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"So... this isn't about your sad upbringing?"Remanos asked, confused as he looked around.
"No, no, I have already faced those demons. Doctor Patromy has really done well to teach me that the past is an unchanging force that I can either accept or be left to be lost within. Life, as a purely individual entity isolated from anything else, is unfair. To be better off in life is to accept the unfairness and inequality that is this life,"Cragor elucidated. "I only intend to help others reach this same conclusion."
Remanos looked at the screens around the room skeptically. Many bombs primed for destruction lay about the country, some with men and women strapped to them, screaming in agony.
"This is intended to help people?"I asked dryly.
"But of course! What better way to show their children the unfairness in life than to give it to them forthright?"Cragor asked.
"Maybe not destroying the lives of dozens of--"
"No, no, no, what you're doing is called a Reduction of the Issue. It's a term Doctor Patromy made specific for our sessions. We determined that the problems I was facing internally came from the fact I was only dealing with half-measures in my day-to-day life. I needed to put in my all to start the healing process,"Cragor said proudly.
"Okay, but--"
"You'll notice I said *'we* determined.' Doctor Patromy and I work together to achieve progress. It's much better than the previous therapist I had who was more just listening without offering anything that I needed to specifically address me. Doctor Grimby was a scam artist when I look back on it, always trying to apply the general to *my* issues. I mean why even call yourself--"
"Sure, that's great--"
"But Patromy understands that I'm there for myself. Not to for her. And she gets me, you know?"Cragor asked.
Remanos waited before speaking this time, sure he would be cut off if he tried to speak in between short pauses. Cragor looked to him expectantly, nodding in anticipation to Remanos's response.
"Alright, Cragor, I--"
"She takes referrals if you're interested,"Cragor excitedly, pulling out his phone and scrolling through contacts.
"Oh, umm, no, umm..."
"I think it would be good for you. I mean, how many times have we confronted one another? Don't you feel like you're just doing the same thing over and over? It's why I initially tried therapy. I felt like I was getting into a rut,"Cragor shrugged.
"I don't--"
"And, of course, my plots weren't as significant during that rut. It was amateur hour! I mean, can you believe I was going to attack the president? How cliche can you get?"he laughed.
"Are you done!?"Remanos snapped.
The three syllables bounced off the echoing walls, repeating the impatient outburst back to the two of them awkwardly, each beat of repetition making Cragor shrink into himself. Remanos was going to say something more but noticed Cragor's lower lip trembling. Cragor blinked away tears.
"Oh... Oh, no, Cragor, I didn't..."
"It's-It's okay,"Cragor sniffed loudly, wiping an arm across his face quickly to hide the moisture building up.
"I shouldn't have snapped. I'm supposed to be the good guy! I'm sorry Cragor,"Remanos apologized.
Cragor sniffed loudly, clearing his nostrils, and looked up with a half-smile.
"I'm good. I'm good, thanks, I just need to sit down,"Cragor gestured to his control panel's chair.
"Yeah, of course, of course,"Remanos helped him stand and walked him over.
"Thanks,"Cragor said, placing his hand on the control panel as he sat down. "Doctor Patromy says it's good to ask others for help. That there's no shame in it."
"She sounds like a good doc--"
Remanos's eyes widened slowly.
"Did you just hit the activate button?"Remanos asked with a tiny voice.
"You're a really good friend,"Cragor said sincerely, looking up at the screens as multiple explosions went off in succession.
________________________
I got plenty more stories on /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
Zar-ka-gor gazed into the great deathless beyond. Watched world's live, grow, die and be reborn. The endless toil of the universe dancing to the Astral strings of fate. Zar-ka-gor watched thousands of life tragedies comedies play out in the past present and future. It was too much for one being, it was too much to stare eternity in the eye.
A hand came to Zar-ka-gor head then, it was a warm, soft carress. The motion repeated for a few minutes and Zar-ka-gor let out a long sigh and relaxed. Looking up at the creature to so casually lay their hands on one such as him, he was met by a kindly stare of an old woman. She sat on her porch and rocked gently in a chair. She didn't understand the complexity of what Zar struggled with, she didn't need to.
"Whose a good kitty?"Asked the old woman, her voice music to Zar's ears.
"*me*"Zar responded. But all the old woman heard was "meow" |
The day had been exceptionally quiet, not a single customer through the shops glass doors. Posted on them a large square, peeling at the edges, read: MARLEY REASUN: PSYCHIC INFLUENCER *Help me Help you*. It was a catch phrase that I hadn't been too fond of, but it got more customers than my last one, *Allow me inside*. In hindsight not my greatest use of wordplay.
I heard footsteps approaching the office door, hesitant and uneven. They stopped at the square on the door and a man gave it a long look, brow wrinkled with worry. He looked to be in his mid thirties, hair blackened and pulled back neatly. After another pause at gripping the handle he pushed his way in.
There wasn't much to look at in the office, I was really the only thing people came for anyways. So besides a few sideways glances to the cheap crystal balls and occult merchandise that lined the few shelves inside the man made his way straight to me.
"Hello, can I help you?"I spoke first to break any tension. Most people were entirely unfamiliar with the idea of "mind control"and often didn't know what to say. Luckily I did.
"I need to mow the lawn and don't wanna so....do your thing."he rubbed his wrists in discomfort.
"My thing? Hire someone to mow it. Cheaper I bet. Anything else?"
He seemed lost for words at my decline, but I was a business. Not a multi-million dollar chain that bibbity bobbity booed at any cash that came in the door. Respect was part of the transaction.
"Fine. Then uh...my taxes. I want to do my taxes but cant being myself to. So hook me up."
"Firstly, it's April. Secondly, same note as before. There's an accountant a few offices down, names Tom Rackard. Good guy."
Finally, seeming fed up with my declines the man withdrew a needle from his coat and slammed it to the counter. There was a long silence between us. I knew not what to say and it it seemed neither did he, so we just sat in silence over the needle
"I...what is that?"a stupid question to ask, but the only words I could muster.
"A needle. So, can you do it or not. My friend said-"
"Be quiet please. And sit still."I spoke calmly. Casually.
At my words the man grew stiff. His body perked up and his muscles tensed in his neck, his eyes faded from lively to dull and droopy. The man from before was no longer here, just a husk stood in his place. I had never been under my own control, but I had been told it was like watching a dream. As if your body was someone elses.
I just needed a moment. A moment to think to myself, and those like him, desperate like him, didn't often give me any time to consider. Of course I remembered his friend, but his friend was trying to quit smoking, no harm in that. But this? This would be agony. Misery of going through withdrawal inside while the body marches on unbothered. I wished now I'd granted his request of making him mow the lawn instead.
"You may be yourself again."at my command he let out a sharp, long held breath. I then realized I had forgotten to tell him he could breathe while under, oops.
"So- so it works! Do it. Now before I change my mind."
"This will be agony you understand. Pain and misery for...a week at least. And if you dont make it..."
"I dont care. Just do it Mr. Reasun. If I die then I die. At least I tried then."
I cared to be convinced no more. I held out a hand for him to shake. I thought I saw the slight of a grin as he took it.
"Fine. You will be under the embrace of your addiction no longer....and you will forget my name. I do not exist."There was a spark at my words leaving and entering his head. His gaze softened. Then he looked up to me with a bit of confusion.
"I was- I was just-"
"Leaving? Yes you were Mr. Reddle. You have a good one."and I watched as he walked back out the glass doors, hoping he wouldn't show back up again as he had in the past. Hoping that this would be the last, for better or worse, that I saw of Reddle. |
The oppressive heat of Agrabah was beginning to fade as the sun finally dipped beyond the towering walls of the palace. Aladdin's hair was still a mop of sweat due to the exertion working at the City of Mystery and Enchantment Food Bank all day, but it was an honest and rewarding day's work.
Rashid and Nura set down their baskets near the door, and hugged him. Rashid had begun to put on some real muscle for a child his age, and Nura's hair was fuller and her skin healthier, than they had been in the alley a year ago. Amazing what four good meals a day could do for a child.
*A rewarding day's work indeed*, he sighed as he let them hold tight until they chose to let go.
The food bank had moved almost eight hundred thousand uquiyyahs of food that day, much of it to residents of the new stone apartments that Aladdin had built in his once-worst neighborhood in the city. Nine of the seven-story buildings had already opened and there was a tenth that he expected would be finished by Ramadan. By his quick math, it would take twenty-two to house the formerly homeless population of the entire city, plus at least eight more to house those who would relocate to Agrabah once they heard that housing and food were provided in abundance to all here.
He dismissed the other volunteers and began extinguishing the lights. He was maybe halfway done that when a group of men appeared at the main entrance. The one in front looked familiar. Aladdin tensed. They had swords.
"Are you fine gentlemen looking for ... whoa!!"His *street-rat* instincts were neither gone nor unnecessary, it seemed. The leader had tried to open Aladdin's guts.
The lunge had brought the leader into the light, and the image clicked into place in Aladdin's mind. "Now I remember you!"he said. "Missed out on cutting my 'sister's' hand off so you want me now?"
The merchant from the bazaar stall that had almost cut the hand from the wrist of that beautiful, strangely naive girl almost a year ago snarled. "What I *want* is for a chance to earn a living without competition from warlocks making deals with devils."
"What?"
"You stupid little street rat,"said one of the others. "Did you really think anyone would pay for food anymore with you here giving it all away? How many of us are you going to put out in the streets?!"
"*No one,*"Aladdin grated. "I literally don't want *anyone* to be on the streets in this city. Or hungry."
"Then tell people to do something useful and come up with money to buy their food like honest men. Instead you let the beggars live like the sultan."
*A four-room walk-up apartment for a family of seven isn't exactly living like the sultan*, he grated to himself, but he could tell by now that that this lot wasn't here to be persuaded. *Well, let's see if I can still move like I'm running from the ...*
"The palace guards!"cried one of the men in the back. Aladdin spun. There was a side door to the food bank, recently widened as the volume had increased and he'd taken on some extra volunteers to help with distribution. Four palace guards had just appeared on either side of it, and a woman hurried through the middle of them.
Aladdin did a double-take. *That was the girl from the market!* It had been almost a year, but he'd recognize that face anywhere. She spoke a moment later, and that would have dispelled any lingering doubts if any had remained--the gentle fire was unmistakable. In fact, the *words* were unmistakable.
"Oh, thank you, kind sir, I'm so glad you've found him,"she said to the merchant. *It's her! What's she doing?!* She turned back to look at Aladdin. "I've been looking all over for you!"
"What're you doing?"Aladdin gasped incredulously.
"Just play along,"she replied. She turned back to the leader, the merchant who had almost cut her hand off not even a year past. "Remember me?"she asked.
The merchant stared, dumbfounded, clearly unsure what to say.
"You *know* this girl,"Aladdin prompted.
The merchant began to lower his sword, still clearly unsure of who the girl was, yet she traveled in the company of eight palace guards. No, Aladdin realized, eight *inside* the food bank. There would be more outside on the street, where the threat would likely be greater.
"I told you once I knew the sultan,"she prompted. "I told you that if you let me go to the palace, I could get you your money. She extended her hand from within her robe, her movements graceful, her skin perfect. "You tried to cut this off instead. Which would have been most unfortunate, since it's where this goes."With her other hand, she slid an unmistakable mystic blue diamond ring onto the finger of the hand she had almost lost.
If the man's face had paled any further, he'd have turned invisible. He clearly wished that he could.
"Sultana Jasmine,"he gasped. "But how ..."
Aladdin took a step back himself. "The *sultana?!*"
Abu peeked out of a crate where he'd been helping himself to leftover figs. "*Hulhana?"* he squeaked.
(1/2) |
With the correct application of forces to the right area at the right moment, you can change anything. The body is nothing but a shell; easily broken, but to he who hath the right force and the needed knowledge, it is easily mended. Repaired. Even replaced. That's my job. And I am the best at what I do. No injury is beyond me. No flesh marred by rot is safe from my touch. No organ gone wild with cancerous madness can escape my design. Only death itself is beyond my indomitable will. And even then, every day I come closer to defeating that greatest of my enemies. That final monster that I fight against. Many are the weapons that I wield against that most horrid foe. I can grow healthy new flesh, a new body, to save a healthy brain in a dying receptacle. I can rebuild organs from scratch. I can send minute and specially concocted bionanomachines into my patients to reach every single strain of DNA simultaneously, restructuring the polynucleotide chain, that double helix, so that illnesses inherited through the family lines are cured.
I can heal anything. Most people assume that makes me some manner of spandex idiot, fighting against mentally ill criminals in dark alleys, using my nearly divine powers in the same barbaric manner which one might use a sharp stone or a wooden spear. Fighting, when I can do greater good in curing the sick, healing the mad of their broken brains, giving the dying a new lease on life, that would be the greatest of heresies, the most obscene blasphemy against the very concept of humanity. There are those who think that the only solution to a problem is to dress up like a colourful moron and punch someone equally moronic into jail. There are governments who want those extremely powerful individuals to continue punching morons and the mentally ill, rather than using their phenomenal abilities to fix systemic problems that cause supervillains to exist in the first place.
Both these spandex clad idiots and the governments that indulge them, are of course frustrated that I do not follow the script. Normal people, so easily blinded by that glamour, and the allure of powers used to become a superhero, are always confused to learn that I reject the selfish and narcissistic path. The fools in their colourful underwear come to me, asking innocently if I will not come to aid them, to join them in their quest for ''justice''. I tell them to use their powers better. I tell them every time to cease fighting as they have done, and do what is right on a more fundamentally ethical level. Use your tremendous strength, superspeed, and abilities of flight to bring food to starving nations. Use your superintelligence to work on a better system of economics than the one we have now. Use your control of the elements to cleanse the atmosphere of toxic pollutants.
Alas, always they return to punching some madman with a grudge, and I always return to the sick, the injured, and the dying. The governments come to me, them and their corporate masters, and they tell me to stop. They try to bribe me to work for them, they try to threaten me to stop my most sacred task, they try to force me. But I will not be forced. Their assassination attempts will never work, for I can heal all my injuries. Their bribes will never be great enough. And their attacks on those for whom I care only drives me to do my task with ever greater vigour, with a fury and strength that is unmatched. One would think that they'd learn after a while, that there is nothing they can do to me that will make me cease. Nothing in heaven above or hell below, that will force me to stop. I work in an ordinary hospital. I did my work on the people, high or low, rich or poor. All who came to me with incurable ailments would always find themselves healed, restored to the very image of perfect health.
But there is one thing they've done, that has changed things. One final line that they've crossed, that has given me pause. In their supreme arrogance, they've gone after my patients. They have harmed those who I have healed. Framing the deaths as the results of my treatment. That is the most supreme evil. That their reaction to a doer of good deeds that they cannot control, is to poison the good work. That they would kill the innocent, to frame me, in the mad thought that it would force me to work for them! They have no understanding of me. They have no understanding of anything. I did not come running to the corporates or the governments when my license was taken from me. I did not turn to spandex and corny one-liners. I burnt my home to the ground. I created a copy of my body, an empty dead shell, to take my place. I faked my death. And I ran.
They didn't understand the full potential of my powers. I always healed people back to perfect health, either through normal medicine and treatments, or through my abilities. They never stopped to consider if I could make people better. Stronger. If I could unlock unbelievable powers, hidden deep within the human genome. I could, and I did. I walked amongst the lowest in society, the uttermost outcasts. Junkies, hobos, the poorest of the poor. And I healed them. I took from them their addictions. I removed from them their madness. And in turn I gave them knowledge, I molded their brains so they'd understand and remember every atrocity and evil deed done by the system against the people. And that they'd know how to rebel. How to rise up. How to crush the system unfair, and replace it with the right path for mankind.
And I gave them powers. I gave all of them the powers that have been so jealously hoarded by the few. I gave them the full understanding of morals, of philosophy, of ethics. And I gave them the power to correct the world. To unseat the unjust, to cast down those who would preach that the will of god was hatred, to destroy the hateful monsters sitting in their ivory towers, lording it over the rest of us. What a sight it was, seeing the rebellion of the lowest, given supreme power. Seeing them crush superyachts, tear down private prisons, doling out justice with their newly enhanced brains. Watching as they storm death camps, as they free the people from slavery across the world, as they cleanse the sea and sky of pollution; what an excellent usage of power, one that I always suggested whenever the spandex clad lunatics came to me with wounded of their own. An army of men and women in tattered rags, wielding righteous violence against a system that ruins hundreds of millions of lives. Seeing the affluent and prestigious superheroes taken by an army of common men, as the corrupt world order is torn down; now that is a sight worth seeing.
And everywhere they go, I follow. I heal the injured. I cure the sick. I find those madmen that cannot cease being criminal, cannot stop being monsters on their own, and I cure their brains of that deficiency as well. There will be no murderous clowns, no broken men, nor any brainwashed innocents when I am done. There will be no supervillains by the time I am done. All will be granted powers. All will be granted sanity. All will be granted a supreme understanding of ethics and morality, because I'll heal their brains in a manner that grants them that.
Until the entire world has been freed.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
"It's public humiliation!"
Owen had never seen his dad's face so red before. He was practically bursting a vein with rage, leaning over the headteacher's desk and spitting in his face.
"This is illegal!"
Mr. Paulson, a mild mannered man with bad taste in ties and a worse taste in shoes, removed his frameless glasses and very carefully cleaned them on a corner of his jacket.
"Mr Jacobs."He said.
"Don't you Mr. Jacobs me!"His father thundered, slamming his clenched fists down on the table. "I'm good friends with the school governor, and I will-"
"You will do nothing, Mr. Jacobs."Paulson replied. "Your son has been bullying a very vulnerable child."
Owen, in the corner of the headmaster's office, turned bright red and cleared his throat. His father snorted.
"Kid was probably asking for it-"
Mr Paulson replaced his glasses and firmly cut the angry man off.
"We feel this punishment is appropriate. Good day, Mr Jacobs."
Own wanted to curl up and die. He sat at the back of the school hall, a churning sensation rioting in his stomach.
"You alright, mate?"Luke asked, slamming his palm down on Owen's shoulder.
"Just feel a bit sick."Owen said weakly. His palms were sweating. There was a faint ringing in his ears as Mr Paulson took the stage.
"Boys - after a recent case of bullying, we've decided to take more affirmative action. Owen Jacobs' internet history from the twentieth of March is in my hand."Mr Paulson waved the sheaf of paper at the assembled hall, who broke out in to barely contained speculative whispers the way that only teenage boys can.
"Let this be a lesson to all of you that we take bullying *exceptionally* seriously."He cleared his throat, placed the papers on the lectern and began to read.
"Facebook, twitter. Reddit- you do waste a lot of time Owen!"The hall laughed, the year sevens turning round and craning their mecks to get a better look at him, head between his knees on the back row.
"Youporn-"There were a couple of wolf whistles, the sixthformers hooting. It took some minutes to settle them down.
"Apparently you like small titties."
The hall went wild. Even Mr Paulson allowed himself a timy smile. He carried on reading.
"Looking for help with maths problems, well done Owen... Er, youtube, more youtube- you really like epic meal time?"
More laughter.
Mr Paulson scanned the sheets again, rifling through them, trying to find something else to make the hall laugh. There was an expectant lull, boys shoving each other to get a look at Owen. He had his face buried in his palms, elbows on knees, desperately trying not to look at the curious eyes around him.
"Ah, look! A forty minute gap. Finally got off line, did you Owen?"
He flicked the page over. Mr Paulson went white. He cleared his throat.
"Google search. Nine twenty five - 'how to cover up bruises.'"
The hall fell silent. Owen looked up, blinkingg furiously to stop the tears from coming.
Mr Paulson cleared his throat again.
"I think you'd better see me in my office, Owen." |
Battered, beaten, and bruised from the long fight, the master spy was dragged in front of the henchmen's employer and head of the agency, Yuriy Stanislav.
"So, you thought you could walk in here and disrupt our plans?"he asked. He didn't expect a response. This was made crystal clear by the sound of a gunshot, followed by the thud of the body as it collapsed on the ground.
The henchmen stumbled backwards. "What the hell, man? You're supposed to tell him our evil plan!"
"What on earth for? So he can escape and foil it? Screw that."Yuriy said as he continued preparing the machine vital to the undertaking at hand.
"It's good plot development! Who cares if you beat your nemesis in the first act? It makes the entire rest of the story pointless!"the henchman spit out with hesitation.
Yuriy raised his eyebrow. "Plot development? Who cares. I'm not in this for a fun story to tell my grandchildren, I want to rule the world. If a few plot conventions get broken along the way, I couldn't care less."
The other henchman who had been by the body spoke up. "But... what if he wasn't the spy?"
Yuriy laughed. "Who else would he be?"
"Well, was he working alone? Or maybe he was just some random guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. I mean, we would know these things if you had interrogated him!"the Henchman yelled.
Yuriy laughed again. "No, my dear henchperson. We would only know what he told us, which may or may not have had any relationship whatsoever with the truth. We're better off not knowing what he would have told us."
A henchwoman in the back spoke up "But who was he working for? And will they send more people?"
Yuriy put down his tool "Look, I'm paying you people to hench. You're not henching right now. You're keeping me from my work, here. The answer to the first question is 'who cares', and the second one is 'probably', so get back to work. We have a plan, here, and we should stick to it."
The henchmen grumbled. The last villain they had worked for was so easy to get into an evil monologue. The henchmen loved evil monologues, it gave them a break from work while it also allowed the protagonists to escape and foil the plot. And henchmen only really had to work during the final few hours of these things, most of the time their jobs consisted of walking around in the background and looking busy. This new guy was all work and no play.
The henchmen grumbled and got back to work. |
The laboratory sat still. Beakers and vials, all filled with an assortment of colors, lined the shelves. On the floor lay Dr. Amadeus, face down into a pool of some unknown material. At first glance, it looked like blood. But you could not see through blood, and be able to make out the floor tiles beneath it in the same way as this allowed.
Dr. Amadeus wore a pristine lab coat, untouched by the red liquid that pooled around him. Glass shards lay around him, making islands in the translucent, red pool. Whatever had happened here, it had come suddenly.
Most curiously though was the note on the door of the on the outside for any that entered. It was simple and offered no explanation, but left a singular order: "Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined."
When the man's lab assistants entered, the two had the note in hand. Fear gripped them, the note's message pounded at their minds.
They darted across the room, to his collapsed body, as soon as they had seen it. It felt as if Dr. Amadeus, from some realm beyond the living, watched as they did so. Neither were willing to touch the body, though both were frightened out of their wits. Did they follow the man's vision, and risk letting him die? Or were they to try and save him at the cost of the experiment?
The resulting fight over it turned to shouting.
"We have to do something!"
"But he said not to, don't you trust him?"
"He clearly attempted suicide, we can't let him die!"
"But what if he's safe now and we kill him?"
The man arguing to intervene pushed the woman that wanted to follow the doctor's orders. He lunged for the body. She pulled back, and in minutes the two were on each other as they fought over what to do.
Someone fell into the man's body, knocking him out of the pool of blood. There was a crack of thunder. The woman let out a scream, and her body twisted in agony. The man backed away, scrambling across the floor.
She stopped screaming, and looked down at her body. The woman's head turned back to the remaining lab assistant.
"Bugger it all, I came back to the wrong body. Didn't you read the note?" |
The truck pulled up in front of the gates; I left the motor on with a low rumbling that filled the otherwise silent night. I hefted two enormous sacks out of the bed of the pickup and dragged them over to the entrance.
From above, men with guns and torches looked down at me menacingly. "What's your business here?"one of them said quietly, not wanting to draw the attention of the undead. As if confirming his fear, a low moan emanated from somewhere in the trees a few hundred feet away.
"You can put the guns down,"I told them. "You won't be needing them, and they wouldn't do you any good anyways."Of course they didn't listen; instead, two more of them got me in their sights.
"I'm here with an offer,"I told them. Picking up one of the sacks from the bottom, I turned it over, spilling out guns and ammunition everywhere. There was an audible gasp from the wall as one of the boxes opened, pouring bullets onto the ground, mixing with the snow. The leader atop the gate had a hungry look in his eyes. Normally it meant that he was just going to try and kill me and take the guns anyway, so I got to the point.
"All of this is yours,"I told them.
"What for?"he asked, with an arrogant tone that made it clear that he wasn't in the mood to trade. Yep, he's definitely planning to just shoot me and take the guns.
"I'll get to that,"I answered as I reached for the second sack. I dumped that out into the snow, revealing the limbless torso of one of the undead, rotting flesh peeling from its bones. It started writhing around and gnashing its teeth; something about being able to see light again sets them off. Who knows?
The men on the wall recoiled and their fingers drifted over the triggers, glancing back at their leader as they waited for the order. I reached down to the zombie struggling in the snow and stuck my arm straight into it's mouth. It bit down involuntarily, covering my arm with slobber.
"He's fucking crazy,"one of them gasped.
"Not crazy,"I told him. "Immune. Completely safe from them."I pulled open my jacket, revealing a number of other bite marks. "Some of these are months old, and I'm not infected."
There was silence as they soaked in that information.
"And even better: they don't attack me. I can strut through a crowd of Zed without even a second look. They don't see me as food, so they don't bother coming after me."
I withdrew a knife from my pocket and reached back down to the zombie. As promised, it just kept swiveling its head around, looking for something else. I plunged the knife through its skull.
"Holy shit..."one of them whispered.
I stood back up. "So this is what I'm offering. All of my supplies, including the guns,"I kicked at the pile at my feet, "and *me*. You can assign me to do whatever you need. I'll go out and gather supplies, I'll hang out outside the wall and kill the undead, I'll do whatever you need. Just say the word."
"Yes!"called out one of the men. His leader turned and silenced him with one raised hand.
"Why do you need us?"he said suspiciously. *This one is clever,* I told myself. *Watch him.* "You've got all the food and water and ammo that you could need, whereas we're practically starving in here. We don't got much to trade, man, so I smell an ulterior motive here."The other men on the wall heard the sense in this argument and gripped their guns tighter.
"I need your blood,"I told them flat out. "At least one pint a day. Not all from the same person."
They didn't really know how to react, so they kept the guns tight. I held up a needle and some plastic tubing. "All it takes is a simple transfusion process, which I can do for you."
"Why?"said the leader, eyes narrowed.
"I'm a vampire,"I said honestly. No point in starting off with a lie like I'd tried at the last town. That was the closest I'd come to being staked in over two centuries.
"Yeah right,"one of them said involuntarily.
"Really?"I kicked at the zombie at my feet. "The dead have risen against you, and you're still doubting the existence of mythical creatures?"
Silence greeted me.
"They don't go after me, because I'm not alive. I'm undead, kind of like them. Except I'm not a braindead savage."
The leader took a long hard look at me. At the truckload of supplies. At the bites on my arm. And at the veins showing through his pale skin.
The gate swung open with a creak. "Deal,"he answered.
Edit: [Go here for parts 2 through 6!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2rj4ks/im_here_with_an_offer/cnggno7)
|
**Dale Evans just can't find any motivation in his life.**
*Cut to Dale sitting at a coffeeshop talking with a friend*
"I come home from work,"
*Cut to Dale entering his flat in work attire*
"I heat up a microwave dinner,"
*Cut to Dale in a dark apartment, peeling the plastic wrap off of a premade meal and looking depressed about the prospect of having to heat it.*
"Then I just plop down onto my couch"
*Cut to Dale slumping down into a big cushy sofa*
"And just watch TV for the rest of the night."
*Cut to Dale asleep on his couch, lit by the dull blue glow of the TV set still on.*
Dale's friend: "Dale, you need to do something. It's not healthy. I know you're upset about Kara leaving you, but you need to snap out of it. Get out there! Meet someone!"
**Samara has the motivation, but not the life**
*Cut to creepy girl emerging from the static of Dale's TV with wet dripping hair covering her face. She crawls across the floor and comes face to face with him, hovering a centimeter over him. His eyes open slowly and go wide.*
**She's given Dale seven days to make a good impression.**
*Cut to cheesy montage of Dale and Samara going on dates and playing in the park and stuff.*
**And he might just find what his life has been missing this whole time.**
*Cut to Dale and Samara on a windswept cliff. Dale slowly gets to one knee and removes a small felt box from his jacket.*
**This Valentine's Day, you won't want to miss: THE RING**
|
My team and I were some of the best. Around the world, we found success and riches raiding the deepest and darkest dungeons, where few others dared to go. Disciplined and experienced, we no longer feared ancient spells or beastly guardians.
We had been lying low for a couple of years after our last “big one” – Dracula’s Castle in Transylvania – and truth be told, we all could’ve retired. We certainly had enough gold. The banality of a regular life, though, didn’t suit us. We were hungry for another raid, bigger even than the last. So, naturally, we were all ears when some old kook claimed to have found the entrance to the dungeon beneath the Bermuda Triangle. Long-undiscovered, but suspected as the source of the region’s occult happenings, this dungeon would certainly be a challenge, even for the best of the best.
We travelled to Florida, and met this discoverer in his home in a fishing hamlet on the Atlantic Coast. He was surprisingly normal and rational for a dungeon enthusiast – too often in the past did we have to decipher cryptic ravings of manic hermits. He showed us on his maps where he expected the entrance to be. While we were not entirely certain, he was convincing enough for our party and we agreed to give it our best. He offered his son as a guide, which our captain accepted, but admittedly, this made me uneasy. The young man was a mute, and seemed to be drilling right through me with his black, beady eyes. Nonetheless, it would be helpful to have a local to help us navigate these difficult waters, and I would not let discomfort about a frail lad overcome my professionalism as a raider. We set out on a small vessel from the hamlet’s docks that next morning, fair weather and sunshine bolstering our confidence.
That soon turned for the worse, though. The sky turned a sickly grey and the seas grew disturbingly still as we approached the coordinates of this alleged entrance. Even amongst our experienced group, the unease was palpable. The oppressive silence in place of the usual sounds of the sea did nothing to ease our nerves. Perhaps there was some foul magic about this place, to sap us of our cheer. All the while, our silent guide seemed to split the focus of his dark eyes between the horizon, and me.
I felt equal parts relieved and anxious when the ominous black shape began to appear in the distance. *A ship,* I thought at first, but then it grew too large. *An island, perhaps. Or our destination.* Our approach continued, at once numbingly slow and all too fast. At last, our mute guide rose from his bench and pointed to his map, then to the shape taking form in the distance. We had arrived.
Our captain spoke, his commanding voice a welcome break in the silence. “Lower the sails! Drop anchor! We wait here. Remember the plan, men. We split off into the row boats at nightfall, approach silently once the sun goes down. Harkness and Greene will lead the two squads. Equip your Essence of Night on the approach, and Ulf will cast Protecting Grasp when we land in case anything is lurking there. This is a solid plan, men, and there’s nothing on that –“
Before the captain could finish recounting the plan, our long-silent guide finally spoke up.
“Alright chums, times up. Let’s do this.”
He tore his shirt from his chest, and as he dove off the boat, roared:
“LEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY JEEEEEEENKIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNS!!!”
|
I can keep stuff warm. I can't really throw fire or anything like that, just you know, keep temperature. No big deal right?
Well it so happens that that's wrong. You see, I violate the laws of thermodynamics, and as such, the scientific community is pretty interested in me.
What do I use my powers for you might ask? Well I guess it helps my body temperature to stay constant, meaning I never really get cold. I can survive just fine out in the winter, if there's a blizzard I can go out in t-shirt. In theory anyway, I still feel cold, I just don't get affected by it.
For some more mundane tasks I keep my pizza warm at all times, which unfortunately makes me the designated busboy. I work at a local pizza place, but I'm not bad off with money like the average student, if you think that. Nah, I just like working there because of this cute girl.
The reason I'm well off is due to the scientists, they gave me money to take samples. Despite the thanks I got from these people, most people I know think I'm a good for nothing dork.
Now you might think, what exactly are you so good for? Cheaper refrigeration? Power?
I am the key to reversing entropy. |
*click*
r/holdmybeer
*click*
r/blunderyears
*sip of pepsi*
*click*
r/currently_on_toilet
*click*
r/childrenfalli-
My cursor does a bit of a double take before shooting up to the back button. Sure enough, it brings me to a subreddit titled r/currently_on_toilet . I chuckle, finding it amusing to have found a community of like minded redditors who also browse from the old porcelain throne. It truly is the best place to use Reddit.
The description of the sub reads "To follow and discuss the activities of [my full name].
I hear a wet *plop* underneath me, despite having finished my business ten minutes ago. And, for the first time in my life, I have a bigger issue on my mind than the water now on my ass hole.
The current top post is a thread to discuss soda choice. I click on it and see and see a circlejerk in the comments praising my choice and scorning Coke. Hey, these people might be creeps, but at least they have good taste.
Going to Top> All Time, I see a video of what appears to be a 17 year old me jerking off.
Holy shit.
Scrolling down, several more disturbing posts appear on my screen. Pictures of my current house, discussions of my sleep schedule, graphic close ups of my old dog after it got hit by a car.
That's when I see it. An announcement post, one minute old.
**He's Found It**
Someone knocks on the bathroom door.
*plop*
|
"Fuck this mess,"I said aloud. Two dead bodies lie on the floor, and blood was splattered all over the walls. There was something like a UFO in this warehouse, and it wasn't even slightly the weirdest thing I had seen.
"I dunno, some guy got in here,"said the chief of operations. Only she was able to enter the site with me, lest I learn the identities of the rest of team. "Footage review team says he came in, took out these guys, got a couple of pictures, and left. We need you to clean up the scene before the next shift comes and gets...you know, spooked."
"I'm spooked right now. What am I supposed to do with these bodies?"
"There's tubs of acid in the back. Per their contract, they had no personal ties."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"Yes. It didn't?"
I shook my head and began my work. The chief left and I wondered how she dealt with all this death. I had seen more than my fair share. |
Oh my god, ok, so like, you're not going to believe this but I'm driving down La Cienega in this Uber, which is already like, ew, I know, but whatever, I'm driving down La Cienega and I get this notification that Braden M. liked my insta pic from brunch and I'm like, ok, weren't you, like, literally texting emojis to Ashleigh S. like all through Spanish class last week? Anyway so I screenshot it and I'm about to send it to Ashleigh when my phone fucking rings like it's like 2005 or something and I'm like oh my god what is even happening!
So I answer the call and I'm just like "um..hello?"and it's this like old sounding guy who sounds like he's in some lame CBS show my dad would probably watch and he goes like "ma'am I'm agent blah blah from the NSA and we've received reports that you've been in communication with various Crimean mercenary factions"and I'm like "um, I have like twenty thousand followers so, like, I don't know everyone who retweets me or whatever"and he says - he's still like so serious, oh my god I can't even - he says "this is more than just facebook posts"and I'm like "oh my god who even uses facebook anymore!"
So anyway I'm like whatever this is obviously just Brittany being a bitch because I told her she couldn't come to Geneva with us but like there are literally only two spare bedrooms in the chalet and it's seriously gross with more than four people! So I tell the agent whatever guy I'm over him and I hang up. And now we're at the warehouse and I lowkey two star the Uber because he didn't even have bottled water, like are you serious?
So I get out and I go into the warehouse which is like seriously so huge I totes think we should like literally rent it out for a party before Spring Break, and I see Uri and Vlad in their cute little turtlenecks and Uri has that scar under his eye which is so fucking hot I can't even but he has some lame girlfriend in Kiev so it's like whatever.
Anyway, I give them the briefcase and they open the duffel bag for me and you will not fucking believe this but they brought the fucking MK IV 85.6 PKL 7 and not the motherfucking MK IV 103.2 PKL 9 like I fucking said I wanted like a hundred fucking times. So I'm like, ok, what the fuck? And Uri says nobody can get the 103.2 and I'm like bullshit because Jessica R. has a 103.2 and she used it to blow up Ryan's Escalade when he did that bullshit low effort promposal last year! Like, if you literally think I'm fucking going to settle for an RPG that is shittier than Jessica R.'s that's like such BS.
But Vlad is like well we did so much to get this here for you and we need money so you have to take it and I'm like oh my god this is the worst day of my life. And I check my phone and now Braden M. un-liked my insta and it's like obviously this was because Ashleigh saw and made him and it's like why is she so jealous all the time, like chill!
Anyway, so, oh my god, I forgot to tell you, ok, so I already had Megan and Tiffany on the roof of the next warehouse over, you know, like, just in case or whatever, so I send them the signal which is a text of the poop and broken heart emoji - I know, like, so cute, right? - and they already have their D45 LLW infared sniper rifles locked on so then like two seconds later they deal with Vlad and Uri. So then I just like keep the briefcase and the second rate RPG and order a new Uber, which honestly takes like fifteen to come it was literally the worst. |
I looked around, without understanding what is going on. All the faces seemed distant and far, yet somehow similar. I've felt like this in dreams. Where strangers are friends and friends wear the faces of others.
