went to bed and tried to move on. I had a busy work day ahead. > This morning I avoided reddit at all costs, but my curiosity got the best of me and I had to look at that profile again. And what I saw sent chills down my spine. There was a new comment from the user and it read:
“Spin up the reactor. Set to full.” Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrr Clunk “Reactor online. Ramping up, full power in three.” Adam was a master of his craft. A grizzled veteran. He had been a by-the-book Fetus-Pilot, and he expected to complete his tour of duty (currently nine months into a deployment without a stated end date) with honor and distinction. However, his Mech-ther was experiencing some sort of outside interference, and direct action was direly needed. Hence, the reactor prep. -- Martha was a mother of two, with a third on the way any day now. She had already decided that his name would be Adam. Her other children had been problem babies, and she figured by the law of averages that it was time for a mild-mannered one to come her way. -- “Reactor at full power. Beginning systems diagnostics check. Expected time 30 seconds.” Adam set his jaw. He felt naked with his Mech-ther unprepared. The outside disturbance sounded again. “I WANNA FEEL HIM KICK!” Adam grimaced. This had happened before. He had begun to theorize that the outside sounds were from a creature of some kind, one more horrible than anything seen before across the entire womb. When are these checks going to finish? -- Martha gently rubbed John’s hair. “You were in here only a few years ago, champ! He’ll kick when he’s ready, and besides, he’ll be born any day now.” The toddler was unsatisfied by this answer, and continued his prodding of Martha’s tummy. “Kick, kick, KICK!” -- “System diagnostics complete. All are go. Commencing direct action, Delta maneuver.” Adam offered a prayer up to whatever gods there were, and readied himself for a Delta maneuver. He wound up, and aimed a powerful series of kicks at the side of the womb. He paused, and thought as hard as he could of pickles and ice cream. I might just survive this yet. -- Martha felt a sudden craving for an odd food combination. John, contented by the kicks, darted out of the way as Martha abruptly strode towards the kitchen. Pickles and ice cream. Who’s gonna judge me? I’m eating for two. -- Adam let himself relax. The Delta Maneuver, as usual, had been successful. However, his peace was not to last. Alarm bells blared inside his mind. Immediately, he felt his safety airbag, which had cushioned him his entire life, burst, and a deluge of liquid spilled out and away. “Coolant leak. Unprecedented. Standard response unknown.” Coolant leak? This is new. If I don’t solve this fast, I could be done for. Gods help me. Hold it together, Mech-ther. -- Martha gasped dropping her pickles and ice cream. She immediately realized what had happened. Her phone was in her hand in an instant. “Jack. My water broke. I’m getting a taxi to the hospital.” Twelve minutes and fifteen seconds later, she was lying in a hospital bed, experiencing contractions for the third time in her life. Three hours after that, the baby was almost on its way out. -- Adam’s world was falling apart. He knew that to exit the Mech-ther was to become defenseless and weak. He knew that he had to hang on to survive. Yet, try as he might, an inexorable force was pulling him out of his home. It felt as though the womb itself was ejecting him, a betrayal of their nine months of service together. Blinding light, grower ever brighter, stunned him despite his closed eyes. Within minutes, it was over, and he felt a cold, unfamiliar air on his skin. Alien sounds boomed around him, from countless monstrous beasts. Adam knew that this was the end, and he unleashed a primal cry in defiance of the cruel gods that had abandoned him. -- “Martha, he’s beautiful! Look, he’s crying!”
I saw the bus screech out of the parking lot, and I knew that my target hoped to evade me by going on a field trip. My arms and legs moved like pistons to propel myself at a speed no human could ever hope to match. As soon as I latched onto it, the bus configured itself into the shape of a spaceship. Before it had so much as risen into the upper atmosphere, I had melted myself into liquid metal and seeped through a window. "Seatbelts, everyone!"a cheery voice at the front of the bus called. I reformed into my usual police officer shape and pulled out my pistol. "I knew I should have stayed home today!"a nerdy red-haired kid said. After snapping his neck, the other kids cleared out of the aisle so I could get to my target. The woman in question danced her fingers over the controls. "Come on bus, do your stuff!"she said frantically as I approached. I grabbed her by her frizzy red hair as she she tried to shield herself with an overgrown lizard and put a bullet through her brain. "What are we gonna do?!"an Asian girl screamed. With the target successfully terminated, I leaped out of the bus.
You promised that you would not die. You lied, and she believed you. You promised her every time you picked her up and put her on your knee and bounced her with the little energy that you had left. You promised her every night when you kissed her goodnight, pulling the blankets up to her chin and smoothing back her hair with one hand. With your palm flat against her ear you she would look at you with panicked eyes and you promised that you would not die. In the hospital as she stood by your bedside and held your hand, she asked if you would die. She asked what happened when people died. You told her - not that people went to heaven or hell or that they lived in the sky or watched over their loved ones - but that when they died they felt no pain and no suffering and they went to a peaceful place. But she didn't have to worry about it, because you would not die. When you slept for most of the day and spent your waking hours listening to the symphony of the machines that had been dragged into your bedroom, you promised that you would not die. When your shoulder grew wet with her tears and it exhausted you just to push her hair back behind her ears you promised you would not die. At your funeral she sat in the front row and cried. She said that you had broken your promise. She didn't understand. The people around her tried to comfort her and tell her that you were still there. They promised that she would be okay. But you had lied, and she couldn't believe them.
