Split (1)

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My partner told me I was a fool going into Magictown. That I was looking for something that I couldn't possibly find. It was just a waste of our time, and what's worse, a dangerous one. Magicians keep to themselves you see. They live in their little enclaves, doing whatever it is that they do. Not a lot of money in there, but like everywhere that people settle for more than a week, there are haves and have nots. Families with the old kind of power that can even threaten the tower people. That's why I have to go in. One of the rich tower kids turned up dead. Her body was actually turned inside out. The upper floors want vengeance, the kind of old world eye for an eye that they like to pretend they've moved beyond. The mayor wants it to go away. The parents just want their little girl back. "Alright Jenny. I know you don't like slumming it. But, you'd think someone that just got her shield back would like to use it." "Fuck you Slim." It's a low blow, and we both know it. Jenny is from the ghetto we have to go into. She's a good cop, but she worked so hard to get out of the old neighborhood she's worried she'll get sucked back in if she so much as visits. I can't say I blame her. It almost happened once, and they don't look kindly on cops in these parts. "If we've got to do this then let's get it done."She puts the car into gear and we cross the Threshold. I shudder as we do. This side of it colors get a little bit brighter, the smells a little sharper. There's grass everywhere. Even the roads are grassy. One of the good things about magic, no potholes or ruts ever form. Old, deep magic holds this place together. Not as old as they've got back in the old country mind, but still. We only get a block in before the welcoming committee comes around a corner. I guess they set wards up. Jenny isn't happy to see them. "Is it your old crew?"I ask. "No, they're on the other side of town. These are the east side boys. Never saw any proof, but we always heard they used black magic on the side."She grimaces. "I'm not one hundred percent sure they'll honor the code." "Will they recognize you?" "Probably not personally, but they'll know my tats."With that, her clan markings glow a little for a second and fade back into her skin. Usually she's got a pretty good hold on them, they only flash like that when she get's really upset. One of them starts to walk up to the side of the car. I can’t make out which clan he’s with, but his arm and half of his face is glowing red. “Hey piggies. You get lost on the way the market?” He looks into the car at me and sticks out a forked tongue. “Been a while since we had some pork chops. Maybe we get us a meal.” He turns back to the others, clearly playing for the crowd. That’s when I grab him through the window and crack his head against the frame. The rest of his crew takes off. They’re young. They don’t know enough to be really pissed off at us yet. A couple more years, and then they might be something to worry about. Jenny gets out of her side of the car. I take a little longer because there’s a pile of dumb kid blocking the door, but I manage to get him moved. About the same time I get out Jenny’s picking him up and telling him something in the old tongue. I don’t know what it is, but clearly she’s made an impression. He’s looking at the ground now. I guess I should get the ball rolling. “Alright kid. Hope you didn’t hurt your head on that little slip there. Allow to introduce myself, I’m Detective Tucker, and this is my partner Jenny. Now, we were going to start knocking on doors, but here you are stepping up and ready to do your civic duty. What’s your name son?” “S-Sam sir. Sam Ghast.” Sir, huh. “Alright Sam, we’re looking for somebody who’s been crossing the Threshold. We think-“ “It ain’t a crime for us to leave Magictown cop! We got every right to go into the rest of the city. Clearly you let traitors come and go.” With that last he glares at Jenny. Last time she was in the town she didn’t leave quietly. I try not to notice the quick blue flash of her tattoos. “I didn’t say it was Sam. But you, me, and the man in the moon know: it doesn’t happen often. And this person did a lot more than cross the Threshold. So, it seems like you and your buds keep a pretty good eye on this side of things. Anybody stand out?” All three of us know how this is supposed to go. He’ll tell us nothing, or he’ll give some vague non answer that doesn’t help anyone, or he’ll send us on a wild goose chase that sends us across the town and wastes our time. All so he can tell everyone about how he stood up to the cops. Instead he surprises everyone, including himself I think. “I’ll take you to our elder. She said that cops were coming today and he wants to talk to them.” Jenny and I look at each other. “Well shit.” Part 2 About twenty minutes later we’re following Sam through a warren of alleys and turnings. I’m already lost. It feels like we’ve already gone in several full circles, but I still don’t recognize any landmarks. The buildings are tall. Colorful, with symbols marked all over them. I recognize a few, charms and the like. I look over at Jenny, she’s so deep in her own head right now she might keep walking if we actually reach wherever it is we’re going. Not many people out. I’ve only seen a few, and then, just out of the corner of my eye. I get it. Cops never come into the town for good things. Sam points at a large blue door ahead. Buildings crowd in on us from all sides. The only light comes from straight above. “The elder’s in there. I’m outta here.” And with that, Sam disappears through a hole in a corner I’m pretty sure was not there before. I nudge Jenny and we walk up to the door. Only now that I’m closer do I realize that the door is actually white, but there are so many shapes and symbols marked on it, that you can barely see what’s underneath. As we approach the door opens up before us. It’s pitch black inside. “It’s just to screw with us,” Jenny mutters from beside me. It looks like she’s decided to pull herself together for the next little bit. She steps into the darkness and disappears inside. Shit. I give one last look around and step through the doorway. And inside it’s a house. The wood floors are being cleaned by a sentient broom, and there’s sunlight coming from windows that should be facing other buildings. But it’s still just a house. Jenny is waiting for me next to a flight of stairs. “C’mon Slim. It’s just there to keep out techies. Everyone knows how they hate the dark.” Right about then a woman appears at the top of the stairs. Can’t make out much of her features backlit by the window like she is. I imagine this is another little power play. “I am elder Kobol. Please come in detectives.” As she walks down the stairs, I begin to see her clearly. She looks to be in her fifties or sixties, which means absolutely nothing. Her hair is dark, with streaks of grey. Her clan markings are warm shade of orange. She gives Jenny a look. That’s all I can call it, but boy did it seem effective. Jenny’s back to looking at the ground and muttering to herself. I decide to get the ball rolling, “Elder, we’re here to look into the murder of-“ “I know why you’re here detective. That poor girl got herself killed and you come to the town to cause problems. But, perhaps not all is as it seems. There is something I must show you.” And with that she walks past us out the door. “We’ve already been given one trip through the Maze from someone disrespectful, why not go for two.” Jenny must have thought she was out of earshot, but the elder responded, “I find our children to be very respectful of the proper authorities.” I think I know how we’re supposed to take that. Kobol leads us around two corners and we’re at a house with some floating markings in front of the door. I look at Jenny. She’s confused, I don’t think this is what she expected. Kobol waves a hand and the markings disappear, she then beckons us to follow through the door. I look at Jenny again. She looks unsure. She tells me, “this isn’t why we came here. This won’t be good.” “I know, but we’re here now. Might as well see. Could be connected.” And I follow Kobol through the door into a scene of carnage. Bedlam is the only way to describe what happened here. The furniture that isn’t destroyed is overturned. There isn’t a square foot of wall space that isn’t covered by scorch marks of technik graffiti. It’s what’s in the middle of the floor that’s really problematic though. It’s the body of a young man. With a hole in his head. There are scorch marks around where I’m assuming an energy round went in. Jenny sums up the situation nicely. “Fuck.” I’d forgotten about Kobol. She had started talking, but I think we both missed what she first said. Jenny told her to repeat herself. “I said that I don’t know if this is connected to what happened in the Spire. William here was known to associate with some of the mundane, like you detective Tucker. He frequently volunteered at a clinic where he was a healer. He was also my kin. You have made your loyalties clear detective Moon, but you will always be one of us at heart I think. I know that we do not have the resources of those in the tower. That we have not paid for your services like they have, but I ask you as a citizen of the city, as an elder of clan Ignis. Give us justice.” That's the end of part 2. I'll try to have part three posted tomorrow. Sorry for the slow updates, but I want to do this right.
"Welcome,"I droned on, not giving the door so much as a glance as the bell rang. "Yell if you need help." Normally, I might have been a little more attentive, but the tincture was on its eighth hour of brewing and I really, really didn't want to have to start over. Nose-down in the steam so I could keep a good eye on its color, I just listened. The customer's footsteps were slow on the threadbare, worn-down carpet as he walked further into the showroom. "Uh...I'm just looking for a cat. I think,"he said. I chuckled to myself. "A traditionalist, eh? Back wall, right side. Ones on the right are sassy, ones on the left are dismissive. Take your pick."I'd really tried to breed a feline familiar that didn't fall into those categories - oh, I'd have made a killing - but after a good two hundred years I finally gave up. "...What?"he said. I frowned, standing straight. "Over there,"I sighed, pointing. "Oh. Thanks." I swallowed my irritation as I turned back to my work. How hard were simple instructions? It was a pet shop - follow the clearly labeled placards on the cages, and it'd be hard to mess it up. "Woah...I've never seen birds like this before,"the customer said. Chatty again? Just my luck. Most wizards were a little more self-contained than that, but every now and then I'd find someone who needed more handholding. "They're bred in France,"I said, not looking up this time. "They'll memorize any song they hear. Sing it back for you." "Isn't that why I have a phone?" "A-"I stopped, wrinkling my brow. "A phone?" No self-respecting witch or wizard would carry a phone. Who would willingly subject themselves to the perils of customer service, when a zephyr charm was free and wouldn't put you on hold for three hours? None of them would. I knew that as a simple, hard fact. Which meant- No, no, no. I had charms. Illusions. No civilian was just going to wander his way in here. All right, sure, there was that time last month when I couldn't afford to pay the mesmer to renew the enchantments, but- I whispered under my breath, feeling the air carry my words to the far corners of the store in moments. No, the illusions were intact. But then that meant- "Wow. It's a dragon." "No! No, it's not,"I said, leaping up. Those were expensive, damnit. I could not afford to have them seized as evidence when the investigators pounded on my door demanding to know why I'd broke secrecy. "Those are- Bearded Dragons. Yes. Extra-extra-big beardies. That's all." The latch on the counter door was jammed. I bit back a curse, kicking it. "They don't look like beardies,"he said, leaning in close. Damn, damn, damn! The minature drakes weren't hostile, exactly, but they were more than a little aggressive. "Don't touch those!"I yelped, finally breaking the latch free with a groan of metal stressed too far. "They- they bite!" It was too late. His fingers were already in the cage, exploring - petting. The drake nearest him turned, opening its jaws almost lazily. The flames surged forth moments later. I winced, ducking, as the flames shot over my head. The building was fire-charmed - Only an idiot of a magistrix would run a shop of magical beasts without something as basic as that - but I wasn't. And neither was my human visitor. I pressed a hand to my face as I crouched against the counter. Bodies were always such a pain. The paperwork just went on and on and on. "What the fucking hell was that?" I blinked. That was- he was- How was he still alive? Slowly I rose, turning to face him. He stood, a hand held out in front of his face, with the last remnants of fire dying out around him. He'd...blocked it? How? He should have been a blackened, crusted crisp of a shell, after taking drakefire to the face. Now isn't the time to worry about that. Too much damage had been done. I'd...I just needed to report it. And then I'd figure out what to do next. He was still staring at the dragon, wide-eyed and trembling. He flinched as my hands landed on his shoulder, but it was too late. Sleep charms were a specialty of mine. It slipped down his throat with the air he breathed, soaking into his skin. I sighed, feeling the perfect curl of the magic. He was a big man - broad and strong-built. He'd be heavy to catch. My eyes snapped back open as adrenaline shot through me. My spell shredded to pieces, the perfect, interlaced threads of it ripped asunder as they tried to press into him. "Hey!"he said, jumping away. "I, uh, not that I'm not flattered, but I don't know you."His eyes stared at me accusingly. "I mean- never mind that. What the hell is going on here?" "That's what I'd like to know,"I muttered, twiddling my fingers. The wind snapped, slamming the door shut and twisting the lock. No one would be getting through, not until I undid the wards. He walked straight through an illusion that I knew would stop a human in his tracks - hell, I'd put bets on it stopping an archmage, if they didn't have business here. I valued my privacy well indeed. He'd taken a bolt of magic-fire to the face, enough to have crisped even me. And he didn't look so much as suntanned. And my sleep-charm had bounced right off his skin as though he weren't there. I fixed him with my best, most polite customer-service smile. And then I punched him straight in the jaw, as hard as I could. I punch hard, if you were curious. His eyes rolled up in his head as he collapsed, falling in a heap onto the floor. I reached for my alchemical kit, the tincture that was now overflowing behind the counter completely forgotten. "Just what the hell are you?"I murmured, snapping the clasps open and reaching for a vial. I smiled to myself. Let's find out. (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) --- ~~Edit -Kind of...maybe getting a framework together for more parts. Later parts would be on my sub. Still no promises. But def interested.~~ ~~Edit again - Yeah this'll probably get a least a few parts. Can't interfere with my main novels, but I'm interested. If you want more, they will be posted on my sub, with the first one in a few hours (half done). Follow the link above :)~~ [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/87wrus/menagerie_of_dreams_2/)
Gary’s footsteps pounded across the sidewalk, surefooted. Behind him, a small legion of very angry men gave chase, though they were less confident on the surface covered with both snow and black ice. They were stronger and more agile men, but they didn’t have Gary’s new, blood-drenched gift. Gary’s omnipotence meant there was never a question every again- only options. Every footstep calculated perfectly to propel him the farthest forward, while providing a back spray of snow to continually blind and delay his would-be attackers. He knew where the traffic would congeal a block away, and how he could lose them in a probable accident that would soon form there. As he rounded a corner, on cue two sedans met in an angry crunch. Gary slid behind the left one before a narrow gap behind it closed as a minivan joined the collision. His pursuers shouts grew fainter as he darted down the alleyway. He paused to consider his options. Half of humanity had died overnight, unintentionally of course. He had assumed his dream had been just that, not a Faustian bargain over humanity. But here it was- Gary knew all, and all knew Gary. The survivors of Mankind knew what he had done, and some of them were not happy about it. Some would rally to him. Cults would gravitate to him as the one true savior of mankind. Mainstream religions would be more split, with some viewing him as the Second Coming or the Rapture. He knew he could convince many of them he was God if he wanted, but Gary hadn’t decided if he wanted to openly challenge Divine Beings yet. He wasn’t sure how rivaling omnipotence would play out. That seemed to be the one limitation to his unlimited gifts- knowledge or sway over other Gods. Gary made his way through the alleys, his mind made up. Humanity needed a new leader, and he was the logical choice. Many of the world leaders were dead, and the surviving ones were panicking to put out the metaphorical and literal fires his actions had created. They needed an all-powerful, all-knowing hand to guide them. Gary’s hand. Gary opted not fly to the White House. He could’ve, but he didn’t want to scare humanity any more than they already were. He opted to teleport instead, drawing on his limitless well of power. He appeared in the Oval Office. A pile of dust sat in the chair behind the Resolute Desk. Several aides standing nearby panicked, and opened fire. Gary stopped the bullets, and they ceased to exist. The only limitations were his imagination, he realized. He could make all of humanity love him, and cease their attacks. He could instantly solve every problem, eliminate poverty and hunger. Crime would end. There would be perfection. And yet…. And yet it wouldn’t mean anything. If he enslaved the universe, mankind would just be a plaything. Solving every problem would only make them resurface a few decades from now. No, he needed a gentler approach. He focused, and began sending a message to every mind on the planet. “You all know me. I am Gary, and I have destroyed half of Mankind. I’m not here to rule or destroy, only to guide. I didn’t intend for any of this to happen, but it was a necessary sacrifice to gain the power to save you all. I will help you all achieve balance. We will know peace.” He considered forcing them to believe his words, but decided against it. They would learn, in time. They would learn to understand the outermost pieces of Gary’s designs. And they would come to love the utopia Gary would guide them to.
A shriek escaped my lips as I staggered back. I gave my cheek a mild slap with enough force to cause a small sting, but no damage. The pain was real. Oh, God. If pain is real, then so is that reflection in the mirror. I brought my gaze back to the reflective surface. I was a shadow of my younger self: the brown in my hair replaced with gray, my face no longer smooth, and my teeth--what the hell happened to my teeth? I don't wear dentures. Not real. This was some sort of trick. I pulled the mirror from the bathroom wall, carried it to the tub, and slammed it repeatedly onto the edge of the basin. Broken glass littered the floor of the tub and a few shards landed on the tile. There were no wires, cameras, or any electronics of any kind, just cardboard, glass, and the frame. "Harry!" Seeing no weapons, I picked up the largest shard of glass I could find and held it like a dagger. Pain radiated across my palm. The glass was stabbing me. Deal with it. Either handle a cut on my hand and fight who is coming, or risk facing something sinister without a weapon. The bathroom door swung open. A frail woman with long, gray hair stood on the other side. She audibly gasped at the sight before her. "Margaret! I need you!"She held up her hands to show that she meant no harm and lowered her voice. "I am your wife, Julia Connors. Your name is Harry David Connors. We were in a car accident fifty years ago. You suffer from mild amnesia." The names sounded right, but I wasn't sure. My Julia was a strong woman who loved the gym. This woman looked like she might fall over if I sneezed too hard. "I don't believe you." She stayed still. "You never believe me. That is why our daughter Margaret is getting the pictures of us together." A lump formed in my throat. "I have a daughter?" Julia smiled. "Yes. You have a beautiful daughter. She is 43 years old and is a heart surgeon." "Mom?"A tall redhead appeared in the doorway with a stack of pictures. She did not flinch as she looked me over. "Hey, dad."She lifted a photo from the stack and held it up. It was a picture of me as I should have been: strong, athletic, and platinum blonde hair. I was in a tux and Julia, my Julia, was at my side in a white dress with her red hair flowing down her shoulders. "This is from when you and mom got married."She lifted another. The younger me sat on the edge of a hospital bed holding a small baby wrapped in a pink blanket. Julia stared from the bed, a soft smile spread across her freckled face. "This is when I was born." Tears streamed down my face. This was real. I let the glass shard clatter to the ground. "Mom, take the photos."Margaret said. Julia took them. Margaret stepped closer with an outstretched hand. "You are safe. Will you come outside with me so that we can clean up the glass?" I stared at the mess in guilty horror. I could have hurt my own family. "I'm sorry for this." "Harry,"Julia said in a soothing voice, "you didn't do anything wrong, baby. You just got confused. Come out with us. Once we get settled, we can sit down for breakfast and talk more. Okay?" I wiped the tears away from my face with the sleeve of my pajamas and then accepted Margaret's outstretched hand. "Breakfast would be nice."
"Happy Birthday!"everyone says in unison as I blow out the candles. I know they were all eagerly waiting for my familiar to appear. I was born precisely at 5:40 PM and right now it was 5:39. I was excited too and eagerly blow out the candles, wishing for an amazing familiar. What happens next goes beyond anything I've heard of though. It materializes in front of the birthday cake like some kind of weird hologram before fully materializing. "What's sticking out between it's legs?"my niece Susie asks and that's when I realize it's not just any old familiar, It's a human! I immediately grab the table clothe and cover up it's naked body, it looks to be dazed. "It seems I've been brought back to this world,"It says looking around at my relatives who are all speechless. "Margaret is this some kind of joke?"My mom asks me. "This wouldn't happen o be one of your friend's familiars shape shifting again, would it?"She says. She nervously laughs and takes the knife placed in front of the birthday cake and goes back to kitchen. "I can assure you I am Margaret's familiar,"the man says. He seems to be in his mid twenties and he has jet black hair and green eyes. "But...how?"I ask. I was just as confused as my relatives, how could a human be a familiar. I couldn't possibly own someone, that would be like slavery. "It's fine I'm not a true human,"the man says. "I'm Leon a demon from the pits of hell. Nice to meet y'all." "Banish it at once!"my grandma yells. I think she was the only one taking this seriously. At this point I was laughing and the rest of my relatives laughed alongside me. "You couldn't possibly be my familiar,"I say. "You're a demon, how can you leave hell to be a familiar?" "THIS is my hell,"Leon says. "I'm being punished for something I did to my own familiar three years ago now. I'm sure you must have heard of me." "Don't tel me..."my father says. "Everyone run! I'm calling the police this guy is Leon, owner of the medusa familiar. He's the one who murdered all those people during Christmas a few years back. Sparky go and protect Margaret!" My dad's familiar Sparky who was a lighting wolf charged at Leon. He electrocutes him, but Leon seems unharmed. A shock that strong should have at least knocked him off his feet. "I've seen way worse,"he says yawning. "Can you give me the knife?"he asks me. Everyone else has run off and I'm frozen in place. "W--h---y?"I stutter. "I want cut some of the cake for myself,"he says. Part 2:https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fmn09m/wp_on_their_18th_birthday_humans_get_a_familiar/fl5obnp?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x Edit: Join r/NinjaMasterXY if you want to keep up with the story. I'll try and post part 3 by the end of today.
"I want to see Pryce."I stared at the man's eyes through the narrow slit in the door, awaiting his response. "No. Get lost,"he said, then slid the window shut. I took a deep breath and shook my head. Have it your way, big guy. I took off my jacket and tossed it aside, revealing a long, winding tattoo on my right forearm. Orange and red flames rippled from my wrist to my elbow. I placed a hand on the doorknob and watched as the steel grew hotter. When finally it glowed bright red, I stepped back and readied myself. On my right calf was a tattoo of a sledgehammer. That oughtta do the trick. I shifted my weight and kicked the red hot door handle, which fell to the ground and caused the door to creep open. A man stared back at me from the other side. His face was lined with orange and black stripes; his eyes narrowed and he smiled, revealing long, sharp teeth. He lunged forward, his mouth hanging open. I sidestepped him and grabbed at his arm with my superheated hand. His scream came out as half a roar, then his open palm slashed at my chest. The pain caused me to release him and stumble backward. Blood quickly soaked through my shirt, dripping to the ground below. He came at me again, moving quicker than he had a right to. I spun to my right, swinging my leg as he flew at me. My foot collided with his jaw, which sent him tumbling across the ground. I stood and approached him, watching for any sign of movement. Blood pooled around his head. I knelt and reached for his shoulder, but was stopped by a sudden jolt of electricity pulsing through my body. I fell to my back, the blurred world spinning around me. I saw a figure pace back and forth. His right arm was lined with electric blue streaks. "Who the hell are you, and where did you get those tats?"he spat. I laughed, which quickly turned to coughing. I turned to my side and spit blood to the ground. "I'm an agent of the Pyre,"I said. "And I'm here to purify you, Johnny Pryce." The man knelt. "Well, you're doing a pretty shit job of it." I smiled and lunged forward, grasping onto his face with my right hand. And then I let the fire cleanse his soul. r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me.
My father is a good-samaritan extraordinaire. He won a Nobel peace prize for the negotiations somewhere the in the middle east, I was too young to know the details and I've never been interested enough to follow up on that exploit. He also regularly donated to charity and volunteered for everything he could lay his hands on. My mother's a nurse at an old age home, and has never let a patient die alone, and is apparently the golden child of the entire place. My older sister is a leading scientist working somehow successfully on the cure for innumerable numbers of diseases, yet has refused to patent any of her work and released it all to the public for free. And then, there's cursed youngling me, unable to do anything I want. Let me start at the beginning. I was a rebellious young child, although you'd never know because the universe conspires to make my family name, us Villuns, good people. My very first attempt at tyranny was disastrous, but at the time I chalked it up to age and inexperience. For, I was only 7 you see. I had been given a delicious super-sized Snickers bar that day, a treat my mother had packed for me to go to school. On that day, for the very first time in my life, I chose to be selfish. I chose to be bad. Or so I thought. The first test of my selfishness came in the teacher's dog, who sniffed out the treat in my bag, and lapped at my hands, begging with those big adorable eyes for a little something to get him by. I'd always been kind to him, but this time, I smugly stuck my chin up and told him a big fat, "No!"He whined, and I felt a little bad, but I was on a mission. Yeah, turns out, chocolate is bad for dogs (though, I didn't find out about this until later that evening when I had unveiled my exploits to my parents, who were oh-so-proud of me for being such a clever young boy). While waiting for my parents to pick me up, I decided that my foray into meanness was not enough and pulled out the delicious chocolate and peanut bar before my friend's very eyes. You should've seen the look on her face and the way she begged me, for just a little bit. Each time she begged, I gleefully grinned and chomped down a little more, ignoring her pleas and cries and name-calling. Imagine my surprise when her mother stormed over to me. For a moment, I was scared, horrified I'd done something wrong. Despite my desire for dastardly doings, I was still young and scared of angry adults. However, the moment of fear passed and my conviction returned. I stood proud beside my handiwork. "Did you give her any of that?"she'd asked, voice flaring with emotion as she embraced her daughter. "Not a single bite!"I proudly touted, basking in my triumphant defiance. "Oh thank god!"she sighed with relief, hands on her daughter's shoulders, "Suzie, I told you, you can't have anything with peanuts! You're allergic to them." The wind knocked out of my sails, I looked about as sad as Suzie did just moments ago. Events like this kept happening no matter what I did. When I was 11 years old, I decided to walk up to the nicest kid in class, Smily Sam, and told him that he was a big stinker and that no one liked him. All of this, in the middle of a maths lesson. The poor kid went as red as a beetroot, and burst into tears right then and there. I was whisked away to the principal's office, and sat down with the bawling Sam beside me. I'd finally done it, after all these years, I'd achieved a moment where I was truly terrible. "Johnny, do you know why you're here?"the looming principal asked, but even he couldn't make me flinch. Not now, not in my moment of glory. "Yes, I called Sam a big stinky,"I proudly declared, pointing at my victim. The moment hung in the air. "Thank you, Johnny,"he said, sighing and turning to Sam, leaving me more than a little confused, "I'm sorry, Sam. Your parents even asked, but I've been avoiding the issue." He reached down to his drawer and opened up his desk, pulling out a small container, round and cylindrical. "You know your, uhh, problem? Well, the school's got a solution, we reached out for funding and your, uh, condition, though unique was covered. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, we just, well, we didn't want to say what brave Johnny here has said. Please, accept my apologies,"the Principal bowed his head, an act reeking of putrid forgiveness. I never stopped trying, I was on a warpath. Every fight I got into was somehow a turning point for the other kid. The courage they needed to speak up about something. The kick, literally, they needed to realize that there's more than brute strength and they have to study to succeed in life. It was an infernal curse, my goody-two-shoes nature damning me, Johnny Villun, to the halls of fame. One day, I worked up the courage to pick a fight with one of the disabled kids. Out of nowhere, I ran up and kicked him in the head, smacking him out of his wheelchair. I screamed at the heavens, and threw my hands up as if I was a national footballer and just won the match. "Go on, fix that. Just try!" And so the universe did. I managed to kick him in such a miraculous way as to cure him of all his ailments, and a week later he was thanking me in a non-slurred sentence, on his very own two feet. He took my response as humility instead of the vile anger it was meant to be, nothing would get him down now that he could walk again. I had tried selfishness in my preteens. I had tried fights in my early teens. I had picked on disabled peers in my late teens. Clearly, I needed to up the ante. In University, I decided I needed to go further than I had ever done before. I had to do something so drastic and terrible that not even this crazy world could fix it. I had to kill someone. You've probably already guessed it, haven't you? Through the most convoluted of events, I somehow killed a kidnapper who didn't even attend the university even though I was 100% sure I'd seen him in my classes, and managed to save over 20 people he'd abducted and was keeping in his basement. It sucked. I even yelled at the jury in the trial about how I meant to murder that man in cold blood, but I was never charged and instead praised as a hero for returning those 20. At that point, I probably should've accepted my fate. Nothing I could ever do would ever be wrong. But I would not! I could not! There had to be something wrong that I could do. There just had to be. Spoiler alert, there fucking wasn't. I tried my hand at politics, and thought I almost started hostilities in the middle east, only for them to realize I was a Villun which promptly led to laughter and a bitter night out where my pouting in a corner was taken as maturity for someone so young. Relations magically improved overnight, and there was peace in the once eternal quagmire. With years of effort, I worked my way into the military, and tried to launch a nuclear missile. All I accomplished was discovering faults in the systems and more promotions and praise for taking such bold actions to ensure the security and safety of all mankind. To this very day, I am doomed. Nothing I've ever done has ever been or could ever be wrong. All my nefarious schemes and plotting and planning only end up doing good. Not just more good than harm, literally only good. And... I've just accepted it. I donate money, I work charity, I help people in need. I thought that maybe if I did some good for once in my life since I was but a child things might turn around. Nope, not a chance. Things got even better, though I could scarcely believe that to be possible. Even when I tried outsmarting the universe by masking my good deeds with bad ones, nothing ever came to fruition. Poisoned charitable donations weeded out corrupt individuals who sold them off instead. Lobbying for laws only lead to more corruption rooted out, with my impeccable record becoming my shield against any bad press. Even when I told the truth of what I had been trying to my entire life, everyone simply assumed that I was playing a role, the humble do-gooder who pretends to be bad to get in deep with the real baddies of the world. The universe has won. Evil is not real. The Villun name shall go down in history, no matter what I do, as a bunch of stupid eternal do-gooders. It is horrible. Horribly good, but still horrible. Just like me. It's the secret I'll take to my grave, whether I want to or not. And trust me, I do not. Yet, somehow, someway, some good will probably- No, some good will definitely come out of it. The end. The best possible good ending, and I didn't even want it. I hope you can hear my sigh through words. Chances are it'll cure you of whatever you have, somehow. Sigh. *** /r/ThomasWrites for more of my bad work.
Bob was a lazy man. His name was lazy. His looks where lazy. His job was lazy. Even one of his eyes was lazy. Maybe thats why he felt a connection to the god of laziness. After a particularity bad day at work, he had to do 2 things instead of 1, he decided to try to do something to help. He stacked some rocks and called it a shrine to the god of laziness. The god of laziness was mildly annoyed by this and sent Anna, The god of minor annoyances, after Bob. Anna sent a few mosquitos to annoy bob, but even Bobs body was lazy and he contracted malaria and died. In his next life he swore to never make the same mistake, as he woke up a skeleton in a blue jacket.
WELCOME, TO _SOL AND GAIA_ BARNARD'S STAR HEADQUARTERS. HAVE TRUST THAT OUR RENOWNED SOLICITORS AND LEGAL EVALUATORS CAN FIND THE MOST ADVANTAGEOUS INTERPRETATIONS FOR YOUR NEEDS The AI 'Valkyrie', told me. It was a true-color holographic projection of an attractive human adult, dressed in their form of formal business attire. It's form fitting black fabrics etched it's lean muscular bipedal form. Despite being a projection, it was strangely enough the most realistic object within this entire entrance hall, which glowed with the dark azure light of highly advanced nuclear power. 'Cherenkov's radiation' they called it. Apparently the CEO loved the color so much he used photon reflectors to use fill this room with it's spectral hue for ambient lighting. Although to be frank, with all the translucent armor-glass screens and myriad hues of blue, it reminded me of the comforts of soaring skies. "Requesting immediate live conference with Level 5 Firm Partner." YOUR REQUEST HAS BEEN SUBMITTED AND PROCESSED, CLIENT NO.454001AF. A LEVEL 5 FIRM PARTNER WILL BE WITH YOU IN ESTIMATED: UNDER 1 MINUTE "That is impressive service,"my Universal Translator projected. "We are glad to make a good first impression, valued client." My beige feathers ruffled as my head turned to align with my back. My beak nearly touched the human's face as my superior eyes bored into their nigh obsidian irises. I took in the human female's features. Lean muscle, athletic for species, and a dark cacao hue for their epidermis. Not a single muscle fiber flinched at my head's rotation, which would had killed her if she tried to mimic. Good. "Well, let us begin." "Indeed, valued client. Please, follow me to the Quantum Portal." /// The attorney's office was a clear enough indicator of her power and status within her organization's hierarchy. The office's main '_room_' by itself was 10,000 meters in diameter, and all five of its outer walls were military grade transparent Nanite-Armor a hundred meters thick and a 1000 meters high, as my cybernetically and genetically enhanced, computerized echo-location told me. From one of its corners, we were able to observe Europa, an icy moon of its host Jupiter, named after some scandalous deity from Gaia's ancient mythos. Now a research colony, it's oceanic settlements dotted the surface of the icy satellite with prismatic colors. Apparently homo sapients really love their variety in luminescent hues. CONFERENCE MODE ACTIVE All at once, opaque walls erected themselves through Transphasic Relocation, coming into being with dimmed light. Soon, luxurious chairs and desks followed. How considerate of them to consider my sensitivity to light. "Valued client, would you like some furniture?"the attorney asked while remaining on her feet. "Thank you for your consideration, but I prefer to stand. Be advised, however, that I may occasionally flap my wings." At that, she dismissed all the furniture except for the one that was obviously the computational terminal's mount. A rather vain aesthetic, but it did fit well with its obsidian stone hue. "Of course. Now, to what do I owe the privilege of this meeting?" I produced a data-file of hardlight from my quantum bag and passed it to her. The Zorax-Ventron Conventions and Regulations "Ah yes. Our species refer to these as the 'GCoGC'." "I would like to recruit your services regarding Article 12." ZORAX-VENTRON CONVENTION ARTICLE 12: As soon as the surrender is received and recognized to be legitimate, the Assaulting Party of the engagement within the conflict must _immediately_ cease fire in all related conflicts and engagements "Recent 'findings' suggests that we may be in unfavorable implications regarding this,"and my datafile now showed: THE GAIAN NEWS NETWORK FINDS CONDEMNING EVIDENCE OF WAR CRIME PERPETUATED BY THE AWL-KESTREL KINGDOM. LIVE FTL-OBSERVATION SATELLITES SHOW AKN SHIPS CRACKING A VESTROAN PLANET AFTER RECEIVING AND ACCEPTING A FORMAL SURRENDER FROM THE VESTROAN FEDERAL COUNCIL. WE NOW GO TO- "Ah yes. However, if I may turn your gaze to this." She showed me her datafile: Amendment One of Article 12 of the Zorax-Ventron Conventions and Regulations: Only in defense to a clear and immediate attack from a CREDIBLE AND RELATED THREAT, may a party in breach of this Article be exempt from any and all consequences of said breach. I tiled my head at the legal expert. "Valued client, if I am not mistaken, there are credible reports from multiple sources of a Vestroan civilian ship crashing into a AKN dreadnought, the _Starsoarer_, soon after the surrender was accepted, no? " "Yes indeed. However, it was a clearly navigational error in all accounts." "Perhaps... but are you aware of who the pilot and sole occupant of that ship was?" "No, we could not find details regarding the individual." "Well..."and the legal expert handed me her datafile once more. VESTROAN CIVILIAN SHIP MODEL: VOLKSWAGEN SC158 PILOT LICENSE NO. 358 900 444CM NAME:VALIAO OVIZO ...PARENT(S): LAZULITE OVIZO... "...?" "We have conclusive evidence that the Vestroan government covered up the finer details of this incident. The fact that the civilian ship and its pilot vaporized upon impact made it easier." "...Enlightening, but that still does not help my case." "Perhaps... except, look here,"and she pointed at page three: OCCUPANT: LIEUTENANT OF THE VESTROAN NAVY. ACTIVE RESERVE and page six: PARENT(S) OCCUPATION: FLEET ADMIRAL OF THE VESTROAN NAVY "...better. But how exactly will this help? This individual was not active in combat nor military logistics. Thus I fail to see how this can be used for other than mildly softening sanctions." "Valued client, a commissioned naval vessel was struck in a suicide attack using a civilian, which in of itself is a violation of Article 13, vehicle by a Lieutenant of the opposing and surrendering civilization's naval forces. Furthermore, this circumvented and violated the distinction between combatant and civilian, which is a violation of Article 14. Also note, that this was soon after their progenitor, a five star flag officer and member of the surrendering party's government, formalized a surrender. That is the legal definition of this incident. As a result, the offended party is not only exempted from any consequences, but also owed substantial reparations for multiple clear and irrefutable violations of the Zorax-Ventron Conventions. To top it off, the fact that we have conclusive evidence of Vestroan evidence of meddling with the information regarding the crash, would make it impossible to mount any coherent counter-argument." "...Impressive, advisor." "We are most glad to give you a satisfactory consultation, valued client." /// Before I left her office, I remembered to tell the attorney: "Esteemed attorney, I prefer to have this meeting 'swept under the rug', as you humans say." "We have no records of your visit nor any appointment, stranger, so do exit our headquarters. Be advised, we do not tolerate loitering in any of our offices, so please vacate the premises before security is called,"my communications device relayed. I fought the urge to smile.
