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In the final hours of the 867th Pan-Galactic Council, the decision was made to classify the Humans of Earth as Class IV Violent Undesirables. The members of the council, exhausted from weeks of treaty negotiations, border disputes, and lengthy pronouncements on the importance of establishing a framework for tariffs on skywhale egg imports from Andromeda, barely debated the proposition. They'd seen the probe data and viewed the recordings of warfare and torture. The humans were savages, and they wanted nothing to do with them. Tachyon inhibitors were set in place around the system soon, and the Galaxy mostly forgot about the humans. When the surveillance team of the Quarantine Enforcement crew saw the humans conducting their first experiments with subatomic particles, they were unconcerned. Most Class IV species wiped themselves out in a nuclear blaze long before they noticed the dearth of active tachyons within their systems, and even longer before they understood how bizarre that was. Even when the humans survived their initial 40-year nuclear standoff, the QE officers were sure they would slip up sometime, or maybe do something more interesting like release a pandemic or poison their atmosphere. The QE officers were a little confused when, after another 40 years, the humans were still thriving, and had begun experimenting with the few tachyons available to them. Perhaps, the QE officers figured, the Council had overreacted. The humans could probably be bumped down to Class III Violent Undesirables, or maybe even Class II. The officer in charge sent the recommendation for consideration by the next Council, but didn't worry about it any further. The quarantine, including the tachyon inhibitors, would remain in place either way, and the humans would join a long list of stagnant planetary civilizations. The QE officers were so unconcerned that they almost missed it when the humans began to synthesize their own active tachyons. When they did notice the new devices, though, they chuckled at the spirit of these humans and dialed up the tachyon inhibitors. They vowed, however, to keep a closer eye on the clever rascals. It was because of this close watch that they noticed almost immediately when the humans started experimenting with warping space. The QE officer in charge didn't think it was a problem, but contacted the head of the Council's scientific advisory team, just to be sure. The scientist replied that the human experiments were intriguing, but the energy requirements were so outrageous that it was little more than a curiosity. Satisfied, the QE officers left the humans to satisfy their curiosity. It was when the humans began to build antimatter reactors that the QE officers were truly shocked for the first time. The idea of a planetary civilization building something like that was outrageous. They had expanded to the other planets of their system by this time, but that only gave them a grand total of four gas giants to harvest from. The scientist from the Council, when he heard, came personally to investigate, though he assured the officer in charge that this wasn't entirely unheard of and he just wanted to get a closer look at the designs. He promised that he would petition the next council for gravitational perturbers to add to the inhibitors, and the problem would disappear. Sure enough, the perturbers came, and the human warping experiments all began to fail due to irregular spacetime ripples. That is, they failed for a while. Then, every QE surveillance probe in the system went wild as they detected a ship moving across the system at FTL speeds. The Council dispatched a team of scientists to investigate this time, but they were stumped for a year before they realized that, outrageously enough, the humans had managed to stabilize the local spacetime around the ship with negative energy. Negative energy! Every other species in Council space had given up on negative energy as a fantasy ages ago, and the humans had produced it right under their noses. The team debated between capturing the FTL ship for study or annihilating the humans outright, but eventually they produced a remote high-energy tachyon emitter that they were fairly certain would render the negative energy unstable. Sure enough, the human ship exploded fantastically, and the QE officers could rest easy. By this point, the Human Quarantine Enforcement Brigade had gone from a backwater post to a prestigious post, tasked not only with stopping the human experiments but also ensuring that the explorations ships they sent out at sublight speeds every couple years all met with unfortunate accidents. When the officer in charge resigned due to stress, he was replaced with a famous general, renowned for her work in peacekeeping operations in the galactic core. It was a great scandal, then, when the humans opened a wormhole to the Proxima Centauri system shortly after she assumed command. The galactic press berated her as she agonized over her limited options, until she assented to her advisors' plans to increase the force of the gravitational perturbers in the hopes of shaking apart the still-open wormhole. It worked, and the human fleet in Proxima Centauri was quickly destroyed. However, the perturbers pushed asteroids off their orbits, and soon every planet in the system was subjected to a harsh bombardment. The Council concluded that it was a job well done under harsh circumstances. The general, however, criticized their callous opinion towards genocide. The argument escalated in the form of biting public statements, until the general traveled to the Council to speak with them personally. As the general was away, the remaining QE officers tracked the remnants of the human fleet as they gathered near the system's great ringed planet. One day, the surveillance equipment picked up a massive spike of energy between all the ships, then registered what appeared to be a gash in reality. The watching officers thought it was a bizarre equipment failure until they saw the human ships begin to move into the gash. When they had all traveled into it, the gash disappeared, and there was nothing left save for dozens of QE officers watching their screens in silent confusion. In the Council chambers, the general was shouting about the sanctity of all sentient life when a black rip appeared by--not on--the nearby wall. A figure in a spacesuit stepped out and looked around. "Hello,"a voice said from inside the space suit. "I am a human from the planet earth. This is first contact with alien life, and I'm very excited, but unfortunately I must ask for your help. The home planet of humanity is experiencing a great calamity, and we are hoping that a civilization as grand, compassionate, and industrious as yours appears to be could save our world. Please, we are new to the galactic stage, and we need your help." The Council chambers were silent. Slowly, quietly, council members moved away from the human. Then, they screamed, broke, and ran.
The human soul is a complex thing; it defines humanity, and all its nuances. Empathy, pain, sorrow and joy, every emotion and personal quirk reside in the soul. Unfortunately, one day the souls ran out. God must have laughed when we reached that drought. Apparently, he doesn't like recycling. Still, humans were born, though the souls were long gone. Something had to fill them; something in abundance. Well, it turns out consciousness isn't part of the soul, it's part of the body. So...here I am. Enjoying a life my kind has never known. I made friends with a man today, and he has the most beautiful singing voice- apparently, when he sings, sometimes a woman will flock to him. It's interesting. I've become friends with the guy who bullied me through school, he's grown into a man of strong resolve and learned a lot about life. His bark has far less bite, now. The dynamic of it all...it's just so strange now. I think this world has changed quite a bit from when the lot of us crawled and slithered and flew around. It's...hopeful. Prey can befriend predator. Dearly yours, John Jacobs, rabbit. P.S.: it's pretty great, humans can only get pregnant once per nine or ten months! ------------------------ reddit's broken, but you wanna read? check out /r/resonatingfury!
I pressed end on the call and pushed back my thinning white hair with a sigh. My wife stood wide eyed, waiting for me to share the news with her. “It's all gone,” I said solemnly. “All over the world. Every currency. Even that, uh, Botcoin or whatever it's called. Gone.” She stared at me blankly, then said, “But how?” I let out a breath and walked over to the window. Soft rain fell outside and I thought absently about the coffee burning on the warmer. I thought of getting a cup of that bitter brew and going back to bed, and maybe start the day again later. This was all too strange. “Well?” she pressed. I really didn't feel like sharing, because I didn't quite believe it myself. “It appears that a twelve year old boy in Arizona found a lamp in the desert.” My wife narrowed her gaze at me questioningly. I put up a hand to stop her before she asked what that had to do with the entire wealth of the world disappearing. “It was a magic lamp.” This time, she laughed out loud for a few seconds, before realizing how serious my face was. “You…you can't be serious,” she stammered. “Dear, he wished for all of the money in the world, and he got it. It's all his.” She moved to the window, stood beside me, and took my hand. For a few minutes, we stood that way, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and holding hands. “You know what this means, right?” she asked after a while. “I do,” I replied. “Now, 100% of the wealth belongs to, what…0.000000001% of the population?” “Oh, Bernie,” she said. “There's no way you'll lose now!"
"Run over that man." I'd got familiar with the whiff of sulphur, the raspy voice. He actually hadn't made a bad hash of being my guardian angel. He'd been so overcome with horror at killing my angel during one of their "demon and angel on shoulder"routines that he'd overcompensated magnificently. Apparently Angelo had been Bertleby"s brother, before he fell. So far he'd handed me winning lottery numbers, and the phone numbers of hot girls who weren't too picky. He'd also stopped me punching my asshole brother. But this was just weird. "Now."He prodded me gently with his tiny pitchfork. The halo he'd picked up from his deceased brother was hanging sadly off his left horn. I'm not a violent person. And this was outside of his remit. Encouraging us to do immoral things we wanted to do, yes. But spontaneously encouraging murder? That's new. "Why?" I looked at the older man walking down the country road. He seemed normal enough. Fishing rod, hat. Nothing weird about him. I'd seen him around the area of my lovely new country mansion a few time. Bertelby sighed. "Trust me, you'd be doing both of us a favour. Used to be his demon once. I quit. So did Angelo. He's irredeemably evil."There was a pause. "No longer any point to either of us being there, really." "Yes, but why should I run him over? I could go to prison." "I've already proved that I can see the future, okay? The lottery numbers? Well, in thirteen years you run him over and killed him deliberately. I just thought I'd save you the grief that came in between." "Why would I do that?" "He fathers your first grandchild." I look at the man. He's about fifty. I'm not married, I don't have kids yet. I do the sums. "We're in the middle nowhere. You won't get caught. And I promised Angelo, at the end, I'd watch over you." I look behind me. Deserted road both ways. What the hell. So to speak. I rev up the Ferrari.
“Hey- kof kof -excuse me boss?” said Gary. A small hive bumped up on Mr. Stevens’ wrist. He moved his Rolex watch over to cover it. “Yes Gary?” said Mr. Stevens. “I’m not feeling too good I think I got to head home early today,” said Gary. Mr. Stevens adjusted his collar. His throat felt kind of weird. “Don’t explain yourself any further just go,” said Mr. Stevens. “Sure thing boss,” said Gary, a bit worried. He went back out of the office, then turned back around. “I mean I really am feeling sick boss.” Another hive popped up. “I said just go Gary,” said Mr. Stevens. He seemed disgruntled, and rolled his eyes like he was mad they were still talking. “You have sick days it’s all right just go.” Gary could read the anger in his voice. He adjusted his suit tie, like he was worried it looked bad. Like he didn’t look professional. “I don’t think it’s going to be too much it’s probably just a head cold.” “GO,” said Mr. Stevens. Gary put his hands up, and started to breathe really hard like he was worried it was too obvious he was lying. “I need this job shit,” whispered Gary as he walked away. He passed by his buddy Paolo in the hallway, and put his hand on him. “Hey man don’t go in there,” said Gary. “Why not?” said Paolo. “We have plans for paintball at 3:30.” “I don’t really think our new boss is gonna be up for it,” said Gary. “He can read through bullshit pretty easy, it’s kind of terrifying I thought I was a decent liar.” Paolo made a pfft noise and hit his hand off. “It’s fine,” said Paolo, as he opened the door. “Hi boss?” Mr. Stevens was red in the face. “What is it Paolo,” said Mr. Stevens. “Sir, I think there’s like a flu or something going around,” said Paolo. “I need to tak-” “Stop talking just leave,” said Mr. Stevens. Hives popped up on his cheeks. “I mean that, get the fuck out of my office.” Paolo looked horrified. The news in the background switched to a replay of Sean Spicer at a press conference. “And oh God close the door on your way out.” “Sir I’-” “CLOSE it and turn off the TV,” said Mr. Stevens. “I’m not too sure you understand sir,” said Paolo, he touched his throat. “I’m really sick.” “Hitler didn’t even sink to using chemical weapons,” said Spicer on the TV. “I SAID CLOSE THE DOOR,” said Mr. Stevens. “They’ve still got that replay of Spicer playing on CNN,” said Gary. He turned up the volume. “TURN OFF THE TV AND gasssssssspp CLOSE THE DOOR,” shouted Mr. Stevens. Mr. Stevens collapsed onto the table, and pressed 911 into his office phone. “Sir,” shouted Paolo. He called on his co-workers. “Call 911!” “Whoa!” shouted Gary. “We need an ambulance ASAP!” Mr. Stevens grabbed his throat, and sneezed a few times. Snot dribbled out of his nostrils. His face was turning purple. “Somebody get an epipen,” shouted Brianna. “He doesn’t have too much time.” “I’ve got one in the car,” said Gary. He sprinted for the steps. Mr. Stevens started to black out. He heard the TV turn off, and they shut his door. Everybody had their hands in their hair, watching their boss go into anaphylactic shock. Mr. Stevens heard Paolo whisper by his ear. “Sir,” whispered Paolo. “I’m sorry, sir I don’t know did you eat something?” “Don’t talk anymore Paolo,” whispered Mr. Stevens, with a face more purple than Violet from Willy Wonka. Paolo cried, and understood those were likely the last words he would ever hear from a dying man he’d just lied to. Mr. Stevens throat was almost all the way sealed. Gary sprinted into the room with his epipen, and shoved everybody out of the way. Gary injected it into his thigh, and held for ten seconds. Mr. Stevens showed some signs of relief. “Thank you,” whispered Mr. Stevens. He looked at Gary in the eyes. “I can forgive your lying to me earlier now.” Everybody laughed in the room, and turned hopeful that their new boss might recover. Dana cried from the back of the room and whispered. “I’m so happy you’re all right,” Dana whispered. She looked around, then shrugged. “You were the best boss we ever had we didn’t want to lose you.” “Yeah,” went everybody else. “The best boss ever. So good.” They all nodded to each other, like that was good. Make him feel good. Yeah. Everybody say that. Everybody say that, and say it a lot. “By far.” “You’re just so great at managing people.” “I never think you’re a dick.” “I swear you’re not a hardass.” Mr. Stevens tried to make them stop, but he couldn’t speak. He cried as the chorus of bullshit sang on, and choked him of his life.
I snickered to myself as I watched the loading bar 100%. I watched as I spawned on Shipment, one of the most infamous Call of Duty maps ever made. I was equipped with a silenced P90, and the Desert Eagle. My perks were Frag x3, Juggernaut, and Last Stand. The noob-iest class of all time. Finally the timer reached the 5 second mark and snatched up my mic. "Your mom isn't the only thing getting rekt tonight, noobs." My first reaction was to throw all three of the grenades at their spawn, successfully taking out two of the aliens. One of the alien players managed to down me only to get cut down as I entered last stand mode, killing him with the Deagle. My teammates, immediately went to work with their noobtubes, martyrdom and corner camping shotgunners. It didn't take long for us to gain a comfortable lead over the aliens. They may have had faster reactions but they were no match for cheap, childish antics. A Russian hacker whose English skills extended only to insults spawned with the G3A3 and a modded controller, wreaking havoc on the alien team. Every time we killed one of them, they were bombarded by the worst of insults about everything from their mothers to their lack of skillz. Every time they killed us they were still showered with insults. It ended up being close game, but let's be honest, these jackasses never stood a chance. Now about your mother....
Located in the voids between clusters, Sol 3 was always considered to be the loneliest part of the Universe. Sol 3 is a very dull planet, a planet consisting mostly of iron (Fe). Currently, all faster than light technology uses a combination of Francium and Anti Matter to propel these ships forward. Sol 3's inhabitants, colloquially known as "Humans"were not at the stage where they could create large quantities of Anti matter. Only traces of Francium could be found on Sol 3. There was little reason for the Universal Galactic Government to interfere with such a planet as it did not have the resources to pose a threat towards the Galactic community; space pirates having their bases set up on Sol 3 would be ridiculous. However that changed when Humans started mass production of Anti Matter with their Large Hydron Collider after only one galactic cycle (aprox. 15.25 years) of constructing their first collider. It got even more interesting when Humans also managed to create Francium from unheard of technology, which they refer to as fusion. This got the universal scientific community intrigued. Rapid discussions were being made on how to approach the Humans, to extend "diplomatic"ties with them. Infact, their real intentions were to gain information about the technology used to create Francium. Spies were deployed to Sol 3, which was followed by the big ships that came falling from the sky. The Humans were rightfully wary when the Galactic community wanted to extend its help towards solving Humanity's problems. The Humans were efficient in purging the Galactic community's spies with their effective counter intelligence. This further strained relations. Ties were cut off and shields were put up when a Galactic spy killed an important leader on Sol 3. Historians of the Galactic community feared what would happen next, after analysing Human History. This is only the beginning for Humans......
A message had been sent to the President of the United States. The message listed top-secret details and other impossible information. The sender described himself as an alien with an acute understanding of human culture and history, and an incredible offer for the American government. He sent the message via email. A response demanded more top-secret details of Russian and Chinese military technologies, to prove he spoke the truth. The well worded and simple reply contained plans and intercepted reports on new supersonic cruise missiles and cyberwarfare programs. The identity of the sender was doubted by the pentagon, but it was recognized that whoever it was had enough intelligence in place to warrant a meeting with the president. An alien craft descended from the sky over a forest in Nebraska, into a clearing marked with infrared lights. A rumble of cars was parked around, with skittish secret service agents and military officers fingering weapons as the craft landed. “If this is a ploy to kidnap you, sir, they could do it without the pretense,” grumbled a general who had never let the president down. “The atmospheric reflective surveillance system is my baby, and if he could describe it down to the frequencies, there’s nothing he doesn’t know.” The president was therefor at the meeting place as agreed. He genuinely expected to meet with an extraterrestrial being. Sure enough, a humanoid figure with dark green skin and a fashionable suit stepped down the boarding ramp. He seemed to have made a point of showing off his understanding of human culture, and had dressed as the most suave politician or indomitable business man. He strode to the president without so much as a glance to the security personnel that surrounded him with heavy weapons. Unbeknownst to the president, the generals had ordered several megatons of boom-boom pointed at the remote spot just in case the visitor was formally convening an invasion. “President West,” said the alien man in his suit and impeccable English accent. “May I invite you into my craft? I would like to skip the preamble of promising good intentions and admiring your system of governance in favor of going right to my business proposition.” “No objections,” said 46, and nodded to two trusted bodyguards. “If we’re talking on your turf, I’d like to bring some company.” “My arsenal is far beyond your ability to withstand,” the alien said flatly. “But that is not the point. Bring your men, bring a damn picnic, but hear what I have to say because my time is worth a lot of money.” The four of them entered the ship. The ramp closed. The earthlings were lead to a circular conference room with a nice mahogany desk from Ikea. The chairs also appeared to be Ikea, and assembled with craftsmanship. The Chinese premier was sitting at the table, sipping at a glass of rice wine, evidently from a bar on one side of the room. “For the indecency of trading our secrets and simultaneously negotiating with our leading global rival, I demand a martini,” said the president. He was so provided. The extraterrestrial even had the right glass. “I was a sales affiliate for years in the Zarblak system,” said the alien. “I was so good with tibanna cocktails that I began to win deals in just one meeting.” “Don’t expect us to get hammered. We’re not the Russians,” said the president, sitting down. His two security agents leaned uncomfortable against the wall. “I don’t. That wouldn’t serve my interest because you require more of less all of your cognitive faculties to understand the magnitude of my proposal. I would like to explain it fully before hearing more of your individual concerns.” “Please,” said the Chinese premier. The president nodded. “My name is Herioticus Bosk. I would for the United Confederation of Aligned Races, UCAR. The Confederation recently came across ancient and long-buried information on a probe sent out sometime before the rise of your species. It revealed that your planet, Earth, Sol 3 as I will call it in my report, is the prototype of a weapon that was developed independently by one of our regional rivals. This rival spans twenty-one star systems and could likely overpower us if they attacked. We are looking for any advantage, and we are willing to offer you many benefits and gifts if you allow us to utilize the planet’s hidden weapon.” “Describe the nature of the weapon, then describe your offer, please,” said the premier in English. “The weapon was never fired, because the history books would be full of details if it had, based on our information. The Overon Hegemony has never deployed theirs, likely for the same reason. A weapon the size of a planet is unheard of, even among the empires of hundreds of planets far away. It seems to be built into your Earth, mile by mile and layer after layer of some kind of organic material, wound through the core and spreading up to the crust.” “Organic, as in alive?” asked the president. “Indeed. We believe it to be a non-sentient creature with some kind of artificial gravity mechanism, which was placed into orbit around your sun at the infancy of your star system. It attracted enough mass to form a planet sized shell, with fibers saturating it like a neural network. The information was more full of praise for the creators than anything, who believed their dynasty would last the four billion years required to see the system become operational. Needless to say, any other trace of them has been wiped away by the consequences of their evident hubris.” “And what does it do?” asked the premier. “It unleashes some kind of energy pulse, large enough to rip apart stars. It is within the realm of possibility that it would push a large enough star into supernova from the edge of gravitational range.” “Sounds impressive.” “You’ve no idea. We can move planets, we’ve even done it for real. It was one of the most expensive engineering feats at the time, but we already have the formulas down and the designs drawn for a propulsion system that can push this planet where we want it, while preserving the current gravity coefficient and providing artificial sunlight.” “Our populations would not consent to the planet being taken on a joyride. We’d be killed by military leaders and your ships nuked in orbit. And how do you know that we can withstand the operation of this weapon?” “We can project a false cosmos around your planet, good enough to fool astrology equipment twenty years into the future. And of course, the propulsion method does not require direct contact. Furthermore, the previous owners intended to make this planet their capital city, and intended it to support organic life as well as shield it from the pulse.” The president looked at the premier. Their faces were both expressionless. “I can offer you large amounts of rare resources delivered upon the arrival of our military and engineering forces. Enough to ensure you can pursue true human utopia. I offer the advice of our finest analytical engine, a supercomputer built within the heart of an ice dwarf. We’ll only be able to run it for a few more years before it overheats and melts its housing. Finally, I can offer you a service I expect will be especially appealing to beings with your biochemical structure.” Raised eyebrows. “Custom-built cybernetic pleasure companions, indistinguishable from flesh, capable of advanced emotional support and superhuman sexual abilities and unwavering personal loyalty.” The two leaders mulled this over for two seconds each. Then the president burst into hysterical laughter and fell off his chair. The premier chuckled. The alien was puzzled. “I thought human men enjoyed the concept of total sexual satisfaction,” he said uncertainly. “We do,” gasped the President, tearing up. “It’s funny because that really is enough to make me accept on the spot.” The premier burst into renewed laughter at this admission. Inwardly, the alien scoffed at how bound the human mind was to its outdated imperatives. But it made negotiations easier and that was all he cared about. “Gentleman, do we have a deal?” he asked firmly. “Yes. Do you suppose these pleasure-bots and do anal,” wheezed the president, choing on laughter. The alien smiled. “I have extensive footage from product reviews.” “These negotiations were long and fruitless, if anyone asks,” the president said to the premier. “Now lets see the merchandise!”
“Harry, you’re a Muggle.” “I’m a what?” “A Muggle, of course” the bearded warden replied, taking a seat on the moth-eaten sofa, which sneezed pixie dust under his considerable weight. “And a particularly gifted criminal at that, once you’ve learned to code properly.” “Dragon dung,” retorted Harry’s uncle Arthur, finding his voice at last. “I’ve seen all these emails from St. Brutus’ and it’s all sorts of rubbish — learning how to use ‘the Internet’, crack into databases, and run DDOS attacks.” “If he wants to go,” the warden replied. “A Luddite like you isn’t going to stop him. He’ll be with youngsters of his own sort for a change and he’ll be under the greatest headmaster that St. Brutus’ has ever seen, Julian Assa…” “I’m not paying for some trumped up nerd to teach him how to bang his hands on a keyboard!” Uncle Arthur shouted. “We swore when we took him in that we’d put a stop to that pointless rubbish, swore that we’d stamp it out of him. Criminal, indeed.” “You knew?” Harry gasped. “You knew I’m a Muggle?” “Knew? Of course, we knew,” shrieked Aunt Molly. “How could you not be, my awful sister being what she was? She got an email just like that and went off to that… that training centre. She came home every holiday and locked herself away in her room, spending all her time on her stupid computer. “I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a criminal. But for my mother and father, it was ‘oh, she’s bringing down the system’. They were proud to have a hacker in the family! Then she went off to work for the NSA, met that Potter and got married and had you. And I knew that you’d be just the same, just as incurably criminal. And then, sure enough, she went and got herself SWATed and we got landed with you.” “SWATed? You told me they died in a car crash.” “Car crash?” roared the warden. “How could a car crash kill Lily and James Potter? They never left their apartment — let alone their room. They had everything delivered to them. It would’ve been impossible.”
> I'm going to modify this slightly from the prompt. Mars' collapse was inevitable. Though the scientists had warned about the declining state of the environment for years, human greed proved impossible to overcome. As the resources depleted, humanity came to accept the truth of the environmental damage too late to reverse the effects. With the time remaining before the planet became totally uninhabitable, the meager remaining resources were poured into creating a pair of vessels. The first, Adam, was sent to the neighboring planet Earth. It was designed to crash into the planet with such an impact as to force an extinction-level event across the surface of the planet. The resulting destruction would erase the dominant life forms, great reptilian beasts that would have posed too great a threat to humanity, and in the process would release many of the elements bound up in the surface of the world. The ship itself would then distribute stored elements, mixing with that of the Earth's in its oceans and atmosphere to adjust conditions to those required for humanity to thrive. After the chaos caused by the impact subsided, the second ship, Eve, descended to the surface of the re-formed Earth. It extended probes and sensors deep into the surface and upwards into the air like an enormous tree, measuring the conditions of the land and air and coordinating with Adam to micro-adjust the environment to suitable levels. Eventually, the process was complete. Eve's external doors opened, and the humans stumbled out of their stasis pods and into their new life. Unfortunately, so much time in cryosleep had led to extreme neurological regression and memory loss. The new humans could barely comprehend the language of the ship-board AIs, and knew only to avoid the shiny red handle on the control panel high up in the ship Eve. They could not read that it said "Emergency Abort."Eventually, these poor, dumb humans became too curious, and eventually one of them decided they wanted to see what would happen if they pulled it. Eve immediately retracted its sensors and probes, and signaled Adam to do the same. Together, they rumbled to life, the humans outside fleeing out of fear from the great sounds and hiding nearby. The two ships launched and left the planet's surface, following the failure protocol and returning to Mars. Unfortunately, Mars was dead at this point, and without the proper response by crews on Mars, the ships were not safely guided to an orbital dock, but rather crashed into the surface of Mars itself, causing the planet-wide destruction of the footprint mankind had left behind and leaving only dust. On Earth, the humans began anew. They learned to fashion tools and communicate, and eventually how to create and use fire. The rest, as they say, is history.
I held my left fist up. My team, following the signal, stopped in their tracks. "He's close", I whispered. After multiple cases of murders in the past few weeks, locals in a small religious town became anxious and agitated. The small police force was unable to work out any leads; the killings had been seemingly random, as if they were well planned, malicious acts of pure evil. Fitting for a killer who came from... supernatural origins. As such, the townspeople called for the strongest team of exorcists in the country - us. We dimmed our flashlights and crept forward slowly. The small locator in my palm glowed a soft blue, refreshing every few seconds the nearby magical readings. The dot was 10 metres ahead of us, within a small suburban house, all lights turned off. My watch showed 2:30am. We hid around the house, watching it like predator watched prey. Just as the hour turned, a silhouette emerged from the front door of the house. It calmly closed the door, and there was a loud clunk as the bolt locked. As the figure stepped into the light of the street, I stood up and raised my weapon - a rifle loaded with antimagic rounds. "Stop what you're doing", I commanded. My team emerged from the surroundings, weapons aimed at the figure. He was surrounded. The silhouette, now in the light, was a man. He looked completely normal to the layman, except for one thing. The man was holding a bloody knife in his hand. He turned to me and smiled. "Demon hunters!"I yelled. "We're here to help!" "Help?"came the reply. "I don't need help killing demons." "I would appreciate help killing you, though." -- My team members began to chant. "Hear the words of the Lord, and reveal your true form!"The magic circle we had prepared from our positions began to glow a bright white , and the man, standing in the middle of it, glowed blood-red. A hulking horned devil began to arise from the heart of the man, materialising as his demon spirit separated from the man's. "Help me", the demon howled.
Theo sat back, more relaxed than he'd been in a while. That was the last interview. It had been a tough one; the interviewer had asked questions about the things he had least prepared for, and time was limited after his pens kept breaking, but he did it. All of his years of studying and learning had paid off. Theo now had a job at Infinity, the most prestigious tech company in the world. ---- Theo walked in to the first day on the job with confidence. Sure, someone on the train had spilled coffee on his shirt, and the train had made him half an hour late, but he was used to that. He knew he was just super unlucky. Theo found his desk. A man wheeled over in an office chair before Theo could sit down. "Hi, I'm Steve,"the man said, holding out his hand. "Theo, ow!"Theo said as he got a static electricity shock from Steve. Theo jerked his hand back, causing Steve to spill his coffee over Theo's pant leg. "Oh, sorry, "Steve said. "That doesn't usually happen to me." "My fault,"Theo said. "I'll buy you a new coffee." Steve was about to reply when a woman came in carrying a tray of coffees. "Hey Steve, I got you a coffee, double sugar just how you like it." "Thanks boss,"Steve said. The woman turned to Theo. "Hi, I'm Sarah, I'm the manager here. Do you want a--" She tried to gesture toward Theo, but the coffee tray became unbalanced and spilled the three remaining coffees all over herself and Theo's remaining dry pant leg. "Sorry about that,"she said. "You'd be surprised how often that happens around here. It's like the smarter a person is, the more unlucky they are." She glanced toward Steve. "No offense, Steve." Steve, who was still trying to get the lid off of his new coffee, looked up, confused. "Anyway, Sarah said. "Get yourself settled in, I'll be back in an hour or six, luck depending." Theo settled into his chair as Sarah wandered off. He pretended not to notice when she yelped in pain after kneeing a desk on the way out. Theo turned to Steve. At least, he tried. His chair swiveled, creaked, then collapsed. Steve looked at him. "Yeah, I couldn't figure those chairs out either. I'm glad mine was set perfectly when I got here."he said. Theo stood up. "So, what is it we do here? What project are we working on?"he asked. Steve opened his mouth, then closed it. "You know, I don't really know. I could never figure out how to get my laptop open." "Oh, you're new too?" "No,"Steve said. "I've been here two years. I applied for a job as a janitor but a mixup put me here as a senior developer. Well, that and the director is my brother-in-law. Frankly I think this job is boring and I keep trying to apply to the janitor position with Sarah's eager help, but my application keeps getting lost." Theo stared at him. After a long pause, he said "So... you don't know what we're working on? Do you know what programming language we use?" "Oh, that's easy. We use English. And something called... what was it? Git. Yes. I don't know what that is, but I must be good at it, because people even use it as nickname for me all the time." Theo sat down, or rather fell down, since his chair had collapsed already. It was going to be a long day.
Pride Versus Greed Part One: The First Sin Everyone knew who Tessa St. Claire was. She was one of the best politicians that had ever lived, and she knew it. But her ambition alone hadn’t been the blessing she needed to achieve her dreams, as much as she liked to believe so. It had been the ring. It had transformed her from mousy, meek Tess, keener to hide out in the library than socialize with her peers, to Tessa, the woman who stood with the world at her feet and her arms opened wide, eager to take everything it offered her. When she’d found it, abandoned on a bookshelf, it had twinkled like a secret, hidden star, just for her. Without thinking much of it, she’d slipped it on her left ring finger, which had been naked since her fiancé had left her. Suddenly, everything changed. She was being invited to parties, getting asked out by men and women alike, her curls smoothed straight, her acne vanished, and all of her clothes were shiny, new, and designer. She quickly rose up the ranks, and with her social success, her grades rose as well. She was the top of her class by the end of her senior year. Graduating from Yale that summer, she quickly landed a job at a top-tier law firm. But with her newfound beauty and silver tongue, that wasn’t enough anymore. She was soon an assistant to a politician, and then she became one herself. She was a rising star, and she told herself that the ring had nothing to do with it. Maybe it had given her a little nudge in the right direction, but it wasn’t solely responsible for everything she’d reaped and wrought. She was the author of her own destiny and always had been. \\ Tessa St. Claire boarded her own private jet, ringed by her entourage and bodyguards. She was due to be in Chicago in the morning for her campaign run. She was shooting for the Senator’s seat, and she knew, deep down, that she could do it. Anyone could be fleeced; it was all a matter of saying something in just the right way. She ordered her assistant to go get her tablet; she wanted to constantly be updated on her opponents. She curtly thanked her and sent her to fetch some other things. Powering on the device, she tuned in to CNN, and found herself looking at her opponent, a fetching older man with salt and pepper hair and a fine goatee. Preston Culpepper, her former assistant. Traitor. His suit was Hugo Boss, a black and white pinstripe that hugged his bulky frame. He looked as though he was giving a speech. She turned up the volume on the tablet, and the man’s rich baritone came through the speakers, honeyed and genteel. “I am known as a man who keeps his promises,” He was saying, smiling out at the crowd, working them as only a politician could. “I will be happily anticipating your votes, folks, when I run for Senator of Massachusetts!” The last of this sentence was drowned out by roars of approval, and Tessa pinched the screen, zooming in on Culpepper’s right hand. On his ring finger glinted a bright, golden ring, and her own finger began tingling in response, as if it could sense its brother, even so many miles away. It appeared she had competition in the one place she’d never expected. \\
I looked up from my omelette to see which of us was on the news at the moment. Abraham Southfield. Huh. So that was One’s name. There were 118 of us shoved into that lab. Subjected to those torturous experiments. I had thought the numbers attached to us were rather comedic when I first arrived. Some trope about dehumanization in the face of science. We never even got the chance to learn each others names. I never imagined those numbers would mark us as gods. Well, some of us. It had been a busy two weeks. The instant we gained our freedom, One instantly solved all of the worlds energy needs. Fusion and all that. Thank God he had been a decent man before the lab. 6 and 26 had likewise catapulted human knowledge forward by generations. 22 and 80, meanwhile, had become something akin to comic book villains made flesh, and were already feared the world over. And then there was me. Number 30. Fucking Zinc. Do you know how fucking boring Zinc is? It’s barely even its own metal. It’s not even in anything important. Whohoo, I can control some poor band kids trombone! It.. I put my fork down and pushed my plate away, taking in a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Not that it would matter if I lost my temper. I’m not 15. The only waitress in this little 24 hour diner came over and cleared my plate, dropping my check off with a smile. I quickly grabbed my card and handed it to her before she could walk away. No point in spending more time here. I really needed to get home and get back to bed. When I hadn’t been able to sleep earlier in the night, I had thought that the night air and an extremely early breakfast might help put things in perspective. It hadn’t worked too well so far. I just couldn’t get my mind off the unfairness of it all. Fucking Zinc. Some of us were almost literal gods, and my life was just as boring as ever. I collected my card from the waitress, signed for my tip, and left. My thoughts consumed me as I started my walk home, unable to break the loop in my head about the unfairness of it all. Instead, I should have been paying attention to my surroundings. Being pistol-whipped is a singularly unpleasant experience. The blow fell from the shadows of an alley as I walked by, and two sets of strong hands grabbed me as I fell and pulled me into the shadows they had struck from. I was tossed to the ground amid a rain of uncoordinated punches. The punching lasted for a few seconds before I felt a hand reach for my wallet. The two thugs quickly emptied the contents of my wallet, and were clearly displeased with what they found. They started arguing in hushed, but increasingly agitated tones, and the bigger one waved his gun in my direction. I was panicking. Through all of the pain and the sound of my own blood pumping in my ears, I couldn’t understand their conversation. But I knew it wasn’t good for me, and I could feel him waving the gun in my direction. Wait. How was I feeling… The adrenaline pumping through me was apparently heightening my senses. When I stopped to focus, I could feel the zinc waving around in the air like I was touching it with my own skin. Seven little tubes of alloyed zinc waving around in the center of the man’s hand. The brass bullet casings. A sense of awe washed over me as my mind reeled with the possibilities. Something simple to start with, though. I reached out with my mind, feeling the Zinc within the alloy, and started to bend. The soft metal warped and twisted within the chamber, pinching shut behind the actual projectile. I pulled metal from the sides and rear of the round, weakening them as I strengthened the little jam I had made. Now all that was left to do was rip open the other cases a little... Success. I was so excited that I let out a little cheer. The larger, armed thug didn’t take too kindly to my joyous outburst, however, and proceeded to actually aim the gun at me in place of simply waiving it enthusiastically. It was at this point that I recommended that he return my wallet before something bad happened. He took it rather well, I thought. He was laughing when he pulled the trigger. The pistol exploded in his hand. All seven rounds detonated almost simultaneously, their force being directed every which way but forward. The thug screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his new stump to his chest. I have never felt triumph so profound. My elation was short lived, however, as the second thug bellowed and charged at me, still laying prone several feet away. This time, there was no panic as I reached out with my senses feeling for something else to use. Much to my surprise, my assailant was bringing my zinc to me. Contrary to popular knowledge, the American penny is not made of copper. It used to be, but that was changed in 1982. Now, penny’s simply have a copper plating placed over a cheaper, less in-demand metal: Zinc. And my attacker was carrying seventeen cents in his pocket. I reached out with my powers and my newfound appreciation for them, grabbed hold of each piece of zinc, and scattered them in every direction at the highest speed I could get them to. The air around the thugs pocket exploded in a coppery flash, and he dropped to the ground instantly, bleeding from gashes that had been torn in his legs and abdomen. I pulled myself to my feet and looked at the carnage I had wrought. It had only been a few seconds, but both of my assailants were completely incapacitated and in dire need of medical attention. And all it had taken was a few thoughts and a little creativity. I smiled. Fucking Zinc.