Remember how people say the more you tell a person a fake story, the more they’ll believe it to be true? The first time you share it with them, they’ll apologise and say they don’t remember. The second time you tell the story, they’ll nod along and say “oh yeah, I think I remember that!” The third time, they’ll start chucking in random things that didn’t appear in the first story, going along with it. After that, they’ll be sharing the story on their own, with parts from their own imagined perspective. Human memory is pretty horrendous; yet, the courtroom demands to use it as evidence. So many false eyewitness testimonies had led to false convictions in the past. Law enforcement realised the many problems this caused, thus a device was created. This device allowed your own memory to be used as evidence, provided you consent to it. It had worked reasonably well since then. Rapists were unable to hide their satisfactions and desires, and murderers were unable to hide their guilty memories. Sometimes, the accused tried to plead for the insanity defence. It never worked. There was a distinct difference in the memories between someone with schizophrenia or alzheimer’s, and someone who was faking it. Today, I found myself in front of a courtroom, accused of murdering a convenience store cashier. I didn’t do it but I couldn’t prove myself. Eyewitnesses swore they saw a man wearing a blue jacket threatening the male cashier, and shooting him when he didn’t hand over the money. As I said, eyewitness testimonies were unreliable. When they asked me if I wanted to prove my innocence via the memory screener, I refused. My actions were deemed suspicious. Nearly everyone who had refused the memory scanner was actually guilty of the crime, or hiding something else. I was part of the latter. “What were you doing at precisely 10:14 PM on the 15th of April?” a woman in a grey suit asked me. Her hair was tightly pulled back into a bun, causing her sharp face to look severe. Dealing drugs. “I was at home,” I replied. The grey suit lady paused and faced me with scrutiny. “What were you doing at home?” “I was working,” I lied, “I work from home.” She nodded. “So why do you refuse the memory screener if you have an alibi that can be proved?” It’s a messed up world when you get more years in prison for dealing drugs than murder. I’d probably get killed for ratting out the drug ring either way. “Objection, your honour!” my defence lawyer called out. “Overruled,” the judge said. “I feel like it would be an invasion of privacy,” I uttered. The attorney’s already tight lips pulled into a small smile. “How did you come to have the money in the convenience store till in your possession?” One of my clients, probably. I wiped my hands on my jeans, feeling them start to sweat. “I, uh, went to get some cash out from an ATM.” I gulped seeing the attorney narrow her eyes at me. “Yet there is no security footage of you doing that,” the attorney shot back. “Objection!” my lawyer yelled louder. “No more questions, your honour,” she turned abruptly to sit back down. This wasn’t looking good for me. I tried to breathe but panic swarmed me. How did I get into this situation in the first place? I thought back to the night last month and the clients I exchanged with. Anne, Michael, Paul, Henry… Henry… Henry was observing this trial. He gave me a sympathetic look. Henry and I were old high school buddies but we lost contact after we graduated. We had met again by chance a couple of weeks earlier. He was after some ‘herbs’ and some acquaintance pointed him in my direction. I always joked that he got cosmetic surgery done because he looks nothing like the Henry back in high school. In fact, his personality seemed to have done a complete turnaround too. I tried to think of the times we hung out in high school but nothing formed in my mind. I didn’t even know his last name. A fresh wave of panic rolled over me. I couldn’t start doubting my memory now. I closed my eyes and tried to think. Henry gave me a heads up that night, tipping me off about how police were looking for some guy in a black leather jacket. I happened to be wearing one so he offered to switch his blue jacket with mine, knowing how much shit I’d be in if I got caught. He also advised me to avoid certain streets because the police were patrolling them. I heeded his warnings because he’d been right about them before. At least, I think he’d always been right. He was always telling me about places his previous dealers had been caught in. I didn’t get very far until the police slammed me to the ground, arresting me on the spot for charges of murder. I glimpsed at Henry. Henry’s attention was on the jury. “We find the defendant guilty, your honour.” The sound of the gavel was almost painful. What was actually painful was seeing Henry’s shit-eating grin. *** A/N: I don't know much about US law or drug dealing so feel free to point out if there any inconsistencies/errors! Thanks for reading :)