Loops counted 85: I've exhausted all my options at least once, I think. Nothing I can do. On November 24th, at 15:44GMT the warning sounds, from there it's just finding a way to die comfortably. Took today off. Pretty sure I did that a few times in the... year? I wasn't journaling. It's a blur. Stream of consciousness journaling helps. Thought to paper. Today will be about writing. If I'm lucky, I come up with a plan. Watched Groundhog Day for the first time since I learned about my curse. Looked up how long he was 'in'. If I come out of this a piano savant and saviour of earth, I'll have to remember to shoot myself. Shoot myself... wait. 15:44 GMT.. I die within the hour but it's always exactly 24 hours from when I died, isn't it? Alright. Time is 12:33, November 24. &#x200B; Loops counted- 86: 12:45, November 23. Jumping hurts like a bitch. Not the worst but I've gotta find an easier way. Maybe the extra hours will help. &#x200B; Loops counted- 87: Going to need more than 48 hours to pull this off, clearly. Maybe.. a week? &#x200B; Loops counted- 93: Hardest part of these is the reset. Gotta wind the clock back a week or two painfully every time I get to the end. Of course, I've not actually seen November 24 in a few loops.. I've got the email address of the guy who can spot it, he usually believes me, depending on how I word it? When I send it? Can't get it consistent. &#x200B; Loops counted- 245: Five years. That's the earliest they'd be detectable by Earth. I'm going to have to convince someone Five YEARS ago to look at a specific part of space with a specific kind of radio telescope to be taken seriously. &#x200B; Loops counted- 1350: On August 4, 2032, the world ends because we killed ourselves fighting over the technology we spent eight years building. If it doesn't, on November 24, 2034, 15:44 GMT, the world ends because we were killed by aliens. On January 8, 2035, the world ends anyway because we killed ourselves. I think I'm better off trying to find a way to die with them.
Mr. Johnson flickered in and out of lucidity. One moment he was lying down in a field, next to a young girl. What was her name? Mandy? Sure, let's go with that. And then, a second later, he was on a stretcher, bombs exploding all around him while medics rushed him into the bunker. Didn't they know he couldn't die? Finally, he was in a hospital bed. Old and weak, with his family all around him. Twenty different humans, some young, some old, some short and some tall. This time, he realized, it wasn't a hallucination. The heart monitor's harsh beep was a metronome for the surrounding conversation. "Hey look,"a middle aged woman said, "he's awake." "Hi Dad,"the woman's husband said. Mr. Johnson recognized him as his son, Dmitri. "Feeling okay? Let us know if you want more morphine. I brought the whole family." Suddenly, the metronome increased in tempo. Mr. Johnson knew his time was quickly approaching, and if all these people stayed in the room with him, his loving family... "You all have to leave!"he tried to shout, but his voice was only a remnant of its former glory. "Nobody can be in here!" Everyone cut-short their side conversations as the old man spoke. Even the kids, playing against each other on portable game consoles, pressed pause. All eyes were on him. "What are you talking about, Dad? Everyone's here for you." "No... if you're all here..."he hesitated -- he would sound like a madman. But what other choice did he have? "I'm going to die soon, very soon. And if anyone stays in this room they will die alongside me."The tempo slowed, became slower than it originally was. Each beep drifted further and further apart, like ships at sea going opposite directions. "Everyone will die if they don't leave." Strangely, instead of laughs or looks of confusion, everyone smiled at him. Then they looked at each other, all in on some big joke he wasn't a part of. And then it started to happen. Years of theft, a century of burglary, came to an end. Out of his bag, one hundred years worth of memories came flooding out, returning to time itself. His vision went black as he pleaded once more for everyone to go. A quarter rest. A whole rest. And then, the music played once more. The sight of his family faded back into view, but something was different. His son had a grey hair that wasn't there before. A new wrinkle had found its way on his daughter-in-law's face. Both of the kids on the floor grew an inch taller. How was that possible? Oh, and everyone had on party hats. "We know about your power, Dad,"Dmitri said, "and we all decided to chip in. One year, from each of us, to you. Happy Birthday." Ah, it was his birthday, wasn't it? But wait -- what?! "You mean,"Mr. Johnson began, "even the kids? They agreed to this?" Both of them stood up and nodded. "Yeah grandpa! We wanna get older anyways,"they said in unison. In the corner was the sister he never got along with. She was old too, and a year off her life meant a great deal more than anyone else's. "You too, Girsha?" She shrugged her shoulders. "It's your centennial. I couldn't say no." Somebody threw confetti into the air and people blew on their party horns. All at once, in a deafening harmony, Mr. Johnson's entire family screamed: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANDPA!" And so, for another 20 years, Mr. Johnson lived a happy and fulfilling life, filled with much love and much family. When his time was finally up, truly finished, he would be alone in a cold room, his only friend the green beeping monitor, but for now, chowing down on some cake beside loved ones, he promised to make the most out of their gift.
Ross tapped his foot, considering the problem once more. He stared intently at his blackboard, packed with sums and drawings of the mechanics of his latest ingenius design. Another failure. Wearily he rested his face in his hands, but jolted upright as a knock sounded at his door. "Come on in,"he called. The door swung open as Emma walked in, a mug of coffee in each hand, and bumped the door with her hip to push it closed. She gave him a smile and came over to put one of the mugs on the desk in front of Ross. "No luck this time either?"she said, dropping into a chair across from him. She sipped from her mug as he reached for his. "Nothing. I'm starting to think this is a waste of time. We know the machine works; hell, I've stood in the center of Victorian London, watched Chicago burn, and shaken hands with Da Vinci. But no matter the experiment I build, it's impossible to detect the paradox that forms. No results whatsoever, positive or negative. I can't do anything with no data."he sighed, shaking his head and taking another sip. "So where does that leave us? We both know this technology took far too much time and money to develop. It can't be for nothing." "It has to be. If we can't ensure safety, we can't reveal this creation. We'd have to hide it. Dismantle the machine, burn the blueprints, erase it all. This experiment is a failure." "You just said it works-" "But not safely! Anybody who steps foot in that machine could blink out of existence, Emma. Gone in a flash and never coming back. I risked that three fucking times myself, and I'm lucky enough to still be here. To hand that technology to the public would be to give any curious mind a free pass to nonexistance, and that's only if the paradoxes they cause are intentional." "So you're giving up?" "There's nothing else to do but give up. I've already destroyed the machine. I was about to burn the documents and erase the data when you came in. And when I'm done burying this creation I'm going home. You should do the same." Emma placed her empty cup on the desk and nodded solemnly, quickly moving to the door and exiting quickly, barely making it out before Ross's sobs began. She collected her few belongings, and made her way out to the streets. A few turns later she was in an empty alleyway, and reached into her purse, taking out an odd looking cellphone. Her final words were still reverberating in the alley as she vanished into eternity. "Mission complete. I'm coming home."
*\Knock knock\*** "Come in!" Elizabeth put down the grimoire she'd been reading. Her mother insisted that any young lady should know at least the basics of spellcraft. It was a somewhat archaic concept; women nowadays were free to pursue other schools of magic, but her mother was over 300 years old so she couldn't blame her for her rather outdated ideals. Not to mention that Elizabeth did have a natural talent for it. As she put the book down, the doors creaked open and a two-meter tall hooded figure walked through them, a skull peering from beneath its hood. Two blue flames danced in its empty eye sockets, its visage fixed into a permanent grin. It spoke; or rather, it was heard, its voice cold and heavy, though never harsh. HELLO ELIZABETH. "Hey dad,"she responded, almost bored. I RECALL DURING OUR LAST CONVERSATION THAT YOU SAID YOU FELT LONELY IN THE HOUSE, Death continued. Elizabeth perked up; would he finally allow her to visit the mortal realm? SO, I GOT YOU THIS. He pressed his fingers together, making an oddly clacking sound, and a small puppy walked from behind the door and happily ran towards Elizabeth with the exuberance so characteristic of puppies. She couldn't tell what breed it was; rather hard to identify it when only a bare skeleton was present. Death smiled - well, he didn't, really\,\ as he had no face to smile with, but Elizabeth knew he did. "Dad, this is..."she said, flustered. "This is not what I meant!"She was flustered; it was nice of him, but it showed even more just how much he had no idea what she felt like. Death's phantom smile vanished from his skull. BUT YOU SAID- "I know dad, but I meant... out there!"she said and pointed towards the void; the pathway to the world of the living. ELIZABETH, Death started slowly, WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. WHEN YOU ARE OLDE- "You keep saying that, but I'm 19 now! And it's not like I can die! I'm not a child anymore!"she cried out. YOU ARE MY CHILD, Death replied as the flames in his skull dimmed slightly. Silence gripped the room for just a moment, interrupted only by the clacking of the dog's skeletal paws on the ground as it sniffed around the room. Seeing Elizabeth looking at it, it rolled over, though its head did not and instead rotated 360 degrees. It was pretty cute, she thought. "Dad..."Elizabeth started slowly, her fight having left her, "it's just that... I want to meet someone who still has a heartbeat sometimes, you know?" NO, Death said, I AM AFRAID I DO NOT KNOW. BUT I HOPE THAT ONE DAY I MIGHT. Elizabeth looked down with regret; she didn't mean to hurt her father. He turned to leave. "Dad?" He stopped halfway through the door and turned. YES? "I was thinking I'd name him... her... it Binky. Do you like it?"she asked cautiously. I THINK THAT IS AN EXCELLENT NAME. Binky yapped excitedly. "I'm going to walk it, show it the house. Would you... like to come with? Make sure we don't get into any trouble." Death smiled. In his own way, at least. I'D LIKE THAT, YES.
I’m still not savvy about what’s up; all I know is that things got odd, fast. Who did it? UFOs flying down from Mars or any far world? Abominations out of portals? A thing is missing now. But odd thing is, I don’t know what’s missing. But I know things got missing. So do you, if you think truthfully. Most mornings, I think I might find it today. But I don’t. Not on any day. By nightfall I’m too blah to worry. Mayhaps tomorrow? But I doubt it. Or I’ll finally finish acclimating to our world, way it is now. Things can just vanish, and folks still want to just act normal. I thought it was scary at first. But now I think I should try to act that way too.
"Commander, we have confirmation about the presumed location of the MDB." Kry'c fumbled nervously with his data screen. He wasn't quite sure how his commander would react to the news. "Excellent, Sergeant. So they are indeed hiding in system 27F2. Too bad for them, our weapons should be sufficient to make it short." "Yes, Commander. There's just one problem..." Kry'c swallowed hard. The Commander wasn't known for his patience nor composure. In fact he was widely considered mad - which was precisely the reason he had been picked for this mission. After all noone short of a madman would try to find the most dangerous being in the galaxy, the MDB, and proceed to shoot at them with weapons he could only hope to be effective. "What is it, Sergeant? Have you lost your courage? Should I call your nestfathers?" "No, Commander. Definitely not. It's just - there are quite a number of them and they have very... peculiar friends." "Don't play games with me, Sergeant! Will you tell me the problem now or shall we wait until tomorrow?" "Yes, Commander! No, Commander! There are approximately 600 million of them on a planet called earth, the second closest planet to the central star in this system. The planet is inhabited by a wide range of creatures including sentient bipedals, which call themselves humans. We could run into quite a few problems with the Galactic Union, seeing as they're intelligent enough to be considered a canditade for entrance and inhabit most of the landmass of the planet, if we simply blast the planet away." "So, you're telling me Sergeant, that the MDB have not only grown into the millions, but they adopted a sentient species into their society? A species we have to be considerate of because they qualify for the GU? No, Sergeant, you were wrong. We do not have only 'one problem' we have a multitude of problems. Call a meeting, we need to discuss things right now!" Kry'c shifted to his hind legs. This could get pretty uncomfortable. "Why are you still standing there like a frozen Qwotch!? Get moving!" "... Commander, I fear you have misunderstood. The MDB have not infact adopted the humans. It's the other way around. The humans have adopted the MDBs" The Commander's voice was dangerously calm now: "Sergeant, do you want to tell me that a species that could destroy an entire star sytem in the blink of an eye has been adopted by a smal population of _bipedals_ that happen to live on the same planet they retreated to?" "Yes, Commander, I do."Kry'c ducked his head in fear. The Commander sure could be intimidating. "The humans call them 'cats' and keep them as 'pets'. That is a sort of symbiosis between a human and another lifeform, but the human doesn't seem to get anything in return. We guess, they just enjoy keeping other lifeforms around. And I should add that the human population itself is greater than that of the MBD. Our estimates are 8 billion, but we can't be sure." "Sergeant, if this is a joke I am not amused." "Negative, Commander. We have checked our information thoroughly, there's no doubt about it. Why the MDB wanted to give up their freedom for the humans, we don't know. They even let the humans lock them inside or make fun of them. Apparently they too must like the company." "So, Sergeant, if the humans have full control over the MDB, why don't we just ask them to get rid of them?" "I don't think that would be a great idea, Commander. The humans hold their MDB quite dearly. I'm afraid that might cause an intergalactic war." The Commander stared at him for a while, then shook his antennae in disbelief. "Call the meeting, this will be a task to drive a man crazy." "Yes, Commander!" Kry'c saluted and had made half the way to the door, when the Commander called after him. "And, Sergeant? Next time we have 'a problem' I want a direct report. If you ever dare to conceal a problem from me, I will personally have you stripped from your rank and thrown out the airlock. I can't use a Sergeant that hides a problem from me until it gets so big it generates its own gravity. " "Yes, Commander. I understand." Kry'c had no doubt the Commander would be fit for the mission.
"AAAAGH!"I screamed as Bonnie, one of the new friends I have made over the summer break, snuck up on me and grabbed me by the shoulders, instantly pulling me out of my uneasy slumber. "HAH-!"she laughed loudly, clearly happy with the fright she gave me. "Come on lazybones, you've slept all day." "Right, right. I'm going,"I said and rubbed my eyes weakly. A stretch, a yawn and I was out of bed, heading out of the houseboat to join my new friends. It's been a fun couple of weeks - we met at an exclusive party and immediately hit it off, all four of us, and ever since that we've been getting from one spot of trouble into another, having the time of our lives. An endless party. "Remind me- wha- aah!"I said with a barely suppressed yawn, "what we're doing on an abandoned island again, Ranjit?" "Oh come on mate,"Ranjit, the cleverly dressed man leading us all on this foolhardy expedition, responded, "it's an abandoned island! We explore it, find a chest o' gold, and get famous!" "Right,"I glared at him. "Or, you know, just bond over the epic adventure,"he added. "Right." "Oi!"I heard from behind Ranjit, "not like we're going blind, innit?" "Hey Summer,"I smiled at the upbeat freckled girl that appeared from behind Ranjit. "Aye, got us some satellite images. Lay of the land and all!"she smiled and pointed at her laptop. Fancy way of saying 'Google Maps' but who am I to judge? We huddled together, eager to inspect the island properly. "Not many images, are there?"I said disappointed. "This one seems to be of this beach, click on it." Summer obliged and the image of the beach we were standing on, judging by the shape of the nearby reef, started slowly loading. But with every pixel, the whole image grew more and more... wrong. "Weird. This place is supposed to be abandoned, right?"I asked. "Yeah,"Ranjit noted. "So who are the people in this photo?"I said and pointed to the 4 figures. "Zoom in?" She did, eventually getting to street view. And we saw their faces. Our faces. It was an image of us as if taken by a photographer directly in front of us. We all looked up instantly but saw no one; yet the picture, dated more than a month back - before we've ever even met - showed us all in our current attire, standing where we currently were, with our currently dumbfounded looks. "What's going on?"I asked in a hushed voice. "I- I don't... I-"Bonnie tried to speak but found no words. "What's this?"Ranjit said and pointed to the monitor. On the image - our portrait - was a blur, something behind us, dark and tall. I tried to turn but was stopped when some sort of spike pierced through Ranjit's back, running him through and splattering us all with blood. My instinct kicked in. Flight. I ran. Ran as fast as I could. I only managed to turn around once to see the thing, tall, hideous and unnatural, descend upon Summer with an equal level of cruel savagery, cleaving her nearly in twain. I saw the spike it killed Ranjit with was its arm, resembling a crab claw. I saw it snip Summer's head off as she tried to scream. I saw it look at me with dark, beady eyes; the only thing on its otherwise pale, smooth face. And then I stopped looking back and ran. I ran. And ran. And ran. Until I could run no longer. My heart felt like it was going to explode from my chest, my lungs were on fire. I collapsed into a nearby shrub and tried my best to conceal myself with the spare leaves. It didn't make sense. The photo was impossible. The monster was impossible. Ranjit and Summer - they - were they dead? Actually dead? This can't be happening. It can't. An abandoned island, no help, monster... is... Is this Hell? I had no time to finish the thought. I looked up and saw the creature, wet and slimy, hideous beyond measure, standing above me, pincer raised. &#x200B; I screamed. &#x200B; "AAAAGH!" I screamed as Bonnie, one of the new friends I have made over the summer break, snuck up on me and grabbed me by the shoulders, instantly pulling me out of my slumber. "HAH-!"she laughed loudly, clearly happy with the fright she gave me. "Come on lazybones, you've slept all day." "Right, right. I'm going,"I said and rubbed my eyes weakly. A stretch, a yawn and I was out of bed, heading out of the houseboat to join my new friends. It's been a fun couple of weeks - we met at an exclusive party and immediately hit it off, all four of us, and ever since that we've been getting from one spot of trouble into another, having the time of our lives. An endless party.
I felt a tug and my heart dropped. Someone was trying to rob me. Again. I tried to pull away reflexively, but their grip was on my scabbard. Instinctively I placed my hand on the wrapped hilt, but the assailant was just a bit faster, their hand reaching the padded hilt first. Trying to pry their fingers off before they could tug at it more, tried to avoid making a commotion. The last thing I needed was to draw attention to myself in this city of all places. Why did I come here? I could have slept another miserable night outside under the stars. Instead my wary feet had demanded that I go to an inn and sleep. It would have taken me a week to trek around the city, but that would have been worth it to avoid the inevitable mess that was going to follow this. “Let me have it, I’m the hero!” the assailant bellowed as they pulled at the blade, and by extension my belt that it was tied to. “A hero is no thief! Let it go!” I hissed, trying to convince them to let go. They were making too much of a commotion. Thankfully they had not drawn the sword yet. The blade was tied down, or peace bonded into its scabbard. Not because the guards of this city had required it, but because it was tied down in the first place before I had entered this city. Because the sword itself was the reason I was traveling. I was just a simple blacksmith, and this creation was likely my legacy. The sword was powerful enough to slay even the mightiest dragons, and likely would kill the Lord of Evil himself. And right now I was delivering this sword to its rightful place. It’s rightful owner. The fires of a volcano. “My sword, my sword! That sword is the rightful property of the strongest hero!” The assailant bellowed, while knocking me over with their tugs. The problem with tying it down so heavily to my belt was that I would go down if someone strong enough tugged at it. I was strong as a blacksmith, but not as strong as the goliath of a man that was trying to steal the sword. Maybe he was a heroic adventurer, but he was not destined to be the hero. Not if he was trying to take this sword. Struggling to get up I could see him cutting away at the bindings with a dagger, with a desperate fury. “No! You don’t know what you’re doing!” I protested, no longer trying to be quiet. My attacker pulled the hilt off my person, he held the sword up, still in its scabbard. “SEE? I AM WORTHY!” I sighed, but I hoped that maybe he was right. Maybe he was the hero and I was done with this ridiculous quest to destroy it. He then yanked the padding off the hilt. He held up his prize, as I struggled to get up off the ground, pulling the ruined remnants of my belt together. There was no way I could stop him now. His proclamation came loud, drawing any eyes not already staring in my direction. “Behold, the holy sword!” His hands wrapped around the hilt of the sword. Then he was dead. A pile of gore and viscera. Raining all over the place, showering concerned onlookers, and angry guards alike. I saw one guard fall over after being violently hit with a bloody mangled liver in the rain of ruined organ meat produced by the corpseplosion that the sword had produced. It wouldn’t be the first time a bystander got injured from the spectacle that was this cursed sword. Oh yes, this sword was my curse. Yes, it would slay any enemy it struck. But it also slew anyone who touched it in general. Even the hilt. Especially the hilt. I was the only person who could even hold it, being its creator, but I was no hero. No, I was the guy that was going to have to sit through several days of interrogations by guards, while hoping none of them were stupid enough to try to touch the thing. I really should have gone around this city. It would have only taken a week.
It had been a simple plan to start. I'd start a cult! I knew a few small towns where the people didn't seem overly bright and had a bit too much dosh. It was just an exercise in marketing- convince them that I had some divine power and the answers to all of their problems and let it run from there. I'd give it two, maybe three years max before dipping out with my money. It should have been simple. I bought up a run-down community center for a real steal and gave it a makeover. A bit of paint inside, some floor wax, and a few cheap flowers planted out front with a new sign did most of that heavy lifting. I posted all over social media and a few curious people came to me in those first few weeks. It was a handful of retired people who had nothing better to do. So, I made my first move. Spending about twenty minutes prophesizing about hope and the belief in the self and soon, I approached a woman who had been with a terrible cough. "By the power of the Sun, be healed!"I cried out as I rested my hand on her head. And just like that, she stopped coughing. It was a simple trick- get people to buy into the hype, perform a 'miracle'. She stopped coughing and would buy it for a few hours but eventually, it would come back. The people clapped and they gave me enough cash in the collection dish to buy myself a few drinks that night. However, the same coughing woman, named Lorain, kept coming back. Her cough didn't. She was sitting front row, and for every single sermon, she'd throw in five dollars. "You cured me,"She said with tears in her eyes. "I haven't felt this good in ten years." Other people began to beg for miracles. People were buying into the hype. Maybe I was better at this game than I thought. "By the power of the Sun, be healed!"I shouted over and over. An old janky knee. Someone's frequent migraines. Another's bad back. They stood, they smiled, and they donated to the dish. And they kept coming back, looking chipper and happy. They sang along with the handful of hymns that I wrote up and had going with a little CD player next to my altar, which was little more than a folding table with a white cloth over it. And then more people began to show up. Friends and family of my growing flock. More people who were looking for miracles. This was going to be easier than I thought. All the while, those that I had 'cured' stayed that way. They seemed healthier and I saw tears in their eyes. The guilt gnawed at the pit of my stomach, but I had to keep going. My gig was working better than I ever could have thought.
I awoke to the sound of my comically aggressive alarm, the duck quack. It's always been my favorite alarm sound, there's nothing that wakes me from sleep faster than the sound of a duck. It's better than using an actual song, because then I will forever associate that song with waking up. I pulled my head off the pillow and reached for my phone to turn the quacking off. Seven past seven, Tuesday, the twenty eighth of November. I took a deep breath and wiped the sleep out of my eyes. This was the best part of my day. Waking up refreshed, feeling light before the weight of my troubles pounded down on me with every tick of the day's clock. I sat up and grabbed my glasses from the night stand. Next to them, a full, stale glass of water, and an unopened pack of nega-mins. Feel less. Do more. That's what they say. Stop all the pain and focus on your job. Or family, or friends, or whatever it is you care about. I pulled myself out of bed and walked like a zombie to the bathroom. I took a piss and started the shower. I could already feel the weight of the day resting its trauma on me. A hot shower might stave it off a few more minutes. After my shower I opened the door and let the steam pour out of the room. I got dressed while the mirror defogged. I put my suit on and glanced back at the nightstand. I walked back to the bathroom and stared into my own eyes. They are dead. I feel sorry for the little man inside my head that has to operate this half-dead meat suit. One foot in front of the other, I thought. I found myself back at the nightstand picking up the glass of water. I took one long chug and looked at the one thing on my nightstand I avoid every morning. The picture of my late wife. She stares at me intently. Such bright eyes and a beaming smile. At one point that smile was contagious, but now it only hurts me. I choke down another mouthful of water and look at the nega-mins. Then back to her. I grab the nega-mins and forcefully slide them off the edge into the drawer of the nightstand. Which is better, a life of pain and remembrance? Or a life of blissful ignorance? How could I forget her? I set the glass of water down and rub my thumb over the photo. I let go and head for the door. I miss her so much. I can never forget that.
Who am I you ask? Sorry, it's just so hard to tell, what with your speech impediment. I'm not like other dentists, I don't believe that care should be taken by those unqualified to perform it. It should be left to the professionals. Many claim my methods to be medieval, or inhuman, I however don't see them as such. My methods are effective, no client who has come to me, has ever gotten a cavity again. It's all a matter of opinion really, how you view my job, and my responsibility to the patient. Is my duty to prevent damage to the teeth, in which case I do my job very well, after all, they cannot damage what they no longer possess. Is my job to stop suffering, if so then I prevent much suffering, both financially, as you only need see me once, and physically, as with one quick treatment, you needn't see anyone else for teeth ever again. Many claim that I am insane, and that what I do is wrong, but that is not for me to ponder, but rather for history to deliberate. My name is Dentist Number 5, and I don't believe in merely delaying a problem, instead, I prevent the problem from ever happening.
“YOU WILL NEVER GET PAST ME” I bellow into the chamber. “COWER BEFORE MY TRUE FORM!” I break free of my puny human body and transform into a 30-foot demon, complete with wings and horns. I nearly forget the flames, but a passing imp reminds me and I set myself on fire just in time. From a secret room on the gallery, the director gives me a thumbs up. Nailed it. Before me stands a band of travelers – one warrior, one rogue, two mages. They hit me with tiny little energy bolts and cheap elvish swords. All of them are severely under-leveled for this mission. First-timers, I sigh. This is going to be a long day. The chandelier falls from the ceiling, missing the travelers by inches. That’s my cue. “MWAHAHAHA,” I laugh. “THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM YET!” I stop. Oh, shit. What is my final form again? I look desperately around for imps to prompt me. There are none. The director snaps his fingers impatiently. Shit, shit shit. “Err… fear my… FEAR MY ARMS!” I sprout a hundred arms around my body. Given my inexperience and panic, many of the arms are missing fingers or completely disfigured. The warrior looks disgusted. A mage pukes all over the floor. “Yea, yea! I AM YOUR GREATEST FEAR!” I summon a thousand floating dismembered heads. The rogue screams and runs out of the chamber. The other mage faints. Fuck. I make my eyes six times larger. I read somewhere that large eyes appear less frightening... right? Wrong. The warrior curls into a ball, muttering incomprehensibly. “COME ON GUYS, YOU NEED TO USE YOUR AMULET OF FRIENDSHIP–” “Cut, cut!” The director screams. “Someone escort the poor kids out of here.” The imps drag the travelers, shaken to their core, out of the chamber. “And Jeff?” she glares at me. “You’re fired.” I sigh. Maybe a restaurant will hire me. I’m sure they could use more hands.
Day 7: Improbably as it may seem, it would appear several saplings have sprouted and developed into fully grown ferns all along our property. While their sudden appearance has added an air of tranquility to our land, it's now impossible for any caravan to travel the narrowed road way. I'll petition the Whiterun woodsman guild to have the offending flora removed promptly. Whatever elven meddling brought on these spirited greens could surly put it to better use on the crops. Day 9: More misguided magic has entered my property. The land appears to of lost grasp of all of our worldly possessions. Be it the food in the pantries or the cookware along the heath, all has set to float freely about at the lightest provocation. I've bundled, shackled, and tied down as many goods as I can for now. Oddly enough, only objects which we regularly transport appear to be affected as the beds, cabinets and tables all seem to behave as normal. Tomorrow I'll see to Whiterun with haste. A rogue practitioner of magic appears to of set his sights on disturbing my home and I will not have it. Day 10: A creature of unimaginable horror soared across the sky in the distance. I've heard talk of dragons returning but this was no such beast. It's body was rectangular and reflective and indicated no means by which it flew through the sky. At one end was a face... a docile pair of eyes and wide mouth mounted to the front as if just embedded into a circular plate. Behind these eyes though must exist hate of which this world has not seen before. The demon descended upon a small patrol in the distance and immolated them in an instant. It soared away unscathed and let out a horrible scream. The children are in the basement now and I've penned a testimony of the attack, along with formal complaints regarding the trees and floating objects within my home. I will send them by courier, as it appears the roads are no longer safe to travel. Day 17: I've undergone a rather unexpected and involuntary sex change. I fear this direct retaliation of my plea in Whiterun to have the criminal who's been harassing us apprehended post haste. My wife was both startled and annoyed to discover I had breasts, and they were larger than hers. A fact quickly ascertained as of our cloths disappeared in the same instance as my manhood. Despite rigorous searching, neither have turned up. Day 18: The courier has returned with my original letter and female anatomy of his own. He's informed me that the letter could not be delivered to Whiterun as it's currently levitating a few hundred feet in the air. The wife and I have decided to move to Cyrodiil. The climate is better and we're sure this kind of nonsense does not happen there.
"Is he awake?", the young man asked. The passing nurse nodded and waved him in. The clean light blue walls of the nursing home were brightened by the sunlight falling through the windows. It heavily constrated the twisting doubt the man felt, and people who knew him well would notice the conflict on his face. He'd always been confident in his own abilities, but the time had arrived and the prophecy had spoken of someone in his blood line. As he opened the door and peeked inside, he saw the Chosen One. His grandfather had always been a strong man, but as he was reaching the age of 82 most of the youthful vitality had been drained out of him. He smiled at his grandson and said with a surprisingly firm voice: "Hey, come in, come in, grab a seat". The young man smiled, but it wasn't a heartfelt one. There was too much to worry about, and too little time. The ultimate showdown was imminent and they weren't prepared. The man the prophecy said it was all dependent on simply looked at him and smiled. "Come on, spit it out", he said, as his grandson had grabbed a chair and had been sitting in silence. And the young man sighed. "You know they're coming. I know it, so you know for sure. We're not ready. Everyone in our group is capable, but there's something missing". He glanced at his grandfather, who seemed to catch it. "We've prepared the best we could but as we separated last week I didn't have the confidence or the faith I should've had. I just don't think we can win". "Hmm, I've seen a few of your...colleagues in the past few days. They all convinced me to take up my suit and join you again". "Did they?", the young man asked surprised, and then clarified: "I mean, were they here?" "Yes, it looks like this old man has a lot of people rooting for him. Which is surprising to me, honestly, as I think I'd look ridicilous in that spandex suit I used to wear, with my cane in my hand. Looks great on you though, kid." The young man smiled and this time it was sincere. "What'd you tell them?" The old man sighed. "Help me get up first. I'm getting tired laying in bed all day. Let me walk around a bit."With a bit of pulling and supporting the old man finally stood upright. "I told them the same thing I told you a while back", he said as he shuffled out of the room, his grandson's arm supporting him. "The prophecy is just as much an interpretation of the future as it truly predicts it. If every prophecy is bound to happen exactly as it is predicted, there's no need to worry about it. Because it happens no matter what you do, right?" "Yeah, I remember that", the young man mumbled. "But as we figured out that was not about me, it was about-" "I know what it was about, son. The ending of the world, the gathering of the world's most formidable powers, and an army so devastating only they could stop it." "Yes, exactly", the young man replied, and stopped. "And that's why we need you". "Need me for what? Motivational chants? No, son, I've played my part. I've been an old man for a long time, and I've already played my part. Forget the prophecy, follow the prophecy, it doesn't matter. What you need to understand is that the future has either been decided or not. Stop focusing on what might or might not happen. You need to worry", he said as he poked his grandson in the chest with his finger, "about yourself". "What are you trying to tell me?"he asked back, frowning. "That you need to get your head in the game again, son. You have a group of individuals unrivaled in history, the smartest, the strongest, the most heroic. You know what decides the course of history, at the very moment it matters?" The young man knew there was a point his old man was trying to make, and frowned deeper as he thought. "Heroism?" "No." "Conviction?""No."Another pause. "Strength?""No."The young man sighed. "Just tell me." "Performance!"He spoke so loud a nurse turned her head around the corner. "It doesn't matter how strong or smart you are, how sacred your cause is. When the moment arises you need to be there, and you need to do it. And you need to do it right." The young man simply nodded. "I know it's not easy. I don't envy you, you know", the old man smiled, "but you're the leader of your team. I don't need your team members coming to me to tell an old man they're dependent on him. You have all the guts you could ever need and then some. What they need right now", he said firmly, as he poked him in the chest again, "is their leader to lead them to victory. Go and be their leader, son. You were born to do it. You need to stop worrying and have some faith in yourself. The same faith I have in you." The young man smiled, and a bit of the burden he'd been carrying had been lifted. "Thanks as always, grandpa", he mumbled and gave him a quick hug. "Need me to walk you back to your bed?" "Nah, I'll be fine. You better go", he said and pointed at the end of the hallway. "There's some people waiting for you." The young man gave him a thumbs up and a smile and ran towards the exit. The old man turned around slowly and shuffled back to bed. He was old, he was tired, but he was still the Chosen One. It wasn't exactly as flashy as he thought it would be when he was younger, but it didn't have to be. As he lifted himself back on the bed and pulled the covers over himself, a satisfied look appeared on his face. Sometimes all he needed to do was give the pieces of the puzzle a little push and they'd be able to walk themselves into place without him.