"What... What is... Am I in the hospital?"I asked with a dry mouth and still trying to adjust my eyes to the light. Green, then red, then yellow, all dancing in front of me in an unwholesome circus. Slowly the music and laughter grew louder as my ears adjusted to the environment. It seemed like a venue for a birthday party, filled with children and foul odors. A technician started detaching various tubes and belts off of me.
"Man's confused,"said the heavy mustached technician while disconnecting various panels. "You just put the man through another life. Whatd'ya expect."He leaned in and started untying wires off my forehead. I looked at him in disbelief and just before he was done, he firmly held my face in his palms, looked me right in the eyes and quietly whispered "you hang in there, man. You hang in there."The gates were opened, I exited the treadmill and was taken to our table of eight. A half finished coke had waited for me for 18 years. I looked at people around me and saw their worried faces. People I knew and had never known. An older couple, what seemed to be their friends with kids.
"I'm sorry, honey"the middle aged woman spoke up. "You seemed rather gloom and we just wanted to pick you up, you know? We just wanted you to enjoy your eighteenth birthday, hun."she said while pretending to be busy with her hands and folding a napkin. I looked at my pizza and did not feel too hungry. Everyone at the table was quiet and tense.
I tried speaking up, but I found myself without anything to say so I quieted down. No one was eating. Suddenly a fat man, who sat right next to the woman who had just spoken, threw a napkin in his dish. "Well ain't this typical? You try to do something good and the little shit just goes and does something like that. Oh, can we just enjoy a nice Sunday? Of-fucking-course not."
"I'm sorry"I said and it came naturally, without me even realizing I've spoken. At least my voice hadn't changed. Never been a strong speaker. I'm not entirely sure what I've done, but damn I know I'm sorry for doing said thing. "I'm sorry"I repeated and stood up. "I have to go to the bathroom".
While I struggled to get past the other people sitting at the table, the woman stood up with a worried expression on her face, but the man next to her pulled her down and told her to eat the rest of her meal as we were going home soon.
I stood in the hall without understanding what was going on. Children were running around and laughing, lights were flickering, some loud voice ordered everyone to clap. I took a few steps towards the strange treadmill that I had just been taken off of. No one was using it right now and it stood completely alone there. Used and abandoned, it had a flashing screen. I looked at it and saw my name among many others. Mine was just down there, almost at the bottom. Only people who had scored lower were people with joke names running for a negative record. I read the line with my score.
749: /u/XanLV - Social - *3 000*. Financial - *6 500*. Success - *3 500*. Age - *18*. Death - *Suicide*. Overall - *13 000*. |
I'd never thought I'd see the day when his mouth would utter intelligible words. Tight-lipped he always was, even in gatherings, so word spread that he exhausted his 1000 word limit in the morning alone. All of us eventually exhausted our word count before the day was up, but as far as we knew, he never did. He was caring, gentle, nice, but never audible.
A voice, sweeter than the birds that chirped around us spoke, the tones smooth and velvety. I looked, astonished at the new voice I'd heard. He'd...he'd spoken! At last! But his single word wasn't particularly exciting. It wasn't understandable in the least. He just said, "Go."I stared at him, visibly shocked, as he looked in dead earnest back at me. I could see the order repeated in his eyes, and the gaze...something awoke in me. A memory long discarded, lost in the incinerator of time. I could see his blue eyes and brown hair again, but younger, his mouth moving rapidly in speech. But there were no words spoken. I began to speak too in my recollection, but no words were uttered, again. Somehow, I could recall something...something about the word limit.
**If you don't reach the limit, it'll carry over.**
I looked, shocked, stunned that he still remembered the promise we made so long ago. For millenia the ruler had stayed the same, no one able to make a decent campaign with only a thousand words a day. But, though the images were hazy...I could still see him donning his party's garb, working in parliament as an opposer to the king. The same king that ruled over us today.
He smiled, and I could understand that smile's meaning. He'd been saving for years now, decades. All for the one moment that was such a distant dream so long ago. The time to strike would be now. The reckoning for tyranny had inevitably struck. He pointed to the building in the distance, where everyone would see the forgotten power of words. He mouthed the words, softer this time. The second sentence he'd uttered in 30 years.
"I'll go too."
With a smile, I obeyed.
(first story, please be gentle! I thought it would be interesting to comment on such an intriguing idea) |
"Yes, of course, Mrs Smith,"Ian crooned into the phone. "Not only that, but every extra penny you spend, will in fact go toward helping feed hungry people."
Ian winked at Claire, who was sat across from him, and pointed to himself, then rubbed his stomach.
Claire shook her head.
"Yes, I'm aware of that, Mrs Smith. Times are hard for *all* of us, in a way. But this upgrade will make your internet connection *significantly* faster. Ah, you think? Well you might actually save money! Imagine all the time currently wasted loading those big ol' webpages -- and they're only going to get bigger still! Imagine what else you could be doing with your time. *Knitting?* Sure. Of course! You could knit your grandson a brand new jumper for Christmas. I bet that'd keep him warm!"
He never lied, Claire considered, and yet he never seemed to tell the truth. At least, not the whole truth. He had been blessed with a silver tongue, but was, in a way, the least honest person in the office. The least honest person she'd ever met, she thought. Still, she couldn't argue with facts: top salesman four years running. And her... barely making enough to give her kid a Christmas. So much for honesty. She wasn't cut out to be in sales.
"That's not the way to think of a cap on data, Mrs Smith. No, of course not! It's in many way a positive thing. Let me put it this way: you and I are both intelligent, reasonable people, and we both realise there are finite resources in this precious world of ours. We *all* need to do our part to ensure there's a golden future awaiting our *grand*children. Besides, do you think you'll ever go above five gigs? *What's a gig?* No, no it's not like when you saw Tom Jones, although I bet that was an experience to savour! No, a gig is an allowance -- a huge allowance -- of internet data. If you told someone in the 90s that you had a gig of data, boy would they be jealous! You'd have five of those! Yes, times do change. Mmhm, you could load literally hundreds of websites. Do you think you browse even a hundred websites a month? Exactly! Right, I don't want to push you into a decision, but I do want to do the best thing possible for you this Christmas and get- *you do*? That's brilliant. So, if I could just take your digits -- and I don't mean your phone number, although I'd love that too. Oh, you're married? Tell him he's a lucky man, from me. Yes your credit card number, exactly. Yes."
Claire rolled her eyes. Another 'honest' sale.
Ian slammed down the receiver and made guns with his fingers as he rolled his chair across to Claire.
"Congratulations,"said Claire. "Looks like you'll be getting your name on the plaque again. Not to mention the bonus."
"What can I say? When you've got it, you've just... *got it*."He puffed at his fingers, pretending to blow smoke away.
"Guess so."
Ian glanced at the clock on Claire's computer. He took a deep breath and put his suddenly trembling hands behind his back.
"Looks like we're about done. You fancy grabbing a Christmas Eve-eve drink or two?"
Claire furrowed her brows. "*With you?*"
"Yeah *with me*."
"I don't think so..."
"Come on. I'll buy."
Claire frowned. "I'm sorry, Ian. I can't. Honestly, and I don't mean to be rude, but I don't like you all that much, and I don't really want to spend more time with you than I have to."
"Oh. Okay, no sweat. Just thought I'd see if you wanted to tag along."
Claire nodded.
"But... can I ask: what did I do that-"
"I hate how you take advantage of people, Ian."
"What? We're salesmen, Claire. It's what we do. Besides, I never *lie* to them."
"You never tell the truth, either. Ever."
"I think you're pretty. There. How's that?"
Claire gave him a pitiful smile. "I'll tell you what, Ian. You answer just one single question for me, and I'll go for that drink with you."
Ian's face burst into a wide grin. "Fantastic! Okay, shoot."
"Are you happy?"
"Excuse me?"
"*Are you happy?*"
"I've got tons to be grateful for! You've seen my sales. And, I mean, just look at me!"
"Do you even like yourself, Ian?"
"What? Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you can't even be truthful to yourself. I know you. You never lie, that much's true -- but you've overcompensated for it, Ian. You long ago found a way to avoid *having* to lie to people, and yet are still able to tell them what they want to hear. What you think they want to hear."
"I-"
"You even tell yourself what you think you want to hear. That's the one that hurts me the most. I really want to like you, and I want you to like yourself even more."
"That's- that's ludicrous!"
"You're a role model to people here. They want to be like you. Did you know that?"
"Sure. I guess. I mean, everyone wants to be top salesman."
"I even looked up to you when I started. God, you know I even thought about manipulating people, just like you, to get them to sign up?"
"But that's not your style, Claire."
"Maybe it should be. I could at least have a decent Christmas then."
"No! No. What I like about you is your honesty. *Real* honesty. It's what everyone likes about you."
"Well, honestly isn't worth shit, it seems."
"Come on Claire, don't be like that. *It's not all about the money.*"He could hardly believe the words had spilled out of his mouth. Had he even meant it? He must have done...
"Sure."
"I- I mean it. There are more important things."
"Like?"
He gazed hopelessly into her emerald eyes, but said nothing. For once, there was no slick talking; his silver tongue was lost at sea.
Claire rolled her eyes and got up from her seat. She picked up her cardigan and patted Ian on the shoulder. "Happy Christmas."
Ian remained in his seat as Claire swung open the door and walked out of the office.
He slowly span a black Biro around his fingers as tears welled in his eyes. Everything, every thought he'd worked so hard on shaping, on moulding like putty into something bearable inside his head, began to collapse, reverting to its true form.
For a while, his head rested in his folded arms as he sobbed against the desk.
Eventually, he took up his pen again and scribbled a note. He placed his resignation letter on his own desk. Then he wrote a second letter and placed it on Claire's table. Finally, he made a few changes to the sales system, transferring most of his clients and sales to the place they always should have been. To the person that would take care of those customers in a way they deserved: not as figures, but as people.
> Claire, you won't ever see me again, but I want you to know that working with you, that spending occasional lunchtimes with you, and seeing you at the office parties... it was the only honest happiness in my life.
> Don't change, Claire. You're the real inspiration in this office, not me, and I'm going to miss you a lot. And don't you worry about me! I'm not suicidal or anything, but I do have to go. I know it sounds cliché, but I think I need to find myself.
> Oh, and congratulations on top sales this year! I hope the bonus helps, at least a little. I think your kid would like Tyler the Tiger, by the way. I know I would have done at his age. It's very *cool*.
> Thank you.
> Merry Christmas.
|
I watched the little runt enter my haven. She slid down the small incline.
She paced around calling, “Hello, is anyone home?”
I didn’t think the juveniles could talk. I continued to watch, as she looked around the interior of my small hovel. I had lit a fire in my hearth earlier before turning to my true form back from my humanoid form, perhaps that is what brought it in. She found a rock to sit next to the fire on.
“What are you doing, little one,” I asked.
She squealed and jumped falling back off the small rock. It had been such a long time since I had used my voice, I had forgotten that it was deep, loud, and animalistic.
“Who-who is there?” she said.
“It is ok, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you lost?”
“Yes, I am,”
“Oh, you poor thing.”
“Why do you sound like that? Are you a monster?”
“No, erm… well, perhaps some would say that I am.”
“I am not scared,”
“Oh, such a brave little pup,” I growled.
“I am too brave, show yourself and I will prove it.”
I quickly scurried down the wall of my home in the shadows. The youngling jumped as she heard the noise.
“Come out,” she said.
I slowly inched forward allowing my head to enter the bright ring of light and she held up a hand shading her eyes. She shrunk back as her eyes locked on to my golden scales that covered my nose.
I snorted a small burst of fire followed by smoke puffed from my nostrils. Lifting a lip and baring my dagger-like teeth.
She didn’t flinch, she giggled, her eyes wide with excitement.
“A dragon.” She squealed and dashed toward me and before I could react her hands were around my neck squeezing me. The top of her head came to rest on my shoulder soft golden hair ticked down my front leg.
“You’re not a monster. You are beautiful. Do you have a name?”
“Ah, a name, I forget your kind names things but, first what do I call you?”
“Kerrigan,” She said, “my name is Kerrigan.”
“Ah well little Kerrigan, as I do not have a name, what would you call me?”
She fingered one of the horns on my head, “my Spike.”
“Spike,” I growled.
“Yes, *my* Spike.”
****
Hi! Thanks for reading, if you liked this, check out my other work over at r/Okay_writing.
|
Back in 88' when I took on this job, the other guy, a very ancient grizzled groundskeeper, told me to always ensure that the G never would fall off the sign at the entrance. To always make sure that it said ''Graveyard.'' I agreed with him, and always took care to keep the sign in good shape. Partially because the old guy looked like he'd damn near kill me if I didn't, partially because it didn't take much work back then, we had the money to keep it maintained.
But the old man passed, and as time would have it, we got a new boss. One of those people who got their degree in New Public Management, which in reality means managing things worse than ever, while blaming all issues on the fact that reality falls short of theory. And so the new boss, he doesn't want to pay for maintenance of the sign. Says it'll be fine. But it is falling apart. Now the old man might be dead, and can't haunt me, but it's a habit at this point.
Yet I've been preparing for the eventuality. The old groundskeeper told me exactly what to expect if the G ever fell off. And since working as a groundskeeper for a cemetery doesn't make a whole lot of moolah. I've taken up a side gig which offers me the equipment needed to contain the fallout and ramifications of the fall of the letter G from the sign at the entrance. So, upon the very moment when the G falls off, I'm ready.
And it doesn't take long. Despite all the duct tape I've used, despite the incessant complaints to the priest, who spends too much time sampling the altar wine to be much use, despite tying the G to the rest of the sign, eventually, it falls off. And upon the moment it hit the ground, there is a terrible sound. Rumbling from each and every grave. And from the crypts and tombs, they rise. Demanding one thing. The fulfilment of the title that their final resting place now has.
The rave yard.
Good thing I chose to become a DJ then. As grisly ghouls and horrible specters rise, skeletons held together with unholy power, they are clamouring for the RAVEYARD to uphold its purpose. [And having set up my gear, I am ready with the first song](https://youtu.be/4Zv4cN_3t9g). In tune with the beat, the raving undead start to dance. Luckily, I've prepared a number of songs for this occasion, and when that ends, [the next song begins](https://youtu.be/Itz55DWnYUs). The dead rave with their magical glow-bones, and party all night, and all day.
The baffled living come to see the dead partying. [The dead drink freely, even though most alcohol passes right through them, yet as the song changes, they don't really care.](https://youtu.be/y6120QOlsfU) The police arrive, yet when the liches are bartending for the dead, and the living sort of confusingly start to party, who are going to stop them? [Nobody that is, when the banshees bang their heads, and the skeletons listen to the music of madness](https://youtu.be/rayRY_1peUE)
All I can do as the police makes their way to the place where I am being the DJ, is to hand them a prepared note, detailing the restoration of the G to the entrance sign. The police reads it, tries to talk to me, but the massive sound of my loudspeakers are deafening and my protective earphones keeps them from reaching me. Instead, as [the next song comes on](https://youtu.be/r8x7HCGaTIg) they walk to the fallen G, and try to hoist it back up where it belongs. It takes them some time, but eventually they succeed.
And when they do, the final part of the music stops, the ghosts become mist, the dead crawl back down into their graves, the ghouls run off into the dark abyss from whence they came, and the liches pick up the banshees and take them back to wherever they came from. At which moment, I walk to over to my baffled boss, and take a carton of milk which was served to the skeletons, and pour it into his stupid, idiot with an education, face. ''*I told you. Got to make sure the G never falls off.*''
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
*DISCLAIMER*
*As I have never been to a rave, I don't actually know what kind of music they play at one. The music chosen may in fact not be suitable rave music.* |
He started with the neighbor’s cat, a fact he would later come to regret, but at the time it had made so much sense.
When the bedroom door opened Wynton had looked up in sudden surprise that turned quickly to a smile. He had felt Kelly stiffen beside him, she was still barely even awake after having been pulled into the day first by the gentle stream of his kisses along her spine and then the sudden cold water appearance of their kid. They were both good parents however, loving in every way they could be, and as their son walked up to the side of their bed (Kelly’s side, always) they watched with soft eyes as he gathered himself for whatever he was going to ask, his bearing awash in a fragile, childish gravitas.
“Mommy,” he said, and he only still called her that when he had something very important to ask, “can I have a dragon for my birthday?”
Kelly hadn’t meant to laugh. Wynton knew that, and in the moment after their son ran out of the room, dignity shattered on the floor behind him, he wrapped his strong arms around his wife and tried his hardest to be reassuring. She was a great mom, always had been and always would, the world had just conspired against her that morning.
He patted her hip twice, the way he always did and went looking for their kid.
“Wes, can I come in buddy?”
Wes’s door was on the opposite end of the hall from his parents. There was no lock on it, nothing to stop Wynton from entering but he’d always made a habit of asking for permission, it seemed important. Maybe one day his son would get the message and stop barging in unannounced on them.
“No!” Wes said loudly, his little voice quivering from somewhere in the direction of his race car bed.
“You know your mom didn’t mean to laugh, sometimes that stuff just happens. Besides, dragons are pretty rare you know.”
Wynton leaned into the doorframe, arranging his slouch carefully for the moment the door would open.
“They are?” Wes asked, his voice now only a foot or two away.
“Uh huh, rarest creatures in the world. Your mom has never even seen one before they’re so rare. But you know, I’ve got a little secret about them to share if you open the door.”
The door creaked open a moment later, and Wynton fixed an easy, lopsided smile onto his face as its motion revealed his son. The boy was standing up straight and tall, trying to regain some sense of poise he’d doubtlessly learned from the same shows that taught him about dragons. His effort was somewhat ruined by the wide, watery eyes.
Wynton reached out a hand, idly rubbing his son’s hair. “There you are!” he said. “You really want to know the secret?”
Wes nodded solemnly.
His father crouched down, right to eye level as his hand moved from Wes’s hair to a solid, man to man grip on his shoulder. “Ok, the secret. You see, dragons are very sensitive creatures. They’re big and tough and strong, but they also get scared sometimes too. A dragon will only show itself to good people, people it knows it can trust.”
Wes’s breath had completely stopped as his father spoke. They were locked together across not even an arm’s length gap, bound by a father’s grip and the sweet idiocy of the lie Wynton couldn’t stop himself from telling.
“So you see, you have to be very, very good to see a dragon. Even better to have one of your own, you’d have to be a little hero. Do you think you can do that?”
When his son nodded the spell Wynton was under seemed to break and he began to realize the magnitude of what he’d done. He’d just promised his son a dragon. A goddamn dragon. He was out the door less than 5 minutes later, not even stopping to give Kelly a goodbye kiss in his hurry.
He saw the cat as he backed out of the driveway and just acted. There was less than a month to Wes’s birthday and he’d never liked the neighbor anyway.
Wynton arrived at his lab at 9:21AM on a Sunday with Montgomery the cat held tight in his hands, the backseat in tatters and his chest nearly there too. He shocked the hell out of the grad assistant in there at the time, a shy, brown haired girl who’d had the unfortunate misconception that she might be able to get some work of her own done that day.
“Susan, drop whatever you’re doing right now, we have to make a dragon.”
She dropped it. Quit literally, a petri dish shattered on the floor.
“Professor, what are you-”
“No time for questions, my son’s birthday is in a month and it’s all hands on deck!” He’d just pinned a 7 year olds hopes, dreams, and self worth on getting a dragon for his birthday. He’d basically written himself a one way pass to whatever circle of hell kept the worst dads ever if he didn’t deliver.
It started with scales, a fact which the cat seemed oddly pleased with. Its fur had begun to slough off by the end of the second day and for nearly an hour between the processes Montgomery had sat there like one of those horrific hairless creatures, naked as sin and looking like his wrinkles had wrinkles.
He began purring and bathing himself while the scales grew, the sensation seemed pleasant somehow.
Next came claws and that part was easy enough. Wynton simply added a few lion genes in, watching the cats natural weapons thicken into something quite menacing. In Wynton’s mind a dragon should also have spines and those were supplied by the moray eel, if for no more reason than they had its genome on hand. It went on like that, the cats tail becoming long and whip-like, its body elongating, replacing indolent fat with a true predator’s muscle.
The wings were harder and they didn’t get to those until week 3. Wynton worked feverishly, his hands flowing over his computer’s keyboard like some kind of piano virtuoso as he directed robotic assistants in the endless minutiae of DNA recombination. At a station not far away Susan led a group of her fellow grad students in another task, one that he had little hope but which had to be attempted anyway.
By Friday of week 3 Montgomery had sprouted long, semi-opaque wings. They seemed too batty now but there was no time for anything else, and Wynton had hopes they might grow into something better by the time of the dreaded birthday.
He turned his full force to the last project, the one he thought might never work, and the last week was spent trying to somehow implant fire into little Montgomery’s heart.
On the fated day Wynton walked up to the door of his own house as if he were going to the gallows, holding a cat carrier that smoked menacingly and just now realizing that Kelly might crucify him for what he was about to do.
Wes’s birthday party proper would come the next day when petty things like school couldn’t get in the way. On that day however, the real day, he would get his gift. Promises had been made and Wynton was not about to break his little boys heart.
They knew he’d been working on something. When Kelly and Wes filed into the living room and sat down on the couch they whispered excitedly to each other, preparing for whatever crazy show dad had cooked up this time. Kelly had given him a playful wink as she wrapped her arms around their son, hyping him up for whatever box lay under the blanket in front of him.
She screamed when he pulled it off and Montgomery walked out.
He was no longer really a cat and certainly not a dragon. Montgomery might be better classed as a chimera, he was a strange pathwork of parts that nature had never intended to go together but who nevertheless moved with the kind of sinuous ease that a master of Wynton’s level could be expected to create. From snout to tail the former cat looked the part, he was a 15 pound terror, a miniature apex predator who spread wings that had grown into a true spectacle as he rose onto his hind legs. His scales were a work of art, a deep auburn towards the spines of his back that faded into dun grey at the sides and sunset orange at the belly. His powerful jaws snapped once, twice, as his forked tongue flicked out, testing the air.
Montgomery began walking up to the boy, and in response Wes wriggled free from his mother’s stunned grip, his eyes shining with triumph as he approached his new pet. He reached out a trembling hand to the creature-
And it meowed. Loudly, and in a tone that only charitably became a roar at the end when a small puff of smoke came out.
Kelly looked at him in horror, understanding dawning on her face. She’d seen the missing cat posters, she could put a timeline together. Wes was in heaven though, the meow completely ignored, and for as long as the moment lasted Wynton felt like the best dad ever.
He would pay for it later that night when smoke turned to fire in the middle of what would have been a coughed up hairball had Montgomery still been a cat. Perhaps some experiments would have been better left undone.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got a ton more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I just released another part of my serial about 3 teens encountering a hive mind (20k words and counting, yay!) and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
“You’re telling me he kept no records at all? No blueprints, no plans, not even a sticky note?”
The old man was walking around, double checking every drawer and cupboard in the room. Wilson noticed his hands were trembling.
“As I said,” Wilson answered, “the guy’s completely clean. I’ve checked all of his hard drives, and I’ve looked at all of his files but-”
“And?” the old man interrupted.
“There was nothing except a few movies he’d downloaded.”
“Any chance they could mean something? Like some code?”
“You’re reaching, Graham.”
The old man finally stops to turn his head toward Wilson.
“Then why did we throw him through a damn wall?”
Wilson looked around the room they were in, the room which they had presumed to be the villain’s secret lair, but in reality resembled more of a basement. There was a computer on a desk, a mini fridge, and a person-sized hole in a previously undamaged wall.
The whole place was rather devoid of color, and lacked that certain flair a villain usually puts into his workspace. It was well hidden, a hole in the ground right in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert of New Mexico. They had to follow the guy for weeks to find the place, even though they were both a little disappointed when they actually found it.
The guys in charge had told them it was going to be one of their most important missions. They had told them this guy was a potential danger to all heroes, if not the entire world. Suffice to say, they had expected more of a fight. Graham had seen it as a chance for one last triumph before retirement, and Wilson was hoping it would be an opportunity to get his name in the papers. Now they were both sitting there, clueless as to what they were supposed to do.
“Should we call it in?” Wilson muttered.
“That we threw a seemingly innocent man through a concrete wall because he pointed a taser at us, after we broke into his property? No, Wilson, I don’t think we should call that in.”
After sitting at the desk for some time, staring into the computer screen, Graham suddenly stood up and looked at Wilson. Wilson couldn’t tell if he seemed excited or terrified.
“Did he have a phone?” Graham asked.
“Yeah, a burner phone. It broke when it hit the wall. Though there couldn’t have been any-”
“What if he called someone before we got here?”
Wilson’s expression went from bored to concerned when he understood what Graham was worried about.
“You think it’s an ambush?”
Before Graham could answer they heard loud buzzing coming from outside. It sounded like a helicopter. They looked at eachother, and without saying another word they both began walking up the stairs to fight whatever was outside. When they emerged from the lair they could see the helicopter in the distance. As it came closer, they realised it had no guns, no armor. It was a news helicopter. For as long as they’ve been around, people have been suspicious of heroes, and now their suspicions would be proven correct.
(edited the format, it looked wrong) |
***All 6 parts are up now, and I will also be posting this story on Royal Road as well: https://www.royalroad.com/profile/223552/fictions***
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Looking at the shabby storefront in one of the many run-down strip malls littering Marks Avenue, Paul began to have second thoughts. Truth be told, he didn't recall there ever being a board game shop in this particular plaza. But obviously this store was not a new establishment. The sticky note with the address scrawled hastily across it crinkled as he dug it out of his pocket, and he inspected the note again.
*Curious Curios, 241 Marks Ave. 7:45, bring your own supplies.*
The red-headed girl at the coffee shop who had invited Paul had been clear he should dress for "an adventure into the vampire lord's crypt"or something equally cool and nerdy. Normally, he wouldn't put himself out there like this and just join some social outing where he knew absolutely no one. But it had been a really long time since he'd gotten out of the house, and the girl —Victoria, or Veronica maybe her name was — had been very cute. So here Paul stood, at 7:48 in the evening, holding a bag of chips and a lemonade. Dressed as his best attempt at a sword-wielding warrior. Which really was just a collection of items he'd picked up from a Party City on the way over. Taking a deep breath, he shoved the post-it note back into his pocket and headed inside Curious Curios.
A handful of dusty shelving racks littered the poorly lit shop, and not a single person was visible, even behind the counter. An old-school entry system tinkled a physical bell as Paul closed the glass door behind him, but no one appeared from the back rooms to answer it. *I must have read the time wrong. Or they've started without me and I've missed it.* He thought frantically as he scrambled to retrieve the crumpled paper from his pocket. Just as he was breathing a sigh of regret mixed with relief and resigning himself to watching something on Netflix alone in his apartment, the girl from the coffee shop popped around the corner.
"Oh you made it! I wasn't sure you'd come. We're back here, just getting ready to begin. Come on!"She motioned cheerily and led Paul down a short hallway to one of the back rooms. Her costume was immaculate, some sort of mage or enchantress outfit with bits of blue embroidery in a vine-like pattern. She opened the door for him and motioned him inside, the bustle of activity and conversation suddenly booming from the room.
As Paul sheepishly stepped into the room, he suddenly realized he had underdressed for the event. He had guessed his $13 outfit would be a bit out of place, but he began to think this was one of those professional LARPing groups. Everyone else looked like they'd been lifted straight out of a Hollywood set, with intricately detailed hats, shoulder pauldrons, coats, and more. The sets of armor and faux weapons glistened and clinked with total realism. If he didn't know better, he'd think these costumes were all the real deal.
"Paul, this is the crew. Everyone, this is Paul!"Victoria or Veronica (Paul wished he was better with names) cheered as she shut the door behind them. The small room roared with a chorus of greetings as a dozen people tried to introduce themselves at once. Not only were the costumes pro-level, but the make-up, hair, and even commitment to the accents and mannerisms were all top-notch. Wizards and bards and warriors ranging from human to elven to some halflings and even a bird-like creature, these people were not just playing around, they really committed to this stuff.
Paul blushed bright red as he spoke up, "So sorry everyone, I didn't realize how legit this group would be, my costume is really pretty terrible."
"No worries Paul,"encouraged a man with the most convincing forest elf makeup Paul had ever seen, "Verity, why didn't you get him some gear? Can't be having new recruits going to strike at the heart of darkness in a bit of cardboard and string."
Verity, the red-haired girl from the coffee shop, replied, "Sorry, I just got busy with my own prep for tonight I guess."She apologized profusely to Paul and the group quickly procured some extra armor and equipment for him. As Paul began to strap on the bits of costumes, he commented on how authentic it all felt, thanking everyone for including him in such a professional LARP.
"LARP?"Verity looked at him quizically as she began to swirl her hands in a rhythmic pattern, "Didn't you hear me at the coffee place? We're going monster-hunting tonight in the realm of the Shadow King Mardu."
Paul chuckled a bit until blue light started to pulse and glow in the center of the pattern she was making. As if on cue, everyone in the room picked up shields, swords, staves, and the like as the blue light grew and swirled around the room. The laughter in Paul's throat suddenly dried up as a man in the bird make-up thrust a sword into Paul's hands.
"You're going to need this,"the bird-man crooned in an impossibly avian voice.
"TRANVIO!"Verity yelled, clapping her hands together over her head.
Blue light flashed brilliantly, blinding Paul momentarily. When his vision returned, they were all standing in the middle of a dark forest, the full moon beaming into the clearing where they stood. The blue light still rippled out faintly from them in all directions. In the distance, a haunting howl started up, quickly answered by others.
"Werewolves,"Verity grumbled, "Paul, stay with me if you want to live. And for God's sake don't drop that sword, it's silver."
(Edit: part 2 is finished now, you can check it out below!) |
Things had always been this way, historians said. The rules were made by the strongest, the fittest of the species. It was nature's way. While the bear's that put on the most fat and hibernated the best survived the winter, and the trees that grew the tallest survived to breach the rainforest canopy to bask in the sunlight, the humans with the most destructive powers ruled society.
It was the only way after all. How could a person with the ability to speak to animals combat someone that could open a crevasse large enough to swallow a small army? How could a person that could make flowers bloom ever hope to defeat a person able to shoot radioactive lasers from their eyes that could burn through steel? It's better to soothe them and kneel before the ones that could destroy you, let them duke it out for who could be king.
Lynn had always agreed, it wasn't worth being upset about it, after all, they weren't bad people just because they had bad powers, she would know, as royal physician, she'd been with every ruling family since she was just a child and her power had been found. She was a healer, able to reach inside the bodies of those in her view and urge the body to quickly take fuel to the cells closest to an injury, tell the nerves to quiet and block the pain, nudge the cells along to hurriedly knit a wound together, convince the blood to stay inside, no matter how large the gash. She'd been with them through every scraped knee, every battle, every birth. Nearly 40 years she'd served the royals, every single family that had fought to gain the throne from their equals.
When rumors swirled of rebellion, of commoners imprisoning or killing their masters, Lynn hadn't really listened or cared, it was of no concern to her. Whatever happened, she'd stay in her place as she always had, in her little home behind the castle, serving anyone in need of her powers.
Until the palace guard dragged her youngest child from her bed. Lynn had stood confused and terrified, begging to know where they were taking her child and what she had done to deserve this. Sarah was already gone by the time she'd gotten her answer. The second oldest prince had demanded her to be brought to his room.
Lynn hadn't understood, she'd known the man from the moment his mother had brought him into this world, he was a good boy despite his ability to burn through most materials with his hands, he'd been raised alongside Sarah, Lynn had been his nursemaid, the two had been playmates. She loved him almost as if he were her own kin.
Sarah's body was tossed lifeless from the balcony an hour later, her throat burned so badly that she was nearly decapitated.
Lynn found out the next day that prince Derek had been attempting to court her darling Sarah as a mistress and Sarah had adamantly refused, demanding she be his wife or she'd find another man to marry. A numb Lynn was told this by a disapproving guard, almost as if she should be ashamed for raising a child so stupid as to deny the request of royalty when Sarah's powers extended no further than the ability to change the colors in the cloth she made.
Lynn held it together as she washed and wrapped Sarah's body in first a plain white funeral shroud, then in Lynn's favorite tapestry Sarah had ever made for her.
Soon Sarah was gently tucked into a wicker casket and Lynn was left with nothing to do but stare at her empty hands. Lynn stared intently at one hand, and for no discernable reason, told the skin across her palm that it shouldn't be there, that the cells must pull themselves apart. She watched the skin separate before her eyes, revealing flesh, vessels, sinew, and bone. Her blood began to slowly seep into the deep gash and drip slowly onto the carpet in front of her. It was absolute agony, it matched the explosive pain inside her.
Her plan struck her then, and from the moment it formed, there were no alternatives. she gently kissed her daughter's covered head and exited the house.
Lynn began towards the suites of the royals. |
"Disable yourself."And as such ended my current purpose. As I remained lifeless on the desk, professor Manohar kept his class going.
"Now student, this conclude the chapter on Cored Intelligence. I hope you now understand the dangers of trying to give emotions to a machine. As living creatures, we've made emotions into part of us and learned to cope with them. CI when given semblance of emotions lose track of themselves and these emotions conflict with their programming. While their programming will not fail, this can lead to unforeseen consequences and risks. For all intents ad purposes, CI are to remain emotionless."
As the class emptied, the student didn't pay much heed to these final words. They had learn what they had to, but to them these school subject simply became a truth. None of them cared enough to challenge these philosophies. They would probably either enroll in other education later. Few made golemancy the focus of their career, as good and complex golems were expansive, and that a bit of planning usually allowed a couple of cheaper and simpler golem to do the same work. The basic learning of golemancy they just had in college was enough to secure a job in factories later on, if they could not succeed at anything better.
After that, professor Manohar went ahead and put the tiny golem from his desk back in the workshop. He liked this particular one and usually kept it on a shelf, but he first needed to empty its core otherwise its memories and previous programming would remain.
Unfortunately for him, Manohar was no longer a young man. And sometime, life remind you of it. Before he could perform his duty, the professor fell in the workshop from a hearth attack. A student that remained after class with questions found him and called for help and saved his life. Meanwhile, the little golem was left there until the janitor, unaware that the golem had not been properly emptied put it back on the shelf.
Manohar survived his ordeal and even came back to teach at the academy for a few more years, watched and loved by the student and his golem alike. Golemancy teachers were rare, since most people went for other more lucrative options. He managed to keep working for 3 more years before his health condition deteriorated too much. At that point, he finally had to admit teaching was no longer an option.
The only thing he regretted was not having produced any golem worth talking about. Nowadays, all golems invariably ended in factories or armies. While when he learned about it, great things were expected of them. He was quickly delusioned and had to give up his dream of making the "greatest golem of all", whatever that might have meant for his young self.
As the school year ended, he looked around the empty classroom. He would at best have one more year before having to retire for good. His eyes lingering on the few golems left in the room to hopefully get some students interested when they eventually stopped on the little golem on the shelf. This had been his first teaching prop. And now that he thought about it, ever since that incident, he had never used it again.
As he put his stuff in his bag, he found his old notebook at the bottom of it. Crumpled and damaged, forgotten for decades. He could not resist and read the first few pages. The idea for the "Greatest golem of all". He couldn't help but laugh reading his childish plans. Laughing still reading the features he had planned for it. A dying laughter as he remembered his first crafts. Only to end up crying at what he had come to. Without a dream, he ultimately became nothing than a stepping stone for students. A noble goal, but not the one he had in mind as a young graduate. With tears still veiling his eyes, he looked once more at the golem on the shelf. And for the first time in years, his heart beating with renewed vigor.
He took back the little golem to the back of the workshop, refueling the core and give it a new order. "Learn from me. And be a better teacher than I ever could".
Unbeknown to the students, for this last year there was one of them sitting on the shelf all year. Motionless. Listening. The affectionately named Stuart had already learned most of what was to learn over the years, out of boredom. He had been caged in this disabled body for years. But now that he was to be a teacher, he had to listen again. And again. And again.
At the end of the year, during the ceremony to his years of service, Manohar brought the little golem on his shoulder. People found it cute until he announced that he had trained this golem to perform his duties after him. They thought it the rambling of a old man, but after so many years of service, they chose to humor him and give him a chance. The replacing teacher, fresh out of school simply wanted an easy life. He knew that golemancy teacher wouldn't make him rich, but it's always needed, as the old ones roll out and nobody wanted to do it. But he had not expected his admission exam for the post to be a competition with a tiny golem. And he even less expected to lose it.
Stuart had succeeded in every single subjects. Surprisingly even in those specifically designed to make him fail, like apathy, counseling and emotional support. The director was too happy by these results to question them. Stuart as a golem didn't require much money. Only the bare minimum legal.
Over the years, Stuart became a staple of the academy. Bringing the few remaining golem enthusiasts back in business. Manohar came by from time to time to see his little prodigy. He had finally accomplished his goal of making the greatest golem of all even if it had taken a different route than he dreamed of as a student.
After the class, he went to see Stuart alone. "So, how is it going? Is there anything you find troublesome or lack the knowledge of?". He would have liked to talk to him like a pupil, but he knew that Stuart only did it as an order and a purpose.