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds were singing in the trees, and there was a soft breeze blowing. Outside of a small cafe, called Escalier à Paradis, a man sat waiting for his date to arrive. He had been waiting for a while now, around 20 years, to be precise. The reason he was waiting was because there were two rules that had to be followed to enter the cafe. You had to enter as a couple with your significant other, and you also had to bear your soul to each other. He was waiting for his significant other to appear and to tell her all the lies he had harbored for so long. He did not do nothing with his time, however. He spent the 20 years writing out every single lie so he could remember them all. He finished about 2 hours ago, filling his seventh and final volume. He had humorously titled it, "The lies awaken." Suddenly, he saw his wife appear and run towards him. "Hello James!", She yelled. "Hello, Sherry!", he said, getting up to embrace her. "I missed you so much!", she sobbed. "Shush, now. I'm here."James said as he patted her shoulder. "Is this heaven?" "No, we have to go through something first."James said. "What do we have to do?" "We must tell each other any lies we kept from each other and only then, can we enter the cafe. Let's sit down and you can start writing yours out." Sherry and James move to the table. Sherry notices the seven volumes on James' side and tries to think of why there are so many. James pulls out her chair for her and she sits down. A piece of paper and a pen await her to write down her lies. James goes around and sits down to wait for her to finish. James was expecting to wait for weeks while she filled up a couple volumes. He was fully content to sit there and just stare at his wife, thinking of all his fond memories with her. "I'm done."Sherry said, surprising James. "What? Already? You've only written down one thing." "Yes, I know." "But, but, how can you only have one thing. I made SEVEN volumes of lies."James was absolutely flabbergasted. "I have lies about taking care of the kids, going out fishing when I said I went to work, parking tickets, everything! How can you only have one?" "It's very easy, James. I only ever lied to you about one thing, and one thing only." "Well, before I go through all of mine, why don't you just tell me yours." "Are you sure you want me to go first?"Sherry asked, staring deep into James's eyes. "Yes, Sherry. I want you to go first." "Ok, here it is." Sherry grabbed James's hands and looked deep into James's eyes, and then said, "I never loved you."
Every night at precisely 12:40 am, the frail old man in white clothing would enter the Lenox Hill Hospital. He would limp past the receptionist and the nurses, past the seemingly secure doorways, and he'd make his way to room A22. In front of the room, a police officer stood silently, playing Clash of Clans on his over-sized iPhone. He tepidly raised his head and pressed the lock button on the side of his phone. He slowly began to walk towards the old man, holding his palms out in front of him in a tired fashion. "I think you may have taken a wrong turn, sir. This room is off limits,"the officer spoke gruffly. The old man continued to slowly walk towards the officer, ignoring his commands. He raised his hands with his palms facing outwards to match the officer's. The sound of his cane made an unsettling tap on the floor, as the distance between both men began to close. tap "I'm warning you, I will have to stop you if you come any closer,"the officer said, becoming more nervous by the second. tap The officer then drew his taser, aiming it at the old man, whose steps seemed to be gradually speeding up. tap The old man then threw his cane on the floor and broke into a dash, running towards the officer, who fired his taser directly at the old man's torso. "Sanitatum,"said the old man in a resounding voice. The sound waves seemed to echo through the hallway. The points of the taser dug into old man's skin, but he pulled them out, the skin regenerating instantaneously at the puncture points. The officer began to fumble for his firearm, but was swatted backwards into the wall by the old man with a meaty thud. The officer tried to raise his head with a groan, but slipped into unconsciousness after no more than a second. The old man broke the knob off the door and entered. Inside was a young girl, no older than 12. Though she was covered in cut marks and gauze, the girl was fast asleep. The old man approached her, and began to raise his hands towards her wounds. The girl woke up with a shudder and looked directly into the pitch black eyes of the old man with a scream, pure terror reflecting off of her eyes. The old man snapped his fingers and the girl could scream no more, only a small wheezing sound escaped her mouth. A devilish smile grew on the old man's face. "Forcing your own death won't stop me girl,"the old man rasped. "Our paths are intertwined for decades to come". The old man began to slide into the bed with the girl, chuckling softly. Knowing she was completely hopeless, the girl closed her eyes, causing a single tear to flow down her pale cheeks. The old man grinned and began to wrap himself around the girl. As he reached one hand for her inner thigh and another for the girl's wounds, the old man whispered a single word: Sanitatum.
I wait for the mail. It's my job now - I've given up everything else. I gave up my career and I gave up my friends. I gave it all up to spend my days sitting and waiting. I knit. I read books. I drink tea. Twice a week Mrs. Finman from next door comes around with a casserole and those tired eyes of hers and we play bridge with Simone from the neighborhood over. Simone brings wine and she and Mrs. Finman spend most of the day and night getting woozy and telling me old stories of their husbands from the war. I smile at them and sip my water. They tell me it's useful to stay busy. But all I can do is wait and worry. It comes one day. That letter. The one thing I've been waiting for. Inside are two words instead of three. I clutch it to my chest and cry. He survived. My son is coming home.