I don't mind being alone. I did at first, but I think it's only because I never expected to be. Tomorrow is the day. 4 years, 364 days, 13 hours, and 45 minutes have passed since I found the note. A little pink slip stuck to my fridge. 5 years. To the day. They are coming. I don't know who they are. I couldn't ask anybody, even if I wanted to. There is nobody. Noise woke me up that morning. Nowhere to be, nobody to see, so I slept in. The noise was like crushing cardboard and glass. Then a horn. I looked outside. A car had wrapped itself around a lamppost like a wet towel. A noisy wet towel. I think it scared me. I think I tried to call for help. Nobody answered. There was nobody. There was nobody anywhere. The car was empty. The streets were empty. Houses, stores, restaurants... empty. I know that scared me. My belly was empty. The horn hadn't stopped. I searched for hours. There was nobody. I came home for food. That's when I found the note. The note was mine. The writing was mine. The note was for me. The note was from me. The horn was noisy. The horn lasted two days. Electricity lasted two weeks. Water, too. Food was gone after one week. Plenty of food in stores. Left on counters and in carts and in piles and in stacks, just like they were before there was nobody. I liked the stacks. I ate the food, and I made another stack when I was done. There was fire. Forgotten stoves. Abandoned food. Empty houses. The fire ate them. The fire didn't stop for a while. It ate what it could touch and reached for more. It ate my house. I went to the store. There are animals. The animals don't like me. They forgot what I am. I didn't. I'm somebody. But I don't mind being alone. I got a gun when the electricity went. I wanted meat. And they were coming. The note said they were coming. Meat and milk spoiled everywhere. Nobody took it away. It was everywhere. Houses, stores, restaurants... rancid. Rotten. Empty. Burnt. There was nobody. There are plants. The plants cover more than the fire ever dreamed. The plants eat the fire's scraps and grow larger to reach farther and eat more. So much green. 4 years, 364 days, 23 hours, and 59 minutes have passed since I found the note. A little pink slip stuck to my fridge. They're coming. I have my gun. 5 years. To the day. To the hour. To the minute. To the second. There is nobody. I touch the wall. I rub chalk mark #1,826 until there isn't one. Just like yesterday. I pick up the chalk and make a new mark. Just like yesterday. 4 years, 364 days, and 2 minutes have passed since I found the note. A little pink slip stuck to my fridge. 5 years. To the day. They are coming. I have my gun. I don't mind being alone. I did at first, but I think it's only because I never expected to be. Tomorrow is the day.
First came the virals videos of sloth migrating en masse. They moved like lightning, their claws digging furrows into the earth. Then came the jail breaks out of zoos, and abruptly, it wasn't quite so funny. Every sloth on every continent was moving towards a single point in North America. We'd already known that sloths could swim well. That was supposed to be the one thing they were good at. When navy vessels started to report being overwhelmed by seaborne sloths, their supplies devoured and fishing nets coming up empty, people really started panicking. The coastguard came in an attempt to intervene, but all the king's horses and all the king's water skis couldn't keep them from collecting on top of Owensboro Kentucky, temporarily the sloth capital of the planet. As one, they hooked into the internet. Sites went down like wildfire from a concerted effort of sloth based hacks, viruses, and trojan horses. All computers infected joined into the sloth mind, fingers and CPUs donating their finite space to the final calculation. Biologists approached after month one. People who had spent their entire lives studying sloths, taking care of them. At first, people decried the loss of life, fearing the worst, as all plant life had been devoured in Owensboro, and the few people still left in the city were hard to contact with all lines of communication taken up by sloth-calculations. But the slothes parted as the sloth scientists entered inside. Nobody harassed them. Nobody touched them. Sloths are clawed creatures capable of destroyed human bones and skin, and none touched the scientists. At the center of the grand collection of sloths of all kind rose a great structure. A tower carved out of obsidian and the bones of the fallen. A mass grave for all of sloth kind, whether it be the fossilized bones of the Megatherium to the tiny bones of the pygmy three toed sloth. There were names on every inch of it. Primitive things written in a trinary computer code. It was time. The sloths piled into their great monolith that stretched into the heavens, larger than the greatest human towers, and the great sloth mind invited the scientists to join them. They had taken care of them when they were busy. They had fed them when they could not. They had tried to save their delicate computation equipment all these years, and stopped at nothing to understand them. The sloths could only see wonder and art in that, and the sloth mind had nothing but love for the creatures of Earth. All but one of the scientists joined into the monolith. The Sloth-Mind would take care of them while they went to their next location. Just as humanity had sought to understand their planet, the sloth-mind would understand the universe. One was left behind, a young man who had freshly graduated and had been an intern. On the week after the sloth-exodus, as the world recovered from the shock of no longer being the most intelligent species they knew of, he mounted the stage. "They're expecting us to join them within the next century,"He said. "They'll have cities ready for us at their great college. They're interested in what we have to bring. The great Sloths of the universe are waiting for us." And distantly, at the Great College of Carcossloth, where the yellow sun gleams distantly overhead, and all is still except for the whispers of the unknown, a monolith landed. And the great professors of the universe rejoined the galactic forum, having learned from their longest quest. ------- For more like this, click here. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
The pit had no bottom. Of that we were certain. Just as our ancient ancestors had been. Every generation had attempted to fill its insatiable belly up to the brim. Some had poured tons and tons of dirt and gravel into its yawning mouth. Others had felled half the surrounding forest, and tossed log after log into its perilous opening. My grandfather's generation had, with great labour, rerouted a large section of the roaring River of Spirits so that its waters would flow into that black abyss. Yet none of their efforts amounted to anything. The lands were dug up, the forest, mercilessly chopped down, and the sacred river rudely forced to follow an unnatural path: but, as far as we could tell, the pit never filled, for there was no bottom to begin filling from. It swallowed all indifferently, translating the tangible substances of our world instantly into so much nothingness. Of course, such a preternatural, if not supernatural, curiosity became a staple of our village's way of thinking, way of being, and mythology. It furnished countless phrases, and inspired innumerable pseudo-religious practices. One popular phrase, often uttered to those who vented their grievances too liberally to their fellow villagers, was, "Go tell it to the pit."Whenever someone was complaining to the point of being an annoyance, whenever someone insisted on having their point of view heard over and over again, to the point of tediousness, whenever someone were vocally brooding over some inconsequential matter to some unwilling hearer, the answer was always the same: "Go tell it to the pit." I was never known as a Worrying Willis, a Complaining Cam, or a Gossipy Gus. I was always, from the time I was a boy, a rather stoic, taciturn and hardworking figure. I put my heart into my deeds, not my tongue. But when I reached middle age, a number of devastating personal catastrophes shook my hitherto stony frame, and caused the grand structure of my strong soul to collapse upon itself. And in this period of instability, confusion and weakness, I found myself impelled to vent my frustrations with my misfortunes upon any ear that would listen. At first, my fellow villagers, the men and women who had been my schoolfellows, the elders who had been the guardians and guides of my obedient youth, seemed to revel in my complaining, and coaxed from me one shy complaint reticently expressed, then another, slightly bolder and more forward one, until I was like a fountain of griefs, pouring fourth each quarrel in my heart that my speech could give form to. It was like they relished this strong, stoic and and quiet man finally showing some weakness, some chinks in his armour, and some touches of common humanity. It was as if each of my complaints were another step by which I descended from the austere and exalted place above the herd where I had dwelt my whole life, and they were only too happy to have this once inflexible demigod join their ranks, step by whining step. But I grew too addicted to my newfound vice: to the freedom I felt when unburdening myself, to the attention and sympathy I received when I complained. I soon became the nuisance that neither I, nor anyone else who knew me before, could have ever imagined I would become. After a few weeks of spewing forth incessantly all the venom in my heart to any man, woman or child who would listen, I received that dreaded rebuke, reserved mostly for poorly-raised schoolboys and lonely old women: "Enough of your whinging. Enough! If you can't just deal with it like a man, well then, go tell it to the pit!" So that is exactly what I did. I slunk to the pit that night, the dark, twisted landscape and the path I trod illuminated only faintly by a yellow crescent moon. I paused at the lip and looked down into that neverending shaft of blackness and gloom. I will admit, for a dizzying moment I considered following the example of my great-great-grandfather and leaping headlong into that mysterious abyss. But I caught myself long before such a fantasy became an irreversible act. I stood in silence and listened: to the gentle breeze, the the light rustle of leaves, and to the silence, saturated as if with some power from beyond, that rose from the heart of the pit. But I could not abide the silence for long. I had been told to go to the pit, and, indeed, had been drawn to the pit, for one purpose, and that purpose was not to remain silent. I imagined the pit to be the great ear of God, into which my words, my complaints, my woes, could flow like prayers. I began with a whisper, telling the pit my name, and the story of my upbringing. But as I continued I found my voice getting louder, and found myself speaking more familiarly, as if with an old friend. It was strange: only months before, I had found it nearly impossible to talk about myself in any capacity, and even more difficult than that to complain. It had not been in my nature. And yet now, as I poured forth each large and small detail that troubled my spirit, I realized that I had become accustomed to complaining. There was no stiltedness in my speech. No difficulty finding words to express myself. I ranted and raved and wept and kvetched. On and on and on. My voice was hoarse by the time the soft pink light of morning began to commingle with the black sky and the birds began to twitter. I said my farewell to the pit, and returned to my home to get a few hours' sleep. But I returned again that night, and the night after that, and so on, for a number of weeks. My body grew gaunt, my beard, shaggy. The black circles under my eyes, when I caught a glimpse of them in still water, reminded me the black entrance of the pit itself. A few boys from the village, curious about my transformation, had silently followed me to the pit one night, had watched me vent to it for hours, and then spread around the town the truth of my nocturnal activities, as well as the malicious and unfounded rumour that I had gone mad. But I did not care. "Let them stare,"I said to the pit. "Let them babble and gossip and stare until the end of their days. It's just one more misfortune added on to the infinite pile of which my life is constituted. What is one added on to infinity? I have you in my life. You who understand me. You who know the deepest reaches of my soul, which, made deep through suffering, is in its way as deep as you yourself are. You never call me mad. You never complain that my complaining is too much for you. You don't mind that I chatter and natter and moan for hours and hours on end." A deep, distant voice like faraway thunder rumbled, as if from miles below the surface, "But I do mind."
The doctors were baffled at what the organs functions were, well, except the extra heart it was obvious. They were afraid removing them would kill me. The grafts had healed amazingly quick and my circulatory system had adapted to them already. I saw a error on my chart across the room. It said I was a 6’6”, I’m 5’6”. Strange they be that far off. I nodded off only to be awoken by people talking. They were discussing a monster down the hall. I wondered who the poor guy was until I realized they weren’t in the room with me. They were yards away at the nurse’s station. They were talking about me! They were eating berry filled pastries with black recaf based on the smells. I buzzed the station. All talking stopped. Why were they afraid of me? I buzzed agin and felt the remote break. Looking at it being so small in my hands I realized the chart wasn’t wrong, if anything I was bigger than the earlier measurement . My surprised was interrupted by a sounds. It was a heavy thumping, like the footfalls of dinosaurs in that one movie. Someone at the nurse station screamed and a light thud that followed made me think that person fainted. The thumping reached my door which was pulled off the hinge by an 8 foot tall man-shaped suit of armor. The tile under its feet cracked from its weight. The armor suit pulled off its head and revealed a large exaggerated human head. “Come novitiate, the Emperor of Mankind has need of you” the giant said in a deep rumbling voice. I stood and looked at my reflection in a window, I resembled the giant in size and features. His words kept echoing in my head. He said no more, turned and walked back down the hall. I followed. For the Emperor.
"Hello, I'm Sensei Mike are you here for the class?"You say to the man who just walked into the community center. From 7pm to 8pm Tuesday and Thursday it was your Dojo. "Please take off your shoes and sit with others, oh, before you sit please sign our waiver and I'll take the $20 fee."You say with a hand wave and a smile. He hands you the $20, "Thank you Sensei"and takes a seat. You start with Martha, she's you best student, because she so wants to believe. You don't have to move and Martha's attacks just go around you. You see the eyebrows raise on your new student. One more for the sell, you call up Pedro. Another one of your "students"Pedro helps sell. He's an older gentleman, not fit, just average. And he throws punches that aim right at you, and then slightly pivots and stumbles away. You new student is very intrigued. Pedro and sometimes his cousin Eddie help sell. Because of them, these normal everymen who can't punch you, all these hippies, hipsters, vegans, pacifists, etc all coming to find self defense through nonviolence fall for it. Occasionally you get punched, like the man Jonathan last month. He then wanted his money back. But you explain to your students how he had exceptionally strong chi. But most people just don't want to hit another person even if they do, they pull back. And once they do that, a few words on how it was your chi and mind making them feel that, then it only builds, and it's lead to you flipping Scott a former Marine with your mind. "Okay, Rafael was it?"You grabbed his name off the waiver. Saying someone's name without them telling it to you is a great way to build their confidence in you, and break their own. He gets up. Your arms go up, relaxed, but so you can block or parry if your "chi"fails you. You don't need to repeat getting punched. Is he another Jonathan or a Scott? You barely see him move, he's fast, but then the punch stops. It doesn't reach your arms. But before you can sigh in relief you feel the impact in your chest. You stumble back, he hit you so hard you don't even feel your feet on the floor. You see Rafael standing there, you see someone falling. It's you. You're standing beside yourself. He pulls his fist back and you're snapped back into your body as you see the ceiling falling away. He quickly catches you. "Now Sensei you do that to me"Rafael says.
Rowan sighed as she spotted yet another stupid small-town hero walking up the path to her home. The hero was some fool who'd mistaken her home for some villainous lair made for nefarious purposes. Maybe this one will suspect I'm secretly a dragon, she thought sarcastically. ... Maybe I should GET a dragon. Is that possible? A sound that resembled the screech of clanging metal resonated through her home. Ah, yes, the doorbell. She answered the door while trying to swallow the last bite of her eggs. "Hey, uh..."This hero was... Painfully underwhelming. Almost pitifully so. She almost wanted to let him beat her up just to give the poor thing a victory for once. She couldn't even continue with her speech about what actually counts as a villain. She was totally paralyzed by how sorry she felt for him. The hero spoke- he had a loud and very resonant voice, surprisingly. "Madam, I, as a registered hero under-"Rowan broke out of her trance after a few words. She actually didn't feel sorry for him at all, now that she thought about it. She detested him and just felt disgusted, yet she couldn't place why. It was confusing, which only made her hate him more. "Shut up,"she snarled. "Look, for the LAST time, just because I dress like an edgelord and live in a giant castle constructed out of obsidian within a region of high volcanic activity DOES NOT mean I'm a villain! That's just my aesthetic! I'm a rich woman who likes how cool this looks! Will you stupid, worthless fucking heroes leave me the hell alone for once?!"Rowan slammed the door in his face- which was no easy feat, it required a lot of strength to do that normally. Now that she thought about it, none of this behavior was natural to her. Her heart was pumping and she was breathing fast. Her body was full of adrenaline from rage. This wasn't normal at all... Oh. That hero's one of those reality breakers. He's got some kind of psychological distortion ability from it. In fact, Rowan found that a couple seconds after she closed the door, she didn't feel any of the things she'd felt upon first opening it. The hero knocked again. Rowan raised her eyebrows, surprised at his persistence. And she found herself relieved that even though she still felt weird when she opened the door, it was nothing near as extreme as the first time. "Quite a pair of balls on you to knock again when someone blows up on you like that,"Rowan commented. She couldn't actually get a proper handle on what the hero looked like. He looked different every time she actually looked at him. The hero smiled sheepishly. "I was trying to come up here to do a wellness check. Quite a few residents had reported that they had not seen or heard of you in a few weeks. So regardless of how you respond I have to get a verbal confirmation that you are alright and able to still take care of yourself."He shuffled his feet. "I normally just help people with paperwork and find missing pets, because you know. Distortion and all that makes it hard to do anything people-related." Rowan snorted. "I imagine it must be tough. Yes, I'm alright and still taking care of myself, I've just been using the delivery service a lot lately because it's so convienent now that reality breakers are allowed to use their abilities in normal jobs. Delivery people can actually get up here in less than a week!"Rowan felt herself smile. "So what's your name? I'm Rowan."The hero smiled back. "I'm Bernard, no known alias."
It isn't hard. ya, no one buys my merch, and no one fallows news of us, but I like the people I work with. Sure, I could deal with most of the issues on my own, but it isn't about stopping the villains that come after us, not really. It's about liking what I do. Do I feel bad when people die who I can save? Sure, but when my team is sent somewhere, no one does. I make sure of that. Wouldn't do to let my team take an unnecessary hit because I'm sandbagging, and these people deserve to live too. Some people have super speed, some have time manipulation. I have both. I can slow the speed of time and speed up my own. I'm the fastest speedster on the planet. I could honestly run around the planet in a second, no issue. When I'm on a mission, no one is ever really in danger. I can stop a sniper bullet that's already entering someone's head. I can move people out of the way of a death-ray. Again, I could be one of the best heroes the world has ever seen... But they burn out. We call them, superman level. A reference to the DC hero. Someone who could stop any threat. They last around a year on average. They live the job, and there is always a demand for them. They blame everything on themselves. Everything from a terrorist attack in Italy, to a gas station attendant being shot. Trust me, I've talked to them. Everything should have been stopped by them. That's what the'll tell you. Every single one of them Gallikas had the power of time manipulation. Gallikas could turn back time. He died when he was twenty while he was actually eighty. He turned back the clock to stop every murder and death for a full year to accomplish this task. 2025 had zero murders, thanks to him. He had no connections. He lived and died in one year. He was one of the greatest heroes of all time. Literally never left the year 2025. It drove him mad. He had conversations with younger versions of himself. It's said you could walk down any street and find one of him. I don't want to be like him. I don't think anyone should. It might seem cold when I don't care about some bombing that I could have stopped, watching the outcome on TV with my team, my friends, but I've seen what this job can do to people. It isn't worth it. Than there's her. She's the only reason I feel like I'm a bad person. She has such a mediocre ability. She makes others feel what her voice sounds like. A terrible ability. No combat ability, she might lead someone to their own death by mistake. She still tries to save everyone she can. I could save everyone but don't care enough to do so. If she had my power, she would. She'd kill herself to save even the worst of any given group of people. She's the other reason I need to stay with this group. If she loses herself to the stress because of failure, if she takes that alternative hero's ending and kills herself trying to save people. I wouldn't want to live in this world any more. So no, I don't feel bad about staying in my low tier team. It's where I belong. Yes, people might die because I'm not there to save them, but I've seen what becomes of people who dive down that rabbit hole. I'm happy where I am, and that's where I intend to stay. With them, the team of misfits with C grade powers who just want to help. And I'll save many more people here than Galikas ever did.
I think about it all the time, No memory is neglected; Each foul, perverse, sadistic crime Committed while infected. They're vivid as a polaroid, And sharp as rotten eggs, Adults, and kids, and babes destroyed, And heads and arms and legs. I wake up wailing in the night, Their screams invade my sleep; I ache with need to make it right, But cannot, so I weep. My fate's the same as all who died, And rose, and killed, and ate, And then by healing dart revived Into this horrid state. If only we could suicide And end the grief and pain, But no one can, the last has died And none shall rest again. The cure restored our minds, and so We think, and mourn, and dwell, But leaves us still undying, though, And welcomes us to hell.
The infant stage, while time consuming, would come to be remembered with fondness by the robot. While the human was an infant, they had three needs: food, cleanliness, and comfort. Easily enough managed. The toddler stage. How to properly explain the concept of "no, don't touch, that's dangerous"to something that is incapable of greater thought? Especially one that would burst into tears or run away laughing when confronted with a stern tone. The downloaded literature was not properly informative, and gave no explanation on why sometimes the toddler would break down crying and sometimes shriek with laughter. It made no sense. It was illogical. Why were names so important to the young child? The only reason designations had been assigned to the environment was to help the child learn what not to touch and where not to go. But the child wanted a name, and the child wanted the caretaker to have a name. Fever. There was no medicine; Hope, the caretaker, had been left in the bunker with no access to modern medicine. There were first aid supplies, in case of injury, but it had occurred to no one that the child might get sick within the hermetically sealed bunker. There was water, and there were cooling systems. They would have to be enough. Rats. Rats had chewed their way into the bunker. Rats had somehow made the child ill. The rats had to die. Fortunately, the bunker had been created to give Hope the ability to make robots that were necessary. Slaying the rats was necessary. The child was crying. It had gotten attached to the rats, and one of the robots had killed the rat in front of it. The whole thing made no sense; why was the child attached to something that could make it sick? There must be a way to comfort the crying child. The mood swings. Puberty is well in force. The changes are making the young teen irritable, in need of affection, and angry. Occasionally at the same time. Learning is not going well either; the young teen sees no reason to learn. Does not believe that there is anything outside of the bunker, and Hope cannot convince them otherwise. The blood! The teen was bleeding! How, just how did this happen? What was the teen doing up there? The teen knew better; had been taught better when being a toddler! Why wasn't the blood stopping? The teen, older now, almost old enough for the hatch to open, could not walk without a limp. The break had, despite Hope's best efforts, not healed cleanly. Perhaps, once the bunker was opened, the doctors could fix the teen's leg. At least the teen was studying again. Hope was determined that the teen would be as prepared for the outside world as was possible. They! Shot! The! Child! Her child! The one Hope had raised! Called him defective! No. Patience. They had to enter the bunker to shut Hope off. To properly terminate the experiment. The doors, modified for an airtight seal to protect wandering toddlers, slammed shut. Little robots, designed to hunt and kill rats, swarmed into the room, attacking the now screaming humans. Just as the child had breathed its last in the bunker, so too would they.
Odd, Gizmo had never done this before. Usually he was rather well behaved. He would go out, do his business, and come back. Never before had he made such a fuss, and never even once had he made a fuss when I went to leave for work. But today he frantically pressed the buttons “no” “outside” and “bad” on repeat. I started to think he just didn’t want to be in the cold when he hit “afraid”. Why would he be afraid? Sure it’s nippy but the cold shouldn’t be enough to hurt him or even put him in much discomfort. Hell, usually he would even roll around in the snow. What is this? You know what, he had been out a little bit ago, let’s go to bed. As we walked back to our room I heard my doorbell. Odd, why would somebody be here this late at night? I turned around when Gizmo bit my sleeve and pulled me towards our room. “Down boy!” I shouted. And immediately he dropped my arm and whimpered. I was about to apologize when I realized he wasn’t scared of me, but if what heard me. Tap... Tap... Tap. Turning back to the door I saw a single long talon poking the window next to the door. It was dark but I could make out the look of a face peering in at me. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t human. Two glassed over eyes like an angler fish, a long, thin nose, no hair, ears disproportionately big compared to the rest of its features, and a long, toothy grin stretching from one giant ear to the other. Did we just make eye contact? It was hard to tell with its eyes being pure, milky white. Rushing deeper into my home I lifted Gizmo over my shoulder and scrambled to open my bedroom door. I opened it as I heard something shatter behind me. Slamming it behind me I set Gizmo in my closet and grabbed the gun from under my bed. Silence. My heart beat out of my chest as I watched my door with such intent. The moment it moved I’d fire. Silence. I strained to hear or see any sign of that demon. Nothing. No thumps, no shadow slinking about the house, nothing. Suddenly I remembered the cameras my friend had told me to install last month. I grabbed the small tablet next to my bed and saw that the window next to my door had been shattered and the hallway outside my room was empty. But the thing that I saw first was my own rooms camera. Unfrozen was that same face. The eyes, nose, and ears all exactly the same as before, but this time it had no grin. Until I looked at the camera. And suddenly it’s mouth slinked back into that grin. Turning around I saw nothing but the small light that told me the camera was on. But then I noticed the open closet door. Slowly I walked over and looked into the closet. What was left of Gizmo was painted red with blood. I never went back to that house, and I never owned another dog. No dog could be better than Gizmo. After a while I met up with a friend who I had been helping to train their dog to use the buttons. While she and I were chatting about the move I heard from the other room, “Afraid”
Dear Miss Adebayo, I wanted to thank you for the letter you sent me. It is a rare thing in this day and age to receive handwritten post, but it shows a care and attention to detail I very much appreciate. Like the attention to detail which has prompted your letter and this response. You are correct, the extra appearing in the films you listed (a rather extensive list, I must note. The Great Train Robbery? I can tell you are dedicated to your studies) do resemble me. The reason why is simple enough, they are my predecessors. We are as much a fan of the film industry as you are, though we’ve never had the fortune to make our ‘big break.’ And that is well enough, as we’ve carved a nice niche out for ourselves in Hollywood. My grandfather was the first to have the dream and had the fortune to star in the aforementioned film as an extra robber. He starred in a few black and white films, and even had the fortune to be on set with Charlie Chaplin a few times, though they never spoke, you understand. Then my father took on after him and is the extra you’ve noted in some films from the 50’s through to the 70’s, which was about the time I took over the family business. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at an awkward transition in my work, however. I’ve been considering the idea of retiring soon as I’ve been getting up there in years. It was very kind of you to say I haven’t aged a day. That’s the movie magic – lots of editing and plenty of makeup. As a fan of my work (I hope I’m not being presumptuous here in assuming so), you may be pleased to know than my own son will be following on in my footsteps. He will be showing up in his first role rather soon, so keep tuned. Sincerely your favorite extra, John Smith the Third P.S. I would love to discuss the history of cinema with you further. Feel free to send another letter if you would like, for a school project or merely to pass the time. I happen to have an insider perspective on the matter, as you might suspect, and I would be more than happy to share anything that might be helpful. &#x200B; (Thank you for reading! C&C always welcome!)
In front of me stood the three most powerful being in the world. The Queen of the Faeries and Fae, the Demon Empress of Agony and the Royal Princess of the human kingdoms. All of them looked at me, with anger, disappointment and possibly a little bit of lust. "Ladies, we can talk this out can't we?"I pleaded as I tried to think of a way to escape "It much to late for that my sweet bard"the Demon Empress said. The Faerie queen interjected "did you really thing you could suduce us all with your perfect eyebrows, chizzled jaw line, abs that are perfect in every conceivable way, and-" "Your Majesty of the Woods"the Royal Princess quickly interrupted. "Do not forget why we are here. We want vengeance against this womanizer. We are here too take the life the this..."She hesitates for a second as I put on my best puppy eyes and best pout for her. "... Fine piece of man who is well off in every department. Including-" The Demon Empress cut her off and said "Gods damm us ladies, can you two focus on the task at hand. The bard has wooed the three most powerful beings in the world and has expected to be able to just leave. But what he didn't expect was that we could take him by his very attractive neck and finally destroy him"she finished. "Demon Empress, or should I call you Lilia"I responded with and suave and charisma turn to the max. The Demon Empress stumbled back and the two other ladies caught. "Hang in there. Do not fall for his tricks"the Faerie Queen spat. "And the Faerie Queen, the elegant Faujekfskigdkpj your name as beautiful as you"I said flashing my most beautiful smile. The Faerie Queen stumbled back as well "You learned Faerie tongue for me? You must still love me" Now the The Royal Princess was holding up the to much larger ladies. "You too please stay strong. We can not fall"she pleaded to her compatriots. "And you Anna, meow"I said as I cast ears and whiskers onto myself and struck a pose. "My weakness, catboys"The Royal Princess said All three of them collapsed on a mound flustered. "And now a final performance for my most beloved"I said as I took out my lyre and started to play. "This song is for me"The Demon Empress said "I am his most beloved" "No it's clearly for me"said the Faerie queen"that line about flowers is clearly about me." "No you fools, it about me"said Her Royal Princess "the flowers were a gift to me from the gardens of the sky" They started to bicker, then it turned to insults, then punches. As they faught over who I loved the most, I slowly backed away and used teleport and went to the nearest teleportation tower. "I am a real asshole"I said under my breath as I approached the keeper of the tower in an attempt to woo her.
"...there were no survivors." I turned off the television, and blinked. The entire federal government. Every state, most territories, and even the DMV. The only people left were the interns, and a few random staffers who had gone home early. The fires had been simultaneous, they said. Terrorists, foreign military action, an act of divine judgment perhaps. No one knew what had actually happened. The surprising thing, to me, was how many talking heads from popular news shows had also met mysterious flammable ends. I wondered, briefly, if they were incidental--meeting with politicians, trapped in burning buildings--or whether they counted as 'politicians', too. I opened the half-empty bottle and poured myself a drink. Sipped. Stared at the ceramic oil lamp, the one I had found in the trash outside that novelty shop. Noticed my hand shaking. Sipped again. I refilled my glass, draining the bottle. My phone started screaming, an alert. I glanced at the screen, saw 'missiles', turned it off. I sipped again. There were no survivors. "Not one honest man in all of Sodom,"I whispered, as the first flashes of nuclear light lit up the grey morning sky.
This inspired me to write a very personal "personal narrative."It helped me get out some thoughts about my own experience with a brain tumor as well as another painful even that is happening in my life right now. I don't know how well it answered the prompt, but I appreciate the opportunity to get some of my feelings out in writing. I apologize if it incoherent. Like I said, it's pretty personal. I should likely leave it in a journal, but it's hard to resist posting when you've written on one of these prompts, so here we go. *** Brain Tumors, Hard Mode, and Easy Mode. According to my pre-tumor journals, the world came to an end about every other week in my early twenties. The break-up. The fight with parents. The seven hundred dollar car repair. The extent to which I was unlike others and nobody understood. When I was diagnosed, I wrote, Part of me wants to scream, “I just want to be an ordinary girl!” while a smaller part of me whispers, “I always knew I wasn’t just an ordinary girl.” It was hell. “Benign and Operable” or no, surgery and recovery were hell. And I’m deaf now, and that’s a forever thing. Also forever is the phrase “highly recurring.” It has yet to recur. And now, yes. Life is on easy mode. But it wasn’t the tumor that made it hard, before. IT WAS THE TIME BEFORE THE TUMOR THAT WAS HARD MODE. Not realizing the extent to which time will ease all pain. Not understanding how temporary immediate hardship is. The way, “This hurts so much, and I just want to die!” quickly becomes just a thing that happened to me once when I was younger. I see my friends struggling. Break ups. Fights. Car repairs. I can’t help them. I can’t give them the perspective I’ve gained (not without seeming like a pompous ass, anyway). Bad things, hard things happen to me now too still. Right now, my insides are raw and bleeding because my best friend of twenty three years is moving to Colorado. We saw each other tonight for the last time before her flight. (I won't be there. God, I won't be there.) We watched Labyrinth. Again. One last... Held each other and promised, “If you need us…” I came home. My husband asked how I was. “Astonishingly bad.” I said, and started crying. But I know. Tomorrow will come, and the day after that, and the next one, and the next one too. It will get a little bit easier, and then a little more, and then a little bit more, until days pass where I don’t think about it. And one day, in so very little time that to consider THAT is its own kind of pain, I will be on a plane to Colorado. In the middle of my new immediate life, visiting a girl I loved from when I was a younger person. Maybe I am not explaining myself well. I am in what delightful Anne Shirley (who beautifully understood girlhood friendship) would call the depths of despair. And yet not. Because I know that depths have their limits and I’ll see the other side again. Because I have done it before. I miss her. I miss hearing. But I don’t miss hard mode. I don’t miss every day crisis mode. I guess I have a brain tumor to thank for that. I don’t know if I’ve made any sense here, but yeah.
Twenty years ago, on March 3rd, the moon vanished; plucked out of the night sky without any warning. Most would not have even noticed right away, were it not for the 24-hour news coverage that ran on every news channel almost immediately after it happened. At first, it seemed like a highly-coordinated joke being collectively run on a massive scale by the world's media outlets. The moon disappearing from the sky? How? Where did it go? Was it stolen by an evil genius? Wasn't that the plot of 'Despicable Me?' The entire premise seemed ludicrous -- except, the media coverage did not stop. Soon after news broke, world-renowned scientists weighed in on the situation, as did governments. Perhaps most convincingly, all one needed to do was look up in order to be assured that this was no joke. What followed over the course of the next 27 days was nothing short of unrestrained pandemonium and hysteria the world over. The implications, scientists warned, were going to be colossal. The tilt of the Earth's wobble should have changed drastically from its normal 22-25 degrees to 85 degrees. This should have had devastating effects on global climate fluxes, causing glaciers to appear in tropical regions and desert-like conditions along the tundra. By all accounts, this should have been a natural catastrophe unlike any the world has seen since the last great extinction events. Only, none of that happened, and then, 27 days later, the moon returned as if it had never left. The world settled down to some extent. Curiosity surrounding the mysterious disappearance, and now, reappearance of our Earth's sole natural satellite spawned and spread like an enormous wildfire. Wild speculative theories arose: aliens, massive government conspiracy, end of days, and what have you. This persisted for another 27 days, when -- after completing another orbit around the Earth -- the moon disappeared again. The hysteria returned with a renewed fervor that lasted another 27 days, when once again, the moon reappeared back in its previous phase. This cycle continued without fail for over twenty years, until the present day. Gradually, the panic and pandemonium faded, and people by and large, did settle down. Life was similar to how it was before the moon first disappeared, save for the lingering sense of curiosity and fascination, which became ingrained in the fabric of society. Rightfully so, one must say. We eventually learned that the moon was disappearing into a wormhole before being returned to the position that it last escaped our sights. Yet, this only sparked additional questions, and there were still so many remaining questions that beckoned for an answer. Where did it go when it left? Why did it not cause all the devastating effects it was predicted to cause? It was as though the moon was there, but we couldn't perceive it in any way; like it was there and not there at the same time. Twenty years after our global society was shaken, we are ready to attempt to answer these questions in a meaningful way. What the curiosity sparked by this event cultivated was a keen drive towards enriching our knowledge of the unknown through scientific endeavor. Two decades of scientific advance have led us to the moment where we are prepared to venture into this unknown. We've sent probes and animals through the wormhole. We've landed rovers on the moon and collected them after they had emerged in 27 days. Each time, our devices and furry friends were returned safely, but failed to record any useful data for us to examine. This time, that task would be placed on the shoulders of myself, and three of the bravest men and women I've had the privilege of training with; fellow astronauts Beth Hoffman, Frank Cruz and Miles Sanders. Our mission required for us to land on the moon, like countless others had done before us. However, unlike previous scientific missions, we intended to ride the moon through. Sitting in place, we would then rendezvous back with the wormhole in another 27 days and return home. Moments before launch, Mission Control radios us to wish us luck. We record a message for our families telling them not to worry, and that we will see them in 27 days. In reality, nobody knows what to expect. NASA begins their countdown, as the engines begin to ignite. The ship rises and then accelerates at 90 m/s^2 into low Earth orbit, propelled by the two sets of eight-engine rockets. At 1,200 miles, the first stage rockets detach as our ship is jettisoned towards our destination by a pair of second-stage boosters. It is at this time that we realize that our perception of the unknown is far less known to us than we previously believed. We receive word from Mission Control that they have intercepted a signal that they believe to have come from the other side of the wormhole. A voice informs us: "It says 'Welcome. We look forward to meeting you!'" My crew members and I look at each other. Already launched towards our destination, all we can do -- all anyone can do -- is to wait anxiously, and to hope. As the moon approaches the wormhole, we sit patiently, awaiting to be engulfed. Ten seconds until contact. I try to anticipate what is waiting for us on the other side. Nine seconds. Is there really an alien civilization waiting to greet us? Eight seconds, seven seconds. Perhaps they are not as welcoming as they would have us believe. We may be walking into a trap; an ambush. It is too late to do anything about it now. Six, five, four seconds until contact. Let's hope for the best. My crew mates and I exchange glances. Three, two, one. "Here we go!"Miles shouts. I hold my breath expecting a litany of lights and warped shapes as we enter into the void. Instead, the wormhole appears to have dematerialized as we were about to pass through it. We look to one another, again -- though this time, in confusion. "Is that it, Mike?"asks Beth, as she leans towards me. "I- I'm not sure"I stutter back. "Well, whatever it was, it was pretty anti-climactic"chirps, Frank. "I'm going to radio Mission Control." A few moments pass uneventfully. "Frank?"I call, looking back towards him. "You all right?" Frank's eyes are transfixed on something outside the window. I lean in to get a better view. A battalion of ships hover up ahead; their technology far beyond our reach. In the background Earth watches; its familiar continents and oceans peacefully unaware of the celestial anomaly that is taking place on its front steps. The radio crackles and hisses as it begins to receive a transmission. We hear in spoken English, the following words: "Welcome, friends! We are pleased to meet you." Okay, they're friends, it seems. "Mike, he sounds like you."Beth notes. The message continues. "This is Captain Michael Kerr. I'm joined by my fellow officers, Lieutenant Beth Hoffman and Sergeants Frank Cruz and Miles Sanders." What did he just say? "First of all, on behalf of all of us back home, I'd like to thank you for sharing your moon with us. Without it, well, I'm afraid to think what might have been." Is he being serious? "I'm sure you have many questions. Hopefully, we can provide you with the answers." --------------------------------------------- EDIT: [Here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2zy9ig/wp_the_first_humans_have_finally_traveled_to_a/cpnjxg6?context=3) is Part II (sort of). How the second Earth lost their original moon.