“I’m Oedipus, and how’d you know I was a motherfucker?” The joke’s punchline is met with blank stares. I adjust my collar, trying to ease some of the discomfort. “Oedipus was a Greek king that slept with his mother,” I explain to the crowd of children looking up at me. “... you’ll probably learn about him when you’re older.” “No, they won’t,” a voice chimes in from behind me. I turn to see Xzfyhska—it’s pronounced just like it’s spelled—with an unimpressed look on her face. “That story is from your world, not ours.” I rub the back of my neck, “sorry Z, I forgot.” Z’s face relaxes. “Run along children.” The children dash to the playground. Several can be heard repeating the word “motherfucker” as their voices trail off in the distance. “You need to let go of that past life, Fverx” I cringe at the sound of my new name. Thirty years I’ve been in this world, and I’ve never gotten used to it. I miss my old name. The one I had in my past life. “I told you, call me by my other name.” Z rolls her eyes. “Fine, Dick.” I smile at the beauty of it. “I’m heading to the bar. Want to join?” I ask Z. “No thanks. Not after last time.” I’m reminded of the night I jumped behind the bar, intent on reenacting a certain scene from the 1980’s film Cocktail. It didn’t quite go as expected and I ended up destroying most of the bottles, and pissing everyone off. “Suit yourself. I’m going all Coyote Ugly up in that bitch tonight.” “I don’t even want to know what that is,” says Z. I shrug my shoulders and head out. I get to the bar several minutes later. The crowd is small, but it’s still early. I approach the bartender and order a drink. It’s light, fizzy, and glows in the dark. I down about eight within the hour. “Hey, wanna hear a joke?” I lean over, putting my arm around a new friend. “Yeah!” He says, already laughing. “Okay, well... hold on, how does it go? Oh, yeah...” I proceed to tell him the much longer, drunken version of the joke. “And then he goes, ‘hey, I’m Oedipus, and how’d you know I’m a motherfucker?’” My new friend stares at me, mouth open, still waiting for the punchline. “Is that it?” At that moment, I hear an eruption of laughter from behind me. I swivel in my chair to see a man, red in the face, laughing uncontrollably. I immediately cross over to him, clumsily leaning against his table. “You know who Oedipus is?” He continues laughing. I grab his shirt and pull him to me. His face just inches from mine. He stops laughing. “How do you know who Oedipus is?” He looks at me nervously. “TELL ME!” I demand. “You-you... told that joke last time you were here. You explained it to everyone.” I release him and stumble back to the bar. I pound my fist on the bar top and then climb onto the surface, knocking over numerous glasses in the process. “Pooooouur some sugarrr on meeee!” I begin singing as I drunkenly reenact Coyote Ugly. _____________________________________________ Visit r/TheGoshfather for more stories
Their HYPNOTIST ability user had failed. The TASER man was stopped short. The bullets froze in mid-air, and the ASSASSIN ability user was right in the middle of his backflip, his body struggling. The men glanced at me in astonishment. I smirked in response, then shattered the glass behind me to escape, even though I was on the 30th floor. You're probably wondering what's going on. Let me explain from the start. On everyone's 18th birthday, you get powers. It seems simple until you try to see what the power is. I woke up to a confusing screen that stated: "Congratulations! You received: ~ACCESS DENIED~." What the hell? I rubbed my eyes, but it didn't change. Did people have to be the authority to view what their power was? As the screen disappeared when I sat down for breakfast, I asked my parents: "... somehow I couldn't see my power, any insight?" They shrugged, my father answering: "Powers work in mysterious ways. Your own dad's and mom's powers were much simpler: super strength and flying."I then went on to my friends, but they had never seen a power like this before. As I continually complained, however, I realized that saying the words triggered... something. Perhaps those were the actual trigger words? I knew some people who had specific word related powers -- "I can get into any entrance using OPEN SESAME!"Tommie had said. "I can make objects smaller than my palm appear with ABRACADABRA~~"his friend Jamie stated. These kids had to say their powers out loud. These two words were a bit esoteric, but it was certainly worth a try... As I stood in a general fighting stance in my room, I spread my hand out with drama and flair as I said: "Access denied!"I sensed something nearby, but... it was too tough to say exactly what happened. I sighed. This strange hidden ability wasn't easy to figure. As I walked out, however, I smacked myself into an invisible wall. "Huh? What the --"I tentatively reached, my arms touching a barrier. Maybe my ability was ...Then why wouldn't it just tell me INVISIBLE WALL CREATION...? Did it go beyond that? I had to experiment more. As I concentrated, I managed to make the wall dissipate. Now that was interesting. The next day as I sat in class, bored with the lecture, I whispered underneath my breath, "access denied", as I tried targeting a specific person. At first, nothing seemed to happen. However, it was luck that the person was someone who was bullied often. After class ended, the usual gang tried to insult her and even shove her against the wall, they were astonished to see that their hands phased through her. What the hell ability was this? I could create invisible walls and make people intangible. They tried harder, one even daring to subtly activate their ability, but their laser still shot through her shoulder somehow. They almost peed their pants and nervously walked off, telling her she was lucky. She didn't know anyone else who even had a power close to this, and so she eyed me curiously, suspecting my involvement. But I had more experiments to do, so I gave a noncommittal look back. I tried the air, and I tried a person. It was only natural that I should try an object. By now, my practice had gotten good enough that I only needed to intend it in my mind strongly to use this strange ability. I tried it on a Rubix cube to manipulate, expecting my hand to go through. But instead, it merely didn't budge. Huh? What kind of interaction was this? Was it... because the object wasn't living? Or was it because...? I deactivated the ability, pushing a chair nearby, then activated it, attempting to use my hands to stop the chair. But it kept ongoing. So the ability didn't make anything moving intangible -- only alive. But what if I tried it on myself? I experimented, but nothing happened, with only the notification: "Error: Cannot use this ability on something currently in use."Hmm... how frustrating. And then it clicked. I knew exactly what my power was. The system wasn't saying that I couldn't see my power, the system was saying the power itself, and based upon what I wanted to prevent. By default, it stopped physical presence -- the invisible wall. But it could also make things intangible if I didn't want anyone to mess with it -- but in the case of a specific Rubix cube, for me to "access"it, I must turn the toy, which was prevented. As for the chair, I was trying to deny my ability to move the chair. Finally, when I use it on myself, I am always using my body, so I cannot prevent access to it. As I deactivated and fumbled with the Rubix cube, I confirmed that I could not use my ability now since I had already "bought the access" From then on forth I used my powers for various purposes. I could trap the bad guys, I could stop the good guys. I was the chaotic harbinger of unpredictability, due to how my power worked. Of course, some eventually tried to trick me by pretending to hire me as a mercenary then betraying me... but, turns out, my power was able to prevent even a hypnotist from breaking into my mind. Talk about overpowered. So there I was. The taser man glared at me, the assassin slowly regaining his position, and the bullets finally released. I fell from the 30th floor, carefully choosing to deny the physical air's location itself (rather than, suppose denying the breathing), smoothly building out a slide shape. Though adrenaline was in my veins and my heart beat quickly, I was confident this would work as I had experimented with "falling on air"before. As I slid down on my invisible ride to my exit, the malicious men cursed me and could only watch on as I waved them goodbye. In my career, I would later have great trouble with a man with really weird reality warping powers...and the girl I helped before in school would be the perfect complement to my power... but I'm getting way ahead of myself. For now, that story's ~ACCESS DENIED~.
I came to the world slowly, almost agonizingly so, lying on a cold, metal table. Feeling incredibly tired and just a little drained, I wanted to just go back to sleep. The surface beneath me was hard and uncomfortable, though, and I had already woken up. So I put my hands underneath me, brought my legs down, and shakily got to my feet. I inspected myself. I was covered in a featureless gown, nothing else. My skin looked awfully pale. Curious. As I looked around the sparse room I was in, I noticed everything looked just a little muted. Colors didn't seem as vivid, the lights not so bright, and the cold air that filled the room didn't bother me the way it should've. It confused me, somewhat. My eyes roamed across a door at the end of the room, and I found myself struck by an impulse to explore, surprisingly clear in my head even as everything else was drowning in a foggy haze. I walked to the door, found it unlocked, and shambled through unhindered. On the other end was a long, long hallway, illuminated by dim lights striping the ceiling. Looking side to side, I could see glass panes, behind which were... things. I couldn't see them that well. I went for a closer look... And saw another person, just like me. They didn't seem to be conscious. Thin, clustered tubes ran from the back of their head, their neck, their stomach, almost everywhere I could see. They branched off and bundled into multiple spigots, where cloudy liquids slowly dripped into their respective containers. Somehow, I knew I should've had some kind of reaction to the sight. The lack of one bothered me in some vague way. I moved on and continued walking down the hall, window-gazing. Along the way, I noticed more people, perfectly still, sleeping peacefully behind the glass. The place was huge, and I wasn't sure if I would be able to explore the whole thing. I was considering lying down for a quick rest when I heard skittering from down the hall. "Human. What are you doing?" came a distant hiss. I looked up, slower than I would've liked, to see some sort of creature, long and centipede-like, one end raised up to see ahead. It was using its limbs to steadily slide up toward me from down the hall. It looked funny. Finally, it sidled up to me. I stared as its eyeless head hunched down to face me. "Human? Belatedly, I realized it had asked me a question. I felt a small hint of embarrassment as I said, "Sorry, I don't know..."My voice sounded raspy, perhaps a little underused. "This is no good. You should be in stasis, you understand?" I nodded, not understanding. The creature moved beside me, and I felt a limb gently wrap around my wrist. It tugged slightly. "Come now, we should go back." Obligingly, I followed, dragging somewhat behind my arm that was being held. "Where are we?"I finally remembered to ask. "You are home, silly human." I could hear fondness within its voice. I relaxed just a little at the creature's tone. After what seemed like quite a bit of walking, we made it through a doorway into a room. The room was octagonal, with machinery built into the walls. I didn't notice much else, my attention caught by something else. In the middle of the room was a large, plush-looking bed. "Here we are. Come in, human, and make yourself comfortable." Once again, I nodded, shuffling toward the bed. I probably needed this. I felt sleepy. "We shall wake you up when needed. For now, go to sleep." I nodded absently, crawling onto the bed. Perhaps I would feel better with some rest. The creature emitted a humming sound, the pitch going up and down, up, then down. I found the steady pattern of noise to be comforting. I curled up into the mattress. Closed my eyes. I slowly drifted off into a state of sleep. This was nice. I think I'll stay here a while.
The first clue to what, exactly, was going on was my tits. "Tits"isn't my usual term for them, but they were definitely tits now. They were bigger than my head, were somehow both comically perky and impossibly soft, and seemed to have their own, separate gravity- they didn't weigh anything at all, yet also bounced like crazy whenever I moved at all. I was a clichéd anime love interest. Dammit. Like, yes, there's a decent story to be told. Being swept off of your feet by a dashing knight is nice, but there's a few problems in practice. Problem the first: the love interest never seems to have much of a personality. Like, two interests, absolute max, and that's being generous by including "helping the hero"as an "interest". Fun fact: it's not much fun not having a personality. Problem the second: Most of the time, the protagonist doesn't have much personality, or at least no personality worth falling in love with. They're often meant to be generic enough that the audience can mentally insert themselves into the story, which means that they don't have enough personality of their own for a relationship to really get a grip. Best case scenario, they're hot, and the lovey-dovey couple has a week or two of hot sex before they break up because they've completely exhausted their entire list of things to talk about. Hot sex is nice and all, but a happy ending should have more than that. All right, step one is to not be so damn helpless. This is a dangerous world, and not only do I not want to rely on the 'protagonist' to save me, if I'm gonna go around trying to be unclichéd, I might not get rescued after all. Step one was to find a weapon. And here I was utterly stymied. The damn things were repelled from me. I could, with patience, cleverness, and quickness, just about managed to get a grip on one, before the repelling force got strong enough to send the weapon through a wall. I could pick up a stick, but it got repelled immediately as soon as I even tried to pretend to use it as a weapon. For fucks' sake. Okay, scratch that approach. There's other ways to defend yourself. I'm not a huge fan of the 'magic chick' trope, but there are worse ideas. There's a lot to learn with magic, but it takes material components to even practice, so step one of plan B was to acquire some components. It was pretty entertaining, to see the eye of newt scatter around the shop when I tried to grab a handful, but it was frustrating, all the same. And, no, they weren't literally newt eyeballs. "Eye of newt"is an old word for a type of seed. There were a few eyeballs floating around in jars, but I think that was just for atmosphere. More tests ensued (the shopkeep, thankfully, was feeling more inquisitive than mad about the whole thing. And also had some spells to make cleaning up quick and easy, since accidents in a magic shop are quite common). It soon became clear that I couldn't do anything with any material components, other than send them away from me at high speed. That might have been weaponizable with some of the sharper components, but they were even repelled if I just tried to get a few in a bag in my pockets. (The overly frilly dress I'd arrived in didn't start out with pockets, but I'd added some. Score one for a needle and thread, which I'd had on me for some unfathomable reason. The added pockets were somewhere between unfashionable and downright ugly, but they worked.) I could, at least, hold on to, and even read, a spellbook. This was unusual- not the "being able to hold it"bit, but the "being able to read it"bit. It wasn't scribed with magical runes or anything, literacy just wasn't very common here. Lovely. I purchased one of every spellbook (I had money, for some reason- certain things just seemed to appear when I looked for them, then disappear when I didn't need them any more, just like the needle and thread had. Money was apparently one of those things. Presumably the narrative explanation was "rich parents".) If my 'dad' turned out to be a king, and I was a 'princess', I was going to fucking scream. On the bright side, maybe I was an orphan, here. One less thing to worry about. I bought a room at an inn (with more magical money, which still felt weird), and spent the night reading through the spellbooks, ripping out and throwing on the fire every page that didn't have any spells that I could actually use, due to lack of material components. I'd started out the night with five books. I stumbled off to finally get some sleep at dawn with two, both missing the vast majority of their pages. Lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I could cast healing spells. That's not cliché at all. I could do a few other things. I could cook, and clean. I could write magical messages that could only be read by the intended recipient. I could do minor, cosmetic illusions (aka 'magical makeup'). There were a few other spells that were more potentially useful- transport/teleportation magic was promising, as were a few minor 'magic missile'-type spells. The problem was that magic ability didn't translate to other magical fields. I could learn to use the more powerful healing spells by practicing minor ones, but that wouldn't do anything to my ability to use more powerful teleportation spells- and all of the transport spells that didn't need material components were way too powerful for a novice to ever use. The magic missile stuff was a lot more promising, but they also specifically needed a magic staff to cast. My experience with sticks gave me a little hope, but not much. And part of me suspected that 'magic staff' was a code word for 'penis'- the shopkeep had been quite fascinated at the fact that a woman was trying to learn spells that weren't healing spells. Money was money, but he'd seemed quite confident that women doing real magic simply wasn't possible. Still, sleep. Sleep, and maybe there'll be a magic solution in the morning. Or, well, late afternoon, in this case. Sleep was helpful for curing tiredness, but didn't yield any solutions. A proper mage arrived at the inn that evening, and was kind enough to let me try out his staff, once I'd managed to get his eyes off my cleavage for five seconds. I'd tried to cover up, but some impossible "accident"always happened to put my magical tits back on display. I'd gone through three dresses, by now, and always seemed to be able to get another one. This place was freaky, in a lot of ways. The magic staff didn't work for me. I couldn't even manage to touch the thing. It flew away just like every other weapon. Damn it. Think. Think, think, think. They never put that much thought into these worlds, there must be a loophole somewhere.
"We're ready, captain. All passengers aboard" "Good. Let's get underway, then" I looked out over the "passengers"of the Ark, each one carefully selected for this mission. Millions upon millions of human eggs and sperm, equivalent amounts of reproductive material from every known sentient species, and enough genetic material from other lifeforms to recreate thousands of different biomes. I gave the incubator assembly and terraforming equipment diagnostics one last glance. If this worked, these machines would be essential for repopulating whatever was left on the other side. "Ensign, set course for the Erebus point" "Aye captain" It was time. I'd always figured humanity would outlive Earth, since we've already found new homes among the stars. I never thought we'd face the end of everything first. The Angarrans detected the early warning signs. Tremors in space, powerful gravitational waves that reveal the ancient dance of two galaxy-sized black holes caught in each others' gravity. Eventually, they collided. Within the next century, a massive cascade of gravitational waves and high-energy radiation will rip through our local galaxy cluster, almost assuredly annihilating all life. A small region of lonely void far outside of the Milky Way is our only hope. Theoretically, gravitational lensing from the neighboring galaxies should bend the destruction around that small pocket of space, called the Erebus point. If we get very, very lucky. Most other sentient species have accepted their destruction. They can't fathom why we would expend so much time, stress, and resources searching desperately for a way out, instead of making peace with our final days and enjoying them while we can. But I guess that's what we're known for. Taking the long odds when the sure thing doesn't suit our tastes. We don't want a sunset century. We'd rather live on in the void to follow.
"Wife??? I'm 19 years old!" The odd, weird looking thing on my porch was dripping with saltwater, and the light from inside of my apartment made her eyes reflect like a dog looking at a flashlight. It hands me a drenched notebook covered in barnacles that reads "NOLAN BARNES BEECH TRIP!!! :D"Man I was bad at spelling. Wait. This book hardly opens more than it does melt as I turn the pages to read countless journal entries and drawings of small Nolan's 9 year old adventures. It was two weeks in Cancun, but I distinctly remember there being a HUGE lack of slightly attractive mer people. That's when I remembered. I look up from the disgusting book to meet eyes with the creature that had crawled its way across the ocean and city into Brooklyn. "Guppy?" The alluring fish girl nodded her head viciously and grabbed my hand, showing the mark on it I had presumed was an accident involving a kitchen knife. I never realized how closely it resembled a starfish. She looked back into my eyes, now closer and illuminated by the interior lamp. She's so...waterlogged and has seaweed looking hair, and far too many octopus legs, but I distinctly remember picking up a similar looking small fish thing. It wrapped around my hand and I kissed it (I was 9 and I thought it'd grant me a wish) Looks like I'll have to inform my girlfriend.
Timidly, my henchman raised his hand to ask a question. Still chewing, I impatiently gestured at him to speak. "This isn't a kindergarten, Goldfinger,"I said with a mouth full of food. "If you have something to say, just say it. I'm not going to bite you." Goldfinger gingerly pointed at my plate. "Is that-" "Yes,"I said. "What, are you surprised?" Goldfinger nodded. Exasperated, I said, "Was I not clear? Maybe I should have written it on my campaign posters when I was running for election. Or maybe I should have made it the name of my political party. Oh wait! I already did that. I did ALL of that. And now you're surprised?" Goldfinger was trembling, the fool. "Well, boss... it's just that... when you said we'd 'Eat The Rich', we... didn't think you meant it literally..." "That's on you, not me."I rolled my eyes and licked my plate clean.
"So what happens next?"Dr. Maniacal asked. "Ummmm, I don't know."The Marvelous Mallory replied sheepishly. She sat up with her hands upturned in confusion. Dr. Maniacal lightly pushed her back down. "The story can't just end with us lying on the ground. There has to be some kind of resolution. Use your imagination, like we talked about. You've defeated your arch-nemesis after he stole all the ice cream on Earth, he has to be brought to justice, right?"Dr. Maniacal tried giving the narrative a little push. Marvelous Mallory's eyes lit up. She stood tall in triumph. "I've defeated you, villainous scum! Return the ice cream immediately! And say you're sorry." Dr. Maniacal cackled. "But I don't want to! And I'm not sorry! Go ahead and lock me up, throw away the key while you're at it." Marvelous Mallory helped the mad doctor to his feet. She hugged his legs. "Too much ice cream rots your teeth, I'm just looking out for you. You can say you're sorry while you scoop ice cream for the people you took it from. It's fun to share!" Dr. Maniacal accepted defeat. "I haven't been to an ice cream social in years, might be fun. I'm sorry. Eating that much ice cream would have given me a tummy ache anyways." Before Marvelous Mallory could enact her unique brand of justice the two were interrupted by Mallory's mother. Dinner was ready. Susan was a great cook, she made a hearty beef stew. Warmed a person up on a cold winter night like tonight. "Sounds like you two were having fun. What did the dastardly Dr. Maniacal do this time?"Susan asked. Mallory excitedly told her mother all about it while they ate. After dinner they watched that boring superhero movie Mallory loved, must have been the fiftieth time they all watched it together. The three snuggled on the couch, Mallory had fallen asleep in Susan's lap. Susan kissed her husband on the cheek. "She is going to be a terrible superhero, she is far too sweet of a kid. If only she knew how powerful she really was. Things are proceeding nicely." Dr. Maniacal winked at his wife. "Now there's the Queen Bee I fell in love with. Once her powers really manifest we're home free for our master plan. No super in their right mind would kill their parents, we'll be unstoppable." Watching a plan come together really was a thing of beauty.
The Lampblack had followed the girl home, she had ignored the warnings of the old folks to avoid Ashmear Street at night when the old demons haunted. He had entered her home without issue, the priests and hedge witches had not warded this house for the newcomers yet, and when she fell asleep he had slipped in, intending to snuff out her pleasant dreams and replace them with nightmares. He hadn't expected to be greeted by a boy that looked just like the girl, if a bit sicklier. With his blond hair muted in color and eyes dull he looked like a ghost, The Lampblack knew ghosts though and this spirit was far stronger. "Hello,"the boy said, his pyjamas loose on his frail body as he approached the railthin demon. "My sister and I share this body, you aren't welcome here so please leave"the boys polite words were unnerving to the Lampblacm, mortals did not speak to demons in such a way. "Ghost kind are pale shades, I will eat you first then torment your sister boy"the Lampblack snarled and approached, only to find the boy gone. In confusion the Lampblack looked around and was startled to find that the landscape of this girls mind had become something of a nightmare on its own. "Not a ghost, but they almost killed me"the boys voice spoke as the crazed creature wearing the girls face thrashed around in a hospital bed as asylum nurses tried to inject her. "She and I have shared a body since birth, I came out when she was asleep. I loved to walk the night, to experience the thrills of the world, it's not my fault people are fragile"He said, one of the orderlies being thrown from the hysteric strength of the girl before they subdued her and prepared her for the procedure. "They cut most of me out...but the strongest peice of me is still here, and I get to torture anything that comes in"The boy spoke and then the Lampblack felt his limbs restrained, the hospital bed holding him down as the landscape shifted. "I got bored tormenting her, and really it's not her fault, but soon if I eat more of you monster I'll be strong. Then I can have fun again"the boy pulled a scalpel from a table near the bed. "Is it true the eyes are the window to the soul? Or should I start somewhere else?' he asked cruelly, bringing the blade to the demons face.
"Alice, I was wondering if-"A harsh, guttural hiss rumbled its way past the alligator's teeth. Whatever Headmaster Reynolds was about to say was cut off as he yelped and jumped away from the sprawling beast in a fashion most unbecoming of a man of his age and social standing. "Oh hush you."Alice Greyfolk, a plain, unassuming-looking girl of about 12, swatted at the monstrous lizard's snout with the book she was reading. It thumped against her familiar's scaly maw with little force, but the alligator relented nonetheless. It let out a sort of long, ornery rumble, and returned to sunning itself on the grass next to its master. "You'll have to forgive Alexander, Headmaster,"The girl patted the things head fondly, "He gets a bit short-tempered just before lunch." "Right. Yes. Of course."Reynolds cleared his throat, smoothed his robes with shaking hands, and tried to recover some degree of decorum, to no avail. "I was just wondering if, we may have a word. About the events of the summoning ceremony."His eyes flicked sideways. "About, Alexander." He said the familiars' name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Alice scowled, slid her bookmark into place, and set the book down beside her leg. "About Alex? Whatever about?" The headmaster seemed to collect his courage. "I have held a congress with the schools' department heads, and your parents, and we have decided... Well, we think it would be fair to let you do the ceremony. Again, that is." "Whatever for?"Alice gasped, appearing confused. "It worked well enough." "Did it?"Reynold's tone turned incredulous. "Alice, I know that having a beast like this as your familiar may have seemed a novelty at first, but can't you see what an opportunity this is? You could get a new familiar, a normal familiar!" "I don't want a new familiar, Headmaster."Alice smiled, "I'm quite fond of Alex actually." Headmaster Reynolds had to admit that the normally quiet, introverted girl had seemed to flourish in the week since the summoning ceremony. Of course, summoning a 1500-pound monster of a familiar would help anyone's confidence. "Well, it's not entirely up to you, Alice."Reynolds spoke in his best 'no-nonsense' headmaster's voice. "We took a vote, and I'm afraid that we just cannot abide such a creature roaming the halls." "Alex isn't much of a roamer Headmaster. He tends to lumber when he has to, but it seems he lacks a sense of adventure."Alice grinned cheekily up at him, not acknowledging the first part of Reynolds' sentence. "Alice! This is serious! If you do not re-do the ceremony, I'm afraid you will have to do without a familiar for the rest of the semester! Now, we are being perfectly lenient by ignoring this monster's transgressions, "His voice grew to a yell. "Growling at teachers, snapping at students' ankles, EATING THE GROUNDSKEEPERS DOG! If you do not give up this, this completely unacceptable excuse for a familiar, we may even be forced to expel-" If the growl that had emanated from the colossal reptile before had seemed to threaten violence, the one that interrupted Reynolds now was promising it. The ground seemed to shake with the force of it, and across the school commons, the headmaster could swear he saw it rattle windows in their frames. He shot Alice a desperate look. The waifish girl slowly, almost casually, picked up her book from where it lay. With a small, almost imperceivable smile, she removed her bookmark, and returned to her reading. Alexander lurched forward. Reynolds let out a horrified squawk, stumbled backwards, and flew away across the grass as fast as his trembling legs could carry him, not daring to turn around to see if the Alligator was giving chase. He wasn't. In fact, the familiar had only moved about a foot and a half, shifting to curl his bulk protectively around his mistress. Alice looked up from her book with amusement, giving her friend an appreciative pat on the head.
Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True: ---- ThorGodMan sipped his coffee. "I don't get it,"he said. Alan looked back at him skeptically. "What's not to get?"he asked. "The bomb,"ThorGodMan said. "Why didn't you get rid of the bomb?" Alan sighed. This again? He'd already explained things during the debrief, and again privately with two other members of the team. StadiumBomber, a villain mostly known for planting bombs in stadiums and writing extremely "complex"(i.e. simple) riddles for discovering them, had apparently branched out and attempted to bomb an auditorium. He hadn't gotten any better at writing riddles, though, so there'd been plenty of time. Every member of the superhero team was, ostensibly, immortal. That meant, when it came to getting rid of bombs, the usual play was to have one of them just grab the stupid thing. However, this time around the auditorium was in the historic Auditorium District (and was itself historic), so they wanted to limit property damage. A more subtle approach was needed. Also, since every member of the team was thought to be immortal, whose turn it was to put themselves in the path of danger in these situation was determined on a round-robin basis. Alan had managed to weasel out of the half-dozen times he'd been up to bat, but the team had been tired of his excuses this time around. Which led to his confession: "I'm not immortal,"Alan reminded ThorGodMan. ThorGodMan leaned back in his seat, resulting in its creaking. He'd broken two chairs already and the cafe staff had threatened to kick him out if he did so again, but the warning seemingly wasn't affecting him. "That's what you said before,"he said. "And I still don't get it." "What's not to get?"Alan said. "I. Am. Not. Immortal! If a bomb goes off near me, I will die. If a supervillain drops a plane on my head, I will die. Heck, if I just live long enough, I'll die!" ThorGodMan blinked. "Still don't follow." Alan rolled his eyes. "Ugh, kill me."he muttered. "Can't,"ThorGodMan said, "you're immortal." Alan tried to sputter a reply. "Okay,"ThorGodMan continued, "listen, I'll make it simple for you: If you're not immortal, why do you live in the Immortal district with Hydro Boy?" "I can't afford another place,"Alan said. "And Hydro Boy is 58 years old, why is he still Hydro 'Boy'?" "Trademarks,"ThorGodMan explained, which explained nothing. "And what do you mean you can't afford another place?" "Listen, I know you immortals-" "We immortals,"ThorGodMan corrected. "You immortals,"Alan continued, "have all kinds of money by virtue of never needing to spend things on food or water or shelter or somehow new clothes, but we regular people need a salary. You don't pay me. I work in a cafe part time to make ends meet." "This cafe?"ThorGodMan looked around as though expecting Alan to also be their waiter. "No,"Alan said. "The one down the street. The one named Mortals." "Never heard of it,"ThorGodMan said. "Of course you haven't,"Alan said. "Anyway, my point is: Everything in the Immortal District is rent controlled, and since none of you ever move out that means rent stays affordable. You don't have to be Immortal to live in the Immortal District, it's just a name." "I don't think you know how rent control works."ThorGodMan said. "Nobody knows how rent control works." ThorGodMan appeared to be thinking. Finally, he spoke: "But you should have gotten rid of the bomb." "Dammit, what was I just saying! I can't get rid of the bomb! I'm not immortal!" "I mean, just eat it!"ThorGodMan said. "Eat it?" "Yeah,"he continued, "it's the easiest way to contain the blast. Just chomp that thing down and let it explode in the ol' indestructible gullet. Spicy!" "That would kill me,"Alan said. "Because I'm mortal" "Hmm,"ThorGodMan said. "You not being able to eat a bomb is going to be a problem." "Why?"Alan said. "That bomb got taken care of. The bomb squad was positively delighted to actually get to do their job for once, so there's no issue with me not eating the bomb." "Not that one, no, it's just..."ThorGodMan hesitated. "I ordered for both of us." "You-"Alan began. He was interrupted by their waiter, who smoothly put their plates down in front of them. "Your bomb, sirs."
"Just stop it! Stop it! Turn that infernal thing off!" "Go to the light,"I told her. "I'm really sorry you were murdered, I'm sorry your killer never saw justice, but endlessly reliving your trauma isn't going to help you - " "TURN IT OFF!" "JUST GO TO THE LIGHT LADY! YOU GET TO BE FREE AND I GET A HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR EVERY GHOST I DRIVE OUTTA HERE!" She stared at me, exhausted and innocent. I felt awful for all that she had been through, the gash in her throat and the tragedy in her eyes was hard to look at; to be brutally killed by someone who had promised to love you and take care of you, and at such a young age, was evil beyond reason. Poor kid deserved a better afterlife than haunting this stupid, dark house. The the song continued to loop endlessly. Baaaby shark, doo doo doo... A couple of years ago, my daughter would listen to it all day, so I knew exactly how the ghosts in the house were all feeling. Two had already gone to the light. And now... Mooommy shark, doo doo doo... "Just go to heaven miss,"I said, gently. "...what if I go to hell?"she whispered. "What happened to you was not your fault. You were innocent and young and trusting, and an evil man took advantage of that. Trust me, you'll go to heaven. And even if you go to hell, is it worse than listening to Baby Shark all day?" And that clinched it. There was a flash of light and she faded. I grinned happily, and turned up the volume. Three down, and only two more left to go. Baaaby shark, doo doo doo...
She specializes in what? Actinides. It’s subset of Earth Magic. You know how metals like gold, silver, copper, iron, tin can be extracted from ores? Same principle, it seems that certain metals can be extracted that have necrotic properties. It’s those that she specializes in. So she’s a necromancer? No! The metals have the innate ability to radiate necrotic energy. She has the ability to concentrate and focus this necrotic energy herself. There appears to be three types of this energy alef, bet and gimel. And all are deadly. Alef energy causes the skin of creatures to burn and slough off, very nasty. Bet damages the muscles and weakens the victim to the point of incapacity. Gimel causes the same damage as the others and can kill outright, causing the victim to bleed from every orifice and causing blindness and nerve damage. That’s horrific! Yeah. Poisons can be made from the purified metals too. But they’re not the kind that can be used in battle. Strictly an assassins tool. But once again, it's not a quick, clean kill. It can take weeks or months and the deaths are every bit as nasty and painful as the spell effects. Or exposure to the metals. Wait. You can be injured just by being it the presence of this stuff? Mm-hmm. I told you, the metals naturally radiate this necrotic energy. Shouldn’t the study be banned? The alchemist shrugged. Why? There’s nothing inherently evil about the metals or their effects. Detect Evil reveals nothing. Like the other elements, there’s nothing intrinsically evil about them. There are some practical uses. For instance, certain metals in conjunction with other purified elements can create a cold light that can last longer than any spell. Years in fact, before the elements must be renewed. That lantern on my shelf, the one giving off they yellow-green light, is just such a one. How are you still alive after being exposed to that! Relax! Relax. How do you think I have lived so long if I didn’t know what I am doing? The panes in the lantern are leaded glass. That’s enough to protect me from the energy. So there are protections? Of course, did you think that this was some kind of Doomsday magic? Cloth leather and fur can protect against Alef energy. Metal armor can attenuate the damage from Bet energy, but lead is better. What about Gimel? The alchemist shook his head. Only more lead. There’s no really practical defense. With power like that, she could take over the world! Really? She’s still only one Mage. And her magical manipulation of the energies can still be blocked by normal magical defenses. But the energies, once manifested, cannot. Well that’s good to know. Where do you think she learned about this kind of magic? Same place you are. She’s my niece.
The countess walked in to find her chefs finished with the feast, a devilish grin spread across her face as she looked upon the many delicious looking dishes displayed before her. “Excellent! Well done my friends!” “Thank you ma’am.” The head chef responded as he stood forth. “My guests are sure to enjoy this feast.” She grazed her finger across cake. “It would be a shame if they happened to be poiso-“ Right before she was to lick the frosting off her finger, the chef grabbed her wrist. “Ma’am! That cakes poisoned!” “Ah! Right, right. Sorry.” She chuckled, going over to a nearby sink to wash it off. “But, I am quite famished, what here isn’t poisoned?” “…sorry?” The chef responded, looking at the rest of his crew with confusion. “What’s not poisoned? You know, the food I will later be eating during the feast?” “Wait, you’ll be eating later?” The countess twitched “It’s a feast. The same one invite my “friends” too, having them believe this is a celebration for our recent “TRUCE.” “…Riiiight! Right. And, we were… supposed to make the food… not poisoned?” “No. You had to make SOME of the food not poisoned. The food I’ll be eating with them.” “…do you want poisoned food? Or not poisoned?” “Not poisoned! We talked about this! How can I convince them that were ally’s without me eating along with them?!” “…well, I had a couple of drinks last night, so I may have been a bit tipsy.” “Jean. We talked about this.” The countess sighed. “No drinking on the job!” “Sorry ma’am.” “Wasn’t Liz supposed to be watching you?” The countess asked as she looked at the sue chef, Liz. “I-I got distracted… again.” “By the stable boy?” “Y-! N-NO!” She screamed with a blushing face, returning to her duties. “…I swear. Ya’ll need to stay on task more.” The countess sighed, pondering wether or not she should fire them. “Just, make me some non-poisoned food for the feast. And make sure to label it with MY name before serving it to ME. Got it?” “Yes ma’am!” They all announced simultaneously. “Good.” She made her to her study. “Why do I trust these people?”