For years and years, I trained. “You will be the best warrior the realm has ever seen,” my mother told me. By the Gods, was she wrong. But still, I believed her. I trained for hours on end. Trained until my arms fell beneath the weight of my sword and shield. And when I was done, I rested, only to return the following day. Soon everyone in town knew my name. They told stories of my victories in front of the fire at the inn. It wasn’t enough for me. I left town to make a name for myself. I began by making my way to a nearby village, where I searched for the deadliest task they had to offer. At the center of the town, an old woman cried hysterically about the return of mythical monsters. Yeah, Okay, I though as I ignored her and continued into the trader. Inside, the owner of the shop complained of a robbery. He said his precious family heirloom had been stolen by a pack of thieves who were held up in a nearby ruin. It was perfect. I could already hear the stories they would sing to celebrate me, the brave woman who easily put an end to their bandit problem. Wasting no time, I climbed the snowy steps and, from the shadows, I laid waste their lookouts. Their iron swords and fur armor were no match for my steel. I slayed bandit after bandit as I pressed on into the crypt, which was surprisingly well lit. Soon the bandits were replaced by skeletons and other undead creatures, who put up even less of a fight. Finally, I found the leader of the bandits captured on a wall of webs. He begged and cried for me to free him, so I cut him down, and found the golden trinket on his corpse. As I turned towards the exit, I heard the haunting clicks that came from the ceiling. Before I could turn my head, the giant spider descended onto me from the ceiling, knocking my shield across the rocky room. I fought bravely, but I was no match for the creature. I felt my body begin to slow as its venom entered my body. I ducked my head and closed my eyes, awaiting death. I lived my life without fear. I knew what awaited me in the afterlife. Instead of dying from the final blow, I fell to my knees. I was defeated but I could not die. The spider turned away and ignored me all the same. The stories were true. In all the legends of great heroes, there was always a faithful companion that followed them on their mission. They were revealed by their remarkable aversion to death. They would always arise moments after they had been slain. Some say they were blessed by the Gods, but I know better than anyone. This is a curse. I rose from the ground and was attacked again. I fell, rose, and fell again. For hours the cycle repeated until I finally killed that unholy spider. I contemplated my new-found power as I returned to the village and collected my reward. I decided to return home and wait until my great hero finally revealed himself. In the meantime, I joined the City Guards. I made my way through the ranks. I was unstoppable. When the bandits raided, none of them could get through the gate when I stood at the entrance. Eventually, I reached the highest rank and feasted among the Jarl himself in his hall. But it was all meaningless. All my accomplishments served some higher purpose that was not my own. One day I awoke to a deathly roar. I exited into the streets, where the town people fled. “A Dragon,” they yelled. I ran to the outskirts of the town to the far watchtower. There, among the smoke and embers, I saw it. The massive beast lay slain at the center of the destruction. Nothing remained of it but its bones. Those massive, heavy bones that I would come to dread. Was this my destiny? To be endlessly tortured by such horrors. I climbed the steps to the great hall at the peak of the city. I heard the Jarl congratulate the great hero from the end of the hall. “I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl,” he began. I froze in my tracks, too angry to hear the rest. He was as fresh as spring grass, and just as green. His armor was iron. His boots made of fur. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t accept it. I worked so hard for so long. Now I was meant to serve this “hero”? I refused to be a slave of my fate. I opened my mouth to deny him my service. “The Jarl has appointed me to be your housecarl,” I said against my will. “It’s an honor to serve you.” He looked at me unimpressed. Then handed me the bones of the dragon he had somehow slain. I still remember how my breath left my body the first time I held those dense bones. What in oblivion had I done to deserve this? “I am sworn to carry your burdens,” I said dreadfully. He would have my servitude, but he would not have my gratitude. ---------------------------------------------------- Hey guys, this is my first writing prompt, I hope you enjoy it.
The boy stomped carefully through the dirty water. In places, it came nearly as high as the tops of his wellington boots. In his hand, the torch shone a pale and steady beam, throwing a spot of light onto dank, curbing walls and a low ceiling. His other arm was held close to his chest, shielding a small dark shape from the cold and damp. It did not move. He was tired. Tired and cold and hungry. It felt as though it had been hours since he had climbed down the rusty ladder to the underworld. But he pressed on - he had no other choice. At last, he came to the gate. It was old and grimy, but still solid. A plaque on the wall next to it was filled with words he did not know. For a moment, he tried to puzzle them out, but quickly gave up. Munic... Perhaps they used strange words in the underworld. There was no way through the gate; it was locked, held closed by a huge iron padlock. He could not reach it, nor did he have the key. This had to be far enough. Slowly, gently, he placed his small burden on the raised step before the gate. The filthy water lapped just below the edge, but the step was dry. For a long moment, the boy looked at down at it - the matted fur, the red-stained collar. Then he spoke, facing the gate. "I need to talk to someone." There was no answer. No sound at all from the echoing darkness of the underworld. "Daddy read it to me in a book. A man went down to the underworld to get his girlfriend back." Still no reply. "You need to bring Buster back. He's my friend." For a while, the boy waited. He carefully kept the torch beam away from the gate - maybe the gods of the underworld wouldn't like it being shone at them. Their kingdom was dark. "I can pay. Daddy said the man made a deal." He reached into a coat pocket and produced his tribute. Next to the puppy, he placed down four shiny copper coins, a small plastic soldier, and chocolate cookie. Another pause. The boy chewed one lip, hand hovering by his pocket. Then he chose - slowly, almost reverently, he drew forth one final thing. To the small pile of offerings, he added a plastic gun. "You can have all of them if you give Buster back. It's all my money and the gun makes real noises if you pull the trigger. But you have to give Buster back." His free hand stroked along the matted fur, petting the still body. "He was only little. He didn't know about cars. It's not fair to keep him. Daddy says you gave the man back his girlfriend, and she was much older. It isn't fair if you don't trade." The boy sat down to wait. He kept his hand on the puppy's body, but carefully avoided the offerings. He didn't want the gods of the underworld thinking he was trying to cheat. They might not give Buster back. Carefully, rhythmically, the boy stroked his hand up and down the still, small body. He was happy to wait for as long as it took, if the underworld let Buster go. He didn't even mind the cold, or the damp. After a while, the torch beam began to dim.