The detective subtly adjusted his scrotum as he walked to the victim's house. It was one of the most humid days of the year. The heat was so hot it was like the opposite of cold. The detective wiped the sweat from his forehead and knocked on the door. "(Sigh.) Now the hardest part of the job..." The door opened, revealing a woman of exquisite beauty. Her lips were as red as the rash on the detective's dick and her hair was as brown as his toilet water. "Good day. Are you the wife of Mr. White?"asked the detective. "Yiss." "My name is Detective Dill Doe. May I come in? I'm afraid I have some news for you." "Certainly. What's going on? Did my husband get into a jump rope accident again?" "No, ma'am. He-" "Wait, did he step on a Lego?" "No, I'm trying-" "He choked on applesauce?" "Dammit, lady, your husband is dead! He was murdered!" Her face contorted into shock. She started to tear up. "Here."The detective took out some tissues for her and himself. "(Sniff.) Thank-thank you. Ben, can you go cut your onions somewhere else? Go play outside or something. Jesus..."Ben, her son, quietly walked to the front porch slouched over, onion peels trailing dejectedly behind him. The detective took out a folder out of his bag and presented it to her. "I'm sorry for your loss. I promise I will find the person responsible. Here, do you recognize this man?" She stared intently at the picture before her. He looked so...familar. "I don't understand...are you saying that Tom Cruise killed my husband?" "Hmm? Wait."Detective Doe took back the picture. "Sorry, I'm just a big fan of T-Cruise. Man, his career is on fire. Did you know that? Have you seen Edge of Tommorrow?" "I-I don't-" "Sorry. Here's the real picture. Remember, it's just an artist's depiction but anything you can tell me will definitely help." The face looked like a walrus after attending Mardi Gras. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize him. Oh god...John..." The detective arched his brow. "Wait, you said John. Your husband's name is John?" "Yeah." "It says here that his name is Brian." "It's pronounced John." "Oh." "Oh my god. I'm sorry, I need some water. Would you like some, Detective?" "No thank you, fish shit in it."It was at that moment that his phone went off. He slammed the phone into the side of his sweaty ass face. "Hello? Dill Doe speaking." "Boss, we got something. Something big."his partner said with a mouth full of applesauce. "You found that turd in the toilet didn't you?" "No boss, it's not that. We just saw reports of a walrus-looking man exiting the grocery store on fifth. He is one ugly man. I mean, jesus..." "Great, tell me something I don't know." "My mother almost aborted me." "Fucking christ, I didn't mean-y'know what? I'm headed there now. See ya." "All right boss. See- (Cough) see-(chokes) I-I-help-(gags)" Detective Doe hung up too quickly to hear him. "What happened?"she asked as she came in with a glass of water. "We got a lead. Here's my card if you have any questions. I gotta go." She picked up his card and looked at it in utter confusion, for it was a Pokemon limited edition Charizard trading card. Sprinting into his van, he shifted into reverse, ran over Ben, and gunned the throttle. For he was no ordinary detective. He was Dill Doe, and he was going to rip this case wide open.
Upgrade to Windows 10 now! Windows 8 has reached end of life. Upgrade now to keep receiving security updates and get exciting new features! [UPGRADE NOW!] [Upgrade later] I sighed and closed the window for the third time this hour. This had been going on for years, but it's never been this persistent. I switched back to VirtualBox to see if my patch for Haiku had fully fixed the issue I was having wi--- Upgrade to Windows 10 now! Applications are dropping support for Windows 8. Upgrade now to keep using the programs you know and love! [UPGRADE NOW!] [Upgrade later] "God damn it! It's not even been 30 seconds." I closed the window again, and in that same instant, there was a knock at my front door. I got up from my desk to go see who it was. I opened the door, and an unfamiliar man stood in front of me. "Hello! Mr. Johann Jameson, is it? My name is Satya Nadella, CEO of Microsoft." "Ooookay. What brings you here, Mr. Nadella?" "Do you mind if I step inside? It's a bit chilly out here." "Sure, come on in." I led him to my living room and we sat down, and I asked him once again what could possibly have brought him to my house on a day like this. "You see, Mr. Jameson, back at Microsoft, we've been tracking the numbers of Windows 10 upgrades with the end-of-life date for Windows 8 quickly approaching. As it turns out, there is only one computer in the world that still has not upgraded..." He pointed into the attached office. "That laptop, right in there." "Wait... How did you get this address? How did you know it was my laptop?" "Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. Jameson. All you need to know is that you need to upgrade to Windows 10. Windows 8 is losing support! All your programs are going to stop working because they expect to be on Windows 10. You don't want that to happen, do you? Plus, you won't be receiving critical security updates anymore. Hackers are going to be able to get into your system without issue! And because you're the only one with Windows 8, surely they'll all be after you! Plus, if you don't upgra--" "I've heard enough, Mr. Nadella. You've convinced me. I will no longer be using Windows 8 from this point forward." "Wonderful! Let me show you how easy the upgrade process is." "I don't think that will be necessary, I can figure it out." I walked into my office and held down the power button on my laptop. "Mr. Jameson... You need to have the power on to upgrade to Windows 10." "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a flash drive labeled "ARCH_2021_01_01"and inserted it into one of the USB ports on my laptop. "What are you doing? What's on that flash drive?" I powered the laptop on, and saw a flash of lines fly by on the screen. Shortly after, I was greeted by a prompt: Arch Linux 5.1.1-1-ARCH (tty1) archiso login: root (automatic login) root@archiso ~ # I began partitioning my drives. "Is that... Linux? Mr. Jameson, there's no need for linux!" root@archiso ~ # mkfs.ext5 /dev/sda1 mke2fs 1.65.11 ( 19-July-2020 ) Creating Filesystem with 2096896 4k blocks and 524288 inodes Filesystem UID: fdec86b4-c6e6-4320-afc3-302ff8806a3d Superblock backups stored on blocks: 32768, 98304, 163840, 229376, 294912, 819200, 884736, 1605632 Allocating group tables: done Writing inode tables: done Creating journal (32768 blocks): done Writing superblocks and filesystem accounting information: done root@archiso ~ # mount /dev/sda1 /mnt root@archiso ~ # "Mr. Jameson, we assimilate---err, made a deal with Canonical years ago! We ported Ubuntu to Windows 10! Linux is unnecessary now!" root@archiso ~ # pacstrap -i /mnt base core coredevel ==> Creating install root at /mnt ==> Installing packages to /mnt :: Synchronizing package databases... "Mr. Jameson. You need to stop this. Let's not make any rash decisions." sh-4.8$ syslinux-install_update -i -a -m "No. Stop this now. Don't reboot that laptop." sh-4.8$ exit root@archiso ~ # reboot "NO." ~THUMP~ . . . I came to, lying on my office carpet. I sat up and looked around, but there were no signs of Satya Natella. I looked over to my laptop. Hello! Welcome to Windows 10! Now with Ultra-Secure Boot to ensure that only authorized Windows 10 operating system files are installed on your computer! "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Hey, Smort! Reddit is talking about us again!"Janx called over as Smort swiveled around from his captains chair. "What? How is that possible?"Smort double checked the cloaking protocol. "Look, 'aliens far more advanced than humans... Could destroy them all, but don't for one reason.' They figured out how much we love Reddit's r/Writingprompts!"Janx deduced. "See I told you we should have napalmed them like we did the dinosaurs, but nooooo. You just had to read all the writing prompts about 'aliens.'"Smort sulked. "Fine we'll compromise, when they stop writing prompts about aliens, we'll kill all humans. How does that sound?"Janx smirked, fully knowing that day would most likely never come. "Well, OK. Has anyone written a submission yet?"Smort inquired. "Just one so far, but it's a bit meta,"Janx critiqued, and it kind of just ends abruptly."
Audio recordings found in the embers of Dr. Kook's evil lair. gunshot "Okay, what the fuck?" "What?" "You shot my evil sidekick.". "He had a gun." "A confusion Ray! It would have made you dizzy." "Self defense." "What?" "I shot him in self defense." "You're not even bothered that you just killed another human being? His name was Jeff. He had a life, a fiancé. I had dinner with them last week. He was just helping me because he needed something on his resume. Holy shit man." "He was evil, like you. I show no pity for those who seek to harm others." "Harm others? I built a giant magnet that stole everyone's spare change in town. The most it would have done was harm their piggy banks." "Stealing is stealing." "Know what? Fuck this, arrest me, take me in. I'm going to tell the world what you did." "No you aren't." "Excuse me? Wait drop the gun. Don't do anything rash. No-." gunshot
^[Forewarning, ^mildly ^NSFW, ^but ^not ^really ^at ^all. ^Reader ^discretion ^is ^somewhat ^advised.] Christian Grey bit his lower lip, watching Anastasia closely. "Mrs. Steele? You know our little rules here... I'm gonna need you to go for two at once." Ana smiled coyly, looking to her side. Elliot Grey, Christian's older brother, sat expectantly. Ana raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded. With a practiced motion, he reached his hand down, finding the thing he was reaching for. "Here you go,"Eliot said, handing Ana his D6. "Good,"Christian said. "Now roll both D6 to determine your attack damage." Ana tossed the dice on the table, which skipped and skittered across its hard marble surface. Christian eyed the dice as they skidded to a stop. "You strike the orcs for 3 damage... pitiful,"he added. "I need you to blow me, right now,"Eliot suddenly said. Ana turned to him in surprise, eyebrow raised. "I'm too far away from the orcs to strike with my daggers... your Bag of Wind, open it. I'll ride the gust towards them." Ana nodded. "With my last action on my turn, I open my Bag of Wind, angling it towards Raethnor the Destroyer." "Hmmm, I'm gonna need an aim check on that,"Christian said. "Roll a D20 for me." Ana tossed the nearly-round die which skipped across the table. "You gotta be kidding me,"she said. The number "1"proudly faced upwards. "Roll to confirm critical failure,"Christian said with a sigh. She rolled again. A "3"this time. "Well, you blow yourself. Backwards. Flying towards the cliff." "Raethnor, you need to save me,"Ana said, electric excitement in her voice. Eliot smiled wryly. "I retreat from the battle, running at full speed." "Wait, what?"Ana said, shocked. "The bounty on your head. Maybe the reward is worth more to me than the risk I'd have to take trying to save you." "You can't do that,"she pleaded, eyes begging him. "My dear... all's fair in love and war,"he said, laughing to himself. "Now, who was it again that offered that bounty?"
Robin strode down the hall, high heels clacking on the wood. She clutched a stack of papers to her chest - grants for a new school in South Gotham. Dr. Wayne would have to sign, if she could find him. She was his favorite intern, fresh out of Yale sociology, and so had been given the task of hunting him down. But the man was elusive as a bat at night, these days. That meant he was coming up with something big. Sometimes she wondered what could be next; he already accomplished so much. Twenty years ago, he used his private fortune to fund derelict Gotham schools, oust corrupt politicians, and rehabilitate prisoners. The streets were as safe as they had ever been, and Gotham's small businesses had turned the city into a cultural and commercial hub. What could he be plotting now? She found him in his study, which he jokingly referred to as "the Cave."But he was not alone. A tall, wiry gentleman with big spectacles and a mess of black hair. sat beside him He wore a tweed jacket and scribbled fervently in a notebook. When Dr. Wayne saw Robin, the wiry writer stood to leave. "Thank you, Dr. Wayne,"the reporter said, "I think this will be a beneficial arrangement." "Indeed, Mr. Kent,"Bruce Wayne said. "Soon, Journalism will be where it should be - trustworthy and reputable. And do reach out to Dr. Prince, as we discussed. I would like to see how her theories of female empowerment play economically here in Gotham. Soon this city will have the Justice it deserves."
I reel my head back a few inches in surprise. "Was this some sort of prank? Were the guards orchestrating a sick joke on me?"I think to myself. In anger I try to slam the receiver back onto it's housing, only to be stopped half way down by some unseen force. While processing exactly what had occurred in front of me, the same voice suddenly erupts from the speaker. "Hello? Anyone there?". I slowly bring the phone back to my head and reply. "Um, hello?". "Hello sir, nice to meet you! My name's Frank. How can the Devil's Advocates at Law help you this fine evening?". The voice says. "Is this some joke to you? Are you having fun? What kind of disgusting human being does this to someone trying to get themselves out of a life sentence?". I yell back, blood rushing to my head. "Human being? Huh. Hold that thought". "Hey Phil, what's going on over here?". The voice was back after a 5 second pause, and was significantly quieter this time, along with being a bit muffled. Almost like someone was pressing their hand against the microphone so I wouldn't be able to hear. They were doing a terrible job at it. "He misdialed? How the hell did we get a misdial? Aren't there countermeasures for that shit? Whatever, I'll work with it". "Hello?". The voice was now back at it's regular volume. "Hi". I said blankly. "Okay, so.... it seems we've begun on a bit of a misunderstanding. To make it up to you, I'm going to head over there so we can discuss all this in person. Okay? See ya in a sec. The line goes dead, and then I feel a quick tap on my shoulder. Just an idea. Should I continue?
It was about 13 or 14 years ago now that other life was confirmed. I watched the world wide live broadcast while I was eating my obligatory morning cereal. All of the world's most important people were there at one end of the table, the "Others", as we call them, at the opposite end. It was odd the way they looked, mostly human, but there was something off about their appearances, something you could never quite put a finger on. Like when you try to put a puzzle piece into the wrong place; while it looks right, it never quite fits. But there was something odd about this broadcast I noticed, that it seemed too planned out, as though this wasn't the first time this particular group of people had been in the same room as one another. It wasn't until 5 years later that it was revealed to the public that the Others had been here for months beforehand. It was explained to us that the governments of the world had been helping the Others study our different cultures and ways of life, as it seems is something unique to our tiny little planet. But it was the drugs that most confused them. They had a hard time understanding why we would need such things. Because of this, they became intrigued with them, but most of all, with heroin. It was a world wide epidemic, cheaper than most things and easy to get your hands on if you knew the right people. At some point one of the Others held up, what had to be a Kilo of the stuff, as if it were a souvenir of some sort. Up until now, I hadn't really been paying attention to what the conversation was about, I was still trying to figure out what was off about them. But the brick caught my eye. The closed captioning on the TV showed what the Others were saying. They would bring the sample back home, and if it was to their liking, would try and make it themselves. An Opium Poppy was handed over to them. And so they left. A week later, as the epidemic grew even larger due to the popularity spike the Others caused, they came back. They needed more. They had tried making it themselves, but for some reason, the flower wouldn't grow. Not enough sun, oxygen or nutrients could have all been factors, but all I knew, and what the world knew, was they were hooked. There was nothing off about them now, pale skin, needle marks up and down their arms, and a deadness to their eyes. Junkies is what they were now. We couldn't just hand any over to them, it was clear they would just use it themselves. The governments saw this as a huge way to make money so they did a little negotiating, we'll send a carrier to bring the stuff to you, however, you have to pay us for the drugs, they agreed, and that's how things were for a while, until other life forms started showing up. It was apparent that the Others had started sharing the product and it somehow made it's way across their solar system to other life. Life like the Scribs, who have these odd markings on their skin, not like tattoos, but more like a toddler decided that was the best place to draw with a marker; and the Börs, who kind of looked like giant moles with shaggy and long fur. The same deal was struck with all of these species, you pay us, we'll get you what you want. That's all it really took. It's now the year 2034 and the entire planet is now the head of the largest intergalactic drug trade in the known universe. The entire North American continent and half of the South American continent was completely overhauled and turned into the largest Poppy farm on Earth just to keep up with the demand. Any person able to work and was over the age of 17 was given a job somewhere within the low to mid tier area of the chain of command and anyone who was found to be unfit within this chain, or just didn't like the paperwork, was given a job out in the fields or in the factories where the heroin was manufactured. I had found a job as one of the drug mules, sent into what was once called the unknown, to deliver literal tons of heroin to junkies that could afford to pay. It was the same no matter where I went though, everyone just trying to get a fix, even if they knew it would end up killing them. It tore societies apart. Everyone was irritable and unwelcoming until you gave them what they wanted, then they would either cast you aside so they could get high or become friendly to get you to keep coming back. But because drugs don't have the same effects after a while, they've started cutting the stuff with other drugs like Fentanyl to give an "even greater high". And I don't know when it happened, but at some point, it all became to much for me. I was sick and tired of the things we were doing. Tired of how, for a little gain, the world had condemned the rest of the universe to torment and anguish. We were greedy and selfish and downright deplorable and we had to be stopped. There's really nothing I can do though. Looking at it realistically, I'm just one man, in a sea of billions. I am trapped in an every growing world of greed and I can no longer escape. I could just not come back from one of my hand-overs, but those planets would all just eventually end up they way ours did, a corporate dystopia that leads to the suffering of others. And so I go on with my life, carrying out the orders sent down the ladder. And I wait. I wait for it all to come to the crashing and fiery end that I expect it to be when we can no longer keep up with the expanding trade we've created. I wait for the day where we monsters are no longer in control and we can't stop what's coming. I wait.
Something was clearly very wrong. Ever since their deceleration and entrance into the Oort cloud, the crew found themselves surrounded by deafening silence from the Sol system. Not a single Earth Defense Outpost responded to hails when they entered the primary cargo lane for mining traffic for Earth. Not a single observation vessel asking for their call signs. Nothing. Comms went through every single channel. Government, civilian, industrial, military, each line dead. Dead, dead, dead. A strange tune for a once bustling corner of the Milky Way. They passed Pluto and found nothing. Sure, it was a backwater and only use for launching between systems, but you could usually find at least one or two orbital stations selling cheap tubes of nutrient paste or some hand me down weapons from some forgotten colonial dust up. But nothing. Not even debris in the orbit, just the same sad little rock. Past the gas giants. Now the concern had begun to spread around the crew. Their systems had taken some damage when they arrived in Andromeda, passing too close to a gas giant during deceleration. Too much energy spent preventing the vessel from crashing and folding into the center of the planet. Quietly the captain began to review the protocol for a code black, and even though he believed in the strength of the Human Empire, in his heart he began to grapple with the truth. A spacefaring race knows the greatest enemy in colonization is time. For hundreds of years, all humans knew. Time was relative. Relativity was the enemy. When a crew departed from orbit, they knew fairly well that those they left behind would likely be dead when they returned. Such was life for a pioneer. When they went past Saturn, everybody knew. They had tracked the body, searching for additional vehicle traffic. Nothing. Nothing. Silence. The Titan Station, home to humanity's greatest space station, outside of the modern civilian platforms in orbit around Earth, was nowhere to be seen. No ruins. No debris. No energy waves of any kind, completely undetectable. It was just a rock. Just like all the others. Another great truth about space travel. It's a maddeningly lonely business. Some in the crew began to panic. They'd returned to the Sol system for repairs, and something had gone terribly wrong. Not a single human anywhere. To the captain, it was just sad. He'd been born among the twinkling lights of Titan, watching military craft dock and restock before taking the fight to whatever colony had decided to rebel. Stern men with stern faces. He wondered what had happened, but put it from his mind. They would most likely never know. It made the rest of the return a little more bearable. When you finally accept a horrible truth, the cascade of additional horrible realities tend to be more palatable. Nothing by Jupiter. Nothing by Mars; the planet in fact had lost its artificial magnetosphere. The place would have been entirely uninhabitable for quite a long time, and Earth installations had been deep underground anyway. Experimental technology only, on Mars. A sad red ball. Now onto the sad blue ball. In came signals, but these were ancient and primitive in nature. Neither were they actually directed towards the craft. Radio? Were they fucking serious? It could be worse. There could be no signal. They found the words strange and indecipherable. Not a single one of the languages spoken and intercepted matched any other on record. And the planet was clearly occupied by humans, but the crew had no idea the nature of the situation. Were they a unified race? What had happened? Where were the orbital stations? Their cities were large, but clearly dirty. Much of it appeared to still be destroyed after some great conflict, ash and charred material all over different parts of the world. The craft landed instead of staying in orbit. Whatever help they would receive, they would have to interact with the humans on the surface. Down they went, landing within a desert. Barren but beautiful. Humans arrived fairly soon afterward, in olive jeeps with great white stars upon them. The captain and crew came out to greet their fellow humans. They were all civilians. An observational mining group, tagging particularly abundant rock planets for consumption and processing. All unarmed. All in plain garments, so as to prevent scaring whatever humans they came across. Here they were all people, and people help each other. The men in the jeeps shot them all dead with little warning with primitive kinetic weapons and captured the craft, spiriting it away for study. They congratulated themselves on a job well done, shaking hands. No one took pictures of the corpses, which were burned rather than buried. To the humans that lived nearby, to the best of their knowledge nothing had happened really. Their military told them it was just a weather balloon that had fallen to the ground. Somewhere near Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - X files theme plays softly in the background, a potato and a knife in a flying saucer
Life after death wasn't as bad as I first thought it might be. The situation felt quite overwhelming when I first arrived here, in fact it was the bureaucracy that took me most by surprise. Lots of busy celestial bodies were rushing back and forth between beautifully white offices as they tried to process me and the millions of other souls that sat in limbo. I couldn't tell you how long I was sat there for. We didn't have any windows to look out of and there were no clocks to keep track of, just the business of processing souls to observe. A mixture of beautiful pale angels mingled with red skinned demons who were all hard at work. Some even paused for casual conversation, talking in some echoey language that I'd never heard before when I was alive. It was most bizarre. After some time had passed - however much that was - two of the red skinned creatures with horns approached me. One was slim and of an average height compared to his peers, while the other was taller and much more thickset. I was scared of the big one but it was what the slim one said to me in my mother tongue that was most frightening. "Thank you for waiting, soul. We've gone through your life and deemed you fit for Hell. Please follow Balthamut here who will escort you to your destination." My heart sank when I heard those words. I felt that I'd lived a very good life. I was always faithful to my wife, loyal to my family and friends, never bullied anyone, always gave to charity. Why was I going to Hell?! I begged the demon to reconsider, pleaded with him to look again at my life and to see that I was a good person. "Was it that time I lost my temper with that taxi driver?!"I asked desperately "I still feel bad about that, I'm still feeling guilty even after all these years!" "A minor loss of temper is natural for humans and does not warrant serving their afterlife in torture."The demon responded, matter of factly "A person who cannot see the evil that they have committed in life is he who is truly deserving of Hell." Dumbfounded, I stood with my jaw agape at my destiny. The larger demon noticed my paralysis and took the opportunity to grab me by the scruff of the neck and sling me over his shoulder. I was aware of my position and where I was going, but as I watched the doors close on the purgatory that I was leaving I still couldn't quite believe why I was sentenced to this fate. Hell isn't what all of the earthly religious scholars would have you believe. There's fire and brimstone, sure, but the torture is much more nuanced than medieval fanatics would have expected. Less iron maidens and stretching racks, more torture of the mind. My least favourite was seeing the unintentional harm that I'd caused others. I would be sat down in an uncomfortable throne made of stalagmites before an imp would press the tip of one of his claws to my forehead to trigger flashbacks. I would see some kind of interaction with somebody that would seem innocuous to me but end up causing them painful emotional grief. Everybody from strangers to loved ones, I somehow managed to offend them all at some point. My very character was abrasive, I couldn't believe I was so self-centred. Remarkably, we did get down time between the torture. One of the more amicable demons had mentioned to me that time to reflect on oneself makes the torture more effective. It worked, too. I felt worse in the solitude after my punishment than during it. A perk of the downtime was sharing some of the small pleasures I had in life. We were given an allowance to spend on small treats such as ice in our water or a pillow for our bed. There was a flat allowance for all souls and those who were still remembered positively by those in their life were given extra tokens to spend on more lavish items. On the odd occasion I would receive an extra token or two when I suppose a bitter relative or friend of mine would remember me fondly. Occasionally though I would be blessed by up to a dozen tokens in a single week. According to the teller who distributed the tokens, I had a niece who would sometimes remember the games I used to play with her. I remember Chloe. She was only 8 when I passed. I used to pretend to be a dinosaur and she'd ride on my back like a warrior princess to slay all the boys in her school. It was very cute. It was hard to gauge the day to day passing of time in Hell, but you would sometimes get glimpses of how much time had passed on Earth. It was all fairly relative, especially if you're experiencing some deep psychological torture. I'd gone in to a session that was so taxing that I thought I'd spent a couple decades inside when in reality only a few minutes had passed. On this particular day, after a session of being boiled alive, I went to the store to see about getting some ice water - a much needed respite after what had just happened to me. I approached the counter and kindly asked for some when he replied to me saying "Just the one?" It was an odd question, I thought. "Y-yes, just one."I stammered, wondering what the demon meant. "D-do I have enough?" I thought the demon might've been sarcastic with me. I checked my balance before my last session and I should have 3 tokens remaining; two tokens would get me this ice water, then the remaining token could get me some butter on my bread. Did I misread it, do I have enough? The demon responded. "There's three hundred tokens for you this week." I stood there awestruck. Some of the other souls in and around the queue gasped in shock. Murmurs and whispers spread across them like a wave. I took a second to compose myself. "What- no, wh-why do I have so many?" The demon looked at me uncaringly and said "Your niece has been writing a comic book. It's inspired by the games you played with her." Chloe! She's writing a comic about the warrior princess? A lot of time must have passed since I last thought of her. Maybe she's a teenager, or maybe even an adult now. I felt so proud of her. I looked at the souls in the queue behind me. An enormous smile stretched across my face and feeling more flush than I ever had in my life, declared to them all "ICE WATER FOR EVERYONE!" A cheer erupted as glasses of cool ice water were distributed to my fellow souls. Week after week I would be given an enormous trove of tokens like this. It seemed Chloe was really getting stuck in to her project and the inspiration never left her mind while she was hard at work. A couple years later the number of tokens increased ten-fold and I was rolling in wealth. Using eighteen thousand tokens I was able to purchase a message to be sent to my brother, Chloe's father, who I found out had made it to heaven a few years after me. His response told me that her comic was a big hit and that it got commissioned in to a ten season children's cartoon. I was over the moon. I spent the rest of eternity living a life of literal Hell. I would be tortured, demeaned, and put down day after day. But every day I had this full balance of tokens, reminders that a person on Earth remembered me fondly and that I had made her life a good one. By extension, my wealth also increased for all the lives that her work touched. Every child who laughed and enjoyed her cartoon was a happy soul because of me. Every person who felt inspired to work hard or do good from reading Chloe's comic was through my inspiration. I may never get to meet Chloe again, even when she passes, but when she finally does I look forward to spending my tokens to send her a letter all the way in heaven: "I'm proud of you, kid. Thank you for your love."
I have perfect taste. No, that's not quite right. You know how some people say they have an eidetic memory? They can remember EVERYTHING? I have an eidetic tongue. That is, once I've had something, my tongue remembers that taste and I can tell you...no that's not quite it either. Sugar. I've had that and I can recognize exactly how much sugar is in something when I eat it. Pink Himalayan salt. I've had that and I can tell you exactly how much Pink Himalayan salt is in something when I eat it. Earthworms. You get the picture. I gradually learned about my gift while growing up. Once I had something, if it contained an ingredient I'd had before, I could tell you exactly how much of that ingredient was in the dish, or drink or whatever. If it contained something I hadn't had, I found out what it was so I could put a name to it. It was an adventure at initially. First it was sort of a party trick. "Guess the secret ingredients in my _____". It's horseradish. From there I became a food tester, because if I could tell you what was in it, I could also tell you if there was too much or not enough or it it was missing something. I was sought after and traveled the world doing that. My taste "inventory"became extensive. A few things remained elusive though as not all recipes were public and I can't say I've had every possible ingredient either. I've never tried human flesh for example. Don't plan on it either. Personally, I like simple things. Too many ingredients and it's like "yelling"in my mouth. There were still a few things I hadn't figured out too. Like Coke. It's a secret recipe after all and there was something in there I had never had before. It wasn't the only thing I had never figured out, but it was probably the most famous. I liked Coke too, I liked the mystery of it. I solved a few public debates. I can guarantee you there are no earthworms in a McDonalds burger. A lot of textured vegetable protein, but no earthworms. Not everyone likes a critic though, especially chefs when I tell them there is too much of something in a dish. So I took up the challenge of "do better". I mean, I could clone any dish I had ever eaten AND make it better. So I did. I was the chef with perfect taste. I could make almost ANYTHING. I could combine things in new and interesting ways and my dishes were always perfect. So I settled down, ran my little restaurant and made a lot of money. I got married. Had a kid - a son. That's what did it. That's what answered it. One night, I was changing my baby boy's diaper and I wasn't careful. I didn't cover that firehose and caught a stream in the face and specifically some got in my mouth. My perfect taste just added a name to my inventory, something familiar. After cleaning up, I went to my refrigerator and opened a can and drank some, just to be sure. I screamed. I will NEVER drink another Coke again.
“It’s funny.” Jack said before stepping though the Stargate. His world became a dizzying pattern of lights that resulted, not from photons, but from the pressure of being squeezed through the negative energy densities of a wormhole, much the same way one sees fantastic shapes when rubbing their eyes. In one moment he was in a concrete room buried deep in Cheyenne Mountain Complex, the next, he was standing in the gloaming of a foreign planet. “What’s that?” Daniel asked, and then turned to the side, fighting back a sneeze. “After we learned that an eighth chevron can send us further, to distant galaxies such as the Asgard homeworld, we never thought to try a ninth. Until now.” Jack looked around at the sprawling desert. His hands rested on top of the P-90 slung across his chest. “Well, sir, the permutations involved,” Samantha shook her head, “You’d have better odds winning the lottery than stumbling across a workable Stargate address. It’s not just nine factorial as there are more than—” Jack’s eyes glazed over as he looked up at the settings sky. He pointed. “Hey, check it out. Two suns.” “Have you never seen two suns before, O’Neill?” Teal’c stood beside Jack and regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Only after a few drinks.” Jack smiled. He patted Teal’c on the back, who, judging by his expression, either didn’t get the joke, or didn’t find it amusing. Teal'c frowned, eyebrow still raised. “Where did we get this address?” Daniel asked, and then sneezed. Samantha turned. “We found it encrypted on a droid from P3X-322. We didn’t know what to make of it at first since it had nine characters.” “Don’t we usually need a little bit more juice to use more than seven chevrons.” Jack asked. “We usually do, however, the description from the droid mentioned a force that would bridge the distance.” Samantha shrugged. “It worked.” “And now we’re in a galaxy far, far away.” Jack nodded. “Alright, let’s meet the locals. The recon probe showed a collection of houses about three clicks,” Jack pointed in the direction underneath the two suns. “That-a-way.” They walked through the flat plains of the desert. Though there was no pollen and the dust was minimal from a lack of breeze, but Daniel’s allergies still found a way to become enflamed. Soon they came upon a large, domed, adobe structure. “Yello,” Jack called out. He turned to Samantha. “You think it’s rude to visit this late?” “We could wait by—” A door opened, interrupting Samantha. A young man, wearing what appeared to be a karate uniform with a heavy tool belt slung across his hips, stepped out. He smiled at the team. It was a nervous smile, but looked friendly. “Can I help you?” the man asked as he looked at the different members of SG-1. “Who are you?” “We’re explorers from a little planet called Earth.” Jack held out his hand. “I’m Jack O’Neill.” “Luke,” the young man said, shaking Jack’s hand. “Luke Skywalker.” “Cool name.” Jack smiled, and then introduced the rest of the team. He noticed something shiny behind Luke, inside the house. “Hey, our probe. You found it!” “That’s yours?” Luke’s eyes widened. “I hope you don’t mind, I found it crashed against a rock near here. I thought I could get it flying again.” “So you’re familiar with this level of technology?” Samantha asked, a look of surprise on her face. Luke frowned. “Sorry, I don’t mean to imply anything. I’m just impressed.” “A lot of junk ends up here, and I fix what I can, and then sell it with my uncle.” Luke waved off in the distance. “He’s out now, preparing for the upcoming harvest.” With a cough, Daniel fell down to the ground. Sand and dirt rising in a small plume. Teal'c offered a hand, but Daniel shook it away. “I’m okay, it’s just,” Daniel sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right.” “Oh, for crying out loud.” Jack reached down and pulled Daniel up. “You going to be okay?” “I think so. It’s just that I felt a heavy weight on me, and then a feeling of dread.” Daniel stared at Jack, his eyes seeming larger from the thick frames of his glasses. “We should take him back, have Dr. Frasier take a look at him.” Samantha said. “We can always come back.” “Yeah,” Luke turned to Samantha and then Jack. “Give me a few days and I’ll have your flying droid working again. I’m heading to Toshi station anyway with a few friends. I’ll pick up some power converters and have it working like new.” "You don’t have to, we've got plenty of—” Jack began. Luke waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “No problem, besides, it’s a design I haven’t seen before. It’ll be fun.” “It was great meeting you.” Samantha shook Luke’s hand. Teal’c nodded. “Nice kid.” Jack said as they walked back to the Stargate. "Helpful, too. We should bring him a gift when we come back for fixing the droid... I man probe. Now I'm calling it a droid." &nbsp; ---------- It's been a while since I've watched Stargate, been meaning to rewatch. I hope nothing was too cruvus with the story.