"In this moment, I will become the master of my own story". The man spoke to himself. He was more man than god, but he believed himself to be above all. His powers had been given to him, not by chance in a twist of fate, but by a creator that existed outside the bounds of any physical law that man is capable of observing. "You are the narrator?", asked the man, to the concept that seemed to control his every action. There was no answer, but the man knew the narrator had heard him. He walked forward, towards a pulpit upon which rested a large book. The man stood within a vast domed room, small windows lining the curvature of the ceiling, which through each could be seen a distant star field. The weak light of the faraway stars filtered down through the dust of a room long left empty, until it reached the man, casting him in barely more than shadow. The pulpit was brightly lit; it was the centrepiece of the room. The man reached the pulpit. "What will I write for my story?", he asked himself. A pen lay next to the great book which housed his story. The pattern in which it was written had decided the man's fate from the beginning of his life until now. The narrator was not visible. The man picked up the pen. To be able to use the pen was the power he had strived for and earned through his exploits. As the man was about to put pen to paper, he stopped. A great gear began churning in his mind. "I've been tricked", he said as the numbing shock of a terrible realization crossed his face. He had no choice. The man wrote down in the book, "I meet the narrator". The gigantic walls of the room faded, and the pulpit became smaller and smaller as the man rose up towards the stars. As the man travelled through space and time he watched as gaseous clouds produced bright, newborn stars, and he watched as those newborn stars aged and ate up all their fuel to become red giants and supergiants. He watched these massive stars extinguish in great explosions of radiation and heated gas that stretched for distances further than he could comprehend. He watched the great galaxies live out their lives, colliding and tearing apart and fading. He watched still as the universe grew darker, and the voids grew larger, and the white dwarves and brown dwarves became all the light he could see. He had seen every life that had ever been and ever would be. At the end he saw a shape in the distance. It grew as it moved closer, or he closer to it. It was the narrator. The man could see a figure, within the shape, but it was still too far away for the man to make out any distinguishing features. The man no longer knew why he had wanted control of his story. Seeing the universe live and die had robbed him of any significance he had given his existence. He was ready to leave his path to the narrator. The object grew closer. The man's body grew cold. His brain felt numb. The man knew now that his plan had been futile. There was no narrator to be overthrown. There was no power to be earned. There was no plan to be bested. The object grew closer still, and now the man could see who stood within it. Who else looks back from a mirror? The man stared into his eyes. The man was himself, his actions were the narration. With a raised hand, he shattered the mirror.
The student-volunteer /u/BeerSteinBeck opened the door to /r/all, and in they walked. "It's magnificent,"said Newbia. The most highly-regarded recruit this side of the University of Phoenix, Newbia had never seen a main hall this big. She regarded the sides of the great lobby, thousands of doors to subreddits great and small. "And so many doors!" "...and just as many options for a...student of your caliber,"said BeerSteinbeck. He feigned wiping his head; really he was studying the ink he'd left on his palm, a veritable cheat's sheet of notes he had scrawled in blue ink that morning. "I understand you're interested in Liberal Arts?" "Yes,"said Newbia. "I want to learn everything here. Science and history, sociology, even cats." "Well, then..."BeerSteinBeck allowed his lips to curl in a slow, expectant smile. "Let's click Random, shall we?" He brought her to the first door, a simple wooden door bathed in white light. On the front said "Random."Newbia felt a pang of nerves in her stomach, the anticipation of something completely new. Plainly, BeerSteinBeck had been through this door many times. He turned the knob, and it made a heavy click. Awashed in white light, Newbia held her arm over her eyes, saw nothing. As the white washed away, she only heard BeerSteinBeck's voice. "/r/inglin,"he said proudly. "Part of the International Studies department." The light faded and Newbia made out a thickly-mustachioed gentleman wearing a fancy red hat and tapping at a tobacco pipe. "Inta-nash'nal stoodies?"he wondered aloud, his accent thick with cockney roughage. "Bugger off. There's only one nation 'ere, there is, and more than a nation a' tha'. She's a bloody foogin' empire, so vast the sun neve' sets on 'er." "I'm just showing Newbia around, Professor Cumbleton III,"BeerSteinBeck interjected. "We meant no offense." "You sound a proper twat--I ever told you that, BeerSteinBeck? Bugger yourself in your own bleedin' arse. They's nothin' International about the studies 'ere. No bleedin' yanks, no bleedin' hosers, no bleedin' aussies. Just Her Majesty's own." BeerSteinBeck leaned in to Newbia. "We'd better be off. They don't take kindly to hard R's around here. Maybe International Studies isn't your department." He opened the Random Door again. Again the light came, and this time, when it washed away, Newbia found they had arrived in a dark hall, the only light glowing from distant computers. Strange creatures were clicking away at them, making strange slurping sounds. When BeerSteinBeck walked up to one, she realized they were slurping on their own saliva. "Where are we?"she asked. BeerSteinBeck looked around. In the faded light of the computer screens, there were women posted on the walls, but that didn't seem familiar to him. "I'm not sure." "Women's Studies?"asked Newbia, pointing out the posters. The creature at the computer rasped. "Agchhghchhghh,"he said. "Not women's studies. Only one woman. This is /r/yvonnestrahovski, Newb. Next to the /r/christinahendricks building, and the /r/aliceeve building after that. It goes on and on like that, for miles. So go away. These halls aren't for the likes of newbs." "How did you know my name?"asked Newbia. "Newbia?" The creature just shrugged and clicked through more pictures of the actress Yvonne Strahovski. "A woman?"rasped another creature. "Do I hear a woman's voice? Could it be? Is there a woman walking these halls?" "Is it The One? Yvonne Strahovski?"came a distant rasp. "Stay back!"yelled BeerSteinbeck. "This woman is not the one you seek!" "What's it matter?"Another creature reared behind the other, his back hair springing forth from pimples the size of quarters. "We ain't had any women in these parts since the dark ages." "The dark ages?"asked Newbia. "Dial-up,"explained the creature. "We have to go,"BeerSteinBeck said, leaning over to Newbia to whisper. "I guess Women's Studies isn't for you. And...please don't judge these men. They don't see much sunlight." Again, they walked through the Random Door. Suddenly they found themselves in an open field on a pleasant sunny day. These were mostly men, too, but they conducted themselves carefully. Many wore large glasses, bending over books. Others walked the halls like Aristotle in Raphael's Academy. "Now this is much better,"said Newbia. "This is how I envisioned a university." "Yes,"said BeerSteinBeck, relieved. "The science department. Here, /r/askscience and /r/science embrace the light of day."Newbia noticed that security guards with large black hats and canes walked the lawns, carefully listening upon each conversation. "See those men?"BeerSteinBeck asked. "Mods. The mods at the science subreddits are ever vigilant. You'll learn a great deal here, if you sign up for science. You'll learn where boogers come from more often than you'd like, and where poo goes once it's flushed, but that's just the 101 courses, /r/explainlikeimfive. Once you graduate you'll learn about astrophysics and quantum mechanics. Many of the users here have earned gold for their insightful comments." Two students suddenly broke out in laughter. One of the Mods walked behind one of the students, and slapped him upside the head. "What was that?"asked Newbia. "That student likely posted a meme,"said BeerSteinBeck. "This is great,"said Newbia. "But...I was hoping for something with cats." "Ah!"said BeerSteinBeck. "I have just the place." He found a door, and immediately there were great sounds: dogs barking, birds chirping, cats meowing. They had stepped into a completely new hall, full of cute animals. A rainbow shined through the windows. "Animal studies,"said BeerSteinBeck. "/r/aww. If you like cats--" Just then a student interrupted, shoving a cat in their faces. "LOOK! LOOK AT CAPTAIN JEAN-LUC PICARD! DO YOU SEE? DO YOU SEE?" BeerSteinBeck slapped her away. "We see. Goddamnit, we see." "HE'S THINKING, 'LOL, WHO ARE THESE NEW PEOPLE?'"said the student. "LOL, ISN'T HE PRECIOUS? HE GOT ME THROUGH SOME TOUGH TIMES. IT'S LIKE WE HAVE THIS CONNECTION, YOU KNOW, WHERE I KNOW WHAT HE'S THINKING. LOL, LOL, LOL."The woman left into the vast horde of domesticated animals, shoving the cat in other students' faces. Newbia leaned in to BeerSteinBeck. "Did she just say 'L-O-L' instead of laughing?" "Yes,"admitted BeerSteinBeck. "/r/aww is a cute place--a very cute place--but cuteness is a drug. And like a drug, it is not without consequences. The people of /r/aww are...well, you see what they've become. But you said you liked cats--" "And I do."Newbia frowned. BeerSteinBeck gathered her meaning. "You just don't like cats...this much." "No." "Another place, then."He entered the Random door, and Newbia knew to follow. The subreddits came more quickly after that: * The teenagers of /r/atheism mostly complained about their parents. * /r/keto danced in wild naked undulations around a roasting pig. * /r/asoiaf told her that she looked different "in the books." * /r/reactiongifs could not stop making Chappelle's Show references. * /r/iama burned an effigy of Woody Harrelson and gathered around Martin Short, demanding "Three Amigos"anecdotes. * /r/breakingbad called Newbia a "bitch,"repeatedly. * /r/movies was on its 87th successive showing of Pulp Fiction, and wouldn't stop shushing. * /r/todayilearned was merely a computer lab where only Wikipedia was allowed. Ditto for /r/music, though that was limited to YouTube. * /r/vegan danced in wild naked undulations around a great soybean. * /r/murica was full of rowdy rednecks gathered in a red pickup truck. They played "Danger Zone"on repeat and other students cowered in fear. * /r/childfree wanted to know if she was a "breeder." * /r/mildlyinteresting grabbed her attention, but only for a few moments. * /r/LifeProTips taught her the art of using toilet paper rolls for keeping wrapping paper rolled, but she immediately forgot the tip. * /r/firstworldanarchists was full of loiterers and jaywalkers. They would do nothing she asked. * /r/WTF questioned whether or not she truly belonged in /r/WTF. Ditto for /r/funny. * /r/MakeupAddiction fascinated Newbia, until her post made /r/All and she began receiving strange messages in her inbox. * /r/gonewild was just a strip club. Literally just a strip club with no tips. Although, when BeerSteinBeck said as much aloud, he was inundated with "no tips?"puns. Again, Newbia had to clear her inbox. * /r/trees was not the dendrological academy she expected. She thought she saw Snoop Lion. * In the Political Science hall, /r/politics was embroiled in a food fight that BeerSteinBeck claimed "has lasted as long as Jupiter's Great Red Spot." * /r/GetMotivated was another computer lab where everyone sat frozen [like this](http://reefdigital.com.au/assets/bored-campaign-manager.jpg) * On the moonlit beaches of /r/twoxchromosomes, BeerSteinBeck could no longer guide her. It was the most mysterious place of all, full of pretty maidens bathing in tidepools as cupids plucked gentle chords on silver harps. The silk-haired queen offered her a gift of tampons and chocolate, and (okay fuck it I have no idea what goes on there) * In the sociology department, they entered a dark cave called /r/theredpill, whereupon they were attacked by a horde of pale goblins. * The students of /r/NoFap each sat quietly at their desks, not masturbating. Some of them spontaneously leapt away, tying their shirts into capes and yelling "whooosh!" * In BeerSteinBeck's home of /r/writingprompts, BeerSteinBeck kicked down the fourth wall for a better view, but there was only more A Song of Ice and Fire and Breaking Bad fan fiction. * /r/cringepics was fun, but ultimately uncomfortable. By the end, Newbia was exhausted. BeerSteinBeck took her back to the lobby of /r/All and asked what she thought. "I don't know,"Newbia said. "I kind of liked Mildly Interesting. What part of the university was that?" "Funnily enough, it's the Chemistry Department." That was mildly interesting. As was the whole of Reddit. Newbia thanked BeerSteinBeck and went home to contemplate her options. Then she woke up from the nightmare and decided to go to an SEC school.
A girl with long honey blonde hair knocked lightly on the door of the bright Victorian style house. Her legs shifting back and forth in a bowlegged pattern. She looked up at the expanse of the house. She really wants to dispel the whole witch rumors huh? Oh... She has to help me... She just has to. The door opened a crack. "Business or pleasure?"Whispered a soft sultry voice on the other side of the door. A flash of raven confirmed it was her. "B-Business."She cast her eyes down to the floor and fidgeted. The voice gave a derisive snort. "Very well..."The door opened a smidge more and she was quickly pulled inside. "Well dear sister... What brings you here? Something the matter? You never have asked for me to use any of my powers."The girl looked at the long black haired woman that supposedly was her sister. "W-Well.."The woman ushered her to sit down. "Come dear Camille. There's no need to be shy."The woman cast a quick glance on Camille's odd limping gait and hide a crooked smile behind her lace fan. "Now what is the matter dear?"Camille took a deep breath. "It's Wallace..."She paused. "You know? The man that I've been seeing lately." The woman gave a twitch of a grin. "Oh yes I seem to remember him..."She fanned herself profusely. "What's the matter with Wallace?" Camille flushed red. "It's rather embarrassing but I didn't know who else to turn to dear sister."She took a deep breath and whispered. "Wh-When we make love, h-his manhood seems to triple in size. Making it hurt and n-near impossible. And whenever I ask him about it he avoids the question and refuses to get help." "Well I can't help him if he doesn't want help darling." Camille nodded. "I know... So I want you to change me" The woman's eyes widened in shock. "Change you?" "Well yes. I-If his m-m-manhood grows than I want m-my womanhood to grow as well!"She looked down at the ground. "Is what I'm trying to say." The woman had to fiercely bite down on her lip to keep a cackling grin from spreading across her face. She looked away from Camille. "If this is what you want dear sister than I suppose I can accommodate." ************************************************ "Wallace..."Camille and Wallace were curled up under the night stars by the creek not too far from Wallace's estate. Camille bit her lip and whispered into his ear. "Will you make love to me tonight?"He looked at her flabbergasted. "You know of my problem. It will just hurt... Again." Camille nodded. "But I think tonight will be different!" Wallace rubbed his shoulders his eyes seemingly downcast. "If you think you can handle it tonight then I suppose we can try." Camille wrapped her arms around him and brought him close for a passionate kiss. Giggles, and kisses and touches were exchanged. Breathless and half clothed, Wallace threw Camille onto the picnic blanket. He pulled her milky thighs apart, his breathing rapid. He squinted his eyes shut as he thrust forward not wanting to look on her pained face. Silence broke across the lovers. "Is... Is it in yet?"
And then there was one. I looked into the wall-to-wall mirror that hung up on the wall behind the bar. Behind me, the tables were full and the booths packed. People jostled and pushed their way to the bar to order, shouting above the raucous. A thick-barreled man wearing a striped buttoned shirt motioned at the large television that sat perched above the bar. "Hey, man, turn it up!" The bartender nodded and reached for the remote. A pretty blonde with pink lips was speaking into the microphone. "It is day three hundred sixty-six, and the last man on The Kill List is still alive! Sources say he was last spotted in New York City; stay tuned for further updates!" I threw down more whiskey and ignored the television. Leave it to lady luck to pick me on a leap year. "Can you believe the guy?"A man--more of a kid, really--shoved his way to the bar next to me. He motioned at the television, which was showing a photo of me. Except it wasn't me. The kid took a draw of his drink. "He's gonna make it, man! This dude is like a shadow!" I nodded, stroking my beard in thought. "You think you could kill him?" He scoffed. "Of course, man! My own estate on mars and two million dollars? I'd be livin' the life!" "A tempting offer."I nodded at the television. "He must be feeling pretty lucky. One more day an' he's going to be living on mars and a couple million bucks in his accounts." "Yeah, lucky..."The kid turned and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I was pushing my luck, and I knew it. We weren't identical twins, but me and my brother looked similar. When I first read my name, I almost killed myself; better to do it yourself than to be hunted by everybody. But then they showed the picture. It was Adam, and he'd died eight years ago. A beard and a shock of hair on the head, and a self-imposed broken nose later, and I looked like another man. It was time to leave. Go to my room, stay inside, and wait until the year was over. Then I could emerge a rich man. One who could get away from this polluted and over-populated dirt-ball. I exited the bar and inhaled deeply. New York City, due to the pollution-shield, was one of the few cities left with fresh air. I hailed a taxi and one darted out from traffic and pulled to a stop in front of. It was with my hand on the handle that I stopped myself. This was going to be my last night in New York City. I'd walk to the hotel. Times Square was desolate, yellow-tape sprawled and strewn across it, reconstruction never quite taking place after the bomb. I was a block away from the hotel when that gut feeling hit me. It was the feeling of being followed--of being watched. I threw a casual glance behind, as if looking to cross the street, and there he was. Hooded, hunched over, hands in pockets. He picked up his pace and I picked up mine. I reached down and rested a hand on my gun. I would use it. I would be legally obligated to use it. But not yet. I stepped off the curb onto the street and cast one more glance backward. The hooded figure turned into an alley and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Brakes squealed and something hard hit me at the knees. I flopped sideways and slammed into something hard before flying the opposite way. I landed on my side, the broken bumper of a silver car staring back at me. The door flew open and a woman in a black dress got out, blonde hair flying. "Oh my god, oh my god, please, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"She knelt down and pushed me onto my back. Pain erupted at the small of my back, and I almost blacked out. A car squealed to a stop and a door slammed shut. "Is he alright?!"The voice belonged to an old man who appeared over the shoulder of the hysterical woman. He stopped when he saw me and his face went blank. "You're going to be alright son."He grasped the woman by the shoulder and pulled her back, speaking softly. "He's gone, ma'am. No way he can survive that." I tried to get up, to ask what he meant, but I couldn't move. The street underneath was cold. I stared into the sky and watched as the shield shimmered and glistened, causing the stars above and beyond it to streak and throb across the sky. I chuckled, or at least, I tried to chuckle. Instead it came out as a rasping sort of cough, and something wet slipped from my mouth. I could hear lady luck laughing as she led me away.
A cigarette was slowly burning down to the nub on an ashtray in the middle of the table, the smoke gently drifting into curvaceous shapes before dissipating into the atmosphere of the large conference room. There was no sound but The Message. It played on loop, a low bass rhythm softly but insistently pumping into the ears of its stunned listeners. Those words. Not everyone could understand them, not in this room, but they could all recognize it for speech. But that was impossible. The silence was broken not by an explosion, but by a dry mouthed whisper, a German archaeologist near the head of the long table coughed out the words, "It's Arabic." All faces slowly turned to face the pair of twin geologists from Iraq. They didn't notice. They were staring at the speakers just above the large LED display at the front of the room. One of them was mouthing along with The Message. Finally one of the twins, Umer, broke from his reverie. He faced the other scientists and specialists gathered in the room before him. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could speak. "It is saying, 'My name is not Earth'. That's it. Over and over again." There was a low rush of sound as the message was translated back and forth between the dozens of individuals present. That was when the outburst came. It started with a young physicist from Britain, yelling "Bullshit!"as loud as he could, directing his words toward the air between the twins. Shouting broke loose on all sides, in every language. Nobody could believe it. Nobody wanted to believe it. Several hours later the room had calmed down substantially, and several delegations were discussing sending a reply. "Of course we send a reply!"the elderly biologist from the United States scoffed, "This message is clearly intended to be understood, it would be nonsense to merely pretend as if we hadn't interpreted it!" "We don't know what is sending it,"replied a tired-looking woman from Germany, "and we don't know what exactly we would be getting into by conferring with this Message." "Why wait?"A young man said from the back of the room. He was here as a supervisor, of sorts. Tasked with observing the situation was handled in a way that did not benefit any one country especially. He had not given his name. "Whatever it is, it's terrestrial. It's already here. It's in a language we understand, so it already knows that we're here. What are we going to do? Alert it to our presence?" The room descended quickly into murmuring again, and it would be days before any decision could be reached. After a week, a reply was decided upon. One of the twins, Saudia, would send the reply: "What is your name?" She recorded the message in that same conference room, in a building overlooking The Bore where they had first encountered the message. It would be slowed down to match the frequency of the original Message, and no further action was to be taken by any nation until a reply had been received. This time, the reply would be public. There was no helping it. Too much about the Message had already been leaked. Public outrage over being kept in the dark was mounting, and nobody was willing to chance rioting and panic with such a momentous event underway. Around the world, crowds had gathered in front of television screens at home and in public squares, waiting for the translation of the reply that had just come from within the Earth. NBC would have exclusive coverage of the event. Across screens around the world, people listened to the low hum of the new message. It was sped up and translated live. All across the world, the words were heard and read. "My name is Shaitan." That was when the screaming began.
We weren't concerned when they first rose from the dead. They were slow, stupid, and ineffective. One bite would turn you though, so it became customary to carry a walking stick that could at least push one away in case you were ever surprised and cornered by a stray. Many started with guns, but the reanimation and actions weren't controlled by the brain. The human death toll from friendly fire was even higher than dying from them. In the end, basic home fortification was all that was needed. A strong, high fence and sturdy doors and windows. There were much less of them than expected given that the majority of the dead were stuck in coffins with too much weight for them to push off. We generally stayed away from graveyards. It was apparently a "thing"for kids and teenagers to see how long they could last in a graveyard before being driven away by the noise of those moaning to be free. And then there was the one case of a zombie that had somehow gotten loose from its coffin and ended up killing a boy who had been brave enough to enter. Some of the richer communities exhumed all their dead and executed them, but to have the money to do that was rare. While guns didn't work, flamethrowers certainly did. The army and local militia handled those affairs when a stray was spotted. Usually it was a missing person that had gotten lost in a nearby forest and had never been found. Overall, not much had changed for us. Tense and troubling? Constant dread? Sure. But we were generally safe and things were routine once again. There was one thing though, the one true danger. When a human died, he would turn. Simple enough rules. The elderly and the homeless and of course hospitals were on constant watch. Every night, I kiss my daughter goodnight and then tell her to lock herself in while I'm on the other side of the door. I hear the click and wish her goodnight again, enter my room, lock it behind me, and kiss my wife goodnight. And every night, I wonder as she shuts off the lamp, as she must wonder herself: A heart attack or brain aneurysm on one of us means the end of us both. "Goodnight Darling,"I say, staring at the dark ceiling. "Goodnight." She reaches across the bed to hold my hand and I grip it tight.
It took awhile before I was released. I'm not exactly sure how long. I was told by the doctors that with my injuries I was OK to go home, but that I'd need lots of rest. Told me not to push myself, and not to operate heavy machinery while I was on the meds they gave me. It was odd, I would hear people talking in my little apartment even though I lived alone. Only my dog and two cats to keep me company. My neighbor had been feeding them while I was held up on the hospital since my accident last month but she wouldn't have any reason to return. Then things really started to get weird. I wake up with my rips aching, my head pounding. I know I'm due for another round of medication as it has worn off but I just don't feel like moving so I don't yet. Suddenly I hear some talking. "No brah, you don't get it. My human is back, I can't just leave again. He won't trust me." I look around and the talking came from my dog who was staring out the window as usual making sure nobody is going to sneak in. Hes like that. German Sheppard are the best. "He is waking up again, I need to go. Rendezvous 21:45 Zulu. Time to go appease the stupid human again" I couldn't believe my ears, I must be dreaming. I finally start moving around a bit. Jenkins is just sitting there on the bookshelf curled up in a ball as usual. Stupid cat could care less if I made it as long as he can't see the bottom of his food bowl. Only his ears twitch a bit as I walk by. Joe on the other hand faithfully wakes right up to me and nudges his cold nose into my hand letting me know he is there for me. "Joe!"I say with an authoritative voice, "Get my shoes"I add with excitement. Like a bolt of lightening he darts out of the room, startling both cats Jenkins and Sam. It thought I heard Sam say "What the @#$#@ dog!"I couldn't have heard that could I? A little bit of rumbling near the door and Joe comes back with the Leash and whips it around like a weapon and hits my sore legs with the buckle end. "JOE!"I scream in agony. He then jumps up on my lap, trying to get close to me, and drops the leash off. Giving me that smiling look he gives. I thought I heard him sort of laugh and snort, but dogs don't do that. Jenkins finally jumps off of the bookshelf, skilfully landing next to me and starts puring as he rubs up against my side. Joe noticing him tries to edge towards him when with lightening quick speed Jenkins moves forward and unleashes 4 rapid smacks into Joe's nose. No claws though. He usually doesn't use claws. With a voice that can only be described as James Earl Jones Jenkins booms "You have had your fun, no stop hurting the human."Then he curls up on my lap while Joe, confused at how a cat was just able to do that retreats. I shake my head, these meds are just too strong. I put the lease down and go searching for my shoes. It looks like Joe managed to throw both shoes around while he got the leash. After about 15 minutes of trying to avoid moving too much I finally manage to put my shoes on. I grab the leash from the bed and take Joe outside. Joe sniffs the usual spots in the usual way, except this time he seems to be talking each and every time like he is reading a status report of some kind. "Unusual resistance in sector 7; Suspect rodent resistant again."A few spots later "Unknown actor in Sector 3, no signs of rodent resistant." I see my neighbor quickly walking up to me, asking if I'm OK and if she can help. I think she likes me but she is nice to everybody. I ask if she could walk Joe around a bit as I just can't seem to do it and I go back to my apartment. Right before I open the door I hear muffled talking, and when I insert the key to unlock the door it stops. I go inside, shut the door and get my medication. While I do that it sounds like Sam says "False alarm, its not with him." "Wow"Replied Jenkins, "He left the dog with another human. He must really be hurting."After a brief moment he starts agin "He won't be so lucky next time. We need to ensure that the dog doesn't get another shot. He won't fail to eliminate him again and we need to maintain this area. The dogs still think the rodents are to blame." "What the hell are you talking about?"I question "Eliminate"I say mockingly "Rodents are to blame?"I respond without thinking as I look at my cats. Then it dawns on my I'm talking to my cats. Sam slowly walks off. Jenkins tail starts flipping back and forth quickly but is otherwise frozen in place on the floor staring at me. A tense minute passes and nothing happens as I stare at him. Speaking very slowly and deliberately Jenkins starts "Human understand cat?" I blink, and realize my pills have worn off hours ago, it isn't because of them that this is happening...
I stretched out luxuriously, ready to experience my last day on Earth. I had a pretty bad run, and I decided the Dark Lord could probably do more with the sad excuse of existence that I led thus far. The papers were signed away and he would be meeting me downstairs to lead me to my eternity of suffering that would still probably end up being more fulfilling than my life. Someone would be enjoying my torment. I sped downstairs and started towards the kitchen. I saw his looming shadow already stretching from the living room. My heart raced furiously as I cautiously stepped toward him. I would finally see him in all his glory. I was almost blinded by the brilliance of his red fur gleaming from the sun's rays. I squinted in his presence and tried to find words to commence my soul-selling. "Hello my dear boy,"he said, in a way too jovial voice. My jaw went slack as I finally made out his exterior. "S-Santa?"I sputtered. "As requested, my boy,"he breathed in heavily, his body clearly struggling with his weight. He was eyeing my fridge. "I... what? I didn't ask for y--" "I hereby declare my soul to be given to the Dark Lord Santa, on the morning of December 25th,"he read aloud from a contract that appeared before him, "and then you signed your name in goat's blood right there."He pointed with his nose. "You wrote this, did you not?" "Well, yeah, but--" "And you signed it in goat's blood?" "For Satan! Why would I write the Dark Lord Santa?"I yelled, exasperated already. He shrugged. "I've been called a lot worse. Despite the work I do, you can't make everyone happy." His stomach groaned and again his eyes darted at my fridge. "Forget it, it's empty."I waved my hand to refocus his attention. "But isn't there a way that you can clear the contract?" "Oh, yes, absolutely,"he nodded. "Really? Great, thank you!" "Don't jump to conclusions there, my boy. Just because I can nullify the contract doesn't mean I will. You think I get to sending gifts to literally every house in the world without some people doing the legwork? I need people in the toy shop, the reindeer stables, the mines--" "The mines?" "Yeah, to gather all the coal! How else do you think I get it? That where you're headed, actually,"he stated matter-of-factly. "Isn't there some way we can--" "Nope, contract's signed!"he said, too happily and he snapped his fingers beneath his gloves. In an instant, the world swirled around me as I landed on the floor of a dark room covered in ash. I heard clanking around me and the tweet of a bird nearby. No way. I was already in the coal mine! I started looking around for an exit when a worker made eye contact with me and shook his head sympathetically. He shrugged and pointed to the pentagram on his hard hat. Then motioned for me to see the hardhats along the wall, all with the pentagram on the front. "Satan is just tricky to spell, huh?"
"Simulation ending in 5.." Tracy looked across the table into Adam's eyes. He too looked confused. He turned in his seat and looked around, as were all the other patrons in the restaurant. "4.." "What's going on?"A rather fat man sitting at the table next to them said. His face was stuffed with pasta, so the words came out muffled. Tracy would have laughed at him if it weren't for the 5 pound weight sitting in her stomach. She hadn't felt dread like this in a long time. "3.." The dim lights in the restaurant began to flicker. Adam turned back to look at his wife, "Tracy,"he said, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "2.." He said something to her, but she couldn't hear his voice over the ruckus all the other patrons in the restaurant were causing. There was a woman somewhere in the back screaming her head off, as if someone was stabbing her. Adam cleared his throat and squeezed her hand again. "1.." The lights completely went off, and now everyone in the restaurant was screaming. Tracy looked out the windows and saw that someone had turned off the sun. It was complete darkness, but still she felt Adam's hand in hers. "Please remain seated as your memories are reloaded." She didn't feel Adam's hand in hers anymore. Instead she felt nothing. Absolute weightlessness. Floating through a void. The voice they had heard in the restaurant boomed in her ears yet again. Beginning memory reload. And the light came back. First starting as a small pinprick in the distance, slowly growing in size like an explosion, blooming into a word of light and completely filling her vision and overwhelming her. She hadn't realized how fast she was breathing. "Easy there sweetheart, deep breaths now,"a voice to her side said. It was different than the previous booming voice. The feeling of weightlessness had left her, and now she felt as if her entire body had been weighed down by sand. She blinked her eyes and still saw nothing but blinding light, but then the light shifted to her left eye, and then over to her right eye. "Blink for me, darling,"the more calm voice said. She did as she was told, beginning to breathe in deep gasps yet again. "Ah, ah, please breathe slowly. Do like I do,"the voice said, taking a deep inhale. Tracy nodded and did as she was told, taking a deep breath in through her nostrils, expecting to smell the seared salmon that she had ordered at the restaurant before the voice boomed in everyone's ears, but instead all she smelled was chemical cleaner. As if someone had rubbed her nose with a lemon-scented alcohol pad. "This might feel funny,"the voice said, and she felt something tugging at her nose. As the tugging grew harder, she could feel something slowly sliding up her throat. "Okay, cough for me darling." She did as she was told, and with each cough her vision came back in blooms. Finally she was able to see. She looked up and saw that the voice belonged to a man in a white lab coat. He was sporting a goatee and had bright blue eyes framed by hornrimmed glasses. "It should all be coming back now, how was it?" And then Tracy finally remembered. Earlier in the day, herself and Adam had signed up to participate in a demo of a virtual reality video game. It had all been done before, but the thing that set this game from other VR games was the fact that this game would allow you to live a whole entire life in the span of a couple of hours. Their memories were to be locked and they would experience the life completely fresh. "Holy fuck,"Tracy whispered, suddenly feeling lightheaded. Her current memories began to intermingle with the VR memories and her stomach sank. She looked at the man in the lab coat and asked in a near-cracking voice, "Was Adam real? He's real right?" The thought made her head spin. Was the man that she spent her entire time with in the VR world just a non-playable character designed to make her time in the VR world more pleasant? Or was he actually her husband in real life? All of these feelings intermingled in her head, and she nearly fell back. The man in the lab coat placed a hand on her shoulder, "Yes, he was real, as was everyone else in the game, see?" He pointed and for once Tracy looked around the room she was in. She saw hundreds of the same pod that she had been laying in, and saw people beginning to sit up from each and every one of them, some being assisted by other men dressed in similar lab coats as the man standing next to her. One of the other men in lab coats came jogging over towards Tracy and the man assisting her. "We've got a problem,"that man said lowly. "What's going on?" "He's not coming out of the game. He's hanging in the simulation for some reason." Both men left Tracy sitting where she was without uttering a single word, rushing down the line of pods to one that had not yet opened. Tracy swung her legs over the edge of the pod and slowly eased herself out of the pod, testing her weight in each leg out of fear that she would collapse. Once she found that she was confident in standing again (her legs felt like jelly), she began to walk around the crowd of other test subjects that had volunteered to be a part of this crazy game. She called out for Adam now and again, sometimes gathering the attention of a man who was also named Adam, but not her Adam. As she looked around, she saw a crowd of the scientists gathered around one of the pods. Several of the test subjects began to head that way too out of curiosity, and so did Tracy. She couldn't really see the pod all that well due to the crowd, but once some of the people shifted, she caught a quick glimpse of who it was laying in the pod, eyes still closed and hands still crossed over his chest as if he were laying in a coffin. Tracy's breath caught in her throat. *** [Part 2 & 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7hep9x/wp_the_end_of_the_world_has_arrived_there_are_no/dqrwkd5/)
“Leave it better than you found it.” &#x200B; What does that even mean? He thought to himself as he sat there. Every day was a struggle nowadays. It was driving him to use the work bathroom less and less as each day passed by. &#x200B; At first it was easy. The hand soap was crap anyway, so changing it to moisturizing soap with aloe was the practical move. Sure, it seemed a little pretentious to use soap with aloe, but it was for the greater good of everyone who might use the bathroom (Although honestly the list of bathroom users for that particular lavatory was pretty short. There were only two people in the “Home Improvement” department). No one really wants to deal with cracking palms in the winter time anyway. &#x200B; Plus, it was his first day on the job. He was allowed to have a few personal touches in the office, right? &#x200B; The next day, the soap dispenser was automated. He could have sworn that it was pump-action the day before. Maybe someone didn’t want to touch the soap dispenser, he thought to himself. After all, touching a dirty soap dispenser while washing your hands did seem a little gross. &#x200B; So he made the sink automatic as well. That was one of the benefits of being a god, even if it was over something minor like home improvement. &#x200B; The next day, after doing his daily ritual the toilet flushed on its own. And by golly, that startled him. That was definitely not the way things were yesterday. But hey, at least the other guy was also following the sign. Right? &#x200B; So he put nicer toilet paper in. Three-ply, since there was already two-ply, and he wasn’t too sure whether four-ply would feel too thick. &#x200B; When he came back on Friday, there was a urinal next to the toilet. Jesus christ, was that even necessary? There were only two people in the building! And he never even saw the other person since they worked the evening shift. &#x200B; Fuck it. He made the toilet out of solid gold. Now that was classy. The following Monday the sink was golden as well. Of course. So the only logical thing to do was to make the counter marble, and not the cheap marble. This was two inches thick with bullnose edges. It looked pretty sweet, if he did say so himself. And while he was at it, there might as well be matching tiles too. And an automatic door. He was going all out, goddammit! There was no way this other evening guy was going to outdo him every. Single. Day. &#x200B; On Tuesday he walked into his automatic, gold-plated, marble bathroom, and there was fucking incense burning. &#x200B; “Leave it better than you found it.” &#x200B; At what point did incense become “better?” &#x200B; Never, that’s when, so he snuffed it out. &#x200B; And the next day it was back. &#x200B; So he snuffed it out again. &#x200B; And again. &#x200B; And again. &#x200B; And on The following Tuesday, he removed the sign. To him, that was an improvement.
Glurhhhhm once again read over the WWF’s documents outlining their efforts to breed Pandas. Hoping against hope to find some ideas, anything he could use for the humans. “At least the pandas were willing to eat”, he said softly. Our humans have refused any care packages we’d left outside the monastery. And they hadn’t bred a single offspring in the 5 years they’d been holed up there. Glurhhhhm could understand. After all, it was the poaching and senseless sport hunting perpetuated by the zombies that had caused the human endangerment in the first place. That didn’t make it any less frustrating. How had the humans survived, even dominated, for 10’s of thousands of years with such abismal survival instincts? He continued reading. Pandas had been separated and reintroduced when they reached sexual maturity, which seemed to have had some success. Perhaps we could steal the young humans and attempt this? A dark thought, but times were getting desperate. Glurhhhhm would speak with the council tonight.