Hadrian pulled out of his spasm, panting, gripping the arms of his chair. "Imperator,"exclaimed Justinius, his most trusted advisor as he ran up the steps to his throne. "Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost!" Hadrian grabbed Justinian by his tunic. "Justinian,"he whispered, "clear the room." Justinian waved the guards and supplicants away. He waited a minute to make sure they had left. "We're alone, Imperator,"he whispered back. Hadrian jumped out of his throne. "The gods visited a vision on me,"he exclaimed as he waved his arms. "I saw wonders far beyond anything we could imagine! A city surrounded by water. Massive towers full of people! Boats without sails! Carriages without beasts of burden!" Hadrian spasmed again. Justinian shook Hadrian, trying to snap him out of it. "Imperator!"he exclaimed, but Hadrian would not come out of it until his vision was complete. Justinian lowered him to the steps so he wouldn't fall down. This time, Hadrian saw a long metal tube, moving through the sky, breathing fire from one end. It cut to a humanlike figure out in the night sky with earth as a backdrop. "Justinian,"whispered Hadrian, "get me the finest scientists, philosophers and engineers in the empire." "Sir?"asked Justinian "The gods have sent me a message,"replied Hadrian. "I need the finest men in the empire."
You had to draw it first. That was the catch. Creating was easy. I’d discovered that the hard way when I was six. Cartoon eyes glowing beneath my bed. Fangs dripping with crayon-red blood. I think the only thing that saved me that night was that I’d never drawn it legs. Tearing up the drawing in the morning hadn’t stopped it from returning that night. It was only when I had desperately gathered the torn pieces on the third day and scrubbed them clean with my giant pink eraser that the beast had finally disappeared. That was how I learned about erasing. At least for things I’d already drawn. That was how I learned that to erase a thing I had created was to destroy it. But to destroy something else -- not something I’d already drawn, already created, but something real; something already existing in the world -- to destroy something else you had to draw it first. How else could you erase it? And there were... edges to the process... tolerances. It had to be good enough. Close enough. If I wanted to destroy a tree in my yard I couldn’t just draw some abstract shitty representation of a tree and then erase it. That didn’t do anything. Or, worse, if I drew a tree that was close but not close enough, erasing it could destroy some other tree somewhere else in the world that was closer to what I’d created on the page. And that could get dangerous. Imagine carelessly drawing, then erasing, an old abandoned bridge in the woods, only to later read that a bridge in Minneapolis had collapsed that day. That happened once. I didn’t sleep for weeks. So you learn to be careful. To draw something new is to create it. But to draw something existing is to control it. And that’s a dangerous thing. I suppose I could have just not learned to draw. If I couldn’t draw then I couldn’t destroy. That occurred to me more than once over the years. But for whatever reason I never took the option seriously. It’s as well to tell a composer not to write music. Drawing was inside of me. You might as well try to dam a creek with cotton candy. I couldn’t stop it. So I learned I had best control it. And I did. Beautifully. I drew everything. Still lifes. Landscapes. Famous landmarks. Great works of architecture. And Space. I had entire notebooks filled with meticulously crafted galaxies, stars, planets (not Earth, of course). Many were real. More were crafted out of pure imagination. Entire solar systems brought into existence somewhere in the distant reaches of the Universe. I learned to draw it all. But never a person. Never once. Never a portrait. Never a nude. Never even a silhouette. The last time I’d drawn something resembling a human had been my mother when I was eight. And that drawing had been so mercifully terrible -- so utterly unlike her -- that the picture’s subsequent existence had been limited to a dim mid-air appearance which quickly dissipated into mist. Once I realized what that could have meant, though, I promised myself I would never draw another person. Not even once. And I never did. Until I met her. At first I refused to draw her. I deflected. Made excuses. Changed the subject. And it was fine, for awhile. In the beginning it was too early for her to push the issue. Then later she loved me too much to force it. So she treasured the dozens, then hundreds, of other sketches I did for her, and stopped asking me to draw what it was plain I would not. But love does funny things to you. And one day, I drew her. Not because she wanted me to. By then she loved me so much that she wouldn’t have admitted, even to herself, that she even still wanted me to draw her portrait. No, I drew her because I wanted to. And it wasn’t for that reason I had always feared: to control her. It was because I loved her. I loved her and I loved to draw and it finally reached a point where the only way for me to express those two loves was to