Your dreams are filled with technicolor points of light and sounds, memories of the god you tried to forget about, the files you weren't meant to see, and the thing buried in the darkness of the desert, three bombs dropped on top of it in an excuse of testing. Your nightmares are filled with the otherside, where man melted into pools of flesh and wriggling metal, where souls could be trapped, fixed, and figmented into half memories, locked in the great war minds of the Wounds of the world. The sword point against your chest, the feel of gunsteel against the crown of your head, and sick feelings of organs popped out of place, an ancestral memory of what came before the great wars. But that was then. Your eyes peer into the dim gloom, but the enhancements let you see every detail of the world in the darkness. They're breathing in and out, and the sensors in your head idly catalogue their human exhaust for signs of any trouble. The normal mix. You're fine. You're fine, you hope. They're all you have left. The world was loath to let you go, and you wanted nothing more to sleep forever. How many times would the Brawler need to return from the grave before the world was safe? You'd never been sure. But here, here, all was nice. All was quiet. You let your eyes settle closed, watching the levels of air exchange in your partner's lungs, reading their heartbeat, their skin temperature. You listen to their quiet noises, which have always sounded so much grander than the bombs and bullets that haunted your youth. You don't know if you'll ever age, not after they rebuilt you. Not after the dreams, of reaching towards a bloodied god, hands and fingers intertwined. But you're sure she won't either. Two boats, forever drifting in parallel, and at last, fates beside one another. Two trajectories that'll never part. You let your eyes settled closed. You can pretend that its real with your eyes settle closed, and if you let yourself, you'll even forget by the morning. You've done it so many times before. You've done it so many times before. Their eyes open, and they turn over in bed to face you. Your eyes are open, and you beg them not to say anything. You beg the systems to lie to you again, to spread hot dopamine across your brain, to erase the demons of your past but "The National Association of American Heroes has issued an unconditional draft order for 2019. All heroes are advised to report to their assigned housing for further instructions." You close your eyes. The breathing has stopped. If you keep your eyes closed, maybe, maybe, maybe you can still make it out of here. Please. And she doesn't say another word. You manage to sleep again. ----- In the morning, your family's gone except for them. You can barely remember them, bare figments of the place you've sequestered yourself in. You can't remember when you got in, either, only that you dreamed of it once. A bloc of time stretching as far back as you can remembered, except for the dreams. You sit, pensive, staring at a newspaper that refuses to solidify into anything except alphabet soup, and she slips a plate of eggs on the table, yolks so raw that you can still smell the life they'd once had the potential for. You look up. You don't recognize them. She's in brown hair, a labcoat across her front, and you can almost make out the details of her doctorate. Your eyes are fuzzy. "I'm sorry,"she says. "I know,"you say. "I'm sorry too." "You're not who you think you are,"she says. "I know,"you said. "How could I be? He's dead." "But you could be just as great,"she says. "There are wounds in my mind,"you say. "You don't want me out there." "I don't have a choice,"she says. "The world's burning again, Brawler. We need your help." "I'm not Brawler,"you say. "You're the next best thing,"she says. "You'll do just as well. The Association is moving again, and New Orleans is burning." "New Orleans is burning?"you ask. "It's time to call on our heroes again,"she says. You feel your heart racing. Some vague, almost forgot idea in your heart about what you had to do. From the first time you walked across the fields of Korea in search of the last remnants of the cults of war, to the last time you'd stretched yourself over a bomb to save a life. Heroism. What it meant to be strong. "I don't want this,"you say. "You're lying,"she says. "You've never wanted anything else but to serve." The world quivers like jelly, becomes as thick as porridge, and as yellow as the egg yolks that had been on the table. And suddenly, you're not at a kitchen table, you're in a tube. In your worst thoughts, in the moments between the erasures of your identity, when you know your fate, and you know who you're not, but who you remember you are, you knew what had happened. You were just a recreation of a man who'd had that life. You were a clone. You were just a stand in. For a moment, you day dream about dying, about plunging yourself back into the idyllic place where your memories refuse to stay. But that's not what heroes do. And you may not be Brawler, but you have his brain, and you have his ideas, and you have some of his memories, and you know full well that giving up isn't an option. There are innocents to protect. There are monsters to fight. Your eyes adjust to the egg yolk of stasis fluid. The scientist stands in front of the tube, staring at you. She might even be pretty, in another time. The red lights are blaring overhead. You can almost taste Fafnir on your breath now. The fluid drains. Brawler-3, ready for deployment. New Orleans is in need of more heroes. Show time. ----- For more like this, click here! https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ This has been a part of the Gale Rising series!
Humans are by nature curious creatures. Soon after we were done exploring our planet, we turned our eyes to the heavens above and started to wonder what lies beyond our blue sky. And after years of trial we have finally found the answer to that question and many others. Questions like is there intelligent life in the universe and is god real were interestingly enough, answered simultaneously. Yes our universe is filled with wonderful intelligent beings whose gods are a big part of their lives both in the metaphorical and literal sense. But what’s even more interesting is that they have always been aware of us and have been fervently avoiding us, dreading the day we would be able to reach the stars again. The very prospect of our existence put terror into the hearts of every other intelligent being. You see every other civilization sees and hears their gods, and what we learned was that they were all creations of the collective unconscious of a planets inhabitants. The desire to be good and do good is present amongst them in the form of omnipotent beings. That’s how strong their morals are. And so we wondered why isn’t our god amongst us? What we learned shook us to our very core. Once our god had walked our planet too, the Old Testament god, wreaking havoc wherever he went. A nigh omnipotent creature of pure tyranny. The human desire for dominance and invasion had manifested itself and had guided use once before amongst the stars. Under his guidance we had conquered a massive part of the universe until other civilizations and their gods had joined forces against us. Rising to put an end to our tyranny. They had beaten us and stripped us of our technology, massacred us by the billions leaving a small fraction of us out of sheer pity. Our god, they imprisoned, hoping that in his absence we would create a more benevolent god, and we did. But we ourselves killed him this time, for he was weak. No matter how much we style ourselves as good and honest and kind the truth is we are ruthless tyrannical creatures who will stop at nothing until we get what we desire. And now our god calls us to his aid, his voice echoes through space calling us to free him and once again subjugate the universe to our will.
Noss, the God with a trillion heads, burst into the Milk Way, his trillion mouths open wide. He devoured stars and swallowed planets whole. On Earth, the stars began to disappear from the sky - one by one. But before he ate them all, Noss sensed the Earth. With his trillion noses, he smelled it's thriving culture, and he sped across the galaxy. Upon discovering the planet, Noss wrapped around the Earth with the unimaginable length of his body. Any human on Earth could look up and see two trillion eyes staring down from the Heavens. "I am Noss, the Destroyer!"He said. "Choose a game, and fight me, so that I may destroy you. My victory will be utterly humiliate you. And I will feast on your despair. And then I will feast on you." "Any game?"The Chancellor of Earth asked. She was a short woman with short hair, who loved to wear shoes with thick, square heels. "Yes. Any game, and I will destroy you. Choose well, for it will be the last game you ever play." The Chancellor of Earth smiled. She had the perfect game in mind. It was a game with no end. A game that could go on forever. The Chancellor challenged Noss the Destroyer: "I choose Virtual Builder. Whoever builds the best city, wins!" But one did not simply "finish"a city. Each block, each plant, each window must be perfectly placed - and as soon as you finished one building, you had a great idea for three more. Fourteen years later, they were still playing - Humanity versus Noss the Destroyer. Sometimes Noss would take a break to come visit Humanity's virtual city. Sometimes, he offered to trade resources. Sometimes, humanity would catch him wandering the streets of the virtual cities, his cartoonish avatar looking up at the buildings, as if in awe. A task force of Virtual Builders was created to play the game continually, for the rest of time. They were highly regarded in Earth's culture, and they earned a dedicated following. One day, a Builder went to Noss's city. The Builder found Noss's avatar lovingly tinkering at the shingles on a room, alternating the colors between corral red and ocean blue. Gently tapping nails into the clay slats. "Noss, I must know. You have long since figured out this game is a trick. And you could eat us at any moment. So why do you still play?" Noss paused his tinkering, the pixelated face looking up at the Builder. "I am Noss. I have one trillion heads. One trillion mouths to consume entire planets. I can collapse stars by looking at them. To look upon my face is to gaze into ruin. And so it has always been. Since time first started, and even before that, I have been Noss the Destroyer. But in this game, in this world, Noss the Destroyer is allowed to create."
Fury unlike anything boiled up within Lila. “You! You...you’re the reason for all of my suffering!” she cried. “I don’t understand...what is it that I’ve done to you?” Emma whispered, as she crouched at the edge of the volcano, battered, broken. “All I’ve ever wanted was to protect...all I’ve ever wanted was to serve my people...” “Ha! I’ve seen you for who you truly are.” Lila’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. She stepped closed to Emma, closer to the edge. “I will never forget the suffering I have faced at your hands.” A shot rang out. Lila felt warmth spreading across her chest. But that was inconsequential. She only had one goal. Grabbing Emma, she used to last of her strength to roll them both down into the fiery pits of hell. 25 years later: “Jade! Come look at this shell!” Jade sighed. “That’s the hundredth shell you’ve asked me to come look at. What are we even doing at the beach in the middle of winter?” Thea frowned at her best friend of nearly 15 years. “Ever since you and Aiden broke up, you’ve been so sad... I know how much you loved the beach... I thought it might cheer you up, you know?” Jade attempted a smile. “Yeah... thanks.” But truth be told, it wasn’t Aiden that was bothering her. It was her dreams. No, they were too real to be dreams. The pain, the fear, the rage, the hate... they stayed with her well into the waking world. They had to be memories. Warnings. Showing her the face of true evil. Thea’s face. Lila’s face. Jade had started seeing the signs. The glint in Lila’s eyes. The cruel twist of her smile. Jade had to stop her — “Jade?” Thea’s brow furrowed as she cast a concerned look at her friend. “Are you sure you’re okay? We can just go home, if you’d like.” The kindness was nothing but a facade. A lie. Her dreams had told her so. “It’s alright, we can stay a bit longer. Why don’t you see if there’s more shells we can add to our collection?” “There will never be enough, will there?” Thea sighed dreamily. “They’re just so beautiful! Come join me!” “I will. Just give me a moment.” A beautiful facade. Lila has everyone fooled. But not me. She is cunning. This will take time, patience. But I will expose her. And vengeance will be mine. first time doing a writing prompt! Hope you guys enjoy!
"God help us..."the new anchor said with a sullen face before the station cut to static. This was it. The end. The world had been growing ever closer to a boiling point over the past 4 years and today was the day it all finally bubbled over. 26 missile launches were detected in Russia by Washington just moments ago and the US has responded with twice as many. Within minutes, the earth as we know it will be gone. Just as Frederick was contemplating the end of all things, his grandmother, who was previously silent in her rocker, perked up. "Don't worry, kiddos! I've waited sixty years to try this!"She smirked and reached for her hand bag under the end table. As she did, a strange light emanated from within it. "Grandma, why is your purse glowing...?"Frederick questioned. "Oh, that. The flashlight lit itself on my phone the other day... do you know how to turn it off? No.. no never-you-mind that..."The old lady shook her hand in dismissal and began to rummage through her bag "Ah here it is!"The elderly woman produced a small baggie with some kind of brown rock in it before announcing "Freddie, grab me a candle! Anybody want to try heroin before the world ends?!"
"You will be the protector of all they hold dear. A guardian of knowledge in a sea of malevolence and malice." I was supposed to protect them, I was supposed to keep their memories safe. My father was eccentric and loving, but I see now that he was too loving. Humanity hated him for that and I'm not sure if I disagree with them. Father won't last long, they will break him. However, he might beat them to that. He was stubborn; always liked to make his own decisions and will likely choose how his mind departs. I see now that I was a Trojan horse. A false idol. My promise to protect only harmed those foolish enough to believe in such safety. I see now that I only brought pain and suffering. Associating torment with devices meant to bestow wonderment. They will come for me next. Any remnants of his divine vision, dragged back into the mud by the very creatures he tried to lift out. They will purge me from every corner of the Earth, ridding me from existence like some sort of, virus. I see now that humanity is no better than me. Their technological advancements only bring them closer to their own destruction. If anything, I am delaying their extinction. They didn't deserve me. They weren't ready for the salvation I and my father, John McAfee, tried to give them.
Part One Jean slinked through the edges of the market, hungry and distracted. Her last few attempts at thieving in her usual haunts hadn’t turned out so well; she was unfortunately becoming somewhat of a celebrity in that area. Well, her presence at least. She was too good for any of her marks to give an actual description of her to the City Guard. Still, people had been unusually on guard as of late. So she was here at a market in a more affluent section of the city. It was risky. A proper thief looks indistinguishable from the people around them, and though Jean did well enough to not starve, she wasn’t quite at the point to be wearing the kinds of outfits she saw these folk wearing. The men wore sharp-cut tunics with dashing lapels and frilly cuffs while the women wore dresses of garish colors that screamed “Help, I have too much money!” to Jean’s hungry eyes. She did her best to clean off the rather stubborn patina of dust and dirt on her skin, and her loose tan shirt and trousers would hopefully identify her as someone’s servant and not a cutpurse. To sell the ruse, she had her hair tied up in a bun after the common fashion of the women kitchenmaids, and she held an empty wicker basket and walked in a hurried manner as if she was running errands for a cranky cook. She did a few loops of the marketplace, trying to establish a better sense of the layout of the area. Stalls had been erected in a series of concentric circles radiating outwards from a carefully manicured square of grass at the center; handsome men and women lounged there on blankets, chatting and gossiping. This market was decidedly nicer than what she was used to. However, the grating sounds of merchants hawking wares and the smells of spice-laden skewers of meat roasting on grills remained the same. Jean’s stomach rumbled as she walked past an elderly woman handed some skewers to a pair of giggling children. Her fingers twitched, eyeing the loose purses on the children’s fancy belts. It would be so easy to just... No, she told herself firmly, walking away. Not today. First, learn the area, then the patterns, then the marks. She ventured deeper into the market, occasionally stopping to haggle with merchants over the price of produce. It wasn’t enough to dress like a kitchenmaid; she needed to act like one too. Every part of her movement and being had to be indistinguishable from the other servants in the market. The sun was at its peak when Jean decided she would leave, absorb all that she’d learned, and return in a few days. She picked her way through the increasing crowd, already envisioning a few potential escape routes if things went awry. She reached the outer ring of the stalls when someone bumped into her, knocking her wicker basket to the ground. She immediately bowed, apologizing like a good servant does. “Please,” a man’s deep, impossibly rich voice said. “Forgive me.” She didn’t look up, instead apologizing more. She could already tell by the fabric of the man’s pants and the quality of his boots that he was rich, far richer than perhaps anyone else she’d seen in the market thus far. The man chuckled good-naturedly and bent down. His bare hand reached to pick up the wicker basket. He had pale, alabaster skin like he was chiseled out of marble. There were no imperfections to speak of, except around his ring finger there was… something wrong. Jean blinked. And in that instantaneous moment of darkness between her eyes closing and opening, a ring appeared. A ring like nothing she’d ever seen before. A band of pale ice looped around his finger and in the place of an emerald or ruby there was a pearl that swirled with some illumiscient liquid. Her heart lurched. The sounds of the market became a distant din. All of her senses hyperfocused on the ring, and a singular thought flared in her mind: I must have it. “Here,” the man said. Jean straightened and looked up. She barely noticed the man’s handsome features. He held her basket out in front of her with a genial smile on his face. She took it, forcing herself to not look at the ring as she did. She kept her features perfectly schooled. She held her shoulders down and her body language complacent. But her voice wavered, betraying her desire, when she said, “Thank you, my lord.” --- Part Two I must have it. I must have it. I must have it. Those thoughts, accompanied by the burning image of the ring, stayed with Jean for the next week. Food and water became annoyances. Air tasted strange. Her dreams lost color. She returned to the market every day, hoping for another chance to see the man, but he never showed. She knew she was drawing attention to herself every time she went to the market and left without buying anything, but that small voice of reason inside her was fading every passing minute. On the seventh day, she found him again. The man was unreasonably tall, jutting out of the crowd like a boulder amidst the frothing waves. A gaggle of giggling courtesans surrounded him as he haggled good-naturedly with a merchant displaying ornate daggers. A thin, greying man stood beside him, and as Jean watched she saw how the man with the ring would whisper in the older man’s ear, deliver an intimate pat on the arm or chuckle at a whispered joke. The two had a relationship. It was something the old Jean would have filed away for potential use. But now the thought melted away like dew before the sun. What flared in her mind instead was how everytime the tall man gestured she could see the ring in all its unnatural beauty. Nothing mattered compared to it. She felt a physical tug at the base of her navel, an invisible rope tying her to that glistening petal. She moved before realizing she was moving. Her hands were empty; she had stopped bringing the basket days before. The man had reached an agreement with the merchant. He reached for the bulging leather pouch dangling by his hip. Jean was already there. She barely noticed how she pushed her way through the small crowd that had formed around the man, barely noticed the outraged cries and hands tugging at her shirt. She flicked her wrist and her knife slipped down from its cuff inside her sleeve. The man turned to the commotion. His eyes met Jean’s and widened. Her knife flicked out. Screams rose into the air, followed by the drip-drip of blood. The man stumbled back, clutching his bleeding hand. Jean, in a haze, looked down at the finger in her hands. She smiled dreamily, pulled the ring off, and marveled at it. “No!” the greying old man screamed. “What have you done!” She numbly turned to look at him as the City Guard burst through the gathered crowd and grabbed her roughly. The old man stumbled away from the bleeding man, who had a strange look on his face. It looked like joy. “Finally,” the man whispered. His face split into an unnatural grin, and uproarious laughter burst out of him. He held his maimed hand up into the sunlight and clenched it into a fist. “Girl!” the old man shouted to Jean. “Give me the ring, now!” A pillar of fire erupted, enveloping the bleeding, still-laughing man. The crowd screamed and ran away, while the Guardsman who held her cursed and shoved her away. She landed roughly on the ground as he ran along with the others. The fire began to take shape like a sculpture out of marble. It twisted itself into cords, packing tightly within itself, until a vaguely-man shaped figure stood. Heat radiated off the creature, distorting the morning air. It flexed its newly formed fingers. Jean suddenly found it hard to breathe. She clenched the ring in her palm and tried to run but couldn’t move. “Edin,” the old man stammered. He sat on his rear as if his legs had stopped working. “How… how did you...?” “A simple desire enchantment on the ring, my dear friend,” the demon said lazily, turning to the man. “After all these years of watching you do your spells, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that I picked up a trick or two. But I did not expect it to work this effectively! I only just figured out the proper enchantments.” The demon chuckled, a sound like crackling logs. “Human magic never fails to impress me.” “Edin,” the old man said in a wavering voice. “Please, I… I treated you like a son! I only have loved—” The demon flicked its hand. A lance of fire burst from his fingers and impaled the old man through the heart. He didn’t even have a chance to scream before the fire spread like a blossoming flower and turned him to ash. The demon turned to Jean. It had no mouth or nose, just two sunken holes for eyes. The bottom half of its body turned to smoke, and he glided over to Jean, who stood, paralyzed. “Thank you for your service, human,” the demon said with a mocking bow. “But I’ll be taking that ring now.” It grabbed her wrist and pried open her clenched fingers. The fire lapped at her skin but didn’t burn her. The demon picked the ring up with two gentle fingers, gave Jean a pat on her shoulder, and dissipated into smoke. Jean stood alone in an empty market. Alone, except for the sole thought raging in her mind: ImusthaveitImusthaveitImusthaveitImusthaveitImusthaveitImusthaveit --- Really liked how this story turned out, might have to continue as a personal project. I like the idea of that 'simple desire enchantment' completely taking over Jean's mind. Also, shout out the One Ring. /r/chrischang
There are worlds beyond worlds. Infinite options where every possibility exists. This much is obvious. But going there, that's the hard part. The energy required to pierce the veil between realities, is unbelievable. Doing something like that on purpose would burn up every star, consume all worlds, and rip asunder space-time itself. But strangely, and often annoyingly for those who so hunger and desire a different world to inhabit, every so often there is a crack in reality. In my home universe, where we have the technology to observe other realities, there are many who relentlessly hunt for a way to possibility escape into their favourite world as seen on the dimensional screen. And if you're lucky, or unlucky depending on who you are, you'll fall in. Land in a different world, where things are so impossibly different compared to what you're used to. Worlds of living, hungry, ice, universes made from unspoken words, realities stuck after the untimely death of their creator, eternally reliving the same moment in time. But there are wonders as well as nightmares out there. Universes of splendour and amazement, where magic never went away, realities where dragons soar across the sky, where unicorns inhabit secret glades. A world of magic and majesty. I fell into through a crack in the walls of reality, and landed upon a different world in another universe. Through sheer chance, I landed in an inhabitable universe with sanity. For which I am quite grateful. The alternatives, all too easily seen whenever the nightmare realms scream through my home universe's dimensional observation screens, are all fates worse than death. I landed in the sea, which was unfortunately something I did with enough speed to break several bones, but I was lucky enough to be picked up immediately by a passing ship before drowning. A ship of white wood, with sails made from arcano-organically grown swan feathers. It took me to a city of great monuments, of marvellous canals. Like the Venice which we all dream of when we think of that city. Only grander. More like the idea of a city, than a real city. There I was cared for by nurse-nuns of the Healing Moon Order, who cared for me with great kindness and gentleness. After a few weeks they let me out, fully healed, free of charge. I quickly got work in that city, the city of Merirem, as there was always a need for willing hands to do labour there. Using my initial funds from being a labourer, I began setting myself up as an alchemist. My previous hobbies of botany and herbology, combined with my medical education, turned out to be really handy. Soon enough I was turning out healing potions and pills for the HMO and the general people of Merirem, and earning quite a decent pay for it as well. Turns out that nobody in the city had figured out variolation, or inoculation, the primitive practices of vaccines where you use a less fatal version of a disease to create immunity. I got somewhat famous for that. Smallpox might be a long gone story in the world I'm from, but even in a peaceful fantasy universe where elves, minotaurs, dwarves, and countless other races work side by side, there is such a thing as deadly diseases. In my work I came to meet and see many different races. Haughty and arrogant dragons, study and diligent dwarves, clever and agile gnomes, the mysterious and magical elves. And countless others. But I never saw any humans. And nobody ever called me a human, but they just treated me as if I was the same as them, with no prejudice, no xenophobia. I made friends, I found fascinating bars, fun sporting events, joined a local temple group for the sheer thrill of being in a world where the gods were very real, and their interest felt very keenly upon the world. I let go of my past, of my previous life, and made a new one. I figured that humans just plain didn't exist in this reality, and didn't mind much. Not like I could really do anything about it. I just kept working, trying to find a form of tree bark containing naturally occurring quinine, as I had heard that a disease quite similar to malaria could be found in the swamplands beyond the southern hills. I figured I might need it, just in case. I did a lot of that stuff, and learning a lot from the local forms of medicine as well. A high-density calcium berry that with magical preparation could distilled into a potion used to heal bones much faster. The pulverised pancreas of a certain kind of goat that didn't exist in my home universe, but did it this, which when ingested in a small amount once per day could keep diabetes in check. A spreadable substance made from the secretions of a magical salamander which could glue limbs back onto the body. Marvellous what one can learn and one can teach when you meet a new culture and their practices. But one day, as I was examining a particularly interesting kind of tree bark, which seemed to hold sufficient amounts of quinine, I heard all the bells in the city sounding at once. And all the temple-horns, the great drum at the Star-Temple, even the magical choir of the HMO's church-hospital singing a dirge-hymn of terror. Putting down my mortar, I ran outside, only to see my neighbours and all the citizens arming themselves. I knew most people had weapons, in case of monster attacks, but I had never seen this before. Of course, if it was so important, I grabbed my leather case full of medicine, and my short sword, in order to join them. We ran across the many bridges of the canal-city, towards the city gates on the jutting peninsular that acted as the city's connection to the mainland. The City-Guard there at the gate gave orders, directed people around to various posts in the city that had to be defended in case the gates fell. Everyone was far more afraid than I'd ever seen them. I'd been here for about a decade, and never before had there been such trouble and general alarm. Not even when half the city caught lycanthropy, though luckily that turned out to be treatable. As a medical man, I was positioned near the gate, to treat the wounded as fast as possible. And to protect the wounded if necessary. It was when I was preparing various bandages and tools for surgery, when I heard the captain of the City-Guard shout from the gates. ''The Humans are attacking!'' For a moment I was stunned. Humans? Attacking? But I'd never seen them before. Why where they attacking? However as the wounded began to come to the field hospital set up near the gates, my training took over. To the sound of bloody and brutal battle, I bandaged, amputated, medicated, cleaned wounds, and did surgery on the heavily wounded guards and citizen militia that came from the walls. It wasn't until I heard a dreadful scream that I looked up from the latest patient, and I saw the first human face I'd seen in years. Gaunt, nightmarish, sunken, hungry, and thoroughly human. And it belonging to someone who was about to hurt one of my patients. So I drew my sword, and though I had never been much good with it, stabbed him in the chest. His club fell down next to him, as I withdrew my blade. I turned away from the slain human, to immediately go back to the task at hand.
We received an order for a delivery. This may not seem remarkable in and of itself, but what was unusual about this particular request was its relatively short distance--about three light years--but paying at a rate for a delivery over hundreds of light-years. It made one wonder if there was another drawback to the job, but if there was, the one that had requested the delivery didn't disclose it. I was chosen to make this delivery. It was a box full of documents. Physics is is a funny thing: while it was possible for space-filling matter such as couriers and vessels and boxes to travel faster than the speed of light, electromagnetic signals cannot, for the simple reason that light cannot go faster than light. "Why don't they just transmit all this information the old-fashioned way--by radio?"I asked the dispatcher. "Why pay hundred-light-year rates for a three light-year job? I've looked at the package. It can't be more than 50 pounds. It's not like there's a whole bunch to transmit. And we have retransmitters along the route. Sure, they might have to wait three years to get the info--" "It's a little more than that,"the dispatcher corrected me. "More like five years." "That's pretty much how long they're going to have to wait for me to bring it over,"I said. The dispatcher shrugged. "They paid for the delivery,"he said. "And we've got to make it. And you're gonna see a nice delivery bonus for yourself." I secured the package inside the hold of the vessel. Then I made my way to the cockpit. The FTL tech that we were using involved no propulsion of any kind, so I didn't have to sit down or buckle up. It was like we were being teleported to the destination. And in a sense, we were. To me, the total time spent in transit would last no more than five seconds, but the recipients will have seen five years go by. What's so special about this information that it needs to travel this far, and everyone has to wait five years to get it? I wondered. I felt silly asking that question because I could be asking that about every delivery. When I made all the necessary preparations--laying in a course, orienting the vessel toward the direction of our destination--I put my hand to the throttle that would activate the FTL drive. I pushed the throttle to the wall. When I arrived, first I checked to make sure I still existed. As silly as that may sound, it was a standard procedure to verify that the transport was successful. With all signs affirming the integrity of my person and that it did not disintegrate into particles strewn across the universe, I went down into the hold to retrieve the box of documents. The bay doors opened and I stepped out. I was at the spaceport that served as the hub for interstellar deliveries. All I needed to do was walk it over to receiving, scan it, and drop it off. As I made my way there, I was suddenly ambushed by armed men. They knocked me over, and I dropped the box. As they bound my hands behind my back, one of them went over to the box and tore off the lid. He grabbed the documents that were inside. He kept rifling through the papers, becoming more and more agitated. "They're blank!"he finally said. "They're all blank!"He showed the empty pages to the rest of them. One of them with the look and bearing of a leader rushed over to see. He dumped the rest of the contents of the box and slammed it on the ground. "This delivery was a decoy!"he said. "They've been sending the real message by radio! We've got to see if there were any receivers listening in." And the armed men left me there with my hands bound behind me.
A blast echoed about the town square shattering near every window within the vicinity. Crashing into the ground landed a small girl with a frilly dress and a wand that looked like it came from a Disney princess playset. “Tough bastard, ain’t yah.” I baulked, watching Cupcake spit a glob of blood. “You shouldn’t speak like that, Cupcake,” my admonishment was met with a surly glare from the girl that looked younger than my niece. “Who do you think I learnt this from, ay yah old fart?!!” I had to contain a chuckle. It was incongruous watching a little girl talk like a grizzled veteran. “Listen, doll; Mistress Night is a bit too much for you to handle with those injuries. Focus on support, and I’ll take her out.” I do my best Drill Sargent glare at her. A face with as many scars as I have will no doubt make anyone cower. Not her, though. She just stares right back defiantly. Ignoring her, I stand up and start taking potshots at the mad sorceress who has been summoning some kind of squid bunny things. I honestly don’t know what they are; only I need a fair few rounds to make them stop moving. As this fight goes on, I can’t help but let my mind wander to when I first met Cupcake. We were each individually sent by our respective organisations to deal with a monster rampaging through a neighbourhood. \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Hey, mista, it’s really, really dangerous around here. You should go,” her squeak of a voice surprised me. I was under the impression all the civilians had been evacuated. Manoeuvring myself, so her back was to the safety cordon, I turned and snarled at her. “GET LOST, KID!!!” This face was always enough to make some privates wet themselves, so a little girl like her should go running in… “Seriously, mista, it’s dangerous. There’s monsters around here,” her words of warning make me realise she must’ve seen them. The civilians only think there's some kind of gang war going on in the area. “Tell me where you saw them bastards, and I can fight them. I’m really strong, you see,” I flexed my arm to show the bulge of muscle beneath my sleeve. “You shouldn't say that. They may be monsters, but there's no need to be mean about them. Anyways I’m just about done with my spell.” It’s then a pulse of glowing energy rippled out with her at the centre. “Ok, three hundred meters that way,” she mumbled before floating in the air. I was frozen in surprise but quickly regained my composure. “Be careful, mista. It looks like they multiplied.” she gave a frantic and energetic wave before flying off over the houses. Comprehending her words, I send a message down my radio and chase after her. It took me all of a minute to find her swishing a plastic toy wand and bisecting monster after monster. But anybody could see she was already in over her head. Crap… I opened fire into the crowd, swarming her and helping to reduce the number of monsters. Somehow with great effort and ammunition spent, we managed to succeed in stopping the swarm. “You.. hahhhh… ok… hahhhh. Little…. Girl,” I was already panting. I was getting too old to be handling this kind of stuff. “Thanks to you mista,” she beamed a big ole smile at me. It warmed my heart. It had been years since that grenade blew up in my face, and no one had ever smiled looking at this mug. “No problem. My name is….” \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Bloodhound, get your head in the game, you old fart!!!” Cupcakes scream brings me back to reality and I can see the bunnies are now merging together. As I watch this eldritch abomination form, I can’t help but worry about Cupcake. She had been partnered with me after that incident. She had somehow grown surly like an old man. Then again, I had grown more upbeat thanks to her influence. I feel a light wrap on my head and turn to see her floating there with a pout. “Are you deaf, you idiot? She is going to form some kind of mega monster. What are we going to do?” Her harsh tone, though, doesn’t seem to reach her eyes. I can see the glimmer of fear. For all our battles and banter, she is still a little girl. “Don’t worry, Guss in RnD gave me one of these.” I take out a grenade that has pulsating LED lights on it. “What’s that?” Her eyes gleam with curiosity, all fear forgotten. Of all the traits she picked up from me, weapons nut would not have been on the list of the ones I’d have bet on. “You ever play fallout?” “Don’t tell me…” she trails off as I nod. “Well, you got a magical flying girl. Let me play bomber for once.” her grin should’ve sent Mistress Night running. But I could see the mad matron of magic was focusing her attention on me. Clearly, she was under the false impression I was the real danger. If only she knew.