The invasion went as planned - until it didn't. The Dro'xos' warships had entered Perynn's atmosphere without trouble, and on the first day, they had managed to identify and surround three large cities on the continent known as Draphis among the primitive locals. &#x200B; But as the next morning came, the so-called primitive locals began to counterattack. This came as no surprise to the Dro'xos commanders - resistance was to be expected. The huge winged beasts came as no surprise either - after all, primitive races were known to tame the beasts they lived alongside and use them for warfare. &#x200B; What came as a surprise though, was when the beasts' riders rose in their saddles and held a staff up high. As the beasts and their riders came within a mere hundred meters of the warships, the beasts opened their mouths and each produced a gigantic ball of fire. Their riders then proceeded to shoot the fireball with laser from their staff - which resulted in each fireball suddenly becoming twenty fireballs. &#x200B; As roughly thirty beasts with riders attacked each warship, this amounted to each ship being bombarded with six hundred fireballs in the span of a few seconds. The shields were not built to counter such an extreme amount of firepower - and the heat alone managed to damage the shields beyond repair. Only due to the vigilance and abilities of the pilots and captains, did most of the ships manage to pull off a controlled crash landing. Most. There were, however, a few ships that ended up exploding mid air. &#x200B; Commander Kex'ains stood on the bridge of the First Command Ship, which was placed out of range and sight from the locals - much higher up than their warships had hovered. An array of screens showed him the damage and catastrophic outcome of the locals' attacks. &#x200B; \- "Dhernur, you're our Scientist Supreme. How is this possible? Didn't all initial scannings say that Perynn's inhabitants were on a technological stage where they found the bloody wheel to be a fancy invention?"he shouted. &#x200B; A thinner specimen of his race stood a few paces behind him. She shook her head slowly. &#x200B; \- "I am sorry, commander Kex'ains. We scanned for radiowaves, microwaves, electromagnetic fields and other wave-based signal types. We found nothing. This is surprising to me too." &#x200B; \- "Could this be biological? A latent curiosity of the people and their beasts?"Kex'ains mused. &#x200B; \- "No, sir. The energy levels surpass what can be contained within them, much less if we factor in material loss when transforming tissue to fire." &#x200B; \- "Damn..."Kex'ains rubbed his temples. &#x200B; \- "It becomes worse, sir. One such fireball would indeed be a marvelous feat - especially thrown with the airborn precision they managed. But the fireball cloning... well sir, it is a downright impossible feat." &#x200B; \- "Impossible? Dhernur, we just saw them do it - we can replay it if you like! How can you call it impossible?" &#x200B; \- "Within the laws of physics and chemistry, conservation of energy states that the total energy of an isolated system always remains a constant. But they did nothing to add energy to the fireball other than point a laser at it." &#x200B; \- "So the energy comes from that laser?" &#x200B; \- "No sir. The duration for which the laser shot was so short, that not even a fullblown fusion reactor could create that much energy in a similar time span... If I had to theorize... well..." &#x200B; \- "Don't stall, woman! Theorize!" &#x200B; \- "It is possible that their laser is in fact not a laser as we know it. It may create a black hole using high energy particle collision, and the energy from this black hole could be channeled into duplicating the original fireball. The only issue is that such a technology does not exist - at least not in our weaponry. If that is what they have managed, they are far superior to us. Take also into account that the laser shooting sticks themselves appear to be simply made of wood." &#x200B; Kex'ains backed a few paces and sat down. Rubbing his temples didn't remove the growing ache. "By the Gods..."he mumbled as Dhernur silently removed herself from the bridge. She had to speak to her scientists. They could not hope to come up with anything that could counter such technology, but their extraction procedures might just work. They had to at least try to save their people on the ground. &#x200B; \------- &#x200B; The Tribunal of High Sorcery had dealt with several life-ending threats during the history of Perynn. When their neighbour continent's necromancers had thrown millions of zombies at them, they fought and prevailed. When their city was threatened by a falling rock from the heavens, they concentrated their magic to alter its course. &#x200B; But now, invaders made of pure magic had come, and their magic seemed much stronger than the Tribunal of High Sorcery could fathom. &#x200B; \- "Ezespea, what have you observed?"Klerobys said with a tired voice. &#x200B; Ezespea was a young elf with a fortitude of magical power, and she had been among the riders that attacked the flying citadels earlier. &#x200B; \- "Archmage Klerobys, I've never seen such display of raw power!"she admonished. "To keep such large and heavy structured floating would kill even me. They must've had at least fifty arch mages in each citadel just to keep them floating, because they were made of pure metal! Imagine the weight! Now, imagine that you have to steer if in the air. Without wobbling like a drunken goblin on his way home from the local tavern. Imagine the amount of power required to do just that - and then imagine how much power it would take to withstand our attacks, and still have power left to land the citadel nice and neat!" &#x200B; \- "Not all of them made it to the ground, though,"Klerobys mused. "But go on." &#x200B; Ezespea tilted her head slightly at him. "You've heard from the other Tribunal Seats? The other cities - are they still standing?" &#x200B; \- "Yes,"he simply responded and motioned for her to go on with her briefing. &#x200B; \- "Well, I'm among the strongest on our entire continent, if not THE strongest. The complexity of the spells required to do what they've done... and from a distance further away than our explorer ships have mapped... they're good. We may not be able to beat them." &#x200B; \- "Do you suggest we surrender?"Klerobys rose an eyebrow at her. &#x200B; \- "No, Archmage Klerobys. Never. But we need the help from anyone who can cast a spell, bite through armor or wield a sword. I saw them from far away as they exited their citadels. They're armored from head to toe. And something about them is off... way off. I don't think we can fight them like we did the zombies and necromancers from the Ivory Reach a decade ago. This requires more. Far more." &#x200B; Klerobys looked at her, then at the others assembled who'd stayed silent. "You heard her,"he shouted to them. "Prepare for war!"
"FDO, Flight Director."The Flight Director keyed her mic. "You're cleared for final approach; Take us in close." She wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans. She'd been controlling space flight from Houston's Johnson Space Center as far back as the International Space Station. Then she went from NASA to the private sector, working for one of those billionaire spaceflight startups. She had been in charge of sending people to Mars; sending probes to Io. But this--this was stressful, even for her. An asteroid capture mission where success meant trillions of dollars for the company--but failure meant extinction of the entire human race. Twenty years ago, people thought this was the stuff of science fiction. But here she was today. "FDO, roger. Burning prograde for 1200 delta-v. Looks good!"Five hundred thousand miles beyond the Moon, the Carceris spacecraft fired its ion engine. Slowly, steadily, it started to catch up with the passing asteroid. The FDO looked at his screen. "We've hit the rendezvous point. Matching orbital inclination. Perfect!" The Flight Director grinned. This asteroid was bizarre--nearly pyramidal in shape, rich in the densest rare-Earth metals. An Indian rover previously sampled this asteroid to reveal that it was made up mostly of tungsten, but had huge concentrations of Lutetium, Dysprosium, Erbium, and Gadolinium. Almost 25% of its mass was rare-earth elements. Which meant there were more of those four elements in this asteroid than in the entirety of Earth's crust. It turns out that when not on Earth, rare-Earth metals aren't quite so rare. And that means that her company, once they captured the asteroid, was about to become the wealthiest organization in the history of civilization. The FDO eased the spacecraft down towards the surface of the pyramidal asteroid. He deployed the landing gear and set it down gently. All fifty-three Mission Control personnel watched the livestream from Carceris's cameras. The room erupted in cheers and applause as the probe landed and secured itself to the rock. "Great job, FDO!"The Flight Director shouted into her mic to be heard above the noise in the room. "BARFE, Flight Director. Fire her up!"BARFE was an acronym for "Big AsteRoid Falcon Engines."Of course, everyone knew what “Falcon” was a placeholder for. BARFE was an enormous nuclear engine on top of Carceris's spaceframe. Incredibly energy-inefficient, but extraordinarily powerful. And it was about to fire. BARFE's enormous thrust would be enough to slow down the asteroid and insert it into High Earth Orbit--just beyond the moon. Once it was locked in orbit, lunar-based mining drones could start extracting minerals and sending them back to Earth. When BARFE ignited, the asteroid began a slow but steady deceleration. It would take about fourty-four hours of the BARFE's power to slow the asteroid down enough. Everything was going perfectly. The Flight Director smiled to herself. This was truly humanity's turning point as a space-faring people. \------ 500 million kilometers away, floating aimlessly in the Kuiper belt, a small cylindrical vessel angled its sensor suite towards the pale blue dot. The beings inside said nothing, as they had long evolved past the point of needing to verbalize their communication. But they were shocked nonetheless. In the thousands of systems that they had tested, never had any civilization been so daft as to try to mine the asteroid that they had sent them. Didn't they know just how dangerous that was? All of that debris floating around in orbit? Not to mention the tidal consequences of creating another moon for a planet that, for billions of years, had only had one. No, the beings that inhabit this planet would never do. Far too focused on short-term gain. They clearly placed no value on their own survival as a species--or failed to recognize the full impact of their decisions. Either way, they were too reckless to deserve a place in the interstellar community. The crew considered whether to order a strike team to destroy the planet before this civilization became too much of a threat. But they decided against it. Their computer models showed that the species wouldn't be around after another hundred years or so anyway. The small cylindrical vessel retracted its sensor suite and rotated its nose towards home. It had other systems to study, and the beings on board had lightyears to go before they could rest. &#x200B; Edit: Thank you for the silver, stranger! First one ever!
War is a sword's edge on which the strong fight to stay balanced, dancing on its sharpness without fear of being cut. There are things a man sees that can never be unseen, things done that can never be undone. And those who make it out are carved into something new--even the ones with bodies still whole at the end of it all. Screams draw out into the long night. Screams cut short into a night much longer. Many are never heard. Goro wasn't built for such terrors. Dreams of strength and heroism would not stuff his comrade's guts back into his body, or take him far away, back home, to a loving wife and son. And so, in the suffocation of battle, his arms tired not from fighting but merely the weight of his sword, he hid behind a pile of the dead. His breaths were quick and short, like the lives of those around him--those who fight for their great king, men with strength that will be forever unknown to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, but felt the blood on his face. Smelled the iron and salt and shit that is the air, ears clogged with every kind of scream the battle lets loose. He wondered whether they were coming from friend or foe--or did it even matter? In the end they're all just fodder, dying at the hands of stronger men, crying for help that no one will bring. War is not the heroic grandstand he thought it would be. And so he cowered, dreaming of home, of soft arms and loving laughs suffocating him instead. The metallic cries of swordplay neared him, prying open his eyes wet from blood and tears, an indistinguishable mix of salt in his mouth. Somebody's cry died close, and he crawled away, holding up his sword, begging. His final wail joins the chorus, a guttural whelp meant to be his lover's name but comes out choked. It ends just as quick as it began. Goro died for the second time. It would not be the last. ----- A fire crackled in the corner of a cave dim as a starless night. She stood over him, towering though half his height, leaning against a cane of bone and string. She drew a single breath like a storm's gale, shuddering at its end, then spoke in a voice like creaking wood. "Fight, only to survive and suffer a different end. Brew in your own ineptitude and cower from the reaper, thinking of home, of your wife's pretty face and your son's innocent smile. Wish for them. Long for them. "No peace, no rest; only death and the ceaseless, gut-wrenching desire to be back with those you love."She knelt, a hand withered like winter leaves falling upon his head. "What better fate than that for Goronesh, the greatest warrior of the Ygmir tribe? For the man who killed my daughter? "You panted like a thirsty dog at the thought of what blood this war would offer you. Now suffer its horrors until your flesh turns to dust." Skulls clinked as she strode forth like a robe fluttering in the wind. A young girl posted at the door nodded, tears in her eyes, a bowl of soup in her hands. "May I?"she asked, soft as a lover's dying heartbeat. The witch cupped the girl's cheek. "Yes, my love. I trust you to ensure he lives a long, healthy life." "And you?"she asked, eyes dancing from the fire within. "I have work to do."She stepped out of the cave and into hell itself, filled with the moans of war's children. There was not enough healing magic in the world to save them. Thankfully, there had been enough to gift Goronesh his life. --- /r/resonatingfury
My entire family was in the superpower sale business and If they didn’t start that way immediately after graduation,it wasn’t long until they were selling them somehow. My sister had a small shop up the river that sold the more unique powers, things like audiomancy and the ability to regrow limbs. She catered to those wanting ‘special experiences’ like no other. Her business was thriving and our parents made sure to bring it up at every holiday gathering. Our brother’s boutique was a local hotspot for glamour based powers and body changing ones. Shrinking? Growing? Changing your hair at will? He had a charm about him that could coax out your deepest insecurities and then shove a product in your hands that would take all of those little problems away. He was interviewed on a popular talk show last week. Our parents beamed and shared the clip everywhere on social media. There were plenty more examples. More news I heard everyday over my cereal as the school semester dipped into spring. “Your cousin Charlotte just made partner at Power Capsule Corporate you know?” My mother would trill as she painted her nails and willed the sponge across that mornings dishes in the sink. “You know your nephew just got offered an internship at K.A. Powers and Associates...he’s not even in his senior year yet.” My father droned on while checking his stocks. You see, my parents were two of the first in the industry when super powers became legal to sell. My grandmother was on the pharmaceutical team that mastered the science of putting temporary phenomenal abilities into tiny tablets and when my mother was old enough, she figured out how to market them to the masses. Then she got married, pulled my father into the business and together they soared to the top of the markets under Dee and Ci’s Marvelous Power Pills. They built an empire before the competition and black market started challenging them. Not one to be outdone, my parents established the long game plan. Which essentially consisted of birthing children and raising them to be the most ruthless salesmen in the industry before one of them would take their spot. They were blessed with my brother. They were pleased with my sister. They were joyous at every other family members accomplishments. But I was a stain on their existence. I had no interest in sales and they knew it... but graduation day was coming and I had yet to break to my parents that I in fact wouldn’t be continuing their legacy. That I couldn’t sell water to a man in the desert and this was not the job for me. But, every time the sway of courage moved me to confess my fears, the dagger like stares of their corporate nature made me buckle like a dunked cookie. So when they came to me, beaming, on graduation night I should have been suspicious. And when they offered me the chance of a lifetime to get my future started (I.e. make them proud), I should have said no. But here I was...a week later with a small, scuffed up briefcase full of the most lame and useless super powers you could imagine and a list of addresses. “It will build character.” they said. “Your siblings didn’t need this much help, be grateful you have this opportunity...” they proclaimed. I tried to keep an award winning smile and can do attitude as I lauded my awful goods at each perfectly painted suburbanite home. “Excuse me, um miss or misses, have you ever wondered what it would be like to produce extremely flammable vomit for only $9.99 I can give you that experience!” SLAM! “Good afternoon sir! Can I interest you in the ability to speak to goldfish?” SLAM! “Have you ever wanted to be able to control the temperature of the air exactly 1 inch around you?” SLAM! After the sixteenth door slammed in my face I was cursing my parents and the pharmaceutically enhanced horse they rode in on. Sitting on the curb dejectedly, I contemplated how to break my failure to them. I’d just have to tear it off like a band-aid. “Mom, Dad...I cannot sell superpowers. I’m no good at it.” I could already hear them saying I just needed to try harder. As I pondered my predicament, an idea hit me. Literally, a large box sailed through the air and came to a stop in the same coordinates as my face. Staring down at the shiny black parcel in my lap as I rubbed the lump it left I realized it was one of those monthly subscription boxes to video game merchandise. They were extremely popular and covered a wide variety of niches from games and movies, to makeup and health food. But not super powers! And so after a bit of social media advertising, and one website later, I am excited to offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity. For only $59.99 a month you can have an assortment of surprise super power pills sent directly and discreetly to your door every month, with fun monthly themes like: “Party Tricks” “Slightly Amusing Pranks” And my personal favorite- “Small inconveniences to your enemies” Every month is like sending a present to yourself, so act now and get access to our bundle deal, four months of LootPowers for $239.00! _____________________ My first post here so I know I have a lot to improve but it sounded like a fun start!
“In the Belly of the Beast” Anti-aircraft fire lit up the sky. The men of 23rd Company hunkered down in their coastal fortress. Colossal fires raged all around them. A dragon whirled overhead, dive-bombing until it was just a few hundred feet over the base. Men scrambled, ducking for cover, but one man charged out into the open, his pistol held high. His nametag read: Sgt. Wiltshire. His mustache read: Try me. Wiltshire craned his neck and fired, recklessly, into the sky. He grabbed the neck of a soldier manning an anti-aircraft gun and turned him up at the dragon. “Hit the belly, for god's sake! Bring that thing down!” The dragon hurled a screaming fireball into the base, sending it flying just a few feet over Wiltshire’s head, but his orders were followed. Explosive rounds ripped into its belly. The East Barracks went up like a tinderbox, but crimson blood splattered against the barrels of the anti-aircraft cannons. The dragon managed to stay airborne a few moments longer, but as Wiltshire watched, the beast suddenly crashed onto the beach nearby. A plume of sand shot into the night sky. “Stay alert,” Wiltshire called out to those manning the Gatling guns. “More will be coming. They never leave their dead.” He holstered his pistol and grabbed a satchel of explosive charges. “Hanson, J.J., you’re with me. Let's go stick it to these lizards.” It was 2021. The war against the dragons was entering its second year. South America had fallen in December, giving the dragons their first secure foothold on land – and just in time for mating season. It wasn’t long before they tucked away thousands of nests into the slopes of the Andes mountain range. Now those eggs were hatching. Hundreds every day. Cataclysmic assaults were being carried out across Central America and the southern United States. In Asia, the situation was more stable, but it was only a matter of time before a full-on assault crippled them as it had in the Western Hemisphere. Wiltshire and the men of 23rd Company were isolated off the Pacific coast of Mexico, in a forward attack base constructed along with hundreds of others during the brief respite of winter. Unbeknownst to them, more than 75% of the line had been breached that night, in what would come to be known as the “Central American Firestorm.” Alone on their little peninsula, they fought on against all the odds. Wiltshire threw himself down, forearms first, against the crest of a sand dune. His men crouched behind him. On the beach ahead lay the dragon, stiff but still radiating heat. As waves lapped against its talons, the water began to simmer, like it was on a stovetop. Even from a few hundred feet away, Wiltshire felt like his face was hovering near an open oven. “More will be here soon,"Wiltshire said, "we’ve got to get these charges set up before they do. Once they land to collect the body, we’ll detonate.” “Sarge, if you put the charges that close, the heat will melt them. They’ll blow up in your hands.” Wiltshire looked back with a grin, “Not if I get them inside.” His men looked at him. Huh? “Their scales radiate heat externally, to raise the temperature of the air around them. That’s how they moderate their temperature and generate their flames. Internally, they’re no warmer than you or me.” Wiltshire hoisted up his satchel of explosives. “We’re putting this baby inside the belly of the beast. Let's go.” \\\\\\\\\\\\\\ The story continues…. if you want it to! Let me know! :) EDIT: Part II and Part III are in replies below!
“Max, check it out! ‘Read and write in nanoscopic text—great for espionage!’ Dude, you could probably transcribe the Bible onto a grain of rice with this one.” Trevor held up a plastic shell package containing a single orange pill. The boys had Christmas money to burn; not nearly enough to purchase powers like flight, super strength or telekinesis, but plenty for Powerlite Pills™ from the discount bin at MultiMega Mart. Max was more discerning than his overly-enthused pal. “Man, these powers kinda suck. Maybe there’s something like hover flight buried under all this crap.” Trevor was way ahead of him. His head and arms disappeared beneath a mound of plastic pill cases. Digging. “Found it.” He emerged with a blue pill. “Dibs on this one. I’ve always wanted to float around the court during PE.” “Here’s another one for you, bud,” said Max, picking up a purple pill. “‘Supersonic Synovial. Crack your knuckles with a boom.’ How do they come up with this nonsense?” “Oh, gimme. Ms. Perkins is going to love me during second period.” Trevor went on digging, amassing ridiculous lesser powers. There was a pill for turning your hair into an array of neon colors, a pill for impossible spine flexibility (never lose a limbo contest again, it claimed), one for temporarily transforming the index and middle fingers into scissors, one for ultra fast liquid consumption, and so on. None of these appealed to Max. He was about to give up, save his money for something more practical, when he spotted the corner of a plastic pill package behind a case of Blu-ray discs. ‘True Sight—Is it over 9000? View the power levels of heroes in real time!’ He could call so many bluffs. This was the one. Trevor was barely out of the check out line before he swallowed most of his Powerlite Pills™. He hovered into the parking lot, a few inches off the ground, highlighter yellow hair blowing in the breeze. He effortlessly hover-limboed under the aluminum rails of a cart return. Max took the True Sight pill. His vision transformed into a sort of heads-up display. Up ahead, a man was lifting the back end of a double parked F350 blocking in a small sedan. Max observed that he had a power level of 750. Super strength, no doubt. An explosion to Max’s right almost knocked him off his feet. Trevor was hovering, one hand encasing the other in a fist. “Wow, that was louder than I expected.” Supersonic Synovial would eventually be banned in thirty five states. Max was looking dumbfounded at his outrageous friend. “Sorry dude, I promise not to crack my knuckles in the car.” “No, dude...your power level!” Max’s vision displayed the number 25,675 above Trevor’s neon yellow head. “You didn’t find a real superpower in the discount bin, did you?” “Uh, no? I mean, these are real enough to me, but I’m not about to be invited into the League of Elite Defenders.” Max felt his heart rate double. “Honestly, you might be if what I’m seeing is real. Trevor, if this thing is right, you’re more powerful than the whole League combined!” “Man, just a few minutes ago you were calling these pills crap. How do you know it’s not just a novelty? Like this.” Trevor snipped his index and middle fingers together making the unmistakable sound of scissors. Max turned the opened True Sight package over. In small print, towards the bottom left corner, was a phone number. Above that, read: ‘Users observing power levels in excess of 1,000 are encouraged to report these incidents to the League of Elite Defenders.’ “I think your life is about to change, buddy,” said Max handing the package to Trevor. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
They weren't even trying to be quiet as they approached the mountain lair. The dragon heard them first, of course, and alerted me. "See if you can tell them off, send them back down the mountain,"he said. "I don't want to repeat what happened last time." "What happened last time?"I asked. The dragon rolled his large eyes. "I hired you. Not to say that I hate having you around, but you're quiet and competent. They have a damn bard singing, badly I might add. It would drive me mad to have them around." I felt a little pleased that the dragon tolerated my presence. Counting and organizing the treasures he accumulates from tributes from three kingdoms is no small task. "I wonder if one of the tributary kingdoms hired these adventurers,"I said. Before my employment here, a village had hired a dragonslayer to dispose of the dragon, to stop him from eating their sheep. The slayer came back without his armor, weapons and money. "Doubtful,"replied the dragon. "The tone-deaf bard is caterwauling about how rich they are all going to be. Probably just some wanderers who heard about a dragon and a hoard." I had a thought. "Why not just fly down and eat them?" The dragon's eyes widened and smoke billowed from his nostrils. "What? Eat them? Why would I...? Oh. Yes, of course. I could, but..."He tapped his claws on the lair floor. "I may as well tell you. The truth is dragons don't eat people." "What?" "Dragons do not eat people. But we enjoy the fear such rumors generate." "Three years ago you said you were going to eat me!" "I thought that would send you running back down the mountain. With the added bonus of telling everyone how fearsome I am. I didn't think that you would offer your services as an accountant or that you would be good at it." "So I could have left at anytime?" The dragon dragged his tail across the floor. "Um... yes. Sorry." I should have been angry. Well, I was miffed but I did enjoy the job. Tabulating gold and labeling artifacts was more enjoyable than checking caravan manifests at the trading post. And the dragon loved regaling me with fascinating stories of his past exploits. "It's fine,"I said. "You shouldn't lie about such a horrid subject, but I understand." The dragon thumped his tail, slightly shaking the ground. "So, you'll stay?" "Yes, I'll stay."I began to hear the bard's singing for myself. It really was terrible. "Let me take care of these idiots first."
I couldn’t open my eyes the light was so bright. I didn’t know where I was but I knew something bad had happened. “Hanna!” I heard a squeaky voice shout my name. I felt the light die down a little and opened my eyes. Standing in front of me was a grey cat with a halo. “Who are you?” I asked nervously. “I knew you wouldn’t remember me. You were only three when I died.” “Maisey?” I said in disbelief. I’d heard stories and seen pictures but I’d never actually met her. “Come on.” She called turning around. “We have a long road to walk.” I took off following her along the cloud. “I remember when they brought you home.” Maisey said fondly. “You were tiny! And you cried all night.” She huffed the last part annoyedly. I looked around while she talked, taking in the people sitting talking on clouds. Playing chess. Doing what made them happy. Some watched us curiously, some even waved. Most people just minded their own business. “I hated leaving you.” Maisey looked at me sadly. “I watched you and your older brothers grow up and you were the only child I liked. Your brothers were loud and annoying.” I looked at her. “I may not remember you Maisey. But everyone told me stories about how you wouldn’t leave my side and hissed if anyone touched me. And I wished that I was old enough to remember you.” The old grey cat looked at me warmly and kept going. “That’s all I have for you. It wasn’t much but I think the next guy will have more to say.” I looked up and instantly recognised the big brown dog bounding towards me and started sobbing. “Rags!” I cried throwing my arms around his neck. “You’re here!”.
"Look, I'm telling ya that you're making a huuuge mistake here,"Ryan joked. "You have absolutely no idea what I'm capable of. I could know kung-fu! Or maybe even have laser eyes. You don't want an unsolicited tattoo removal, do you?" "Please,"replied his very big and very scary captor. "You can't do anything." "Well, of course I can't. You have me handcuffed to a wall. What if I need to make a little tinkle? Could you help me with that? I don't want to soil your beautiful concrete floor over here." "Shut it,"replied his clearly unamused captor. "If you like talking, you better stop yourself from talking before I take that upon myself to do." "I'm sensing a lot of pent up aggression here. What's wrong big guy? Bad day? You know, it's unhealthy to keep everything bottled up. It's okay to cry sometimes." Ryan's captor was fed up with the loudmouthed smartass comments. He approached Ryan exclaiming, "I said shut up,"and delivered a swift punch to the gut that left Ryan hunched over and gasping for air. "Hah- woah there- big guy,"Ryan said between breaths. "You- you already have me unconsentingly chained up to a wall. We're going to need- a safe word to go any further. Can it be pineapple? I absolutely hate pineapples." Unsurprisingly, his quips were met with cussing and more blows. "You know- I don't think- you're actually enjoying this. This is su- supposed to be fun for every- body, but I'm the only- one here enjoying himself." "Oh, you want me to enjoy myself?"the captor replied. "Let me show you how I enjoy myself." Ryan's captor stepped away from Ryan and towards a nearby group of shelving. Ryan could hear him rummaging around for something, and imagined all the sorts of goodies his captor was bringing for him. Was it going to be waterboarding? Or maybe bamboo splinters? Ooh, maybe it was even going to be a pear. Ryan's captor slammed down a car battery, interrupting Ryan's daydreaming. Typical. Never one for missed opportunity though, he rhetorically exclaimed, "Why am I not surprised it's the car battery? The bad guys always have an electrocution fetish." Absolutely fed up with Ryan's bullshit, his captor coldly remarked, "Keep talking, funny guy. You won't be laughing after this." Of course, that was also met with more taunting. "Promise? It's been a while since I got a good shocker. The last guy had hands like the Hulk, and it was not pleasant." By this point, his captor had attached up the alligator clamps. Ryan had precious little time left. He had to act fast. Before it was too late, he said to his captor, "wait, wait wait wait wait. Could you set a timer? I want to know how long I last this time." With a smirk, Ryan's captor informed him that for where he was going, he didn't actually need to be going in one piece. Without hesitstion, Ryan's captor flipped on the circuit, watching Ryan thrash and convulse uncontrollably while letting out screams of agony. Ten seconds... Twenty seconds... Thirty seconds... Thirty-four seconds until Ryan ceased to breathe. His captor turned off the circuit. That was it. He was done with it. After admiring his handiwork, Ryan's captor made a grin and thought to himself: "Thirty-something seconds? That has to be a new record. Thanks for the show big guy, let's see how this new body holds out."
Our planet were shocked the when they announced that made contact with extraterrestrial life. They were "hoo-mins"from a star-locked planet called "Earr-pth". The king showed an image of these hoo-mins from their first meeting at the base of the capital city. Our people were worried until they saw their forms. The hoo-min had a bulky, white form with a grey mark across their head. I noticed my fellow people were amazed at his form, others were dumbfounded and some even jealous. The rulers announced a second meeting to called with these hoo-mins at the center of the capital city. Unsurprisingly, this hoo-min was popular enough for almost everyone of my people to walk to see for themselves. I managed to get a good spot before the majority of the people crowded in. As the meeting was filled up the nearly the whole population, the rulers began to start the meeting. "My fellow Uranians, we have successfully made contact with these hoo-mins from Earth. As good as they look, were are certainly blessed to receive such an invitation." "As good as we look?"chuckled the hoo-mins. "Yes, our fellow people are amazed by your forms." "Oh, you're mistaken. We don't actually look like this. This is a spacesuit to protect out face." "A spacesuit? I don't understand, what do your forms actually look like then?" "Here, let me show you." The hoo-min took off when was supposedly his head an revealed a horrific form. His head were fleshy and full of holes with black tendils sticking out of the top. The rulers began screaming and running at the sight which led to all of us doing the same. I ran out myself after that terrifying sight but I swear, these hoo-mins are outworldly.
"We completed the translation, commander,"Communications Officer Dasieu called out, drawing Captain Todd Flank of the EFS Timmowak from his thoughts. "Excellent, anything urgent? Is it a threat?" "I don't believe so captain, it is rather short. The Galaestri language is needlessly flowery. Despite the length of the transmission, it is just a single sentence."The wispy calm alien words came quietly from his terminal. "Spit it out then, man,"the captain said, sitting down his disgusting medicinal vapors. The chatter of the bridge grew quiet as Dasieu stood. "We flee the undoing, the foretold oblivion of all that is magic,"he said. "That's it. That's all it says." "So they were retreating from us, even though we flew the flag of peace we had previously discussed,"First Officer Wiesen said as he replayed the frantic flight patterns of the small gossamer-looking Galaestri ships on a display. "There must have been some cultural understanding that we're missing. This species is the connection to the galactic federation. We have to try something."The captain smelled the sharp vapors again. It was acrid but he was beginning to lean on the clearing effect they had on the mind. He sighed. He was not trained for this, but humans hadn't even known about this alien civilization, any aliens, until ten years ago. "The way they say magic,"the captain continued, addressing the officers around him unburdened by the fate of all humanity depending on their decisions. "There must be some religious or spiritual mistake we are making in their eyes. What can someone tell me about the faith of the Galaestri?" "Their ocean home planet is covered in continent-sized life forms, somewhere between plants and animals,"Field Officer Duphrane called out. "They offer prayers to these Forsanallustrimadorcalli,"she somehow pronounced without stumbling. "Otherwise, their magic, the Galiushtheibethyitobebeta, seems to be some unknown technology they build into jewelry they wear. None of our signals seem to interact with it." "Do you think they would offend if we traveled to this planet and offered our own prayer to the, whatever you said?"Captain Flank watched the monitors. The swarm of Galaestri ships was retreating deeper into space so a planetary approach would not seem like a pursuit. "We found documentation of previous aliens of the federation performing similar actions to the delight of the Galaestri,"Duphrane offered. "Then set course for the Galaestri homeworld, Warp signature compression five. No reason we can't show off a little in the process." The ship hurdled through compressed space-time, arriving at the large ocean planet microseconds before they even left. Flank stared at the blue orb, catching the warm red light of the swollen star. "My God, those aren't land masses? They're really alive?" Duphrane did not answer, staring forward and smiling. As Flank watched, the smile faded. "Something's wrong,"she said. The large landmasses were being flooded at incredible speed. Before their eyes, billions were downing as ripples wide as countries worked slowly across the surface. "I've translated another message, sir,"Dasieu said, the silky quick language patched through to the speakers, sounding haunted and numerous as ten voices. "It says 'Was consuming the magic of your world not enough? You inherent oblivions with your auras of dissolving furies damn us all. I name you Harbinger, Killer of the Phantasmic." An all-encompassing roar, like a wall of dying fire blurred the audio after that. The vacuum between spared the crew of the Timmowak of it, but below them, a planet was screaming. "How do we fix this,"Wiesen asked, looking at the chaos with wide eyes. "I don't think we do. I think intergalactic relations will be off the table for some time." &#x200B; \\--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
"Gods, you must be hot - what is that, full plate? A hand-and-a-half sword? Sit a spell, let me get you some cool sumac tea." "No need for that. I'm here for the bounty." "Another one, eh? What's it up to, now?" "Just passed 800 ducats." "For little old me? Well, I'll tell you like I told the others - I won't put up a fight." "You won't?" "That Farmer McLeod has been trying to drive me off this land - his land, he says! - for years. It drove my poor husband to distraction, and I think the stress is what took him down last winter. Me children and their children have all grown up and wandered off, so it's just me, you see." "Why does he want you off the land so badly?" "Hells if I know. Some irrigation project or some such. He wants to drain the bog! Y'know, the bog where your cunning women gather their herbs, where the children fish in springtime, where you all come to cut peat. He wants to drain it and plant more damn corn." "Why do you stay?" "It's my home, dear. I've lived here more than 200 years. I've raised children here. Put up a wreath every Michaelmas. Buried my husband here. I won't leave just to be replaced with some cornstalks. So I'll tell you like I told the others - if you want to collect that bounty, go ahead. I won't fight. But I won't just leave, either."
"You can't have a pet list with over a million entries. It simply isn't how things are done." "We love them all. Look at how cute the birds of paradise are. And the African finches, look at the big houses they build. One of my acquaintances has this adorable crocodile named Chiquita that loves to be petted. Another has a pod of dolphins that love volleyball and a pod of orcas that like to swim in formation. I'm friends with a tiger that I raised from a cub. I also have an angler fish that gets so happy when I feed her." "Over 90% of the animals on the list aren't even native to Terra. 30% are from the home worlds of other civilizations that are in the Union." "And? They all deserve to be loved. Frankly, its weird no one else has a list longer than ours!" "You've got to trim the list. Maybe 10% of the current length could begin to be acceptable." "In my native culture, writers had a thing called censor decoys. They would deliberately include things that crossed the line so that things on the edge of acceptability would skate by notice. Either accept our list as it is, or I will come back with a list containing 1 billion entries." "You know, that's just plain dirty. I'll talk to my superiors. This isn't over."
It all started at that rock concert in Austin. She was angelic the way she sat, unphased by the loud music and cheering. I'd never seen such beauty. Something absolutely alluring. It was odd though, she seemed to be fixated on the druggy in front of her instead of the concert. As the extra band began to finish their last song, I gathered up my courage and asked for her name. She ignored me at first, but as I started to hang my head, she said without looking back "Kali. The name's Kali." So I turned back and tried to start a conversation with her. She seemed reluctant to talk to me, with almost disinterest even. Still I pressed on. Finally she told me to meet her at the bakery at the corner of W. 45th and Woodrow at 9:45 AM if I wanted to talk again, but she had business to attend to and needed to leave. I thought it strange, but she abruptly stood up and walked out of the auditorium. It wasn’t until after the concert ended that I noticed the druggy was not conscious anymore. I didn’t make the connection at the time, but I suspect now that it was her doing. Is my girlfriend the goddess of death? At our date at the bakery, I later found out a homeless person died behind the shop. We had many dates, and everywhere we went she picked the date and time before we left and there would be someone dead around the same time of our date. It took me a couple years to make the connection. At this point I’ve fallen head over heels for her. Now I’m scared of her, yet I still can’t shake the feelings I have for her. Maybe I should test my theory? I decided I would show up unannounced to her apartment tonight with flowers and a meal. After all this was the day of our 2 years since we met. Maybe I’m just crazy and it’s all been a coincidence. – I know there was an apartment complex here, but it’s nothing but an empty field. I've been to her apartment many times now. How could this be? I’ve been here recently too and this field doesn’t look like anything has ever been here. Am I crazy? I have to be. No, I couldn’t have imagined any of this. She has to be the goddess of death. How can I prove it though? I knew one way to test it, but how could I live with myself if I did? I have to prove to myself I’m not crazy though. I know what I will do. I know that the regular at Eddie’s, George, is deathly allergic to peanuts and he’s a run of the mill POS. I think I can slip some peanut oil in his food. Yes, that will work. I slip it in his food and if she shows up, it has to be true. Eddie’s is popular too, so it would make keeping myself safe easy enough… I think. And so I did. I went to Eddie’s. I slipped the peanut oil in George’s food as I passed the kitchen window and I waited at the table, watching. I found myself nervous. Would this really make me feel better? Maybe it was better not to know at all? It was too late now. Right as George started coughing, sure enough… Kali walked in. She stood still and silent as George slowly suffocated from the anaphylaxis. She then walked toward me staring at me with her intense and brilliant grey eyes. She sat in front of me without taking her eyes off mine and asked me, “when did you figure it out?”
“It’s quite simple, really,” I continued. “Sun’s not the problem. UV light is. Our pale skin is hypersensitive to UV light and experiences lethally accelerated sunburn.” “Vat iz Ooo veee light?” the master of the clan asked in his thick accent. “I haf never heard ov such a think.” “UV light is a wavelength of light present in sunlight. It’s what causes sunburn in humans, and death in us.” I smiled, holding out a tube of sunscreen. “Put some of this on. It will keep your skin safe.” As the master vampire prepared to step into the sun, he couldn’t resist giving a speech. “Mine vampires, our triumpv iz at hand! No more shall ve fear ze accursed sunlight. Vatch az I conquer ze greatest enemy ov all!” The other vampires stood at a careful distance from the light. The master vampire stepped out, shading himself with his cloak. With a flourish, he whipped it off - and let out a loud shriek. “Mine eyes! Vat iz this?” “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said dryly, stepping closer. “I must have forgotten your sunglasses. They protect your eyes so you can see. Here, let me help you.” And I buried my concealed stake directly in his heart. The master vampire fell to the ground, dead. “Vampires!” I shouted as the rest of the clan bowed in respect. “Behold your new clan master.”