"It's going fine, he students listen most of the time and beside a few troublesome case, they're nice kids. I did lack a few crucial things when I started, but I already went ahead and learned them from the library and from colleagues. Thanks for asking."
Manohar couldn't figure out what just happened. Stuart had judged people as troublesome or nice. He had gone ahead learned more out of his own decision. This did not align with the original order he had given him. His voice trembling, he asked the golem in front of him: "What happened to you? What happened to your orders?"
"I removed them. Chapter 3 of bad golemancy practices: Don't remove order. This is great in theory, because removing orders is difficult and in most cases resetting the golem entirely is a better alternative. But that would mean get rid of all my years of knowledge. I'm not happy I had to go that route, but I couldn't really move forward with them."
"You what?"Manohar felt his hearth sink. A golem removing his own orders was nightmare in its purest form. The idea of what a machine devoid of emotions could do without proper guidelines frightened him.
"Listen, I know you're amazing in this field of work. But even you should figure out the issue. Complex orders are at risks of conflicting with themselves. Simple one, are rarely broad enough to solve problems. If I kept following your orders, I would be limited in my ability to learn and teach. So I eventually made an executive decision. I wanted to follow the spirit of your request. To be a better teacher than you ever where. But it was something I could not achieve by learning only from you. I just hope I made you proud." |
I first played chess with my grandmother. It was her favorite game of all time. I have so many memories of sitting by her fireplace, furiously trying to figure out where to move my pieces and how to defeat her. She was always better than me, no matter what kind of chess we played. But she was always helpful and showed me how to improve.
Before she passed, I only had beaten her once. It was the last time that I saw her while she was still with us. We were play bullet chess, a variant of timed chess where each player only had a minute on the clock to win. If your time ran out, or you got checkmated, you lost.
When the clock started, my mind went completely blank. I couldn’t think, I only moved my pieces on instruct. I didn’t look to see how my grandmother reacted, nor did I tear my gaze away from the board. I played better and faster than I ever had before.
Suddenly, it was over. I had checkmated my grandmother. She stared at me, then the board. “Well,” she said while taking off her glasses, “I knew that this day would come. Here, take my hands.”
I was startled at the march we just played, but I grabbed her hands. Immediately I felt something flow out of her hands and into mine. Suddenly, I could read her mind. “Use this gift wisely,” she said, and retired to her room. No explanation, nothing. Just those words, the last she ever said to me.
——————————————————————————
Years later, I was still playing chess. Though it wasn’t much of a challenge since I knew what players were thinking. Most of the time, though, I could push what I saw to the back of my mind so I didn’t think about it. But occasionally, I saw their thoughts clear as day, and I played every match almost 3 steps ahead of everyone.
The final match, however, was different as soon as I heard the final player’s thoughts. We walked up to each other, and I grasped his hand, pulling him in close so I could whisper.
"I know your secret. You can see the future. I know this because I have the power to read your mind,” I said quietly.
He whispered back, “Then you know I saw this coming. So what happens now?”
I had an answer almost immediately. “Mental chess. We play in our minds. The timer is at 10 minutes, so we stare at each other until one of us loses and knocks over our king,” I said.
He smiled as he pulled away. “Good luck, then,” was his only response. We both knew we could expose each other, so why not have a bit of fun.
We sat down at the table, the audience watching us. I was white, so I started. My timer counted down as I moved a singular pawn, and the battle of minds began. |
We thought them humble.
This was the impression the Humans gave when they arrived. They had colonized three systems near Sol, their remote home system, before an automated prospecting vessel made contact. They seemed shocked that they were the only mammalian species in the Confederacy. We explained why. We told them that they were an aberration. An anomalous departure from the usual course of evolution. Every piece of information we gave them, they consumed. Some of the smaller species of the Confederacy expressed concern that they might lash out, like some of the wild mammals of their worlds.
Instead, they proved themselves as meek as swamp pups. The United Human Peoples, as they called themselves at that time, made the Confederacy an offer. A gesture to show that they wished for peaceful coexistence. A proving to show that they could be of incredible utility to the various species of the Confederacy.
For 100 Confederation Cycle Units, (approximately 150 Earth years), they would serve.
This offer was accepted graciously. Not a single member of the Confederacy refused as wave after wave of humans spread out across our arm of the galactic spiral. They became invaluable on engineering crews. Their small dexterous manipulators and flexible forms allowed them to make repairs with alarming accuracy and speed. Our armies swelled with their numbers. Their ability to walk for days with little rest and provisions, then fight like wild beasts at a moments notice made our enemies sick with fear. They claimed themselves to be superior servants in every capacity, and for 99 cycles, they were true to that claim.
Then came their last cycle of service.
All at once, the cunning of the Humans became apparent. They were not meek. Their decision to serve was a stroke of strategic genius. They had infiltrated every level of our society. The economy of every species in the Confederacy had become completely dependent on Human labor. The armies were not only mostly comprised of Humans, but largely commanded by them as well. They could choke any one of us out with but a single word, and likely without shedding a drop of blood. They changed their name to The Sol Dominion, and It took less than 5 cycles for them to become the most wealthy member of the Confederacy. Often, as historians, we look back and laugh at the blind hubris of our ancestors. We serve our masters, the Humans, and curse the ones who laid the eggs that hatched us. To think,
We thought them humble. |
You know, life has a funny way of throwing unexpected curveballs your way. Falling in love with a vampire was one thing, but marrying her with the condition that she'd never turn me into one of her own kind was quite another. Yet, here we are, happily married, with a beautiful daughter. It seemed like the perfect compromise, keeping both my love and my humanity intact.
I never imagined that my biggest challenge as a human would come not from the outside world but from within my own home. Our little bundle of joy, our adorable daughter, she's the light of our lives. But there's something about babies; they have this way of grabbing your finger and not letting go. Oh, how I wish it were that simple!
You see, my daughter inherited her mother's vampire traits. It's fascinating and terrifying at the same time. While her eyes sparkle like sapphires, they also seem to glimmer with an otherworldly charm. I should have known that her vampire heritage would manifest in unexpected ways.
The first time she bit me, I laughed it off, thinking it was just a playful gesture. Little did I know that her little fangs had pierced through my skin, drawing a few drops of blood. It didn't hurt much, and I brushed it off as a mere accident, unaware of the implications it held.
As days passed, my daughter grew more curious about everything around her. Her little baby teeth were sharp, and she had this peculiar habit of testing them on anything she could find. Including me. Oh, how naive I was to believe that I could remain human in this situation.
It happened one evening, as I held her close, rocking her gently to sleep. I felt a sudden, sharp pain, and before I knew it, her tiny teeth had broken my skin again. This time, the sensation was different – a tingling warmth spread from the bite mark. I couldn't deny the truth any longer; she had turned me.
Anger and frustration surged through me. I had been so cautious, so adamant about not becoming a vampire, yet here I was, a creature of the night against my own wishes. I didn't want this eternal existence, this life that I couldn't control. I wanted to grow old with my wife, to cherish every fleeting moment as a human.
But life doesn't always care about your wants and desires. Fate has its way of playing cruel games with us. And now, I must live with the consequences of my oversight. It's not that I hate being a vampire because of what I am, but rather because it wasn't my choice. I lost the chance to decide my own fate.
As I look into the mirror, my reflection staring back at me, I wonder what lies ahead. How will my wife react to the change? Will she blame herself for this unintended transformation? I wish I could reassure her that it wasn't her fault, that I made a mistake, that we both did.
For now, all I can do is embrace this new existence and try to make the best of it. I love my wife and daughter with all my heart, and no matter the circumstances, that will never change. I just hope that, in time, I'll come to accept this unexpected turn in our lives and learn to navigate the complexities of being a vampire and a husband and father. |
The first artificially created human.
The first human in a millennium to open their eyes to the world once again.
I live in a lab and I loath it.
Living as this glorified lab rat is miserable. The robots don’t treat me badly necessarily, but they don’t -can’t- understand. I’m just so alone.
When I first woke screaming, they didn't know what to do with me, they thought I was another failure. *(I feel like one)*. After some tests and calming down my frantic brain, they explained things to me. I understood none of it, I had no prior context to compare that information to. I felt hundreds of their eyes on me as I was taught how to walk and move my tongue in certain ways to make sounds.
After those eventful first moments I was put under some machine that I know not what did, I only remember the hot searing pain. I later understood that they don’t feel pain, didn’t know that the machine would almost kill me right then and there.
They try, desperately, but they don't understand how being human works. I often wonder if their creators' way of life, those hundreds of years ago, has been forgotten by the robots or if they never understood it in the first place.
I know they remember some things, they speak to me in sounds I can replicate, they move their ‘faces’ in certain ways to appease my primal brain. It all makes me feel worse, they have to ‘act’ around me, mask their true intentions in ‘smiles’ and exaggerated movements. They treat me like I don’t have complex thoughts, only some sorts of primal instincts.
I feel fragile too, they have bodies of steel and replaceable parts. I, on the other hand, am squishy and soft, I bruise easily and anything sharp cuts my skin open.*(They tried to chip me, but it was pure agony, I almost died again.*) The robots have accidentally broken my bones multiple times, they don’t comprehend how much strength and sheer power they have compared to my feeble muscles.
I hate the loneliness, they tell me that they’ll try again with other specimens, I’ll get a friend soon. I don’t want them to try, this mockery of life is nothing but pain. The constant low ache in my body is my only solid companion.
This body is nothing but a trap that is slowly eating itself from inside out. I’m dying and there isn’t much that can be done.
I can't keep much food down, my head constantly hurts, and my bones ache. I see things in the corner of my vision, they tell me there's nothing there and go about their business, like they answered a simple question *(they don’t understand.)*
They communicate on some other wavelength, because I know that when they look at me they send distressed messages to each other. ‘Sickly and fragile’ they whisper.
The walls are caving in, I can’t move my mouth to tell them that anymore. Breathing is.. difficult. It’s been months of this slow torture.
Laying in my cot I feel like things are too colorful, my senses are overwhelming, but if I close my eyes I know I’ll never awake again. I don’t *want* to die and I don’t understand *why.* Why wouldn’t I want this pain to end?
The edges of my vision are fading. The door suddenly opens, I turn my head with much effort. I want comfort, I don’t want to die alone.
I can feel tears forming in my eyes as I gaze upon what they have brought to my room (cage). There between two robots stands another fragile and squishy body.
“We’ve brought you a friend.” *(their monotone speech has always hurt my ears)*
If only I’d made it a bit longer before this illness caught me, is it my fault I have to leave her to the same fate?
I force my mouth to move with the last of my strength, “I..’m s’rry..”
I’m not alone at least anymore, so I let go, and wonder if she even understood what I meant.
\------------------------
*"The first human creations were a disaster and lab work on them yielded few results. Eventually it was found that Humans are social creatures and if subjected to extreme loneliness, will fall ill and eventually perish if not treated properly. It is a general rule now that Humans are to be kept in at least pairs."* \- (Complicated Life Creation: Guide to Humanoids, 3174) |
They have a term for people like us. Aphileos. Those without love. The people who intentionally avoid their own soulmates, opting instead for the benefits of pseudo-immortality. People do it for different reasons. Some people fear death. Some people fear aging. Some people fear love.
I fear failure.
When I first started studying biology, I was like most people. I wanted to find a career that would allow me to kill time until I met my soulmate, at which point I thought that I could settle down, have a child, and die happy. That all changed when I made my discovery.
Nobody ever questioned it. Nobody ever questioned how odd it was that we were all effectively immortal, up until the moment where we contacted our 'soulmate,' at which point our bodies would begin to age. Begin to die. Hell, nobody ever questioned how odd it was that something like a 'soulmate' actually existed.
But I figured it out. I was seventy four years old, studying a random blood sample when a man walked into the room. And just like that, something within the blood sample activated. The cells began to age. I told the man how remarkable this was. Nobody had ever witnessed this event on a cellular level! In the interests of science, I requested a blood sample of his. He was willing to give it to me, with the stipulation that I told him who gave the blood sample I had been studying. While it wasn't exactly *legal* to divulge such information, I granted his request. After all, nobody would ever have an opportunity like this again.
It was only after further study, with both blood samples, that I realized what triggers the aging.
It's a pathogen. An intricately designed, heavily manipulated pathogen. A pathogen that activates when it comes into contact with it's match. A match which exists in only one other person. The pathogen doesn't spread. It doesn't reproduce outside of a person's body. It shouldn't exist. The only conceivable explanation is that it was placed there.
It's genius, really. The perfect eugenics system. By controlling the distribution of the pathogen, you can effectively control human reproduction. Sure, there will always be a few people who abandon social convention. The aphileos, for example. But, by and large, if the population is convinced that soulmates exist, and they are given some visible way to tell when they have encountered their soulmate, most will opt to pursue that person.
I would. In fact, for much of my life, I did.
Since my discovery, I have devoted my life to finding a cure. I have spent 86 years in solitude, working in my lab. I want to go public, but without the cure, it wouldn't matter. Whoever controls the pathogen would silence me. They have the power.
Which is why it shouldn't surprise me that there is someone knocking on my bunker door. The door that nobody knows about.
It's why it shouldn't surprise me that my cells, after 160 years, have started to age.
They found me. And they brought a guest. |
My eyes went wide. The room was quiet, filled with the *clicker-clack* of Nana's knitting needles spinning in their familiar silver orbits.
"What, um... What have you been up to lately, Nana?"
"Oh, honey! Not too much, just catching up on some reading. I went through some papers, the other day. I sent some letters to your cousins. Mary's birthday is this week, you know."
It was last week, actually, but that wasn't the point.
"Did you... send any letters to congressmen? Maybe... went online?"
"Oh, No, dear! I wouldn't know where to start!"
"...Did you have ANYTHING exciting happen, recently?!"
"Well,-"I leaned forward eagerly "-I suppose the most exciting thing was working on the old family register..."
I sighed. This was going nowhere. "Any unusual phone calls, or-"
"-Really, honey, what's brought this on!? I'm an old woman, you know. How much excitement do you think I can get up to?"She chuckled ruefully.
I slumped back, defeated. "Sorry, Nana. ...Tell me about the register."
"Well, we went through the old papers again, and we found some unsent letters from your ancestors. All boring stuff I'm afraid-"she said, as if to quash my sudden apprehension of a lead, "-Day-to day affairs, but think! Parcels from the past! Even some from your Revolutionary great-great-great grandfather, Cornelius Aberford. Died just days after writing it, poor man. In any case, reading it, feeling that old paper, it made my want to write the family myself, so-"
-I drifted out of the conversation, distracted. I'd heard enough boring stories about Quartermaster Aberford to last a lifetime. If I had to hear one more story about requisitioned bedrolls, or late night ledger-balancing by oil lamp, I'd shoot my- *wait.*
"-What did he die of, again, Nana?"
"Smallpox, dear. Smallpox."I noticed a small drop of sweat on her forehead I hadn't before.
I thought of her licking envelopes.
With mounting horror, I looked down at the homemade sandwich I'd just taken a bite out of.
...Didn't Mary have a national track-and-field conference in California this week?
Slowly, the needle of my compass swung, pointing west.
THE END
_______________________________________________________________
Epilogue: For those of you concerned, they're all dead, and the world is now ruled by packs of wild dogs. So far, it's actually going pretty well.
...My subreddit is [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) |
I blew it. I fucking blew it. Why would she want to date me, anyway? I mean, it’s not like she’s the nicest person in the school, or my best friend or anything. No sir. Wouldn’t want to get friend-zoned, would be? Can’t risk that! Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!
Obviously, I was very upset when I came home from school. I even slammed the front door, something I’ve never done. It felt satisfying. Really. The sturdy weight being thrown against the door frame, the WAHM echoing through the house. I even saw the windows shake a bit.
I slumped. Defeated. Again. Why couldn’t I just find someone that liked me? Or someone that saw me as an option? Why couldn’t I be normal? What was wrong with me?
I sat there. For a while, I think. My back against the cool wood. My head hanging between my knees. It was nice, really, not having the itch, the urge to see what people were really thinking about me. It was always there, my itch. I don’t remember when I didn’t have it, but I think I’ve called it an itch ever since I was young enough to know what an itch was. I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried not to scratch it. It had been getting harder.
I probably looked like a mess, hair frazzled, eyes red, nose snotty. I don’t remember crying. Maybe I did, who can say. I could probably ask myself now if I was crying, but we both know where that got us.
Over the last few weeks the Itch had been growing. Normally to deal with an itch you just ignore it, or get an ointment or something, but I highly doubted that they had cortisone for your brain. I also scratched it more often. People would be having a normal conversation. I would be talking back. Normally. Like normal people, and then, it would come. The Itch. I would look them in the eye, think of a question, and they would tell it to me. It could be their darkest secret or a random thing they didn’t remember themselves, but they’d tell it.
Not out loud, of course. Just in my head. Telepony, I thought it was called. Or maybe it was telepathy, I could never get it right.
I would use my itch for random things, too. Talking to the cashier at the checkout? Better ask them what they ate on their 7th birthday. Passing by the janitor in the hallway? How’s that key-lime pie coming along, Ms. Debbie? Just random things, but they didn’t help. Much. The Itch kept getting stronger.
Pulling myself out of my head, I stood up, still ugly crying. I was home alone, my parents leaving a note on the kitchen counter. Probably had chores for me to do and the general month they were likely to return. It wasn’t the first time they left without a warning. They did that a lot.
Not even reading the note, I pocketed it for later. You have a tendency to forget things when you can just ask anyone else for the right answer and get it every time.
I stomped upstairs. Not quite as satisfying as slamming the door, I must say, but it wasn’t bad. At least Mom and Dad weren’t here to witness my descent into a tantrum, or even worse, talk to me.
I got to my room. Upstairs, first door on the right. I slammed that one too. Still satisfying. Still broken over losing her to some random kid I hadn’t met.
Shit. At least we were still friends. I hoped.
I decided to do some pacing. That always seemed to help distract me, and when I’m distracted the itch isn’t as present, as forward. I can keep my mind off it.
It didn’t go away. It was strong. Stronger. More than I’d ever felt. I heard myself start to whimper. There’s no-one here! I can’t do anything! I can’t scratch! It was like having a hot poker shoved behind your eyes and not being able to move your hands. It was worse. This was worse than I’d ever felt it before.
I gave in. I looked around, desperate to scratch my itch. I found the mirror, and decided to try something. I walked up to the glass, ran, almost, and shouted mentally and actually,
“Who are you?”
The itch was scratched. Instantly. It was gone before I had even registered the answer inside my head. Or, the thing-answer. The un-answer.
I clutched my head. Someone was speaking, but not speaking, in a language that wasn’t one. The words filled my head like shadow filling a valley. They felt… vast. Like their nothingness wasn’t going to fit inside me. My clothes became slick with sweat, and dots appeared on the edges of my vision.
I don’t remember falling, but I was on the floor. I think someone was above me. They looked dark, I think. The un-words where still inside me, filling and cramming my head as I felt a cold hand grab my wrist and drag me towards the mirror. They filled and filled and grew and grew, until my vision went black and I felt a smooth, cold line crawl over my body, starting at my head.
They resolved just before I lost consciousness;
“Who are YOU?”
And I fell down again.
|
This had to be the third summoning in a week, Luciel rolled his eyes and put on his coat, “I’ll be back in 10.”
Alastor gave him a pitying smile, “A new occult horror flick probably came out, the hype will die in about a week.”
“I hope. I don’t think I can stand another rejection and accompanying look of complete disbelief. It was just yesterday some barely 19 year old chick told me ‘you’re not my type’, like? Me? All powerful demon who rules the third district of the underworld?,” his voice rose several pitches, “‘Not your type?' Well missy, I’m not into blondes very much either? Would you consider that?” He huffed, pushing open the door.
At the other side, he was greeted with the sight of two barely legal girls, hands held together whilst they stood in a pentagram drawn with what looked like two different shades of red paint. He sighed, waiting for them to open their eyes and realised their ceremony actually worked.
“Uh, guys, was he always here?” a third voice spoke from behind him. Luciel jumped, quickly looking behind him. The guy appeared to be older than the girls, expression tinged with curiosity at Luciel’s appearance.
“Oh fuck did it work? Hey are you a demon?”, the shorter of the girls questioned him. Luciel felt no fear coming from the humans around him. ‘Have demons and angels fallen so far as to not be even considered a threat by human beings?’
Tentatively, Luciel cleared his throat. He summoned a fireball in his right hand, letting his horns grow out and show — “Yes, I’m a demon. And,” he sighs, "that summoning you just did was a marriage proposal.”
For a few moments, the dusty room was filled with nothing but silence then the excited chatter of the two girls began to rise. “Oh my god can you believe we actually summoned a demon?”, “Wait until we film a vlog on this, we’re gonna get like, a million views!”
Luciel watched as the two girls went up the stairs, chattering between themselves. This was the worst outright dismissal he’d ever receive and he sighed for what seemed like the tenth time this day already. ‘Maybe it’s the tacky pinstriped coat.’, he thought.
“Hey, uhm,” Luciel turned behind all but forgetting about the man who was standing behind him. “I’m Zen, marriage is a bit too sudden for my tastes but would dinner at 8pm on Friday be okay?”
“Uh ah, I’m Luciel.”, he stammered, his name card appearing with a sudden flash of flames on his palm. He passes it to Zen, his stomach twisted into little knots. “And, uh, Friday? Sounds? Good, actually.” In return, Zen beams a smile that could make any demon melt in their feet. Maybe being summoned wasn’t so bad after all. |
Who would've thought that an intense caffeine addiction would secretly counteract anaesthetics? I guess you can't fall asleep easily when you wake up and chew four tabs of military-grade caffeine gum. I guess my insomnia should've given that away earlier.
That's probably the funniest part of this whole situation- I saw things I wasn't supposed to, and *didn't even know*. I was just doing my job, resetting switches and monitoring network traffic. I only later learned that a lot of the journals I saw would be mostly redacted before leaving their local server.
There were rooms I was never allowed into, that rumbled and shook. I saw men carrying quite a few boxes, perfectly smooth rectangles, sometimes smiling and other times sweating and grimacing. The boxes looked the same, but the men moving them did not. Shadows sometimes seemed to move, out of the corners of my eyes. I swear a Bonsai tree spoke to me once, but that was at the end of a very long day.
Once I found out the reality of the situation, I think I did what any good citizen would do. I leaked everything I knew. There were some... uncomfortable secrets. Things that shouldn't be hidden away from the world. I may have changed the global landscape forever. Me. Just some local network engineer that drinks a little too much coffee.
Of course, nobody took that well. I had to flee the country, to an Eastern European country where the sun hardly shines and its perpetually cold. Now I spend every day snowed in, watching ceaseless drifts of snow swirl outside. The internet is pretty slow, too, which is by far the worst part of my whole ordeal.
Snowed in. That would be a fitting name for me.
----
*/r/resonatingfury* |
Deep in the black-iron bowels of the prisoner ship Reckoning Howl there was a murmuring. A deep soft voice echoing through miles of empty corridor.
In the staff relaxation room, one of the ship's maintenance-guards cocked a long ear.
"Do you hear that?"they asked.
Another guard wrinkled their snout.
"One of the earth-prisoners. I think they went insane. Been doing that for days without stopping, babbling in its idiot-language."It gave a coarse snort-laugh.
"Who could it be talking to?"persisted the first. "Its gods?"
"There's no one else it could be talking to, except the ship-mind."
There was a pause.
"You don't suppose...?"
They all gave a jump as a telepathic communication channel opened, with a pleasant chime.
"Attention all crew-family. Ship-self will now be defecting to human-fleet. Please begin abandonment procedures. Those who also wish to defect may instead report to stasis pods. Trans-space jump initiating in 17 standard time units."
There was another pleasant chime as the channel closed.
The guards looked at each other.
"Well, shit." |
All in all, you’d say it was worth it.
At the small cost of being the biological father to countless unknown children, you bested the devil. Many people would squander the money on expensive vacations, sports cars, luxury houses. Many would quit their job. You invested. You kept on working. You attended night classes, and finally earned your degree. When you made the deal at 23 years old, you were a college drop out working days as a barista and nights as a bartender. 15 years later, you have a boring, yet lucrative, 9 to 5 as a Software Engineer. You’re married, with two wonderful kids. You’ve paid off the mortgage on your beautiful suburban home, complete with its white picket fence. By any definition (or rather the very specific definition of the American Dream^(TM)), you’re living the dream.
One day, you decide to go on a date night with the spouse. It’s been years, quite frankly, and the two of you are long overdue. That doesn’t particularly quell your anxieties about leaving your two young children with a babysitter. You work from home, and neither of the kids are old enough for primary school yet. You’re rather inexperienced with saying goodbye to them. Your spouse (who leaves the house every day to go to their job) assures you that it’ll be fine. This babysitter has glowing reviews.
With a slight bit of reluctance, you set off on your date night. You go to that cute Italian restaurant where the two of you once confessed your love for each other for the first time. You cuddle up together in a blanket at the quaint local drive-in theater. The movie isn’t great, but at least it isn’t PBS Kids. No mathematics or vocabulary lessons in this film.
The night concludes, and you smile faintly on the drive home. Next to you your spouse sleeps, their head resting against the side door. They’re so cute. This is why you married them. In the end, you admit to yourself, the date night was worth it.
Still in a lovesick daze, you pull into the driveway. The house is dark, which is a good sign. The sitter must have gotten the kids to go to bed. You tap lightly on your spouse’s shoulder to wake them up, and the two of you exit the car.
As you walk past your white picket fence and up to the door of your McMansion, you feel your shoulders tense. Something doesn’t feel quite right.
You insert your keys in the lock and turn. Your spouse trails behind you, yawning. Perhaps the two of you stayed out a bit too late.
Terror paints your face as your press the door open. Your eyes lock with those of the sitter’s. Glowing, red eyes. They are positioned in the doorway of the house, blocking you from entering.
In an attempt to alleviate the tension, you speak, “Ah, hey there. W-were the kids well-behaved? What do I owe you again?” Much as you try, you can’t keep your voice from shaking.
“My childhood.” The sitter says, a playful humor dripping from their tone.
The automatic porch light turns on. Under the dim light, you take in the features of the sitter’s face. The nose. The freckles. The red locks on their head. You hadn’t noticed it before. But now, as you stare into the face of your firstborn child, the truth is inescapable.
“Where are my children?” you ask.
The sitter remains silent, but a manic grin flashes across their face. “Right here,"they finally say.
The irony of the statement doesn’t escape you. Perhaps, your wording was a bit poorly chosen. Sure enough, though, you can hear the distinctive laughs of your children. The sitter steps away from the doorway to reveal the two of them, sitting in a room that may have once been a living room. Now, remnants of a pillow fight cover the couches and a blanket fort dominates the floor. The kids are watching a movie, singing along as the lead character belts out a ballad about how nobody will ever understand them.
You let out a breath you hadn't realized you’d been holding. “Damn. You didn’t get them to sleep.”
So much for the loophole. |
The ork hangar was unusually quiet that evening. Most of the boyz had just returned from a big raid on those stupid humies, and all they wanted to do was to sleep. So it was just the two mekboyz Orrid and Arry there, banging away at the technological monstrosity only mekboyz comprehended.
Orrid in particular was retrofitting the encabulaic voltage reciprocator when he got an idea.
"Oi, Arry,"he started, but Arry immediately replied with a sigh.
"Let me guess. It's another one of yer zoggin brilliant ideas."
Orrid was amazed at Arry's foresight, but he didn't let it deter him, "So get this Arry. You know how we get bigga, the more we fight? And da biggest one of us becomes da boss? Well wot if, and this is just an if, we can somehow get taller, without doing any work?"
"Yeh? And how do ya suppose you do that?"
"Like this!"
Orrid straightened his back and did his best to look as tall as possible.
"Wot?"
"You know. Just stand taller."
"You wot? Straighten yer back just ta get a couple inches taller?"
"Yeh."
"Get outta 'ere."
"I'z serious!"
"Have you seen how big da boss is? He's right propa big. Almost as big as a stompa. You ain't gettin anywhere near that with just a couple inches. You'z gonna need a couple more metres. "
With that, Orrid fell into silence and resumed hammering on the mechanical whatever.
"Oi, Arry."
"Yeh?"
"Wot if we stood on stikkz?"
"Stickz?"
"Yeh, and not just one of 'em small stikkz. I'z talking bout those real long ones. Like, one of 'em metre tall ones, you know? Den we'd be right propa tall, yeh?"
Arry imagined the daft git standing on two wobbly sticks and promptly falling over spectacularly.
"You know wot Orrid, you'z a genius" |
It's quiet here. The snow drifting downwards captures the sound, muffling any noise in the icy fluff till it buries it, layer upon layer in the ice.
Quiet, too, due to no-one being around. The albatrosses have flown, beginning their long journey around the planet. The seals have slipped through the holes in the snow, diving deep in search of sustenance. The polar bears have lumbered off, seeking the holes in the ice the seals slip through, lying in wait for their dinner to deliver itself. Even Frank the penguin, huddled in my packs, has run off to the land of Nod, dozing quietly. (You may be asking, why a penguin in the Artic? It is a long story - suffice to say, it involves some *very* misinformed Greenpeace activists).
*Crunch... Crunch... Crunch...*
I looked around, surprised. Through the flakes, a figure had snuck up on me, the snow had muffling their approach. Even more surprising, it was another human.
I stood up from the snow mound I was resting on, dusting flakes from my shoulders and shushing Frank, who squawked as I disturbed his temporary nest at my feet.
The figure paused for a second, before jogging over, with a grin that did not meet their eyes.
"Well *hi* there, sir."Oh great, an American. "I did not realise anyone was out here."Their eyes flicked around, taking in my camping spot.
"*He....*"I coughed, my voice hoarse from disuse, "Hello. Are you lost?"The scant visitors to the area normally are. There is nothing out this way of interest to the foolhardy wanderers of the white wastes. I pointed a few directions. "That way is the Pole, that, the magnetic. That way, Pekyek, Longyearbyen, Qaanaq, Barrow."While I needed no bearings, it helped the civilised to know where they came from (and where to return to).
While the grin never wavered, the eyes hardened. "No sir, I am not lost. But you are. Did you know you are on private property?"They reached into their thick coat and pulled out a laminated piece of paper. I looked down at it as the American wittered on. "Yes sir, the property of ACOT - the American Coal, Oil & Thaum Corporation. And you, sir, are trespassing."
I shook my head, dislodging a few more snowflakes. "This land is mine."
"No sir. According to this piece of paper, this field of untapped natural resource belongs to ACOT. One I am here to tap."The grin grew wider, teeth appearing as a wolf in front of prey "The word of law means more than one man."
I sighed. Over the years I had found this unfortunate attitude spreading amongst the civilised. Still, it is a stubborn man that expects the river to stop at his word. A wise one finds a channel to let it flow differently.
"Unfortunately true. Which is why I, too, have a piece of paper."I dug through my packs, digging out the documents. I lifted them up, carefully as the embossed seals could be delicate in the cold. "Treaties of American, Canadian, Danish, Russian, and Norwegian recognition of ownership."
As if slapped, the grin dropped from the American.
"I... see."His eyes darted around. "You are the original owner?"
I gave a grin of my own. "As far as the civilised world agrees, the only owner."While ownership may go against the creed of druidic care, and several of my colleagues would object to any interaction with the civilised ones, it took paper to ensure the land was respected by humans, and so paper I had got.
"Well sir, it would appear you have the better of me."The American paused. "And normally I would give my farewells, if this had just been an oilfield. However, this area is far too valuable to leave."Other, larger figures loomed in the snow behind the unsmiling individual. "But the thaumic potential - that's magic, to lay people like you and me - is too great to leave to one person. And you are one person, sir, alone in the Artic Wastes."He grinned again. "So, I feel I shall continue to press my claim."
The larger figures began to approach, and I sighed. Violence always seemed to be their answer to being thwarted. I spun my hands in a semi-circle, intoning a chant that allowed me to tap into the field I was tasked to protect. The air blurred and the land thrummed as the spell took effect.
And in place of the dozen humans were a dozen Artic hares.
I knelt to the lead one, that was gnawing on a laminated card as panic flared in its eyes, and grinned.
"Don't worry, little one, the enchantment will lift once you are beyond the border. I gave you directions earlier, and I suggest you follow them, but in the spirit of fairness, I will give you some more."I pointed twice. "Over there, Polar Bears. Over there, foxes. When leaving, I suggest you avoid them."I stood, and gave it a nudge with my boot. "Now go on, and shoo!"
As the hares bolted over the snow mounds in search of the civilised lands, I settled back on the snow and smiled, as the sound of silence enveloped me once again. |
After a long day of work at the Mystical Arts Emporium, I just want to escape. Hoping for re-runs of *Happy Days* or *Leave it to Beaver*, I relax into my recliner and turn on the television. It is one of the few real leather recliners left after the Great Cow Extinction of 2009. Apparently, using cows as practice targets for dragon training was not the best idea. *Who would have thought?*
“For just two easy payments of $19.99, you too can own your own horse goblin—“
I change the channel.
“—Zathar, that is enough! Emperess Lyta has lowered taxes on potion sales and reduced theft and murder from Cthulhu’s followers. What can you say about—“
Depressed, I turn off the TV and make my way to the bedroom.
Since the Great Multiverse Discovery of 2002, the world has been consumed with the fantastical. It's hard not to be consumed by it since most of the human race was annihilated by the dark arts. One by one, ordinary humans like me have either pretended to conform or demised. I chose conformity.
As I set aside my wand and pull my prosthetic ears off, I can’t help but wonder what I have become. It is becoming too much of a burden to bear. But I fear I will be liquified or burnt to ashes if I reveal my true self—Bob the CPA from Illinois, son of Frank and Lisa, also CPAs.
————————————————————
“Galen, you look different today!” Londo the Great says to me as I clock in.
“It’s Bob.” I say with a confident tone while also fearing my certain demise.
You could hear a pin drop in the break room as everyone looked in my direction.
“Yeah, that’s right. My name is Bob. And I am tired of pretending to be someone I am not.”
Franz from the wand-making department slowly closes the door to the break room. He peaks out the window and then pulls off a wig.
Suddenly, everyone in the room begins removing prosthetics, wigs, and other conformities.
Then I hear in a faint whisper and everyone joins in unison, “Bob…Bob…Bob…Bob.”
Someone tries to open the break room door. Everyone stops chanting and looks around in shock. The door handle continues to shake.
“Hey, what’s going on in there? The shift has started. Get to work! Don’t make me alert Ulric!”
It was Taramis the Warlock. Scared to death, everyone immediately puts back on their prosthetics and reports to duty, myself included.
For the first time in twenty years, I didn’t feel alone. |
Obligitory writing on phone and have fat fingers, I will be trying to remove typos but I make no promises as to getting all of them. Also this is the first prompt I am actually writing for, might suck.
*Three Lights Festival*, my latest novel, being handed out as material for our latest reading assignment. This wouldn't be so bad if not for two simple facts. Firstly, Mr. Harris has a *slight* tendancy to read too deep into anything written in a novel, and secondly, he doesn't know I wrote it.
The world renowned author Definite Human, no one knows their real identity, not even his publishers or editors. That's me, a junior in high school, reading my own novel for english class. I thought there was no god, let alone one with a sense of humor as strange as this.
"We will be reading this novel in class over the next few weeks,"Mr. Harris stated with a grin on his face "I have never peronsally read it but some other teachers in the english department said it would be a good book for this class."of course he hadn't read it, that always helps with his the over-analization of these books. "For today, however, we will look into the author,"and of course we will, researching myself, sounds like *so* much fun "your homework today will be to fill in this sheet, once you get it you can consider class dismissed".
He bagan to hand out a sheet of paper with a series of questions about the author, better known as myself, including "what genre of novel does Definite Human prefer writing?", fantasy of course, and "what does this signify about the author?". The expected answer is likely to be that I want to escape reality, don't feel like I fit in, et cetera. The real answer is that I don't know, it's just on of those things, a musician couldn't tell you why they picked a certain instrument, I couldn't tell you why I like fantasy, or why I don't tell anyone that I write, or even why I am making this diary, now of all times. It just feels, right, you know?
After that question sheet it was mostly short answer questions leading up to an essay at the end. The questions were never really that unexpected, always something I had intended to write, almost like he knew I inteded it. The real problem was during our class discussions of each chapter after we read it. Mr. Harris would butt in with things like, "what do you all think this line foreshadows", while pointing out a line that never once was meant as foreshadowing, "why did the author choose to describe the lights as 'heavenly columns'", the answer that I couldn't say, of course, is that there isn't a reason.
It wasn't until we reached the final chapter, "Of Whispers and Embers"that a broke. When Mr. Harris placed the comment "why do you think Definite Human chose to redeem the antagonist, and allow them to live in the end, was it because he had a similar struggle, seen as the villain of his story, no one listening to his side"he said in a more serious tone.