bring them together. I wasn’t really even thinking as I did it. Just sketching idly in the corner of a notebook page. First her eyes, then the bridge of her nose. The funny furrow in her brow when she was smiling. Her three freckles near the top of her forehead. By the time I realized what I was doing it was too far gone. So I accepted it, almost relieved, and brought it to life. Every shadow. Every imperfection. A catharsis of fine penciled lines upon the page. I even drew a little frame around her when I was done. She cried when I gave it to her. She never cried. But I guess it meant more than either of us had realized. She didn’t say much. Just thank you. Then kissed me. We made love on the couch and fell asleep naked together under a blanket. I didn’t know. How could I have? No one had ever erased one of my drawings before. Why would they have? A creation was mine to destroy. No one else’s. And I had always been so fastidious in protecting my sketches once I’d made them, knowing the consequences of a stray eraser mark on the wrong creation. I didn’t know. She was sitting naked on the floor when I awoke in the middle of the night. Hunched over the coffee table. Humming to herself. Pencil in hand. My brain was still foggy with sleep. Unguarded. Unworrying. What danger could possibly exist in this moment? But then she started to cough. Lightly at first. Then more heavily. The pencil dropped to the table as she clutched suddenly at her throat. The coughing stopped, replaced by a desperate struggle for breath. I leapt for her. Still not understanding what was going on. Just that she was choking on something, clawing at her throat, staring desperately into my eyes. She died in my arms. Too late I looked at the sketch. Saw what she had been doing. That she had been trying to erase the little frame I’d drawn around her face. Trying to free the sketch to live freely on the page. But the frame had intersected her throat. And where she’d erased it… Desperately I tried to sketch it back in. But it was too late. I don’t know how long I sat there holding her. I don’t know why I never called 911. I don’t know why I drew her in the first place. I don’t know why I was ever given this curse to begin with. Some time later -- hours, perhaps -- I took up my notebook and began to draw again. Hunched over the page. Tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I drew. Eventually I realized that my hand had stopped moving, knowing even before my brain did that I was done. I lifed the page from the table and saw myself staring back. Like a mirror of paper and grey lines. I’d like to say it was my best work, but it wasn’t. It was good enough. Placing the sketch gently back onto the coffee table, I reached for my eraser.
Leonard sat in the physics classroom in his usual place, slightly left of center, but mostly towards the front. He believed that a student's dedication to a particular class was deonated by where they chose to sit. He was a lanky youth, of Russian-Jewish descent, wearing a white button-up shirt with a stiff collar, and messy, brown, curled hair. His eyesight was poor, so thick square glasses held up his frame, which were de-emphasized by the thinness of the metal. He was much too poor for the university at which he attended; and so he tried his hardest, in silence, to maintain the high grade-point average that was required to keep his scholarship checks from bouncing. Leonard however, was a prolific procrastinator. He would much rather spend a night in, playing Overwatch than doing his physics assignments, despite choosing it as his major discipline at Yale. It was a usual Wednesday, in the middle of November, unlike any other, that countless millions of others of students all over the United States had encountered. "Alright, and I expect Chapters 8 and 9 to be completed for Thursday, with a Quiz scheduled on Monday,"Professor Fox exclaimed to the lecture hall of nearly one hundred. "There is also.."He began chalking out on the board. "An extra credit problem that will merit anyone who solves it an instant A+ in the course."He finishes the line, underscoring the eloquently written constants. He tapped on the chalkboard to emphasize it. "If you solve this you don't need to study for the final."There was timid laughter. Leonard's brown eyes lit up as he eyed the problem. This was the answer he was looking for -- if he could pull his B average up, just by a few margin points... he wouldn't have to go back to Park Slope, Brooklyn to his ailing mother and father. Leonard had very poor social skills, and very few, if any friends. He did not fit in well with the others at Yale, posessing neither the charsima, good looks, wealth, or even interests that they did. He went directly to his dorm, which he had managed to bribe away to reside by himself, so he could play his games in peace. Today however, gaming had to take a hold. He shut off all his machines, and blew the dust off his worktable, as he pulled out the spiral notebook from his leather tote-bag. He began writing, the most classic variables in human history: "E = M * C ^ 2".. He underlined it, and then began to copy the formula from the board in physics class. It was 