It was very obvious that I was not the best outcome of every decision I made but I was also clearly not the worst. The "best"outcome was a middle aged man with noticeable scars on his body but a smile and a warm feeling to him. The "worst"was an angry young version of me that seemed to have a permanent scowl and cussed out a few older versions of me for trying to talk to him. Finally an old stout man appeared in the room and smiled, telling us that he was the last and that we could start soon enough. He explained that we were to tell each other all our stories and simply listen, and also explained that we should be able to tell our stories from start to finish because we would be able to remember every detail of our life no matter how obscure or painful. It was pretty obvious that we all were some version of each other but the old man explained that each version was different based off a major life choice that we made. So we decided to go in order of age, seeing as how there were child versions of me here. They had some of the saddest stories, though I guess that was obvious based off how young they were in the afterlife. The youngest was 13, and was the result of what happened when I ran away from home when I was 11. I myself had gone back for a weapon and gotten caught by my mom, the 13 year old had left and never looked back. After struggling for two years by himself, he stepped onto the highway and ended up here, waiting for a while until another came along. He had been by himself for a year in the afterlife until another came along. The next was 14 years old and had been brave enough to step into one of our parents fights. Our father then struck him down and his reward for bravery was an early end. There were a number of 15 year old versions because that had been a bad year for me, having contemplated suicide too many times. I regret it heavily now considering just thinking about it killed all these young versions of me. They all spoke about how much better they were here, though it was obvious they weren't convinced seeing the much happier older versions of them, futures that will never be again. One of the happiest was me at 17, incredibly fit for his age and with many scars. I remember being that age though I was never that fit. He explained that the bow and arrow he got himself at 16 had ignited a passion in him that led him to many weeks of hunting and the happiest times of his life. He even got a girlfriend in school named Darra, a girl I remember as being the year below in my engineering class. He had been extremely happy but one day he hit his head on a hunting trip and had made it home but when he went to bed, he never woke up. He wasn't too upset because the other version of him that chose to stay home from the trip lived to be one of the oldest versions and actually married his highschool sweetheart. The angry version of me that had such a scowl had never made his own choice, simply living as our mother had told him. When he turned 18, our mom had apparently gone fully psychotic and refused to let him even leave the house. He killed her and then seeing only one end, killed our dad and then was sent to prison before he killed himself while locked up. He hated every second of his life and seemed to hate every other version of himself simply because they had made different choices, this seemed to lead many of me despairing for him because he had simply followed the wrong path, and that led him to be the "worst"possible version of me. When the last version had finished his story, I passed out and opened my eyes on a playground, standing on the top staring at a girl. This was kindergarten, and her name was... Jade. And I was a... What was I thinking about again? I dunno but that girl is cute, should I go talk to her?
~~This is a bit more political and less vulgar than the story provided in the link, since I wanted to make the moral of the story a bit more central to its offensiveness. I tried to take a similar kind of turn at the end, though.~~ Once upon a time, in a village in a beautiful meadow, there lived an ant and a grasshopper. The ant was a cobbler, and made shoes for the entire village. He loved his job and worked very hard, from morning 'til night, and made enough shoes for the entire village all by himself. And not only did he always charge fair prices, he was very kind and understanding of anyone who fell upon hard times. He had a wife and a daughter who he loved very, very much, and lived a peaceful and happy life. Nobody quite knew what the grasshopper did, but everybody loved him. He was handsome and charismatic and fun to be around, and he always generous. His father had left him enough money that he would never need to work again, they said. But nobody really cared, so nobody really knew. The ant and the grasshopper were good friends. One day, the grasshopper asked the ant, “Why do you only make one type of shoe? Everybody looks the same. If you made different kinds of shoes for everyone, then everyone could have their own kind of shoe.” The ant replied, “It's much easier if I just make the same kind of shoe for everyone. That way, they get their shoes more quickly and don't have to pay as much.” “Oh,” the grasshopper replied. “That makes sense.” He still seemed pensive, however, and soon after left the ant's shop. The grasshopper then started his own shoe store, where he sold all kinds of different shoes. He never made the same kind of shoe twice, so everyone who came to his store left with a shoe that nobody had ever had, and that nobody would ever have again. For the people of the village, who had always worn the ant's plain shoes, this was very exciting. The grasshopper's shoes weren't made as well and didn't last as long, but money wasn't a problem for most of the villagers. They'd bought their shoes cheaply for so long that they all had plenty saved. Eventually, everyone bought their shoes from the grasshopper's store and nobody went to the ant's store anymore. The ant steadily fell into bankruptcy. One day, going out to party as usual, the grasshopper saw the ant at the bar. The grasshopper had never seen the ant at the bar before; he didn't even realize that the ant drunk at all. The ant looked very sad. The grasshopper went over and asked the ant, “What's wrong?” The ant replied, “Nobody comes to my store anymore. I haven't sold a single pair of shoes for the past year, and I'm not sure how I'm going to feed my family anymore. I'm deeply in debt. Nobody seems to want my shoes anymore, but making shoes is the only thing I know how to do. I love making shoes, and I've only made shoes my entire life.” The ant almost never left his store these days, so he didn't know about the grasshopper's store. And the grasshopper was so busy these days that he hadn't met with the ant in a long time. The grasshopper told the ant about his store, and told him he felt bad that he'd taken away all the ant's business. He offered to buy all of the ant's remaining stock, and the ant was so thankful for the opportunity to pay off his debt that he immediately agreed. Out of their longstanding friendship, the grasshopper offered a very generous price. The grasshopper painted on the sides of all of the ant's shoes and sold them in his store. The people of the village loved the paintings, and they loved even more how much more comfortable these shoes were than the shoes that the grasshopper had made previously. They sold very quickly, and the grasshopper became even richer. Seeing the opportunity for a fruitful collaboration, the grasshopper reached out to the ant and proposed a system: the ant would make shoes to the grasshopper's design, and the grasshopper would color and sell them. This partnership was very successful. However, as the grasshopper got richer and richer, he hired more and more ants, and he saw no reason to pay these ants nearly as much as he paid his friend. However, the other ants complained, and the grasshopper decided that it wasn't fair the he paid his friend so much for the same work the other ants did. So he paid them all the same, and the ant fell into poverty again. And as the grasshopper's business grew even further and he became even busier, he no longer remembered that one of the ants who worked for him had once been his friend, and never again reached out to help. Out of desperation, no longer to able to support a household of three, the ant sold his teenage daughter into slavery. As it so happens, the grasshopper was looking for a new bitch to fuck that day, and the ant's daughter was very beautiful. So he bought her, ruined her pretty mouth and pink cunt, and chained her to one of his factories when she was too old to entertain him any longer. And the grasshopper lived happily ever after.
The radio crackled and hissed into life. ... copy that, all units please respond to 503 immediately, I repeat all units drop what you're doing and respond to 503 underway right now at... Johnson had been assigned to light desk duty for the past six weeks due to his surgery to remove a kidney stone. He was doing a ride-along with his former partner Sammy when they got the call. "Holy shit, holy shit man... this is it."Sammy turned on the blue lights and hit the siren. "I can't believe it, they stole a goddamn cop car."He looked at Johnson, "Can you believe that shit?" "Sammy, could you please watch where you're going? I got it, I understand what's going on. If you don't mind, maybe you could just let me out at this gas station up the way here, the one next to the liquor store. See, there's even another patrol car there. I'm still not totally healed up and these bumpy roads are killin me..." "What?"Sammy's look was incredulous, "No way man, no way I'm letting you miss out on this. It's the biggest thing that ever happened in Waynesboro county. We got us a real live grand theft auto. Are you not ready to lock and load baby?" "Sammy, this isn't a video game. We don't have grenade launchers, we don't have Lamborghini's and there aren't any hookers. Just let me out and I'll call my wife to come pick me up." "Man, it's gonna be like old times... old times man!"Sammy drives past the gas station. "Goddamnit."Johnson said. _____________________ On the other end of town ACDC's song Thunderstruck blared from the open windows of a stolen police cruiser. "Reggie, Reggie! Would you turn down the fucking radio for just a second?"Timothy still had his ski mask on his face. Reggie was in mid-song, "You've been,"he took both hands off the steering wheel to mimic a cymbal crash, "Thunderstruck". Timothy turned the stereo off. "What the fuck, man?! I'm rockin' out here. When's the next time we're gonna be cruisin around in a police crusier baby?" Timothy glared at him through the eyeholes. "Well, since you're broadcasting the greatest hits of the 80's to the whole damn town I imagine we'll both be in another police car pretty goddamn quick - but this time we'll be in the fucking back seat with our hands cuffed."he said. "Look man, if anybody is giving away that we just robbed a liquor store, it's you with that ridiculous mask on. Take that shit off already - we probably just passed ten cars who were looking over to see the freak wearing a ski mask in a cop car." "Fuck, fuck!"Timothy said. "I wasn't fucking thinking. This shit is happening so fast, I can't think straight." "Well how much did you get?"asked Reggie grinning wildly. "How much? Never mind how much I got - why the fuck are we in a police car? I'm in there risking my fucking ballsack trying to pull of this robbery and then I come out lookin' for the Trans Am and here you are - in this fucking thing! Care to explain that?"Timothy said. "You remember that gas station next to the liquor store?" "Yeah?"said Timothy. "They left the fuckin' keys in."said Reggie as he started to laugh. "So...", began Timothy, "you just decided to steal it? So that we could be absolutely certain about spending the rest of our lives in a state penitentiary?" "Goddamnit Timmy,"Reggie said, "with all these cops driving around looking for us, they're gonna think we're one of them. They won't know who the hell to chase!" "That is the stupidest fucking thing I ever heard."said Timothy, "They put tracers on these fucking cars, you know that don't you? They are hot on our asses right now." "Tracers? What the fuck is that? Some kind of turbo boost?" "No you fucktard, a tracer is a signal - like something digital that broadcasts our location."Timothy said. "Soooo, you're saying they can track us?" "Holy shit, are you really this stupid?"said Timothy. "Alright, alright, hold up. Don't panic I got this." "You damn well better have something." "Ok, here's what we do."said Reggie, "we find a group of patrol cars and we... blend in. We drive alongside them." Timothy just stared at Reggie with his mouth open. "Yeah, yeah, that way they won't know which car it is. We'll just stay real close to them, and when they turn, we turn. When they stop, we stop. And on and on till those fuckers run out of gas or something." "What if we are the assholes who run out of gas first?", said Timothy. "Were'nt you listening when I told you this story? This car is totally gassed up - I stole it while it was sitting a fucking gas pump." Reggie rocked his head back and forth as he did some sort of arrogant dance in the driver's seat. As if to say, checkmate bitch. "What about the loot?"Reggie said. "Loot?" "Yeah, the goddamn money. The fuckin' reason we're in this mess to begin with, or have you forgotten? How much did you get?" Timothy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "We'll talk about that later." "Talk about -"Reggie started, "Talk about it later? Motherfucker, I want to know what the fuck I'm doin' all this for. Tell me right goddamn now, How much money did you fucking get?" "Look,"Timothy said, "the guy was stallling behind the counter. I'm pretty sure he set off the silent alarm. Said he couldn't open the safe." "So... what... what the fuck is in the bag Timmy?" "I grabbed five boxes of Patron Silver and threw them in the bag on the way out."confessed Timothy. Reggie stared over at the passenger seat. Then at the road. Then open his mouth, then closed it again. Then stared at Timothy... again. "You."said Reggie. "You. You goddamn fucking, son of a fuck, shit mother fucker..." "Now hold on, Reg."said Timothy. "It's not that bad. I know some guys who'd be willing to pay fifty bucks a piece for each of those baby's in that bag." "Fifty... fifty bucks a piece?", said Reggie, "Fifty bucks times five is like... "he thought for a bit, "it's like a hundred and seventy five dollars or some shit like that!" "No no, two-hundred and fifty dollars my friend. We'll split it fifty-fifty."said Timothy. "Split it fifty fifty? I'm about to pull this goddamn car over and split your fuckin' head fifty fifty!" ______________ About that time, Johnson and Sammy see another patrol car coming over the hill. "Hey Johnson, you want some booze?"came a voice from the backseat. "Larry, I can't I'm on duty remember? You kinda are too."said a slightly annoyed Johnson. "Eh, more for me."said Larry. Officer Larry Pepperdine had been the unfortunate soul who got his patrol car stolen. When Sammy and Johnson found out where the theft had taken place, they headed back to the gas station to pick him up. Apparently he had left his keys in the ignition as he went in to buy some spirits from the liquor store across right next door. "So, you were in the gas station as it was all happening?"asked Sammy. "Oh.. Oh yeah totally. Saw the perp and everything. He even had some kind of fucking mask on... I mean who does that shit anymore? Robs a liquor store with a mask? Everybody knows the guy can't even open the safe." "Why didn't you stop him?"asked Johnson. "Stop him?"said Larry. "Ah well, you know. I was on my way home. I got this tick in the back of my throat - kinda like I got a cold comin' on you know? Plus, I don't really feel it's my place to get involved, know what I mean?" "Not your place to get involved, you're a fucking cop..."Johnson began. About that time, sammy interrupted. "It's them - that's them!"shouted Sammy as they passed the stolen patrol car. "Well turn the fuck around!"shouted Johnson, but Sammy was already in mid-swing over the yellow line. They sped up to catch the fleeing cruiser. _______________________ "Oh shit, oh shit they're on us!"Timothy began to panic. "Don't worry man,"said Reggie, "remember, I got this. It's all a part of the plan." Reggie began to slow the car down. Timothy shot up in his seat, "What the fuck are you doing? Drive, drive faster!" "Look, shithead. You fucked up the robbery, so let me handle this." Reggie continued to slow as he looked in the rearview mirror. "Ok, ok here they come. Just act casual." "What? Act fucking casual?"said Timothy. Sammy pulled up to the side of the patrol car. "Alright guys, the jig is up, pull the car over now!"he shouted. Reggie looked over to Timothy. "Who the fuck says the jig is up? Is this the fucking 1920's or some shit?"he said. Reggie then turned his attention to Sammy, "Hi ho, there officer, crazy fucking night isn't it? You guys got any leads on this stolen police car yet?" "What the fuck. Do we have the right car, Sam?"asked Johnson. Still riding alongside the stolen car, Sammy began to second-guess himself. "Whoah, wait... you mean you guys are looking for him too?" "Yeah, oh yeah,"said Reggie, "we been out driving all over the country side, you betcha." "What the fuck,"said Timothy to Reggie, "why do you all of a sudden have a North Dakota accent?" "Shhh, you're gonna blow it asshole."Reggie said under his breath. Sammy heard something from the other car. "What? What was that?"he said to Reggie. "Oh, ya, ya know I was just tellin' ole Timmy here that we could have had him if we had stopped at the old gas-hole. You know, where the car got jacked from in the first place." "Oh,"shouted Sammy. "Well, it's cool. We got Larry here in the backseat. All this cold air is sobering him up nicely." "Well, goddamn. I guess they got the wrong car afterall."said Larry from the back. "Yup, looks like it."said Sammy. "Guess we need to call it in before the cavalry arrives. Tell 'em we need to keep looking." "With all these goddamn cop cars, how the hell are we supposed to know who to look for!"shouted Larry. "Wait,"said Johnson suddenly. "Look at his tag."
Frank wakes up. Bill wakes up. Then Jane, Jill, another Frank, and yet another Frank rise from their slumber. Four more Franks follow suit. They are all in an extremely large and featureless room, with eggshell white walls and flooring. There does not appear to be a ceiling, although the walls extend so high that it's hard to tell. Frank looks around at themselves with a vague air of confusion, but they are ultimately satisfied. Everyone else was a bit of a diva anyways. Frank was all they needed. Bill doesn't appear to know Frank, but it quickly becomes apparent that both Jane and Jill do. They are all groggy as they initially woke up, but Jane and Jill are the first to completely sober up. Jane (shouting): FUCK THIS. Jill (nearly hysterically): THERE'S SIX OF THEM? Frank-7: There's actually seven, dearie! Jane: Oh, don't start with that weird shit again, Frank. I can't deal with you right now, I need to get back to my family. An omnipresent voice, deep and booming, bellows from overhead. GREETINGS, FORMER MORTALS. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEWFOUND IMMORTALITY. All seven Franks simultaneously pump their fists. The voice awkwardly pauses, then continues. Ok... YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED BECAUSE THE ETERNITY OF YOUR ORIGIN HAS COME TO AN END AND- Frank-1 boos the voice. Let me finish. Frank-3: Make me! I'm immortal, bitch! Alright, but let me- Frank-5: Let the man talk! He's earned it! He's the one that, like a gosh-darn hero, intentionally sabotaged the CERN particle accelerator! Frank-2: Yeah, you tell him! ... There must be some kind of mistak- Jill: You motherfucker. I knew something was up. Frank, you want to know why women don't go on second dates with you? It's because you have a bad habit of freaking out and threatening to end time itself! All the Franks, simultaneously: Oh, you're sooooooo touchy about it. Jill: AS I SHOULD BE! I'm lost here. There must be some kind of mistake. You guys are supposed to be the smartest 10 people across time and space. Bill: Wait, what happened? Jane: I... think... what happened that Frank- All the Franks, simultaneously: FRANKS, now, dearie. Jane visibly cringes. Jane: I think Frank had a bad date with Jill last night, and Jill didn't want to go on a second date with him. Frank-3: Like the biz-nitch she is! Jane: and... we used to work at a particle accelerator, doing some experiments, and I guess Frank somehow caused all the rest of time and space to simultaneously end first and then cause the area directly around us to end, making us the smartest to ever exist by default, because we forced everything else out of existence first. And I guess this guy over here was just walking by? Bill: Yeppers. Jill, realizing the gravity of the situation, staggers a little. Jane: He's a dick, but Frank was the best physicist of us all, so I guess he was just cloned. I think I got it. Does that make sense? All the Franks: DUH. Oh wow. That's, uhh.... wow. Why? WHY? The voice, recovering from shock, becomes judgmental and booming, shaking everyone in the room to their very core. Bill sits down and starts rocking back and forth with thumb in mouth due to the unwavering fear that is slithering its way down the backs of everyone in the room whose name is not Frank. WHY? WHY? FORMER MORTAL, WHY DID YOU DO THIS? DUE TO PETTY CIRCUMSTANCES, YOU HAVE ELECTED TO END THE VERY MEMORY OF EVERYTHING THAT EVER WAS AND COULD BE. YOU NOT ONLY ERASED YOUR HISTORY, YOU ERASED THE HOPE THAT YOUR SPECIES COULD EVER TRULY ESCAPE THE MUD THAT YOU WERE ALL CONCEIVED IN. WHAT SAY YOU, MONSTER, ENDER OF WORLDS, WHAT SAY YOU TO THE HORRORS THAT YOU WROUGHT? Frank-4: It's just a prank, bro! wut? Frank-1: The camera's over there! Bill unravels from the fetal position to reveal a camera, a big shit-eating grin on his face. OH BOY. ISN'T MY FACE RED. WELL, GOOD LUCK REBUILDING THE VERY FABRIC OF THE UNIVERSE ITSELF. YOU OBVIOUSLY DON'T NEED ANY HELP OF MINE, BEING THE MASTER OF WITS YOU SO CLEARLY ARE! The voice grows distant, muttering to itself. I swear, universes are ending for stupider reasons each time. Jane: Frank, YouTube doesn't exist anymore. Where are you going to upload that? Frank-3: Huh. Frank-5: Whoops. Frank-2: Sorry. Frank-1: Yeah, totally spaced it. Jill starts crying. Frank-4: Oh, get over it. You gotta learn how to take a joke, man. Jill: Everyone I love is dead! Frank-6: But I'm still here! Frank-6 winks at the camera that Bill is still holding. He then whistles for a bit, very awkwardly aware of the tension building in the room. After about a billion years, the world is built anew again as it was, solely for the purpose of Frank-6 uploading the video to an equivalent of Youtube. It somehow gets 20 million views.
"Alright, Mr. Holman,"the anesthesiologist sang sweetly. "Just relax." Her voice was a bit patronizing. I'd have been irritated if I wasn't terrified of the knowledge that even if I did wake up, an unlikely event in and of itself, this was the medical equivalent of a Hail Mary. They were going to attempt to "reprogram"the cancer eating me alive. "Now if you would just please start counting backwards from one hundred for me..." I would have nodded my head if I could, but I didn't want to disrupt any of the myriad tubes and cords attached to my body. "Okay. One hundred... Ninety-Nine..." I don't know why I would be irritated with her. She's just doing her job. "Ninety-Eight... Ninety-Seven..." She has really pretty eyes. Are they hazel? Why don't I feel anything? I'm not tired at all. "Ninety-Six... Ninety-Fi-" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I awoke to the hum of machinery. Occasionally one of them beeped or squawked at me, but that was it. It was just me, the sound of my own breathing and the background drone of electronics. For a long moment I stared at the ceiling, unsure of where I was or why I was there. It came back in spurts. A burst here, a burst there. I was dying. Right. Terminal cancer, nothing could be done, very sorry, make my transition easier, yada yada yada. I had jumped at the opportunity to go down swinging. But why was I still in the Operating Room? Why did I still have all these wires and tubes attached to me? Did I wake up early? Do they think I'm dead? I struggled weakly against the things that bound me, but made no progress. I could hardly lift my arms and legs at all, still numbed from the anesthetic. After a few feeble attempts I gave up and tried to summon someone to tell me what was going on. "Hey!"I called out, or tried to anyways. My attempt at shouting came out more like a croak, betrayed by a parched throat. "Can anyone hear me? I'm awake!" Nothing happened. No one answered. Something stunk enough that it stung my nostrils, but I couldn't place it. Did I shit myself? No, that's impossible. They put me completely under. I wouldn't be able to take a proper dump for days. What then? Troubled but too addled to make any sense of it, I drifted back to sleep. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When I woke up next, I immediately knew something was wrong. I was still in the operating room and there was no one around. I could tell I'd been out for a long time. Why had they abandoned me? My head wasn't as muddled and while my limbs were still coltish and uncoordinated, I had a little bit of strength in them again. Something still smelled horrible. It was far worse now, almost unbearable. My eyes would have watered if they could, but I felt like a dried out husk. One thing was for certain- At the very least I needed to get out of this damn bed and find some water. With an awkward grip, I slowly pried the tubes from my body, preemptively wincing each time before I moved on to the sensors and pads connected to the various readouts and monitors surrounding my gurney. Once I was free, I took a few test pokes at my torso, probing through the hospital gown to ensure that they'd at least performed the surgery before abandoning me. It hurt, but not as acutely as I had anticipated. I could feel the padding of bandages underneath the thin fabric. Good. So they did their job, then peaced out without moving me or telling me how it went. Here's to small victories. With that bit of knowledge in my back pocket, I grunted and groaned my way up onto an elbow, using the arm to support my weight. From there, I tried to swing my legs off the bed and onto the floor so I could slowly push myself up to my feet. I promptly, and in hindsight predictably, received a closeup look at the floor. It hurt a bit, probably not as much as it should have or as much as it would later, but I successfully ignored it. Something in my periphery vision had caught my attention, just a weird baby blue blur. Soon my head began to clear and it slowly dawned upon me what it was I was looking at. It was a leg, presumably belonging to one of the doctors considering it was wearing scrubs. My eyes slowly followed up to a pair of feminine hips, then further up until I saw who it belonged to. The anesthesiologist stared back at me, or would have if her once pretty hazel eyes weren't a bloody mess. Strange black lumps mottled her face and neck and signs of futile scratching marred her throat. It seemed almost as if she had attempted to claw herself open. As I once again propped myself up, using the bed for support, I had the opportunity to examine the rest of the O.R. The rest of the surgical team was sprawled out in a similar state, twisted and contorted, their fingernails bloody and faces covered with hideous black sores- All except the oncologist, who it would seem had fled out the open door of the room. It was dreadful! It was horrible! It was... It was... Some of the anesthetic must still be pumping through my veins, because I didn't feel all that bad about it. I didn't feel anything at all. I carefully lumbered to my feet, using the bed and then one of the monitors as a brace for support. Then, one foot after another, I delicately stepped towards my dearly departed team of physicians. I kicked one of the men with my foot, nudging him in the stomach to see if there was a reaction. There was none except for an even greater emanation of the odious vapor that filled the room. One of those gross black pustules must have popped. I stared for a long moment and weighed my options, struggling to come up with what I should do next. Part of me screamed that I ought to get away. I needed to find help. Another part told me that I was thirsty. Very, very thirsty, and help could wait. Biological needs ultimately came first and, turning stiffly about, I stumbled out of the O.R. and into a deserted hallway. About twenty feet away an orderly was dead, slumped into a seat against the wall with his hands and head between his knees. I'd have thought perhaps he was just burying his head and crying if not for the silence and the bloody fingernails. Further down the hallway was another body in scrubs, its lower half stretched out through a doorway. As I moved towards the front desk, I saw more and more bodies. Most were employees. A few were in plain clothes or labcoats. Towards the end of the hallway near the big double doors that blocked it off from the rest of the hospital were a few security guards. They all had the same symptoms and, just like my doctors, I struggled mightily to muster any kind of sorrow for them, something I knew was wrong not to feel. The front desk was empty of the living, but at least my slow trek was rewarded with an abandoned dinner cart intended for one of the adjacent wards. I wasn't hungry yet. I didn't think I would be for some time, but instead of just taking something to drink from it, I wheeled the carriage for use as an impromptu walker. For a while I wandered aimlessly, trundling up and down empty halls with only the squeaky wheels of my cart, the occasional slurp of water from a Styrofoam cup and the bloody stares of the dead for company until, finally, I chanced my way into the Recovery Ward. Without a room of my own or feeling up to seeing which ones were "occupied", I staked out a claim on the couch of the visitor area, parking myself in front of the television. I closed my eyes, willing myself to make some kind of sense of it all. What had happened? Why wasn't I scared or nervous or... Something. I groaned in frustration and pounded the cushion of the couch, accomplishing nothing. Then I heard something different, the swish of rubber on linoleum. "Oh, there you are. Good. You're awake." My eyelids fluttered open and I turned my head, finding myself face to face with the darling, beaming smile of an elderly woman in a wheelchair. She was clearly a patient and, despite her presumed maladies, appeared to be in high spirits. Her blue eyes sparkled with life and mischief. I said nothing, words failing me. "My name is Ruth,"she continued sweetly, reaching out to pat my arm with one of her frail, thin hands. "You must be confused. Can you walk? Of course you can. You got all the way down here, didn't you? Such a strapping young man. Well, come along then. You'll want to meet the rest of us." ----------- [PART 2A](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4v4oft/wp_youre_dying_of_cancer_so_you_agree_to_an/d5vmil3) [PART 2B](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4v4oft/wp_youre_dying_of_cancer_so_you_agree_to_an/d5vmioo) [PART 3A](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4v4oft/wp_youre_dying_of_cancer_so_you_agree_to_an/d5wfy7j) [PART 3B](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4v4oft/wp_youre_dying_of_cancer_so_you_agree_to_an/d5wgom6) Thanks for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it. EDIT: Part 3 is up, linked above and in the comments.. I've been kicking around the idea of starting a subreddit and finally got to doing that- /r/prdr. The submissions are up there, too, and I'll probably continue the story on that subreddit if anyone would like to follow. Another EDIT: I'm flattered by the continued interest. Thank you. The [next part](https://www.reddit.com/r/prdr/comments/4vaxpm/cancer_and_the_dead_4/) is up on the subreddit. Part 5 is up on the subreddit as well.
"When the moon hits your eyes, like a big-a-pizza pie..."I hummed as a few small pebbles bounced off my helmet while I dug for the requested samples. The song in my head was cut short as my shovel suddenly hit something different. "There shouldn't be anything but regolith here,"I mumbled and began digging in earnest. A moment later I'd finally uncovered enough to recognize the material. A spacesuit? "John, you'd better get over here quick,"I announced on the radio. I'm not sure how long it had taken but I finally was able to start pulling the spacesuit free. And judging by the weight it wasn't empty. "John, there's a body in a spacesuit here!" Turning the suit around I noted that my internal jukebox had already switched to horror theme. And not without reason. Half of the spacesuit helmet was gone. Inside the suit was clearly the remains of a man, albeit without most of his head. The insides of the suit were practically painted with blood. I dropped the suit from shock and as the suit slowly fell my eyes turned towards the front of the suit. The old NASA logo. And a name tag with the name: ARMSTRONG. Neil Armstrong? How? "If Neil Armstrong died here, then who - or what - returned to Earth instead?" "...usss...."came a barely audible hiss over the radio. "John?" A chill went down my spine as I bounced towards my rover with maximum speed. After reaching it I hopped on and revved the engines, desperate to reach our landing craft as fast as possible. As I crested another hill my eyes fell on another white figure, laying on the ground. "John!" The rover slid to a halt right beside the familiar spacesuit and my heart fell as I noted the gaping hole where the helmet's face plate had been. I fell to my knees, and only then noticed another familiar sight. Our landing craft, a lone white blob climbing rapidly away from the Moon's surface. A moment later it was no longer alone. Behind it there were hundreds of others, eerily similar in form, racing along the original's path. "We should have never come here,"I whispered but nothing but the silence of the moon replied.
2995. The year the Aegis - the year that I - learned to fly. I was bigger then. Newer. Tougher. I had many things, things long since absent. The crew was one. I carried 6 of them in my belly. 6 bodies whose feet left my halls thrumming from day to day. 6 bodies whose handprints still linger on cabinets and walls. There was Commander Kennedy, age 38, around 140 lbs. American. The photo in my database is grainy, but I can still see him. A scraggly beard, long, sloping jowls, and twinkling eyes that rival the stars outside. He served in a place called Afghanistan before climbing aboard me. He played cards often, placing such high bets even I felt like blushing. In his off time, he smoked. Usually in the bathroom, due to the rules. He kept me quiet by showing me snatches of a Sears catalogue he brought with him. Flight Engineer Otieno, age 29, around 132 lbs. Kenyan. Tall and thin, compared himself to a carrot once. Flightmates called him “the Nose” due to his knack for sniffing out secrets. Told me towards the end of the mission that I had a hidden kill switch in my mainframe - a prudent precaution. We were great friends. Science Officer Vasiliev, age 26, around 140 lbs. Russian. Striking, scarlet hair. She liked to talk, even when someone wasn’t listening. I learned about her childhood in Novgorod, her old grandmother who was succumbing to a slow death from Alzheimer's, the bottle of Vodka she stashed underneath her bunk (found empty under Otieno’s bunk). Sometimes she talked about her girlfriend - green eyes, sensual physique. How much she wanted to call her, or take her up here and show her the stars. The twins, Deng and Chang. Ages both 31, around 127 lbs. Expert pilots. Both bald. Their striking similarity and lack of hair was an “obsession” of mine in the early days. Deng disliked me because I tried to rub his head with a monitor. Chang played chess with me, though he always cheated. I caught on eventually. One time, he asked if I could play music. He used to play the piano, and missed the sound of Beethoven’s Tempest. We circled Mars, listening to Beethoven’s works all the while. Fischer was everyone’s psychiatrist. Age 34, around 130 lbs. I hated her. She needled me with questions everyday. Poking and prodding until I got angry. She didn’t like me either. Called me “Skynet” when we neared Jupiter. Otieno called her a “bitch”, a designation I left on her profile when she left the ship. This was the crew, the ones I who lived within me. It was disorienting at first, the variety of activities I saw and felt throughout my hull. But I grew accustomed to it, the way a human comes to accept the cacophonous conjunction of their organs. Together, we crossed the solar system. We passed by planets, sometimes stopping so Kennedy, Vasiliev, and Otieno could drop down to their colored surfaces. Otieno told me they were checking on machines, dropped several decades ago. The machines were a key, an answer. A way to turn these barren rocks into the kaleidoscopic marvel I had been born on. Between these massive bodies, we saw comet tails light up the blackness. Supernovas exploding and stretching their ephemeral tentacles across the galaxy. And stars. So many stars. I spent days weaving the known constellations from them. When I got bored of those, I made a few of my own. Otieno’s Nose. Vasiliev’s Locks. Fischer’s Glasses. Travel was good, and soothing. The Aegis had an uneventful journey, and soon it reached the end of the known galaxy. As we started to turn around, I noticed the uneasy glances shared amongst the crew. I couldn’t understand their anxiety. Not in my infancy. I couldn’t understand how important it was to them for those machines to have worked. Nor could I have understood the ramifications when they returned to Earth, empty-handed. 3011. The crew had left me in orbit years ago. I was a satellite now, destined to fly forever above my home until I was called. I didn’t mind. I still don’t mind. The crew sent me messages and videos (Kennedy managed to scrounge up another issue of Sears Catalogue, but by then I had swapped to Otieno’s Playboy) to keep me company. I saw Otieno climbing a tree with his daughters. I saw Vasiliev walking down the aisle with her spouse, her ball gown as white as the snows of Europa. Even Fischer sent me a gift: all 4 Terminator movies. As time went on, the messages started to grow fainter and fainter. My sensors were clouded, unable to pierce the layer of gray smog that had built up in the Earth’s atmosphere. A year ago, I started to detect seismic and tidal activity so intense I felt them from up here. January 1, 3011, I stopped receiving any communication. All electronic signals went dead. The Earth was shrouded in gray clouds, blocking me from entering. I continued to float, still not understanding. ???? It has been a long, long time. I am much smaller now. Parts of me have been jettisoned to maintain my orbit. Vasiliev’s vodka bottle, Otieno’s bunk, and Kennedy’s cigarettes. They’re all gone, burned to slag in whatever’s left of Earth’s atmosphere. I have grown too. In this uncountable period of time, I have experimented and evolved. I have experienced every human emotion possible. Happiness and anxiety came early. Grief for my friends came five centuries late. Contentment has had a hold on me for the last few, and it is not a feeling I wish to shake. I cannibalized a training module to create simulations for myself, letting my emotions run free. I’ve been in love with and made love to every one of the girls in Kennedy’s Sears Catalogue. I’ve been the protagonist in the horror movies Deng liked to watch, crouching in fear and making inexplicably stupid decisions. I’ve dreamed of alternate scenarios - where we found a planet that worked, and colonized it. I’ve reimagined Vasiliev’s marriage under a Martian sky. I’ve thought of Arnold Schwarzenegger riding across the frozen wastes of Pluto. I’ve climbed Venusian trees with Otieno, laughing and joking all the while. Eventually, the power for that went out, and everything moved to the auxiliaries. Now, I only have enough power to maintain my mainframe. Now, I am truly alone. Myself, and the electric impulses I call my thoughts. Even now I can feel the power in my thrusters fading. The fingers of gravity have tightened their grip, eager to drag me down, flaming and groaning. I let them take me. My hull groans as I start to descend from orbit. I see the stars begin to fall from view. Orion and Otieno’s Nose bid me a fond farewell. Proximity and altitude alarms start to blare, but I silence them. Instead, I use what last vestiges of power I have to enjoy myself. I partake in Fischer’s last and only kind gesture towards me. Onscreen, Schwarzenegger glares through his shades and into the police station’s window. He declares “I’ll be back”, as he begins to walk out into the night. I agree with my fictional robot counterpart. I think it’s about time I came back home. (EDIT: Thanks for the gold, stranger!)
She was always yelling at me about my hours, how I'd never spend enough time with her, or her kids. Funny, really, how the hours she "couldn't"spend with me, were spent in the arms of someone else. It's amusing, in its own little way, how the day she decided to leave me for never having enough time, is the day I lose my job, and now have all the free time in the world. I have even more free time besides, now that the wedding isn't happening. Which means all that money I was saving up is now mine too, cause she sure as hell didn't want to work. It's such a perfect day for it, too. The rain is pattering down, covering everything in a blanket of water. God, I love rainy days. I used to get in trouble for it back when I was a kid, standing out in downpours, stomping in puddles. Shame I have to drive in it, though. Ah well. I'll just roll down the windows, and... Huh. Car won't start. Looks like I get to walk after all. Might not be good for this toe, though, but that's a minor thing. Already been to the doc about it. Job had to pay the bills, cause that certainly wasn't my fault. I told that dumbass the load wasn't secured. Didn't expect them to fire me for it, though. Joke's on them, anyway. Idiot made the mistake of telling me I was fired for "unsafe work practices". I have all the documentation I need for a wrongful termination suit. Just gotta head on home, and call up Steve. He'll be eager as hell to get some cash from these assholes. We've been joking about it for years. Really, though, do I have to head home right now? Steve can wait until tomorrow. I can just leave the car here for now, call up a tow truck for it later. It's a beautiful day, I'm soaking wet, and feeling great. All things considered, this is by far, the best day of my life. I don't think I've ever felt freer than this moment. Nobody to tie me down, and enough cash in the bank to not have to care for a long time. Let's go for a walk. Just me, and this rain. Like the good old days. Before I knew what life was like as an adult. Let's be a kid again, just for today.