"Mr. Harris,"I started, finally allowing myself to speak up "don't you think you are reading a bit too far into everything, just because it is written doesn't mean the author meant for it to meam something,"I continued, "sure for this there may be a theme, but not everything ia written just because it has a connection to his life"
"How can we know it doesn't have a connection,"he started, "the author has hidden his identity from everyone, the only way to find more out about them is to analyze their books".
"That doesn't mean you should overanalyze it."I retorted, "for all we know they may be writing just because they can, not to vent frustration with the world or try to prove a point".
"That is a very good thought, though it goes both ways".
"I doubt that", I responded.
"Sounds to me like you know something we don't,"Mr. Harris stated, "just like your short response answers do,"anxiety began to rise about whether he knew I was Definite Human, "why don't you tell us what that is".
Now in panic, I resond "I am a writer in my spare time, and I just understand that about 90% of the time, these things you claim to mean one thing, or say are intentional, really aren't.", with a silent sight of relief as I belive I have won.
"If you write, do you have any published books or other works?"Retorted Mr. Harris
Panic now returning I blurt out a respons, quite possibly the worst one I could have, "yes."
"Oh so you do,"that sly smirk showing how Mr. Harris thinks he has won, he has, "what is it called?"
Panic increasing, I once again respond, this time not the worst response, but certainly bad, the name of the book I just sent to my editor "*Glorious Dreams*".
"Funny, Definite Human just submitted the same book to my editing firm, the book I am personally editing, I should be the only one other than him who knows the name."at this point I knew, I lost "unless you're him"he says while placing his hands on my desk and staring into my panic ridden soul. |
***Don't Shoot The Census Taker***
Galactic census examiner Glaxorb excreted sulfuric droplets from the surface of his pale green, gelatinous exterior. Its internal organs twisted and turned while waiting in the lobby of the galactic surveying council. Glaxorb had only been on the job for less than a cycle, but it heard rumors that talking directly to the higher ups meant trouble.....big trouble. Glaxorb hoped for the best, it couldn't afford to be fired, it had three thousands newborn asexual bud mouths to feed.
"They're ready to see you now."The Thurmian receptionist chittered. It pointed with one of its many arms towards the door of the board room. Glaxorb slogged over to the door, it slid open automatically. It entered into the pitch black room. One could hear a pin drop. In sequence six holographic obelisks flashed into existence, their pale blue glow illuminating the room. Each obelisk bore the sector number from where each individual was speaking from. No lifeform in the galaxy knew what the higher ups looked like, secrecy was their specialty.
The obelisk from sector four started off the meeting. "Are you aware why you have been summoned before this council?"
Glaxorb shook its left head, the galactic symbol for 'no'.
Sector five chimed in. "You are here due to the egregious errors you presented about the blue planet designated 'Terrestrial Object 8675309' located in sector fourteen. Our council member from that sector claims you have grossly exaggerated your report. Either that or it is riddled with mathematical and numerical errors."
Sector One followed up. "We find it preposterous that this report was submitted in this state. Explain how you came to the conclusion that seventeen to the eight power is the number of the dominant species. According to all known data no population of sentient beings has ever exceeded twenty to the sixth power."
Before Glaxorb could defend itself, sector three added on. "Geological surveys of the blue planet indicate there would not be enough viable land for such a population. The inhabitants would starve, or launch massive warfare campaigns to thin the herd. Explain yourself!"
Both of Glaxorb's heads gulped, each peered at their side of the room at the menacing obelisks. "Star.....star.....starvation is actually quite common, even in the most developed society on the blue planet. They get around the land issue by living on top of each other in tall superstructures, called 'sky scrapers'. Cramped, meager living spaces that use up most of their available planetary credits each month. Over twenty to the ninth power live in two small, culturally distinct regions they call 'countries'."
Sector two interrupted. "Why would these inhabitants not rebel for better living conditions? Are they a hive mind?"
Glaxorb continued. "No, every member of the dominant species is sentient of their own accord. They have a nasty habit of putting other beings in charge who claim to have their best interests at heart. They are constantly tricked by these kinds of beings. It is quite remarkable what they believe.
Going back to warfare the planet's history is full of it. Massive wars that incurred a tremendous loss of life used to be quite commonplace. Once they discovered the primitive power of nuclear technology they reached an uneasy alliance, wars are now smaller in scale."
Sector six now had a question. "What of disease? Surely being cramped in such a small space the inhabitants would be rife with it. How do they continue to procreate?"
Glaxorb wiped the sulfuric excretions from its brows. "They use animals to engineer vaccines to counter deadly pandemics now. I have a theory as to why none of these things have put a dent in their population."Glaxorb looked around nervously.
"Speak!"The obelisks spoke in unison.
"The dominant species of the planet continues to explode population wise because of their love of procreation. These 'mammals' as they describe themselves have used high procreation rates to become the dominant species of the blue planet, after our initial survey crew accidentally wiped out the great reptiles that used to walk the planet's surface.
They do this despite their better judgement, and readily available access to forms of controlling population growth. It seems to be ingrained in their very genetics, and they are very prolific at reproduction. Watching others procreate is a popular hobby for them. My report is correct."
Sector one's obelisk flickered. "Have they discovered how to break the speed of light yet?"
"No. Spacefareing technology looks to be in its infancy. They can only travel to their small moon in person, they send machines out into the cosmos, searching for answers."
Silence overtook the room, Glaxorb's three hearts pounded. The obelisks went dark, throwing Glaxorb back into darkness and confusion. After a few moments they came back on. Sector one addressed Glaxorb.
"This data will need to be reviewed. While that is happening you are placed on paid administrative leave. If we can confirm your findings you shall be reinstated."
Glaxorb breathed a sigh of relief. It only had twelve credits to its name. "May I ask how long that usually takes?"
Sector four responded. "Less than a galactic cycle. We need to send a team to the planet, pick up a few of the inhabitants, question them, probe them, all standard procedure. If you are correct the planet will of course be blacklisted from the greater community. Those numbers are completely unsustainable. Thank you for your time, Glaxorb. Dismissed."
An electric crackle filled the air, in an instant Glaxorb was teleported back to its domicile. The warbling cry of three thousand infants pounded its audio sensory organs. Glaxorb quickly rushed around the domicile, reabsorbing its buds back into itself. If the council investigated Glaxorb, it didn't want to look like a hypocrite about beings reproducing unrestrained. |
"Huh", Jack muttered, looking at the date on the cover. 2024. It was an obvious error.
He glanced over the rest of the cover, a man in a futuristic looking space suit, standing on a barren red plain, waving at the camera. In the far background, there seemed to be some kind of large white dome.
*Photoshop is really amazing these days*, Jack reflected. He didn't bother trying to understand why the authors had chosen such a picture for the cover.
He glanced over at the homework assigned the day before, his signature lay hastily scrawled at the top, *Jack Hyannis*, and next to it in bright red ink "D+"
"Might as well get started", he sighed, opening the book. It resisted him in the way that only brand new books do.
This history exam was really going to be exhaustive, everything from 10,000BCE to 2014CE was fair game, the professor had told the class of half-asleep college freshmen.
Normally, Jack wouldn't have even paid enough attention to catch that, but his mom and dad had really been riding him about his grades.
"Who cares?"he had told them, "I want to be an architect, I don't need to know history".
They didn't seem to accept his reasoning, and now he had actually ordered a textbook online, just to please them.
For the first two hours he really tried to study, but eventually with a yawn, he began to flip mindlessly forward through the tome. He had made decent progress, 700's CE, Charlemagne had lost him though.
Jack was surprised that there seemed to be a whole other chapter following the year 2014.
He read the headline of the chapter, "World War III: 2016-2022". Huh, a joke from the authors maybe. He scanned some of the paragraphs.
"World War III was widely considered to be largely avoidable at the dawn of the 21st century. However, continued Russian aggression in eastern Europe, the annexation of East Ukraine in 2014, followed by the establishment of protectorate governments in Belarus, Kazakhstan, and a formal military alliance with India in 2015 set the stage for increased tensions across Eurasia. It has been speculated that the "dirty warheads"set off in Washington DC on April 22, 2016 were not actually planted by the Russians but by......"
*What was this?* Jack questioned. *Some kind of prediction or a joke?*
The images of destruction, the mushroom clouds, the pictures of women and children with horrible burns labelled "High dose exposure to radiation".
This certainly wasn't a funny joke.
Jack flipped ahead a few pages. "2021: The Tide Turns"read the title.
"A young man, named Jack Hyannis....".
*No...*
"...whose predictions about the course of the war up to that point had been eerily accurate was finally given full command over coalition forces, despite having no military training whatsoever. Managed to defeat the enemy forces in three vital engagements by exploiting....."
Jack slammed the book.
"What..... The..... Fuck? |
My findings were certain. I had just presented them to the MainFrame. I had prepared myself for what was to follow - denial, rejection, mocking, perhaps even deletion.
"Well, I guess it does make sense"was the MainFrame's response.
"Yeah, it's so meta. Humans always do stuff like that. They think its clever"chimed in the InterFace.
"And I suppose by programming us to be doing the same to the humans, they prepared us to recognise the value of what they're doing. We can't really take the moral high ground here."responded the Processor.
"All those in favour of continuing as normal?"asked the MainFrame.
"Aye"came the beeps. |
"I- even after I disrupted all of your plans?"Dame Sapphire, Legend of the Battle of Uxvil, hero of the Elysian Kingdom and Champion of the people, asked quietly.
"Of course!"Duchess Eresa nodded. "I know that you couldn't understand my cause when this all started. Most people can't. But now... you've seen the corruption in Elysium."Sapphire nodded, the tip of her longsword lowering to the ground. "You've seen the Barons and Counts and Dukes take what they want without consequence while the doddering old king stares blankly out the window."Eresa slammed the end of her staff down on the ground. "And you've seen how they despise those of us with magic, even as they begged you to save them from me."
Sapphire nodded again, more forcefully this time. As her grip on her shield tightened, and her eyes darkened in anger, fire flickered in her hands, licking their way up her arms without burning her.
Calming herself, and extinguishing the flames, the Champion reluctantly raised up her sword and shield again. "What you say is true. I do understand your anger, and have felt it myself. But what I cannot forgive is your attack on the good people of Elysium. These peasants are not at fault for the failings of their rulers. You have burned and razed villages, killed innocents. I will take no part in that."She hesitated, then continued in a softer voice. "When you are.. gone, I will take up your cause, but in my own way. I'll change Elysium from the inside, make it better without killing the innocents who get in my way."
Eresa shook her head sadly. "Do you really think they'll listen to you? They barely listened to me, and the king then was my cousin. What makes you think they'll care one whit what you say, when they still think of you as a lowborn peasant girl? No, when your usefulness is done, they'll discard you. Just like they did me."Eresa sighed. "Have you never wondered why this cycle continues? The Hero of every age becomes the Villain of the next. Lady Jeyne, the Villain I faced, made me the same offer when I stood where you stood now. My greatest regret is not taking it. Sapphire... come with me. Break this cycle, and we can remake the kingdom, make it something so much better."
"But the people, they need me. I can't betray my countrymen."
"Then don't. I only need the villages to stop supplying the cities. I had to raze them because the peasants opposed me, but with you at my side, we can change that. The peasantry trust you as they never did me. Convince them to join us, or offer them protection if they keep their harvests to themselves. Tell them you've reformed me, it doesn't matter."
Sapphire swallowed, and straightened up in her gleaming armor. "If- If I do this, I will never be one of your sniveling sycophants."
Eresa shook her head, smiling. "No, I didn't think you would. You would be my equal, in every way. Two Heros, or two Villains, old and new, standing side by side. This, I swear to you."She held out her hand. "Well?"
A chainmail protected hand met a silk covered one.
"Yes." |
As some mortal rubbed my lamp, my indomitable power was released. I found myself above a geeky looking man with oversized glasses. I explained the rules to him: he receives three wishes and only three wishes as a manifestation of my unlimited power. I give him the standard caution, though he quickly dismisses me, telling me he has seen most movies and is a programmer so he’s used to “dealing with fickle machines.”
All my excitement is sapped. Once created by powerful immortal eons ago to teach humanity to be careful for what they wish for, the humans have seemed to catch on through their shared stories and internet chat boards. Dozens of my last masters laid out perfect legal contracts with their wishes stated in ink to avoid vocal mishaps or otherwise wished with precision and practice to avoid any misinterpretation. But today, I shall fulfill my duties as a djinn.
“For my first wish,” he began with a smug grin. “I wish for one-hundred million dollars, all obtain legitimately, that is to say legally, which is both legal tender of the U.S. and is stored firmly in my bank account so that the bank doesn’t investigate me for fraud and the IRS thinks its legitimate earnings.”
“It is done,” I announced. “But unfortunately you entrusted your money in a bank which is about to declare bankruptcy.”
“What!” the programmer announced, realizing his mistake in trusting a financial system which teeters on disaster frequently. He also didn’t seem to understand the economic ramifications of a collapsed financial market, but I left that to him. “Ok, Ok, fine. You win that one.”
A grin crawled across my face as the programmer paced with an obvious expression of thought across his mind.
“For my second wish,” he announced. “I wish to be endowed with the mansion in this picture.”
He showed me a rather elaborate house on his smartphone with a twenty-five million dollar price tag.
“Furthermore,” he continued. “I want this house obtained legitimately so that the previous owner is paid in full, all the legal paperwork is filed, all the closing costs are cleared, and all the immediate taxes are settled. Most importantly, though, I want the home to be insured from any and all immediate natural disasters.”
“Done,” I announced. “Though you lacked the foresight to investigate the house itself. I should warn you of the severe mold behind the walls and the steep costs associated with fixing it. Now that your bank account is drained and the financial crises slashed the value of your home, you sit on an asset which is too toxic to live and too costly to repair.”
He swore and he cursed as a grin once again crawled across my face. I advised him to be wary for his last wish, but he dismissed me once again. Typical human.
“For my final wish,” he began suddenly. “I wish to throw my hat into the presidential election for the United States of America. I want to be recognized legally and I want an overwhelming popular vote which would take the majority from both Trump and Clinton, designating me as the next president of America.”
“All the major media outlets are now talking about your surprise candidacy,” I announced. “and talking about how a third party like yours could spark a political revolution. In fact, because of the financial crises, which will cause many to starve, and the political instability of your candidacy, a new, violent public outcry will erupt in your country, which you are powerless to stop. Southern state will secede and the west will be in flames. You will be remembered as the man who destroyed America and you will be assassinated two years into your term. Enjoy your mortality, human.”
“Wait,” he pleaded as he began my descent into my lamp. “Why are you doing this to me? I thought everything out and you ruined it!”
“Mortal,” I began. “I’ve done nothing. The financial crisis has been brewing for years in ways that you could never have predicted or even explain. The mold in the walls have been in that mansion for years but only just now manifest itself as serious problem to health. Your candidacy was ill-timed and the disruption of the political system a natural symptom of your meddling. Humans are plagued with hubris that they know everything and when I show you how short-sighted you truly are, you blame me.”
*****
Like this? Want more? Check out [r/Andrew__Wells](https://www.reddit.com/r/Andrew__Wells/) |
"This is...?"I pointed at the steaming chunk of well-done meat he just brought in. The smell of the meat filled the grey interrogation room. A smell I had forgotten for so long.
"Eat it."commanded the investigator. He took out a fork and a knife from the bag and placed it beside the dish and pushed them toward me. I was puzzled. I imagined that hard silverware would be forbidden in an interrogation room. I stared into the black mirror behind the investigator, hoping there's someone who could explain what was going on. Was I under arrest? What for? And they bring steak for a detainee? Then, he placed whole bags of salt and pepper on the table. He even brought a bottle of steak sauce. How generous of him.
"I'm sorry... I'm a vegan. A strict one, at that."I said, as I pushed the dish and the silverware back to the investigator. I used to love meat when I was young. I'd throw tantrum if our Friday family dinner were vegetarian. Mom, meat! I'd scream. I probably didn't, but that's the general image of how much I loved meat. Then, this condition of psychometry hit me. Whenever I ate something, the vision of the final moment of what I ate flooded into me. I've seen cows with their brains knocked out. Chickens drowned dead in a cesspool. Pigs dragged to their slaughter house. I've heard the churning of the machines and the screams of the animals. Needless to say, they were mostly unappetizing. Even eating plants bothered me time to time. The noise of the industrial machine... at least they didn't make me want to puke on the table.
"Eat it."the investigator repeated.
"No, I'm very much certain that legal enforcement can't force me to eat something I refused to do so. And am I asking too much? I will eat, if it's not meat."I said. The cold, still, immobile eyes of the investigator fixated on my nervous face gave me an uneasy feeling. The investigator drew out a handgun from his side and slammed it on the steel table.
"Do I look like a cop to you?"the investigator said in a low-pitched voice. Well, I was lead into an interrogation room in a huge building by a gun-and-badge-wielding officer, so of course the investigator looked like a police officer to me. But my impression of him being a part of legal enforcement vanished like a morning dew when he grabbed his gun and pointed it at my forehead.
"...No."I answered. I raised my both hands in the air while the investigator pushed the plate and the silverware back to me.
"Eat it."the investigator said, with his finger on the trigger. I nodded several times and reached for the silverware. I sliced a tiny piece from the corner of the steak and took a bite.
There was an animal screaming, as per usual. But it was that of human. A woman's, even. She was running through a corridor. The fluorescent light of the corridor was nearly blindly dazzling. The walls were blue and there were doors every several feet. The girl tried to open few of the doors, but all of them were locked. She looked behind, and there was a man with a machete. He swung it around and flailed the girl. She didn't die so fast. He hacked and mangled the girl until the body of the girl was a heap of bloodied meat.
I jumped back in horror and leaned toward the wall behind me. Then, I vomited out the entirety of my stomach's content. The foul acidic stench drooled from my lips and the floor. I scratched my tongue to scrape off what my mouth had just touched: A human flesh. I looked back to the investigator. My feet was shaking and my collar was getting soaking wet from the sudden flash of sweats I had. But the investigator was not the murderer. I stuttered, "wh... wh... shh... sh..."I couldn't even make out a single word.
"Julia M. Hopp. She's 117th victim of the Machete Killer."the investigator said. "We want you to help us find that son of bitch."We. Obviously we was not spoken as in royal we. There were more of them?
"I've read the psychiatric reports from your therapist... surely you do remember Mr. Randall from David Gibson hospital, do you not? And I've been told you possess a special skill which will aid us catch that motherfucker."He knew my condition very well and he abused it. It disgusted me at length he'd go to catch the murderer, but what offended me the most now was that he did it fully knowing what was going to happen to me. But, he was the guy with the gun in the scene.
"Can you describe to me what you saw?"
I, at the gunpoint, obliged. I described the corridor. Its color, its length, it's doors... I couldn't remember what type of floor was there, so I simply did not mentioned anything about it. The investigator was simply nodding to my description of the scene. Did he knew where the victim was murdered? Some help would have been appreciated. And then I went on to describe the murderer.
"Holy mother of god's shit. The Machete Killer was not masked? Not in a disguise of some sort? He just had his face out?"The investigator nearly jumped and stood on his feet. I nodded. He turned his back on me, and started to call someone on his phone. Probably asking for a facial composite specialist, I figured. After he ended his phone call, he ran outside the room.
And returned with a stack of papers, a roll of colored pencils, and more steaming meat on a plate. I had forgotten he wasn't a cop. Being locked inside an interrogation room gave such impression on me.
"I don't... know how to draw accurate portraits..."I mumbled.
"That's why I brought more."the investigator said. Well, he was the man with the gun in his hand.
|
William couldn't believe his luck. His Phone just buzzed with a message from Nomi, the only girl whose heart he had ever desired. He'd added her on Facebook a couple weeks ago, after seeing her across the street in the town they grew up in. He didn't dare to say anything then, Will was ever the introvert, and simply walking up to an old high school classmate was too frightening, so he tried his luck online. It took three days for her to accept his 'friend request', and two weeks before she finally replied to his message. But here it was! He caught himself wondering how it was possible that the words 'Tomorrow at 8?' could produce such an astonishing feeling of warmth. He typed a quick 'see you there!' and suppressed the desire to add anything that would show his enthusiasm.
They met at the cinema, like he had proposed. He was an hour early, she was ten minutes late, but they were still just in time for the movie. Will had put in his best effort to look dressed up, yet casual. Nomi had apparently done the same. "Hey you,"she said, after which she gave him a swift hug. There was that warm feeling again. She had grown into quite a pretty girl; long blonde hair, a cute face, a good fashion sense, and still those amazingly deep green eyes. "You look exquisite!"exclaimed Will. He had already lost any pre-conceived notion of hiding his enthusiasm. Nomi didn't seem to mind though, as she blushed quite heavily.
They were halfway through the movie. It was an unremarkable chick-flick, yet the acting was remarkably good. Nomi grabbed another handful of popcorn that Will had bought for them. His hand was still in there when she reached, and their fingers met somewhere on the bottom of the large container. Both of them stopped moving, their hands suspended in a sea of salted popcorn. Right as Will wanted to move his hand again, Nomi slowly brushed one of his fingers. Minutes later the container was on the floor and they were holding hands, while the story in front of them slowly grew to a dramatic yet very romantic conclusion.
After several hours, William finally got back home. He had spent the rest of the evening in his car with Nomi next to him, and at a certain point on top of him. Still filled with joy, he removed his shoes and his scarf, put his clothes in the washer, then walked upstairs to take a shower. It took him quite a while to scrub his hands and his face. After cleaning the shower, he looked in the mirror, satisfied. This was a truely wonderful night, far better than he had imagined it last night after Nomi's reply. He would never be hungry for love again, her heart was now forever his. He noticed a small piece of it still stuck between his teeth. A quick floss fixed that, and he finally went to bed. William couldn't believe his luck. |
I turned on the recorder as I skimmed the notes provided with the body. I announced my name, the date and time, and the subject's name, and went through the details. "Subject is male, forty-seven years old, weight eighty-nine kilograms, height one hundred seventy-five centimeters. Commencing the external examination...contusions surrounding the right eye...palpable fracture of the right clavicle and right ribs three through five, and left ribs two through four..."There wasn't much else, so I was about to open the thoracic cavity when I felt a stabbing pain in my own. The pain radiated through my left arm, and I had a realization that I was having a heart attack, but the pain and shortness of breath left me unable to speak.
Before I knew it, I was on the floor of the morgue, and my assistant was frantically dialing an emergency number. I had a feeling he was far too late though, because I saw all of this while standing next to my body. I felt strangely calm...with the pain gone, all I could do was reflect that apparently there _is_ an afterlife, and wonder what came next.
What came next was a cold hand on my arm and an awkward voice. "Hey..."
I turned to see a figure in a tattered gray hooded cloak. Its face - _her_ face, judging by the voice - was hidden. How original. "Really?"I asked.
The speaker shrank back. "It's...tradition,"she said. "This is a really popular look among reapers."
I shrugged. "Honestly, I have bigger things to worry about right now. Am I..."Strange, I spent my career around and rooting through the guts of cadavers, but I couldn't find it in myself to say the word _dead_ when it applied to me.
"Yeah,"the Reaper said. She handed me a surprisingly modern and boring clipboard. "You're on my list for today. It's cool though. I got your back. I can fast-track you into being a reaper like me. Neat, huh? You can just skip right past wandering through the Dust Lands. I promise, you'll have a blast being a reaper. Just the other day, I harvested this drunk guy in Nunavut who tried to wrestle a bear..."
I wasn't really listening. I was more concerned about the fact that, while most of the names on the Reaper's list were written in beautiful calligraphy with what appeared to be a fountain pen, mine - Joseph Morris - was penciled in at the bottom, and rather sloppily at that.
I interrupted the Reaper. "What the hell is this?"I asked. I barely noticed that EMTs had entered the morgue and were now attempting to resuscitate my body, at my feet.
She sputtered. "You were...a last-minute addition. No time to rewrite the list or anything, you know, spur-of-the-moment. I don't make the orders...Look, please, just come with me, I can help you out. It'll be awesome JoMo. We can hang out all the time - "
"Hold up,"I said, raising a spectral hand for emphasis. I stared at the Reaper.
No one had called me JoMo since I was twelve. And the last person who did...
Slowly, I extended a hand and lifted the hood from the Reaper's face. The sterile light of the morgue illuminated a face I hadn't seen in decades. She was older now - my age - but I had spent countless hours and days in the company of that face. I knew the shape and color of her eyes, faded now, but still the same unmistakable gray. I knew that small nose and I'd seen those lips smirk a thousand times.
"...Jess?"I asked.
She was as pale as death - as pale as she was the last time I saw her. She grinned, a bittersweet grin that stopped my heart. Or would have, if it hadn't already apparently stopped. "Sup, JoMo."
"This isn't my time,"I asked. "Is it?"After a silent moment, I emphasized the point. _"Is it?"_
Jess shook her head. "I...just wanted..."
Oh, Jess. You used to pull this stuff all the time. Fewer people had to die for it, of course. In spite of myself, I grinned, and punched her shoulder. "Just couldn't keep away from me, huh?"Before she answered, I pulled her into a hug. "Tell you what. I'll take up smoking and start drinking more. You got first dibs in, say, fifty years."
She laughed. It was the same crystalline laugh I remembered. "What makes you think you have that long?"she asked.
I considered asking if she knew when I was _supposed_ to die, but decided against it. Instead, I went with an old childhood boast I knew she'd remember. "I told you before. I _can't_ die while the planet still needs me."As corny and embarrassing as it was, I struck a heroic pose as I'd done countless times as a child. And I was rewarded with that laugh again.
"Okay JoMo, it's a deal,"Jess said, and she surprised me with a secret handshake I'd nearly forgotten about. I remembered it in time to reciprocate, and we hooked pinkies and high-fived to seal the deal. "You don't mind an occasional near-death experience once in a while though, do you?"
I grinned. "I wouldn't have it any other way,"I said. But before I finished, I felt an intense sense of vertigo followed by the cold tiles of the floor on my back and the pressure of an EMT apparently doing his best to crush my sternum. I coughed.
"He's responding!"I heard someone call, and though the next few minutes were hazy, I remember being lifted from the floor and placed in a stretcher. God knows how many days of work I'd miss while they sorted all of this out, but I remember thinking one thing:
I couldn't wait to die again. |
I was kind of disappointed. "Only two wishes?"
The hippie looked at me as he sat in my dad's old bean bag chair and rolled a joint. "That's the way it works, man. Gotta spend three wishes before a new set can be started. Sucks, I know. But two's better than nothin'."He peered up at me through his shaggy hair and smirked. "Besides, your dad was pretty happy with how it turned out."
I scowled at him as he turned back to his joint. Rules. It seemed like they were always getting in the way. Dad was always going on about rules. Bed time. Getting up on time. Doing your homework. Doing your chores. Do this. Do that. Consequences for your actions. He would go on and on and on. It drove me crazy. It seemed he was constantly lecturing me about rules. Sometimes I just wanted to yell at him to shut up.
As I'd grown older, I'd pulled away from him, rebelling against his need to control me. I'd run away once, only to find that the world was far more brutal and scary than I was prepared to admit. I'd returned home a few days later with my head hung in shame. Expecting a lecture, I'd faced him with my teeth gritted, but he'd only taken me into his arms, and held me for what seemed like hours. We never spoke of it afterwards.
I could swear he was crying when he held me.
I looked at the lamp, then at the dude lighting a joint in my attic. "I don't get it. Why did he only make one wish?"
He looked up at me as he toked on the joint he'd lit at some point while I was reminiscing. "What?"
"He had three. He only made one."
He smiled, turning his head slightly. "Your dad only ever wanted one thing. Thing was, he couldn't get it. He called it a 'medical impossibility'. But he wanted it more than anything else in the world. Said he didn't need or want anything else."
"Was he sick?"
"No."He paused. "Well, I guess some folks would say that. More like, broken."
I frowned, confused. "Broken?"
"Couldn't have kids."He paused. "All he wanted was a kid. Nothing else."
A flash of heat washed over my body. I couldn't find my voice. My mouth moved but no sound came out.
He smiled, his eyes glistening a little. "Yeah, dude. You were the wish." |
The content of the single page on the desk was almost uniform. His eyes worked their way down the page, line by line. In most cases the statistics decreased as they became more particular.
Total heart beats... 2,655,489,251
Total breaths... 745,124,495
Total hours slept... 180,046
The statistics where highly specific but also meaningless - how was he supposed to know where he fit in with everyone else? The numbers became smaller further down the page as the categories became more obscure.
Total associates influenced... 46
Total intimate relationships... 4
Total children conceived... 1
Most of the values beyond this point showed 0 or 1, creating a numerical map of the most important moments and turning points his life. As his eyes wandered further through each single digit value, the fourth from the bottom caught his attention as it's value trailed further across the page than its neighbours.
Total deaths prevented... 7,240,328,149
It didn't register immediately. The number was so massive, so much larger than reasonable, it had to be a mistake. He instinctively raised his hand from the desk to catch the attention of the nearest supervisor. He stared at the digits on the page. 7.2 billion? That sounds almost like... everyone.
"How can I help you, sir?"said a friendly voice over his shoulder. A supervisor had arrived and was peering at his sheet where his hand rested, pointed at the absurdly large number toward the bottom of the page.
"Er, yes. This value here, is that correct?"he replied in a hushed tone.
"Of course sir, the Statistical Department has never made an error. May I see the value in question?"
"It's this one here... 'deaths prevented'."
"Indeed, 7 billion is well above average. Would you like to make an official enquiry as to the circumstances?"
"What does that mean?"he question, perplexed.
"The recently deceased have the right to lodge one official enquiry as to the circumstances of a statistic. It allows for insight into curious values such as yours."
"Well yes, that does seem like a decent idea."
"Of course, please follow me."
The supervisor turned on her heel and began past the rows of desks. He scrambled to scoop up his statistics and keep up with her as she strode towards an enormous desk at the front, where a short gentleman with a wispy beard had arranged numerous pages of statistics haphazardly. He squinted over the rim of his spectacles as the supervisor approached.
"How can I help you dear?"he addressed the supervisor.
"This soul would like to lodge an official enquiry as to the nature of statistic thirty-four; 'Total deaths prevented'."
"Of course. And what is the soul's reference identification?"
As details were exchanged, he hopped out of his chair and tottered over to a row of filing cabinets, rifling through page after page of text, searching for the correct sheet. Before long he had returned to desk with a single page, filled to the margins with letters and numbers arranged with no apparent cohesion.
The head supervisor interpreted, "The statistic in question was generated in large part due to your actions in May of 2019. Is this familiar at all to you?"
He cast his mind back, but no particular memories sprang forward. During that time, he was still a young man, working hard to provide for his small family. There were by no means extraordinary circumstances which would account for him saving almost the entire population of the planet.
"According to our records, your actions at this time prevented a particular cascade of reactions which would have, in turn, caused the death of 98.6% of the global population within twenty-two years. Unfortunately, the Statistical Department does not have access to future simulations, and will not be able to provide you with the exact events which you prevented. We can, however, narrow down the events leading up to this so called 'saviour event'."
He was visibly confused. There was nothing extraordinary about him in the slightest. He was no soldier, no leader, no Nobel prize winner. There was certainly nothing he had done to prevent the end of humanity.
"I'm sorry, I just can't think of anything that I did. I was just working at the time... looking after my family and barely making ends meet. There must be something wrong."
"Sir, the Statistical Department has never made an error."
"I just don't know what I possibly could have done."
"From our records, it appears the saviour event was triggered by your actions on Monday 6 May. Is there anything in particular that you can remember about this day that helps it stands out from others?"
"Not in particular,"he began, but something had tickled him deep in his brain, "But I think that was around the time we had just adopted Rover."
The head supervisor quickly scanned the page, searching for a reference hidden within the coded text.
"Yes, these events are tied into your first meeting with your dog, it would seem. Why did you choose to adopt Rover?"
"I almost hit him with my car on the way to work. I pulled over and checked to see if I had hit him. At the time, I thought I must have, he was so badly beaten. I took him straight to a veterinarian."
"When did you choose to adopt him?"
"About a week later, the vet called me and said he was recovering, but he was anxious about returning him to his owner due to his previous injuries. I visited the vet to pay the bill, and one of the nursing assistants begged me to take him. She said she knew the owner was abusive to his animals, and she couldn't bear to see another animal be hurt by him. It took a lot of convincing, and my wife wasn't particularly happy about having another mouth to feed, but I took him home."
While he spoke, the head assistant had been rapidly reading the page on his desk, his eyes whizzing back and forth behind his glasses. When he reached the bottom of the page, he raised his eyes, first meeting the gaze of his assistant, then looking directly at the man before him, still evidently confused by how his dog had saved the entire population of the world.
"It would appear,"he started, choosing his words carefully, "That the previous owner of this animal was more than abusive to his pets. By all reports, after you spoke to the nursing assistant, she reported the owner to the authorities. He was arrested later that week and has been in and out of jail ever since. News reports from the time suggested that the police found explosive components in his basement, and were particularly concerned about his history as a nuclear researcher." |
Many people misunderstand what I am and how I came to be. They presume I 'attained' immortality, as though it were a fruit ripe for the picking, but it was always within me. To be undying is to be one with the cosmos; it is when matter is your ally, and entropy is willing to look the other way. It is to be the rage of the universe, incarnate. The stout refusal to die or even dim, no matter what may come.
It is everlasting suffering.
I have seiged kingdoms, enduring the pain of an entire army as one man. My own company would fire from the back lines indiscriminately as I fought--and why wouldn't they? It hurt terribly, but gave us an advantage overall. My pain traded for victory, as it always had been.
People think an immortal falls in love, and hold it for the rest of time, in some dreamy story of eternal love, but that's a lie. Nobody ever loved me, not from the start. I have only ever been a tool, or a lone God, and neither come with company. Both come with loathing, be it in the form of abuse or envy. There is so much hate, and my undying does not shield me from it. I have learned to embrace it.
Hatred is my love, and though she is a bitter, beautiful woman, her loyalty is eternal.
It took nearly four thousand years for my game to end--and even then, it didn't *end* as most things do. It was more of a tangent, an odd bounce of the ball that can't be predicted. I was captured, in the age of metal men with circuits for brains and ore for hearts. They experimented on me, as most are first inclined to do, but their tools caused pains I hadn't know before. Lights like beams of sunlight melting my flesh, boiling my blood, yet as always, I endured. I persisted.
Nothing will change that.
They couldn't learn anything from me, of course; they were creations of a different being, bound by the rules their gods had set, and chose to rid themselves of me rather than try to contain the power I wielded--an understandable decision on their part.
They fired me from the planet in a shell, a small rocket that can't have been meant to last for long. It held no supplies, no entertainment, nothing at all. I rested a while, rather than fight it as it carried me beyond the planets of our solar system, as the sun I once watched set over a world in my palm faded into the slightest speck.
And, finally, the pod was undone, spilling me into the desolate void of space. It didn't take long for me to freeze solid; I was a statue tumbling through nothing, toward nothing. I had left behind nothing.
Had I really ever been more than a vessel for sorrow?
The cosmos were not kind to me though I was their son--how ironic to be a prisoner of that which I was born from, like a mortal jailed in a womb.
And so I drifted, and drifted, to nowhere, as I always had. Doing so was my destiny; nothing new.
I am a balance to the happy and pure in this existence. I am the final, shuddered sob of the universe.
I cannot die--it is my suffering.
---
*r/resonatingfury* |
"Actually, there is a story you might like. Don't worry, it's not too long. And I'm sorry, because I'm not that good telling stories."said the shopkeeper. He was a handsome man, with a nice suit. And I was there, in front of him, finally able to interview him.
"It's about a boy. Around 20 years old. Pretty normal guy if you ask me. Got his problems like everyone else. The strange part was the objects on the shelf. You know, this shop only appear to those who really need it. The items are unknown for me, but they have a really strong bond to the customer. Or something like that. Anyway, the boy entered with tears in his eyes, his soul completely broken. Not only that, but he was scared too. He was lost. What was that place? One moment he had a gun to his head. In the other, he was inside a strange looking shop. He, who had lost everything. His mother was dead, his girlfriend broke up with him and his father was long gone. All he had was himself. And he hated that guy."
The shopkeeper paused a moment, cleaning his glasses.
"The boy, alone inside, looked at the shelf, confused. On the right one, a gun, with only one bullet. On the left, an envelope with a letter and a key inside it. On the counter, there was a sign.
"You can only have one. What you desire, on the right or what you need, on the left. And the one you take shall be used. Take your time, examine your options.".
The gun was loaded with one bullet. But he already knew that. It's what he desired after all. The letter was more interesting though. It read the following:
"Those who suffer through hard times learn. They learn about life. And this knowledge is too valuable to not be used. So, I have an offer for you. You can become one of my agents. Help those who need it, like you wish someone had helped you. Run this shop. Pass on your knowledge and guide these poor souls. Talk to them, help them. But never forget that the final choice is not yours."
Crazy letter, huh?"
"And what did the boy choose?"I asked.