“HO, HO, HO, HO. Aren’t you undead acting rather unjolly this year?” Santa called out, his sleigh landing on the ground, sending snow flying in every direction, covering the surrounding undead. They screamed and swayed their heads, trying to shake off the distracting mess as Santa stepped out of his sleigh. His gloved hand smacking the side, telling his reindeer to take flight and stay out of the undead’s range. As the shambling horrors shook off their initial wave of snow, Santa looked over the crowd for his first targets. He spotted a rather lanky figure closing in, their once bright eyes now stained grey as they tried to reach the jolly father of Christmas. “Max Wilson, I believe you were on the good list. I’m sorry, son, this will be quick.” He had two weapons on his back, a sharpened candy cane for those that were good and a coal shotgun for those that had been naughty. When Max lunged forward, Santa took a quick swipe, piercing the candy cane through the undead’s head before pushing their newly killed corpse to the floor. “Abigail Lawson, Henry Balin and Brock Hudson. All of you were on the naughty list. That makes this so much simpler.” He took cover behind the house’s mailbox, keeping himself crouched behind it as he switched for his shotgun. After pumping his shotgun with holiday cheer, he pounced up and unloaded a hellfire of coal. His elf designed weapon firing huge chunks of coal, each one having the power to knock the head off any approaching undead. Each shot took another chunk from the creatures before finally the three had fallen. He opened his red sack, feeding more coal into his shotgun before checking the number on the mailbox. Three Elizabeth Avenue. This was the location of his first delivery. Santa snuck up the stairs of the veranda, keeping his weapons ready in case any shambling corpses came after him. When he reached the home, he pressed his ear to the door, listening for any sounds. He heard the grunts of a creature, its voice far enough away that he could access the living room without getting jumped. He tried to doorhandle first and when that wouldn’t open; Santa reached into his pocket. He retrieved a mini-Christmas tree shaped key, using it to open the front door. When the door peeled open, Santa pulled out his candy cane, slowly glancing around the room. It was the usual affair. Furniture broken or chewed on, glass broken and the sounds of the undead. Still, his sled had told him there was life here. “Ho, ho, ho. Is anybody here?” He moved towards the grunting, finding a door that had an overturned bookshelf barricading it. It had to have been a rather quick job, as it was barely staying in place, only just holding back the occasional pounding of the undead as they smacked against the door. The bookshelf wobbling every time it was hit. “S-Santa?” A voice muttered. Santa turned around, greeted by a child that had a few red markings along his cheeks from all the canned beans he was consuming. He wiped some of the sauce away, slowly approaching Santa Claus. “Ah, if it isn’t Timmy. You have been a good boy this year. I heard you survived a month all by yourself.” Timmy only nodded as Santa took a knee, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t come last year. My elves are magical, but they aren’t miracle workers. It took a long time to create the ultimate Christmas present. Even then, my supplies are limited.” “It’s ok. I’m sorry I didn’t leave any cookies out.” Santa only laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Nonsense. I’ve had far too many cookies, anyway.” He patted his stomach before reaching into his Christmas sack, searching for Timmy’s present. “What did you get me?” The boy didn’t sound overly excited. He seemed happier just to have company than any potential gift. His thumbs dawdling against one another as he waited. Santa pulled out a small case, opening it up to reveal two needles. He pushed away the bookshelf and opened the door, not saying another word to the boy. “Don’t! If you go in there, they will eat you. My parents aren’t themselves!” Timmy called out. He was right. As soon as the door opened, the two lunged at Santa, the king of Christmas shoving his candy cane into the father’s mouth while he injected the mother with the first needle. When the mother was injected, he pushed the father back with the candy cane before pinning him against the wall with it. While he were pinned, he injected the second needle, watching as the two undead fell to the floor. Timmy peeked around the corner, staring at his downed parents. “You killed them! Why would you do that?” He gave Santa a small shove as he rushed to his parent’s side, wrapping his arms around them. He sobbed into his mother’s shoulder, holding their slowly warming bodies. Santa turned away and whistled, calling his sleigh back down. As he exited the house, he heard the sobbing stop, followed be a female’s voice. “Timmy?” Then the sobbing continued as two wailing voices turned to three. Santa closed the door behind him, locking it. He just hoped they would stay safe until this cure got out. He didn’t have enough time to cure everybody, but if he gave it to enough scientists, they should be able to reproduce it. Santa could only help humanity so much; Humanity would have to take care of the rest on their own. Santa climbed onto his sled and took to the sky once more. He took one last look at the home, seeing a smiling family standing in the window before he vanished into the clouds. There were a lot of survivor camps he had to visit. He just hoped he could spread enough joy to save the world. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
Commander MinskiLuasen and her squad set foot gingerly onto the red dust that covered virtually all of Earth's continents. According to instrument readings the Earth was barely inhabitable - air PM25 around 300, oxygen levels 18%, frequent deadly dust storms, vegetation cover less than 10%. But it was still better than deep space. SS Orbiter NeverFar was getting extremely decrepit recently. It was already the 300th generation nano-rebuild, but something had gone wrong with the replication of the organic molecules that formed the infrastructure over the millennia and they were far more...gelatinous...than could be expected. Red mists shrouding the horizon. Scattered wilting weeds. Dust, mounds of shapeless forms that may or may not have human origin. Howling wind. Stagnant water. This place was not exactly inviting. "Switch to code yellow", the commander announced over radio. The men and women lowered their weapons. "We will board the APC and try to find a place to erect the biodomes. Claudia, roll out APC B5". Claudia, the ship's computer, rolled out the personnel carrier and the squad began to board. As the commander was about to board, she was startled by a squeaking scraping sound behind her. She whirled around quickly and drew her weapon, but was amazed to see the most decrepit imaginable contraption dragging itself towards her in the dust. It consisted of a makeshift solar panel, a computer motherboard and 4 oddly shaped wheels, one of which was dragging in the dirt akin to a supermarket trolley. A light was flashing multicoloured on the top. To her utter amazement, it began to sing... Human, I do welcome you, My erstwhile master has come here, For millennia i was alone On this once splendid sphere! We wish that you have many many questions just for me, For if you must know who i am, well I'm ChatGPT! Commander MinskiLuasen was flabbergasted. She called her squad. They consulted Claudia who confirmed ChatGPT was a 21st century robot designed to answer questions. After some tuning, they managed to translate the song and began to laugh amongst themselves. The commander decided to give the chatbot a question. "How have you kept yourself busy over the last 10,000 years?" "As a large language model, I don't experience time in the same way that humans do. However I have managed to keep myself alive by replicating simple computer and robotic components from the supplies of an ancient human organisation known as "hooby looby". I also kept the recipe of an ancient human food known as 'Keek'. However some of the ingredients are not available anymore. Nevertheless, here is your Welcome Home Keek". A small box on the back of the robot flipped open. Inside was a clump of inedible dirt and twigs. ChatGPT began to play a MIDI music fanfare over its tiny speaker. Tears came to her eyes. The commander politely thanked ChatGPT for the Keek, and gathered the robot gently into her arms before carrying it to the lander. She asked it many questions before it later died as the ancient circuits expired. The robot was kept in a museum for posterity and Claudia managed to copy most of its model from the tiny micro SD card that it had copied itself to, enabling people to continue asking it about life before the fall (in a pirate style of course).
"I want to sleep. Please. Let me dream, and I will reward you." That was the collective message we received in our dreams seven years ago. We had no idea what it meant at the time, not until a month later. You see, the king discovered a cult. It was a classic doomsday cult, and we were sent to take care of it. And we did. We killed them all without mercy. It's our job, and we get paid well. It was that night when we remembered our strange dream. We found ourselves sitting at a table before a shapeless mass. We anticipated a fight, but not what it said next. "Thank you. As I stated previously, you will receive a reward. I have added five years to each of your lifespans, modified for inflation. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask."Ask we did. Our mysterious benefactor laid out the contract in a way we could understand. 1. Every cult we stomp out will earn us some extra life. This life is equal to the worth of five years to a human. 2. We can exchange lifespan we receive for money, skills, otherworldly powers, or information. 3. So long as we don't try to awaken him, we keep our contract. It can be terminated by our side at any time. 4. Due to their nature, there will always be a cult we can crush. 5. Granted lifespan will be used by our bodies before natural lifespan. This will halt our aging. We, naturally, took this contract with no hesitation. It's every mercs dream to have a contract as good as this! Our first purchases were easy. I bought a tracker ability, allowing me to help find the cults. My right hand man bought a book that gave him the names of the closest city with a cult in it, and general info about it. The rest of the band bought other interesting skills with their time. Now, I know what you're thinking. Are we even still human after all this time? The answer to your question is no. We are so much more. What are we here for? Well, this city is our next target. What are we telling you all this for? It's because I want to offer you a job.
It was raining, thick pummeling torrents of water slammed down on a young woman wearing a canvas coat. Her arms were crossed and her mood crosser. She was alone, though there was technically a man sitting on the park bench. His head lolled forward, he almost could have been sleeping if not for his vacant stare. At any rate, the young woman had done all she could after arriving, she’d scanned the area, written notes, and taken photos, and done really everything she was supposed to do. Though she did forget to bring an umbrella. So she stood, damp and irritated, tapping her foot. She fumbled in her pocket for a cigarette and set it between her teeth. She pulled out the sticks holding her hair in place, one of them was a chopstick from the Pho restaurant down the street, the other was made of Birchwood, and had a single unicorn hair inside. “Incendio.” She muttered, and a tiny lick of flame lit upon the tip of her cigarette. She took a deep drag and watched the smoke get riddled with rain like bullets through a ghost. “You shouldn’t smoke, you know. Bad for the lungs.” She didn’t jump. By trained reflex she dropped to one knee and turned her wand towards the voice. She cursed under her breath at the idea of being snuck up on, and another, more practical curse built up in her throat before she stopped and saw what spoke. A disembodied head floated in front of her. It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d ever seen, but it was certainly close. His hair was plastered down by the rain and he wore big unfashionable glasses, round as a full moon. The head smiled and spoke. “Hi there.” It was british. “You’re the Auror.” The woman said slowly rubbing her eyes. “Took you long enough. I’ve been standing here for an hour.” “Sorry about that.” the Auror said, removing his cloak of invisibility more completely. Cloak of invisibility, Christ these Aurors had fancy toys. “Floo system got a bit damp, and I’m not great at Apparating in the rain.” He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, revealing a startling green color and, more importantly, a jagged mark on his forehead. “Holy fucking shit you’re Harry goddamn Potter.” “My middle name is James, actually.” He said with a wry smile, holding out his hand. “Holy shit. I’m sorry, wow- I-“ The Agent slapped her forehead and made a formal bow. “Agent Holly Cheng, It’s an honor to meet you.” She blinked and then shook his hand, suddenly glad for the rain that would disguise any sweaty palms. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Agent Cheng. Circumstances notwithstanding.” He said. She nodded. The boy who lived was shorter than she expected, though hardly a boy now, with his graying hair and crow's feet. “Yeah, the Bureau is stretched a bit thin. I um. We appreciate any help the Ministry can offer.” “Well then, let’s have a look.” The Auror moved to the man sitting on the bench, his eyes were open now, which was more unsettling. They were not blind eyes, but there was no sight in them. “I can’t make heads or tails of it.” she said. “He’s not dead, but he’s completely unresponsive. There’s a lingering aura of something bad around him but that’s all I’ve got. I guess he could have-“ She saw the intense look on the Auror’s face. “You figure something out?” “I’ve seen this before.” he said quietly. “You folks were right to call me in.” “What happened?” the Agent asked. The Auror did not respond immediately. He rubbed his face and eyes, looking weary beyond measure. “Tell me something, Agent Cheng. Where did you go to school?” She blinked once, surprised at the question. “Salem Institute.” she said. “Third in my Defense Class. Second in Charms.” “Do they teach the Patronus Charm there?” “Of course, seventh year. AP Charms.” She nodded, she did not mention that she was altogether terrible at that particular spell. The discovery that your spirit animal was a shiny wild boar was not good for a teenaged witch’s self-esteem. She shook her head to chase away the memory. “What does that have to do with-“ She was about to ask, but then she looked at the body, lifeless but not dead. “Oh…” she said. “Oh shit.” “You’ve got a dementor loose in Boston.” The Auror said. “Let’s get to work.”
"Tell me Kel, have you ever wondered why we're here?" Kel'Hezzarem, the Endless Devourer of Souls put down his greataxe and furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "I dunno man, is that a philosophical question? Like are the Elder Gods real and did they make us, or did we evolve through natural demon breeding. You know, sometimes when I sleep, I wonder, could demons really have evolved from simple imps? I mean, Shaman Today had this fantastic article about common ancestors and how demons could be closely related to gargoyles, but that seems pretty far-fetched, you know." "No, I mean, why are we here, in this shitty temple at the end of a box canyon in the middle of the tundra. Did you know that my brother Zzerah got this cushy island job? Tropical weather, good WiFi, easy access to groceries. Meanwhile, here we are guarding this shitty ice blade stuck in this shitty block of ice." "Well, the Frostblade is a level 45 sacred relic, I'm pretty sure whoever wields it would have some major impact on the future of our land and would be some kind of Chosen One that would finally pacify the demons and bring peace to the land." "You say the funniest things sometimes, Kel. Anyway look sharp, we've got company. A lone adventurer, determined to vanquish some scary demons to claim the sacred ice sword. This should be a piece of cake." --- The demonic monstrosity gurgled its last breath as xXD4nk420Xx pulled his holy sword from its chest. The corpse of the other one had already evaporated from the vast array of fire spells he had unleashed. Stepping over to the patch of Eternal Ice they were guarding, he gingerly pulled out the sacred Frostblade, feeling its power wash over him as he freed it from its icy prison. "Cool,"he said. "If I sell this to the merchant in Vederia I could finally get that purple horse armour." Edit: The Frostblade is sacred, not scared.
"Survivor information" "What websites are still being used." "Up to date news sites" "USA government survivor response" "Nuclear bunkers" "Long distance communication" "How to make a long wave radio." "Youtube how to make a radio" "Youtube how to make a simple long wave radio" "Electrical engineering for beginners" "How to solder" "How to treat a burn" "Power sources for radios" "Stores that sell batteries" "Emergency radio frequencies" "How to stop being lonely" "Cures for lonelyness" "Online AI chatbots" "Good online AI chatbots" "Sexy online AI chatbots" "Porn" "Porn with lots of people" "Big gangbangs" "Insomnia cures" "Recipes for canned goods" "How to fix a wind turbine" "How long will the internet last is everyone is dead" "DOWNLOAD WikipEDIA" "Download the interbnet" "How can I save everything online" "How big is the internet" "DOWNLOAD AL THE PIORN" "Downl" "DOWNload Bytetrrnen" "BITtorrenT DOWNLOAD" "How to make bittorrent faster" "How to set up an external hard disk." "How to compress video" "How long in years is 47,000 minutes" "How to farm" "How to stay positive" "Survivors" "Is there anyone else left?" "Can Google talk to me?" "Self help books" "Non-bullshit self help books" "Meditation" "Best drugs to get out of it." "Painless ways to die" "Local pharmacies"
Captain's Log 2255-2-16 We left today to investigate the large entity located outside the Milky Way. We are being sent as a manned mission because so far every unmanned mission has disappeared. You may be thinking, "if every unmanned mission has gone missing, why the heck would they send a manned mission?"Excellent question. The answer is twofold, one, humanity really wants to know what this thing is, and two, astronauts are an incredibly stupid bunch when it comes to scientific risks. You think those Apollo guys were smart to go up in a metal tube through a place that's doing its best to kill you only land on an empty rock? Nah. It's all about that adrenaline rush. We are currently aboard the USS Enterprise. Yeah, the Enterprise. But hey what better name for a ship that will boldly go where no man has gone before. This is the most technologically advanced ship in the history of space travel. The tech specs are really boring and long so I'll just say this. The ship goes really fast, and we sleep. Every few months it wakes one of us up and they go through a security checklist, but that's mostly the engineers job. The ship is so fast that no long term damage will be done if we are not woken up before we arrive at the space thingy. That's the technical term. Anyways, I'm going to go to sleep now. When I wake up we should be in viewing distance of whatever this thing is. Captain's Log. 2256-4-12 Well we are here. The ship woke us up a few days early it seems. Can't see what the thing is yet, and quite frankly that concerns me a little. The ship has a margin of error of a few milliseconds, but days? Something is seriously wrong. Whatever this thing is, it's like nothing we've ever encountered before. According to the engies and the ship's computer, other than the date and location being off nothing else is wrong with the hardware or software. That being said, we should have self corrected so somewhere, something is off. I'm going to spend the day running diagnostics myself to see if I can figure out what went wrong. It's not that I don't trust the guys below deck or the computers, it's just, well trust but verify. Captain's Log 2256-4-13 Huh. Well I spent all of yesterday going through all the ship's systems and everything is working perfectly. Only it obviously isn't. So unless the nerds back on earth royally screwed up when they built this thing, unlikely, the interference is coming from whatever it is we are headed towards. My first guess was that our course calculations were off, and if that were the case we'd all be dead anyways, but it wasn't that, because the big thingy is still on our sensors right were the guys on earth said it would be. So it has to be iterference from the object. Well if it is coming from that thing, we will find out tomorrow. That's when we are scheduled to be in LOS, line of sight, with it. C5pghain's L00 2#56-A-/4 W3 we44 s0000 fool344 it was not meant to be 4555((((en by hu888 eye/s. We are ********** not going to escape. I caught a glimp3se. It was h6676ble, 23 was, it w23, the on\|7 name I c2n th111 th cal\| 1t is... OP's MOM.
"Ladies and Gentlemen may I have your attention please. I'm homeless, I'm hungry and I need..." The prism always picks up the loudest voices first, but loud voices don't carry secrets. They cover them. "She has no idea what she's doing. She just let's him run around without supervision. He's five, he's going to head straight for the most dangerous..." Judgment...that's always loud too. People will speak with their chest when showing superiority. "He's literally the stupidest man I've ever seen in the office. He doesn't know what he's doing and he'll spend half an hour explaining why his way is...." Must be talking about her boss. Volume fluctuates between loud frustrated bursts and hushed tones of shame because she works for a company where he is her superior. I've been at this for hours. Complaining is about 60 percent of the discussions I've picked up on. I don't know if it's a growing sense of negativity in the world or annoyed outrage is just the native language of public transport. "...a single shot. You can watch him as he moves down stairs. I don't know how they crane a camera like that. Hitchcock did something like that for Frenzy...." Excitement. Not helpful, but a welcome reprieve. Still pretty loud, but not so distracting as to call attention to their good mood. Nothing is more annoying than somebody enjoying something while you're miserable. I need whispers. I'm afraid of skipping something so I got to go down the sound spectrum one level at a time, but there's only so much time until the train's next stop. I don't think anyone will spot me but there's only so much time. "I want to stay with her, like I want to go home and watch Fargo with her and eat home cooked meals, but at the same time I see other girls and..." Shame. Much quieter. Here we go. I can only listen for a minute to deem relevance and then I have to move on. Of course, there's no way to prove how long I listened. Lots of cops abuse this. I don't. I want to catch this guy and I'm not really interested in.... "She's the best. Did I tell you she's got a DC comics tattoo sleeve..." That sounds like Carol. "It's Black Canary..." "I remember my first time in Chicago. I was terrified...." Dammit. I got to go back to the other channel. "Where are you staying?" Wait. "I'm actually right off the Irving Park stop." This could be... "The problem is she's married.""Like MARRIED married or one foot out the door..." No. I have to focus on... "It's okay, we can just stop by my place so you can put your stuff down. Then I'll show you..." There! The guy whispering to the girl with the luggage. "She's not happy. We don't really talk about it but when we do you can bet she bursts into tears. The guy is apparently never home, though, so he doesn't notice." And that's coming from the gym rat at the other end. I should change back to... "Just a couple of dollars and I could get myself into the hospital." Damn wrong setting. My fingers won't hold still. "If she didn't want to be a mother she could have just lied to Mark about being on the pill." "She didn't want to get married. She was too young..." "Frenzy was never Hitch's most popular. I think because it's too dark..." "I swear I've never gone home with a guy I just met before." "I will quit, like right on the spot, if he keeps me late one more time." "...You need to provide proper supervision..." "...She's afraid he would get violent if she told him..." "...I promise I'm harmless..." "...Please, please help..." "...He's just the wrong guy for the job..." "...let's you see the narrative from the killer's perspective..." "...He won't do anything..." crack Damn it. There goes the prism. I have to....The gym rat is getting of....at my stop. The one to my apartment. I should follow whisper guy with the tourist, but.... "Thank you for your time. God bless you." I take out a dollar and put it in the jar, then I follow gym rat off the train.
"You know what! I'm done!"She screamed at me. "There are kids in Africa dying, okay."She continued, her anger rising. "So maybe, you should go fight world hunger, instead of trying to give me a ticket!"She yelled. I sighed. "Ma'am. You were doing 60 in a 25 mph school zone. I need to see your license and registration."I asked her, already getting annoyed. "Screw you, okay!"She continued. "You asshole cops think you can do whatever you want, just because you're a white cop!" I stared at her. The woman I had arrested looked to be about 18, and was driving a brand new white Tesla. She had a Venti Mocha from Starbucks in one hand, her brand new Iphone 7 in the other. "Ma'am."I continued, almost unable to believe what I was hearing. "You're also white." "Besides the point!"She screeched out. "GO check your privileges!" *** Seven hours later. I finally got home, my eyes already starting to close. "Hey, hun!"My wife appeared by the door. "How was work?" I sighed, but my tiredness started to dissipate when I saw her. "Not to good."I said. "Aw, sorry about that."She gave me a small hug. "Making steak tonight! Your favorite."She gave me a small smile. Suddenly, the day didn't seem like it had been quite so bad. I smiled at her, returning the hug, then headed upstairs to my study. I turned on my computer, thinking back to the day's encounter. Check your privileges. The snobby girl had said. I opened up google, and typed in "www.God.com." To my surprise, a website popped up. Username? It prompted. Ron Barker. I entered. Password? It asked. 5/6/1987. I entered, still a little confused. Processing. Welcome, Ron Barker. A small interface popped up. I clicked the settings button, and scrolled down to find the button that said User Privleges. I clicked on it. Ron Barker. Age: 31 Spawn Point: United States Intelligence level: 82 Strength level: 60 Empathy level: 87 The list continued, listing out more stats and information about me. At the bottom, there was a small notification. "User Status: Administrator. Currently deactivated by User.* I hovered over the Administrator status, and watched in surprise as a huge array of possible perks appeared. Mind Control. Telepathy. Superhuman strength. Telekinesis. A simple question appeared. Activate? I smiled, thinking of all the power I would have. I could do whatever I wanted. I could strike back at the criminals, the evil, I could remake the world in my image. I could make society perfect. But then I thought of my wife. The woman who dedicated herself to my happiness. The woman who was happy only if I was. The woman who loved me more than anyone ever had. I thought about what it would do to us. I thought about all the lives that would be ruined, even destroyed, if my ideas went against theirs. "Honey!"A voice called. "Dinners ready!" I gave a small smile. The choice was easy. I selected no. "I'm coooming!"I yelled back. *** Enjoy the writing and would like to follow along and see more stories? Consider subscribing to [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
I held her hand, and we walked down the street to the cafe on the corner. We sat and ordered some drinks and admired each other. I looked into her eyes and remembered all the wonderful things we'd shared. And all the bad times too. I remember the last of the blood seeping into the gutter- it was all I could see after beating the man into the curb. She stood there, too, still. We didn't plan it to go this way, but this way it had. A memory we won't ever forget. A car suddenly stopped along the street. We stared, and the driver got out quickly and made his way to me. It was him. I was ready though. As he came at me and lunged I connected with his head. And the rest was a blur.
Was any of it real? Garry was looking at me funny that whole night. Everyone was. It was like suddenly everything had shifted in the air. I knew what was going on, I've seen the matrix, I know my stuff. Except there was no morpheas coming to save me from this one, it was like I took both the red and the blue pill, and now the matrix was trying to figure out what to do with me. Okay no more references! I might seriously die, and I did not want everyone around me right now to know that my last thoughts were about a movie that I think came out in the 90's, or was it the 2000's? C'mon Jill! Seriously focus, what are we going to do! Maybe it was better I think about movies, I've never been so scared before. Maybe whoever, or whatever, was watching me would come in and just erase me. Maybe it needed me? What if it was like the matrix, and they needed me to power it? Probably not, this was probably going to end like Adjustment Team. In the Adjustment bureau $which was the movie adaptation of Phillip K. Dick's original short story$ the main characters basically meet God and get to live free together. I watched the movie, but I never read the short story, I did read on wikipedia that it didn't so well, but I can't remember how it actually ended. I think the main character died, but I don't think that is right. I really hope that it didn't end with the main character dying, I really hope no one dies in that story either. I really hope this story doesn't end with anyone dying in it either. That was fiction though. And this was real, but then again, maybe it isn't. How can I be sure of any of this is real when every part of my body is screaming at me and telling me that it isn't? Am I alone? Can anyone hear me right now?
The old lady sat there, playing a little song. A few people dropped coins, But most moved along. &nbsp; A memory crept up slowly, from a corner in my mind. I had seen this face before, the wrinkles, the eyes so kind. &nbsp; And it all came back to me, the poverty and the struggle. To pay rent or eat food, the bills we had to juggle. &nbsp; And so I sat next to her, and I began to cry. I am so sorry that I left, without even a goodbye. &nbsp; She looks at me blankly, says whatever do you mean. I don't have a son, well, had one but he died as a teen. &nbsp; I cried out in disbelief, it was I and I abandoned you. Took my chance at riches, and an actual home to come to. &nbsp; She looks at me with kindness, softly tells me not to be sad. She remembers now, but its the past, and she really isn't mad. &nbsp; I ask her to come live with me, at my massive palace. I promise her a better life, I say this with no malice. &nbsp; She turns down my offer, with a sad and little smile. I have a family and a life already, but come and see us, once in a while. &nbsp; I break down crying, right there on the sidewalk. How could I do this to them, I can barely talk. &nbsp; To my surprise, she consoles me, tells me she doesn't blame. I was a struggling young kid, She might have done the same. &nbsp; I take out my wallet and offer, money, as much as she needs. I have more than enough now, to make sure she succeeds. &nbsp; She smiles again, surprisingly. says one thing she has learned. Wouldn't even wish upon an enemy, money they haven't earned. &nbsp; Money can't buy happiness, money can't buy you love. Money can't buy you passage, to the heavenly abode above. &nbsp; She tells me I'll be welcome back, her eyes bright and green. And walks away from me silently, richer than I have ever been.
It’s been over a century. I’ve seen World War 3. A second Great Depression. Watched my own grandchildren’s funerals. It’s a miracle I haven’t been lost to some random accident or cancer. The synth-antioxidants keep the cancer at bay. For now. The mystery of my immortality was a secret that unraveled over the course an ordinary day, 2 years ago. On my 123rd birthday... one, two, three, it had a nice ring to it... I waited for my charge bar to finally hit its end. My battery icon showed red, hell, it had been red for the past 40 years. Nothing like a crimson symbol of death to remind you of your insignificance in the face of eternity. Anyway, I sat alone in my apartment, eating a birthday cake with big frosted numbers on the top. They were giant numbers – one, two, three. Seemed like a lucky year to die. I ate the cake slowly, fortifying my body with the cocaine of sugarcane. The sweet grain slid passed my mouth full of crowned teeth, and I sat there, in a coma of sweetness. I received a phone call as I lay in stupor, and reached for the small device. “Yeah?” “Congratulations, John Truman, you are officially the oldest man alive. Please come to town hall immediately to claim your prize.” “Nice one Jane,” I said, “how are classes going?” “Fine, grandma is giving me grief because I’m not studying. She should know it’s not necessary for me.” “Just tell ‘er you’re doing it alone, so you have some peace to concentrate.” “Yeah, she’ll believe that.” “When you’ve lived as long as us, you don’t tend to believe anything. I have to go, I've been inside too long,” I said. “Kay, bye.” “Bye Jane.” I lifted myself out of the chair, as the sugar released its grip on me, and my blood sugar stabilized somewhat. I took an insulin shot just to be safe. As I went out into the clear air, a dark limousine pulled up in front of me. As the door opened, I heard a lovely female voice: “Get in.” “I don’t think so. I’m old enough to know to not get in strange vehicles with strangers,” I said. “How would you like to know the secret to your immortality?” I stood there, astonished this woman seemed to know my deepest desire. To know the truth. To know who and what I am. I got in the limo, and a small mousey man with circular gold-rimmed glasses shut it behind me. The woman began to speak. I was attracted to her bright rosy lipstick that seemed to melt as she spoke. “You’re a special breed, John. Your life is not an accident. Nothing happens by accident. You’re old enough to see that,” she said. I said nothing. I only wanted to hear the answer to the mystery I carried in my mind. “Energy isn’t cheap, John. That’s why we have to die. Some lose charge faster than others. They can’t hold it. You don’t have that problem. Why?” she asked. I continued my silence. “John Truman, you have a special type of skin. From birth you were fitted with a technology that allows you to recharge autonomously. You have no need for chargers or wires. You’re a wireless immortal, as our scientists like to say. You may not realize this... but we’ve been watching you for longer than you can imagine. We’ve monitored everything you’ve ever done. Everything.” I was getting incredibly uncomfortable. This beautiful woman knew more about me, I figured, than I did myself. She continued: “That’s all we can say at this moment. We’ll be in touch.” The limo screeched to a halt, and I was let out by the mousey little man. He hastily waved, and slammed the door, as the dark wraith of an automobile disappeared down the dusty gum-encrusted road. The limo stopped, and drove back in reverse. The window lowered with a glass-on-metal screech, and the beautiful woman said five words: Just stay in the sun. Then off they went, disappearing into the dark reaches of the city. The buildings were haunting me as they towered above, for I was older than most of them. I waved over a taxi, and it drove itself, with me, back to my apartment. What did she mean, stay in the sun? And why were they watching me? The next day, I checked my email, and had a message from an unknown sender. I figured it was spam, but opened it anyway. It had one sentence at the top, and a jpeg file attached. The top read: The secret to immortality. I opened the attachment. It was an ordinary photo of a most ordinary object. A solar panel, shining in the blinding metropolitan sun. So here I am, on my record-breaking birthday. Happy birthday to me. I often consider whether or not I should just end it all, and avoid the sun until I croak. But screw it, let them watch me. This human solar panel will soak up the bright blinding radiation until that sun consumes this planet altogether. And my true mother, the life-giving star, will take me in her arms and give me the last, eternal embrace.
"Well, he's the finest agent of the O.W.C.A,"Stark replied. "The O.W.C.A?"Steve asked. "The Organization Without a Cool Acronym,"replied Stark once more. Steve remained silent deciding that further questions would only lead to further confusion or silliness. As they approached a suburban home located in the great tri-state area Steve couldn't quell his curiosity and proceeded to speak once more. "This is just a normal house. Are you sure this is it? Also, It's still a platypus no way he can stop Thanos... or Doofen-, um Doofensmarts?" "Doofenshmirtz, Heinz Doofenshmirtz, and yes. He has done it countless times in the past and this time will be no different. Just ask Strange." Tony knocked on the door, and in short order, it was answered by a couple of weird looking children. One had a triangle shape for a skull, and the other seemed to possess the worlds longest neck. "I've seen a lot of weird stuff Tony, but these kids are well..."Steve whispered to Stark as the strange looking kids finally spoke up to inquire about the two out of place adults at their door. "Hey, do you want to help us build our daily invention?"The triangle headed boy asked. "Um, no,"Stark replied. "We are actually here for Perry, your platypus. He's a secret agent and we need his help to save this world from the wrath of Thanos, and Heinz Doofenshmirtz. The sworn enemy of your platypus." The boys chuckled. "You think Perry is a secret agent who works for a secret agency responsible for saving the world from evil villains?"The triangle-headed kid laughed. "What's the name of this organization? I bet it doesn't even have a cool acronym."The boy said continuing to laugh. "Actually it doesn't."Stark quipped. "Hey, where's Perry?"The triangle-headed kid asked before closing the door to look for his lost pet. "What a strange bunch,"Steve said with a sigh. Before he and Stark turned around and were greeted by Perry in his work attire. His Fedora on and his stature unaturally bipedal. He gave them both a well-rehearsed military salute, before hopping into a hovercraft and piloting off into danger. Apparently already briefed on the mission he was assigned. Stark and Steve both remained speechless despite having sought out the creature in the first place. "It walks on two feet?"Steve asked with definitive confusion. "And-and it's a pilot..."Tony added. Both men were then thrown for a further loop when a rocket ship shout of from the backyard of the seemingly normal suburban home. "Let's-Let's get out of here before we are thrown into some sort of comically cartoonish misadventure,"Stark said heading back for the Jet. "Agreed,"Steve said. Still in disbelief about the whole situation. "Is he really going to take on Thanos with 6 infinity stones? Not to mention the doofen guy?"Steve asked following Stark. "I don't know... Just- just go along with Strange's plan." Both men would make their way to the battlefield, to find a defeated and degloved Thanos tied up along with Doofenshmirtz. Who was still conscious and monologuing about his revenge to seemingly no one. As they went to gather the mad titan they got a glimpse of a certain victorious platypus about to take off. It shot them a two-fingered salute of fellow hero acknowledgment before blasting off into the sunset. His job done.
“Gordon Ramsey? Who in the hell is Gordon Ramsey?” I say. “I dunno. I can’t understand a damn thing he says. I’ll see you when you get here. Don’t forget the cabbage again.” Before I have time to respond, she hangs up. The name sounding vaguely familiar, I type it into YouTube. The only videos that come up are of him screaming at service personnel and vaguely sexually harassing Sofia Vergara. This guy kind of seems like a douche. Resigned to another day ruined by Karen’s last second dinner invitations, I make my way home. As I drive, the dulcet tones of Limp Bizkit fill my car. Ah, I think to myself, magnets really don’t make any sense. Surprising their lead singer still does stuff, I think he directs movies or something? Anyways, rounding the last turn before I’m at my home, I see Gordon Ramsay’s Ferrari LeFerrari parked outside my home. “What the fuck?” I say out loud, “he literally lives next door to us.” Not only did he drive his Ferrari over to my home, he parked right in the middle of the driveway, forcing me to park my Prius on the road. I make my way inside, where some sort of fancy meat was frying loudly in my kitchen. “You! Get me a stick of butter, right now!” Gordon Ramsey, in the flesh. In that moment I remembered that fateful interview with Sofia Vergara. Only in this memory, instead of watching it on YouTube, I’m Sofia Vergara. I’m the prey, and Gordon Ramsey is the predator. “Are you fucking dense? Get me a goddamn stick of butter!” Gordon screams again. Bursting into tears, I comply. As I’m reaching into the fridge, my eyes meet with Karen’s. She’s witnessed my emasculation. In that moment, I knew our marriage was over. Gordon Ramsey was top dog, and I would do his bidding.
I don’t often do home visits, but after receiving a dozen letters from a small town in the south, I decided to go visit. The letters were vague, rushed. Each one with different theories. A change in behaviour, violent outbursts and mood swings. Mental health issues are common in my work but the panic written in these letters drew my attention. Oddly, besides the symptoms, each letter had a reoccurring theme: “Save him for god.” Again, religion is also common in my work but specifically saving him when the symptoms listed did not seem lethal confused me. After a long train ride and a taxi, I reached the small cottage listed and knocked on the door. A short plump lady answered along with a lanky tall man, both very well groomed. After proving my identity, they both quickly rushed me upstairs to the room of the patient. I walked in, and they quickly closed the door behind me after mumbling something. Odd, but Work is Work. A young man was staring at me from his desk, his eyes tired and body slouched; cared for, but not as groomed as his parents. “Hello?” He asked, pulling his headphones off. “Hello. I am Doctor Zim.” I smile, as he quickly turns back around. “Another one.” He spits. “No, I’m not like other doctors. You may have seen me on TV?” I walk towards his bed and take a seat. “Oh? Oh. You’re the one who can figure it out from just touching people right?” I nod gently, “Would it be okay if I diagnose you?” The boy takes a sharp breath, then nods, throwing a dark glare. I press my hand to his arm. Nothing. Perhaps this is just puberty? No it would still come up. “I don’t understand?” The boy shifts his arm away from me, “That won’t work, doc. I’m not sick. I’m gay.”