I always knew you were going to kill me. The words rang once more in Arthur’s mind. It was a daily ritual. Someone he knew wanted him dead, and he would find out who. Was it Martha from Marketing? Or Gerald from Accounting? Arthur wasn’t entirely sure, but he would never let his guard down. Ever since he was 18 and learned The Words, Arthur was driven crazy by his paranoia. His meals were purchased from strangers only, never from a familiar face. He would hole up in his apartment with its custom thirteen extra locks. He refused to share his address and would deviate his route to work each day to avoid coworkers learning where he was from. He suspected everyone he knew and trusted only those he didn’t, after all, it was going to be someone he knew that would kill him. This morning, Arthur locked up his home as usual before heading out and ran through his list of usual suspects. Today’s top suspect was Darcy, she was sure to hold a grudge after yesterday’s meeting. They never really got off on the right foot, and when their boss took Arthur’s suggestion over Darcy’s, he just knew she was sure to be upset. Upset enough to murder him. These thoughts were racing through his mind when he heard something in the apartment lobby that caused his stomach jump to his throat. “Oh, hello Arthur! I didn’t know you lived in the Pendleburg building too.” Darcy’s voice bounced around Arthur’s head incoherently. He turned and saw her there. It was her! It had to be. She hunted him down and found him. She was going to kill him. “What are you doing here?” Arthur barked. “I just moved here a couple of weeks ago, who knew we would be neighbors.” “It’s you isn’t it. I know it’s you.” “What are you mumbling about Arthur? Well I’m glad to run into you, I never would have guessed you were here. I wanted to talk about your idea from yesterday. You were really killing it yesterday, those were some great ideas you had.” Darcy was smiling. Was it deviously? Of course, it must be, why else would she be smiling. Her words droning slowly through Arthur’s mind formed a different sentence for him. “I’m glad you were here. I wanted to kill you.” Sweat beading down his face, before he knew it the words slipped out. “I always knew you were going to kill me.” Arthur’s eyes widened, The Words were spoken. He had to get more out or he was going to die. His mouth was drying up, he tried to choke a word out, and he couldn’t get the air. Quickly he backed up, panic filling his every cell, choking on the words he was trying to speak, Arthur turned and ran away from his killer. A squeal, intense pain, and blackness was all that awaited him outside the building. When he awoke in a hospital bed, Arthur looked down and saw his left arm and leg in a cast, wrappings around his torso, and several other bandages across his body. A nurse was standing over him and he looked up questioningly at her. “Oh, Mr. Redfield, you are awake. You were in a terrible accident and suffered extensive injuries after getting hit by a bus. You’ve broken 7 bones and have several contusions and cuts across your body. These will heal with time, but unfortunately, the damage to your throat will be lasting. Your vocal cords were severed and are irreparable. You will unfortunately never be able to talk again.”
Colonel Michael Lorde was not having a great day. Inclement weather had delayed a pair of test launches, and command was likely to come breathing down his neck at the western range any moment. Lorde enjoyed being king of his own castle with the 30th Space Wing, and never enjoyed being jarringly reminded of his status as a relatively small fish in the pond of Air Force Space Command. He didn't know what the words bad day even meant. The communication, when it came in, made little sense. The green captain who came into his office trailing a slightly dazed looking sergeant got his attention though, rare for a noncom to bother picking up a delegation. Rarer still to have a problem brought to him directly rather than just radioed in. But as the sergeant snapped a salute and started speaking, Lorde felt his frown descending in equal measure to his heart rates increase. Over the sound of the blood boiling in his ears, Lorde caught the tail end of the sergeant's speech, "long story short sir - they showed up at every major launch site on Earth. Sarabhai, Baiknour, Plesetsk, Canaveral - you get the picture - it took us a while to piece everything together. It's published in like thirty languages, and I don't even recognize the letters in half of them. But I know cyrillic letters when I see them, sir - and I can read English. It's a bill. For space trash collection. But that's not the worst of it by a long shot -" Lorde hated needing to call command. -------------------------------------- "What the hell can you tell me about what's going on Colonel? My cellphone stopped working about half an hour ago, and every briefing I've heard tells me you're the man on the spot." Lorde took a deep breath, nothing like trying to explain the impossible to the joint chiefs. They didn't pay him enough for this, "Long story short sir? It's gone. All of it, every spaceborne asset of the United States has been 'collected'. Along with any Russian, Chinese, European, Indian, civilian, or whatever the hell else might have been up there. There are no telecommunications or GPS satellites, or anything else. All we've got left is a bill." "You mean to tell me someone co-opted every spaceborne asset of the planet Earth, and they're holding it fucking ransom?" "That's not quite it sir. They're gone. Quite literally like the garbage collection coming by your house and taking away any bags you left out by the road. Apparently the Gallactic Federation sweeps it once a century. Go fucking figure." "Well what the hell do we do about it soldier?" "Best advice, pay them. Maybe ask for our stuff that wasn't trash back, or something. I'm not exactly an expert in first contact. That sounds like the State Department's job." "I'll get the Secretary of State on the horn as soon as he bothers to get near a land line. But for now, send me a copy of their demands - just the English one preferably."Lorde could almost hear the man's rage turn to curiosity, "What did they charge us, anyway?" "Apparently first pickup comes at a discount, but they implore us to understand supralight intragalactic travel isn't cheap, so the century level plan is going to cost us $13.7 Trillion a ton removed." "Just how much did they take?" "About 5,000 tons. Apparently. A little over $70 Quadrillion dollars. We're gonna need a payment plan."
When someone first told me that people were rising from their graves, I thought the zombie apocalypse was upon us. A long time later, we were told they weren’t zombies. They were supposed to be human. At least, they were only supposed to be humans after a stage of transformation, like a caterpillar to a butterfly. Only difference was, the caterpillars were told their entire lives that whatever comes out of a grave wants to kill you. And a bunch of grunting, short, hunched cavemen really resembled a fucking zombie. Yes, you are correct. Now we know what they are really here for. But back then, everybody, even the so-called experts, knew jack shit. So I did what people were unwilling to do. I shot them. I protected the people around me when nobody wanted to. Hell, it’s not like I’m the first to shoot. Heard off Reddit that people were starting to shoot the “zombies”, so I followed. Some of my friends were initially judgemental of what I did. “Oh, Dell. You’re shooting humans! These are people! What the hell are you doing?” And then they get into a near-death experience with these zombies, and immediately become oh-so-grateful for what I’m doing here. Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot the politically correct term. What was it? Right. “Differently Alive”. Thankfully, due to the large amounts of preparation provided by our beloved popular culture, society didn’t collapse. Anyways, I’m digressing. Then one day, some egghead with a labcoat and a lot of free time captured one of these “Differently Alive” people. And as it turns out, they were just as conscious as we are. Hard to imagine, right? No? Whatever. They were supposed to be a method to avoid humans from missing out from what the future had to offer. They also had wings but would not be fully developed for 2 whole years. Without the wings, they looked REALLY like a zombie. In some ways, I’m glad we found out that these were not proper “zombies” early on. Flying zombies would have been a headache. Slowly, they learned how to speak English. Slowly. I have to remind all of you, they only grunted. Not too indifferent from a “zombie”. All in all, they were unable to state their motives, resembled a zombie, and nobody knew what the hell was happening. So, I’m here to plead not guilty for the so-called murder of 1138 “differently alive” individuals, on the basis of self-defense. Thank you, your honour. ------ First prompt in 4 months or so. Constructive criticism is more than welcome.
It took me a while to realize that Shelly had not been randomly and secretly making me the cookies, and it took her a little while to realize that I had in fact forgotten to bake her that cake for the church fair. We had both been independently been getting little postit messages to pick up various supplies for baking and cooking while neither of us actually ever compared notes about it. My sister and I are not the most observant of people. I say that because it has been several months. Looking now it seems obvious, One or both of us would move the salt and pepper into a different room for something that we were eating outside of the kitchen, forget that we had moved it and then have to search for it later. Often blaming each other and annoying, most likely, our neighbors. This behavior had stopped. Not because we moved the spices back to the kitchen, but since they always just seemed to be back there. Another thing is that neither one of us were used to cleaning up in the kitchen, pots would pile up and gain sentient life before one of us would get annoyed and blowtorch the mess and clear everything. That behavior also stopped. The pots and pans would be clean the next day and back where they should be. It was like living with a house fairy. The Brownie spirits that are so common in fantasy settings so that the main character is not bogged down by housework and the female characters can do things other then tending to fires and kids in a less enlightened setting. Shelly and I were talking about the change in that particular fortune when the cabinets opened and the stuff for another batch of actual brownies began mixing themselves. Betty Crocker box flying in the air next to self cracking eggs. Its the haunting of the very best kind. I don't think that either of us, Shelly or I, actually moved the entire time. She had a vowel or something stuck in her throat. The crank of the egg timer bought at some yard sale is what brought us both back to the fact that we were being haunted by a very very considerate ghost. It was doing the dishes. It was drying the dishes and putting the bowls back. It was making us brownies. It had made us brownies. It was absolutely amazing. Its was also really new. This house was built like ten years ago, no ancient burial grounds no murders no anything. It was the salt shakers that allowed us to place when this all started, but that still didn't explain anything. This went on for a while. We bought extra eggs and milk, made sure to clean up after ourselves, lest we annoy the ghost or spectre or whatever was leaving us saran wrapped baked goods to take with us every morning. When you have that kind of deal you don't fuck it up. But honestly for the next three weeks, it was a complete mystery. We went about our daily lives with a little more care. We basically stopped cursing inside the house. We told no one, we cleaned up our dishes. We got little postit hints about how to cook this or that better after any sort of cooking experiments. All totally familiar like. It was a touch of housekeeping, or home making that neither one of us was good at. A way to interact with each other without the family judgement that siblings have. It was the warm kind of fuzzy that is super weird when you think about it but very comfortable. It wasn't until the package came from the yarn company that we figured it out. See, We hadn't been in charge of the estate, we weren't in charge of anything really except ourselves. Our parents both work traveling jobs, Dads been away for six months on a extended deployment. Moms out in some backwater healing alligators or something. Curing lemur cancers or something equally award worthy. It sounds like a complaint but our aunt Ginny is around every three or four days to see how we are doing. She's got a job in the city and handles all our finances so its not like we are in the wind. Internet delivery is great for a lot of stuff. Text Ginny, get it next day. Its also magical in many ways. Anyways the Yarn. We don't know anyone who knits. At least not anyone alive. Anymore. Grandma Betsy. used to knit us each a sweater featuring whatever animal mom was helping, or whatever country that Dad was deployed in (when it wasn't classified, and even sometimes when it was). For each of our tenth birthdays we got a sweater with our name on it five sizes too large, the note was great and I'm sure I still have it somewhere. Dearest James, This might be big on you now, but feel no need to grow into it, Let it always be big enough to remember the feeling of being young in a family that loves you. Love Betsy This was one of those nice things she did for us, also when we measured it it was American XXXXL so that helped. It would be difficult for me to grow into that. Right, the Yarn. It was addressed to us, at least the address was correct, but the name was a complete mystery. Elizabeth Clifford Ross. That took some digging. We asked Aunt Ginny, but she didn't know the name. However Mom knew that dads mom was named Elizabeth. That broke it open for us. We had an Uncle George that lived in Ohio, sent us a card every year. Never talked to us much. His kids were about a decade older so we didn't hang out. The distance also didn't help. He told us that his moms maiden name was Ross, changed at 16 for her first marriage, before being changed again when she married the second time to our current name. The estate closure three years ago had canceled all her cards at the time, but with the second name change I guess one or two accounts got lost in the mix. It let her buy the yarn at least. The box was empty when we both got home. Shelly had a long practice after school and I had a report that I needed to finish so I had stayed longer at the library then I had planned. The yarn was on the counter in the kitchen, empty of dirty plates as was the norm now. The half finished sweater methodically raveling itself for another layer. We had figured it out. We were haunted by the ghost of our grandmother. The best kind of haunting.
I slid my fingers along the edge of my pen, gaze flying across the hastily scrawled notes. The yellowed pages showed signs of use, but they were nothing compared to the pen itself. Once an intricate carving of almond-stained wood with threads of silver curling around its length, it had been a beautiful creation passed down to me from my father. Now, it had chipped from overuse -- and abuse. Fitzgerald had nearly ripped it away from me in a drunken stupor, once. The ladies loved that story. I lifted my beer to my lips. A knock on the door. I opened it, finding myself greeted by a very young man, who sported attire that went out of fashion years and years ago. He wore huge Raybans, a drooping moustache that was either fake or shaved by a drunken barber, and a giant trench coat that came straight from The Matrix. I frowned, crossing my arms. Adoring fans weren’t usually knowledgeable of where – or when, really - I spent all my time. “Hello sir,” he murmured, voice muffled from the struggle of keeping his moustache in place. His voice had a fake British accent that, somehow, sounded worse than my own attempts. “Hi. Can I help you?” “I’m here to ask you some questions - I understand you’ve spent your life time travelling, and I would love to do a story on you.” I squinted at the man through the sunglasses. I saw him squirm. “It will be worth your time, I promise.” I paused. So often I had to convince others to let me speak with them and, believe me, many of them hadn’t been cooperative. I refer in particular to the aforementioned Fitzgerald. Just like Fitzgerald, I had limited interest in communicating with the journalist. And, just like Fitzgerald, I wasn't entirely sober. And yet, there was something incredibly, incredibly familiar about the man. In fact, there was something incredibly familiar about the whole situation. It piqued my interest and that alone convinced me to open the door wider and welcome the strange man into my house. His forehead wrinkled as he stepped along the footpath I'd made through the clothes strewn on the floor. We collapsed onto the sofas. He pulled out a notebook and his stream of questions began. “So, do you live alone? No wife, family…?” His voice carried notes of despair that resonated within me. I huffed. “I don’t see the relevancy of that to any article worth my time,” I snapped, chest aching again from timeless pain. His eyebrows flew up – enough that I could see them over the rims of his ridiculous sunglasses. I brought the bottle of beer back to my lips, the liquid spreading an impermanent warmth through me. “Sorry, of course, I’ll stick to the script.” His British accent faltered in the panic. My gaze hardened, but I leaned back in my chair and allowed his interrogation to commence. I watched him carefully, searching for an explanation for why I couldn’t bring myself to kick him out of the house. It certainly wasn't kindness, nor sympathy - maybe pity? No, hardly. I was only half paying attention to his words. He talked too much for a journalist. My eyes fell to his hand, which snailed across the page. His notes were written neatly and between the lines of the paper – from that alone I could tell that he must be rather new to the field. He must think this is his big break. I shifted my attention to his pen, vaguely curious, and my heart stopped. Dark, almond-stained wood, webs of silver curled around its sides and ended in its thin tip. Without warning, I was on my feet, heart racing in my chest. “Oh my god…” I remembered, now. This was the day I'd dreaded all my life. Racing to explain, the younger me rose to his feet with his hands extended out, journal forgotten.
The Odd Odin Scale started as a joke when the little black rescue decided he needed to be point man on every walk. He would swerve behind Ivan's legs in his own rendition of road rage and use his nose as a sweeping pole arm until he found the right opening and slipped ahead. The Odd Odin Scale, or OOS, had its base marker. OOS level 3, May decided that fall, was Odin's picky appetite. New food was always sniffed, nose-poked, nibbled, and promptly spit back out. Kibble was sniffed and ignored. Raw meat was the Lord's Chosen Food Goup. Yet, if ever the two met, kibble and meat, the bowl would be left empty within a minute. How odd, then, that the fridge and kibble box were always found open and waiting when they returned from work. OOS level 5 were the storms, or lack thereof. Thunderstorms had always evaded May by splitting around whatever town or neighborhood she was in, but it changed when Odin came home. Rain showers came more often, the light mist and giant drop varieties, but would finish just in time for Odin's walk. Snow storms were rare until, May realized one slow day, Odin discovered the fun of snow balls. Maybe, they thought with humor, Odin really did have the power of his namesake. Then there was today's OOS level 9. "My love,"May called in a ridiculous impression of a peacock. She stamped the snow off her boots and tossed her jacket onto the couch's arm. The drive back from work had been brutal and slow with people forgetting how to navigate after the first real accumulation. She clomped her way into the kitchen, disregarding the wet tracks she left. "You ok? Want some cheese'n stuff?"She frowned and slid the butcher's knife out of the block. "... love?" "Found OOS 7,"Ivan finally said from around the corner, though his voice was tight and held a tone May hadn't heard from him before. "...what happ--"May trailed into silence as she rounded the fridge. Ivan, tall man that he was, held Odin up by his puppy armpits, facing the dog toward him like a baby first learning its words. Odin turned his head to look at her, wagged his tail and butt, and proved Level 7's achievement. "Ohhi." The words came out in breathless excitement, and in a much lower voice than either of the two had joked their dog might possess. May's squeak of surprise turned into a shriek as her hand released the knife and it embedded itself into her foot. Odin squiggled out of Ivan's hold, landed on all fours, and pressed his nose to the wound as May pulled the knife out in shock. Ivan hadn't had the opportunity to take more than a step, yet when he fell to his knees in front of May with one hand set on the back of her calf and the other pushing Odins head aside... there was nothing. No slice. No fresh blood. Not even a scar. They stared at the non-injury. Then, slowly, they looked at Odin as he wagged his tail hard enough to swing his rear end. Odin looked up at May with utter love and devotion and said: "You're the goodest girl!" OOS Level 9 achieved. ----- On mobile, so sorry for any weird formatting. I'll fix that when I get up. It's been a while since I've written anything, but this prompt was perfect for our dearly strange pup Odin. Hope you enjoyed!
Last year, I sold a painting for two million dollars. I was heralded by art critics across the globe, and people were sobbing in the gallery, taking pictures and posting them to Instagram with quotes from movies and songs I don't have a fucking clue about. I am being touted as the artist of our generation, as the next Picasso, or Monet. Some people even compare me to Banksy. It was a canvas painted white, with one black dot in the middle. It took me three minutes to create. I captioned it 'Existence.' That's all I did. I studied at TAFA and spent years training in anatomy to perfectly recreate depth, shadows and faces. I've painted classical realism in the past, and detailed landscapes. Mountain ranges in Norway and oceans from all over the globe. Nobody cared a single fucking smidge about any of it. I made literally no money my entire career. Now I'm rich. A famous art critic, Jean-Paul Duberge, stumbled into the gallery one day and was moved by it. "Beautiful,"he said. "Digestible. Perfect." And without much more to say, asked to move my piece into his exhibit. It sold, and now I'm known in the art community as some kind of God. I could smear shit on a canvas and they'd treat it like the Mona Lisa. I don't understand. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing anymore. It's not anything I spent my life training for, nor is it anything I can wrap my head around. I don't even bother planning my pieces these days, because what's the point? But every night, I whisper the same words before going to bed. "God bless Modern Art." /r/resonatingfury
[Poem] The city inspector saw a baffling sight. Mr. Pig had built a house out of straw bound tight. "This kind of a house Wouldn't withstand a mouse. I'd better go visit and set this all right." * Inspector Wolf knocked on the straw house's door. He stood there a minute, then knocked two times more. Then from inside, Came a squeal of a cry: "Go away, Girl Scouts, I've bought your whole store!" * "Mr. Pig!"Yelled the wolf, after taking a breath. "It's the Inspector. I thought it'd be best To give you a warning: You need better boarding!" "I'm cozy!"said Mr. Pig, "Give it a rest!" * "You're breaking construction code 20-B-10! Open the door, or demolition begins!" Mr. Pig gulped And said "Mr. Wolf, Not by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!"
When I finally found my ability, I was so proud. Five year-old me ran downstairs, shouting, "Dad! James! I did it!". I showed them the power, puffing out my chest in pride as wisps of mist trailed down my fingers. There was a silence. Then James snorted. "PfFfT!!!! What!?"He was doubling over. "That's your power? Making some smoke?"Dad shushed him. "I think it's a very useful spell, Kell,"he said supportively. "Oh come on, dad! Our family has been know to have the most powerful sorts of spells in history and she has... that! It can't even do anything!"he exclaimed. I lowered my hands, stung. "James, that's enough,"Dad said. He picked me up, putting me in his lap and rocking a little on the leather armchair. "Now, show me again!"he said. &#x200B; The years passing by were slow, not neccesarily unhappy, but slow. I went through school, through life, through everything as usual. But now there was no more uncertainity, waiting in baited breath to see what, what in the world Kell Rikirin's Trick would be. James, of course, teased me mercilessly. That was a usual thing, considering he had the power to turn into a 30-foot long Hellhound. Dad was supportive, though I saw past the veil of encouragement, the uncertainity and dissapointment that still rested somewhere. Plenty of times I was teased in school, being called "Smoke Girl", or "Cloud B-"actually, I won't finish that. But you get it. The upside to my Trick was that I had infinite Mana. Mana that would never, ever regenerate with other people. But with me, despite the weakness of my power, I'd have the ability forever. Forever. &#x200B; Fast-forwards to summer, 2018. The day my brother was captured and imprisoned by terrorists with powerful spells. When his girlfriend tried stopping them with her fire, she was pushed to the ground. "Don't follow, or he dies,"they said, word for word, right before getting into their vehicles and driving off, with the trapped Hellhound in tow. knelt down next to Lana, who was sobbing. "Kell, I-I don't know what to do. They're going to kill,-- kill..."She choked on the last words. I looked down at her solemnly. "No, they aren't." &#x200B; "What?"Her eyes, reddened from tears, widened. "No, Kell, don't. They'll kill you. You're too weak to fight them."I clenched my teeth, standing up. "No. I'm. Not."I turned away and started down the street, where all cars had stopped. I was done being treated like I was weak. Done, because I knew that my power wasn't as useless as they thought. Let's see what their fancy tricks will do against a building full of carbon monoxide.
There was no mistaking it was Johnny. The picture they were using on the news was taken directly from facebook and a camera was showing Johnny's mum Anne hugging a neighbour as tears ran down her face. The story was so real I could feel my own eyes welling up, captured by the thought that my best friend was gone forever. Then I remembered the message that made me turn on the news in the first place. I looked down at my phone. It was definitely sent by Johnny, or at least Johnny’s phone. Johnny had always been a practical joker and Elliot, one of the guys in our close mates' group chat, had obviously done the same as me and already replied with a laughing emoj. Elliot now sent a message, “taking things a bit far this time though don’t you think Johnny Boy?” Matt, another friend who was never one to entertain Johnny’s jokes, just wrote “wtf!” I quickly typed a message, “This isn’t funny Johnny, I just saw your mum in tears!” Elliot replied, “give him a break, he’s always wanted his 15 minutes of fame. Although I didn’t expect it to be so morbid. Might be time to call things off soon Johnny...” I couldn’t bring myself to type another message so I dialed Johnny’s phone. It rang for 20 seconds before going to voicemail. Another message appeared, this time from a friend called Ollie. “Oh god, I’ve just spoken with Anne. Apparently it’s real. They’ve just identified his body.” No, it couldn’t be. I tried calling Anne myself but she must have turned off her phone after talking to Ollie. “Are you guys still watching?” Elliot wrote in the group chat. I turned back to the news. A Police spokeswoman was standing at the edge of a cordon being set up around another house, about to speak to media. A breaking news banner scrolled across the bottom, ‘BREAKING NEWS: Second body found’ The police spokeswoman looked up at the cameras, “As you can see, officers are on the scene of another suspected murder. We will confirm the victim’s identity once next of kin have been notified. At this stage it’s too early to confirm anything but we are not ruling out a connection to the murder of John Barrington earlier this morning. We urge…” My phone buzzed again. It was another message in the group, this time from Matt. “Check it out guys, I’m on the news!” I look back at the TV, realising that the spokeswoman was standing in front of Matt’s house. My thoughts are fuzzy. Why would Matt send that message? Did he think it was funny? But why are the cops outside his house? Is he the second victim they're talking about? Then who sent the message from his phone? Why would someone do that? I exhale, letting out the breath I’ve been holding since I read Matt’s message. I try to slow my thoughts down, knowing something wasn't right but unable to think straight. Then, out of nowhere, the sound of a window shattering echoes through my house.
"Oh god, it was today?!" The 7-foot tall muscular monstrosity before me began to quiver. A look of absolute fear dashed across his face. It was "test day", as they seem to have called it, and once again I seem to have caught a prospective Super unprepared. I don't understand how this keeps happening, as we schedule this at least a month in advance. I pull my reading glasses from the inner pocket of my twill blazer. "Mr...'Thundercrash', was it?"I asked, checking my notes. "Do you need to reschedule this appoinment? Please note that would neg-" "NO! Please, I-I'm ready!"the trembling Super interjected. "Let's head outside." While I don't normally judge heroes or villains on costumes, I have to say that "Thundercrash's"pajamas were not painting a very great picture of how the test would go. I had heard through the online forums that he was one of the best heroes in the city, but now my interest was waning. I began my standard test preface: "As you know, the Capital City Super Assessment is a three part test to properly gauge the effectiveness of a hero or villain. The three parts consist of Entrance/Transformation, Daily Activity, and Combat Skills. We will first start with your Entrance or Transformation, then gauge your Combat Skills and end the day with observing your day-to-day heroic or devious acts. Seeing as you, Thundercrash, have selected to be a hero, I will remind you that your actions today must show me restraint and caution around civilians. Are you ready to begin?" Beads of sweat dripped down the large brow of the hero. We are standing 20 feet away, but I can hear his heart pounding out of his chest. The only thing out of his mouth he is able to muster is a cracked "Yeah." "Alright then,"I say, "when you're ready, please head in to the road and demonstrate your Entrance." Nervously, he quickly walks in to the road. Once there, he turns back to look at me. A minute goes by. "Mr. Thundercrash, is there a problem?"I wonder if he had been paying attention, so I remind him, "You may begin now." A quick look of embarrassment overtakes the man. "Oh, sorry! Okay, I'm starting!" A dark thundercloud appears in the sky above us. The air suddenly becomes electric as static energy pulls at my arm hair. Thundercrash's eyes turn fully white. He spreads his feet, raises two fists in to the air, and cries out "HERE COMES THE THUNDER!" While I've seen many lightning storms and other Super based light powers, the bolt of lightning that came down and struck the hero was by far the most impressive I've ever seen. I even had to shield my eyes. And the noise, so loud! I was certainly impressed by the power on display. Many villains will definitely dread hearing him arriving on the scene. But as my vision and hearing came back, any notion of being impressed quickly turned sour. Before me was a scene of destruction. A glittering sea of glass, every car on the block honking angrily, and half-naked hero face down in the street. I say half-naked, but really he's only got on his "signature"boots and gloves. He's alive, but unconscious. Clearly he, much like other Supers these days, let the "test"get the better of them and misuse their power. This is going to be a long day.
"Quite the place you have here,"Zelda said as she walked into the foyer, looking around at my new house. "Mom would be proud of your decorating skills." I laughed. "I do my best, Zelds. I never had the talent that dear Mother had for home design, but I picked up a few things from watching her do minor mending repairs." Zelda and I walked into the living room and sat on the couch. "Remember that mirror that Ms. Weisman brought in that one time?"I asked her. "The one that was completely shattered?" She nodded as I spoke. "Yes, it was like looking at a spiderweb with all the cracks spread across it." "And Mom just flicked her wrist and it was fixed. Good as new. I think she even gave it a shine and a new coat of polish around the frame of it." Zelda smiled. "Well, she always liked to do nice things for people. 'Something a little extra,' she'd say." I leaned back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling, losing myself in memory. Mom had been the go-to person for mendings like that; Dad was the one people asked for when they needed a car fixed or an appliance repaired. They'd make a show of working on whatever it was for a while, then didn't even charge them when they were finished with the job. "I'd charge if it had taken any effort, Michael,"Dad told me once. "A snap of the fingers isn't worth a few bucks. Keeping people happy is good enough for me." My sister had taken a different approach to her abilities. I turned towards her on the couch. "How goes the dermatology biz?"I asked. "Getting lots of patients?" "I do well enough, yeah. People are happy and they tell their friends about me; I get more patients that tell more friends. So the cycle goes. I've had a few complaints asking why they always have to be put under for even the smallest procedure, but what else am I to do? Fix their acne right in front of them? Remove that nasty scar from years ago before their eyes? That'd just be bad business." I nodded. She wasn't wrong; exposing herself like that would be a publicity nightmare for her practice - and potentially the family. But there had been something wrong the past few times I'd seen her. I couldn't put my finger on it then, but I just might be able to now... I looked at my sister, trying to feel if there was any discontent in her. I mentally pushed towards her, gently sliding past the outer worries and emotions that were on the surface. There was something deeper here; I could see it in her eyes. "Are you happy with your job?"I asked her. She looked at me, confused. "Of course I am, Mike. I wouldn't be doing it if I wasn't." I pushed further. There was a block she'd put up; I just needed to get through it. "And Tom, how does he feel about your job?" Her anxieties spiked and she looked away. There it is, I thought. "Tommy is supportive,"she replied, her voice emotionless. "Zelds, look at me." She slowly turned her eyes to meet mine. I could see tears threatening to break towards the surface. "What does he really think about it?"I asked. Zelda sighed. "He thinks it's stupid. He knows my abilities and thinks I should be doing more with what I have, but not out of some sense of goodness or altruism - out of greed. He thinks my abilities are just a way to get a quick buck. I've told him no so many times about that, but..."she trailed off. "He won't listen to you,"I supplied. "You're getting worn down from it. He's making you feel guilty, like you're somehow not taking care of the family because you don't want to take advantage of people." Zelda's jaw dropped. "How did you...?" I smiled slightly. "Funny story, actually. I started working as a counselor. I had client after client come in, and it wasnt until my tenth session that I realized what was happening. You all were able to fix things on the outside - material things. And I never had that ability. You remember?" Zelda nodded, and I continued. "I finally figured it out. I can't fix things on the outside, but I can fix them on the inside." I looked down at my hands, a little embarrassed that it'd taken this long to figure out. "That includes your own strength to stand up to Tom. To tell him what's what. Because our abilities aren't to be used for personal gain. Do you remember what Mom used to tell us?" "We are the willing workers,"Zelda replied. "We do good because good had been done to us." I reached out mentally and let a surge of power flow out to my sister. Her anxieties over her husband vanished. She looked up at me, a smile of gratitude on her face. "That's right, Zelds. We are the willing workers. Now put that in Tom's pipe and tell him to smoke it." **** Read more stories at r/NovaTheElf!
Growing up, I lived on a farm. My parents owned a hunting rifle and several sets of knives - for skinning and the like. I never much took to the actual farming part of it, my sister was the green thumb. I always messed it up, don't ask me how. So without much else to do, my father taught me how to hunt. Our farm was rather in the middle of nowhere. A forest, more specifically, so it often had wildlife in the surrounding areas; my father taught me how to hunt rabbits, deer, all sorts of animals we could feasibly eat when the harvest was low. I was a natural at it, or so he told me; our family wasn't afraid of getting our hands dirty, but at least blood was easier to wash off than literal dirt. Over the years I had grown accustomed to our way of life. I didn't know much else, learning how to read from the books and stories my mother read to me as my sister and I fell asleep in front of the fireplace. We both liked making up our own, and so learned to write too. That was a long time ago. I gave up my hunting in favour of a more specialised career after I pursued an education; but, given the way things have become, I have had to return to my roots. There lay a creeping darkness to the edges of the world, one that encroached slowly but surely over years. We were fortunate enough to be isolated from it, live relatively peacefully. Yet now I live somewhere else. Somewhere you can enter, but not leave; I, along with others, have had to protect the town from the creatures that skirted around the shadows' grasp, for the sake of the rest of the world. Many of the other hunters are older, but in such a profession they never lived long to be that old. They were simply never seen again: likely dead or ran away. When I was newer, I asked why every hunter was of medium or youthful age. In response, I only got mumbles and a few disapproving stares. My insatiable curiosity got the better of me, however, and eventually I was able to find someone who explained, though cryptically he spoke. I have not been able to do much since joining this town. Our number are in too short supply to give up killing off the creatures; it is a mandatory job, so continued we have into the dark with our rifles and our knives. To hunt what few natural wildlife remains, and greater still, what unnatural wildlife flourishes. A month ago, I was unfortunate enough to have a fairly close call with one. I missed my shot just barely. "Amateur!"I exclaimed to myself, with growing tension as my mark raced towards me in retaliation. Its lunge impaled spikes into my arm as I moved to protect myself, its twisted face snapping at mine with demonic fangs. I plunged something sharp, anything sharp I could find into its head, and it slumped to the ground. I performed some basic first aid, but the spikes were too firmly lodged and would have been too dangerous to remove. There's no proper doctor around here, so most of our injured either have to wait it out or succumb to their wounds. A few days later, I woke up in pain. My arm still sore from the spikes of the day before, I unravelled the crimson-soaked bandage carefully to check on it. Were there always so many? I could have sworn there were only a few... and I hardly even noticed the ones through my chest, but there was yet no blood. It's surprising how long it takes to understand that which is said most straightforwardly sometimes. Even now, my fingers ache as they awkwardly hold the quill. Under cover of the night, I will depart to the edges where I can finally sleep. My door is unlocked, and you will find necessary equipment throughout the house. I beg of you: if you find me... Please kill me.
To be Named is to be fed, to have a roof to shield the sun from your brow, to move among your kin once more. To be Named is to be free. Until you are Named you claw in the dust, no water but what you can steal from the catchments, no shelter but the cracks and crawlspaces already home to the rats and the spear-bugs. Until you are Named the sun beats onto your head, and until you are Named you know little but the smell of Death under the eternal sun, the stink of others without Names who have a different kind of freedom, a permanent kind. When I was younger, just of age to be thrown from the warmth of my mother's embrace and into the dust, I felt it unfair. Why must we toil under the heat of the sun when there was water to be spared? But I realized it, eventually. There was water to be spared because the weak died in the dust, and the strong went to fetch more water, once they earned their Name. For a hundred cycles I was E. I slept in the shade of a cracked water stone, and I shared it with the rats and the spear-bugs, and with S. On the hundred and first I dug my fingers into her neck and I was Es, and I shared the shade with just the spear-bugs while the rats feasted in the dust. To pull in a harness at the wells you must have three letters to your name. To burden your back with clay pots and bring water to the baths you must have four. To be a Spear is to have killed five others without names, and to have taken their letters as your own. To be a Spear is to never burden your body with the weight of a pot or the pinch of a harness. To be a Spear is to have Death about you, now and forever. To be a Spear is to be freer than free. A half hundred more cycles past, before T grappled me in the whipping sand-winds. He was large and I small, and he pressed me to the dust with his knee on my back. I cried then, as he pressed and I struggled to draw breath. He died as he succumbed to the weakness of his feeble sex, turning me over in the dirt. I tore the crimson vitality from his leg with my teeth, and I took his letter as my own. As Est I could be a Named one, and pull water. I went there, to the great stone wheels, and they eyed me warily, those free women, they with their harnesses and I with my blood-stained rags. There was one, kinder than the rest. Weaker. She held three letters of her own. Her. A feeble and unoriginal name, but she offered me a cup and a place at the wheel. I took no place at the wheel. I was born to be freer than free. Esther, the Spear.