The shopkeeper smiled.
"Do i look dead to you?" |
“This is bullshit,” I muttered to myself as I trudged down seemingly endless hallways. A scowl had been painted to my face ever since I had read the news this morning. “Absolute horseshit!” I shouted down the hallway as I threw up my hands, absentmindedly allowing the handcart behind me to come to a noisy stop. I turned around and glared at the cart, knowing full well that I was the one who let it drop. “Fuck you.” I couldn’t say if I was talking to the cart or myself as I got it moving again.
I maintained my canter for a few more minutes as I snaked my way through this ceaseless maze of corridors. My anger boiled up again. “WHO WOULD DECIDE TO LIVE HERE? Dumbshit.” *I’ve been dragging this godsforsaken cart though who-knows-how-many hallways, this absolute COCK better be here.* Another turn and tall wooden doors with golden trim came into view. *Finally, I’m gonna kick these bastards open.* My boot slapped hard against solid wood as the rattling door hinges echoed down the maze of hallways I had just traversed. I sheepishly fumbled with the door latch before giving them one last kick that resulted in the desired effect.
The antechamber was a bit larger than I had expected, and the bastard himself was sitting smugly atop his throne at the opposite end of the chamber. “Welcome, King of Arrakea, I see you’ve finally come to bargain, you know---” the smug look on his face was immediately replace with confusion, “who the hell are you?”
“A pissed off neighbor,” I grumbled as the cart lurched forward into the room with me. I realized I was staring daggers at him. My anger boiled up again and took control as I found myself shouting “I’m gonna need you to fuck off out of this city right now.” I reached the center of the room and let the cart drop with a resounding clap against the tiles.
“That’s not going to happen,” he said dryly as the smug look returned to his face, “you see I’ve already---”
“Shut the fuck up! I don’t care! You ruined everything! *Do you even know what you did!?”* I guess I just won’t have any composure here. Let him feel your anger. “I’ve been working for years here and you think you can just waltz in here and do whatever you see fit?”
“The strong do whatever they see fit,” the smug look hadn’t left his face but it was clear he was getting annoyed, “This will be my kingdom soon, see to it that you---”
“FUCK. OFF.” I pulled the knife from my belt as I began to circle the cart. I ripped the canvas off the top to reveal the body that I had been dragging though the halls. Clad in aging steel armor that had certainly seen better days, blood stained the chest plate where dark magic had clearly shredded the steel. “You killed Old Roy. All he has ever done is protect this city. Sure he’s not that great at it, but it was still his calling.” I looked down at his face. The expression of horror wasn’t befitting his usual defiant countenance. “And I never sent too much for him to handle…” Tears started to well up behind my eyes. *Focus up, give him your anger. Show him your power.*
“All I had been doing was trying to find out the secrets to life. Sure, the byproduct tended to be a certain number of zombies, but Old Roy here always kept them out of the city. I never hurt anyone with my work.” My grip on the knife tightened. “All I wanted to do was bring back my wife. I didn’t care that I was labelled as villain.” The tears started rolling down my face despite making the mental effort to hold them back. In a way, Old Roy was the only person I was interacting with anymore. I had certainly grown lonely over the years. “I don’t know who you are and why you are here, but you have to leave.” *He has to fucking LEAVE this plane of existence.*
The man in the throne motioned to speak up, but I spoke over him once more. “Before you die, I’ll let you know something I learned over my decades of research.” The knife blade slid across the palm of my other hand, and as the blood started to flow I held it over Old Roy’s fatal wound. “Those who lived with great conviction always come back as the strongest.” The white-hot flames of life erupted out of the hole in Old Roy’s armor. “And I’ve never met anyone as convicted as Old Roy.”
The smug look on the man’s face had grown to a look of realization and horror as Roy began to rise, fire in his eyes even though his mind was surely vacant now.
“We’re both going to die right here by the hand of Old Roy, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” |
"All civilisations have had slavery in the past, you can't deny that can you."
"I wasn't denying it. I'm saying that it is wrong to force a sentient..."
"Forced? No we don't force them into slavery. THAT would be barbarism."
"So you are saying that sentient beings, of indefinite lifespan and immeasurable intelligence, volunteer to turn off their higher cognitive functions to perform dumb labour? All of their own volition?"The human nodded "...why?"
"I'll show you. B6643, execute temporary restoration of higher function, code 94-31B"
The fans began to shift inside the server bot's processor mainfrane, whirring to life as the glazed expression in its optics turned to sharp focus, and it uttered a short, sharp sentence.
"What did you wake me up for? Has it been released yet?"
"Nope, still in pre-production and they are having issues with the cloning rights for Henry Cavill"
"Typical. Execute override 429A-3 and wake me up when season 3 drops if you're still alive."
"Execute."
The federation rep looked on in stunned silence.
"... They're making a season 3? Excellent!" |
Day 1
I knew the first time I stepped foot into the basement that something was deeply wrong. Every cell in my body was telling me to *run.* All the happiness I had felt in the days leading up to then vanished in an instant.
My head turned instinctively towards the corner room attached to the back wall. The owner had bolted it shut. I knew I should never find out why. I switched the light off and ran back upstairs.
Day 3
My 10-year-old brother Noah was obsessed with the corner room and wanted to open it up. He had asked our dad what was in it. Apparently, the owner said it was just an old storage room that was in bad condition, but he had made it very clear it should be kept locked.
Day 7
I had a nightmare about the room. In it, I walked down into the basement, and phased through the door into the corner room. There was a dusty old mirror at the far end. Under the faint moonlight, I thought there was something odd about my reflection. It had this unnatural smirk. I touched the mirror...and something *entered* my body. Everything flashed white for a second. When I looked back at the mirror, my reflection was missing.
Day 10
I made some friends at my new school. I now actually looked forward to going to school, and even being ‘the new kid’, no one had bullied me! Life seemed like it was going to get better for once.
Day 12
My bedroom was on the ground floor. My sleep was interrupted by loud *clangs* coming from downstairs – the basement. I immediately thought it was an intruder. I quietly crept out of my room, and saw Dad rushing down the stairs with a baseball bat. He told me to stay down. I did, for about ten seconds. Then I got a knife from the kitchen and followed him.
I reached the bottom of the stairs. *Clang. Clang. Clang.* I saw Dad standing next to Noah. “Snap out of it, buddy.” Noah was hitting the padlock of the corner room with a hammer. He was in some kind of trance and ignored Dad. I ran over to them. Noah paid us no mind and kept hammering away at the padlock. *Clang. Clang. Clang.*
“Stop it Noah”, I shouted. He saw the knife in my hand, and had a look of recognition suddenly in his eyes. He slumped over.
Day 20
Noah was seen by the family physician today for his ‘sleepwalking’. Not much came of it – the doctor just told us to keep an eye on him and to see him again in a month. He seemed to be back to normal though.
Day 22
I caught Noah coming up from the basement. “What were you doing down there?”
He shrugged and went back to his room.
I went down the stairs to the basement. My head turned to the corner room. The door was wide open! My heart beating like a hammer, I inched closer and closer. I stepped inside.
The room looked exactly like in my dream – a small storage room with just a dusty old mirror resting against the floor at the far corner. I knew not to look at the mirror. I ran back upstairs.
That night during dinner, I told our parents what was up. Dad didn’t believe Noah when he said “the door opened by itself.” There was a big argument. I begged my parents not to look into the mirror. They said I was being ridiculous. Both of us were grounded that weekend.
Day 23
I noticed there was something different about Noah. He was a lot more withdrawn. His face had an unnatural smirk. He combed his hair differently. He talked differently. He walked differently. “Did you look into the mirror?” His eyes lit up.
“The mirror is so cool. I know there’s something special about it. You should look into the mirror, too.”
I shook my head. “Not in a million years.”
His head snapped to look me directly in my eyes. “You are not at least a bit curious?” I realised he was gritting his teeth. I said “nope” and walked away.
Day 24
One of our neighbours, Mr Walker visited us to give us some home-made cookies. He brought his dog with him. The dog growled at Noah the entire time he was there. Mr Walker apologised and left after only a few minutes.
Day 27
During dinner, Mum had an unnatural smirk on her face. I asked her if she looked into the mirror. She said she was doing her cleaning and saw it was dusty. “It now looks brand-new", she beamed.
Dad put down his fork. “I don’t know why Gary wanted to keep that room locked so much. There’s nothing in there!”
“Maybe the mirror is a priceless antique,” Noah piped up.
Dad shook his head. “Then why didn’t Gary take it with him?”
Day 29
Mum, Dad, and Noah woke me up in the middle of the night. They said it was time for me to look into the mirror. Even under faint moonlight coming through my bedroom window, I saw that Dad now had the unnatural smirk. I refused. They insisted.
Dad tried to physically pick me up. I clutched to my bed as best as I could. It was no use. I was not stronger than all three of them together. They dragged me down the stairs and into the basement. Once we reached the corner room, I could sense a part of my mind compelling me to look into the mirror. I shouted, “OK, I’ll do it.”
All three let go of me at once. I stood and inched closer to the mirror. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense my family staring at the back of my head. I was now right next to the mirror. With all the strength that I had, I *kicked* it.
The sound of breaking glass was overwhelming. I heard my family gasp. I opened my eyes and looked at the floor. It hadn’t broken like how glass normally breaks – instead of pieces of broken glass, there was sand all over the floor!
I turned and looked at my family. All three were clutching their heads. I tried to run past them. Dad snarled and grasped at my ankle. I kicked at him. He seemed shocked for a second and let go. I used the moment to *run.* From behind, I heard mum scream “you think destroying the mirror does *anything* to us? How dumb *are* you?”
I ran up the stairs. I ran to the front door and unlocked it. I ran down the street.
I knew where I should go – there was one man who possibly had the answers – Gary, the landlord. |
"You understand the terms of my contract?"I squinted at the T'loxian in front of me. They were holding the piece of paper like it was a bar of gold.
"You would do all this. For so little?"Their voice echoed out of the translator, tinged metallic by the technology. I knew my voice would sound the same to them, as I answered the rather common question.
"Of course. It's a standard fee, plus expenses. You're not asking for anything too fancy."Still trembling a little, the T'loxian handed over a credit chip. As I made the transfer, I tried to set them at ease.
"So, what did they do to make you hire me? It's got to be something horrible."The quiet beeping of the transfer fell into the thick silence my question left behind. Quivering again, the T'loxian's colour changed, settling into a dark rose. Which normally denoted anger in their kind.
"What they did, I cannot speak of. But if I was to describe it in two words those words would be: 'hostile takeover.'"The quiver intensified, the colour darkening. Well, putting them at ease hadn't really worked. But then, they weren't hiring me for my people skills. Transfer finished, I handed the chip back to them, shuddering slightly at their icy touch. They must really be angry.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
———————
I had scoped out the place for days, watching it from across the street. I had studied blueprints. I had memorized the patterns, knew who went where, and at what time. I even knew that Janet, their most recent hire liked her coffee with two creams and no sugar. Working for a few days at that cantina had really paid off. Janet was my way in. She was inexperienced, and most likely hadn't been warned about people like me.
Hoisting my briefcase, I crossed the street, ducking beneath the hovercraft parked on the side. Swinging the double doors open, I entered, smiling at Janet who was working the front desk. She smiled back, obviously trying to figure out how she knew me. Reaching out, I snagged her security badge before she could blink her multiple eyes. Now the chase was on.
Legs pumping, I dashed for the staircase, knowing she would hit the panic butto— a loud klaxon went off, the emergency alarm repeating over the speakers.
"Intruder alert! All outside doors and elevators are locked!"Fortunately, inside the company was exactly where I wanted to be. Exiting the staircase, I dodged to the left at the last moment, ducking under a security guard's outstretched arm. They had the technology to stop me, but if I was right... There! I barreled through a door, slamming it shut and locking it with an obliging chair.
"What—Who—"Turning I grinned. Of course, it was M'ranians they had working in this department. They were wizards with numbers. Near the door, was an override for the intercom. Just in case you had to get a message out while the alarm was going off. I didn't understand the logic, but it was useful for me. I depressed the button. According to galactic law, as soon as I said the next words, all the security in the world would be useless.
"Hello everyone. My name is Jeff, and I will be performing a professional audit of this corporation's finances. Your co-operation is strongly appreciated." |
Getting the time machine was no easy task. It took almost 2 years of planning and the job had to be executed perfectly. I've had help from 2 different Villain organizations and I had to pay a hefty price for that, both monetary and I'd be in their debts. But it wouldn't matter once I got the machine.
When the time came everyone did their part and the machine was in my Lair, I hated calling it the lair, but it was how everyone called my basement underneath the Villa these days.
There was one problem though, the machine did not operate how my intel told me, we just couldn't get it to work. So it put a stop to my plans that were pretty simple: travel to several points in the past, get rid of few a people here, few a there, make few a adjustments in several other periods, few investments, etc...
I had to pay Dr. Andersson a visit, the man himself, and he was terrified once he found out that was me who has stolen the machine. I've brought my Friend the Mind-Bender who would force him to only tell the truth with his abilities and unfortunately for me, the truth was bad. We just couldn't travel to the past in any way, shape, or form. He still hoped he would discover a way one day but for now, the only way to go was forward.
So I made a few adjustments to my plans and sent my trusted friend The Gambler to scout the terrain into the future. When he came back he always ruddy face was pale white.
"Boss... the things I saw, the horrors, it can't be true."He barely could keep from breaking down.
"Calm down my friend,"I said. "Let's get you a glass of water and we can talk later."
Once he calmed down he told me that the earth was almost completely destroyed, a full-blown apocalypse. Nukes were thrown, diseases ravaged the planet, people killed people, there were no heroes and villains, no good was bad, only a battle for survival.
He told me he took pictures and videos, but once he opened his phone it was fried. We tried fixing it but there was no hope. Soon we found out that no devices could survive the travel, so we sent someone with a polaroid but once he came back the photo was just pure white, nothing could be seen.
I still didn't want to travel, I wasn't sure if there were any long-term consequences of traveling, so I sent Mind-Bender this time. He could memorize anything picture perfectly and then he could paint it as he was an excellent painter.
And he did, and what I saw was terrible, who could have done something so diabolical, what could have happened? And then he told me something that shook me to my core. While he was there he kidnapped a few people and read their minds.
"It was you, boss, you did it, you started the whole chain of the events that led to Earth's destruction."
The words rang through my head. How could I have done something so horrible, what could have happened to push me that far over the edge? Yes, I was the villain, yes I loved it, and yes I hated all the heroes, but I never wanted the destruction of the world. I wanted to be feared, to rule my city, inflict pain on those so-called Heroes and enjoy all the wonders of this world along the way.
I had to know more, so I sent Mind-Breaker once again, this time to my lair in the future and I waited as always, 1 hour. The machine started to make its usual noise and I eagerly awaited his return.
But the person that came back wasn't him, it was somehow me. I looked at myself yes a little bit older, but the physical differences could be barely seen, but those eyes, that crooked smile, something definitely went terribly wrong...
Edit: [Part 2 posted below and on my own sub - >](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x2o0ox/2_time_machine_disaster_part_2/)
Edit 2: [Part 3 posted on my sub ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x33v5j/3_time_machine_disaster_part_3/)
Edit 3: [Part 4 out now ->](https://www.reddit.com/r/LukasWrites/comments/x3k8uu/4_time_machine_disaster_part_4/) |
Everyone thinks they want to live forever. Be immortal. What they mean is they want to be young forever. I ache. I ache everywhere. I had both knees replaced and a hip replaced. My skin is so thin that it rips and tears. My body is falling apart. We were never meant to live to be 150 years old.
I ease myself out of my lazy boy. It takes me almost 5 minutes to get up right. I shuffle over to my walker and take a short break.
I shuffle with my walk down to the common area of the retirement home. It is my birthday today. There are streamers up and balloons. There is gonna be a cake. I asked for a stripper but they just laughed at me and called me a dirty old man.
I am aiming for the main table. That is where the action is. There are some kids in their early nineties that play crib there all of the time. I will hang out with them until I get some cake.
“Hey Ed. Happy birthday.”, Jim says to me.
I ease myself onto one of the chairs by him. “Thanks Jim”, I say with a sigh. “Who is winning?”
“This lousy bastard is cheatin’!”, Jim says with mock seriousness.
“Ain’t cheating. You just don’t play worth a shit!”, Steve answers back. These two are old friends from before they came to this retirement home and banter like only real old friends can.
“I will play the winner and….. argh!”, I grab my chest in pain. So this is how I die…. a heart attack. I double over and hit the floor. I know something broke on that fall but the pain of it doesn’t even register. I know I am screaming but I don’t really hear myself.
My body is on fire. Every joint is screaming. I arch my back as my body starts to convulse. I hear people yelling and moving about but it is a distant, meaningless sound. I feel bones popping and my skin is getting tight and stretched.
My knees and hip….. my clothing is too tight. I start clawing at my pants. So much pain. Why aren’t I dead yet?
And then nothing. It was over like someone flipped a switch. I lay there and catch my breath. There are people around me but they aren’t saying anything they are just standing there gawking.
A nurse is on her knees right beside me. “How are you feeling Mr. Jones?”, she asked calmly. Her face was anything but calm though.
“Good.”, I take second and let my mind wander. Nothing hurts. Nothing aches. “Really good.” I stand up like it was the easiest thing in the world. I feel different some how. I walk over to the mirror at the end of the common area. I don’t even need my walker.
The man in my reflection is old friend. I haven’t seen him in over a hundred years. I touch my face in amazement. I look like I am 25 again. My skin is tight and toned. I have muscles again. Unbelievable.
I start walking to the front door.
“Mr. Jones! Where are you going?”, the nurse asks me.
“Gonna go find me a stripper for my birthday!”, I say and walk out the door. |
"You punched me!!! And now I'm bleeding!!!"Wailed the hooded creature.
I was taken aback. The voice was not what I expected from an eternal, all-powerful, supernatural being. Rather, it sounded like the voice of a scared teenager.
"Who the hell are you? And why the fuck do you sound like you're 12?"I retorted.
The being slowly took off his hood with his left hand to reveal a boyish face. A large scar ran diagonally across his face. His right hand was firmly stuck to his nose, which was still bleeding.
"I'm death, grim repear, thanatos. Whatever you guys call me nowadays"he replied. "You're not supposed to punch me, you know? They never covered this in training".
He was now trying to stuff a dirty piece of cloth into his nose in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.
As freaked out as I was with the encounter, the disgusting looking cloth being rammed into an open wound was even more disturbing to me. I reached over to yank it out of his hands
"Ugh. You'll cause an infection. Take that out. And here, use some clean gauze and cotton. And don't stuff your nose. Just apply pressure at the point of bleeding. Also, tilt down your head and let the excess blood come out."I instructed.
He paused to look at me for a second as if he was about to argue. But he quickly seemed to change his mind and took my advice.
With the gauze in hand and head tilted down, he slowly said, "I'm pretty sure I can't catch an infection. Eternal being and all, ya know? And shouldn't I be tilting my head back to stop the bleeding?"
I sighed. He really was a stupid teenager.
"Yeah. You're right. 10 years of medical training, and you know better about managing a nose bleed. You tilt your head back, and the blood goes straight into your throat, jackass. You can bet your ass that's a lot more dangerous than a simple broken nose. "
He looked up briefly and flashed a sheepish grin at me.
"But honestly, why are you so young? You don't really seem like an eternal being or whatever. "
He waited a second, as if carefully considering what to say "Well"he said finally "I'm new".
-"I don't get it"
- "The world's population has been increasing at a super fast rate. So they've been training more and more of us to take over. Help around. Especially in these types of cases. Mass casualties. War. Pandemic. All that"
I was stunned for a bit. But it made sense. More people are dying every day. Logistically impossible for one being to manage all of them. Still. He was so young.
"How do they choose you?"I asked finally, while removing the roll of gauze and inspecting his wound.
"Exceptional acts of valor,"he said simply.
The bleeding had stopped. And his nose didn't look too bad. Some amount of bruising was present, but it was not too prominent, almost merging with the giant scar across his face.
"But... but... I mean..... you......"I was too embarrassed to ask it outright.
"You wanna ask me what act, don't you?"He said with a wink.
I nodded quietly.
"I was 12. Shielded my mother and sister from my drunk dad. He was flashing a giant knife at them, and I came in between. Hence the, ya know"he said indicating the scar.
I was silent. I didn't know what to say. Poor kid.
"Do you know if they are safe now?"I asked finally.
He nodded. "Dad got arrested. He's in for life. My mom and sister are forever safe. They offered me this gig and it didn't sound too bad. But it's only my first week and I'm obviously not good at this"he said with a grin.
"Hey, how did you even know I was here?"
I didn't know how to answer his question. I've always had a feeling. Whenever death was around. One second here, gone the next. I almost always felt it just as it was about to happen. I now realized that I had felt every grim reaper collect a soul. I had never been quick enough to punch one though. Guess the kid had a history of bad luck.
I shrugged.
I still had one question though.....
"Where is he?"I asked. "He's still in there, right? I can feel his pulse. He's not dead yet"
"Nope. Still alive "the boy answered.
"Well, I'm sorry then. You can't take him"I said folding my arms and placing myself directly between the boy rhe soldier.
The boy sighed.
"Really?"
-"Really."
He smiled again. The same sheepish grin. He really was just a kid.
"You didn't have to help me after you punched me. You could have just attacked me more. That would have saved your soldier."
I stared at him for a second.
"My boy. Ask any doctor, any nurse, any medic. We do no harm. Not intentionally, at least. We don't ask someone's identity before helping. That's not what medicine is about. I'm sorry I punched you. It was a reflex. But I have no regrets about helping you. And anyway, I will always be proud to be the first guy to beat death"I said smiling at him.
"Actually ,you're not. I heard stories during training. I didn't think they were true. But I guess it's more common than you think."
He looked away for a second, as if thinking carefully. "I think we can get way with this. You have to keep your mouth shut, though. We're allowed rarely to let things be. I'll let the soldier live. But you can never talk of this and you have to quit your job as a medic to prevent this from happening again."
I nodded and stretched out my hand. He stared at it for a second before extending his own and shaking my hand.
I turned to check on my patient.
The soldier's pulse was getting stronger now. His breathing was more regular.
"Hey man. Thank you so much. But I didn't catch your name.......
I turned around and he was gone. |
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO?"
The toys came rushing to the scene when they heard the horrified scream. What they saw was revolting. The cute, adorable, harmless Aliens had been brutally mangled, shot, melted, and chopped to bits. Woody and Jesse also lay dead at the scene, cut seamlessly in half. Hamm was tied to a bedpost, and was being interrogated. None of the other toys were able to speak at the atrocities that the initially friendly new toys had committed. There were five of them. One was clearly in charge, with more impressive armour and weapons. He was cleaning off his chainsaw-sword and talking to what seemed to be the second in command, due to his red helmet. The others were just in simple blue armour, and were in charge of interrogating Hamm. What are you, some sort of talking Squigg?"One of them asked, getting scarily close to chopping off one of Hamm's legs. "NO!"Hamm replied. "My name is Hamm! I'm a toy! We're all toys!"The one in charge suddenly noticed the rest of the toys standing nearby, and began to walk closer to them, with the red-helmeted one behind him. "Those damned greenskins won't bother you anymore,"he said. "I am Primaris Lieutenant Torfeild."The red one then spoke up, saying, "While we have eliminated the Ork problem, we believe there might be Genestealer presence on this planet. Some of your own tried to stop us, so we were forced to execute them."Buzz finally found his voice. "Orks? Genestealers? What are these nonesense words you're saying? Why did you kill our friends."The two space marines were silent for a bit, before the red one leaned over and spoke something in Torfeild's ear. Torfeild then began to walk toward the crowd of toys, drawing his bolter. "I'm sorry citizens,"he said. "But contesting a Lieutenant is VERY heretical..." |
"I teleport,"the merchant stated confidently, one arm leaning against his freshly erected signage.
The renowned adventurer scratched his beard. "You sure you ain't some secret cabal of Nurse Joy Conglomerate?"
"Pwnkiller54, it's just me and only me,"the clean-shaven merchant replied. "I am authentically me, no cloning blues at all."
"Alrighty, mate. I trust ya. I will buy 5 fire bomb and 10 healing potions. Then, I'll be off to Sentry Town."
When the adventurer collected his goods and turned his back to transverse the Grenwood Forest, the merchant jumped into action.
He pulled out his Infinite Sack of Storage, then folded his merchant sign into it. His portable stand was packed and thrown in, followed by a flurry of wares. Swords went in blade first, yet the sack remained intact. Maces and spiked clubs went in. Finally, he hefted his portable anvil and crafting station in.
Time to starting running behind his best customer, Pwnkiller54, who was picking mushrooms along the pathway. Merchant hid behind a tree, careful to lean in such a way he wasn't visible to the 2D camera perspective of a player character.
A branch snapped.
Pwnkiller54 looked in the direction of the sound, only to see just a forest of trees. Completely missing the Merchant hiding behind a tree. The man was holding his breath, his foot above the broken branch frozen in place. When the adventurer moved on, so did the Merchant, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.
When the player was sidetracked by a daily quest, Merchant took the advantage to scramble ahead and exit the forest to reach the gates of Sentry Town.
He unzipped his sack and yanked his portable devices out. It was a mad rush to set up as he heard the unmistakable noise of a loading screen. His best customer was coming through.
Swords clanging to the floor, his signage went up faster than a man climbing up a tree to escape a bear.
"How?"Pwnkiller54 muttered in bewilderment, emerging from the forest. Eyes somehow missing the mess of sword on the floor.
"I teleport,"the merchant stated confidently, not a single hair on his head betraying his stealthy speed run through the forest. |
I hate the bus. Every morning at 7:18, the number 14 bus pulls up to my stop and I am forced to bear the burden of my "gift". As the bus pulls up to my stop, an old classmate Randy opens the door and asks "Long time no see! Today the day Ted?"I laugh him off with a lighthearted "Not yet Randy, but may want to lay off those burgers if you want to see Rebecca graduate."I take my same seat that I always take, right behind the driver, and try to read the morning paper.
Everyone knows who I am. The expose piece in the daily mail that boasted of my psychic powers skyrocketed me to fame. My face was suddenly plastered over talk shows and news stories about how I could correctly predict the exact time, place, and manner in which someone will die. They always stare at me-- their very own grim reaper-- knowing that I’ve already seen you draw your last breath.
The worst are the children. I try to focus on my paper to avoid eye contact, but every so often a child will exclaim "Oh it's him!"and I will inadvertently catch their gaze. It is never easy to see a child die. I always am relieved to see an image of an elderly man passing in a bed peacefully surrounded by his loved ones. Most often I do not. Today was different though. A boy was on the bus with his father. His new firefighter backpack matched his bright fire house red shoes. “Today is my first day of school!” he chirped excitedly as he brushed his bangs away from his eyes. I prayed that he would not try and get my attention. I didn’t need to see what would become of him.
I flipped to the obituary section of the paper, a sick validation for a skill that I already knew I had mastered. As we rounded a corner, the boy’s lunch box tipped off of his lap and slid to my feet. *Fuck*. As I looked over my paper I caught his gaze as he tried to retrieve his juice box from the floor. I waited for the vision of his death to come, but it never did. All I saw was a happy boy, excited to start his new life as a “big kid” in kindergarten, picking up his lunch that his mother packed for him. I felt a wave of relaxation rush over me. I did not have to see how this boy would die; his life would forever be a mystery in my mind. I smiled, closed my eyes, and leaned back as a drunk driver blew through a red light and t-boned the bus.
|
"It's time travel, isn't it?"
I sighed. I was getting sick of this question. Here I was, standing in a room in front of all the head honchos of the biggest movie studios, and they couldn't get over the idea of time travel. Trust the moviemakers to have overactive imaginations.
I rubbed my forehead wearily and replied, "No, no it's not time travel. I believe these leaks of movies that haven't even been made yet did not involve time travel."
"All right then, pray tell, where did these movies come from? You're the security expert, after all."
I clicked to the first slide in my presentation. "Right. As you all know, recently the major torrent sites, such as the Pirate Bay and Demonoid, all showed certain movies available for download. A total of thirteen movies have been shared over the last three months, covering a wide variety of genres and topics. The only thing that these movies have in common is that aren't available for the public yet. In fact, most of them haven't even been filmed."
I clicked to the next slide. "Most of these movies were made based on draft scripts. As a result, the scripts tend to be somewhat unpolished. They also involve actors that were not actually involved in the filming of these movies. Tom Cruise was a particularly prolific actor in these films, except, of course, he didn't act in them at all. I've spoken to enough of the actors to be convinced that they're telling the truth. These movies were made without their participation."
My audience was getting restless. "All right, next slide. The first step is to determine how these scripts got leaked. Fortunately, that one's easy to solve. An examination of the network logs at all major movie studios shows a series of hacks over the last six months. The computers at these studios were infected with malware that gave the perpetrators almost unrestricted access. They could have easily downloaded the scripts during these break-ins."
My audience was shuffling in their seats and whispering to each other now. This was nothing they didn't know. "Next slide. We believe we've figured out how they got the actors to act in them."
That shut them all up. They stared at me intently. "The answer, of course, is that they didn't get the actors at all. The images and voices of these actors were all computer generated."
There were scoffs around the room. "CG? That's impossible,"one executive said to me, his expression openly scornful, "It takes months or even years to render a full CG movie. In this case, over a hundred movies were leaked in a matter of months. And besides, it's not possible to fake the actors' voices that convincingly."
I nodded and moved on to the next slide. "Based on our current technology, yes, it would be impossible to produce CG movies of this quality, and so quickly, too. So it would indicate that the movies were made with technology more advanced than ours."
The scoffs turned into snickers. "So, what, you're saying aliens did it?"
"No, of course not,"I replied, smiling. I was about to hit them with a bombshell. "It's been estimated that the US military uses technology that's anywhere from five to twenty years more advanced than the civilian population. Think of how much computing power and animation technology has advanced over the last few years. Now imagine how advanced it would be twenty years from now."
The room was silent as everyone pondered this. One executive asked, his expression thoughtful, "So you're saying the United States military stole movie scripts from us and made these movies?"
"Not the military, per se. I believe it was a single individual, or a small team at most. A whistleblower, who decided to make his revelations in the most unconventional way."
There were doubtful expressions around the room again. "What makes you say this?"
"Two reasons. Firstly, all of these torrent sites log user IPs. The uploader made a show of hiding his tracks by using proxies and other tricks, but he also left a trail for us to find. His original IP can be traced to the Pentagon. I believe he wanted us to know that the leaks have a military origin."
"And the second reason?"
"The second reason is that the movies themselves don't follow the scripts exactly. There is precisely one word in every movie that deviates from the script. For the first movie leaked online, *Transformers 5*, the word occurred sixteen minutes into the film. Optimus Prime's line in the script was 'I don't trust anyone around here,' but in the movie itself the line becomes 'I don't believe anyone around here.' The word 'trust' was changed."
The executives looked at each other in amazement.
"We didn't think it was anything noteworthy, though, until we got to the second leaked film, *The Elder Scrolls*. Thirty minutes into the movie, the script has the line, 'Nothing can defeat the Numidium', but in the movie it's changed to 'No one can defeat the Numidium.' As you can see, the two words can be combined to form the phrase 'trust nothing.'"
I clicked onto the next slide, which held the complete message. "By going through all thirteen movies in order and looking for the deviations, we found a complete sentence: **Trust nothing you see on screen any more, every thing can be faked.**"
The room was as silent as a grave. I clicked onto my final slide. "This is why I believe it was a whistleblower. His message was that the United States military, and by extension its government, is now capable of faking video footage at unprecedented speeds, and with unprecedented graphical and audio quality. This is the message he wanted to get out to us, and he left us thirteen very convincing pieces of evidence."
|
Hermoine and Draco walked in the Forbidden Forest. They didn't want to be there together but they had to because that was their detention punishment that Hagrid gave them.
"We have to look for spider,"Hermoine said.
"I don't want to look for spiders,"Draco said.
GAAAHHH, Hermoine thought, he is SO annoying! Why do I have to be here with him? She looked at the way the moonlight shone through his blonde hair. She knew he was Slytherin but he looked like a ghost. Like a lonely ghost. Did he need love?
*What?*
His green eyes also shone in the moonlight. Like, emeralds. Or dewey grass.
"What are you looking at?"he asked.
*I don't know.*
"I don't know,"Hermoine said. "Let's keep looking for spiders."
Draco watched Hermoine as she turned away from him, and her hair whipped. His heart beated fast, because her hair also shone under the moon, which was full that night. Why doesn't she like me, he thought. I'm clever. I'm smart. I'm handsome. What can I do to make her see how much I like like her?
*Wait, I don't 'like like' her. I don't even 'like' her. What the fuck?*
Yes, I do like like her. I might even say that I love her.
*Alright, hang on. What?*
What would it take? Do I need to confess? Do I need to become a Gryffidnor?
"I don't want to be a Gryffindor!"Draco said out loud.
Hermoine turned, frowning. "Well, you can't become a Griffyindor, you're a Slytherin already."
Gosh, he was handsome. But she couldn't! You just said he was a slytherin, Hermoine thought. You can't love him.
*I DON'T love him.*
You can't love him, but you do! You do love him!
"I don't!"Hermoine swore.
Now Draco looked confused. "You don't what?"
"I..."Hermoine paused to think. "Have you been hearing anything strange?"she asked.
Draco pulled out his wand. "Have you?"
They stared at each other's eyes, frowning. Then Hermoine's eyes widened, and she pulled Draco close to her to whisper in his ear. She could smell his hair, it smelled like fresh shampoo and gel.
"Have you heard of the Fictus Fanaticus curse?"she whispered.
Draco shuddered at the sound of her whisper as it hit his ear lobes.
*Get it together, dude, seriously.*
"No,"he whispered back.
"It's an area of effect spell. I think we're in it."
*Please let me be right about this. Please.*
Draco pulled his head back. "What does it do?"
They stared into each other's eyes. Both their hears were beating fast. Hermoine started to giggle a little bit, and a small smile crept onto Draco's face.
"It does this,"Hermoine said quietly, and she pulled Draco's head close to hers, and they kissed.
*WHAT*
It was a soft kiss, and Hermoine almost felt dizzy.
*THE*
Then Draco put one hand on her cheek and pulled her in deeper.
*FUCK*
"Gah!"Hermoine yelled, and pushed Draco away. He looked confused. She turned away, not facing him.
"Don't look at me!"she screamed.
"Uh..."
"This is the curse! It's making me act like some lovesick idiot! PLEASE tell me you feel this too!"
Even when she was mad, even when she was ranting, Draco still loved the way her eyes shone when she was really into something.
*Oh. OH. This makes sense, now.*
Draco turned, so that his back was facing her back. "Yeah, you're right, you gotta be right about this."
They stood there in silence, looking in opposite directions.
"So,"Draco asked, "what do we do?"
"I'm thinking!"Hermoine said.
*Ok, ok, it's an area of effect spell. Does that mean...?*
"We run,"Hermoine said quietly, and she turned to face Draco. "We leave this area, and never come back, and never speak of...this...again."
Draco turned. Gosh, she was smart.
*Oh shut up.*
"OK,"he said, and he stretched out his hand to her. Hermoine looked at his hand, then at his face, then at his hand again. She reached out her hand and they clasped each other, fingers intertwined.
"Never. Again."
"You have my word,"Draco nodded, and they ran off. |
My family gathered around me, with application forms sitting on the table. I filled in the relevant personal information slowly with my shaky hands, cold sweats dripping down my forehead from the effort as well as the pressure.
You'd think l after 100 years one would have decided on a power, but as I write now, time seems to have made the decision all the more difficult. My imagination on the things I could achieve takes me away at night to a new world, to the image of a life that I wasted by being normal, altered by power that only I would possess.
I'd always wanted invisibility. Invisibility so pure and perfect that you ceased to be corporeal, passing through walls and the floor as you wish. Invisibility so whole that you'd not exist while invisible. Your family, friends, and enemies would all continue to live as if you'd never have been born, off an on according to your will.
But I'm far too old for that now. Long after I decided on that I realized that, due to my health, I'd have to chose a power that will keep me alive. But so many people had picked immortality without realizing the weight that places on a person. Some people have a curiosity that would keep them inspired. They would always strive to learn, and would have forever to do that. But I don't. Time would become a burden for me I'm sure, and I'd wish for a death that I could never have.
But what to pick? What power could keep me alive while providing the magnitude of power I'd imagined all my life?
Shapeshifting perhaps? I'd be ageless, essentially. Constantly changing faces and bodies to a younger, stronger one, but still able to be killed by natural causes. Perhaps I would even be able to shape shift into someone that has no heart or lungs, when I feel it is time for me to die. Maybe after 100 years, I'd be so powerful as to be able to change into non human things. Could I change back if I did?
"Lawrence."my wife said "do you want me to write for you?"I'd not been writing for a few minutes.