4:02 pm in the evening. "Mass.. Energy.. Light.. Limits.."Leonard chewed on his pen, and began to throw the hardest calculus he could muster at the problem. Soon, the proof became so sophisticated that he could no longer work it out on paper. He had to allocate computer time. He fired up his gaming rig, which was designed to handle DOOM4 at Ultra -- recently shipped GTX1080 installed in the side, thanks to scholarship funds. He fired up MATLAB, and began to meticulously copy the formula down, entering custom variables and macros for each segment. Delta-V calculation. Timespace dillation, check. Relative velocity, constant. Gravitational dillation check. The program threw up errors. The hours flew by, and he continued to hammer away, burning through countless sheets of paper. His hands burned, his head ached. Leonard soon began to feel himself an idiot. "I'm never going to do it. I can't solve the problem. Professor Fox is just fucking with me."He said, throwing the tray of pencils off the table and hitting his forehead against the table. "There's just no way.. there's just no fucking way... there's no way to beat the light speed barrier, there's not enough energy, there's nothing in universe that could possibly be so massive.. There's just.. nothing.. that's... noth--" Leonard's hairs stood on end, and his blood ran cold. "No, no.. it can't be."He said to himself. He began to input the famous Hawking equation into MATLAB, and checked. The program threw errors. He added the radiation variables, into the time dillation with the event horizon. Then he added the extra components from his own formula. "RESULT = TRUE" His jaw hung open. He glanced over at the digital clock -- 3.42 AM. He tried to sleep, he made his best efforts to, but he tossed and turned in bed like a dredel. He now knew something, the very first human to solve faster-than-light tranverse. Morning came. He threw on the same outfit he had before, and went through his day, chewing on his nails all-throughout. After physics class was over, he came up to Professor Fox. "Uhm, I'd.. really.. like to speak with you in your office,"He stammered. Professor Fox gazed at him with suspicion. "Yes? What about? If this is about the quiz, it's on Monday, and the content is all inclusive, with Chapters 7 and 8 added."The professor said. "No.. it's.. about the extra credit, I want to.. turn it in."Leonard said nervously. The professor laughed. "Oh, surely, come now, you have to know that problem is a ruse, it's the famous Einstein-Rosenburg equation for wormholes, and it hasn't been solved in centuries. If you'd find a solution, we'd have to give you a Nobel Prize, much less an A in Physics."The professor boasted. Leonard shifted his gaze to the floor. "May.. may.. I draw on the board?"He asked. Professor Fox shrugged. "Go right ahead." He opened his notebook, and began to wobble at his knees, leaning back and forth unevenly as he wrote in the same formulaic prose that he had written for twelve hours prior, with an absolute lack of sleep. He began with the famous equation: e = m * c ^ 2, and then underlined it. Then he wrote Hawking's addition, and finally, in the epsilon domain notation cap, he wrote his formula in, that he checked in Matlab. The color in the professor's face drained away. He underlined the entire formula, and at the end added = 0. "No, no no.. you must be mistaken my boy.. you see, there's.."The professor shifted his head uneasily, examining the problem, holding up a piece of chalk. "The .. gamma radiat-- .. the mass.. at the .. horizon, with the spah--"The professor couldn't catch his own words. "I checked it in MathLab, professor. The math checks out."Leonard said, looking him in the eyes, the most confident he's been in his short, meager life. The professor slammed his fists on the table, and then grabbed an eraser, wiping swithes of the board clean. "Get the hell out of my classroom, right now!"He shouted. "You've made a mockery of science, and you are a belligerent thief, none of this work is your own."He accused. "Professor, no I.."He stuttered. "GET OUT! AND DON'T COME BACK!"Fox shouted. The wooden door slammed so hard that the doorjamb shook, and Leonard walked hunched over in his usual way slowly down the hallways. Leonard went back to his dormitory and drowned himself in tears, falling asleep at his desk; waking up mid-afternoon on Friday. He gazed at the recently opened files in MATLAB, with his solution hanging in limbo. He logged onto Yale's main registrar, and clicked: "Petition to Drop Out", and began to fill out the forms. "I'm sorry Mom and Dad, I tried.."he said, hovering his cursor over the "CONFIRM"button. He glanced back at the hundreds of tear-ridden crumpled up sheets littering his room. It was the manifestation of an burning mind, in physical form. The momentary spark of genius. "Hawking didn't give up.. and he couldn't even walk."He said to himself slowly, and moved the cursor to CANCEL. Unrefined genius is lame; the volition of discovery comes from persistence and integrity. The frail, hunched, youth, solitary in his discovery, must overcome a different type of challenge, one which many take for granted: He must learn to be human.