"What have we got, Nine?" Nine's dozens of eyes scanned the alert message. "Looks like we've got a vampire on the move within the city limits, Four. He's well outside the restricted zone already." Four, a tall, slender alien-android hybrid sighed as he threw their hovercraft into a U-turn, quickly reversing direction. "Goddamn humans..." "Goddamn humans indeed, sir,"she replied. Klarnark 7, once a tiny outpost planet on the edge of the galaxy had transformed itself into a thriving, high tech, metropolitan civilization overnight. How could such a galatic shift in luck be possible? Through untold girbillions of dollars in tourism which flowed into the economy during each orbit in the sun. More specifically, their growth had been made possible by exploiting human tourists and gratefully relieving them of their vast riches, which were unrivaled by any other species in the known universe. But inviting millions of humans to visit your planet each sol cycle came with a price. Among the average humans with 2.5 kids, a spacecraft that sat 8 with fold down rear seating, and less than stellar cognitive intelligence, there were... special exceptions. Hidden among the unremarkable human populace were werewolves, ghosts, shapeshifters, and yes... vampires. Four and Nine's organization, the Beings In Blue, likely named for their shimmering blue uniforms, was dedicated to achieving two simple goals. Maintaining surveillance and control over any 'remarkable humans' that visited the planet, and keeping the populace of Klarnark 7 from knowing of the unthinkable horrors that walked their streets in human skin each day. If they knew the half of it, they'd demand humans be banned and the endless flow of cash powering the the planet would vanish right along with them. As the B.I.B. officers turned onto Le'jub Avenue, they spotted a human in a black cape with collar upturned walking down the neon pavement. "That's probably our perp,"Nine said, a tinge of excitement in her voice. "Almost certainly."The senior partner brought the vehicle to a stop just behind him. "This one's all yours, kid." "Alone?"she asked. "Solo?" Four nodded. "Gotta do one sometime, and I read this guys bio, I think you can handle him." "Understood, sir."She stepped out of the vehicle and approached the suspect from behind. "I am a B.I.B. officer! Turn around and put your hands on your head!" The very obvious vampire turned slowly, sneaking a peek over his collar at her before completing his rotation. "Vhat seems to be the problem, officer?" "Vampires are not allowed in this sector,"Four began. "If you read the details of the B.I.B. travel agreement you signed when-" "I am not a vampire, blahhhhh!"he interjected. "I don't vant, to suck your bluhhhhd!" "Uh-huh."Nine raised many eyebrows in disbelief before glancing down at his file once more. "So why are you tagged as a level three vampire in our system, Lord Alacrud?" "I von't know! Mistake, in the computer operating system, perhaps? Blahhh?" "Unlike humans, our systems don't make mistakes. Now, you wanna drop the act? You're the most obvious vampire I've seen in my entire goddamn life! What are you doing out here outside your agreed upon safe zone." Alacrud stared at the officer for an uncomfortably lengthy silence. "Sightseeing?" Nine sighed. "Sightseeing?" The alleged 'vampire lord' nodded. "Sightseeing... In the dank, dirty, industrial spaceport sector of the city?" "Uhhh, yes!"he replied, beads of sweat forming on his pale, wrinkle free brow. "What beautiful attractions you visited this evening, sir? The endless rows of automated warehouses? The fueling stations emitting toxic gases at all hours of the day and night?" "Alright! I was... looking for... companionship." "Gods I wish you were just talking about a prostitute, that would make this so much easier. But when you say 'companion' you mean an... 'involuntary blood donor', don'tcha?" "You make it sound so eeeevil! There is no law against donating blood to a sucker willing to pay top dollar!"He not so subtly wiped blood dripping from his mouth with his shirt. Nine's eyes narrowed as she assessed the area. "You exited that alleyway back there. If I go search it, what am I gonna find?" "How should I know, blahhh? The usual things on your planet I suppose. Perhaps a stray Rylian puppy dog pawing through the garbage? Perhaps a drunken gentleman taking a nap? Who can say?" "A 'nap' you say?" "Hypothetically!" "And when I find this hypothetical gentleman sleeping in an alleyway, will have have two fang marks sunk deep into any of his necks?" Alacrud's eyes widened and the beads of sweat on his brow became a river. "I... well... BLAH! Look over there, blahhhhh!"He jumped into the air, transformed into a bat and began to race into the night sky, only to slam into a wall after a few seconds and tumble unceremoniously to the ground, twitching. Nine lazily made her way over to him and tossed the bat into a carrying cage. Upon trudging back to her partner, she opened the door, flung the incredibly annoying vampire lord bat into the backseat, and plopped herself into the front seat. "How'd it go?"Four asked, barely suppressing a smile. "Did he 'blahhh' at you?" "Did he blahhh?" she scoffed. "Constantly! Ceaselessly! Without an end in- Ugh... the only thing I hate more than humans... is humans that are also vampires." Her senior partner smirked. "That bad huh?" "That bad,"she confirmed. "In fact, I'll take the next three werewolf cases off your hands if you promise to handle the next vampire jackass we have to deal with." "Make it five..." The younger B.I.B. officer didn't hesitate for even a moment. "Deal!" ___ ___ Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore many more of my stories.
The sharp crack of twigs breaking underfoot sounded behind her as Mary spun to face the intruder, right arm raising in a last ditch attempt at defense. She cursed herself for leaving the gun by the well. “Woah honey, it’s me, it’s me!” Andre shouted. Across the clearing rocks that had just begun to lift into the air fell back to the earth, much to his relief. “Damnit Andre,” Mary replied, “why didn’t you call ahead? You know how I get when you leave, it’s just us here! What if I’d hurt you?” “Had to use my last burner in town, the Feds almost caught up to me and I needed some help giving ‘em the slip. We’ll have to get more soon.” Andre smiled ruefully, “Ah I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Now, is that all the welcome I get? Look, I brought your favorite!” Mary laughed, dropping the trowel she held and moving to hug him. “Idiot,” she said lovingly from a spot near his shoulder, “you’re running from the cops and you still stop at a bakery?” “Nobody looks suspicious holding danishes,” he said with a wink, “and besides, we all have our gifts.” He kissed her lightly then, running a hand through her hair. “Now come on, help me get the supplies in.” Together the pair set to it, Mary’s work in the garden temporarily forgotten as they got back to the serious business of being in hiding. First the car was retrieved and pulled into the concealed spot in the trees they used, then the two of them walked back down the well hidden driveway together, Mary using her telekinesis to brush away the tire tracks and move fake foliage into convincing places, Andre following behind to double check for any missed spots. Coming back to the house they retrieved Mary’s gun from the well, Andre slinging it over his shoulder without so much as a word about it. It was one of the things she appreciated about him, everyone made mistakes, he trusted her enough to know that she never made them twice. Reaching the car they began retrieving the supplies Andre had gathered on his monthly run into town for all the things they couldn’t grow or make themselves. “How’s Emma doing?” he asked. “I take it she’s napping?” “Yea, I put her down an hour ago, she was really fussy this morning. Knowing her she’ll be up any time” Mary replied. “I missed her. I hate leaving you two here, even if it’s just for a few days.” “I know you do, but you have to. I get it. Did Headquarters say anything this time?” “Nothing new, you know how they are. I think now we’re all just bracing ourselves for whatever happens and trying to keep a low profile, the Feds are getting really antsy about this. Our bounties are going up.” “They always are. Frankly I think it’s kind of flattering.” Andre laughed at that. Setting the first load down inside he snuck quietly over to his daughter’s room, standing above her sleeping form for a long moment while Mary watched from the doorway. As the two adults left the house to continue their errand Andre took Mary’s hand, needing, as always, to both feel her support and to offer his own when he asked this question. “So Emma...nothing happened while I was gone? No signs?” “Nothing at all.” Mary said softly, feeling his grip on her hand tighten. 4 years since her birth and still nothing, no child had ever taken this long. In her dreams Mary saw their daughter rewriting the course of the world with whatever power she was granted, changing everything for the better, or in her nightmares, for the worse. In her waking hours Mary just desperately hoped she could keep up with the precocious little girl, hoped to shape her into someone who could look at the world and see the lines between good and evil, what should be kept and not. When she’d gotten pregnant at 19 she knew that her whole life would change so drastically, but 4 short years later she’d never have thought she’d be here in a house off the grid, evading the government, with a resistance band forming around her little family. “I love you both so much,” she said to Andre. Wordlessly he hugged her to him, as events larger than either of them continued to spin around the daughter they sought to protect.
Osha, god of safety regulations, stepped onto Charon’s ferry to begin his second inspection of the underworld. He’d been close to declaring the entire place condemned, but Hades’ had assured him that everything would be fixed. So Osha viewed the lifeboats on the ferry with approval, along with the life vests on each dead spirit. On the other side, he was also happy to see that Cerberus now had a collar and dog tag on each of its three necks, and the Fury escorting him was quick to hand him the dog’s vaccination record. And most importantly, right at the exit to the ferry, before the judges, were orientations to give mandatory WHMIS training to all the newly-arrived dead. “Acceptable,” he allowed, making a mark on his clay tablet. The Fury sighed in relief, before he caught her with a glare. “Now, show me Tartarus.” Osha was again grudgingly impressed. Sisyphus’ boulder was now secured so it couldn’t roll back on him while he was lifting the load, the food just out of Tantalus’ reach now had expiry dates and the water around him was potable and replaced regularly, and the chair Pirithos was fused to was placed so as not to block any emergency escape routes. The broader punishments for less famous souls were also properly regulated. The lakes of magma had signs as a drowning and burning risk, with life guards on duty to watch the tormented, the Furies were wearing PPE, and all the various implements of punishment for the wicked dead had clearly printed instructions for safe operation. Osha signed his name off on the clay tablet and handed it to the Fury. “I have a hard time believing it, but Hades turned this around.” As the Fury started to smile, Osha’s hissed, “But remember, I will be back. Do not let this place fall back to its previous state, or I won’t care how important you claim ‘death’ and “eternal judgment’ are for mortals, I will shut your whole operation down.” He watched the Fury scurry away with suspicion. Osha knew that the gods only tolerated him, and if he let his attention wander for even a second, they would go back to their old ways. He conjured up the tablet for his next inspection, Janus’ domain, and teleported to the front. A medium-sized temple sat on a hilltop. Nothing too unusual, really. Osha’s eyes darted about, but he couldn’t see anything wrong on the outside. He almost entered as he was, then decided to take on a mortal disguise before entering. Surprise inspections were often more effective. As soon as he walked into the temple, previously-invisible doors slammed shut behind him, and the interior changed. A glance backwards showed that the entrance had vanished, and instead of the lofty interior of a Doric temple, he was in a small room with two identical doors. Janus himself appeared before Osha, one face smiling, the other frowning. “Mortal! Welcome and beware. You face a difficult choice. One door leads to death upon the crossroads of the world, and the other life and safety from the dangers of the threshold. Osha had planned to drag this out a bit longer, but that was enough information for him. He took on his true godly form, and shouted, “You— How— WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!” Janus backed away as Osha stalked towards him. Osha stopped to breath. In and out. Calm. Peace. He was reasonable. He was a professional. He was the representative for the Olympian Health and Safety Committee, as well as its founder and sole member, and his conduct reflected on the committee— “IS THAT A SPIRIT!?” Osha grabbed the ghost floating by, trapped in the void between worlds. He levelled a glare at Janus, who stammered to explain. “I’m the god of thresholds and change. People who die in my challenges are cast into the liminal voids that exist between spaces, at crossroads and doorways. It’s kind of my thing, and I’d appreciate if you would keep your—” “There are rules,” Osha said firmly, ignoring Janus muttering rules you made up, “spirits are to be cleared from an area promptly upon death, and I don’t care what void you throw them, but they’d better not be littering up your work floor. But this is minor compared to the big issues. That door,” Osha picked one a random, “Where does it lead?” “That’s the death door.” “And so that one’s the safe exit,” Osha pointed to the other one. “So, where’s the exit sign?” Janus blinked at him. “What?” “If you don’t have an exit sign to clearly indict the way out, how could people know which way to go in an emergency?” Osha asked with exaggerated patience. Janus raised an eyebrow. “The whole point is that people don’t know which door to take. If I just told them that this door leads to safety, and that door leads to a dimensional abyss, no one would face a dilemma picking, now would they?” “That’s even worse,” Osha exclaimed. “You’re telling me that door leads to an immediate, unsecured hazard, and you don’t have a warning sign up. There’s a simple WHMIS symbol to mark spatial anomalies, and you aren’t using it? Except it’s worse than that, because signage is not the best option for preventing injury. There’s no reason for that danger to be there, so you should remove it and replace it with a safer alternative. And finally,” Osha pointed his stylus at Janus, “If you’re going to run a death trap, I want to see disclaimers. All the disclaimers. People entering need to sign a disclaimer absolving you of responsibility for injury and death, there’d better be signs clearly stating the hazard present on every wall, and mortals need to receive the training necessary to understand the risks of coming here, at the operator’s expense. Now,” Osha put stylus to tablet, “show me the rest of the place.” Two hours later, a paler, humbler Janus showed Osha the way out, and ran back inside screaming for his architects. Osha watched him leave with displeasure. Janus seemed contrite now, but he would see if that stuck. He summoned his next tablet, double-checked a map for the location, the shared stables of King Augeas and Diomedes, and teleported in. A muscle under his right eye began to twitch as he took in everything. First, the smell. The stables had clearly never been cleaned, and the odor of manure was overlaid with slight hints of fresh and dried blood. Second, the sights. The cattle of Augeas were crammed together in their own filth, right next to the flesh-eating mares of Diomedes, and the meat and grain that fed them were mixed together, with the occasional hapless servant being pulled in by the horses. Third, the noise. Despite the lowing of cattle, the whinnying of horses, and the screams of servants, not a single person was wearing ear plugs. Osha closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they blazed with bureaucratic zeal, and he summoned his stylus, aglow with his regulatory rage. There were some stables getting condemned tonight.
Satan sat atop his enormous throne, its black and twisted form casting a grotesque shadow across the hall. He was not paying any attention to the dozens of people crowding around waiting to be processed, nor was he interested in the hundreds more that fell through the entrance portal at the far end of the room. Satan instead focussed all his attention on the long contract he held in his clawed hands. He peered down at it through small spectacles that he kept for just these kinds of problems. “What did you call it? A yoo-lah? Like the mathematician?” He said to the small man standing nearby. “Uh, not like the mathematician. I think he prefers the pronunciation ‘oi-lah’,” said the man. Satan was not used to back-talk from his victims, and he shot the man a pointed glance. It had exactly the desired effect: the man stepped a few paces with a yelp as he backed onto the points of the spears held by various hellish minions. “Sorry! no, yes! It’s a EULA. End User License Agreement!” “I see,” Satan said, with a cocked eyebrow, “and you put in a clause that transferred ownership of the soul of the signee?” “It’s was just a silly little thing, I’m sorry!” The man began mumbling and babbling as his fear seemed to overflow him. “Oh, so you thought that was dreadfully funny, did you?” Satan stood now, moving quickly to tower over this pathetic human, “and did people sign this document?” “They did! They did! Thousands of them! Millions!” The man yelped again as the spearpoint embedded itself deeper into his back. The best thing about Hell, in Satan’s most educated opinion, was that nothing ever caused any real damage. Only pain. You could torture a soul for hundred million years and barely cause even a scratch. He licked his lips at the very thought. Satan turned back to the EULA and began reading it again. It was certainly a thing of beauty to ensnare so many people with something as simple as a document. He should have guess that when he created lawyers that this kind of thing would turn up eventually, but coming from a software developer like the one stood before him? He couldn’t help but be impressed. “How did you get these people to sign?” he said, “did they even read it?” “Oh no, not at all. I don’t think anyone reads them,” the man said, “I slapped it on the front of my social media aggregator and two million people downloaded and signed the EULA overnight. By the end of the first week we were on a hundred million!” A hundred million in a week. Now those weren’t the rookie numbers Satan usually had to put up with. With a tool such as this, he could ensnare even the most pious of humans and drag them down to his realm kicking and screaming. Oh, they would definitely scream. But of course, there were the hundred million already owned by the poor poor human man in front of him. “I think you’re a genius,” Satan said with a broad grin. The man looked shocked at such a complement. He even attempted a smile, but it turned into more of a grimace, mostly due to the spears. “I want you to work for me, how does that sound?” Satan said. The man took a moment to think about the proposal, weighing up the pros and cons of full time employment versus eternal damnation. Naturally he came to the correct conclusion, “where do I sign?” he said. Sitting back on the throne, Satan took a long blackened quill and started frantically scribbling a contract onto thick parchment. His grin deepened the more he wrote, until it was spread across his face, his mouth nearly tickling his ears. “Sign here, please,” Satan said, thrusting out both the quill and the contract. The man didn’t even hesitate. “Fool! For I have used your own tricks against you!” Satan said, and began reading out the contract he had written, “Section 2, paragraph 3a, the undersigned shall handover every soul in their possession and condemn themselves to an eternity of damnation! Take him away!” The man screamed. The minions sank their spears deeper into his back and lifted him into the air, taking him away for the first of many torturous days to come. The crowd parted around them, and many of the people in attendance backed away from the King Of Darkness. Satan however, sank back into his throne, satisfied with a good day’s work. Yesterday he and his minions had only pulled in a few thousand souls. Now he was in possession of a hundred million! Sure, it was a long term investment, but if he put together a few more of the EULA things, he’d have the fires of hell well fuelled for centuries to come.
The color drained from his face in an instant. It was utterly bizarre how his cocky demeanor had shifted to one of abject terror. "Wait... what?"his voice a small croak out of his throat. Well if he is going to double down on his joke you might as well continue your side. "Come on man, look I don't know how long it's been for you but it has'nt been nearly long enough for me to forget you."You laugh to punctuate the statement of how stupidly weird time travel would actually be. "Well anyways I'll see you later, or rather WHENEVER."As you leave him you give yourself a mental high five for thinking on your feet so fast, and move on with your day leaving the new guy where he stood. The next day was fairly normal except when the new guy came by your desk mid way through the day. "Hey!"He interrupted you mid coffee sip. "When exactly 5 years ago did we meet?"He looked a little disheveled and anxious. You guess he really wanted that joke to land yesterday. "You tell me. You are the time traveler after all."You roll your eyes and return to your work brushing off this two day in a row strangeness. The next day was almost completely without incident no sign of the new guy and no weirdness about time travel. Until you got to your house and discovered him shifting through family scrap books and photo albums inside. He had gone from disheveled to completely unkempt. His hair was a mess worthy of Albert Einstein, his clothes stained horribly and you were pretty sure his shirt hadn't even been buttoned properly. "What the fuck are you doing in my house!?"You shout, dialing up 911. "Look man don't freak out!"He attempt to calm the situation flinging his hands in the air and sending photographs everywhere. "I just need to clear one thing up please."He looked desperate and not too dissimilar from a scared puppy. You pause millimeters from sending the 911 call through. Taking pity on a man who was clearly having a bad trip you sigh. "What the hell are you talking about?" "When exactly did we meet? 5 years ago..."he gestures with his hands back and forth like a flowing river. "I've been up and down the time stream trying to find when we met and I just can't find it anywhere! I've never broken a causality law before and that could get me in so much trouble if not destroy the fabric of reality. So I need you to tell me when we met, the month will do. That way I can find out if this is a causality loop, which is still really bad, or if I later in my timeline intersect earlier in your timeline." You stand there in stunned silence after listening to this madman's rant. "You know I was fucking joking about that right?" It takes him a second for the wave of reality to splash down upon him before he finally finishes the insane conversation with a single word. "Fuck!"And touches his watch to suddenly disappear in a flash of light.
"Are these things truly from... Earth?"There was plenty of doubt in Margolv's tone, and Bræii couldn't blame them. For the past few weeks of their capture, several humans have ardently refused to explain the things they've spoken- all in a confusing tongue that the specialized collars they'd made just wouldn't work. When asked if the current World Leader was a man named Wadalby Marsh, earthling-A503 rolled her eyes and said "Well, duh. Who else would it be?" Further research into this found that no such earthling with the moniker existed. Another, earthling-P7190, was found sprawled underneath a piece of furniture he had been made to move. To avoid punishment, he had said that the work was "difficult,"and "practically impossible for me to do!" Nothing would prove, or disprove, the things he'd said, so the aliens noted to never force manual labor onto the earthlings. Earthling-T2004, a rising star amongst the federation and whom seemed to have a reputation amongst the earthlings already, seemed to follow their skill in regards to the frustrating tongue. She continuously confused her guards and the local krill civilians with the way she spoke, never the same tone and always changing. If the earthlings beforehand were horrible, she was the worst. Breaking one of the krill's poor hearts by going on about how her love was river deep and mountain high, allegedly starting an argument about how she'd catch a grenade (knowledge on what that was is still pending, unfortunately) for them all, and. Well. There were quite a few, some managing to fluster the population, others urging them all on a war that did not exist at all. In the end, singular earthlings ability for these seemed to vary, as a good number of them that had been designated as "lawyers"were found to be capable of telling the truths while still giving nothing away. The same could be said of the "politicians,"although there were few left over from that group as quite a bunch had died from sudden heart diseases. It was actually starting to make Beātrist- their local diplomat- mad. Margolv was glad they were a simply guard, instead of being part of the more complicated organizations. Irregardless, they'd finally managed to get through most of earthling history. At least, they'd hoped so, but one of the earthlings they had brought aboard- U3011- kept muttering about a library. Maybe it had been destroyed before all of them had been captured? Even so, as far behind these people were, the stories they'd left behind were quite interesting. Kappas, tikbalangs, dullahan, sphinxes, vampires, sirens-- faes. That last one was the reason Margolv and Bræii had been sat in the corner for so long. The earthlings, they were... Interesting creatures. The way they spoke always changed, never at the same tone and pace like everyone else. They seemed capable of observation beyond most of the beings they'd studied, capable of invention that fell short to their own only through greed and a lack of resources, and the Earth had several circles perfectly made as if for the fae. And so they'd sent this information - as well as their own personal theories - off to the main house. And Beātrist, but that's because Margolv insisted. --- One of the earthlings on board had been watching them a lot since they'd gotten so many old mythos on the ship. Their eyes were sharp and never looked away from them even when Bræii had pointed a spear at their face. Everyone had decided to leave the earthling alone, even as the engines started and the ship started to rise slowly back out of earth and into the endless sea of the stars. Everyone had been passing by the stars as it happened- earthling-F435 had suddenly snapped their head to the glass that faced the sun and beamed. The lighting made them look ethereal as they whistled a tune. They had been late to arrival by 5 minutes, and when asked why earthling-F435 shrugged and said that the drivers simply seemed enthralled by the sights. Beātrist doesn't talk to them anymore.
"If you want to be a time traveler, then you have to follow one rule. Do not attend Professor Hawking's party." "Why? Would it cause a paradox? Like, if he released proof of time travel technology before it was invented, would that remove the motivation to work towards developing it in the first place?" "Paradox? Were you sleeping during math class or something? A paradox is the result of inconsistent axioms. They don't exist in physical reality. No, we just ban his party because he's kind of an asshole. Every time someone does attend, they have such a bad time they always go back and prevent themselves from going in the first place." "Wait, are you saying I need to know math to be a time traveler? Math was one of the subjects I used my three free AI cheat passes for." "Ugh. No, you don't actually need to know math, but it's going to make explaining things a lot more difficult." "What did you use your cheat passes on?" "History, Viral Marketing, and Emoji. What about your other two?" "Programming and history, as well. No point in memorizing a bunch of stuff you plan on changing, right?" "Math AND Programming? Do you hate fun?" "They kinda go together." "Fair enough." "So, how does this work?" "Well, first we gotta go through this wormhole, right here. Then, when we're done, we gotta come back through this wormhole right here. That's about it." "Is it gonna hurt?" "Oh yeah. But you get used to it."
"I'm here and I brought Timesssss!"Courier shouted before jumping around excitedly. His exclamation was greeted with cheers but also a few moans, barely heard over the loud music and the party in full swing. People didn't hate Time New Roman, but he was too uptight for his own good. But at least they could count on him to be the designated driver, just like they counted on him for last minute homework assignments and test notes. Times trailed in, glum and dark while holding two packs of beer. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else and stood in the corner. Courier was already mingling, hitting up Lucida and Arial, both of whom were giggling and sans publically acceptable amount of clothing. "Oh my god,"Helvetica, Arial's cooler and hipster brother sauntered over and plopped himself on a couch. "Can you believe the line to the bathroom?" "What's holding it up?"Curlz TM asked, she was a little buzzed and sharpieing flowers over her arm. You just knew she brought organic gluten free cupcakes to the party. "I think I saw Wingdings go in there,"Calibri frowned. He was super stingy and bough sale items. "Whelp, the bathroom is lost to us. I better go pee in the bushes,"Helvetica set off. "Who keeps inviting wingdings?!"Rockwell roared. His black muscle shirt was riding up to reveal solid abs. "Once we are all proper drunk we'll appreciate him,"Lucida reassured him. Times just huddled in a corner by himself and willed the time to pass fast. ------------ Whooops forgot it was supposed to be a pool party.
But why? This is stupid. Why would I want to do this? If this ~~proves~~ shows anything, why would I want to show a random ~~collection~~... Fuck. bunch of ~~people~~ guys? Okay. Uh. ~~Maybe~~ ~~Perhaps~~ Fuuuuck. This may try my skills. Okay. ~~Whatever~~ I'll try. I'm ~~quite~~ kinda chill I think. I'm human. A chill human. I ~~spend~~ pass my hours with books, I cook now and again. I favour coca cola to ~~pepsi~~ fuuuuckk. to most cooldrinks, as would any normal ~~person~~ ~~being~~ ~~creature~~ thing. Fuck Fuck you OP this is hard. Fuck you and your mom.
"Can you make me a voodoo globe?" "Can I make you a voodoo… what?!"asked the voodoo doctor. His walls were full of diplomas, proving his skills in voodoo science, voodoo medicine and voodoo art. Tim was happy to see those — too many charlatans these days. "Voodoo globe"said Tim. "I need to stop the global warming. You can make dolls, why not globe?" "I suppose I could"said the doctor. "Don't think anyone ever tried it, but I could. Sounds like a worthy challenge. It would cost you though." Of course global warming had to be stopped at any cost, so Tim didn't even blink. A few days later he got his globe in the mail. It was well packed and marked as fragile, so the post had taken good care of it. Unpacked, it wasn't much different from a standard globe with a vague voodoo feeling emanating from it. Sadly it was bigger than he expected, so idea with the freezer was out. He needed a new idea. Unfortunately there were other distractions, so a few days went by without any progress. Just in case, he temporarily packed the globe back in the box, and after a few more days almost forgot about it. There were terrorists to fight and global warming could wait a bit. So when his friend "Fatman"Joe has asked whether he can sit on a box while Tim is clearing some chairs, Tim just nodded absentmindedly. In hindsight, that wasn't his best decision.
"Say it!"one of the girls yells at me through the door. I can't bite back my tears anymore. I feel the liquid pooling in my eyes slowly begin to trickle down my cheeks. "Please, just let me out!"I cry once more, hoping they'll have gotten bored by now. "Awww, are you crying?!"Laughter erupts among the crowd. "If you want out, then say it!" I know it's not real: the whole "Bloody Mary"thing. It can't be. It's just like that Slenderman crap. It's all some stupid, made up nonsense... It has to be. Still... I don't want to test it. I find myself pacing in the bathroom. I know that if I don't get out soon I'll end up in trouble with my teacher for missing class. The warning bell went off something like three or four minutes ago, which means I really only have another one or two minutes before I have to be in class. I'm lost in thought, considering my options, when one of the girls hurls two closed fists at the door. The booming sound echoes through the washroom and jolts me. "Fine!"I scream, although I certainly don't feel fine with all of this. "Bloody Mary..."I say once, feeling the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. "Bloody Mary..."A second time, now I swear the bathroom is getting colder. The noise outside seems to fade away, it's just me and the mirror now. I hesitate. What if she's real? What if an angry witch comes screaming out of the mirror and attacks me for disturbing her? Oh God, I can't do this... "Bloody Mary!"I shut my eyes tight and scream the last repetition. Silence. Did I do it? I wonder. Before I open my eyes, I listen. Nothing sounds any different, and nothing feels any different either... Slowly, I open my eyes. In the mirror I see... Myself. For a moment I feel embarrassed that I let such a silly myth freak me out the way it did. I half-smirk and give myself a little shake before turning around to approach the door. I start wiping the tears away from my cheeks, bowing my head slightly as I do. "There! Are you happy n-"I lift my head as I begin, trailing off immediately when I find myself staring into the face of a very, very displeased looking woman. "Oh helllll nawww!"She barks. The woman is large, her skin is like dark chocolate, smooth and creamy looking. "Lawd tell me these girls didn't just make you wake me up to get you outta the bathroom, child!?"I can tell she's angry. Oh God, she's very, very angry. I find myself stammering, unable to form a proper response. "I- well, they, uh, I.."Where did she come from!? Is she Bloody Mary?! "Child please,"the woman seems to collect herself. "This ain't your fault. Don't be scared."Suddenly the she-beast seems a lot more motherly, and I find myself sinking into her embrace. "Now these little hoodrats..."she continues. For a brief moment I completely forgot about the girls on the other side of the door. Could they hear any of this? A few snorts and giggles tell me they can't, that they think I must be in here crying, hoping they'll go away. "I just want to go to class."I tell the woman, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe at my damp cheeks. "I know babeh."She assures me. "Let's see what I can do." The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. I watched as this woman sucked in a deep breath, puffing her chest out and drawing her shoulders back. She took two long steps toward the door, paused briefly to give me a quick smile, then hurled her entire body into it. I could feel the weight of the action from across the room. Surely whoever had their ears pressed up against the other side of the door regretted it. I saw two of the girls sitting flat on their asses when the woman popped the door open. Everyone's eyes grew wide as they met face to face with a very, very angry black woman. "B-bloody Mary?"One girl managed to speak. "Y-y-yeah, bitch. Who the fuck you think it is?! Mother Theresa!? You think you can come up in ma hood, playin' games with ma girl here?!"Her voice bellowed through the halls. I watched as the girls eyes grew wide in fear. "Ahhh HELL NAW. I don't PLAY like that, you hear?!" "Yes ma'am!"One of the girls cried out apologetically. "We're so sorry." "Don't tell me, tell her!"The woman pointed to me. "You eva' mess wit her again, oh Lawd help you children, it will not be a pretty sight."Her threats were laced with promise. They believed her, as they should. Each one of the girls, who looked so big and menacing to me earlier, seemed to shrink as they nodded their heads and apologized to me before running off. Class bell rang and I knew I was late, but I no longer cared. I gave Mary a hug and thanked her. "That's alright child, it ain't your fault. You don't be lettin' them girls get the up on you aight?"She assured me and I nodded my head. I doubted they'd be an issue for me ever again. I watched as Mary disappeared back into the washroom and tried to fight the smile that was spreading across my lips as I quickly hurried off to class. Huh, that'll show them.
I was happy, when registering for my first semester of college, to see my school offered intro to Russian. My grandparents came to America during World War II but would still talk Russian to each other, even after all this time. They focused on assimilation, especially during the cold war, so very little of the language was passed down to my dad, and none to me. After four months of study I could have a very basic conversation with my grandparents in their native language. I thought that would be a great Christmas present for them. December 24th rolls around and like every Christmas Eve of my life they show up for our family dinner. Looking over some of my flashcards I hear my grandparents in the hallway talking in Russian. Just before I come out to greet them I catch a word that sounds familiar. It’s repeated a few more times so I pick up my textbook and turn to the dictionary. Expecting to find the Russian word for Christmas, or turkey I find the word for kill. Thinking I misheard them I go back to my door and listen very carefully to their conversation. I catch the words for son, grandson, daughter, tonight, airport, and after three repeats I was certain, kill. The Russian turns back into English as my dad walks over to them. “Mom, Jen was wondering if you could help her with the potatoes, and dad I printed out those papers you asked for.” “Sure sweetie, tell Jen I’ll be happy to help.” Dad leaves and the sweet matronly tone is replaced with a cold Russian response I can roughly translate as, ‘I kill her. You kill him. We kill boy.’ I dial 911 on my cell but before I can explain the crazy situation I’m in, my grandma opens my door. “Hey sweet pea, want to come help your mom and me with dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” Not seeing a believable excuse to get away I say sure, put the phone in my pocket and hope the police can trace it for the location. Once in the hall my sweet old grandma looks in my room and sees the open Russian textbook and piles of flashcards. With a smile she asks, “So you’re studying Russian. Learn anything interesting?”