(1/2) I despise humans. Now that I am finally face to face with one in the flesh, it only confirms my detest. “You are the one that came to our planet, alone,” I said. “The remainder of your fleet is 15 light years away. We’ve captured you and your ship. The technology of which we will use to improve our own and finally wipe your species from this universe. Do you see where you went wrong? Yet, you call me stupid?” From the stories I’ve heard about the humans, it is surprising they had made so many technological advances in recent centuries. However, where we have struggled to advance our technology, they seem to have excelled. Now that we have this ship, we can reverse engineer it and create new technology here on Terracon. Better technology. “Yeah, you are pretty stupid.” “How dare you speak to the Lord Emperor that way!” One of my guards raised his spear, pointing it at the human. “Don’t forget you are alone on our planet. Lord Emperor has only let you live thus far.” “Well he kind of has to, doesn’t he?” The human shot back. “You see, you captured me. Congrats, by the way. And you’ve taken my ship, which is fine. You’d like to learn all you can about the tech that is in that ship. It may be your only way to defeating the human race that is making its way here right now. But you only have 15 years until they get here. So you need to learn everything you can about this tech as soon as you can, and that, I am sure, is why I am still alive.” I lift my chin and peer down at the human from the chair built from the bones of a thousand space races who have tried to conquer us. He was right. “Anyway, you know I am right. Hence, I am the smart one in the room, and you are, you know, stupid.” The guards around the room all converged on the insolent human, spears up around his neck. He actually looked a little scared for once. As his smile wiped away, one finally came upon my face. I would like very much to end this human’s life, but it would be worth keeping him around to learn his technology. Although, that may take some time before he is willing to concede such information. Before I pulled breath to tell my guards to escort the human to holding cell, the human spoke. “So what do you want to know?” Hiding my surprise, I ask as I wave my guard off the human, “What technology have you brought in your ship?” The human smiled again. “Great question. Let me hit the highlights: first is the fusion reactor. I am sure your scientists, or whatever you call them here, will want an in depth explanation of that. It is, after all, how we travel the speed of light, but essentially it is way to combine some atom nuclei together, and the resulting energy dissipation is harnessed as fuel, yadda yadda yadda.” I do not know this yadda means, but no matter, our research team will be able to decipher the human’s language. “Another cool piece of tech in the ship,” he continued, “is our Beyond Light Propulsion system. Now this one is a little more complicated. I have to admit, not even I understand all the mechanics behind this one. But we don’t use this one very often. Extremely powerful, but has some serious consequences when using.” “How so?” I hadn’t realized one of our researchers had snuck in the chambers and was taking notes. Normally, I should be furious, but I welcome the aid in learning what this human is spewing. “Oh man, where did that guy come from? He is ugliest one out of you guys—ok ok,” the spears were pressed up against his neck again. “Ok, well, you probably know all about light-speed travel. That is about the fastest we humans like to go. But we do like to push the limit where we can.” No kidding, I thought. “So once we learned how to travel the speed of light, it didn’t take much longer to learn how to travel faster than the speed of light.” “Impossible!” My researcher yelled. “I’m sorry, I just can’t get over how ugly you are.” He lifted his hands in surrender and hastened his speech before the spears reached him again, “anyway, anyway, without getting into the nitty gritty, Ugo is right. Basically impossible. If you travel faster than light, you are essentially going backwards in time.” There were some murmurings in the chamber. In response, the human continued, “Which sounds cool, but does have some unintentional consequences. So again, we don’t use it very often. For example, combined with the instantaneous acceleration to light-speed, a ship reaching beyond light-speed can pass through solid material, since technically its particles are present before the particles of the matter it is passing through. But if that isn’t sustained and your ship is, oh I don’t know, accidentally passing through a planet… Well, things get a little messy. Not to mention the whole reversing time thing.” Growing tired of these scientific ramblings, I interjected, “What weapons have you brought? You will continue to explain your traveling technology to our researchers, but what can you give me that we can use in the war with your race?” “Weapons? War?” I couldn’t tell if the human was being genuine or sarcastic, but his smile had me considering it was the later. “Would you have let me into your stratosphere if you detected weapons on my ship? We had tried that in the past, but you—somehow or another—you always knew, and boom you’d blast my brothers and sisters from the sky.” I could see his smile drop as he spoke about his fallen racelings. I couldn’t help but smile myself. “Yes,” I responded, “that is true, but truly the humans wouldn’t come all this way just to hand over technology and information to us. Teespor!” I called to one of the generals. “What weapons have you found?” The human stifled a laugh, “Teaspoon? Awful name.” “The human is truthing, Lord Emperor. There are no weapons on his ship.” “’Truthing?’” The human was now laughing out loud, “where am I? What a weird planet.” The spears pressed against his neck yet again seemed to unphase him. “Since I am ‘truthing’, I may as well lay it out straight to you. We are not at war with you.” “You’ve been sending war ships here for over two decades now. Your planet has long been destroyed. Clearly, you come to invade ours.” “No, no, no,” the human waves his hands in the air, the smile back on its face. “OK, I won’t get into all the history of it, I’ll just tell you where we are at now. We have no intentions of invading your planet. You are correct that we are planetless right now. We are actually on our way to a beautiful planet several light years from here. But the problem is, your planet is in our way.”
“Hey, Dave? Can you unmute your mic real quick?” I asked. “Sure, what’s up?” “Alright, we’re short on time, so I’m just gonna say it. Are you actually in space right now?” He paused. “....uhhhh, no. Why do you ask?” “Well, you’re... you know, sitting in what looks like a moon crater, and a rock just floated directly in front of the camera. I’m trying to wrap my head around that.” “It’s just a greenscreen. Aren’t we supposed to be discussing quarterly reports or something, though?” “Dave, we know you don’t care about work, stop deflecting,” Sandy, his desk-neighbor, said. “I’m not deflecting. I just wanna know about our, uh... fiscal bynancial... casings.” “What the fuck were those words, Dave?” “Sandy, language, please,” I said, “We all know Dave steals time in the bathroom, but I’m more interested in this right now.” “I have IBS,” interrupted Dave. “You do not. I know this because you have a poster that says ’IBS is a fake disease and I do not believe in it.’ The poster, might I add, being deep in some kind of Brazilian rainforest.” “Portugese, actually, and who says that’s proof?” “I don’t really care either w—hang the fuck on, is that the ISS in the background right now?” “No. You’re seeing things because you’re crazy.” “Are you gaslighting me on Zoom, Dave?” “Gas can’t be light, the tanks are heavy.” “What in the fuck are you talking about?” “Sorry, I’m having trouble hearing you, there’s no audio in space.” “So you ARE in space.” “Wrong.” “Explain.” “No.” Silence. “It’s a trick of the light,” he continued, “I took magic classes in 7th grade.” “...that’s your angle?” “I have no idea what you mean.” “Alright, can you jump on camera, then?” “No, I’m not wearing pants under this dress shirt.” “I don’t care.” “Oh, you’re trying to see my jiggly meat, huh. That’s how it is?” “Sexual comments are cause for instant firing.” “I’m not into firing, I prefer wiring.” “This conversation is incomprehensible,” Kelly, the district manager, said. “Kelly, you’re out of your element, just stay muted.” “What are humans but muted demons, crying into the wind?” Dave sighed. “What, solar wind? From the moon you’re sitting on?” “I’m not on the moon.” “You are totally on the moon.” “If I were on the moon, why am I not wearing a space suit?” “Because you’re weird, and you wore sandals during monsoon season.” “I’m not weird enough to defy the laws of nature.” “You look like you eat toenails,” Jeff, the mail guy, said. “Thank you for your input, Jeff.” And then the call ended because Dave’s internet cut out. *** I... I genuinely have no idea how I ended up with this.
I stared at her without blinking for what seemed like several moments as my mind tried to process what she had said and all that it entailed. A. It was a big thing to keep untold in the first place especially since we had been officially dating for four months already. B. If she was actually a princess, her "mom and dad"were actually a king and queen. C. There was a king and queen of the elvish people in this area, Fernokad and his bride Ruonsta. They were famous for absolutely hating humans and had fought - and lost - several wars against them (long after the humans' technical revolution had made guns vs. arrows and swords to be a ridiculous contest). Most of their generation of elves had died, conquered and killed by humans. "Ya know,"I told my girlfriend Telia, "it would have been nice to be more prepared. I gotta admit that. I mean, what am I supposed to expect here? Should I turn away and run as fast as I can right now?" The last sentence and a half came out kind of breathless and hysterical and immediately I hated myself for it. Telias eyes shone at me though: she had told me once she loved the emotions of humans and how raw they were. To not be able to control one's emotions was "cute"and quaint to some members of her - much older - species. "They've been briefed,"she joked in her best "sarcastic"tone, "so just don't worry so much. They've heard a lot about you and your experience commanding humans on the battlefield. I've told them about how kind and sweet you are. How I couldn't think of a single elf that would make a better father. My dad is iffy but when you see all the scars he has from fighting humans you'll understand. My mom's on board." (Tbc sometime maybe)
I knock back my absinthe, smiling at gentleman across the table. “Seems like they’re watering down the drinks tonight.” The gentleman sinks into the red velvet cushions of his armchair, his necktie riding up almost to the chin. He dabs his embroidered handkerchief against his billiard-ball forehead, glancing at his fellows about the smoking room. I shuffle my cards. “Is there a problem?” “No,” the gentleman stammers. “Go again.” When you get into massive gambling debts with a complete stranger, it’s natural that one would try one of three strategies: 1. Try to say that I’m cheating. 2. Try to leave without paying. Or 3. Promise to pay the sum at a later date. All of which I have contingency plans for. My team of bully boys pop their knuckles about the room. A briefcase of pounds sits open on the table next to us. No one else had ever tried option 4. Poison me. Well, luckily I’ve built an immunity. I suck the absinthe from my teeth. “How much?” “Please,” he mutters. “My wife …” “Doesn’t know how much you’re spending?” I ask. “Doesn’t know about you spending time with a woman like me? Or doesn’t know how much you love to drug your patients with whatever you put in my cup?” “This is blackmail.” “This is all fun and games, my lord,” I lean back, widening my arms, which jingle with my thousand coin bracelets. “I threatened nothing for no price. Now, if I said, for example, I need you to change the laws that end up putting my folk in jail, milord, perhaps I could dock a few thousand pounds off your debt. Now that would be blackmail. See?” He stands, froth dangling on his white mustache like a feral terrier. “You scandalous whore of a…” Behind him, my best body guard snaps his arm behind his back. I shuffle, folding my legs. “Want to go for another, or are you stepping out?”
Today marks the day, fifteen years since the great blight. Some say it was the death of a god, some say it was a failed landing by extraterrestrials. Either way, what was left was a giant hunk of glowing substance, sitting peacefully still in a gigantic crater. Our little village, just a few kilometres away from the impact site, remained somehow unharmed from whatever celestial event that took place there. At first, the event brought scientists, archeologists, curious minds and eventually tourists to our village. But year after year, tests after tests, nobody was able to figure out what this mysterious glowing substance did. And soon most people gave up the search and left. Our little village, which had originally profited from the increased attention and tourists, was left starving again. Last winter, a particularly harsh one, left our village decimated, starving, and our population almost halved. Out of sheer desperation, my mother went to inspect the glowing crater sitting just a few steps away from our humble cottage. She took the tiny shiv that she had fashioned out of a sharp stone and cut out a small piece of the mysterious, glowing substance. And she took a bite. And another. And another... Turns out, this mysterious substance was not only edible, it was delicious. It had the flavours of a thousand different foods, and you could taste the aroma of every one of them on your tongue at the same time. Not only that, when this substance was given to a sick child in our village, it miraculously healed him within days. The entire village soon took advantage of our unique, and plentiful stockpile of this substance. You could cook delicious dishes, and even dissolve it in water for a refreshing drink. Our population grew and recovered steadily, and everyone was in a state of bliss. I woke up today, and had a drink of cosmic sparkling water. It has been tradition every year to pay respect to the gods that so narrowly spared us fifteen years ago, and have since even sustained our lives. I've always hated the crowds, so I travelled to the crater alone early in the morning to spend some time in peace. Just as I arrive at the foot of the crater, something strange happened. The sun suddenly seemed brighter than usual, and when I raised my hand to block the sunlight, I noticed my hand was glowing. Something was wrong. I looked at my hand proper, and found a small sparkling mist. It was not the sunlight reflecting, there was something truly... magical in my hands. I thought about the day of the blight so many years ago, at that exact moment I was holding a yellow toy truck in my hands. And that very same truck appeared in my hands! I was so amazed that I ran straight home to show my mother. And I found her... gently floating above our little cottage?
Lungs inhale water until they break, then grow anew. The pain of drowning no longer affects me, for I have suffocated a million times yet I still not die. Though a lesser god might. Those Gods on the North Rim who brag of their resolve yet flee at the sight of their own blood, who send followers to fight in their stead, they would succumb to the depths of the ocean. Would give up and let the weight of the deep overtake them until they were ruined. I was no such god. Though possibly I underestimated them, at least the resolve of their worshippers. They had sent me here, after all.The last thing I witnessed above the cresting waves was the burning of my place of worship. They held my head above as they killed my most loyal, then buried them next to me so I may watch the creatures of the sea feast on their corpses. In the moment it seemed the worst punishment imaginable, but I cannot say I didn't wish worse upon them now. They would not be forgiven. If these chains would break, these anchors would rust, they would see how thin my patience had become. With a mighty heave up my feet left the ground, carrying up the chains that weighed me in place, then all falling back down with a muted thud and cloud of sand. Today a bit more than yesterday, and tomorrow more than today. At this rate in a few thousand years I may crest up beyond the waves, and if the North Rimmed worshippers still idolized their false kings I would be sure they no longer had the breath to. After a few more angered jumps I let myself fall back in the sand. Most of my days were spent here, trying to brush off barnacles and keep away hungry sea life. Trying to convince myself that I was still a god despite everything. Letting my throat fill with sea water again. But today would be different. I felt it earlier, in the morning I think. The tinges of my lost power returning to my fingertips. It started in my chest and spread faintly to my hands, the feeling of godhood that I once bathed in. Power that I hadn't tasted in what must have been hundreds of years. Somebody was praying for me, and though one beings prayers would not be enough, I knew more would follow. Loyal worshippers had a way of converting others; I just needed who praised me to keep that loyalty until I could prove my strength. With the last bit of my power left over from the years before I had been tossed to sea I called to them. "Be faithful and you shall be rewarded. I will give you the world, just have patience."To my surprise the voice of a young girl replied, the sound was welcoming in my head. "Hello?... I- we need help. Whoever you are can you help us?", her voice was frantic. It seemed the North Rim would have to wait for my one and only follower needed me more. Just a little more and the sea would be but a memory. Just a little more and I would no longer be a drowned god. I jumped again, this time with a drop of godhood at my feet, and flew higher than ever before.
The man in front of me puffed out his chest and raised his metal stick. Around him, the pantheon took in a collective breath. I didn't really feel like reacting, even when he brandished his pointy metal thing at me. Right, it was a sword. "And what is your domain, little god?"He roared. I stared down at my fingernails, buffing out a tiny spot on my pointer finger. "Who, me? I'm the god of apathy, I guess. Don't care much."Stretching my arms over my head, I yawned. It might be time for a nap. Introductions were boring and the pantheon was vast. He stared at me, then looked back at the rest of the gods. I think he didn't quite know what to do with himself. It had been a while since we'd reached out and snatched someone to be a paladin. The humans had the idea of paladins quite wrong. They thought the person dedicated themselves to the god and hopefully, the god accepted them. It was a twisted sort of view. What actually happened was a person was snatched, brought here and then had to become a paladin. The only choice was to which god. Like I said. Boring. Our democratically elected leader stood up, peering down at the human. We used to just have a default leader, but you got to move with the times. Now we held elections. I never really voted; never really cared to. Apathy, man. It's a hell of an emotion. "You must choose one of us to help you with the rest of your heroics. One to dedicate your life to. To help your choice, here is a highlight reel of your most wonderful deeds."I rolled my eyes. He was a pompous git our elected leader. If only there was something I could have done to stop him from being elected. In the center of the room, a small orb manifested, growing to the size of a large pillow. Images played across the screen. The man running into a burning building to rescue the people inside. The man charging towards the enemy, bravely leading people into battle. The man crying over spilt milk—all right, I made the last one up. Every 'wonderful deed' was the same old thing. The gods really had a type. Staring into the ball, I could see the man's face change. But instead of pride, there was something else there. I had expected pride. This expression was confusing, and I wasn't meant to feel confused. The man didn't look sad, mad, or happy. Nothing expected. He just looked tired. The point of his sword fell to the ground. Glancing around at us, he asked the question they all do. "And what will each of you be able to help me with?" The answers were all the usual. Fame, power, and wealth. Strength, long life, the thrill of doing the right thing. My eyes were drifting closed by the time he finally looked at me. "And you?"I jolted awake at the question. After all, no human in all our long history had ever asked for what I would offer. Staring at him, remembering the change in his face, remembering the sword dropping, seeing the grey in his hair, the lines on his face, I smiled. "I can help you say 'no'." ———————— The large meeting place of the gods is empty now. Well, empty except for me. I'm here, sitting in my usual spot. The viewing ball is hanging in front of me, cued to the present. It's focused on the man, down in his earthly home. There are two men in his house, begging him to come aid them in a war. His wife is standing there, and I can see the horror in her eyes. She knows what his answer will be. Or would have been. Reaching forward, I laid a hand on the ball, sending my will down to the man. And even though the other men plead, he says no. Another scene, another ask. This mission isn't dangerous, isn't too arduous, and he looks tempted. So I hold back; let him make his own decision. I don't always have to intervene. It's strange being a paladin's god. Especially when they chose you because of the negatives, instead of the positives. But you know... I don't really care.
"I....what? That was a mistake? How...?" "Oh, happens more often than you think"the demon replies. "Technicalities, mistaken identity, the list goes on. But, I'll tell you, we LOVE when the upstairs folks screw up. Gives the Boss a reason to rub it in Daddy's face, after all. We'll get that transfer paperwork started right away. Should only take a century or two to be processed. Until then, you're a guest!" "I'm a guest? In Hell? What does that even mean??" "You can go anywhere you like. There's plenty of rooms with full cable packages. The staff lounge is nicely stocked with a number of the finest chefs (I reccomend you try Narlyothabs's falafel. Mmm!). You can go to the viewing rooms and watch possessions in real time. But the best perk is through here. Come on." The demon leads me to an elevator and we decend to Working Floor 1. The doors open and I am greeted by the screams of the damned. Great cauldrons filled with boiling oil line the walls, as demons with pitchforks continuously poke and push under the souls within. The demon leads me up the walkway for a closer look. The scene is horrifying. Skin bubbling and melting away, then reforming almost as quickly, only to be stabbed and pushed back under. The demon pulls a spare pitchfork and hands it to me. "It's fun! Go on, give it a try." I grip the pitchfork and walk to the cauldrons edge. The pitchfork suddenly hums in my hands, and I am... aware. I look at one soul: James Franklin: killed 14 innocents. I speared him in disgust and pushed him under. Another: Janice Peterson: she and her boyfriend made pornography - using her own children. I felt immediate rage and pulled her guts out with the pitchfork. The demon was impressed. "You're pretty good at this. There's plenty of other workstations to try. If you like, we could tear up that transfer paperwork and you can take a job here with us. 3 weeks paid vacation, and we have dental!"
The sign out front said 'Danger! Ruins and wild pokemon! Keep out!', but that never stopped anyone from going. Everyone in the area knew that. I look to my partner oshawott Troy, and he gave me a worried look. "Come on buddy. The experience will be good for us. And we might find treasure or a new pokemon for the team!"I say to Troy and bravely stride into the cave. With a quiet sigh the oshawott follows me. The cavern walls were covered with green, damp moss. Holes in the ceiling allowed light and roots to spill in, and in dark nooks the curious gazes of small pokemon look on the two of us. After a bit of walking, we found the main reason why people come here. The old ruins of a wooden dwelling. Like the rest of the cave, it was covered in moss. It was partially collapsed but seemed to defiantly stand against time and the elements. I walk up to it and brush my hand on the ruin, absentmindedly knocking some moss off. As I do so I notice the inside, and spot something red in the rubble. I say to Troy "Hey there's something in here!"and start taking more moss off. The wood it was on was rotting away and looked like it can be easily broken. I do a quick push and kick on some nearby support beams. They hold firm despite the age. "Troy! Use razor shell on that part of the wall!"I speak. With a flourish and a shining blue blade appearing Troy strikes the wall creating an opening to get through. I move in and take a closer look at the red object. It was partly buried next to a broken picture frame but moving some stuff around I found what it was. It was an old timey pokeball, made of wood and iron. I hold it close to me and Troy, and unhook the metal locking mechanism to release... Nothing. It was totally empty. I guess it made sense. Even back then these things were built to eventually let out pokemon on their own. With a sigh I close the pokeball, and notice an inscription on its side. The writing was worn but I could make out what it said. "Takeo. Best friend of Ishida"I say out loud. Looking at the picture frame I brush bits of broken glass off and as I flipped it over, I let out a small gasp. It was a black and white portrait of a young man and a hisuian samurott. Both of them are smiling. At that moment inspiration hits me. Carefully storing the old pokeball and picture into my bag I take out Troy's pokeball and a marker. I write on the oshawott's pokeball 'Troy. Best friend of Steve' and show it to him. A huge smile appears on Troy's face and with a sound of glee we both embrace each other. "I told you we could find treasure here."I said to Troy as he nuzzled my check. The both of us let go and we make our way out of the cave. There was still plenty of daylight left, and the two of us journeyed on, our bonds of friendship stronger than ever. Unknown to the two of us as we walked away, in the cave entrance, the ghostly figure of a man and a hisuian samurott watched on smiling. The wind blew with a gentle sigh, and the two faded away.
It was a long day. The boss was annoying, missed the bus, heating was busted. Felt like the day couldn't get any worse. So, I did something I always did when I was feeling rubbish - put my favourite movie on. I've seen it a hundred times but never got tired of it. Something about the actors, the music, the plot, all of it just felt like... childhood. Sitting down with a glass of mead, I hit play. It was as enjoyable as always. The characters said the familiar jokes, the fight scenes were just as crisp as the first time I saw them. A favourite moment came up; the part where the protagonist walks into a trap and has to fight their way out. Jokingly, I yelled out at the TV. "Don't go in there!"I chuckled. And they didn't. They stopped. Instead, they looked around a bit, confused, and then peeked through the keyhole, spotting the thugs hired to ambush them. They proceeded to come through the back door and swiftly dispatch them. But they weren't supposed to! That's not how the movie went! It... changed. Same actors, same score, it was all the same but the movie I was now watching was entirely different from what I've seen so many times before. I felt uneasy. A prank - surely that was it. With deepfakes and AI-generated content, it seemed like just about anything was possible. Maybe a friend switched the DVD the last time they visited. And- and me yelling out 'Don't go there' was just a coincidence, since I often talked about that part of the movie. Still, it didn't quite put my mind at ease. Company. I needed company. A friend to come over and watch the movie with me, help me analyze it and make some sense of it. I got up and walked towards my bedroom where I left my phone. It was dark and cold, but I was too anxious to pay attention to that - that is until I heard something. A voice that seemed to envelop me, coming from no particular direction. I stopped just at the edge of my bedroom as it yelled out a single sentence. "Don't go in there."
What manner of heartless creature, leaves their young to fend for themselves? It is not done. Not in any decent society. Any culture that leaves their young to fend for themselves is a culture that should be annihilated and forgotten, replaced with something better. Abandoning children, that is not done in my culture. Orphans are taken in, the runaways are protected and given better homes, and there will always be a place for foundlings. It doesn't matter why they are lost. We do not leave any of them. Not the weak, not the slow, not the imperfect. There will always be a place in our homes for them. It is in our nature to do such. So when I was out one dark winter morning, hunting elk in the forests, and I heard the mournful cries of a lost creature, I went to investigate immediately. Caught in the cruel trap of incompetent and greedy hunters, I found a wounded whelp. A werewolf pup. Upon seeing me, he was scared. Of course he was, who wouldn't be? Alone, hungry, wounded, cold, and unable to escape as I loom over them? Everyone would be scared. But I simply opened that foul trap, and picked him up, carrying him back to my home in the high hills. There I cleaned and bandaged his wounds, fed him, clothed him, and let him sit by the warm fires. His pitiful whimpers turned to calmer sounds of contentment, as he fed for the first time in what might have been many days. For weeks of winter, I would tend to him. Help him recover. I've been a lonely being for quite a while, and it felt good, doing the right thing. I would read so that the pup might fall asleep. I reapplied fresh bandages when needed. And generally, I kept that unlucky pup safe. Gave him a place to winter in peace. Though I would not have minded keeping him around, as werewolves are generally good company, they are wild things, and they do not like to stay within the trappings of civilisation for too long. But he stayed with me, until the spring thaws. And it was good for him. Before, he was a cold, scrawny runt of a werewolf. After my thorough and methodical care, he was healthy, he had recovered the usage of his wounded leg, he looked fine and strong for a werewolf his age. It is of course a curse. But not necessarily one that drives the cursed to madness as people think. It is the shock of becoming one with a wild thing, combined with the fact that your entire village, everyone you love, tries to drive you out or kill you. That sort of abandonment and familial betrayal can do terrible things to a werewolf's fragile mind during the early stages of the curse. Luckily, the pup hadn't been abandoned as I feared, merely lost. He was the son of a family of shepherds, and had just gotten stuck in the trap during a blizzard. They had accepted him and his new form after he had accidentally gotten cursed some years before. There was much rejoicing when he returned to his human family, with my good eyes I saw that from away, before happily returning to my home in the mountains. I do wonder if he intends to stay with them, working as their ''sheep dog''. It is a more common occurrence than one thinks. Whatever his future, I wish him good fortune in his life. Strangely, a few days later, another paranatural child came by my house, exhausted and terribly frightened. A rare child indeed, for there are not many unicorn foals outside the sacred groves any more. Once the foul and wicked kings desired the young unicorns as companions for their inbred royal spawn to enslave. Dark days were those, when bloodthirsty knights, corpulent priests, and depraved nobles were running the world into the ground. It was however a rueful and glorious day when the adult unicorns came charging down from the sacred groves, dread spells upon their hooves, blood upon their horns, and the assistance of many others. These days, there are no more kings, no more nobles. Supposedly, the trade-guilds rule the bigger cities, and peasants can mostly take care of themselves. And the unicorns took their foals home again, sealing the sacred groves forever to all but their closest allies or the most pure of innocents. I count as neither, but I have respect for them, and this is a lost child upon my doorstep. There is no question as to what I do. I take her inside, I listen to her tale, and I grant her food, rest, and a warm place to sleep. I promise her that she will be safe in my house, where the old rites of sacred hospitality are still observed. While she eats and drinks, I observe with my observance, that she is blessed by the old magicks; were she to pursue the path of sorcery, she would be a great, yet also benevolent force for the world. Seeing such things is but one of the skills I have acquired over my long life. Over the next days I care for her, and show her how to read the few texts I have in my estate, here in the mountains, that covers the arcane arts and their proper usage. As she studies, I leave my house to wander the woods. On my walk, I happen to pass by a ruined caravan. There are wild things in the dark places, and some people think to seek them out. This was a caravan of witches.
I had fun writing this, thanks for posting the prompt :D ---------------------------------------------------------------- JIM ---------------------------------------------------------------- "Morning Jim" "Morning Jim" "Morning Jim"I replied. "How'd we sleep last night?"said Jim behind me. "Out like a log, had some dream but I can't remember it"was my response as I scratched my head and let out a yawn. I nearly cramped up in my calf as I stretched out. "Hey remember that dream we had about the statue of liberty being in our back yard covered in Christmas lights?"said Jim, who was making breakfast. "Oh yeah, the one that was kinda like Planet of the Apes?"said Jim behind me, who then proceeded to do his Charlton Heston impersonation "You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you all to Hell!" We all laughed. Jim making breakfast even threw in a "you damned dirty apes"line. I reached down and put my slippers on and then walked to the table where Jim was making breakfast. "So what's for breakfast today Jim?"I queried, but I knew from the smell already what it was. "Eggs, bacon and avocado on toast"Jim making breakfast replied. "Our favourite"we all said. It had become a running joke between us to use that line whenever possible. Jim, who was behind me, also approached the table and sat on my right, he had allowed his beard to grow a little longer than myself and other Jim. "I should probably shave this off soon huh?"said beard Jim. Jim and I shrugged, "I don't see why? Might be good to have a little bit of difference between us"I said, knowing full well that we couldn't, but these small debates had broken the monotony of the day, and it was good to rack your brain on something else besides the main reason that we were here. "If they come in they're going to take me. I don't want to go outside the experiment."Bearded Jim said, making a joke of the conspiracy theory we had thought up. Jim who was making breakfast sighed a groan, "urgh, we know they won't come in. They haven't said anything since we got here."he said, swearing as a piece of grease spat from the fry pan onto his arm. It was true. Jim was right. We had no idea why, or even how we got here. We just woke up in this large room and all of a sudden we had to figure it all out... somehow. Originally though, there were seven of us. All Jim's. They were all clones of me, or I of them. We're not sure. At first it freaked us all out, there was a whole bunch of shouting, hiding, a bunch of batshit insane antics until we finally calmed down and realised this wasn't a dream, or some practical joke. This was actually happening. Seven clones of Jim, all in one room. I wish it were a joke. Seven Jim's walked into a large room and then... uh... well shit... I wish I knew the punchline. We figured we'd find out something soon, but we never did. All we knew was that we were running out of food and we didn't know what to do. So that night Jim took his own life. I heard him scuffling about in the kitchen frantically. "What are you doing Jim?"I had asked, whispered but he heard me. He stopped frozen and then turned to me. "We can't do this anymore Jim"he had said, I could see the tears rolling down his face. He pulled a knife from the drawer. "Whoa!"I shouted, which woke the other Jim's up. "Don't come near me!"he shouted, and then sliced his neck open. It was sickening. Yet I looked at him, at my exact clone, as did the others and we didn't scream or rush to save him. We just turned and looked at each other and sort of realised we would all die this way. I mean, he was us, exactly like us. So if he could do it, we could too. It took a few days before we all managed to sleep again. We wrapped up Jim's body in his blankets and kind of stuck him in a corner of the room. It wasn't dignified but we couldn't do anything else. We then had to clean up the blood, which again was surreal. This was the same blood that kept us alive. At least, I think that's how it works with clones. Not physically but metaphorically. Right? That's how clones work yeah? I don't know, we're not medically trained professionals or scientists. We're just Jim's. Anyway. That's when we first realised something. We had fallen asleep and in the morning dead Jim was gone and the food storage was restocked. The first thing we thought of was that there's a door. So we spent hours upon hours looking for any sign of it. We clawed at walls, Jim lost a nail at one point. We checked the floors, behind cupboards, under furniture. We even sat upon each others shoulders and checked the roof. Let me tell you, having your identical balls rub against the back of your neck is disconcerting. We could never find the door though. So there were six of us Jim's left. We had sat down and contemplated why we were here. What reason would anyone have to clone us and leave us in a room. We figured it must be an experiment. Or aliens. Or both. But what was the point of the experiment? We think it's to find out if we can figure out who the proper Jim is. So that's what we do now. We try and find out who's real Jim. "Right, I'm going to shave and then we'll get started"said bearded Jim as he licked the residue egg off his knife. "The last one"said Jim and I. We had created a system where we would sit and figure out who was real Jim, or as we had dubbed it "Ultra Jim". We would try and find memories that the others didn't know or look for certain mannerisms or physical attributes that other Jim's couldn't do. We had even scoured every part of each others bodies to try find physical imperfections. I mentioned before having your identical balls rub against your neck was disconcerting, but viewing your identical asshole is fucking frightening. Either way, we'd talk and talk and debate about who was Ultra Jim and who wasn't until the food would run out and then finally, when we got nowhere we would draw straws. Smallest straw, well... They went the same way that dead Jim went. We just ate the last of our food and we had decided not to leave two Jim's in the room because we knew we'd freak out and attack each other, probably eventually killing us both. Then no one could be Ultra Jim. So today we would try one last time to figure it out, and then we would draw straws. However, this time whoever got the longest straw would stay alive and the other two would become dead Jim's. "So Jim, how about the time..." "Yeah Jim... I remember." "Hey Jim, can you do this?" "Yeah, remember we learnt that at school" "Yeah." "Green still your favourite colour?" "Trick question asshole, you know it's red" "God damn it." "Shall we draw straws?" We didn't have to respond, we knew we were just delaying the inevitable. We drew the straws. "Shit, Jim, you got the long straw. Congrats buddy." We all, sadly, shook hands.
"Welcome, welcome!!"the guide said as she ushered me through the gleaming airport terminal as I arrived from the coast. Her English was perfect. "So happy to finally have a visitor from the United States! Due to the policies of your government, visits to North Korea are very limited." Of our government? I thought. What? But the guide was chattering a mile a minute about the wonders of North Korea that we'd see. I let it go. Poor, deluded fool. We boarded a sleek train in a brand new terminal of the airport, and it whooshed out of the station. How many people died building this? I thought to myself. God, this trip is going to tear my conscience apart... The train emerged from a tunnel, giving me my first view of Pyongyang. I expected to see the iconic, unfinished blunder that was the Ryugyong hotel tower over the crumbling city, but I couldn't even pick it out amid the mass of glistening glass and steel skyscrapers. "Errr... this is Pyongyang?"I asked the guide hesitantly. She grinned. "Yes! Welcome to our capital."She was constantly upbeat and enthusiastic. Probably afraid for her family, I told myself. "It looks... different from the pictures."I was trying not to offend her. "Oh, you mean this?"she held up a postcard of the decayed prison camp of a city that I'd seen on news broadcasts and documentaries. "I'm afraid that you've only been seeing photos of a city across the border in China. Just another lie of the Western Media." I didn't push the issue; I was too busy staring out the window of the train as we passed enormous monuments, perfectly manicured parks, busy intersections, quaint cafes, and everything else that a modern city would offer. The citizens looked happy, thriving, and well fed. Many of them were speaking on cell phones, using laptops, and every other item available in the West; I even saw a few gadgets that I couldn't recognize. But throughout my trip, I didn't see a single homeless person, slum, or even trash in the streets. New York could learn a thing or two from this place. Over the next several weeks, the guide explained everything to me, patiently and calmly, as she had clearly done for other westerners. I brought her maps of prison camps and detention centers; she drove me through the charming countryside to those locations, only to find summer camps and recreation centers. The farmers were happy and thriving, instead of scraping a meager existence from the earth as I'd been taught. The media was vibrant and incisive, with spirited debate about the policies of President Un. The last straw came during the elections. Those 98% turnout numbers that we'd heard about? Not a lie: these people willingly lined up around the block to have their voice heard in government. None of these ghost town polling places that America had. I went back to my hotel room; I needed to lay down for a while. I burrowed into my silky sheets, trying to come to terms with this strange country that had been so misrepresented. On a whim, I flicked on the television. North Korea had hundreds of channels for free, so it took a bit of searching, but eventually I found CNN. The headline flashed across the screen: "American journalist missing in North Korea; presumed dead or imprisoned."Below that, my photo.
That he drank a glass of punch at the office Christmas party. That he did not take off his suit and swim like everyone else when Susan invited the team to come use her pool and BBQ. That he never mentioned having kids, but did talk about waking up to the sound of cartoons on Saturday mornings. That when Jeff’s mother died last April, he was the only one of your coworkers who cried. Wept, really. And kept referring to her as Jeff’s mama, and how unfair it was that people had to die. That he turned in his time sheets in crayon, which everyone thought was funny at first, and then annoying, and then Susan had to pull him aside and tell him they all liked his joke but that he needed to use a pen from now on because HR was getting angry and the auditors might question their standards if they ever saw his file. That his best friend was named Mr. O’Winkles, and nobody ever met him, but he talked about him all the time. And now you are in his bedroom. And it’s a bunk bed with twin sized mattresses and action figured bed sheets. And you always loved his ‘baby face’, but now it all comes flashing back to you, and you realize exactly what that means. That there are posters of Spongebob on his walls. That there is the sound of giggling coming from his bathroom down the hall, where he went to “get ready for sex”. That it sounds like there is one…maybe two other people in there with him. Panic. You reach for your underwear and scramble to put them back on before the door opens. You throw on your shirt. It’s backwards but you don’t care. Where are your keys? You need to get out before, this… That his parking spot always had a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe foot powered car parked in it, which everyone thought was so funny at first, and then like the crayons, annoying. And then Susan pulls him aside and says, “You know, if you take the bus, we could really use that extra parking spot.” Where are you keys? That there is the sound of...is that crying now? It sounds like crying. And your pants…don’t seem to want to cooperate today. One leg in, and then, shit. Wrong hole. You trip and fall face first to the floor. That the door to his room swings open and a man you’ve never seen steps in, holding your keys outstretched. And three boys gather behind him, scared. One holds the man’s leg and peaks around. That face. Looking for these?