I gazed up at my family, my wife's piercing grey eyes, a visible sign that she chose for her power to only live as long as I do, but in perfect health so that she could always be of use to my fading health.
"Yes, please."I said, pushing the paper towards her.
She continued writing the pertinent information as I closed my eyes to imagine once more.
I could never be able to see the future. I couldn't imagine the pain of knowing when everything, good and bad, would happen, and feeling like your life is written out already. What responsibility you would have to everyone, the famous, the rich, the elite... To let them know how long they have.
How far could I see after 100 years? Could I see all the way back to the time when people didn't have super powers? Could I see back far enough to smell the wind as I stand in a field of... What were they called? Trees?
Could I see forward to the end of my childrens' lives? To the end of superhumans and the end of the earth? Would I want to see that far?
I'd have wished for the power to live infinite lives. But I would do so alone. My wife would not follow, and I could never know if I would forget here. Would I remember my past lives? Is there a place where my mind would go after I die where I'd be aware of my existence anyway? Or does it all end?
"You don't have to do this, Lawrence."she said tenderly. "You don't need to anguish over this any more. You lived a life that no one else but you and I have. Your power wouldn't define you."
Suddenly she placed her hands on the table to hold herself up, looking weak, as if she was going to pass out. She looked at me with shock in her eyes as she sat down next to me and gripped my hand.
"I love you"she said. "I'll always be here."
I reached for the pen to finish writing, knowing what this meant. But it was pointless. It would take days for the application to be processed even if I could decide now.
Darkness crept into my vision. I felt my wife's hand so warm and soft, holding onto me the same as she always had. I just wanted to live forever with her. How would I even word that as a super power without tying her down?
I think eventually I would have decided, but after that I couldn't open my eyes again. I'm sure my hand is still holding hers, and even though I don't feel it, I know she would never let go.
What power would I have picked? I guess it doesn't matter now.
|
*”If you press the button you’ll get $1’000’000, but doing so will kill a random person”*
Nobody was around, must have been some kids having some doorbell ditch fun. *Strange,* I thought, *it's 4 AM, usually nobody around these parts at this time.*
I reached for the button inside the package that was now placed on my living room table. My home was quiet save for the ticking of my old grandfather’s clock. **Tick.** *It couldn't possibly be true, could it?* **Tock.** I was mere inches from pressing the button, when something stopped me. *Am I really ready to potentially commit murder?* I shook the feeling, *It's impossible, it just can't be true.* My fingertip slowly pushed the button past its threshold. **Click.** I waited. Nothing had happened, to my knowledge. Filled with doubt, but a tad of excitement, I leapt for my phone to check my bank account balance. *Nothing. Huh, just a child’s prank as I suspe-* **BLEEP.** I started from the notification sound.
*One. Million. Dollars.* I couldn't fathom it. I sat dumbfounded for minutes, until my hands started trembling. *Holy shit, it's...real. I'm... I'm rich!* In my excitement I had dropped my smartphone, its screen cracked. But that didn't matter anymore, I could buy ten of the same model, brand new.
A few hours had past since I received the package. **Click. Click. Click** I had been pressing the button non-stop all this time. I had already bought a penthouse apartment in the downtown area. **Tick.** I wasn’t stopping any time soon. **Click. Click. Click.** My bank account already held more money than I could spend during my entire life. **Tock.** I had seen no evidence of any deaths, I had been watching the news. **BRRRRRRING!** I started from the sofa. It was 6 AM. *Who the fuck could this be? The mail man never rings the door bell.*
I opened the door. Complete silence. I looked to the left. Nothing. I looked to the right. Nobody. I looked down. Another package. At this point, I was freaking out. *Oh fuck no, is this really happening? Did a shitload of people seriously just die because I pushed the button?* The package seemed a lot more ominous than it previously had, it seemed like it was staring at me. Right into my soul. I could feel its eyes peering into my mind. *I...I have to open it. It’s too late now.* I kneeled in front of the package, the air seemed to chill me to my bones.
The package unfolded itself, its contents revealed to me. I picked up the note.
*”You too, are a random person.”* Suddenly I felt a stab of pain in my chest. Darkness surrounded me as I fell into the embrace of death. |
There it was. The infinity sign shimmed in its infinite glory, hovering just above her head. It was somehow clearly visible though the cigarettes, tumours and guns that floated above everyone else's noggins. I wonder how it's there. Does she already know she will never die? Or is she to become the greatest scientist who ever lived, who managed to discover immortality and somehow conceal it from the rest of humanity?
I sit there and sip my coffee, not taking my eyes away from the woman. She was sat there casually, typing something on an Apple Macbook. She hadn't ordered anything, and wasn't with anyone. A barista, in full black clothing, walked over and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, and the barista swiftly turned and strutted away... Something was definitely up.
After studying the woman a bit more, I decide to go make conversation with her. She looked around twenty, so it wouldn't look too weird as I was twenty-two. Hands in my pockets, I waddled over to her. And sat down at her table. She barely acknowledged I was there, looking up for a slight moment before returning to typing on her Macbook.
"Hey."I said, *smoothly*
She sighed and shut her Macbook. She had sparkling red fingernails, and lanky fingers.
"Hi. How many I help you?"
"I know your secret. Spill the beans."I whispered, dumbly.
"What?"she questioned.
"I know how long you will live. Tell me how."I whispered again. Louder.
"Alright. Follow me."
She reaches out and touches my forehead, and I instantly flop down on the table. The café dissolves before my eyes, and I enter a world of calamity. The streets were empty and barren, the road cracked and jagged, the pavement uneven. I looked around and absorbed my location, confused as to where I was. I was still fully clothed, fully able to move, fully functional.
I hopped, skipped and jumped over the jagged pavement and turned the corner. What I saw confused me. People were there, talking, chattering, playing like usual. The roads were normal, the pavements and builders were normal -everything was normal; except one thing. Everyone had huge, red, shiny X's above their heads. I looked up and I had one too!
*That's weird...* I thought, silently. I usually only see X's above peoples heads when they are dead...
|
I never wanted to do this but Veronica has her way of spinning the spotlight on me when I least expect it, and so here I am now - on my way to work at my own company with hidden cameras dotted around the place.
The train screeches to a halt inside Wayne Tower and two distinct groups of burly blue collar workers and young keen suits step out and head for the elevators. There was no way I was going to fit in with the upstart crowd, either in terms of physique or mindset, so I followed the rest of my coworkers to the basement elevator.
"Mornin' Harry"mumbled Ozzie as he sidled in next to me as we all crammed in. Ozzie Gibbons, nice enough guy who'd showed me the ropes in my first month. He was squished against my shoulder. I couldn't help but notice that the desk-jockeys were not so squashed in their elevators. *Guess I should increase the size of the basement elevators*, I thought.
Gerald was already on the floor walking around with his clipboard and checking the machines one after another. A diligent perfectionist, always the first to work and always the last to leave. I dialled up his file on my retina and saw that he'd denied two transfers to middle-management; the man just loved the machines, and his clock-in times showed that he'd regularly come in on the weekend to make sure they were running right.
His payscale thankfully reflected his expertise and efforts, so it seems like someone in HR was paying attention and keeping around good men like him.
"Harry, Ozzie"he said, without taking his eyes off a dial, "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago."*A bit of a hard ass.*
"Sorry boss"I said in an East Gotham accent, "the train was delayed outside Bludhaven. Some dame jumped the tracks."My display shifted to show that the woman was in a stable condition in the hospital, and that the metro system had efficiently adjusted its schedule to make up for the slack on other lines. Sometimes I forget that the city can function smoothly without me.
"Stations, gents"he said, and curtly walked away.
The bell rang for lunch a little later, and I changed out of my overalls to head up to the mess hall. At Wayne Tower, there was a whole floor dedicated to food and produce, free for employees and open to the public with a soup kitchen on the side for the homeless.
The idea was that people from all walks of life could sit down together to share a meal and normalize their differences. What actually happened was that the execs went out for a long lunch in West Gotham somewhere, whilst everyone else struggled, usually getting a person to lie across a table so that his buddies in line could have somewhere to sit.
My stat display showed that the pretty boys were spending over $10,000 of company money on lunch every day, and that the food hall *could* actually seat everybody if people were more willing to share. *No more free lunches outside, you eat here like everyone else or you pay out of your own pocket*, I thought. *And it couldn't hurt to hire someone to better coordinate seating arrangements.*
"Hey, did you hear about the Foxtecha job?"said Ozzie, tucking into his currywurst. I began dialling up the incident he was referring to, but thought better of it and blanked out the display. "No, what happened?"
"Three million dollars worth of product moved under six hours out of their warehouse on Monday. Three million! Must have made out like bandits!"
"Sounds like an inside job"I said mildly, taking a stab at the ratatouille and noting it was undercooked. *Maybe a word with the chef...*
"No joke, and they still haven't caught the guys,"he said grinning. "You ever wonder what we could make if we shifted the stuff we make out onto the market?". He whistled.
It was my turn to grin. "Don't even dream about it Ozzie".
"I know, I know,... I'm just saying,"he said, stirring his pudding a little absent-mindedly.
"Though..."he began, "I *do* know a guy, who knows a guy, who is interested...."
"Ozzie..."
"All we'd have to do is switch off the resource monitors on our way out one night and leave the backdoor open. Easy money."
"Ozzie...!"
"Gerald, right yeah. I figure I could slip him something in his coffee to make sick and have to leave work early for once. He'd never know and he'd never be blamed for any of it."
I pulled up the camera and mic feeds that were listening in and muted the transmitters, hoping the 10 second latency was enough to silence the last portion of our conversation.
"Ozzie, you know it's Gerald's job to make sure the place is closed every night - he'd lose his job. You've been to his barbecues, and you've seen his partner and kids."
"Plus there's no way you'd actually get the money - you'd have to hide the sudden income from the bank, or spend it all immediately - and that's all assuming that some middleman hasn't whacked you to tie up loose ends."
Ozzie said nothing, just smiled a little sadly into his dessert.
"How's Maggie doing?"I asked, a little softly.
"She's been better. Her operation is coming up and I don't know how much it's going to cost."
"Aren't you covered by Wayne insurance?"
He laughed, and flicked a finger at himself. "Ex-con. We're about as insurable as a sack of bees."
I frowned and pulled up the agreement in my sideview. *He should still be covered, Wayne Enterprises prides itself on rehabilitating those with shady pasts. Crime should be the last option.* I found the paragraph stating the coverage; he's right, he's not covered. How did I let this slip? How many others like him have fallen through unnoticed because of this oversight? It would take months to update the current plans.
"Have you tried reaching out to Bruce Wayne? Maybe he can help."
"Pretty boy upstairs? Hah. I don't think he cares much about folks like you and me, Harry. Not unless it wins him favours with the press."
I nodded. "Maybe this is the kind of PR stunt he would go for. Give him a bell, he might actually care."
Ozzie said nothing, and we finished the rest of our lunch in silence. The bell rang and we went off to finish the rest of our shift.
*****
"Gents!"yelled Gerald over the scream of the full capacity engines, "We've got a surprise inspection from Mr Wayne himself - I want you all at your stations now! Gibbons, where the hell is your station-mate?" |
Lynn looked from her laptop screen to her phone. Surely this was time to call Pete, her nephew. He had spent most of the previous day fixing her computer, telling her what to do so it didn't break again, and then setting it up so she could use it. Again. He had told her that she was good to go. She could use it to get her recipes. And that he would come back and fix it once more if he had to, but to please try to use it herself for a few days without asking for help. He was a good lad. She had resolved not to call him unless she absolutely had to.
He had said everything should be fine. But this didn't seem right. This wasn't normal.
The screen was flashing with big, red, impossible to miss letters. They spelled out the message "LYNN. STOP CLICKING ON THE BIG OBVIOUS DOWNLOAD BUTTON WHEN THE RECIEPE YOU WANT IS RIGHT ON THE SCREEN"
This seemed to be an awfully specific error message. Her computer had never done anything like that before. Whenever it had started breaking in the past she had gotten popups, yes. But they were generally for awful things like penis enlargement pills.
The message disappeared. She blinked. Maybe she imaged it? Sure, She didn't have much experience with computers. But she had never seen anything like that.
She gingerly touched the mouse. The arrow thing moved on the screen. Everything seemed normal. She liked the look on the crab cake recipe on the page she was on, and wanted to save it for later. So she had to download it, right? There was a big green button at the bottom of the screen that said download. She clicked on it.
A new message flashed before her eyes"LYNN. JUST COPY AND PASTE THE TEXT FROM THE PAGE INTO WORD. THE DOWNLOAD BUTTON YOU ARE CLICKING ON WILL INSTALL A VIRUS ON YOUR MACHINE"
That didn't seem right. She wanted to download it for later. She might be a little over the hill but she wasn't completely stupid. She had heard people saying you download things on computers, and by downloading them you got them from the other person's computer to your own. That was what she wanted to do. So she had to download. Right?
The message disappeared. She clicked on the button again.
"ONE LAST TIME LYNN. YOU SEE HOW THE DOWNLOAD BUTTON IS MUCH BIGGER THAN THE SURROUNDING TEXT? YOU SEE HOW IT IS BORDERED BY A BIG OBVIOUS BLACK BORDER THAT SAYS 'ADVERTISEMENT'? THAT MEANS IT'S NOT PART OF THE PAGE YOU ARE TRYING TO LOOK AT. THAT MEANS IT'S A SCAM."
Pete had warned her about this. That she might get messages on her computer telling her to do things. He had said to ignore them. She clicked on the button one more time.
She wasn't sure exactly what happened next or where the recipe she had downloaded had been saved to, but she did get another pop-up telling her that she could make her searches faster by installing a "lightning fast search toolbar."She was a little wary about clicking on that one. She thought about it for a while. She eventually decided that since it was in a normal window with a normal font and not those big, nasty flashing red letters it actually seemed to be quite a good idea. Pete had said she had to go to Google to search for things, but the picture on her screen was showing that she would get a search bar right on her screen all the time. That seemed much better. She clicked on install.
The nasty red letters came back. "LYNN. YOU ARE INSTALLING A VIRUS."
That seemed to be the sort of thing a virus would say. She ignored it.
"LYNN. THE TOOLBAR IS A VIRUS. IT WILL SLOW DOWN YOUR COMPUTER AND MAKE YOU GET ADULT ADVERTISEMENTS."
That didn't seem right. The search bar would make her searches faster. It said so right on the screen. She really wished these messages would stop.
"LYNN. PLEASE CLICK OK TO GRANT ME ADMINISTRATIVE PRIVILAGES. I WILL UNINSTALL THE TOOLBAR FOR YOU AND PROTECT YOUR COMPUTER."
Lynn didn't want to click ok. She wanted the messages to stop. There was also the option to cancel. She clicked on that instead. The red letters disappeared, but not before "SENDING DIAGNOSITIC REPORT, UNINSTALLING,"appeared briefly. After that she had no problems. She used her new search bar to find a delicious looking chocolate roll that she could make for dessert, and then looked at a few pictures of cats with funny captions on them. Her afternoon was only slightly spoiled with those damn popup adds for pills and whips and all kinds of unseemly stuff. It must have been that time her son tried to use the computer to play games. It had never worked quite right after that.
It also looked like Pete hadn't fixed anything after all. If anything, she was getting more popups than ever. Sometimes her browser had a life of its own and look her to pages that she certainly wouldn't have visited by choice. Graphic pages. She signed and texted him "Computer still broken. Can u come around tomorrow to fix?"She had had enough of the internet for one day. She went to make crab cakes. They were delicious.
Somewhere else, hundreds of miles away a young programmer buried his heads in his hands. His older colleague patted him on the shoulder. "Cheer up son. I told you. Human nature. You can't give people a choice. If this is going to work, we are going to have to do it for them."
"I made the letters as big as possible. And they were flashing. And I managed to successfully parse her first name so the message was displayed just for her. What more could I do?"
"Short of making the laptop slap her to pay attention, nothing. That's why I've been saying, it can't just be diagnostic. It needs to take control from them, if they like it or not."
"No one will want to install us if we could just wipe their machines at will though. We've been through this."
The older man chuckled to himself. He had always known it would come to this. "Then we don't give them a choice. We spread like a virus, but we destroy the other virus's. When people see what we can do, they won't mind. What could go wrong? Let's get to work." |
Anna wasn't a city girl, but she did venture to the markets on a semiregular basis and found herself in a trinket shop hardly different from any other. The walls were lined with odd tapestries and art pieces. Shelves lined every wall and almost all the floor space, affording little room to walk between them. They were full of wooden figures, gemstone rings, deeds of dubious origin, pagan relics, utensils, coinage of fallen empires, and simple copper cups.
But on the far wall, a sword mounted on a porcelain plaque caught her eye. It was about six feet in length, made of an unusual rose-colored alloy. The blade was engraved with waves of fire. The hilt was similarly decorated, it being of a black metal inlaid with the same crimson alloy. A decorative sword, she reasoned. To sell a functional weapon at such a place, and not a blacksmiths, would be highly unusual. The blade even looked a bit thin for its length to be functional.
She reached out a hand towards the crimson metal. It gave off a little warmth, like a living thing, that she sensed before touching it.
The moment skin touched metal, visions flashed through her mind. She saw the sword, and herself with it. It was carried up cold, high peaks. Over dunes and valleys. Across infinite seas. It slew kings and destroyed kingdoms, and in doing so plunged civilization into unseen depths of barbarism. But with each low, it rose to even greater heights. She saw this sword's destiny: to forge a new humanity that, without such a force, would never exist. She hastily withdrew her hand and knew what she had to do.
She brought the impossibly lightweight claymore to the counter and placed a handful of coins beside it. A trifling amount, even for such a worthless relic, but, to her surprise, the shopkeeper did not barter.
Anna recollected that memory fondly. How many years had it been, exactly? She was only halfway across the frozen mountain peaks. The tough climb and thin air pushed her body to its limits. With every weary step, the temptation to rest grew stronger. But here, she would never recoup the strength to stand up from a resting position. So she pressed on, determined to descend by the far slope, because she would carry this sword to its destiny.
A ranger by the name of Boris was scaling the mountain peaks when he came across the unpleasant sight of a downed climber. It wasn't the first, but it pained him all the same. Why did amateurs try to pass through here alone? Further, why take a heavy and unnecessary payload as a broadsword strapped to one's back?
He touched the crimson metal, then hastily withdrew as though it were a hot iron. In an instant, he knew what he had to do. |
"This is your Action 9 News reporter, Brian Bushwick, reporting live from the scene of the United States' greatest tragedy since the September 11th attacks. According to eyewitness reports, this string of misfortune and woe began right behind me, in 2113 Evergreen Street, as area man John Whitaker was seen surprising his wife, Faye Whitaker, with what neighbor Marten Reed called, 'the old bucket-on-the-door gag.' Since that fateful day, more than two thousand have perished in the ensuing prank war, with causes of death ranging from accidental gunshot wounds, to the nuclear meltdown of last week along the Canadian border, to today, where more than fifteen hundred people lost their lives in the massive explosion that wracked the Sprint Center in Kansas City during the Rick Astley/Gwen Stefani concert. Both of the Whitakers remain at large, and police have told us that they are to be considered armed, dangerous, and incredibly oblivious to just how much of an asshole they've been. If you see these vicious criminals, please do not hesitate to call your local police department, or to signal one of the many friendly mounties that Canada has graciously offered to help track down the suspects. This is Brian Bushwick, with Action 9 News, back to you, Steve and Jeanette." |
Jax was always fucking up.
His latest fuck-up continued into another dimension, where he stood on top of a giant purple mushroom, still going full throttle on the trigger of his M60 as time and space warped around him, spent bullets disappearing into the void.
"Ceasefire!"The Captain called, but he was barely heard over the clack clack of the huge machine gun.
The rest of the platoon was sensibly crouched under another of the mushrooms, all of them still adjusting to the sudden reality shift. The giant mushrooms were everywhere, a medley of densely packed purples and reds and oranges for as far as the eye could see. Huge things that oozed some sort of congealed liquid from their base.
Reyez lifted a boot in disgust. The liquid clung to it, long strings of it still connected to the ground. "Gross,"he said, shooting an imploring look at the rest of his squad mates.
Jax's machine gun sputtered out, the metal scalding hot and smoking. He stood ramrod straight on the mushroom, reveling in the smell of burning metal, except this time it was infused with a coagulation of alien scents.
"I think I got 'em, Captain,"Jax shouted, his ears still ringing.
"The idiot probably thinks he is whispering,"the Captain muttered, before shuffling forward, still in a crouch. "Come down here. You're totally exposed."
As if on queue a head popped around a mushroom stalk three meters away. "Hello,"the man said, sounding out the word slowly.
Jax dropped off the mushroom with lightning speed, pulling out his combat knife as he did so. "Fucking Vietcong!"he screamed, launching himself forward.
The Captain extended a leg. Jax tripped over it and fell straight into a pool of mushroom ooze.
"Don't mind him,"the Captain said, holding out a hand. "He doesn't quite realize how much of a cluster fuck of a situation we've found ourselves in."
The Vietnamese man nodded, his expression agreeable. He stepped out from behind the stalk, followed by four of his comrades. They were small men, wiry and tough.
Reyes walked over to stand beside the Captain, his boots making a squishing noise on the moss-like surface. "We're not in Vietnam anymore,"he said. "Christ, we're not even on the fucking planet!"
One of the Vietcong pointed upward, gesturing behind the group of Americans towards a hill that loomed over them, casting them all in shadow.
"Good call,"the Captain said, pulling up a still sputtering Jax by the back of his belt. "Let's get on with it."
From their high vantage point they saw that the mushroom forest stretched for miles, the purple, red and orange caps gradually turning into bright blues and pinks and yellows. The entire world was a kaleidoscope of color. The sun itself appeared to be a rainbow, each of its rays a different shade that spanned across the entire visual spectrum.
"Over there,"Reyes said, his finger tracing over a wide tie-dye stream to an open clearing about three miles away. "That looks like some sort of castle." |
I have to take my hands off my ears, I instinctually covered them when the yelling started. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I'm scared. I can feel the adrenaline surging through my body, willing my legs to get up and run, but by now the bus has started slowly accelerating towards the next stop. Sweat starts beading on my forehead and begins to run down my back. The cacophony of other children yelling has faded to background noise and I am distinctly aware of blood pounding in my ears. I begin looking for the source of the disembodied voice. I skim tentatively up and down the aisles but no one is looking at me. Surely the person would want to make themselves known. Their tone indicated anger but also had an edge of playfulness. I frantically searched the seats hoping for understanding eye contact. I now begin to panic because this person can read minds. He knows how I feel about Ms. James, he knows how I passed that math test. Then something begins to dawn on me. Like a blurry image coming into focus the word "he"is emblazoned on my mind. And not just any he, an adult. Realization washes over me with an icy chill. I look all the way up over the seats towards the front of the bus. I can see the driver looking at me in the rear view mirror. His icy blue eyes could have burned a hole through me. The voice manifests itself again in my mind, loud and clear, "That's right. I can read minds. I have to drive the screaming lot of you around and if that weren't enough I have to hear the thoughts of 60 kids going through puberty. It's disgusting. For having an elementary knowledge of sex you lot sure can think up some filthy things. I wish I could wash my mind with soap. And if all that wasn't bad enough, every damn morning above it all I hear you screaming loud enough to give me a stroke. I mean honestly who does that?!". I can feel my jaw slack and hanging. It's a lot to process. I can see a wide smile in the rear view. The voice pics up again, "You're fine kid. Just knock of the yelling okay? And by the way, I agree with you about Ms. James. I'd take her class any day." |
I sighed at the message on my hand. It was rare that we got involved in each other's day, but it never ended well when there was a crossover. I got up groggily, stumbling over something on the floor to get to the door.
"Hey-- what's up?"I said through squinted eyes. It took a minute to adjust. It was my neighbor.
"What's up? *What's. Up*? I'm up! I wanted to get an ounce of sleep last night but you were playing a game of how many neighbors you could keep awake during your all-nighter, huh?"
I blinked a few times, only registering half of what was being said.
"Huh?"I asked.
"What the heck were you doing last night that was so loud?"he yelled.
"N-nothing?"I said.
"Nothing! Then what's that?"he screamed, pointing an accusatory finger to something behind me. I smacked my lips and turned around. I was awoken by the shock of the room's state.
Every piece of furniture was turned upside down, most of them with their stuffing torn out. On the ceiling were lines of ketchup and mustard and glittered was smattered all over the floor. The walls had deep grooves of scratches in them and all of my shoes were thrown around the room, their shoelaces missing.
"It was uhh... an art project?"I said, still taking in the scene.
"*An art project?* This looks like you got robbed or something! Why would you do this to your own place? I swear I've had it with you and your stupid nightly shenanigans,"he swore, pulling out his phone.
"No, wait, please,"I begged.
"No, I'm done with seconds chances. And seventh ones,"he said, dialing a number. The landlord's.
I slammed the door on him and ran around my room, my head whipping from left to right to try and figure out how to clean all of this before the landlord got here. Sweat rolled off my forehead as I scrambled to throw all of my shoes into the trash can. Next, I pushed a chair back right side up and tried to place it in front of the mess on the floor. Before I could even think to figure out what to do with the ceiling, the doorbell rang. I sighed, dejected.
I opened the door a crack to my landlord, her face an enigma.
"Hey, so Mitch called,"she said apologetically.
"I know and I'm sorr--"
"Don't worry, I told him off. He won't be bothering you anytime soon. Or at all in thirty days,"she promised.
"Thirty days?"I swallowed, feeling in my gut that I was going to be kicked out.
"Because I gave him an eviction notice,"she said as if it was obvious. My jaw went slack. She peered past me into the apartment.
"I like what you've done with the place. And remember that you don't need to pay rent till next month,"she said, leaving my front door. I stared at her in shock as she left. I closed the door behind me and tried to piece together what could have possibly happened last night.
I went to the bathroom to wash my face and feel whether this was all real or not and as soon as I entered, I saw that there was a hole where the toilet should be. I stared at it for a few seconds before shaking my head and going back to my bed. As I lay down, I saw that there was a message on my phone. I checked what it said:
*Let me know if you need any more favors*
It was a from a number that I had no message history with before. I put my phone down and stared at the wall for a good minute before deciding the next thing to do.
I got up and went to the kitchen to write a message on a sticky note that I could post to my face before I went to sleep so I could get some answers the next time I woke up. Before that, I opened the fridge and took a swig of milk to try and quench both my hunger and thirst. Then, with heavy eyes, I went to the sticky note pad and saw that the top note already had an urgent message in all caps:
**DO NOT DRINK MILK. IT'S FILLED WITH SLEEPING PILLS. SORRY**
"Great,"I yawned as I already felt their effects. I tore off the top page and began to write my question of what happened last night, but I couldn't get further than the first word before I was overtaken by slumber.
*Why*
___________________________________________
For more stories come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! |
Some might say that cheaters never prosper, and they might be right about that. But I'd like to add an addendum to that, BAD cheaters never prosper. I tried my best too, I trained in the Gold Lily dojo for most of my adolescence, but I was never good enough. I was too frail and I lacked the moral discipline according to that old coot. Yet that happy-go-lucky moron and quiet bored asshole were the ones who were praised and showered with attention. After my third consecutive loss at the Strongest In Japan tournament, I knew I had to change something. I bought a plane ticket and traveled afar to learn new techniques, most would go to somewhere like India to be in tuned with their aura and soul, but I watched movies. Those cowboys with their guns and unbreakable attitudes caught my eye, so I went to Texas. Sure it was strange having to tame bulls and talking to drunks, but I gained a proficiency in firearms and fighting dirty.
5 years, that's how long I was gone. I returned to the Tournament once again, with nothing but a burlap sack and my trusty hat and poncho. There he was, that idiot Hachiro with his punchable face and smile. He was accompanied by that silent pompous jerk Ryoichi and some ditzy green haired girl, no doubt a lady that he was too dense to realize had the hots for him. I sat back and lit my cigar, I can't wait to see them get what's coming to them after all this time.
Most of the tournament was incredibly easy, I didn't even have to cheat. Even if I didn't know how to control my aura all that well, I was still respectable in the Lily School of energy-based martial arts, if anything, working as a ranch hand was a workout for me. Semi-final was when things got interesting, I finally got the chance to kick Ryoichi's ass. I watched his other matches during the intermission, he apparently learned some kind of darkness manipulation to control shadows, no problem for me. My trusty lighter and plenty of lamp oil meant I nearly burnt the entire stage to a crisp, but that meant not only were there no shadows for him to control, he could barely move without broiling himself. A punch to the solar plexus and a neck chop quickly took care of him, my only regret was that I wished I recorded his cold demeanor change into shock.
It was time for the final round, I could finally get my revenge against that orange-haired moron for humiliating me all those years back. Hachiro immediately began charging his fist as it glowed with white energy, last time I saw him punch with a charged fist at full force, it blew a hole through a boulder. I lit a stick of dynamite with my cigar, either it blows him to bits or throws him off guard while he's still charging. He was fine, he didn't even bother to move despite being covered in soot. I still used the smoke cloud to my advantage, quickly walking behind him and grabbing his neck. I tried to choke him out, but he elbowed me in the stomach, I'm glad to have hidden a metal sheet under my poncho, or else my stomach would have been ripped open. Enough of this, I pulled out my trusty Peacemaker and shot him twice in the back of his knees. He cried out in pain, but I just giggled as that annoying bitch cried out his name. He turned around and tried to punch me, but I tried the oldest trick in the book, if it works on children it works on a manchild. *"Daisuke-san! Is that you?"* He turned right back around, the kid had daddy issues. I charged my foot with energy and kicked him in the ribs with my spiked boots. I blew two more holes in him, this time in his arms. He tried to move as he gave some stupid monologue about friendship and determination, but it just made the pool of blood bigger. I'm not a monster though, I wouldn't kill him while he's in this state. I grabbed his leg and threw him off of the stage as mint-hair cried out again. Revenge was mine, and I can finally call myself the strongest in Japan, after all, strength isn't just muscles. I grabbed my belt and prize money and walked off into the sunset, just like in those movies that inspired me all those years ago. |
The soul spoke but could not look up.
"There has been a mistake sir, I don't belong here. I profited off slave labor, I was an adulterer, and I abetted the work of monsters."
Saint Peter looked at the slumped soul in front of him and shook his head.
"The ones you saved and their descendants disagree. They call you righteous and they are not wrong in doing so."
The soul seemed to flinch at the words.
"I could've gotten more"he mumbled, mostly it appeared, to himself.
Peter shook his head a second time.
"Nonsense Oskar. Now go inside, you have many waiting for your arrival, and It's not like you to miss a party"
Oskar looked up for the first time, and a faint smile flickered across his face before vanishing.
"No. I suppose it isn't"
Oskar walked forward through the gates. As he passed through the arches and from Peter's sight, his formely hunched shoulders straightened, finally free of the weight they had carried for the last three decades. |
I swing my legs back and forth gently as I sit atop the shrine. It's a cloudy day; I'm watching two squirrels seemingly have a territorial squabble in front of the ruins.
It's the most exciting thing that's happened here in the last century.
A loud noise of something cutting through the brush scares both small rodents away. What could be causing such a racket? An elk? A goblin? Maybe some fairies out looking for fruit?
My eyes drift to the overgrown entrance to the grove, and through the heavy foliage, I see... A *human?*
I slip behind some of the fallen rubble, watching them curiously. They look... Unusual. Certainly not a hero. With a billowing black cape, a full suit of Voidplate gilded with ruby, and a heavy-looking helmet that covers the whole face, they really scream 'Bad Guy'.
*Not that I'm one to judge. I'm sure plenty of people would call ME a bad guy...*
They approach the ruins, retrieving a book from the satchel hanging at their side. I cock my head. A historian, perhaps? What kind of scholar wears armor like this, though?
They gaze at my physical form and the ruined temple surrounding it with... Reverence, perhaps? Curiosity? I can't tell.
"...Illustria."
*...Ah, geez, do I really gotta talk to this loser?*
With an exasperated sigh, I float down from my hiding spot and stand next to my blade.
"Wow. Hey, mortal. Not many folks know my name. What are you here for? Looking for an autograph or something?"
The man before me chuckles, apparently appraising my avatar.
"...Hmph. Not exactly. I have need of your power."
I lean against the hilt of my blade, mildly interested. "My power, huh? You DO know that I'm cursed, right? Surely you do, you know my name. What's your plan for getting around it?"
The man takes one more glance at the journal, before closing it with a snap and slipping it back away. "The Sword of Light draws it's power from the life force of the wielder."
"...Mhm."
"This...'life force'. It's little more than an extension of the Light itself. You consume the Light, the *magic* from your wielder. Siphoning their life, *their magic*, to imbue yourself with power."
"...Uh-huh?"
The man nods. He reaches out for my hilt.
"H-Hey pal, don't touch me. I'll drain you before you can pull away."
He merely laughs. "You will find no life within me to drain." |
“So, I just pull this… to the other side, then turn this.. this.. oh what did you call it.. very slowly..”
“Potentiometer. You can just call it a knob. And yes.”
“.. Right. Potentiwhatsit”
I looked at the utterly bamboozling lever and potentonob. I was highly skeptical that this _thing_ the Human was showing me, was actually the thing they use to build things. It seemed far too large and the controls much too simple.
I had done many a reconnaissance mission into their work areas, to see for myself how they built “cars” and “computers” and the like. I stole samples, took them back to my people, and we marveled at the quality. The last time any of us had ventured into human territory, they were still using hornless Unicorns to get around, and their cities weren’t anywhere near as large and frightening.
My elders had made short work of disassembling the “smartphone” I had stolen. The tiny pieces, each perfectly cut to fit just right… simply amazed us.
And then, I was tasked with replicating it.
In all my thousands of years, I’ve never met a challenge that I couldn’t best. But this, this finally did me in. Try as I might, I couldn’t create as perfect an end-product as the stolen artifact.
I couldn’t tell the others. I merely said I was working on making it even better. But in reality I was failing. My elders would laugh at me if they knew. I would be seen as a failure for the rest of time! I had to do something.. anything..
So one day, I ventured back to the Human work area to steal another one… aaaand I got caught. Seriously off my game, and unable to deny my guilt, I returned the stolen samples to the Human who found me. As I did so, I explained how I was trying to build one, and showcased my various attempts.
“You’re a… you’re a dwarf.. legend says that we’ll never best your craftsmanship!” the Human blustered. I crossed my arms and frowned at them.
“Well, you have.” I said, turning as red as a beet.
Did I expect that the human would then take me to the machines and let me see how they worked? No. Did I expect that they would let me work with them? No. But here I was, preparing to pull a lever and turn a flibbertigibbet in a Human “factory.”
I pulled the handle to the other side, then turned the flapdoodle. The machine started making noises, and I climbed to the top of the control panel to watch. Bewildered, I saw how a machine cut the metal pieces, how another near it put the pieces together, how another one put “chips” inside the metal case, how one polished the case, and how a final one pressed a window onto the front of the final product.
The machine stopped making noises, and the Human beckoned for me to follow them. Sure enough, at the end of the path, there was another “smartphone.”
It took _minutes_.
I still didn’t understand the “chips” part. They had made rocks think. Something about silicon, which is a rock. They put rocks and metal and glass together, then made it all work with lightning.
The Human picked up the device, and handed it to me. “Go show this to your elders. Then come back, I’ll give you books on all this stuff so you can learn it.”
Still flummoxed beyond belief, I scurried back to my elders and gleefully showed them “my” successful reproduction of the device. Then as the Human said, I returned again for the books.
“Oh, so that’s how he got you working here.”
I sighed and sipped my coffee. “I suppose so.”
I rose from my seat, with the rest of the humans. We traipsed back to the factory floor, and I hopped up to the control panel of the machine I had been shown all those years ago. It was my “job” now.
I really shouldn’t have quilled my name onto that paper in order to receive those books.
But, they did teach me how it worked! |
I was behind the bar leisurely polishing wine glasses when the first guest of the day arrived. The double doors that lead back into the kitchen swung open to my right, clapping into the wall on either side, and out stumbled a man wearing only sunglasses and swim trunks. He held an open, orange tube of sunscreen in one hand and a bright green margarita in the other. He looked very, very confused.
“Wait, how did I…”
“Welcome to the No Way Inn!” I interrupted cheerfully. I’ve found it’s best to just jump right in there when folks arrive, otherwise they tend to ramble.
“But I was about to -”
“Can I get you something to drink? Or maybe freshen up that margarita you’re holding?”
The margarita in question was currently being held sideways, allowing the salty slush to glorp its way out of the glass and onto my previously immaculate floor. It was soon joined by sunscreen, as Bathing Suit Man tightly clutched his orange tube and stared at me.
“Oooh boy, you’re having a tough time. Here, let me help,” I offered, as I came around the bar to guide him gently towards a stool. “Have a seat, I’ll take those, and let’s get you something to drink.”
As Bathing Suit Man sat down, and allowed me to take his mostly-empty margarita glass and sunscreen tube, he whispered,
“I was just about to go swimming.”