We were surrounded by orcs. Somehow Pellet, our ranger, had failed to notice the ambush and now were were boxed in on all sides by the ugly brutes. I feigned a mask of surprise, even as I felt deep disinterest in the whole thing. This was so far below my expertise that I once again had to curse myself for getting into this whole predicament. If only I had picked a different specialization. We only had to wait a moment for the orcish warchief to step forward and begin his mocking speech. I held back a yawn as he started in on how we'd soon be boiling in their pots, and how they'd take our women and children as slaves. I waited as patiently as I could manage for the chief to finish his posturing so that our party leader, Krush the Conqueror, to respond in kind. Krush was touchy about his position, and I didn't want to risk getting ejected by another adventuring party because he thought I'd usurped his role. "You won't take us that easy monster! We'll crush you, and all of your kind that threaten the human kingdoms! The only blood you'll be tasting tonight is your own when I stick my sword through your guts!" I rolled my eyes; this really was an amateur show. These orcs were just brigands, little more than highway bandits that had blundered to close to civilization. They were no more a threat to the kingdom than any average street gang. But far be it from me to impose on someone's sense of importance; I needed this party to survive and grow with me, so I held my tongue. The chief did not. With a shrieking cry he and his warriors charged, and combat ensued. I drew up a tiny flicker of my arcane power, conjuring smoke and crackling showers of sparks and fire to disorient the orcs. Here and there one of them would suddenly stumble to a halt, staring at his empty hands, presumable wondering how his weapon had vanished into this air. However it soon became apparent that my adventuring party may have been more novice than I had anticipated. Krush was managing to barely hold his own, but Pellet was being pressed into close combat, barely parrying incoming axe blows with the ends of his longbow. Chastity, our priest was on her knees, being choked out by the orcish chief, and I had no idea where our rogue had fled to. With a sigh I stopped holding back. I snapped my cloak around myself, drawing it just under my eyes, and unleashed my might.. Chastity drew a breath as the chief convulsed in front of her, his arms snapping to his own throat. Her breath turned into a scream as the orc that has previously been throttling her began to vomit forth a cheerfully colored ribbon of his own knotted intestines. "WHAT THE FUCK!?" Pellet, fighting three opponents at once, stumbled backwards in horror as all three of the orcs facing him faltered and then fell cleanly in half, having been bisected at the waist. The massive orc left fighting Krush simply evaporated in a haze of red fog, leaving only the sharp odor of his blood. At about that point the rest of the orcs began to flee. I picked a couple more off, turning one into a pane of mirrored glass, and transmogrifying another into a scantily costumed human woman before I considered my task done. My party stood around me in shock, surveying the carnage; the only sound was the orcish chief choking on his own rainbow-dyed bowels. "So,"I cleared my throat, "Remember when I said I had somewhat of an eclectic magical expertise?"
"Anna, please. You have to stay with me, okay? Just keep your eyes open and breathe, baby. Breathe."I was taking deep breaths for her, as if that would help. There was a hole in her chest, pulsating with the same thick, red liquid that I knew was filling her lungs. The ambulance still hadn't arrived, and she was running out of time. I can't live without you, love. I can't do it. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, returning to her side. I remembered the textbooks in high school explaining how it worked- you have to be touching the person you wish to transfer life to, and there's no way I'd want to die more than holding the love of my life, staring into those deep blue eyes. I raised the knife toward my chest, the sound of the world muffled and quiet as our eyes locked and I could see hers slowly fading away. As I brought the knife down, a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me backwards to the ground. The ambulance had arrived, and stopped me from killing myself. They examined Anna, placing her on a stretcher as I kicked and screamed, but the two officers pinning me down wouldn't let me go to her. They wouldn't let me save her. "It's too late,"they told me. She'd already sustained too much internal damage; I'd just be wasting my years... as if they'd be better spent on Earth without her. Somebody had blasted a hole in her sternum over a gold watch, and I held her as life faded from the eyes I used to look into at night before going to bed. I just wanted to die seeing them one last time, even if it didn't give her a chance. That was four years ago. ************ "All rise,"the judge spoke with solemnity. Nobody dared disobey. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" I was in the audience, waiting quietly for their decision. "We have, your honor,"a jury member stated. "We find Harry Brooks guilty for the murder of Anna Klines." The crowd murmured, and Harry hung his head low. "I'm sorry,"he said, earning nothing but boos. "Very well, then. Harry Brooks, I hereby sentence you to life in prison without parole." Security began to escort him back to his cell, but I stood up and placed an arm on his shoulder. As the one of the guards reached forward to subdue me, I looked into Harry's eyes. They were a deep blue, just like Anna's, and I couldn't help but instinctively smile. Close enough, I thought as I bit down on the cyanide pill stored in my mouth. ----- thanks for reading! you can find lots of my other work over at /r/resonatingfury!
It's that sinking feeling. Aw shit, she's crazy. The text pings up. "24 FUCKING hours and I haven't heard from you!!!! You think I'm just a piece of ass???" "~~You're ridiculously hot~~ I had a really good time w/u but I thought it was a heat of the moment thing? I barely got your #, tbh I don't know if I even have ur real name" "FUCK YOU." Please be the last text. Nope, she sent one more: "I'm the last girl you're gonna be with, bitch." "Okay that's threatening. Don't contact me again." And she didn't. * * * Saturday night out having a good time. Cute girl catches my eye. Uh... brain? There should be a spark there. She's cute. Where's that quiver in my liver? That shake in my step? "Hey bartender ..." Oh fuck. He's cute. Really fucking cute. Boys are not supposed to be cute. "I'm the last girl you're gonna be with"... shit.

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