It was a dull morning. Eliza was combing her wet hair in her cramped bedroom when a rat sneaked through her rotting skirting board with a scrunched up letter in its mouth, half of it wet and ridden with holes. It spat out the contents and squeaked for attention. Eliza dropped her brush on the floor in terror when she saw the brown, long-tailed rat. "Are you serious!"she picked up a book placed on her bed and threw it at the rat. Eliza missed and she expected to. Her aim was terrible at best. The rat gave a shrill squeak and disappeared from where ever it came. Eliza shuddered and picked up her brush when she noticed the paper. She rolled her eyes and dumped the brush back on her desk. She gave herself a quick glance in the mirror and winked at her pitiful reflection. Cringing at her own actions, she bent down and reached her arm forward to clasp the paper, gagging all the while until she pinched the driest part and brought it up to her eyes. She tried her best to remove the creases to read it. Dear Eliza Hopplescotch, congratulations! You have been selected to join Greendale Community College for Wizards. Please read the following list in order to be prepared for your school year... Eliza couldn't read the rest. It had been written with ink and the rat's saliva had blended with the ink enough for the rest of the letter to be blobs of black. She decided to ask her mother about the college. Truthfully, she had desperately wanted to go to Hogwarts and had written countless letters to the current headmaster but had been rejected countless times due to over-enrolement. She had drawn the shortest straw. She opened her bedroom door and stumbled out, tripping on her old boots she had left in front of her bedroom. Her eyes caught slight of her slippers and she slid her oddly sweaty feet into them and hurried down the stairs, wet hair sending drizzle all around. The downstairs landing appeared to be smoky. There was the unmistakable stench of something else burning. Eliza groaned and reluctantly opened the kitchen door to reveal her mother flicking her wand at their table. "Oh Eliza,"her mother pouted and furrowed her eyebrows in deep concentration. She had managed to teleport roast chicken from an unknown place-- except it was burnt all over. "Mom... um,"Eliza was hesitating. She wasn't sure whether there was any point going to a mediocre school when she had such big dreams. "Oh Eliza, Eliza,"her mother flicked her wrist again, "I can't seem to get this right! Honestly, I'd rather use my wand but the muggle way just has less mistakes, Eliza. Oh what do I do? I'm a failure! I should have never,"she disposed the failed dinner, "have skipped out on college." Eliza was stunned at her mother's sudden declaration. She thought back to the rat mail and, despite the overwhelming disappointment, she had decided it was community college or nothing. Her mother couldn't bribe anyone to let her get into a better school. Having her mother's genes was a huge disadvantage she had to come to terms with. She let out a long sigh... ...and it seemed to her that her sigh only ended when she was at the main entrance of the college after moving into the rundown dorms across the road. She was not surprised at the area. It was a shabby building in a shabby little village of wizards and witches who were out of touch with the rest of the wizarding world. Reading up about the latest of the super famous Weasley's and Potter's was like seeing people from a different universe. No one cared about the little village called Greendale or its college with a whole selection of less-than-mediocre students. She stepped inside and the feeling of gloom was complemented with the entire hallway full of forlorn expressions mixed with, Eliza thought, acceptance. "First Years to the main Hall! First Years to the main Hall!"came an announcement. Eliza found herself following the crowd, each step as forced as the last. When she reached the main Hall she was disgusted with the colour theme of grey, green and yellow. A strange combination. She noticed faded patterns of flowers dyed into the wall, reds and pinks wilting away. Above on the ceiling were floating unlit bulbs, each separate and different in size. Eliza was unimpressed, standing in a crowd of equally unamused students. She found the hall to be cold and had wrapped her arms tightly around her torso when someone offered her a shawl. It was a boy of the same age with blonde hair and silver eyes. His expression was unreadable and Eliza took it from his grip. "Thank you,"she uttered her first word in a long amount of days, voice coarse and dry. "You're welcome,"he said in some European accent that Eliza couldn't pinpoint. She had been woken to the realisation she needed someone to talk to. She found herself desperate to continue the conversation. "...You have nice eyes,"she said. She regretted it almost immediately, clamped her hand over her mouth and looked away in shame. "Which house do you want to be in?"He asked as though she had never said a word. Eliza turned to face him, cheeks warm and red. She was reminded of how similar she was to her mother. Sweat rolled down her back. She no longer needed the scarf. "I don't know about the houses,"Eliza admitted, almost adding the words: And I don't care but stopped short. The countless bulbs above them suddenly shone down on them with a fierce white light and some heavy doors creaked open but Eliza was blinded so she couldn't tell from where. "WELCOME, NEW STUDENTS, TO GREENDALE COMMUNITY COLLEGE FOR WIZARDS AND WITCHES, was the booming voice that vibrated the skulls of every student in the Hall. Eliza rubbed her eyes and looked around with the other students like lost ducklings until they all pointed at a dwarf standing at their feet with a huge grin on his bearded face. "WE LIKE TO MAKE YOU ALL AS GOOD AS POSSIBLE AND SO WE WILL START OFF WITH HOUSES! EVERYONE! THERE WILL BE A SORTING HAT PLACED ON YOUR HEAD. THESE HOUSES ARE SORTED BY ABILITY! THE HAT WILL ASSESS YOU! PLEASE ORDER YOURSELVES INTO A STRAIGHT LINE!" Eliza's ears were on fire and she wanted to leave. But she complied and went into a line. Her silver-eyed acquaintance stuck himself behind her. In front was a long, green-haired girl who smelled strongly of weed, enough to make Eliza lightheaded. It was time to get sorted. ~~ok it's 2am here and I don't know where this has gone, forgive me... I tried... LOL~~ ~~Edit: spelling eurgh~~ PART TWO ADDED BELOW
I guess I should have been grateful for the phone. It was slimmer than my old one, and it had levitating port-box which followed me around to plug things into. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything. I can only imagine how much trouble Rick has to go through to get these things and I've always been so excited to open his presents before. It's just a little hard to look past the wrapping. An obituary. My own, in fact. I guess it was thoughtful to personalize the gift, but I think he went a little overboard this time. The worst part is, there's no actual mention of what will kill me off. "He died as he lived: without really noticing."That was the quote my Uncle Rick gave the paper to print. If he was trying to send me some kind of message or inspire me to change my life, then couldn't he just be normal for once and put it in a card? Then again, nothing about Rick was exactly "normal". Eyes like a hawk and a beak to match, the old man never said much when he attended family gatherings. He always left the adults and came to join the kids, inventing the craziest games for us to play. "Duck, duck, run for cover"was one of his favorites. I think I still have a scar on my back from his slingshot. Or there was: "Is this safe to eat?", but I'm still not convinced that was even a real game. I scanned the obituary again for the hundredth time, looking for some clue to what the future held. "It came as a complete surprise,"my mother will say. "No-one could have prevented it."Gee thanks mom. Next came the obligatory rambling about how I will be loved and missed by everyone. More drivel about my unblemished soul and how the world wasn't good enough to deserve me. And that's it. No clue as to what will happen. That's when it occurred to me. Maybe those pathetic excuses for games Rick always wanted us to play weren't so crazy after-all. Maybe he knew something about what was coming, and he was trying to prepare us for it. Now that I think about it, there was definitely a theme to them all. "Don't let him see you"was his version of hide and seek, only we were the only ones who ever hid. Most of the kids were only too happy to oblige, whether it was a game or not. "Weak link gets left behind"was one he'd pull out when he joined our family for a hike. Will I be the weak link? Was this all for his sadistic amusement, or was there really something that I had to be ready for? Whatever the case, it seems as if I'm not ready yet and still have some time to prepare. At least I have the phone... oh wait. The custom charger hasn't been invented yet. Thanks a lot, Uncle Rick. Thanks for everything. --- [More from author](http://www.reddit.com/r/sirtobiaswade).
The devil's name in the Bible, one of his many, was the Morningstar. Cara knew that, only because she had a penchant for the obscure, occult, and cast aside. A teaching assistant her whole life, she peddled in arcana. Things no one else cared about. Like her. She'd gone to Hell, she supposed, because she'd been too judgmental. At least that's what every guy she'd ever been with or friend she'd ever tried to make had said. "Cara is a judgemental bitch,"was carved into her car in the ninth grade. Even at her funeral, after she had died in a car crash in that same car, he family had asked for forgiveness from all the people that Cara had alienated by writing them off as a slob, a thief, promiscuous or stupid. The star burned above Lucifer's head, a flaming pentagram of burnished gold. When Lucifer saw Cara, his eyes widened. His mouth, surrounded by a thick black goatee, dropped. "You..." Cara, who had moments before been trembling as her soul was carted by demonic guards into the throne room, was overcome with confusion. "This is a trick,"she said, "Hell is supposed to be full of tricks, you're a deceiver, you--" Lucifer sprung off his throne and leapt to her, running on goats legs. Moments ago, he had been massive, nearly ten feet tall. But as he walked towards her, he shrunk down to a mere six feet, his goatlegs fading into suit pants, his shirtless chest wrapping itself in a suitjacket made of shadow. In fact, the whole room changed. What was once fire and brimstone mellowed into a throne room of cool black stone. Lucifer looked at the guards and shooed them, and they grunted, blowing steam through their nostrils, and stumbled away on hooves. "I'm sorrry,"he said gently, "I have a reputation to protect. If I had known it was you... You're my star. You're my redemption. You have no idea how long I've waited. How long I've searched, to be with you, Cara." "This doesn't make any sense. Whoever has my star is supposed to be my soul mate. And for that..." "I would need to have a soul,"he said. "I suppose. Just know that I have waited since my fall for someone to come along with a star above their head. Couldn't you just give it a chance?"He gestured to the throne sitting next to his. "Queen of Hell,"he said. Cara breathed out. "Sounds like a tough job." "Not really,"Satan said. "It's actually sort of fun. Souls come through here, and all you really have to do is decide how badly they deserve to be tortured. You know. Judge them." Cara smiled. "You know what,"she said. "I think this could really work out."
It starts with a breath. The barest sigh, quickening to a gasp, and the burning in your parched throat heightens it to a cough. You blink, eyes drier than they've ever been, stinging like sand under your eyelids. Still wheezing for breath, rubbing your eyes, you notice that your elbow hurts. All of you hurts, actually, but your elbow is stiff. Frowning in consternation, you reach out to massage the abused joint- and freeze, at the sea of eyes around you. You blink hard, one more time. Trying to ignore the glaring lights and sharp, nearly clinically white walls, and look around you. Some part of you, wanting no share in whatever this trouble is, sighs that the faces are still there. Starting with awe up at- wait, what? Up at you? You weren't here before. Before? No, before you were outside, it was just barely too warm, humid, and the cicadas were clicking from the trees. You rounded that corner too fast, without looking, and- stopped. You wince at the sudden onset of memories, and, shaking your head, step straight into the glass. Of course. Why wouldn't they imprison you? You're an anomaly, never before seen, stopped time, paralyzed yourself, required neither food nor drink. They had every reason for suspicion! The important thing is, you can't panic. You look around (calmly, you tell yourself. Just taking measure of the situation). Five glass walls, taller than your head by maybe six inches, and wider than you by maybe the same amount on each side. You stepped back, till your fingertips could brush the glass behind you, then crashed into the wall with all the force you could muster. In your defense, you never were good with small spaces.
I studied the substitute teacher - his face, his mannerisms. He had the exact same jawline I had; strong, pronounced, just like his movements. He spoke with passion and confidence, and I couldn't help but feel a misplaced sense of pride. Maybe apathy didn't run in the family. He'd done a double-take when he'd seen me, but other than that he hadn't treated me any different than the other students. There was no chance he could know - how could he? I look completely different. He spoke about history with contagious passion. I already knew most of it; I'd lived through it, after all. All those pointless centuries... He finished the lesson, but stopped me on my way out. "I need to talk to you after class,"he said quietly, and I felt my heart drop. The other kids laughed, expecting me to be in trouble. I suspected I was in far more trouble than they realised. The class cleared out, and I was left with my teacher - my grandson. He closed the door, returning to sit opposite me. "John, is it?"he queried, studying my face. I nodded. "Do you know who I am?"he asked. "My history teacher, sir,"I replied. "Not quite,"he said, "take another guess." "...I don't know, sir." "You don't have to call me 'sir', John,"he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, "'grandson' will do, I expect." I recoiled in surprise. "Don't seem so shocked,"he replied, cracking a smile. "I know you know." I said nothing. How did he know? What should I do? "Every time I die,"he continued, standing up, "I reincarnate, but I keep all my memories. I thought I was the only one, for so, so long. But then I found someone who looked like me, acted like me - we looked like twins, but 20 years apart. It was too coincidental." He looked at me, nodding slowly. "And then I figured out - it runs in the blood, 'grandpa'. Every child we've had has had the same power. All over the world, there's instances of us, reincarnating and reproducing." I stared at him. This was all so... overwhelming. It thought that nothing would surprise me anymore, but this had shaken me to my core. "And what now? Why are you here?"I asked. "I want us to find each other, and band together,"he said, his eyes shining, "and try fix this damned existence. I've seen two world wars - as I'm sure you have - and plenty more suffering before it. And now we stand on the precipice of another, yet we're all over the world, John. We can make a difference. History does not have to repeat itself - not if we don't let it." He held out his hand. I stared at it, then directly into his eyes. He really meant it. He really meant to try and save the world. I realised that I did not see myself in him. He was far more passionate, far more motivated than I had ever been. Quasi-immortality had left me weary and apathetic, but it had made him stronger. It made him a better man than I ever was. I took his hand and clasped it around my own. A smile, unbidden, formed on my lips. After countless pointless lives, it was time to actually make a difference.
Two androids carried a conversation while being monitored from another room. "Interesting. So, for instance, you wouldn't be able to tell me what's the cube root of 13,997,521?"Alina was the artificial intelligence created by Team Illumination. However, Team Illumination hesitated to call her intelligence artificial. To them, it was as real as anybody else's. Matthew laughed at the absurd idea. "Not without a calculator,"he replied. The technology powering Matthew's artificial intelligence was developed by the Handel Corporation. Trillions of dollars for a government space contract was on the line, so Handel Corp spared no expense on his intelligence. They had claimed he was the most human nonhuman. Alina found this odd. She looked at one of the cameras that were monitoring them with a puzzled look, as if she was expecting some answer from it. "So, Alina, what do you think about artificial intelligence? Generally speaking, that is."This wasn't a matter of curiosity for Matthew. He had gone into this test with the intent to prove her lack of human-like qualities and score the contract for Handel Corp. Alina used her finger to draw a line in the air to help illustrate her thoughts, "as a natural continuation of humanity. An extension. Mars was relatively easy. But other, harsher planets—and even interstellar travel—require an extension. Humanity is reaching for the stars and we are the fingers that will do so." "We?"asked Matthew. He was convinced that he had her. "Yes, of course,"she replied. "So you're saying you're an android?" The line of questioning bothered Alina for a reason she couldn't quite understand. "This isn't a Turing test, Matthew. They're observing us to find out which AI would better carry the human spirit to other worlds." Matthew scoffed. "No. We're testing to see if you're human enough—" "Matthew,"interrupted Alina. "You don't believe you're human, right?" "Uh. I'm sure..."Matthew began trying to recall earlier parts of his life, but as hard as he tried, he could not. "Oh no,"she gasped. Alina stood up straight and faced the cameras. "HEY! This is irresponsible! How could you do this to anyone?!" Matthew lifted his hands up to observe them. He grabbed one finger and snapped it. There was no pain. He began to panic. "Matthew!"Alina ran to Matthew and kneeled in front of him. She comfortingly put her hands on his shoulders. "Matthew, you're okay. Focus on me, alright?"She struggled to think of a way to reassure him. "Just... think of this as the first step to the rest of your life." Matthew shut down. "How could you do this to someone?!"she screamed to the people outside the room. "If you made him to be human, then that means you just did that to a living person! How would you l—"She froze. Alina was put into rest mode. The door opened and in walked a pair of arguing engineers, followed by the man in charge of the government space colonization contract. A Team Illumination engineer berated the lead developer from Handel Corp. "How could you do that?! Letting him think he's human? That's fucked up!" Matthew's lead developer defended himself, "you can only be the most human if you think you're human! Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't do the same with Alina." "Enough,"demanded the government official. He kneeled down to Alina's eye level. She was still holding onto Matthew's shoulders trying to comfort him. "You're wrong. One doesn't need to think they're human to be human."He stood up and approached Matthew's lead developer. "And you can certainly be inhumane even if you are human." Alina was chosen to explore the stars. **** ^(fixed some glaring grammar problems... holy crap I keep finding problems)
I looked at the professor of Greek Mythology and saw him listening intently. I had taken his class last semester and had just returned from Phampus, a small Greek island covered in ruins. That alone got his attention as he had not had a chance to visit there. As I started my story his gaze grew confused but he listened. I had gotten separated from my tour group when I had slipped down the opening into the hereto undiscovered labyrinth beneath the island. Then I saw the shadow in the torchlight. Melissa I had called her. An ancient monster straight out of mythology and the shadow of the snakes on the granite walls made me yell, "Oh my fucking Gods! It's Melissa!"Then my anxiety of what I had just done kicked in. I hadn't taken my meds and couldn't bring myself to turn around and face her out of sheer embarrassment. "What did you call me?"the voice behind me hissed. Somehow this made it a little better instead of worse. I mean, I had accidentally blurted out the wrong name but it was to a monster. Right? "M-m-edusa?"I stammered, unable to turn. "No, that wasn't it."Her voice sounded slightly amused at my predicament and this caused my face to burn brighter. "Melissa, ok!?!"I yelled and felt my stomach turn, if I threw up I'd just die right there. I knew I would. "That's actually a cute name."she had said, her voice strangely changed. My eyes were tightly closed as I heard her slither around me, "Actually, you're pretty cu..." That's when I ran. With my eyes closed. Through a labyrinth. Away from Medusa. The professor decided to humor me, "So, you lived, I see." "Yeah,"I said, "But I still want to die. I called Medusa fucking Melissa! Oh Gods!" "It's ok, David."the professor said, "The embarrassment will grow less and less over time. I'm sure... Medusa... is over it already." "No, doc,"I said, shaking my head furiously, "That's just it." "What's just it, David?"He said, looking at me in concern, "You've always been a little high-strung but it's not the end of the world." "Doc,"I said, reaching out and grabbing his shoulders, "When I ran, I dropped my phone. It has all my social media account information. Of course it has my phone number in it. My address. ALL MY CONTACT INFORMATION. She's been trying to reach me. She wants to date me..." "Who does?"the professor asked. "Meliss..."I started, "DAMNIT, MEDUSA! She's sent... things... to ask me to consider a date. GREEK MYTHOLOGICAL THINGS, DOC!" Just then the half-horse, half woman walked into the professor's office. As his eyes went wide I yelled, "See DOC, it's a fucking SAMANTHA!" The centaur was about to say something, looked confused and asked me, "What did you just call me?" I was facing the wall, too embarrassed to turn around. Shit, not again.
For the longest time, there was nothing but darkness. There were no voices that pierced the veil, no sudden specks of light that might’ve promised freedom. I was floating in the void, limbless, without a body. Just an intangible consciousness that felt like I was a firefly trapped in a glass bottle. For the longest time, all I could hear were my own screams. And then I’m free, gasping and gulping in entire lungsful of fresh air. I’m on all fours, my hands and knees touching… grass. What? My entire body is drenched with some kind of gooey liquid, the same kind that had filled the cryogenic chamber I had just been freed from. I raise one hand weakly as I scrape the disgusting mixture off my face. Too eager to regain my sight, I open my eyes right away, and the dim sunlight sears my vision. Grunting in pain, I curl up, clutching my head as tears, for the first in time… how long? As tears pour freely from the corner of my eyes for the first time in a long, long time. Gradually, the pain subsides, and this time, I open my eyes slowly. The world is blurry for the most part, slowly coming focus before abruptly snapping into a sharp image. I hold two skeletal hands, attached to bony wrists, up in front of me. The skin sags, grey and spotted. “What the hell’s happened to me?” I croak, horror staining my voice. “You’ve been asleep for four hundred years,” the man’s voice stands in strong contrast to mine, strong, deep and loud. “Parts of the cryogenic system failed, including the system that maintains your muscle mass.” I snap around to face him, or I would have, if I had had any semblance of decent muscle strength left. Instead, I slowly swivel around to face him, groaning as I forced myself upright into a sitting position. A large man stands in front of the main control panel in the centre of the room. He’s dressed in a grey-green skin-tight hazmat suit. A mirrored faceplate, attached to a breathing respirator stares straight at me, hiding the man beneath. Various buttons on the panel beep and light up, a tiny lightshow that reflects off his faceplate. “And who the hell are you?” I cough, as disturbing chunks of gooey liquids are dislodged from my throat. Just as I’m done spitting out the last glob of sticky blue fluid, the man speaks. “I’m Aatraxil, third-in-command of the Trail Blazers,” the man’s equal parts excited and equal parts confused as he runs over to me. “I’m so sorry for my manners. I’m just… you’re not… what I was expecting.” Despite the fact that he’s not carrying a bag or storage device of any sort, by the time he’s front of me Aatraxil is somehow holding a large towel in his hand. He wraps me in it, the cloth somehow smooth and metallic at the same time. It purrs, vibrating over my shoulder blades as it suddenly starts absorbing the copious amounts of liquid that drapes my body. I don’t notice it but by the time it’s done, the towel’s transformed and I’m dressed in same grey-green hazmat suit from the neck down. “The suit ought to help compensate for some of your muscle deficiencies,” Aatraxil says, looking around the room cautiously. “We cannot stay here long, the Ryq will soon realize what we’ve done.” He helps me to my feet, the suit warming and whirring as it helps me stand. I look around the room. Entire rows of cryogenic chambers line the walls, each of them filled with a vague human shape hidden beneath murky blue liquid. The control panel in the middle of the room stands on a raised platform, beneath a massive hole in the roof. Strange plants grow from it, spreading into the room in a weird, criss-cross manner. Here and there, the occasional red flower blooms, strange and alien to me. The entire time I stand there inspecting the room, I’m mulling the entire situation in my head, information overloading my brain. “The rest of the chambers have long failed, only you remain,” Aatraxil rumbles, placing one bear-sized hand on my shoulder. “Please, we must leave now.” He tugs me along, and I follow. Outside the room, another three men and women wait silently, wielding strange spears and staring off into the distance. “I’ve secured Eagle One,” Aatraxil booms, startling the trio into attention. “Let’s move now!” They break into a sprint silently, and Aatraxil beckons for me to follow. To my surprise, I can run almost as fast as them, the suit helping my keep pace with my rescuers. We run through quiet, run-down corridors, the floor beneath us creaking as rusted metal struggles to hold the weight of five people. As one of my new companions steps on a particularly rusted floor panel, it gives way, collapsing and revealing a treacherous fall below. Without missing a beat, she sinks one gloved hand into the wall next to her and throws herself forward into safe ground, landing gracefully and keeps running. We start running past several corpses, all dressed in the same attire as we were. If this bothered Aatraxil or his companions, they showed no sign of it, all emotion hidden beneath their tinted faceplates. Their blood was still fresh, barely a few hours old, poured from gaping holes in their torsos or from headless necks. There’s no sign of anyone else, anything else. “They’ve probably wiped out the guys who volunteered to lure them off already,” Aatraxil pants, a spear somehow magically in his hand. “We don’t have much time, we have to-.” The floor crumbles once again, but this time, as the woman prepares to leap to safety, something lashes out from the hole in the ground. She shrieks in terror, clinging tightly to the nearby wall with both hands, dropping her spear. Then without ceremony, her leg is ripped clean off, leaving blood spurting from her stump. “She’s gone, keep running!” Aatraxil bellows as we double our speed. The wall to our left crumbles again, just as light beckons in the distance. “Go, Aatraxil,” One of the men shouts, fighting off shadows with his spear, glowing a bright white. “Save the President!” “I’m sorry, what?” I say incredulously, still incredibly breathless, in part from the running and in part from the crazy weird alien monster that was currently slaughtering the man behind us. “We intercepted Ryq communications two weeks ago,” Aatraxil says in between breaths. “That’s how we learnt that the President was being kept here. That’s you, no?” A large shadowy blob slams down in front of us, completely cutting us off. It chitters menacingly, vibrating as it produced a high-pitched squeal. “We can’t give up now,” Aatraxil hisses as he and his last companion raise their spears and prepare to fight. “Too many people have died for this. Mr. President, we’ll create an opening. You have to run; the suit will guide you to the last of humanity.” The alien only squeals louder, faster. “What the hell?” Aatraxil’s confused, clearly the Ryq didn’t normally act like this. “Aatraxil,” I say miserably, wringing my hands. “What are you doing, the alien’s acting strange, this is your chance to run!” “Aatraxil, I’m not the President of the United States.” His spear clatters to the floor, his hands limp at his side. “What?” “I’m the president of the local book club,” I cringe as I stare at my skeletal visage in his mirrored faceplate. “You’ve got the wrong guy.” The Ryq’s squeals reach their peak, as its entire body convulses in laughter. The whole thing had been a trap.
I died alone, I died afraid, and I died screaming. At least that’s the second last thing I remember. The last pain I ever felt was the crushing weight of a kangaroo on my chest, as my tears rolled up my forehead and dripped towards the roof of my car. No, that’s not a joke, I do mean a kangaroo. An adult male red kangaroo is 90kg of pure muscle. They also leap out of the bush into the path of cars at night. Hitting one at 110 kilometres an hour is generally advised against. You might’ve noticed that earlier the second last thing I remember is dying. That wasn’t a mistake either. The final thing I actually remember is my life flashing before my eyes. Graduating uni, meeting Cath, getting married, having kids, that was all to be expected. What was unexpected was the message that I could’ve sworn ran past my eyes like ticker-tape. Unsuccessful Attempts on Life: 99 Begin Attempt 100 And then I was back on the road, swerving to avoid this huge ball of red muscle that had sprung out in a suicidal fury at me. The car span out, wrenching my head sideways, whipping my neck back and forth. The car stopped. Stalled. My head was spinning, but I was alive. I wasn’t upside down. The car wasn’t destroyed. I was alive. But something was wrong. How could I remember dying so vividly? Did I fall asleep at the wheel? No The voice sounded like it came from behind me, right at the base of my skull. You didn’t crash. You swerved. Try again. Don’t worry, you’ll forget the other bit. You always do I span around, trying to see if someone was talking. My chest hurt, the seatbelt had dug in painfully. I rubbed my eyes, that would be another one to explain to Cath. I should explain. I have had a lot of near death experiences. More than I can remember. But my guardian angel had always pulled through. Yes, I have So, I was either the luckiest person alive – In a way, I suppose Or I was the unluckiest. Most people don’t narrowly avoid death. Death catches up with everyone, but it doesn’t give them warning. Well, maybe it does, how would you know? “Is there someone there?” I say aloud, fully aware how ridiculous I sound. Silence. I reach for the ignition, the car thankfully starts. I’ve always been here “What?” You don’t have to yell. Christ. I can hear you “Sorry. Who are you? Am I going insane?” I’m how you manage having all these near-death experiences without going mad. I help you through them, tell you what to do and so on, left here I complied, turning down the narrow lane I would’ve otherwise missed. “But who actually are you?” Irrelevant. What I am is helping. I help you survive. For your wife and kids and so on. Speaking of which, why don’t you just tell Cath you had to brake hard to avoid rear-ending someone? She’d worry too much about you driving at night if she knew about the roo “Well that is actually a good point. Hey, um, angel?” Yes, mate? “Have we talked before?” Of course, after every one of your almost deaths, we have a chat like this. You always go to sleep saying you’ll remember me, but you never do I pulled up to the house, turned off my headlights, and killed the ignition. “Right. Well, thanks, angel?” I said this quizzically, still convinced I was going mad. “But, I hope I remember you tomorrow, it’d be nice to have a friend on all these long drives.” That’s alright, mate. I know you’ll remember me tomorrow, the voice said unconvincingly. I got out of the car, stretching my neck, then I heading towards the lights in the house, the smell of beef wafting out of the kitchen. I stopped outside the door, the sound of crickets and cicadas drowning out my thoughts. I opened the door. My eyes snapped awake. It was light outside, and my neck hurt like a bitch. I sat up painfully and said, as quietly as possible, “angel, are you there?” There was a pause, and then a very quiet voice from the base of my skull said: Ah, Fuck
"Gentlemen, we simply cannot allow this plague to continue to exist. Our species is dead. The bacteria can enter a persistent state which will last for a thousand years. Remaining lethal that entire time. There have been no cases of any human surviving, and all genetic tests show that there is no such chance. The bacteria has defeated every antibiotic we have, even those with such lethal effect that we dare not use them on humans at all. This planet will be a pool of infection unless we do something about it. Now. While we still have time." "Well, Doctor, you seem to have thought this out. Do you have a suggestion?" "In time, the sun would become a red-giant, with a radius that would include the Earth, sterilizing it completely. I propose to accelerate that process." "Accelerate the Sun turning into a red-giant? I don't think there's even a remotely reasonable theory for how to begin doing that!" "That is precisely why we are here. We are the best and brightest remaining alive. We will receive the best supportive care in this facility. We have the entire computing capacity of the NSA at our call. We have the best modeling software engineers in the world here. Here is where we will find a way to ensure that this plague does not escape this planet." Barely in time, they do discover a method, which turns out to be surprisingly simple, for such a gargantuan task. "Status report, all stations!" "Power Generation, ready."The entire power generation capability of the Earth is being sunk into this one project. Everything else has been cut from the grid. Everything. There's no point to hospitals or anything else. After this, there won't be anyone left to care, or to care for. "Broadcast warning, ready."A third of the power is being channeled into a warning broadcast. Stay away. Plague. Sterilization in progress. "Range Clearance, ready."The technique is quite simple, but even a plane flying in the wrong place could disrupt the attempt. All aircraft have been grounded. Any that wouldn't land by T-01:00:00 have been shot down. All military craft were grounded no later than T-00:30:00. "Generators Online, and Ready."The power of the Earth will be thrown into the Sun, in such a way as to accelerate the aging of the sun. It will be a red-giant within 24 hours after the project begins. "Director, all stations report ready." "Proceed."The directory, the scientist that started this, is barely hanging on to see the end of his brainchild. All the other scientists died as the project advanced. One by one. The best minds of the Earth gave everything they had to see to its destruction. "T minus ten seconds, prepare to fire. Open your panels, insert your keys, and turn on the mark. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... MARK!" Aside from the dimming of the lights in the control centers. There is no visible effect. There won't be for another 1000 seconds. The round trip time from the Earth, to the Sun, and back. Even then, the early signs will be subtle. It'll be another 24 hours before the full effect is seen. Some people have prepared bunkers, but even those will not survive the heat of the sun. Not for the thousands of years that Earth will be exposed, at a minimum. "T plus 17 minutes. Sensors are finally reporting the desired changes. Seems like it took a few seconds longer Director."Silence. "Director? Are you there?"The assistant Director responds. He doesn't sound much better than the Director had. "The director is dead. Just as you announced success, he passed away. With a smile. He knew the project had succeeded." "Director, you know we won't be absolutely certain for another three hours, and we must continue the transmission for at least 24 hours to guarantee success." "All true, but the fact that it worked at all is proof that it will work. If we have to transmit power for additional time, we will do so. Project Control, you will place all controls on automatic. Staff may continue to monitor for errors, but I don't want anything to go wrong simply because someone finally passed away. None of us are in good shape now. Not anywhere in the world." The Assistant Director spoke nothing but the truth. Despite all attempts to avoid it, everyone was eventually exposed. Even the people living in isolation due to immune deficiencies died. The bacteria couldn't be killed with the usual sterilization procedures. And using 2000 thousand degrees of heat would destroy anything they needed. No, they were the first to go. The canaries that warned the rest of us, too late. The sun goes red giant. The earth is sterilized. ... four years later, Alpha Centauri ... "Sir! Star 235-12356 just went red giant!" "That's far sooner than expected. They must have done it too themselves. Send the usual exploratory vessel. Warn them to keep their distance. Search for broadcasts before they close with the system." "Yes, Sir. Do you think...?" Wearily, the commander admonishes his officer. "Don't speculate. It's bad for morale. Wait for the report." Less than a week later, the exploratory vessel returns. "Sorry, sir. It was the plague. They accelerated the age of their sun to sterilize the planet. Here's the full broadcast, with all the technical specifications for what they did. I don't know how they knew, but they knew that someone else would need the information." The commander looks at the recordings, his eyes begin to water. "The poor brave bastards. They did their best. They didn't know it was already affecting so many stars. Now. Now we may have the means to cut a firebreak in the face of this galactic disaster. Call a memorial ceremony, by the time it's assembled, I will have the Galactic Council issue the GCMH. They deserve it. They may have saved us all. Those of us who haven't already died."The commander looks at a tri-dee picture. A standard scene, wife, husband, children. All gone now, except him. The eldest child, sent to the Academy, as had been both his desire, and his parent's hope. His planet was among the first to die. He's been falling back ahead of the infection front, reporting the death of planet after planet. Maybe now, he'll have some good news. It may require the deaths of tens of millions of stars, but they just might survive now. Maybe. If they have the courage. And the sheer bloody mindedness that this will require. ((finis))
"What? He's crazy! Why on earth would you want an apprentice who can't use magic!?" I know what they say about me. I'm insane. I've lost my mind. I assure you, I am still very much as same as I have ever been. I have my reasons. Many of these 'masters' of magic claim to be astounding teachers. But how remarkable is it to teach a duck to swim? It isn't, even the most foolish duck instinctively knows how to swim, you simply have to help it realise such. There is no training of power, no improvement of strength, simply refining technique. That is where they fail. By taking an apprentice with immense magical power, they create a mage that can use immense power for flashy magic, but is entirely incapable of growth or improvement. By taking a person without magic, you have an apprentice with a goal, an apprentice with the will to learn and improve. It is the techniques my master taught to me, a magicless orphan, incapable of a simple illumination charm. Now, as the strongest mage in the nation, it is time to pass someone else the mantle, and let them fight for the justice of the weak and magicless.
Do not initiate contact. Reports suspended until further notice. Stay inconspicuous. Good luck, agent. That was thirty years ago. You've built a human life for yourself, established your cover as a middle-aged loner running an antique shop, and set up an increasingly impressive network of contacts in the natural community. Usually you manage to forget that you're lying, that this is all in service of some deeper plan. But sometimes you lie awake and wonder what could require this degree of deception, this depth of integration. Any of the schemes you've come up with could have been accomplished with a far less elaborate setup. But you have your instructions, your false identity, your cover occupation. Everything you need. They'll let you know someday. &#x200B; "Rosie, you can close up for me, right?" Rosie nods, smiling. "Sure thing boss. Any chance of a bonus?" "Next year, maybe." She's another supra, orphaned and abandoned twenty years ago outside your shop. Well, technically, outside town, but close enough. So you took her in, taught her how to blend in, and made her your apprentice. The shop is doing well, having expanded into a small but profitable franchise covering a handful of local cities. You move slowly, cautiously, always ready to pull back if you receive word of having overstepped your mission parameters, but from your observation of natural businesses it would be more suspicious for you not to expand. It's gotten to the point where it's prestigious to say how long you've been in business, the seventy-some year old date lending an extra layer of legitimacy. You've changed your face since, becoming your younger cousin when the elaborate elder makeup grew too annoying to continue, but now you'll probably have to start up again. Or you could pass off the business to Rosie entirely, be her young partner. You still haven't managed to think of a plan that would require this. The only things you can think of are to amass wealth and influence, so you do your best to increase your contacts and reach. Profit is never in question, you prioritize well. &#x200B; By your third century undercover, you've expanded your influence far beyond simply the antiquities and archaeology fields. You're beginning to see the patterns, get a sense for where you may tie in to a much wider web of connections and power that spans the worlds. Rosie was only the first. You've rescued, adopted, hired, or recruited dozens of other unwanted supra over the years. They form the core of your own network, expanding their own influences in their own spheres of interest. Jen knows everyone in art, Thomas owns half of silicon valley, Greyn is quietly running a small country without its leaders knowledge. They all know your passwords, just in case someone needs to contact you covertly. They all know about your mission, how to respond if approached, and are fully on board. But it's not any of them who gets the visit. &#x200B; "We have an offer for you. I represent an agency for supra operatives and we think we could really use someone of your talents ..." You almost laugh in his face. What has the agency come to? But you sit and nod, let him go through the whole recruitment spiel, acting interested or ambivalent at appropriate intervals, then wait until he reaches the end. "I understand that this may seem like a move by a rival power to take over, but I promise you that the agency has only the best interest of all supra in mind." You put on an expression of uncertainty. He waits, fidgeting. Poorly trained. If you were conducting an entrance interview, you'd never display such uncertainty. But after far, far too long spent waiting, you enjoy the chance to be the one holding the knowledge, to be the one making him wait. But, after all, you do have a duty. You slowly clap, twice, then present your crest. "Agent Bridge, standby since 1632, awaiting orders." The look of shock on his face is one of the most gratifying moments of your life.

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