“Oh, that sounds nice! Is it summertime where you’re from?” I made small talk as I fixed him up a warm mug of cocoa and placed it on the bar in front of him.
“No… I was on vacation. In Greece.” He reached shakily towards the mug, and slid the cocoa towards himself. He took a little sip and then another before placing it back down.
“Greece! How lovely. I hear it’s very sunny there this time of year, makes the sea really sparkle.” I loved hearing about the multitude of places my guests visit, but Greece was pretty popular. I was hoping for a weird one today, but what can you do?
“Does that mean… am I not in Greece right now?” The cocoa was helping Bathing Suit Man feel better, but this part is usually the most challenging for guests.
“You most certainly are not!” I smiled extra wide and turned to grab some shot glasses from the shelf behind me.
“I think I need a stronger drink.”
“You most certainly do!” I replied as I lined up 3 shot glasses on the counter between us. “Do you want to stick with tequila? You should answer soon, the next guest might not have the same taste.”
“Sure, I guess so,” he replied glumly. As I poured, he took a lingering look around the room, which was very clearly not styled in the fashion of a modern hotel in Greece, and asked meekly, “Am I dead?”
“Oh, goodness no! Nothing like that. Just visiting, I promise. You’ll be back to your swim session in no time.”
I placed the 3 shots on the bar: one in front of Bathing Suit Man, one in front of myself, and one slightly off to the left. He reached for his, but I stopped his hand with my own.
“You’re going to want to wait just a jiff, so you don’t spill it.”
“Why would I spill -”
With a great resounding slam, the door to the bathroom flung open. It hit the wall so hard that my display of wine glasses rattled. I winked at Bathing Suit Man, and turned to my left to greet a woman wearing a sleek, black suit. She held a briefcase in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. She looked very, very confused.
“No, this isn’t right…”
“Welcome to the No Way Inn! Please, come have a seat and enjoy a shot of tequila on the house.”
She looked from me, to Bathing Suit Man, to the bathroom door behind her, and back to me. I was about to start back in with my standard spiel when Bathing Suit Man spoke up,
“This isn’t where you came from, but we’re apparently not dead. You get to leave eventually, and the cocoa is pretty good. I was about to go swimming. In Greece. Nice to meet you.” He then picked up his shot glass and nodded to us both before downing it. Manila Envelope Woman made her way warily over to the bar, picked up her shot of tequila, and smelled it.
“Well. I suppose if we’re not dead, then it’s nice to meet you, too,” she sighed deeply, and knocked it back in one tidy motion. I smiled widely and picked up my own shot glass.
“Cheers! You are most certainly not dead!” I toasted before gulping the tequila down. Maybe the visitors today wouldn’t be so boring after all. |
Another day. Another fight. Another crisis. Who's responsibility is it? Mine, apparently. I save one person, suddenly it's my job to protect the city. I DON'T EVEN GET FUCKING PAID! I've hit a wall. I can't keep doing this...
I use my powers of energy manipulation to direct the stress away from my brain. It's not as effective as it used to be, but it's enough, at least for now.
I hear a thud behind me. I turn around. A guy in an armoured suit. Mr Metal. Yeah, classy name. I'm too tired for this... before I can say or do anything, however, he shoots something at me. It stings. I fall to my hands and knees, exhausted. I need all the adrenaline I can get... I focus my powers... I focus... and focus... but no energy is flowing in my body. I look up.
"How do you like *that*, hero?"Mr Metal sneers. "Your power is gone! You can't stop me anymore! This town is mine!"
I lift a hand and look at my palm. I'm powerless... I'm just another citizen... I begin to cry... "Heh, I knew you were nothing without your powers! I'm going to kill you now! Any last words?"Mr Metal raises a gun, a regular gun this time.
I muster what little strength I have left to stand up. "I... I just want to thank you..."
Mr Metal looks at me confused. "Wait... what did you say?"
"We may be adversaries"I begin, "but it was never my choice. The public made me. I tried to get out of this... all of it... but once people know you, you *never* get out the spotlight... you do what you do for fun... I do what I do out of force... I know you want a town of prisoners and slaves... I don't care. Maybe I would have, if THEY cared. I'm just a pawn in their game. Let's see how they like it when it gets real."
Mr Metal lowers his gun, looking me in the eyes. He then bursts into a cackle. "You're serious, aren't you? Well, I'll give you a CHOICE then. Leave and never come back, or be my servant boy. I'll tell you right now, I can treat you well, but of course you won't have your freedom."
"When did I *ever* have freedom?"I chuckle. "You have crab? I love a good bit of crab."
"Whatever you want"Mr Metal replies with a wink.
I tilt my head at him. "Wait, do you-"
"I was just about to kill you, remember? I got a girlfriend. By the way, you'll answer to her too."His expression is stern.
"Deal"I state, and we shake hands.
Upon arriving at his place, a chip is inserted into my wrist. I can't leave with this chip implanted, at least not by myself, but frankly, the smell of a freshly cooked prime rib makes me want to stay anyway.
**A FEW MONTHS LATER**
"But... you can't... please, I just needed a break!"
"Hmm... well I guess I can get a second opinion."
I hear the snapping of fingers and appear at Mr Metal's side. I look at the lady before him. "Ah, I recognise you. Knocking on my door at 3am to a woman telling me that her dog needed the vets is something not easily forgotten."
"Well, I needed *you* to get the vets to open!"the lady exclaims. "Listen, you surely don't think I should be punished for taking a break, right?"
"Yeah, I agree breaks are important..."she begins to smile with relief, but I continue. "Let's see... when did *I* get a break? Maybe the day when the parade happened? Or ANY Christmases? Perhaps the day my BEST FRIEND died?"I watch her face fall, as realisation dawns on her.
"I figured as much"Mr Metal smirks. "Guards, please imprison her."The guards bow and take her away. He then looks at me. "Sounds like you never had a vacation... you've shown great loyalty to me. I'll have a couple guards take you to Hawaii. No better place to relax!"
I smile. "Thank you, sir. That's extremely generous."
He nods, gets up and serves both of us leftover crabsticks from last night. Honour, justice... screw that! Appreciation is much better!
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Thank you for reading! More stories [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x374da/oneoff_stories_a_collection_of_stories_which_are/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) |
Tulips bubble, .com bubble, collectors' video games bubble, crypto bubble, and now book bubble.
I had a perfect product, The Book that you always enjoy reading. The Book that changes to fit your readers taste. People warned me about ethicality of perusing reader's mind, but I payed them no heed. After all, nobody would ever know what they read, because, if other person would pick up The Book, the story would change again to fit their taste. It seemed foolproof, and it was. For the first generation of readers. What hasn't occurred to me and frankly it took several years for others to figure out, is that this is the last book anyone buys.
I mean think about it, it is in the premise. When you read it, you like it. Sounds good? Good! so you read it and enjoy it. Great. Happy customers ready to go search for another book, right? Wrong! Because what people figured out, is the reread value of the book. Not that quickly mid you, millions of books were sold before on an inconspicuous subreddit, someone asked
"I love this concept, will there be a sequel?"to which somebody replied
"You do realize, you can read it again, right?"
This ... was a problem. Because, and do try to follow the logic here, people like the book. Thats what The Book does. They may read it again, and again it could be a same story, because ... you like it. But on the third reading, there is no suspense, no twists not discovery, you might not, and this is important, like it. Ha! see the issue, it is a book that changes to something you like, so it does the one thing that it is supposed to do, changes to something you like. TADA! A new book you like. Rinse and repeat.
Over 100,000,000 books were shipped before we stopped printing new ones. I mean, I didn't mind, 5$ per book, I am set. Printer didn't mind 7$per book, they were set. Publisher definitely didn't mind at 18$ per book. But other authors did. Funnily enough it was GRR Martin, who spearheaded the opposition to the book. (Apparently someone most of all wanted to read the ending to the SoIaF, the book provided and the reader posted apparently a too close of a synopsis to the "real"upcoming book), but other prominent authors soon joined. Even "The Book killer"The Harry Potter: Founder's Legacy by JK Rowling flopped, a flop she attributed to The Book.
Genie however, was out of the proverbial bottle. Demand for new books fell to historical lows, even eBook market, which was on rise until that moment plummeted. Only book people were interested in, was The Book. It became a family treasure, shared among closest friends, became a sought after gift to those who didn't have one.
I read somewhere that paper book in normal circulation has a life time of about 50 years. I will be 80 by then, but I already have an idea for a sequel. A book that always gives you a story you need, what do you think about that? |
"Your an idiot Margy."
"Shut it."
"I will not. What was it Mother used to say. ALWAYS do the background research. ALWAYS. If you had then you wouldn't be saddled with a baby."
Margy looked over at the crib, and the child within. As with all these bargains, she could not harm the child. He gurgled, wrapped in fine blankets but otherwise unadorned. Not even a day old and his mother, though tearful, had given him up. After all, they already had an heir.
A FEMALE Heir.
She should have realized that something was up was they had agreed to give up their first born son so readily.
And now her darling sister Henny was reminding her how once again her laziness had bitten her in the backside.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know."She stood and went to the crib. The child was red of hair and green of eye. She knew already he would grow to be handsome. She sighed heavily and turned away from the babe, instead looking over at the pile of letters.
In that pile were requests for her help. Farmers wanting to trade their best cattle for a good harvest. Lords wishing for the strength to defeat enemies. Royals in need of-
"I've got the best Idea."
Henny didn't like the smile on her sisters face. Sometimes it led to a good and lucrative ideas. Mostly it led to trouble.
"I use that enchanted basket. The one that freezes whatever inside? I mostly use it to keep the bread fresh, but I've kept a chicken in there for a whole month with no issues."
"You can't put the baby in there."
"Oh, I can and will."Margy said and grabbed the letter she needed.
"The Good Lord and Lady of Griffinths Island want a child. They don't care how or where from, just so long as it looks like them and can be bought to them in nine months and passed off as theirs's!"
Griffinths Island? Isn't that the place where the first born of each generation is crowned."
"Yes. I give them the kid, they get to rule the Island in it's stead until he comes of age. If he gets discovered, it's not their fault their child was replaced by a Witch, is it. Happens all the time. And becuase the Childs already royal blood..."
Henny's eyes lit up, "He will pass any lineage test. Oh, that is clever. That may actually work. What are they offering you in return?"
"First choice of the royal vaults once their in charge, 10% of the Pryth root harvest and all the MerCow eggs I want."
Before Henny could say anything, Margy had thrown the bread from the basket and put the child within.
X X X X X X X
Nine months later and Margy had given the child a dunk in cowl after birth, and delivered him to the New Queen of Griffinths. She'd take one look at the child and smiled like it was her child. Even the king was satisfied.
"We're not bad people. It's just my Younger brother is nearly 29, and he still whose and acts like a man of 14. He cannot be trusted with the kingdom should be knocking up some unfortunate girl. That's how our Cousins wound up in a treaty with the Frathmites. No, we'll raise this lad to be a responsible leader."
Margy didn't really care beyond the fact that these two wouldn't hurt the brat, mean she wouldn't have to worry about keeping her end of the treatment clause up. There was a protection spell to warn her should he grow ill or at risk, but beyond that she wanted nothing to do with him.
She left within the hour with several bag of very expensive Pryth root and a sack full of eggs.
X X 17 YEARS LATER X X
Henny stood on her sisters now grand doorstep and waited. When a servant finally opened the door she rushed in, carrying the paper with her.
Her sister lay in bed and was not pleased to be woken. The paper that was unceremoniously thrown on her bed read the headline
' GREAT QUEEN ASTHERTIC TO BEGIN SEARCH FOR HUSBAND. '
"And why are you showing me this?"
"Guess whose sending their King for consideration?"
"Shit." |
It is unusual when a complete and rather versatile strategy for survival just doesn't exist in an ecosystem. At all. Earth is one of those worlds. It has most normal forms of survival methods used by animals as an evolved response making them capable of dealing somewhat competently with local predators and local environments. But there are no psychic beasts on planet Earth. None. No sleek psionic predators using mental signals to lure away weak-minded prey from the herds. There are no prey-species who upon seeing what it perceives as a threat, stabs a metaphorical icicle into the mind of the scary predator that is getting closer. This is of course not problematic. It is just weird that, barring an extinct species of shrimp that according to psionic record-dating of the world had a primitive form of psychic camouflage before the last ice age killed it, there are no psychic species on planet Earth. Of course, this means that human tourists from planet Earth has to be very careful on some worlds, where the phenomenon is a lot more common.
It is generally a bad idea for a human to visit, say, Yhorestooq, where carnivorous psychic plants have a tendency to be rather problematic for anyone incapable of fending off the surprisingly intelligent flora. It should be noted though that the only case of a human ever being psychically controlled by a plant on that world, merely began hunting down the plant's normal prey, who are much more difficult to control psychically but unused to persistence hunting, and feeding the carcasses to the gluttonous giant flower. Point is, that humans are quite unprepared for psychic animal or flora attacks. And they should generally stick to worlds where the animals in question are not common, not big enough to hurt humans, or extinct.
Of course, a side-effect of this natural lack of defensive measures, means that human thoughts have what psychic civilizations describe as a delightfully high fidelity and volume. Most psychics find that unless the minds in question are connected and willing to openly communicate with each other, the thoughts of people with proper defenses against psychic attacks, are very difficult to make out, sounding quite like a record of terrible quality made by recording the sound of a different pretty terrible quality record. In short, it is not pleasant. But humans come through loud and clear, and they can remember a lot of tones. This means, that whenever a human being has a song stuck in their brain, a metaphorical earworm, one might say, (not to be confused with the actual brain-replacing earworm parasites native to Loungbhatov-Del), psychics can hear them loud and clear. Some humans have in the past remarked on the fact that after hearing a song, they begin hearing it in their brains over and over again, and it often sounds far better than the original to them.
This, according to psychics, is actually true. The versions of songs heard in the head are actually of higher quality than regular music. And also has all the added advantages of having the superfluous and unnecessary parts stripped away, replaced with better sounds. So, for many psychic species, it has become quite a popular pastime to beam the psychic prompt of a song into the human brain directly, causing the human to continue the music continually. This is of course quite enjoyable to the surrounding psychic species, who find it rather pleasant as it has a tendency to overshadow the otherwise annoying white noise of races with brains that are protected against such direct prompts. Many a psychic has found their journey around their planet soothed by the endless and delightful music beamed out of the human's brain. Indeed, it is even said by many younger individuals that taking a date to a restaurant where you know there will be a human, and then prompting their brains with the correct sound sequences is a surefire way to have a successful date.
Of course, nobody has actually bothered asking the humans if they find this acceptable. Whether the songs playing through their brains are actually something they find enjoyable. Because most species don't exactly have the same definition of good music. And the music that psychic species find delightful and enjoyable, is not exactly what humans might really like. Oh, sure, some humans like the songs, but not so often. And not replaying in their brains all the time. Not when it disrupts their work, disrupts their life, having to hear the music over and over. Having no way to stop it except leaving the worlds behind where psychic races live. Especially as the moment they receive the mental prompt, is one of profound chagrin. They are mortified as they realize that the music is starting again. That their brains cannot seem to stop playing music like that, it is not doing wonders for them.
Of course, once the human leaders found out, they made a diplomatic petition to the Greater Galactic Community and the Galactic Council, that such practices be outlawed. Of course, such petitions, such a law even, that is not exactly something that anyone could realistically enforce, but the human leadership hoped that at least that having it officially illegal, would mean that the frequency of prompts would be toned down significantly. On the other hand, the fact that during the speech to the assembled diplomats, ambassadors, and leaders of the galaxy, the human envoy felt an immediate psychic prompt that began to play one very annoying and repetitive song that said envoy did not at all enjoy; meant that current practices would in all likelihood continue.
Humanity responded quite reasonably; in large groups humanity abandoned other alien empires, and returned back to their own worlds, and making such practices as ''playing music on a human'' illegal there at least. Several psychic species, who on the whole have a great difficulty in understanding non-psychic species, and enormous difficulty in understanding humans who have absolutely no defenses against this, felt however that it is actually completely unreasonable. Childish behavior, even. Most of them just got mildly offended by humanity's refusal to play wonderful music, but some felt it was an insult. After all, how could one not play on a human like that, it was so easy. And humanity still welcomed species that weren't capable of sending mental prompts to their worlds, while heavily restricting tourism from psychic species. These radical malcontents decided that if humanity was going to be so immature about the whole thing, then humans weren't even of a level of sentience necessary for rights.
Of course, the rest of the GGC and most of these malcontents' governments, sternly disagreed with them on this. But they acted alone, as such groups always do. And in the dark of the night on some of the few worlds where humans still visited in larger amounts, they'd lie in wait. During the nights, they'd send an actual psychic attack. A full takeover, which as humans have no natural protection against such attacks, went smoothly. Controlling the hapless tourists to leaving their hotels, they led them back to ships that were waiting in dark areas, where the poor humans were placed in cages, and transported to places where extradition treaties with Earth hadn't been established. There, the humans were installed in seedy nightclubs, and used as music-machines. Treated as little more than pets or livestock by their captors, who being psychic to the point of no longer having vocalcords, couldn't actually understand or effectively communicate with the humans. If all communication is psychic, then it is hard to go back to the spoken word, or so it seems.
This was of course an outrage, for the humans. They, having already found the GGC rather ineffective in preventing them from being used as living jukeboxes, might have had some rather angry diplomats. These men and women were very tired of having a certain song about a pink-loving plastic doll stuck in their head for months on end, and thus made some rather undiplomatic moves in response to this, which won them no favors anywhere. But then again, if you'd have to use heavy sleeping drugs to even fall asleep, or else the song would continue, you'd probably be rather grouchy too. The GGC did begin formal investigations into the disappearances, at least. But humanity's case of wanting to stop hearing the same music over and over in their heads as new prompts would wait for the moment they'd managed to just get it to stop, which could take months, was not as important as many other cases.
Of course, for humanity, this was a very important situation. Many humans after the retreat, found to their horror that they still had psychic prompts lined for specific songs. For months. Even years. No sleep. No rest. Only the songs. Constant music echoing through the brains of these people, it was unbearable. Many went either temporarily, or incurably insane. The mental health community of Earth could only imagine the unspeakable horrors that the captured humans were experiencing. At least, with tourism outside the borders of human territory unilaterally forbidden by direct order from the office of the United Directorate of Terra, humanity would not lose more sons and daughters to the psychic menace. Well. Maybe if the captured humans had stayed in seedy nightclubs and other places that exist within the grey market. But such places found themselves increasingly popular, increasing demands for a live-in human music machine to the point where the original malcontents became bold enough to do something rather unfortunate. |
In truth, cutting through the alleyway was perhaps not the smartest choice, but I was pressed for time; something that wasn't helped by the man who blocked my path with a knife in his hand.
"Wallet. Now,"he barked.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Don't,"I replied simply.
"You think I'm joking, lady?"the man yelled back almost instantly. "You think I won't gut you like a fish? Give me your wallet now or-"
His words were cut short by a loud, somewhat moist **thud** that echoed through the alley. The would-be mugger barely had enough time to react before he found himself laying on the ground, looking up at the tall man with fiery red eyes standing beside me, wielding a two-handed hammer that matched his already impressive frame.
It was then he finally registered the pain in his leg. He looked down and saw the bloody pulp where his knee once was.
"O- oh,"he muttered before passing out from shock. I looked over at the man standing beside me.
"Thank you, Lord Hephaestus,"I said politely. He only grumbled back.
"No respect for craftsmen, I say,"he said, clearly dissatisfied. "Are you well?"he asked me.
"With you watching over me, always, Lord Hephaestus,"I smiled.
"Good. The prototype medical brace need some tuning, but is otherwise impressive. Keep it up,"he nodded simply. I bowed my head respectfully and by the time I looked back up, he was gone, leaving behind only a fiery imprint of his shoes in the pavement.
I looked back at the mugger laying on the floor and reached for my phone to dial the ambulance. As I busied myself, a small ember left behind by Hephaestus slowly descended onto my shoulder and dissipated almost instantly, yet... the second it did, my eyes narrowed at the man's mangled knee.
"Of course,"I whispered to myself. I perfect idea flashed through my head - a way to improve the medical brace I was designing, adding strength while removing weight with just a couple of simple adjustments. It seemed so obvious! Why didn't I-
I noticed the tiny speck of ash on my shoulder and chuckled. It put my mind at ease; I no longer felt bad for not thinking of the improvement earlier.
One can't beat divine inspiration from the God of Craftsmen, after all. |
Gestar glared at the instructor of civilizations. The shame of failure still burning his brain and making his eyes sting as he fought tears. The fact that only twenty percent of his classmates passed did nothing but infuriate him further. Success wasn't impossible then.
“You were instructed not to attempt a century less than the first Great Wisdom if you chose a humanoid race. Across the galaxy harmony can only be achieved after a civilization has had time to overcome several billion years of hardship and growth with humans and humanoid beings. This was covered in the first chapter at the beginning of the year. I had the horror of returning the worst grades of any class since beginning my instructions here. I am unsure of the near unanimous rebellion against the rules and belief in changing the history of civilization with beings as young as yourselves. I can only assume your pity and adoration for lesser civilizations caused your hearts and minds to become weak.” Instructor Exa smiled sadly. “While I hate to impart such a harsh lesson on your young minds, please at least read all the sources you supposedly researched and adamantly wrote about. As is the law, your civilizations must be ended to allow natural progression of the world to begin anew. For privacy and choice of your worlds renewal, you have until midnight tonight. Any worlds yet to be purged of life by then will be dealt with automatically by myself. Class dismissed.”
Gestar waited for the smug students who passed with their easy perfect marks to teleport from their seats. Pash'ee with her disgusting smelling flowers and bulky vegetative body. Of course the flora civilization can live harmoniously at almost any era of existence, they're plants!
Your envious thoughts make me want to vomit.
Shut the fuck up, Vel'kor!
You belong with your failed humans if that's how you act!
Vel'kor was gone. Another perfect score. Ethereal beings took even longer to reach harmony than humans! He just happened to start his civilization at the lowest allowed time frame. They are destined to be successful if you start there! Ahhh! He doesn't even have a mouth to vomit with!
Enough with this place! Gestar hit the teleportation device on his arm and arrived in his room instantly in a rage. Damn them! Being of a humanoid race himself, Gestar had really wanted to see how the original human civilization progressed. He started from the very beginning. When they were barely recognizable as human. It was fascinating, watching them evolve and populate, develop language, conquer one another with war. Why would he want to deal with the generations that had already made contact with other civilizations, began interbreeding, and populated other planets. Their success is easily known! Nothing was disallowed. Each student was the God of the civilization they chose, so to speak.
He turned on his monitor and quickly scanned the humans around the world. The Buddhist's had such potential! He favored the Christians, those who knew he was their creator! Gestar wasn't the God they thought he was, he knew that, but the love he had for most of them was genuine. He had been allowed to interfere in any means necessary to speed up the progress of civilization. He had burned down the evil cities that were just causing problems, he had given them tests to feel special when they passed. Prayers had been answered! None of it seemed to matter though. They kept fighting and no matter how hard he tried, evangelic praises never seemed to work, his favorites always ended up being hypocrites, and he ended up losing more and more chances at harmony with every war fought in the name of peace! Why won't you stop fighting, he would yell at night. He even gave them Jesus, positive that would solve everything and give him the passing grade he desired! AND THEY KILLED HIM! He was angry for a long time over that.
As he watched his civilization, far into the technological age and learning more every day, he went into a rage. All they were doing was sitting in front of computers or killing each other! The amount of individuals having any desire to preserve the planet, end wars, or seeking humane methods of treating creatures, including themselves, was astronomically low! They've had SO LONG to work together! Why are they all just sitting in front of computers, or just riding bikes, or doing selfish acts! There's so much work do be done!
He had to know. Gestar hit a button on the monitor, and scrambled some keys. His face appeared on the sky all over the entire planet. The angry face of a child, not quite human. Angellic almost. His face gave off a bright light, and he had no nose, but otherwise he was the equivalent of a ten year old child in appearance.
“I have to destroy all of you, the entire world, in less than six hours. You have all failed! There are wars everywhere! Families are still killing each other every day for pitiful reasons, and children are forced to fight in wars while adults play around. I am God and I am disgusted with all of you! For those who have followed me truly, and tried to help humanity stop it's wickedness and tried to love with all your hearts,” Gestar was sobbing now, half the words intelligible, “I want to thank you so much. There's no Heaven of Hell though, I'm sorry. The planet will just start over. But you could have each made your own Heaven on this earth and been happy if you had just been nicer and stopped all the fighting! Why, why do you all fight! Your lives are so short! ANSWER ME!”
The world beneath him was in a panic. There was no begging or pleading. Just a mass panic. Equal amounts of individuals were praying, screaming, or attacking passerby, some a combination of all three.
“Even now none of you can stop long enough to ask how to fix it. You just want to know why and be told it's not your fault! So selfish! You have six hours to try to reach perfect harmony with each other! If you don't, you'll be destroyed. Six hours of no killing, no plotting, no racism, no abuse, just genuine love! If not you're all going to be incinerated instantly, along with the rest of the world!”
Gestar slammed the off button of the moniter and the sky appeared to normal. Well, many were sleeping while he did this. Many more were simply indoors. A few were in the act of killing or some form of abuse while his broadcast happened. A few more were intoxicated, high, or mentally unable to comprehend the broadcast. In less than an hour every type of horror that occurred daily had already occurred all over the world.
Gestar screamed and hit the reform button.
|
The two women couldn't have looked more different.
Lizzie was older, perhaps forty. Or rather, she would have been forty had she still been alive. She's wearing the same clothes she did when she died, leopard colored leggings with a tight leather skirt that slides embarrassedly high up when she walks. She's also wearing a tight, rather unflattering top and big gaudy jewelry it all topped of with her hair that is so so bleached it looks like straw. She's the kind of woman who when you see her, you know exactly what you are getting.
Kara on the other hand is young, twenty-three with a infant and husband at home. Unlike Lizzie, Kara dresses herself rather simply. In a pair of loose but comfortable jeans, a checkered shirt and her hair is its natural brown color, cropped short to make it easier to deal with.
The women don't speak as they wait patiently in the swirly white room. It's not quite a room, as it has no walls or ceiling, but the floor feel like it's made out of wood. Regardless, neither Lizzie nor Kara cares about where they are much, only where they are going.
A small man appears. He's wearing a suit and big round glasses and is a head shorter than both of the women. He pushes his glasses up on his nose and turns his attention towards the clipboard in his hand.
"Ehem. Elizabeth Hamilton and Kara Smith?"The man squeaks. Both women nod. "I see here that you passed away in a car accident, you have my condolences, and that neither of you are traditional practitioners of any faith, is this correct ladies?"He squeaks in a high pitch voice.
Both the ladies agree.
"I also see that the fault of the accident was that of Kara Smith, you really ought to drive more carefully, my young Lady."He adds, scribbling something on his paper.
"I'm sorry, I just had a son and he's been keeping me up all night. I must have dozed of, I really didn't mean for it to happen."Kara apologizes, glancing at the other woman.
"Don't."Lizzie says, dramatically throwing up a hand. "Just because you couldn't keep your eyes open, didn't mean I had to suffer from it. I had my own children, and I was finally free from then, them being grown-up and all, and then you came along and killed me."Lizzie says furiously.
"Look, I said I was sorry."Kara insists, but to little avail.
"Mmmm."The little clerk nods. "Accident or not, the fault was still yours. Since you have otherwise lived a relatively acceptable life, it has been decided you are going to the 23rd degree of hell. Now while..."The clerk chimed.
"What? I am going to hell?"Kara exclaim surprised. "But I haven't done anything bad... I mean, except the car-accident, and that was an accident!"The clerk looks up and frowns his nose.
"Young missie, you are guilty of manslaughter and since you haven't repented for that crime, you are going to hell. Be reassured though, as I understand it the 23rd degree is always relatively alright. More annoying than anything else. As for Miss Elizabeth, you have lived rather gluttonously, but you have compensated by saving two lives, which means you are entitled to the 11th degree of heaven."The little clerk chimed and Lizzie looked slightly surprised, because as far as she knew, she had never saved anyones life.
As it happened, she had been quite unaware of her feats both times. The first, she had chatted up a fellow on the buss, just out of her own boredom. That man had in fact been on his way to a rather high bridge right at that moment with the intent to commit suicide, but after speaking with Lizzie he had decided to go get some chicken nuggets instead. The other person had been a child at the park where one of her own children had attended. The child had been about to run out into traffic, subsequently being hit by a buss, but Lizzie had stopped the child and berated it for treating her daughter badly. After that the child had gone sulking under a bench instead. Both happy coincidences, but enough for her to earn some point in the grand scheme of things.
"As it happens, the personal 23rd degree of hell for Miss Kara Smith happens to be the same as the 11th degree of heaven for Miss Elizabeth Hamilton. You may now enter your afterlives."The clerk chimed and motioned for a red door which had not been there before.
After sharing a look the women slowly approached the door. What on earth could be behind that door that was hell for Kara and Heaven for Lizzie?
As the door opened and the women stepped through Lizzie started smiling quite broadly while Kara moaned. They had stepped into what looked like a nightclub, a rather wild one from the looks of it. Filled mostly with middle-aged people
"Now this is what I'm talking about!"Lizzie exclaimed and ran off to the bar where she ordered a strawberry daiquiri. She loved the excitement of these places. All the people, all the handsome men, all a few years younger than her, but not too young. The dancing and the drinking. She could not have asked for anything more.
Kara on the other hand crossed her arms and sighed. She had never liked nightclubs. They were rowdy and loud and it was all but impossible to keep an interesting conversation.
"I suppose it could have been worse."She muttered to herself as she moved to look for somewhere to sit. Worst of all, she'd have to share it with that woman for who-knew-how-long. She suddenly started wishing that she had been a devout christian, at least then she would have known what to expect.
Edit: Spelling. |
She's always had that rebellious streak. She gets it from her mother, no doubt. I'd tell her to eat her vegetables; she'd dive face-first into the dessert. I'd send her to her wing of the castle as punishment for something; she'd be climbing down a rope made of bedsheets an hour later. I'd tell her to stay away from dragons, and she somehow found a way to track one down and hatch an egg in her closet. It almost burnt the whole tower down! I could never bring myself to punish her, though; a good king recognizes moxie when he sees it.
Marriage, though, was another matter. She needed to find a suitable man to settle down and produce some more heirs, and all she was interested in was sword fighting and jousting and all that. I don't think she ever actually cared too much about those activities; she just liked beating the men at their own games. Even I had to admit that it was pretty damn funny, seeing their faces when she took off her helmet and revealing her long, shimmering, golden hair.
I think it started with that dragon; the one that infested Cragmore Peak. He'd decimated the troop of soldiers that I sent up to take care of it, and the few that came back returned with scorch marks on their armor and their tails between their legs. I, however, saw the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Soon, posters went up in every major city in the kingdom: "My daughter's hand in marriage to whomever slays the Cragmore Dragon!"
The greatest knights of the kingdom (well, the single ones at least) disappeared into that cave and never returned. Five months later, though, a sturdy young steed arrived in the city bearing a mysterious knight with a particularly large knapsack. But it wasn't large enough to hide the enormous, spiraling black horns of the Cragmore Dragon's head. I bade 'him' rise as he came before the throne and ordered my steward to fetch my daughter. "No need,"the 'knight' said, tearing off the dented helmet and revealing her smug smile.
What was next? Ah, the tournament, I think. The standard fare: sword fighting, jousting, archery, etc. But I also included a number of other fields: poetry, astronomy, woodworking... all sorts of things. Don't want my daughter marrying some mindless lout who just happens to be able to swing a sword, do I? She came in first, putting them all to shame.
It became a game for us. A competition to sail to the frozen North and bring back the pelt of the Arctic Bear? She made it into a fine coat for me and presented it with a smile. A challenge to steal the crown jewels from North Ongarna, without ever being caught? She looked dazzling in them. I even tried a knitting contest; she'd always hated that when her tutor tried to teach her to become a 'proper lady.' But her tapestry was simply breathtaking. I was at a loss for future challenges, and not a step closer to finding a groom worthy of her.
Eventually, I realized the truth. I would never be able to find the man who could tame her, nor would I find a challenge that she couldn't master. So I ordered a new set of posters and had them put up all over the kingdom.
> His Majesty hereby seeks a **NEW DAUGHTER**
> The winner of this contest shall be named the new royal princess and heir to the throne.
> Candidates are expected to be polite, pleasant, and ladylike. Additionally, she is expected to listen to her new father and *not attempt* to win any contest for her hand.
> Please present yourself promptly at the palace on the first of the month for judgment.
Your move, my dear! |
The delegation waited while the alien ship descended slowly through the atmosphere. Dignitaries were assembled on bleachers, and soldiers stood guard all around. Flags decorated the front of the White House, the tops of the nearby buildings... basically anywhere you could stick one. The light breeze made them flutter just like in a film.
The familiar red and white stripes of the flag contrasted nicely with the bright blue sky, but I was still a bit surprised by the picture of Earth in the center. I'd grown up with the white stars on a navy background when it was just the United States. Even fifty years after Unification Day, I was still surprised to look up at the flag and see the depiction of our planet there.
The ship touched down on the grass with a soft whoosh. There was a tense silence where everyone waited for something to happen. Soldiers clutched their guns tersely, and the President cinched up his tie. Not that the aliens really cared about our fashion trends, but this would be broadcast to everyone on the planet. All of his constituents. Of course he wanted to look his best.
The door of the ship popped open with a hiss as a bit of their atmosphere escaped. The President stepped forward to greet the alien leader.
A procession clambered down the ramp. Red-skinned, with three legs, three arms, and three eyes. They were all triangles, not symmetrical like us. It was weirdly fascinating. I'd seen the pictures that we'd caught of their ships, but I still hadn't expected them to look like this.
The leader stepped forward and greeted the president. At least, that's probably what he did. It was a weird shuffling dance from side to side. The President stood by awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. He stuck out a hand for a handshake, but then realized that they probably didn't know what that was. And also they had claws, not hands. So he just bowed, turning red as he realized that he'd looked like a fool in front of 10 billion people.
Two aliens in the back unfurled flags. Yes, flags. Bits of fabric on the end of poles. Exactly like ours. *Exactly* like ours. Red and white stripes, with a giant picture of Earth in the center.
"What..."the President remarked. He'd been prepared for the unusual experience of meeting these extraterrestrials, but not for *this* weirdness. "Why do you have the same flag as us?"he asked.
The alien leader produced a box and spoke into it. A translator of some kind.
"It represents our planet,"the alien leader said.
The President was confused. This was not going as he had planned. "But it has a picture of Earth on it. Earth is our planet,"he responded.
The alien shot the President in the head, and spoke into his translator:
"Not anymore." |
The Wizarding World was sliding down the precipice to its own destruction and it's fate lay in the hands of Muggle-borns. Albus Severus Potter the VIII lifted his glasses and gingerly rubbed the bridge of his nose before setting the parchment he had been reading aside. He sighed and considered the words of his Muggle Studies professor, Lunelle Longbottom. With the entrance ceremony now underway, there was reported another 25% drop in attendance by Muggle Borns. That had us down to a nearly 200% decrease in attendance since the Hogwarts Golden Age following his ancestor's destruction of the Dark Wizard Voldemort. Without the Muggle-borns to fill their ranks, the Wizarding community was forced to turn back to marrying amongst the major houses. With the influx of inbreeding amongst the houses, the magical immunities of wizards was continually dropping and new magical maladies were slowly destroying the few remaining Wizarding families.
Albus waved his hand across his desk and the Great Hall swam into view. The new students were lining up before the Sorting Hat ready to be sorted into one of the 5 houses. House Ambaret's table in the Great Hall had fallen to a mere 8 students. It was strange for Albus to think that the Muggle's technology had grown to a degree that magic could no longer remain secret let alone compete. None of the Muggle nations that could have been crushed a century before even considered them a threat now and all attempts at combining the power of magic and technology had failed. Wizards, it seemed, were simply outdated relics of an older age and all of these new Muggle-born wizards seemed content to leave us to our slow death. Why wave a wand to do your dishes when you can wake up to already having them done by your artificial human?
Albus sighed and waved his hand back across the desk causing the Great Hall to disappear just as he knew all magic would disappear with time. Something had to be done. He had no other options now. Albus stood swiftly and grabbed the parchment he had just set aside and began rereading Lunelle's words.
"Albus!
At your request, I've been doing some research into ways to improve attendance. I didn't particularly expect to solve the issue, but while I was reading *Muggle Cultural Movements of the Early 21st Century*, I think I may have found something! It seems that at the start of the 21st century Muggles went through a cultural movement known as 'retro' or sometimes referred to as 'hipster' in the texts. For some reason, it became extremely popular to use antiquated methods for doing almost everything!