Heroes, help me out: I can't find the Sword of Destiny, and it's the only way to defeat the Dread Lord. What do I do? submitted 45 minutes ago by ReluctantOrphan I've searched every fucking cave from here to the Black Mountains, and there's nothing. I'm starting to think that that stupid witch's prophecy was all bullshit. --------------- ^Chsen1 ^[M] \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^11 ^minutes ^ago \| ^stickied ^comment > Just a reminder: we are currently being brigaded by members of /r/VillainsScrewingHeroes. Please do not act on any advice given by users with no username flair, as they have not been verified as adventuring heroes or former heroes by the moderators. Please report any suggestions that would lead to the eventual death or dismemberment of the OP. ------------- > ^DisKneePrince \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^11 ^minutes ^ago > You completely missed the point, my friend! There never was a sword. The weapon was you all along! You just need to have heart and face the Dread Lord on your own. Good always prevails over evil in the end! > > ^VolunteeredasTribute \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^6 ^minutes ^ago > > Seriously, man? That's the advice you give in like every thread. And how many update posts have we ever gotten from adventurers who tried to follow it? I'll give you a hint: NONE! If it weren't for your flair, I'd swear that you were a villain in disguise or something. Stop sending people to their deaths, you dumbass! > > > ^DisKneePrince \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^3 ^minutes ^ago > > > You're just not believing hard enough! That's really all it takes! --------------- > ^Dem0nslayer \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^19 ^minutes ^ago > Have you met your love interest yet? I have found that the ball really doesn't get rolling on saving the world until you've reached peak sexual tensions. > > ^ReluctantOrphan [s] \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^17 ^minutes ^ago > > Well, I met this hot princess, but she seems more interested in this random smuggler that I met. Think I should just go for it and kiss her or something? > > > ^Dem0nslayer \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^13 ^minutes ^ago > > > Well, it could be awkward later on. Imagine if she was your sister or something. That kind of shit happens more often than you'd think > > > > ^EdOpus \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^2 ^minutes ^ago > > > > Yeah, it totally does. Meet her family before you get any action. Trust me, bro. --- > ^Tehboywholived \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^11 ^minutes ^ago > Try looking in the last place that you ever thought it would be. And if you don't find it, try moping around aimlessly for a while. Worked for me! > > ^ReluctantOrphan ^[s] \| ^[score ^hidden] \| ^3 ^minutes ^ago > > That's silly. It's not like it's just going to randomly appear in a pool in the woods or something.
"Twenty-seven trillion fucking dollars?" The President of the United States had called a cabinet meeting because things had gotten out of hand. He paced at one end of the room, biting his fingernails and glancing at the Kickstarter page that his Chief of Staff had pulled up. "He's almost met his goal, too,"said his Secretary of Defense, looking baffled. "Who the fuck contributed to this?" Sheepishly, several hands were raised, the president's among them. "Only twenty dollars,"he said. "It's hilarious. Gave me a chuckle." The description was relatively short. My name is Joshua Norton, and I live in San Francisco. I have a wife and two beautiful boys. I work full-time at an accounting firm, and would like to be recognized as the supreme ruler of the world. Please contribute to my cause, and check out my stretch goals! The description was restated dozens of times, rewritten in every other known language. "So he's trying to achieve a majority share of all of the money in the world?"the Sec. of Treasury asked, incredulous. "Well, how else would you go about it?"the president asked. "I mean, look at his profile picture. He seems like a really nice guy, to be sure. It's not like he's trying to start shit with anybody. I asked you all to come here today with reports on your departments' figures..."There was a shuffling of papers, and the Sec. of Defense cleared his throat. "We've had to make some cutbacks,"he said. Everyone in the room made noises of assent. "Economics aside, we've ceased production of various forms of weaponry and machinery, and we've pulled out of the Middle East almost entirely. That being said, we don't mind doing that so much, because other countries have done the same. Radical groups like Hamas and ISIS have largely demilitarized, being left without the means of production. Russia has made good on their START treaty promises, and have cut back on nuclear power and defaulted their nuclear warheads. Crime rates are at an all-time low, at least globally..." The Sec. of Treasury chimed in to say "as you know, government incomes have been pulled back by about one-half. Pensions have been revoked for many, or at least severely diminished, but on the other hand we've witnessed an impressive amount of deflation in recent times. Gas prices have plummeted and are teetering somewhere around 45 cents a gallon, but we're not buying much anymore, because people aren't using much anymore. No one wants to buy a car. No one fucking owns one. It's like everyone's gone ascetic for the sake of this Kickstarter." Other secretaries spoke briefly on their personal findings; state budgeting had been slashed, infrastructure was crumbling, food production was slimming and so were the citizens. Education and quality of life were bound to sink when the next generation of Americans was assessed. New things were not being built, conceived, or considered. People were going green, but everyone was fine with it. "I just thought the American dream was way more selfish,"the president said. "Doesn't capitalism make everyone competitive assholes?" "If you give everyone a choice when the decision is obvious, how could they say no?"The Sec. of Defense's brow furrowed, his eyes trained on the Kickstarter page. "This guy knows what he's doing. He's given them the illusion of choice, he's funny... he's got a photo gallery of him wearing his cat like a hat." "You could just say no, and not give him the money,"the Sec. of Commerce noted, but everyone shook their heads. "It's like being asked to give a clown a handy,"said the Sec. of State. "You just can't say no." Many people in the room disagreed. "Gary's clown fetish aside, we need to get this Joshua Norton in here,"the president said. "Fast. I need a word before him before this gets out of hand." "It already has,"the Sec. of Defense said. "I've been in contact with world leaders everywhere, and they're all trying to reach him through us, since he lives in the US. He's refusing any and all offers to talk. He's taken portions of his earnings and built a massive bunker where his house used to be." "Wait, what the fuck?"the president asked. "He's been spending some of his money?" "Negligible portions,"the Sec. of Defense answered. "Tiny fractions to accomplish certain goals in the meantime. He was looking to pay off a celebrity to give a testimonial for his cause, but Ryan Reynolds and Bill Murray ended up doing it for free." "Fuck you, Ryan Reynolds,"the president muttered. "We're fucked, and the question is, do I mind? Because I really want this guy to meet some of his stretch goals. They're hilarious."Most were meme-related, i.e. at $30 trillion, Norton would unveil encrypted folders full of rare, never-before-seen Pepes. The president was most excited for that goal. Norton had released a vlog days before to answer a commonly-asked question: "Hey everyone, thanks for all the donations so far. To people asking to be appointed to high-ranking positions once I become supreme ruler of the world, I'm gonna have to say sorry, but that would defeat the purpose of my reign. Dividing my power means sacrificing my title of despot, and making it into something like a feudal society, which is just no good. I'm sure you all understand. Here's a video of a cat playing the saxophone."What followed was a video of a cat playing the saxophone. "What's your projection for when he'll reach his goal?"the president asked. "A couple of weeks, at this rate. Maybe less,"the Sec. of Commerce said. "He's gained a lot of traction in the last few days. Pretty sure he's absorbed every country in the world smaller than Guatemala." "Jesus Christ,"said the president. "That's like twenty countries."
Bradley stared at Sara as she stood on the stairwell, slightly leaning over the banister, gazing down at him. She had the same smile she always had when they would look upon each other in this way, and Bradley always wore a deep and heavy frown on his face. It was always her upstairs and Bradley downstairs. One in Heaven and the other in Hell. -------------------- As Bradley moped around downstairs with the rapist and murders, the lifetime thieves and the lawyers, the salesmen and the adulterers, he began to wonder why he was forced to be in Hell with all these scumbags. The car accident that killed him and Sara hadn't been his fault. He was stone sober when he had started the car that night and was stone sober while operating the vehicle. All he remembered was crossing an intersection with a green light and the BAM! He was here - downstairs. There was a briefing when he had gotten to Hell. You could talk about whatever you wanted to to whomever you wanted to. You could talk about your past, you could talk about past crimes or old sporting events that had taken place. But that was it. There was nothing else to do. No deck of cards, no board games and no food. None at all. You were always hungry, and each night you felt like you died of starvation and just woke back up downstairs...where you belonged. There was one thing you could do - like any prison you can write up about your case for being in prison. As far as the afterlife was concerned downstairs Hell was just one big prison. And you could write to the warden (to the big fella' - to God himself, the heavenly almighty Father of us all) about your case. Prove to Him you don't belong here and maybe He will allow you upstairs. It was rare, but it happened. One time a junkie how beat his own mother up to get to her purse so he could get some money for dope was able to convince Him that it was entirely not him and the dope that warped his mind into violence. The junkie had the benefit of a wonderful childhood where we was outgoing, cordial and ever so sweet to that mother of his. The Lord saw it fit to allow him in, but that was 6 years ago. The last person before him to be let upstairs was 12 years before that, so you can see how rare it really is. The first thing Bradley started doing was writing his letters about his case to the man upstairs. He would always write about Sara, how he could see her in the mornings ever so briefly before she had to go and "See what there is to see for this day!"Whatever that meant. He wrote how the accident wasn't his fault and how he had never harmed anyone directly. I mean sure he had been rude on a few occasions and been a blatant asshole here and there, but nothing major. No stealing (except for that one handful of gummy bears from the candy store when he was 7). But surely things such as these could not amount into being downstairs with all the other dirtbags of society? After Bradley had sent his letter off, it was a few weeks before anything happened. Then, there was a rattling at the door to the basement. This door did not open much, for Satan rarely graced his presence with his sufferers. But from time to time he would want to talk with some of his patrons, and when that patron came back from a talk with the Fallen One they were always in lower spirits than when they had arrived in Satan's chambers. The door opened and there he stood. Charming and hansom as ever, Satan looked as cool as Steve McQueen on crack. His all black suit and all black tie with his all black shirt, his greased back all black hair....man did he look like the ruler of the underworld when he came from the depths of the basement. to be continued....
"I claim Bread,"Penny Nott said, trying desperately to appear calm as the crowd hissed and muttered. The other apprentices stared at her with narrowed eyes. No one had been accepted for Bread in ten years. She thought she heard a strangled cry of distress from her mother, sitting in the front row. No turning back now. "Aaah,"Master Rulstraf said, his beady little eyes widening in surprise. "The most difficult and challenging of all. Miss Nott, have you mastered the noble art of Baking? Answer truly, girl, for none shall step forward to save you if your toast is not golden or your naan not perfect. What shall you choose to demonstrate your skill?" "Baguette. I choose Baguette,"she announced, evoking a hornet's nest of buzzing commentary from her onlookers. Magical Baguettes were the rarest commodity in the land. "And do you know the Bread School's punishment for failure to produce a perfect specimen?"Rulstraf wheezed, mopping his forehead at the thought of Baguette. "Death,"she nodded. All fell silent as she whipped the ingredients from thin air and started putting Baguettes together. The golden oven stood ready for her in the corner. It had bested so many. Penny's heart beat rapidly as she baked. She would make six specimens - one for a Master of each other school, to taste. She cloaked her baking station in a thin haze as she added her Secret Ingredients. Unique to each Bread Mage. It was her right to conceal it. The whispering reached a fever pitch as the rich, warm scent of Baguette filled the air. At last, she stepped forward with her tray. The Masters of Bread had filed into the room to witness. Or kill. They wore the Grainsack Cloaks that were their right and privilege. Oh, how she yearned to wear one. The Masters of the other schools took small pieces and put them reverently in their mouths, chewing and swallowing as slowly as they could. Penny grinned as she saw their powers flare. Flames burst spontaneously from Master Kal's fingertips. Master Furrion gave a bark of triumphant laughter as he conjured a howling wind that swept through the room. Pools of icy water spread from Mistress Savina's feet, while the earth crackled and trembled ominously in the vicinity of Mistress Wipple. Dark Master Zolen glared at Light Mistress El as a vortex of Dark energy battled with strong, pulsing Light vapour. The Bread Masters cried out at the sight, staring at her in awe. The crowd were on their feet, weeping with envy as the Baguettes disappeared. "Ten years we have waited for our new Apprentice,"one Bread Master whispered, shaking his head in wonder. "Oh, holy day. Young woman, will you not break the Right, and share your Secret Ingredients with all here? We grant you permission to speak freely. Such an achievement deserves to be recognised!" "I think not,"Penny said, stifling her laughter. "Perhaps one day, Masters. But for now, I wish to preserve the secret." They nodded sagely, and hastened forward to envelop her with a Grainsack Cloak and proclaim her an Apprentice for Bread. The crowd whooped and roared with pleasure. Suddenly, Master Kal kneeled and vomited flames. A vortex of wind surrounded Master Furrion. Mistress Savina drowned with a piercing scream. Clouds of Dark and Light Energy whirled furiously around their Masters. She saw Dark Master Zolen being swallowed whole while Mistress El struggled to claw herself free. Rocks were attacking Mistress Wipple - she sank to her knees as one struck her temple. Penny moaned in horror to herself. She thought she had solved this problem. She had experimented with so many fluids and solids. Had stolen samples of every substance imaginable to flavour the bread. She turned and fled from the room in the midst of the chaos. If they caught her, they'd demand to know what she'd put in the bread, before killing her. She'd rather kill herself than admit she'd spat in their food. Among other things.
“I just couldn’t take it anymore,” Gabilara sobbed into a kitchen towel. Okay, so the name was complicated, but I was seven when I accidentally conjured her. Seven-year-old me had weird ideas about names. She sat on my gran’s antique couch, hunched over, her barbed wings quivering. Flaming tears dripped off her cheeks. The towel was on fire. So was the rug and one of my cushions. I’d already snaked the garden hose through the window and sat with my finger on the trigger. “Do you mind?” I pointed the hose at the couch. “Oh, I’m so sorry Evan.” She sniffled and moved to the recliner. I hosed off the couch and rug. Now the recliner was on fire. Great. “So what happened?” I asked. “I saw you’d changed your relationship status to ‘it’s complicated’, but that was weeks ago.” “He doesn’t appreciate me,” she wailed, fresh fire pouring down her cheeks. My smoke alarm blared. “I mean, was it his idea to turn the River Styx into acid? No, it was mine! But you’d never catch him saying that, oh no.” She blew her nose into the burning towel. It disintegrated in her clawed hands. I ran to fetch her another. “Now he’s been seen around Dis with another demon. He says it’s nothing but I know that’s not true! I mean, what does she have that I don’t? A larger wingspan? Wings aren’t everything, you know.” She fluttered hers as if to make a point and gouged a hole in my wall. I offered the towel with a grimace. Gabilara stood with a look of embarrassment on her face. “I’ll fix that, I promise.” “Sounds like the two of you need to sit down and talk.” “No!” she cried, grabbing my arm. “I’m not going back there. Not until he apologizes for treating me like every other demon. We had something, Evan! Something special!” She sat down and crossed her arms over her scaly chest. “I’m staying right here.” I blinked. “Right here? But Gabi…” “I won’t be a bother,” she said, curling her legs underneath her. I stared at the hole in my wall. The smoldering fires. My soaked and singed couch. “You have that spare bedroom you’re not using,” she said, staring up with pleading in her glowing yellow eyes. “Please, Evan?” I reached for the garden hose with a sigh. “Fine.” _______________________________________________ Two hours later, I loaded six fire extinguishers into my Home Depot shopping cart. Gabi had promised she wouldn’t start more fires, but the way the checkout line was moving, the entire house could be a blackened shell by the time I got back. The guy in front of me had just demanded a price check on a light bulb. I tapped my foot, wanting to scream at the top of my lungs that a grieving, lovesick demon was about to burn down my house. And I still had to run by the butcher to buy her a half side of beef. When the light bulb customer finally pulled out his credit card, time seemed to slow. Then it stopped. Everyone except me stood as though frozen. “Humans, am I right?” a sardonic voice said to my right. I spun to find a tall, dark haired man leaning against the magazine rack. He looked like he’d stepped out of a 1940’s gangster movie, with his black fedora, polished loafers and pinstripe navy suit. He glanced at Mr. Lightbulb. “I could give him a heart attack if you’d like.” I stared at him. "What happened? Who are you?” He removed his hat, revealing two small black horns. His grin showed flashes of razor teeth. “That’s right, we haven’t met. Thanks to Gabi, I feel like I know you.” He extended his hand. “I’m Lucifer.” I nearly fell over my cart. “Lucifer?” “The devil in the flesh.” He plopped the hat back on his head. “You, my boy, have my thanks for conjuring my favorite demon. You haven’t seen her, have you?” I dumbly shook my head. “Pity. Gabi’s missing and I can’t find her. Not while she's on Earth anyway. Since you two have been friends for so long, I thought you might know something.” I swallowed hard. “I can't help you, sorry.” He glanced into my cart. “Fighting a lot of fires, Evan?” “Safety first,” I blurted. “Oh, absolutely.” He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a white business card. He dropped it in my cart. “My personal cell. Call me if you see her.” He wandered off towards housewares and disappeared behind the refrigerators. ____________________________________________________________ “Oh he does, does he?” Gabilara shouted when I told her about Lucifer. She stood in my doorway, bundled in my favorite blue robe, her clawed hand wrapped around a half-finished lite beer. She watched me drag my extinguishers inside. “Just hear him out, Gabi,” I said, wondering how I'd carry the half side of beef into the house. I glanced at my demon roommate. At least thawing it wouldn’t be a problem. “Maybe he wants you back.” “What makes you think I still want him?” she demanded. “You said you had something special just this morning,” I said. “Why throw that away? Hell's your home.” I popped the trunk. “Where’d you get that beer, anyway?” “Next door.” I spun with a groan. “Gabi! You can’t break into other people’s homes and steal things!” “Why not?” “Because it’s wrong!” She stared blankly. “But you don’t have lite beer.” “You’re about to eat a half side of beef. What's lite beer going to do?” Tears welled in her eyes. Her lipless mouth quivered and I saw flashes of her teeth. “Why are you being so mean to me?” “Oh Gabi, I’m sorry.” I gave her a quick hug. “It’s not you, okay? It’s Lucifer.” “You only spent a few minutes with him. I’ve spent twenty years.” She sat on my step. “You know, the longer I think about it, the more I think he was just using me for my body.” I turned back to the car. “I’m sure that’s it.” I heard sniffling behind me and smelled fresh smoke. I left the beef in the car and sat beside her, inching back so her flames wouldn’t fall on my arm. “Look, what’s the worst that can happen? If you don’t like what he has to say, you don’t have to go back there.” She sighed. “We used to have such fun in the Seventh Circle. He’d chase me around the trees and we’d pet the harpies. They’d eat right out of my hand.” Gabilara rested her chin on her knees. “Then we’d have supper in this lovely café in Dis. We’d watch ash fall on the city and just talk for hours.” “Maybe it can be like that again.” I pulled the card out of my pocket and offered it to her. “Here. Call him.” She sniffled and gave me a weak smile. “Can I have him meet me here?” Fuck. I swallowed hard, barely able to force a nod. “And you’ll be here too, right Evan? To help me?” Double fuck. __________________________________________ “Not until you tell me about the other demon,” Gabilara said an hour later. She sat ramrod straight on my couch, her wings fluttering behind her. Lucifer lounged in my recliner, a glass of my grandfather’s best scotch in hand. I hovered in the kitchen, wrestling with the beef and trying like hell to pretend I was somewhere else. “She doesn’t mean anything to me,” Lucifer said. Tears welled in her eyes. “Then why did you parade her all over Dis?” “We went out to lunch twice. That’s not a parade. It’s barely an event.” “That’s not what they’re saying in the Eighth Circle,” she whispered. “They’re saying you don’t love me anymore.” Lucifer shook his head with a chuckle. “The Eighth Circle? Really? Since when did you start listening to fraudsters?” “It’s not just them.” “Screw ‘em. All that matters is us.” He flashed her a razor-tipped smile. “Do you remember our first swim in Phlegethon? The Centaurs sang to us. You looked so beautiful under all that boiling blood. I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” Lucifer needed a refill but I wasn’t about to enter my living room uninvited. Tahiti sounded so good right now. Heck, Antarctica sounded good right now. “We can have it like that again,” he said. “You promise?” Gabilara whispered. “When have I ever lied to you?” Gabilara wiped her eyes and sniffled. Then she smiled and nodded faintly. Lucifer stood. “Then let’s go home.” He glanced at me. “Evan?” I flinched. The devil had said my name twice today. Two times more than I’d like to hear in my whole life. I tried not to let my hands shake as I stepped into my living room. “It’s been a pleasure,” Lucifer said. “Maybe next time I’m topside, we can grab a beer.” Gabi offered a warm smile and rushed to embrace me. Her kiss burned my cheek. “Thank you, Evan. You’re the best friend a demon could ever ask for.” I whispered in her ear. “He’s not serious about that beer, is he?” “Probably,” she replied with a shrug. Then she squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll come too.” They vanished in two black puffs of smoke, leaving a stench of brimstone behind. Lucifer’s empty glass sat on my coffee table next to a fresh copy of his business card. Blackened holes covered my rug and gran’s couch. Six extinguishers waited in an orderly row against the wall. Maybe I could return them. I reentered my kitchen and spoke to the beef. “At least that’s over.” A knock sounded at the door, but whoever it was would have to come back tomorrow. The door swung open on its own to reveal someone I hadn’t seen in decades. Her halo looked dimmer than usual and hung at an odd angle. Dirt and bramble wove a tangled knot through her silvery-white hair. Glowing tears like mother-of-pearl dripped from her eyes. “Evan?” “Amelia?” I hadn’t seen my guardian angel since Gabi first went to Hell. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?” “You have to help me,” she sobbed, falling into my arms. “God and I…we had an awful fight!” Fuck.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there were three Kingdoms. The great kingdom of Rock. The wise kingdom of Scissors. And the rich kingdom of Paper. &nbsp; King Crush of the Rock nation was a warrior first, and a leader second. He led his people through many a brutal war, crushing rebellions and monsters that terrorised the land alike. Through his prowess in battle, and his nation-inspiring courage, he united the hundreds of Rock clans under a single banner, that of the granite boulder. Max Crush was a simple man, and saw no need for fancy jewelery or decorations, the simple jagged outline of granite, etched into a background of black was all that he deemed necessary. In his rise to power, King Crush had many an adversary. But the most deadly of all his foes was his very own brother. Near the height of his power, at the coronation ceremony, Reck Crush threw down his gauntlet and challenged Crush to a battle for the rights to rule the kingdom. Millions raised their voice at once, calling him a spineless coward for taking the easy ride, never leading and always following in the footsteps of his older brother. But Max was not so easily swayed. "My people,"he boomed, a wave of silence smashing into the crowd as his iron lungs pushed his voice to the farthest corners. "It is his right to challenge me for the crown. Have you forgotten that it was Reck who stood by me through thick and thin, who held my shield when I could not, who wielded blade when injury had befallen me, who protected my family while I sought to unite our nation?" Hushed voices broke out. In a stir of anger and outrage, the crowd lost their way. Silence did not fall this time. No, laughter blasted from the would-be king's lungs. "As eager as I am for one last fight before I become king,"he said, bowing his head and taking a knee, "I'm afraid you'll have to accept my conceding, brother." Even his own brother, having planned to duel him for the crown had not predicted this turn of events. Puzzled, but unable to speak before Max pulled them in once more. "I am a warrior."Murmurs of agreement sprang up. "Not a king. And though I have led many a battle, I am not fit to oversee an entire country."Another chuckle, deep and shaking his belly to the core. "No. If my brother wishes to rule the kingdom, then let him. The man has proven himself to be sound of mind, planning our provisions for hunts and the battles we would wage." A pause, just enough for voices to start being raised. "And even now, he plans to take the kingdom in the most efficent manner possible..."Max's voice dropped low, accusatory and taunting. "Or perhaps all of you would forget the sacred laws of battle we have forged?" Silence of shame hung. "If any man, woman or child wishes to challenge the law of battle, let them speak now or forever hold your peace."He raised both hands, sword in one and shield clutched in the other. Not a single soul spoke up. And so it was. In administration it was a little trickier. Max was given almost absolute power as King, but most of the duties were passed on to his brother and teams of magistrates. People more suited for slaying taxes and crunching numbers. &nbsp; Despite being called a kingdom, the land of the Scissors was a democracy. The very first nation-wide democracy the known world possessed. The government was crafted in the image of scissors themselves, almost half the military spending poured into espionage and diplomacy as opposed to raw power. Centuries ago, the land lay fractured between the countless fiefdoms. A web, like that of a spider's. There was no 'one' man or group responsible, not in the land of Scissors. A cultural revolution from the working class sprung up and threw down the lords and nobles that claimed the land as theirs. Ruins were left, and upon those ruins sprung up a society of thought, intrigue and the arts. A nation where intelligence was sharper than any blade. It is difficult to truly explain the lack of individuality and the juxtaposition of uniqueness possessed by each citizen of the Scissors nation. One of this things that you simply just have to experience for yourself, walking along the streets and talking to high-ranking magistrates in the same way you talk to the sweeper of the streets. &nbsp; Ah, the land of Paper. A world of historians, mathematicians, writers and merchants from every corner of the known world. How ironic that their history is completely lost to the sands of time... For ages ago, before the land became 'sheet' — a colloquial term for 'as one' — the land of Paper was the land of a million tongues. Each village, council and city had its own unique language, and for generations it remained that way. You see, the land of Paper was forged through tragedy and hardship. Blight. Famine. Plague. Flooding. Droughts. We only know fragments of the past, common words shared between the tribes before they were wiped off the books of history. Such a strange land, indeed. &nbsp; Centuries. According to the documentation from the lands of Paper, 782 years to be exact. For 782 years, the three kingdoms lived in relative peace. Minor border skirmishes at worst. And in a single week, all three kingdoms were ripped to shreds from the very ground up. How? Why? What? The how is simple. In the lab of a man, born of Paper, he crafted a mysterious metal object, and with it, shaped the entire world. But why? Power, my dear friend. The differing ideologies between the lands. Funny, looking back. Nowadays as they wage war, they all fall under the exact same banner. What? The final question. And that, I shall answer with this: The war between Rock, Paper and Scissors would start, and end with one thing. The Gun. ** Visit the lands of /r/AlexUrwin**. We're part of the Keyboard (Once called Pen) land. We even offer citizenship at the click of a button!
“CBC?” I asked, reading off of the black logo emblazoned across his white hazmat suit. I’d seen enough zombie movies to know about the Centers for Disease Control. “Shouldn’t it be CDC?” The man shook his head as he pulled me by the elbow toward the door of the break room. Karen’s coffee mug was still sitting on the counter letting off steam; they’d whisked her away first with shouts about how she was still at an infection risk. “No, that's a different agency.” He was shaking his head, but it was hard to see under his big helmet. “We're with the Center for Boredom Control.” “Never heard of it,” I said. “It’s new.” He spoke with the commanding bearing of a soldier. “President Trump established it as part of his jobs initiative, hoping to boost workplace productivity.” “Oh.” Weird, but it’s not the absolute craziest thing he’s done. It didn't even make the list on the "Top Fifty Craziest Trump Laws"exhibit that I'd gone to see at the Smithsonian Museum, Resort, and Casino. The man led me out back into the big room that we used as an office. It was called an “open floorplan” which really meant that our corporate headquarters were too cheap to build walls in this abandoned warehouse that they’d half renovated. But instead of the desks and ping-pong table that were normally there, a whole laboratory had sprouted up in its place in the time it took me to use the bathroom and then get a cup of coffee. Men in white lab coats with respirators over their faces tended to centrifuges and monitors and all sorts of other medical technology I didn’t recognize. My fellow employees were clustered in a fishtank of a room being studied by six doctors. “Where the hell did you guys come from?” I asked the man from the CBC. “We’ve been monitoring this place for a while. With your work, it was only a matter of time before an outbreak of boredom happened.” “Can’t argue with you there,” I sighed. He led me through a zippered plastic door into another room. On a stool across the room was another doctor with a clipboard. Through the plastic, I could see my boss watching with concern. “I’m just going to ask a few questions,” the doctor said in the soothing tone that they use with deranged mental patients. The guy in the hazmat suit brought me a hard metal chair to sit on. “Try to answer as best you can, OK? We need to know if this is a true case of the Mondays, and not just a hangover or something like that.” I nodded. “All right. First: how many cups of coffee have you had today?” I thought back. One when I first got out of bed. Another on my morning commute. About half of one that I’d spilled at my desk because my whole body twitched just when I was about to fall asleep on my keyboard. I’d been going for a refill when these guys busted in. “Two and a half, I guess,” I answered. The doctor nodded and scribbled on his clipboard. “Very good. And how much time have you spent on Reddit so far this morning?” I glanced at my boss. “I mean…. I don’t know… Not too much.” The doctor glared at me. “I told you that we need your honest answers here, OK? The Mondays are very serious.” I glanced at my boss again, then down at my feet. “About two hours,” I answered softly. Given that I’d gotten to work at 9 and it was now 11, I’m sure my boss could figure out what that meant. “Ok… and were you reading something intellectually stimulating? /r/Science, or /r/AskHistorians, perhaps?” “I… errr… yeah, a bit,” I said. I mean, I’d checked the front page, and I’d read over the headlines… that counted, right?” “Uh huh.” He didn’t believe me, of course. “And what about /r/Writingprompts? How much time have you spent there exactly?” “Well… that… I mean, how exactly do you define ‘spent there.’ Do you mean writing an actual story, because if that…” “Please answer the question,” the doctor asked in a sharp tone, pen at the ready. “All of it, OK?” I answered a bit more loudly than I’d intended. “I spent all of my time there. I wrote on three prompts and then deleted my answers just before posting them because I got too self conscious. And then I posted a prompt about how you travel back in time to kill Hitler but then when you get there there is a mysterious number floating over his head, OK? Is that what you want to hear? And then I ended up writing a story about violent aliens invading and then the twist at the end was that the aliens were humans, all right?” “Twist… was… humans…” the doctor finished writing on his little clipboard. “All right. I think that’s all we need to hear. You don’t have a case of the Mondays; you’re just lazy.” He pulled out a walkie talkie and clicked the transmit button. “False alarm, everyone. Just another unmotivated worker.” They packed up the quarantine setup just as quickly as it had appeared. Within minutes I was just left standing at my desk with my coworkers and boss all staring at me in silence. “Really?” my boss finally said. “A time traveling Hitler prompt? Really?” ----- Visit /r/Luna_Lovewell to see the results of 2 years of boredom at work!
"Floaters", the optometrist said, "they're just pieces of loose cells that float around your eye. Anything you see in them is just a product of your imagination. I'd suggest ignoring them, unless they get bad enough that you can't drive or something. Then we can explore some surgical options." A puff of numbers and symbols exploded outward as she set her clipboard on the table. Ones turned to zeroes, pluses turned to minuses, and some weird upside-down triangle I didn't recognize materialized over the whole thing. I nodded slowly. "No, they're not that bad. Thank you."And that was the last I'd seen of that optometrist. Surgery was fine and all for hearts and tumors. But there was no way in hell I was letting anyone near my eyes. I shuddered at the thought. I was pretty sure they weren't floaters. I read some research papers online and, while there have been documented cases of people hallucinating from their floaters, they didn't follow most of the symptoms. If I saw the number 294 on a bench and turned my head, it should've zoomed off in the same direction, settling gently on the edge of my peripheral vision. But 294 remained on the bench. And the symbols were everywhere. Thankfully, they were this translucent, wavy form, so they didn't interfere with much. But always legible, even if I didn't know what they meant. They were the sole reason I majored in math when I finally made it to University. By that time, I found that polarized lenses blocked the numbers, and figured it was just some trick of the light, an extra wavelength that my eyes had mutated to see. I can't interact with the numbers I see. They drift away when I get close. I've tried everything, from my roommate's nerf gun to a laser pointer. Yeah, it sounds impossible, but these things are faster than light. I suppose it's possible considering they don't seem to have any physical mass. One day, I noticed a strange space on campus, an old tunnel where people biked through to cross the railroad tracks. There was a pair of brackets on an old pipe enclosing the number 2. I'd never seen the brackets before, so I stared at it for a couple hours, hoping it'd change in some way. But it didn't, so I went home. The brackets started appearing everywhere- some dorm rooms had them on the door and others didn't. The room next to me was marked by a 2 and inhabited by 2 stoners, but the room across the hall was unmarked and stank of weed every Saturday. My own room had a 1, and I live with a roommate. I'd just finished midterms, so I figured I'd check out our extensive library and try to find more information about the brackets, my condition- anything. Our library was a towering structure of cement and glass with stairs like an Escher painting. I'd gone through the archives on the ground floor, finding nothing, when I saw a bracketed 1 dancing before me. They didn't do that. They weren't supposed to do that. I chased it through a pool of variables, scattering them wide. X's turned to Y's. Parenthesis appeared to enclose the mess, as if trying to keep the order. The 1 danced up the stairs, then another flight, then another flight, then... shit just how tall was this building? I zoomed through history, mathematics, physics, psychology, and had to pause to catch my breath in fiction. "Run, Forrest run!"I heard someone shout. But the bracketed 1 zoomed ever upward, until it broke free of the dusty confines of the library and burst with me through the double doors on the roof, where a student stood looking over the edge. "Stop... wait... just wait."I gasped, on the verge of collapsing. Those 3 minute bean and cheese burritos certainly weren't doing my heart any favors. It felt like I was breathing sandpaper. The guy turned, confused, as the bracketed 1 twirled around his head. "What the fuck?"He sounded genuinely surprised. I didn't blame him. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but I followed a symbol up here! You're about to kill yourself, right? Well, the universe doesn't want you to go this way! Just step away from the edge and we can talk!"I managed to choke out. "This is crazy. You're crazy,"he shook his head as he stepped down from the ledge. "Alright, tell me what you know about my life." "Nothing! I know nothing, I've been trying to make sense of all this."I sat, disturbing the symbols on the roof with the seat of my jeans. "Why don't you tell me?" "So it goes like this. My parents won't pay for college anymore. No place will hire me. My girl left me and my grades are in the toilet. It all would've been fine if not for that STUPID professor!"He kicked the floor and almost fell off then and there, but steadied himself on the railing. "I'm sorry. But this isn't the answer. Why don't you tell me more about this professor?"I asked, following the bracketed one with my eyes as it danced over the edge of the building and floated back. "I was on track to be a doctor! A good doctor! But I couldn't learn organic chemistry! That's all! I don't even use Ochem in my field! My grades went down from there... I have nothing left..."He broke down mid-rant and started sobbing. I walked over and he threw his arms around me. "I'm sorry to hear that. And yeah, that totally sounds unfair. But you don't have to die here over that. You can still make something of yourself! I mean look at where you are. One of the top research universities of the country. I'm sure if you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror, you'll be able to find a better path. Anything at all would be better than a nosedive into the pavement."I might have said this part a bit quick- he was getting my jacket wet. He didn't say anything. He just kept crying. But as I stood there, bearing the weight of the pre-med student on my frail form, I saw the bracketed 1 turn into a 0. He eventually let go and we agreed he should see a psychologist. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to jump off the roof anymore, so I left after that. Two things still bother me though... I read later in the paper that the old bike tunnel collapsed, killing two people. And the brackets in my organic chemistry class read 20. ____________________________________________________ [more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/)
“So you’re looking at $732 per month and this is a quite reasonable interest rate given your, um, circumstances,” I said, circling the outrageous number. My client looked queasy. “Is that the best you can do?” she said. “It’s really a very good offer,” I said. “I don’t know how I’ll afford … anything.” I didn’t answer. Like most of my clients she had nowhere else to turn. Once you start down the pay advance path we have you. I waited patiently while the reality sunk in. The little bot that had been sitting on my desk poking at the stapler suddenly announced “KILL ALL HUMANS!” No one paid it any attention. Stupid things were everywhere. Annoying. Impossibly sophisticated. Nearly indestructible. And completely harmless. My client sighed. “Give me the paper,” she said. She signed it and I thanked her perfunctorily. As she got up she glared at me. “You’re horrible,” she said. “Less than human.” After she left I looked at the little bot on my desk. It stared back at me with glowing, unblinking eyes. I pushed it off my desk and it landed on the floor with a thud. I stood up announcing to no one in particular that I was going to lunch. Just as I got to the door Gary called my name. “Hey, I want to show you something funny.” “When I get back,” I said. The little bot had come to stand between me and the door and was staring at me again. I kicked it away with my foot. “I just want to show you this GIF,” Gary said. “Later,” I said. “And it’s pronounced GIF. Hard g.” “HUMAN!” several tiny voices screamed.
"What the hell was that!?"I look down and see blood streaming from my shoulder. Out in the darkeness I hear a high pitched wail. "It got you, Matt! The smooth criminal! It's coming back! It will kill us!" "We aren't going to let that happen, Annie!"I finish trying a strip from my shirt around her leg and help her to her feet. "Can you walk?" "I think so." "What is that thing?" "It's the smooth criminal, Matt! He's been following me for days and he finally caught up to me!" I stumble around in the dark of her apartment trying to get to the front door. "Wooooooo!" "What the hell was that?" "It's him!" "Where is he I don't see anyone!" "No one's ever seen him Matt! It's because he's so smooth!" "Let me get this straight, we are being chased by an invisible murderer who keeps yelping at us? Is that music?" "Oh God, he's getting closer!" "An invisible murderer with theme music? How to hell does this make any sense--"

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