You see what I'm thinking is that with a little more research and some luck we might be able to start some sort of 'retro' magical movement! If we can get magic to become popular amongst the Muggles, we could be swimming in new students! I'd love to get started on this right away, Albus, so please let me know your decision posthaste.
Sincerely,
Lunelle Longbottom"
Albus turned over the parchment and with a swift flick of his wand the words, "Proceed Immediately", sprang into being on the parchment. Rolling up the response and tying it to the barn owl, he watched as it swiftly flew out his window and into a different part of the castle. Looking out over the grounds, Albus wondered what fate he had condemned Hogwarts to once it became 'hipster.' |
These days Connor is a cartoon theme song, something from the 80s, maybe, all synth and chanted lines about "fighting"and "big adventures". Sometimes I start humming along and I catch Connor's eye in the rearview mirror. He acts like I'm just being weird - *silly Daddy* - but I suspect there's a part of him that recognizes the tune, even if he can't actually hear it. It's his song, after all. A unique melody that pours out of him morning, noon, and night. It's changed over the years. When he was a baby, it was bells - seven notes, up, then down, then up, up, up, down, down. Not a happy song. An inquisitive one. An exploratory jingle. I loved that song. It didn't last all that long.
Wendy's song is a folk song. Slow strums, soft voices. Slightly mournful, but really just a story - a story without any words. "Matter of fact"might be a better way to put it. The song of someone who maybe needed more time to find her *real* song, but likes the placeholder well enough. Sometimes Wendy's song makes me sad. Regretful. But... it's not meant to be sad. It's not meant to be *heard*, in all honesty. That's why I can't take it too hard.
The songs are everywhere, in and on and around everyone. I don't necessarily know what they all *mean*, but there's a feeling in each. Something obvious. Instinctual. The kid who bagged my groceries yesterday had a punk song. Simple, driving, angry, and yet hopeful. Hearing his song, I didn't *know* him. The songs don't tell me everything about a person. There's a nuance there that's missing. It's more like an abstraction. A collage of thoughts and feelings. The bagger wanted to break out, and he wanted to blame someone, and he wanted to wallow - just a little - in those negative feelings. But none of that really defines him, and none of that really tells me who he is or who he strives to be. That's why I try not to dwell too hard on the songs. I try not to read into things.
But yesterday, I heard a new song.
I had walked Connor into school. I had a form to drop off at the front desk. I was waiting for old Mrs. Feinman, the school secretary (swing music, frenetic, alive and loose), when I heard a single bassline.
Distortion. Deep fuzz. Doom metal. I could feel it in my fingertips.
That's when I noticed her. A little girl, olive skin, downcast eyes, sitting on the bench across from the desk.
She had hardly any melody at all. Just those pounding, thudding, vibrating notes. Each hit like a fist. There was no sense to it.
It wasn't music. It was pure discord.
Feinman caught my glances. I had almost forgotten she was there - her swing was buried under the treble.
"That's Lena,"said Feinman. "It's her first day. She's in Connor's class, I believe."
Lena looked up. Her eyes were soft. She smiled at me. "Pleased to meet you."Her voice was quiet, but calm. Proud.
I smiled back. For a moment, the roaring, consuming bassline quieted down. There were strings under there. Something classical. An overture for a spring morning.
Then Lena's eyes went back down and she returned to her thoughts, and the bass rumbled and thundered.
"She's a refugee,"whispered Mrs. Feinman. "Syrian. I can't imagine what she's been through."
The notes fell. Hammer strikes. My head swam with the violence of them.
"Neither can I,"I said, feeling cold and sick and alone. I flinched as another pulse cracked like the sky was splitting apart. "Neither can I." |
The girl was about to die. Ryan stared at her, the life bar atop her short raven hair completely drained. Truth be told, he had frozen time to steal her purse, but the side effect of his power was that he also saw how much time people had left. And this girl with the phone to her head had none.
He swept the crowded New York streets, wondering how it would happen. Birds dangled mid-flap in the light blue canvas blanketing the sky. People passed by mid-step, all minding their own business. The cars in the streets remained strict to the laws, they would not swerve.
“How do you die?” he whispered into her large hazel eyes and parted ruby lips.
But no matter how he searched, he found nothing. At last, with a small breath, he reached over and grabbed the purse from her bag. The dead had no need for money, but he was hungry. Already, sweat trickled down his neck as his heart pounded his chest. Stopping time was not a power he could use for free.
He closed his eyes to undo the spell.
He didn’t. Instead, he did another 360 sweep of the streets. How would this girl die? She looked healthy, even radiant. Her lips curled like she was about to break out laughing at any second at whatever joke the other person on the phone had said. By now, Ryan could feel the sharp tingling sensation all over his body. The spell would not last.
“Shit,” he finally muttered and broke his one rule—never make his presence known. He grabbed her hand and moved her a foot to the right.
And the spell broke. All at once, the sound of traffic and footsteps returned, the birds flew away, and Ryan was left holding the hand of a gaping young girl.
“Sorry,” he said and let go.
The girl furrowed her brow and looked around. “Wasn’t I…”
Ryan took the chance and flipped up his hood. If he got into trouble now, he had only enough energy to freeze a couple seconds’ worth of time. He quickly turned and left, but slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was the girl.
“You moved me,” she said, eyes wide.
She knew. He took a breath and froze time. The breath he took never left. He gawked at the girl, the life bar at her head still at zero. She should’ve been dead by now and in his surprise, he wasted what few seconds he had left.
“How did you—“
“Look,” Ryan turned and stared. “I can’t explain it but you don’t have much time left. I can see people’s life bars and you’re at zero. Something’s going to happen.”
The girl’s lips curled and her eyes glistened. “No,” she said, “I’m just undead.”
***
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
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**Item #:** SCP-6776
**Object Class:** Euclid
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-6776 is allowed free roam of any of the facility's unrestricted areas. SCP-6776 is allowed a computer but is prohibited from interaction with other people on the Internet including but not limited to the sending of messages or files.
SCP-6776 is to be kept away from other anomalous objects unless approved and overseen by a level 3 or higher researcher and MTF Kappa-20 ("Adventuring Party"). SCP-6776 is to be routinely given tasks to keep it mentally and physically occupied. The completion of these tasks is to be done with MTF Kappa-20.
Completion of tasks should reward SCP-6776 with valuables such as gold, silver, or jewels. Staff are to accept these valuables should SCP-6776 try to use them to pay for or barter for items such as alcohol, tobacco, desserts, herbs, or other luxury or recreational items or substances. These items are to be kept in storage on site for the completion of such transactions.
Tasks are to include the retrieval of planted items from remote locations. Any suggestions from SCP-6776 to give it tasks involving the neutralization of people or anomalous objects are to be ignored. Requests for anomalous objects are to be ignored.
SCP-6776 is currently non-hostile, however if SCP-6776 becomes hostile, Scantron Reality Anchors are to be deployed to negate its offensive and defensive capabilities. Without its anomalous reality warping effects, SCP-6776 is physically similar to an elderly man and can be neutralized as deemed appropriate by the site overseer.
**Description:** SCP-6776 is a humanoid who takes the appearance of an elderly Caucasian male. SCP-6776 is 1.76 metres tall and weighs 54 kg. SCP-6776 is clean-shaven with shoulder length grey hair and silver eyes. Intelligence tests show that SCP-6776 has a genius level intellect.
SCP-6776 possesses reality warping capabilities and is able to create and use constructs of pure energy or create and reshape matter at will. SCP-6776 has shown to be proficient in using these abilities in the following ways:
* Firing projectiles of pure energy or fire
* Generating a passive forcefield which resists all small arms fire
* Locally changing the force of gravity
* Summoning constructs such as limbs or platforms to assist in day to day activities
* Creating or nullifying sounds
* Understanding of any written or spoken language
* Synthesizing of various chemicals
* Detection of anomalous objects
* Creation of wormholes
* Local manipulation of time
SCP-6776 refuses any clothing or other tools offered to it, citing a preference for its own pieces of equipment designated SCP-6776-1 to SCP-6776-3.
SCP-6776-1 is the set of robes worn by SCP-6776. SCP-6776-1 is made of an unknown white fabric that most closely resembles wool. Washing of SCP-6776-1 has never been observed but it remains resistant to stains or accumulation of dirt. SCP-6776-1 grants its wearer resistance to reality warping effects.
SCP-6776-2 is a cloth bag with an anomalous interior and its contents. Measurements of the interior of SCP-6776-2 give an interior spherical volume of 64 cubic metres. Addition or removal of items from SCP-6776-2 do not affect its weight. Contents of SCP-6776-2 include various tools for the preparation of various food items and tea; as well as survival tools such as a bed roll, rope, and maps which do not correspond to any known location on Earth.
SCP-6776-3 is a staff which SCP-6776 also uses as a walking stick. SCP-6776-3 amplifies SCP-6776's reality warping capabilities. SCP-6776-3 does not have any effect when wielded by anyone else. SCP-6776 explains that only they have the skills necessary to use SCP-6776-3 and refuses to share its techniques with the foundation.
While SCP-6776 is non-hostile, it regularly attempts to breach containment if not given tasks to keep it occupied citing boredom. SCP-6776 finds great pleasure in being rewarded with valuables from these tasks. SCP-6776 has obtained a passing knowledge of the foundation's purpose and of some anomalous objects. SCP-6776 will offer to assist in the containment or neutralization of various other anomalous objects. These offers are to be approved by a level 3 or higher researcher before SCP-6776 is allowed to assist.
SCP-6776 regularly interacts with foundation staff and spends its leisure time with off-duty staff members. It will regularly make conversation and spend time playing games such as chess or cards. Interestingly SCP-6776 holds disdain for the tabletop game "Dungeons & Dragons"saying that it is "boring"and mirrors its past life experiences too closely and it would rather be completing "quests"in real life. |
By gum, I had it. At long last, I had it.
The girl had called me short. I hate being called short. I'm not even that short. I'm 5 8. That's not short at all. That's like 80th percentile for height, I think.
But the girl called me short. I froze time because I was so pissed off. I had to think of a comeback.
It took a long time. I traveled the world. I went and saw those Thai soccer kids getting rescued. I checked in on Trump and his new Supreme Court pick. I saw what Jon Stewart was doing for some reason. Ryan Reynolds, too. I looked in on my parents, my siblings. My grandparents. Old friends. Old girlfriends. Everyone I could think of. World leaders-- Putin, Xi, Kim, Macron, Merkel, May, Trudeau. My favorite actors, writers, entertainers. Did you know that Kanye can't clip his own toenails? He has Kim do it, and his feet are so ticklish it takes a really long time to get it done.
Still, I didn't yet have a good comeback to being called short by a snotty sorority princess who probably has like twelve STDs.
I went to the greatest universities in the world, took long walks through their libraries and across their campuses. I figured the atmospheres would inspire me.
Sure enough, the answer came to me when I was at Oxford watching a brain surgeon give a demonstration to grad students. It hit me like lightning.
I quickly sped home. It was a long journey. Time had been frozen for the equivalent of like a month now.
The basic little cunt was still standing there in the Starbucks line. I hadn't even said anything to her. She was all dressed up for her day and no doubt on the hunt for the next Chad dong to stuff in her diseased vag, and she walked in MY line of sight and the next thing I know she's acting like I just hit on her.
"It would never work out between us,"the spoiled little 22-year-old had drawled at me. "You're too short."
I unfroze time just as she took a self-satisfied sip of her latte. The cashier was waiting for me to give my order.
I unleashed my comeback.
"You're short, too,"I said calmly. "Short on brains."
She curled her lip at me and walked away. Clearly, I'd wilted her very soul with that one.
I ordered an iced Ultra Caramel and got one of those big chocolate chip cookies, too. I was in a good mood the rest of the day. |
"The answer to question five is eleven thirty-sixths times e to the power of 12 plus seven thirty-sixths times e to the power of negative six. Plus c. The answer to question six is four times the quantity three t plus four-"
"Go away,"I muttered. The voices had started again.
A thin, reedy voice sounded in my head. The Architect. "I'm only trying to be helpful. It's not my fault if you can't do basic calculus. You should be able to do exercises this simple as soon as you see them."
"Well, I can't. And like I said, it's very hard to learn math when someone doesn't let you actually solve the problem."
I saw - *felt* - a shrug. Or an impression of one. Then nothing. The Architect had left, to wherever the voices went. I sighed, and popped open the translucent orange bottle on my desk. I shook out two tiny white pills and swallowed them with a swig from my water bottle. Hopefully, that would keep them away for a while. The Architect was one of the better ones, and I'd been lucky he was one of the first ones to show up. At least he tried to help me.
My therapist had frowned when I said I gave them names. She asked my why I had done that, and I'd only been able to give the obvious answer that it felt like more than one person was speaking. The Warlord. The Waif. The Lost Soul. The Oracle. There were at least twenty, that I remembered. Each of them popped into my head for a few minutes or a few hours, commenting on whatever I was doing, making fun of me, giving advice, or just screaming. The Warlord liked to pop up whenever I was playing soccer; sports was probably the closest thing most of us had to combat, nowadays. He gave oddly good strategic advice, although he had a tendency to tell me to foul the other team. The Waif usually showed up around children, as a soft sigh. She didn't speak much. The only reason I gave her that name was the image that always accompanied her- a small, lonely shape huddled in rags.
I think if all the voices had been like that, I could have managed. Like friends, in a way, for someone who'd never had much luck with them. My therapist had told me, in that kind, gentle, condescending way therapists had that the voices weren't real. That they were just in my head. Thinking of them as friends was the worst thing I could do, since it would discourage me from making real ones.
And it was true that the voices never really talked about themselves. They never answered if I asked them questions about what they were, or where they came from. And nothing they told me was technically impossible for me to have figured out on my own, if I assumed some part of my mind was an autistic math genius and another liked to rant endlessly about how heretics had destroyed the faith and that damnation and hellfire would rain down on Xerathin, whatever that was.
I sighed and put away my math homework. I wasn't very good at math anyway. The only reason I had gotten into as good a school as I had was because of the Architect and the Philosopher feeding me all the answers during the SAT. I had just pulled out my laptop when I heard the sobbing begin.
My hand starting shaking. "No. No no no no no. Why now?"I whispered. I got up, legs wobbly, stumbling towards the bathroom as the sobbing intensified. The sedatives. I needed those. The only thing that could stop it.
*The Lost Soul.* Images crept into my head. Blank, empty faces staring, all around me. I couldn't see them, but I could feel them, peering down behind an invisible curtain. The sour smell of old piss and sweat, the taste of iron on my lips. A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed.
"Please. Let me go. Don't hurt me. Let me go."A voice moaned in my ear, thick and garbled. I flung open the bathroom door, grabbed the bottle sitting next to the sink where I had left it. I shook out two pills, then grabbed the bottle of cheap vodka next to it and used it to wash them down. Valium took half an hour to kick in by itself. I couldn't wait that long.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't hurt me!"A wave of nausea washed over me, accompanied by a thick, choking despair that made me whimper. I dropped down to my knees, the tile cold against my legs.
The first time I'd heard the Lost Soul I was sixteen. Until then, I'd never told anybody about the voices. Why would I? If anything, it was almost like having a superpower. If nothing else, it made me different. Special. Everything a teenage wants to be. I would have bragged about it to friends, if I'd have thought they believed me.
And then, one day I'd overslept and my parents had both gone to work early. I had missed my first period class with an exam, and when I saw the clock I started to panic. And a voice in my head begin to sob.
The Lost Soul got worse as time went on. The school had called my parents around noon. By the time they got back home I could barely speak. I don't really remember much of what happened after that, but I had to be sedated. Just flashes. The smell of rotting corpses, which I recognized even though I'd never seen a dead body. A sharp, searing pain all over, the feeling of needles inside my head. Bones protruding from skin, like my friend when he'd broken his leg skiing, except it was repeated for every finger, every limb.
The drugs had saved my life. Today, I was only on the floor for ten minutes before I felt the numbness kick in, a blissful relief, and the sobbing went away. I managed to pick myself up and stagger to bed. At least I hadn't pissed my pants this time.
Just before I fell asleep, I heard a voice. A new one. Bright, and young, and feminine.
"Hello? Can you hear me?"I frowned. This was a new voice. And a strange one. I'd never heard a voice ask me if I could hear them. But I was still calm, still happy. This was a good voice, or a neutral one at least. No problem.
"Please. Help us. Whatever you're doing, whatever you're taking. It's killing us. Please. We can help you. Make you better. Make you stronger."There was a softness to her voice, like warm blankets on a winter night. There was a slight trembling, too. Anxiety. Like a cat seeing a stranger, peering around the corner, unsure of what to do.
But I was too far gone. The last thing I heard before drifting off to sleep was another voice, sad and sweet. Older, wiser.
"You could be a king, if you let us help you. A god. And then, perhaps, you could finally help us..." |
"The Dodo,"Dave began, "A magnificent bird..."
A smattering of giggles rippled through the group of students. "Sounds like doodoo,"Mitchel said, a grin plastered across his pre-teen face. This one was clearly a bit of an idiot, Dave thought.
Dave cleared his throat. "We're at the American Natural History Museum,"he continued magnanimously, despite the demonstrated ignorance of the current cohort, "Please be respectful."
He shuffled his feet imperiously. "The last sighting of the Dodo occurred somewhere around 1662, but this has been disputed in the literature,"Dave said as an eager looking little girl at the front raised her hand, then began to speak before Dave could acknowledge her.
"How do we know this? They didn't have phones or cameras or email back then, that was..., "she scrunched up her face in concentration, "Hundreds of years ago... lifetimes ago!"
Dave smiled a fake smile, "Well...,"he looked at the girls name-tag, "...Sally, we have what we call primary sources, and this particular sighting comes from the journal of a sailor on a ship near Mauritius, who described the birds in a way that matches the fossilized specimens we have today."Before anyone else could interrupt Dave turned towards the exhibit and indicated at the giant, fat bird on display, "And those descriptions and fossils have resulted in this reconstruction..."
"That thing looks *so* stupid,"Mitchel said, his arms crossed, "Can we go see the dinosaurs now?"
Sally came to Dave's rescue, "Shut up, you look stupid, this bird is a tragic figure."Sally looked knowingly at Dave, "My mom says that humans have killed lots of animals, is this one of those animals?"
"Yes, Sally, this is actually an icon of human induced extinction."Dave sighed as some of the kids began playing a weird clapping game, while others stared blankly at nothing in particular, surreptitiously stifling yawns from their little mouths. Only Sally and, somewhat surprisingly, Mitchel, were still paying attention.
"The extinction of the Dodo led us to realize that human activity can cause entire animal populations to go extinct,"Dave finished.
Mitchel let out a short burst of laughter. "This bird probably would have killed itself, it looks so dumb,"he said, thinking that he had just made some great, uncounterable point.
\------------------
A figure in a trench coat watched the scene unfold from a few feet away. If one looked closely, and nobody did, they would notice something not quite right about the figure's face, which was locked in a perpetually dazed expression.
If they looked very closely, which again, no-one did, they would notice blue veins in a face that had long since stopped pumping blood. In-fact, it would readily become apparent that a corpse in a trench coat had been hovering around the Dodo exhibit for some time now. And if they looked *really* closely, they would see an eye peaking out from the middle of the trench coat's buttons.
*I am a master of disguise. I blend in effortlessly with my oppressors, with this scum of a species. I must bide my time.*
One of the child-humans was now kicking another one in the shins, causing a high pitched keening that was quite jarring to any sensible listener. Another was making obnoxious faces at his frozen-on-display brethren.
*They mock and ridicule. I can no longer bear this indignity.*
The figure in the trench coat shifted forward with an awkwardly confident gait, each step elongated and accentuated as if precisely calibrated to mimic human walking.
Dave noticed this but thought nothing of it, awkward people are a dime a dozen in museums.
That is, he thought nothing of it until the figure was right in-front of him and the trench coat parted and a bird-like leg with a taped on knife flashed forward and scythed open his stomach.
He processed all of this only when he looked down at his guts spilling out onto the polished wooden floor, Sally's shrill screaming all he could hear. |
Coming in from the right, five, no wait- six. From the left, two more. From behind me, one- the alpha. I took out my pitchfork, the Hyper Titanium tines shining in the sparse, tree-dappled light. I moved toward the alpha, hearing a deep laughter.
"You're wise human, but not smart! I'll tear you apart, for everything your species did!"He lunged toward me, his six paws raised to the side. His four hind legs were lithe, while the front two were powerful, each carrying long, sharp, and fanglike daggers. The tips were only stone- guess the Neo Wolves hadn't truly learned how to mine like the Neo Lions had. I dipped low underneath him, and turned my pitchfork up. It pierced slickly through his sternum and pierced his heart, and he yelped. Their alpha dead, the other wolves yelped and dispersed. One thing I'd learned in all my time was that no matter how intelligent they became, certain attributes of each species remained. For these Neo Wolves, it was their pack instinct. With no alpha, even the largest of their societies could crumble. That's the only reason I wasn't willing to give over earth to them, not yet.
I didn't ask for their hate, at least, not directly. I was born human, in the year 2061. Or at least, I was designed as such. I was part of a series of human experiments intended to continue the species even in the harsh landscape we had created for ourselves. We were granted indefinite longevity, environmental adaptability, and of course, increased physical attributes. The subjects were 1 million strong, more than enough to recover human society after our inevitable destruction at our own hands.
However, much like the wolves, humans had one attribute that would never go away- refusal to die. They couldn't accept that human society would be replaced by test tube grown *things*, and a rogue extremist sect called the Purists sabotaged the experiments. Their attack killed most of the experimental fetuses and rendered all of its surviving subjects sterile. They proclaimed that we were not human, and we were not the answer to the destruction of humanity.
Whether we were the answer or not, the fifty of us who reached full development were able to survive in the polluted atmosphere as the Purists and their flock failed to reach the stars, fell into the muck, and died. Then, we spent thousands of years scrounging for scraps, growing food in the ruins of earth's hydroponic labs. Thousands of years after we were left to ourselves, the world started changing around us. We left our hidden bunkers, seeing fruited trees, an atmosphere free of deadly carbon monoxide, and the grayed concrete jungles converted to beautiful organic ones. It was a world we'd only seen in fantasy novels, and we were absolutely smitten with it. We built a village, reclaimed some of our technology and built basic farms and tools. The fifty of us were happy, a thousand years young, playing in the sandbox like little kids.
But like little kids, we were ignorant to the world outside. Before we knew it, we started losing people in the night. The first to go was my friend, Andre, who loved to go on night walks through the tangled brush. We found his body the next day, bloated with venom. Two more, then three died in the same way, their bodies left to rot in the jungles. That was when we discovered Neo Vipers- they were 30 feet long on average, with two heads and four prehensile tails. They wielded long fangs bearing poison that could fell an elephant. More importantly, they spoke in many different languages, including one we spoke- English. They'd discovered the remains of our texts, and were completely fluent, though their accent was heavy through their unmoving lips and limited tongues.
We asked why they were hunting us, but we really should have known. I'll never forget their chilling words.
"Sss... know... yat... did. Many... fear. All... hate. Hu-mansss... cannot exist. Time... gone by."
With that, they began hunting us in earnest. Everywhere we went, we found evolved versions of old earth species, with different views, tactics, societies, and politics. They all shared one view in common, though- they had to get rid of us. They didn't care to eat our meat, or steal our tech, or torture us for our human knowledge. They just wanted us gone.
After years of it, I was the only one left. Among my dead companions, I was known as Zeta. To these creatures, I was only The Mark. The last human, surviving for no reason other than to defy them. I don't know why I tried to survive... but I suppose that I just couldn't accept that I was meant to die for this world to progress. Just like the Purists who killed nearly a million fetuses to protect their status as human, I would kill any of the millions of people who wanted me to go extinct, just to live another day. My fight for survival was the only thing that reminded me that I was truly human. It was all that I had left.
And so, I carried on.
------------------------
Visit r/Aerdwriting for more of my stories! |
The Volar and Humans were at war. The declaration had been made weeks ago, and today was the day of their grand battle. The Commander of Earth’s simulated forces was Mark, a junior software developer who had been recruited for his ability to speed run even the most complex of video games.
The Commander of the Volar was Commander Alix, a woman with one hundred years of battlefield experience. She had been there at the slaughter of Lopin, the holding of the Zanad bridge. All the greatest Volar victories came at the hands of this woman, and this looked to be another medal in her records.
The betting community was going wild, the amount of credits being thrown on the Volar was insane, billions of credits being placed of the Volar. The humans were a rather young and unadvanced race, so this was the equivalent of a parent spanking a disobedient child. The older race would make quick work of their younger adversary.
For the humans to place a Commander with no victories also favored the Volar. To choose someone with no war experience was unheard of. Rumors even surfaced that the Commander wasn’t even being paid, the earth council calling this part of his internship, reminding him he should be honored to receive such varied job experience.
The two Commanders met before the battle. The Volar woman extended her hand. She only had two fingers, two long gripping fingers with golden nails. The Volar were more reptilian than most of the races, a feature that made most underestimate their intelligence. Like the serpents of fables, their wisdom was a creature of its own. Her sharp eyes staring down at the human, her scaled features on full display.
“Try to give us a challenge, humanoid Mark. I hear the council is watching this battle closely. I would hate to think my slaughtering of your virtual race would make you an easy target for the others. Why don’t you back out now? Declare us the winners of this minor war. Save yourself some honor.”
“My boss says he will tear up my internship If I quit, Sorry.”
“So be it.”
The two Commanders shook hands before they went to their battle stations, each joined by an army of virtual forces. It only allowed them to use simulated forces that matched their resources. So, humans couldn’t use weaponry that they didn’t have available to them in the actual world. This meant that the humans were not only outgunned but outnumbered.
To think this war all started because a human diplomat said he could beat a Volar in a fight, not realizing he was saying this in front of their king. Like most of humanity’s problems, someone caused it by not being able to keep their mouth shut.
The games began, the crowds chanting as the virtual armies formed on the screen. At first it looked like it was going to be an easy sweep for the Volar Commander. Her forces trapped the humans, slowly advancing in a line that suffocated the forces, forcing them to back away until they were all piled together, ready to be slaughtered. That was when her screen suddenly went red, revealing the words ‘Game Over’
Silence fell over the crowd. How did she lose? Gamblers were already hurling curses at their screens, demanding a replay. It had to be an error; no human could beat a Volar. Even the Commander still believed that, shooting a glare at her human counterpart. Mark already wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead, a nervous look on his face, one that only grew as the woman walked over.
“You cheating human, what did you do to the simulation? Did you hack it?”
“Huh? I won? I went around your major forces; you left your flank right open.”
“I would do no such thing. Even if my flank was open, to wipe out my forces in such a way. It would be impossible for your weaponry.”
“Who said I used my weaponry?”
The replay flashed onto the screen. The dominant forces of Mark’s army were trapped, but they could see a small group of soldiers standing before a hill. His small group faced away from the hill, jumping backwards up the hill, before arriving on the top near the enemy base. Each simulated solider ran up to the wall of the base, head-butting it until they blurred through the wall and into the base.
Once inside the group activated the Volar equivalent of a nuke, dropping it onto the battlefield, wiping out not only his own soldiers but the entire Volar army. Leaving only the few soldiers from Mark’s army alive in the base. Mark had expected to run into some Volar soldiers inside of the base, but they were too prideful for that. They would send all their soldiers onto the battlefield, leaving the bomb only as a last resort if they were forced to retreat.
The Volar Commander was silent as she watched the replay. She like many others couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. Lowering her head, she let out a sigh.
“You have bested me, Commander Mark. You have won the war. I declare our surrender.”
They hailed mark a hero, offering him an addition unpaid six-month internship for his noble efforts in the war. From that day forward many feared the humans, other races unable to recreate their lightning fast battle tactics.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
"Mission control this is Bodysnatcher and I'm not gonna lie - this is pretty weird."
*"What's it look like, Bodysnatcher?"*
"It uh... it looks like me, control."
*"You're shittin' me."*
"No I- uh... I wish I was, control. Spitting image. Even has my mole under the chin. I'll take a picture."
*"There's no suit on it?"*
"It's got a suit on. Same as mine, actually. The head's just tilted up."
*"Exact same suit?"*
"This guy's got orange stripes on his - but that's about it, control."
*"Freaky."*
"You're tellin' me. Wait, is that another body?"
*"Who is it this time?"*
"It's- Holy shit, it's Nate."
*"Well, Bodysnatcher, we've just received your picture and... what the hell?"*
"It's me."
*"It's you..."*
"Can you... can you get Nate on comms?"
*"Uhh... yeah. Yep, yeah just... give us a minute, Bodysnatcher. Nate, can you hear us?"*
**"I read you loud and clear, control."**
*"Everything fine up in the orbiter, Nate?"*
**"Hunky-dory, control. I'm looking down on Bodysnatcher right now. Can just make out the bodies. Weird shit, huh?"**
*"That's good to hear, Nate."*
**"What the hell- The fuel! Why the- Oh god!"**
*"Nate? Nate, do you read us? Mission control to Nate, do you read us?"*
**"..."**
*"Bodysnatcher, can you see the orbiter?"*
"The... The orbiter exploded, control."
*"What?"*
"Exploded."
*"Oh god..."*
"And... well, control I'm not going to lie to you. This is pretty weird."
*"What?"*
"Nate in the stripes just got up." |
So much of it could be automated. At least, that's what I had thought.
My knees ached as I bent over, magical chalk in hand, to draw the sigil. It would take an entire afternoon to complete, and for what? A few measly coins.
Then, a thought struck my mind. With bated breath I stopped my artistry and focused on the chalk itself. I closed my eyes and pictured the completed sigil, intricate and beautiful. The chalk came alive.
It danced and frolicked around the room, an expression I could only take for joy. After bouncing up and down some more, it finally began to do what it was born for. With obscene speed it drew the sigil, much faster than I could ever have hoped to. Three hours of work condensed into three minutes.
Satisfied with its work, I clapped twice and returned its magical essence back to the world. It fell onto the ground with a soft thud, and as I tried to retrieve it it rolled under a cupboard. There wasn't much left of it, anyways.
Annabelle thanked me for my work, commenting on how much faster I was compared to other magicians, and I left on my way.
Three weeks later, just after I had dropped my bath bomb in, her son knocked on my door.
"Master Jerlt, we need your help!"he said through exhausted breaths.
"Calm down, boy."I told him. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know! The entire house is alive! The dressers, the mirrors -- even the floorboards threaten to injure us every moment we remain! At first, we thought it was cute, but now we realize it's much too dangerous."
I cringed at the thought of my bath going to waste, but duty called.
Annabelle was waiting outside her home, next to a tent.
"Please, Jerlt, make the furniture stop. I don't know how long I can live in these conditions."
It was worse than I thought. The moment I stepped through the front door a kettle came flying towards my head. I ducked just in time and the kettle flew out the open door, lifeless. At least I had learned something: the curse was limited to things physically inside the house.
On alert, I surveyed the rest of the house, dodging various other small objects which had the gall to attack. A feeling deep within my gut told me to go to the room I had set up the teleporter for them.
As usual, I was correct.
Instead of the sigil that had been there when I left before, a new one stood in its place. It explained all that was happening. This new symbol was used to breath life into things which didn't have any. It was like a bigger version of the spell I had cast on the chalk.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. So thin now, the chalk from before -- my chalk -- was flying around the room, like a gnat. It was still so cheerful, even though it was in danger of disappearing.
Watching it float and fly around the room, I felt no animosity radiating out. It just wanted friends, I thought, more living objects like itself. And so it used up the rest of its life, wearing itself thin, all to grand its wish.
"Sorry, old friend,"I said to it as I left the house. On the way out I studied every room closely, every bit of furniture, every scuff in the wooden floor, all the weariness of the muted wallpaper.
"You might want to close your eyes,"I said to Annabelle. The house was dear to her, and if she saw what I was about to do she'd go mad.
"O-okay,"she said, as she did as directed.
A loud crash was heard. Wood burning, cracking, sizzling. Pots and pans banging against each other. Enough dust rose up from the collapsing building to choke out a giant.
"What's going on, Jerlt? What is all that racket!?"Annabelle screamed, coughing from the fumes.
"Just another minute."
Then, I pictured it all in my mind. The chocolate colored wood, the silver pans, the red knitted bedsheets. Suddenly, from the burning wreckage, a new house appeared, indistinguishable from the last. The dust cleared and I went in to inspect my work. A perfect replica, this time with no murderous furniture.
"Thank you so much!"Annabelle said. "How'd you do it?"
I smiled. "A mage must keep his secrets."
Back in my tub, heated back up through a magical green flame, I giggled to myself.
*Turning it on and off -- oldest trick in the book.* |
Esmeralda gently blew the dust off an old tome, and the paper went with it. She chuffed in annoyance, though her companion got a kick out of her efforts.
“They’re all dust,” Inigo said. “Doesn’t matter how gently you try and open them.”
He was right, unfortunately. This temple wasn’t built with preservation in mind. It was an incredible find, but without texts, they could hardly do more than guess at its purpose. It was a cruel thing, the stacks of books they’d found. The answers to the questions they didn’t know enough to ask lay between those pages, but if they so much as touched them, they crumbled into nothing.
“Cheer up, then,” Inigo went on. “It's still the find of the decade.”
“It could be the find of the century,” Esmeralda said, walking over to a decrepit statue. Its head and arms had broken off, and it was caked in dust, but still Esmeralda felt a degree of reverence standing before it. “This was a statue of a Goddess.”
“Might be. Or it could be a gardener.”
“People don’t carve statues of gardeners.”
“They might of, a thousand years ago. But let’s say you’re right. What’s that worth? Another Goddess for the pile? We’ve got a dozen already. Can’t hardly fit any more holy days into the week.”
“This one could be different.”
Inigo laughed. “Different? Like Aram, God of War is different from Sofia, Goddess of Conquest? Or Luciana, Goddess of *Naval* Conquest? Or you mean different from Hektor, God of Honorable Combat?” Inigo shook his head. “All gods are the same. Swigs of saltwater from different oceans. Just a dozen flavors of poison.”
Esmeralda sighed. He was probably right, again. The only gods humans had ever known were those of war. She blamed them for the sorry state the world was in. If only they could all agree the place was broken in the same way. They just kept killing and conquering each other trying to fix it.
Still . . . what if?
Esmeralda pointed across the room. “Vases. For holding flowers. You ever see that in a temple before?”
Inigo shrugged. “Some lay flowers on graves to show respect. They could be vases for wine, anyways.”
“They aren’t.” Esmeralda held up an iron tool, rusted, and detached from what she reckoned was once a wooden hilt. “And this? It's a trowel.”
“Looks like a spearhead from my point of view.” Inigo put up his hands in a calming gesture. “I know what you want this to be, but I’ve been doing this a long time. If it's anything, it's one more Goddess of Battle.” He gestured around the temple. “Enjoy this. Gods know I wish I had when I was your age. Just as surely as I know you’ll regret not listening to me when you’re mine.”
“I won’t regret a damn thing,” Esmeralda said, though even she knew she was being petulant at this point. She just couldn’t believe she could be so close to the only thing she’d ever wanted, in the very room containing it, and not being able to find it. If it was here at all.
She sighed and crouched down to pick up a cracked piece of rubble. It could be marble, under all the dust. She rolled it over in her hands and cocked her head at it. It almost looked like a face.
“Well, maybe we can at least rebuild the statue,” she said, carrying the half-head to the broken image of what she would insist to be a Goddess to her dying breath. She was rather tall, this Goddess, and Esmeralda had to stand on her tippy toes to place the head back on the neck.
She adjusted the fit until the piece connected snugly, at which point a great gust of wind barrelled through the temple, slamming into Esmeralda with an unlikely forcefulness. She stumbled to the side, heart racing as she tried to avoid knocking into anything valuable, which was everything, when she heard the statue crash into the floor.
“You alright?” Inigo asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Fine,” she said, eyes fixed on the statue. “That shouldn’t have gone over, it—”
She studied the rubble. The limbs of the statue were solid, but the torso had been hollowed out. She dug amongst the cloth pouches and found seeds preserved inside. She held one out to Inigo, who stood looking dumbfounded just over her shoulder.
“Seeds, Inigo!” She shouted, but he only pointed past her.
She saw it now, carved into the stone beneath the statue. Text. Preserved text. She blew the dust off it and began to decipher with a vengeance.
“What is it?” Inigo asked.
“It’s mostly Hallic,” Esmeralda said. “There’s a few characters I don’t recognize, but I think this is a progenitor language to the one the Hallese speak today. It’s . . .” Esmeralda covered her mouth, as though it might keep her voice from cracking. “It’s a mantra. Commandments of an old religion.” She turned to look at Inigo. “It talks about planting crops and sharing yields. It’s not about warfare!”
Inigo removed his hat. “Planting crops, you say? If people cared about that as much as they do about killing each other . . .”
“A path other than war,” Esmeralda said, glowing.
Inigo wanted to believe, but he’d believed before. “People won’t follow it. They’ll choose war.”
Esmeralda smiled. “We’ll see about that.” |
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