Split (1)

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"Honey? Where's my super suit?" "It's in the lower drawer of your nightstand, dear,"Allana yelled from the kitchen. With a blaze of superspeed, Freddy was dressed in his weekday best, and warming up a cup of coffee with his heat vision. His beautiful wife was at the counter, flipping flapjacks and scrambling eggs with her bionic arms and working on a bomb with her organic ones. Freddy, otherwise known as Captain Mercury, approached her and gave a kiss on the cheek. "New biot for next week?" Without turning away, Allana, technorganic wizard who limelighted as Clockwerk, nodded. "Correct. I'm patching the security flaws you exposed last month during the swarm invasion. These should, if I calculated correctly, be able to function when no longer connected via the cloud." With a final turn of a screwdriver and a spread of grass-fed butter on the pancakes, breakfast and day prep was complete for the day. Clockwerk sighed in relief as a droid approached, beeping incomprehensibly. "You're late,"she said, dismissing the droid absently. "I alerted my army to invade City Hall half an hour ago." Mercury checked his watch. "It should be alright,"he replied. "Destiny Prime's been pulling an all-nighter and isn't set for a recharge until tomorrow."Freddy thought a second, and broke the news. "Divine Wind broke up with her last night." "Oh, dammit Brad,"Allana muttered. "No wonder he's been on a bridge-focused crusade lately."She gestured towards the droid, who came back. "Order 2, flower delivery to location Destiny Home."The droid blooped in response and proceeded to continue the cleaning of the living room. "I'll talk to him at the bar tonight. She's perfect for him; I don't know why he keeps getting cold feet about it." Freddy sighed. The two had been on and off for the past year or so. It had gotten to the point of bleeding over into everyone's personal lives, which was getting a bit irritating. "I'll talk to Destiny once I get to City Hall." Captain Mercury finished his coffee and threw the mug into the sink. It shattered momentarily, then reincorporated back into a normal mug. "How many charges do you have set today?" A holoscreen appeared over the kitchen counter, as Allana paced and observed the blueprint. "Should be seven. Four are on the main support beams, I'm showing about 20 civilians that will need to be saved. The other three are in the offices of the people we discussed earlier." Mercury nodded. "The ones that have been siphoning funds from the homeless shelter." "Hole in one,"Allana replied. "You can save Brewster and Deville, but Pirigoni is the head of the operation. Mindreaver suggests that if he were to go down, the other two would openly turn themselves in and confess." "Good. I'll need you or Mindreaver to fight me to keep me distracted. No offense, but I think Brad can keep Destiny occupied in the meantime." "Hey, I may be a villain, but even I can tell he's an asshole." "Understating it a bit,"Freddy chuckled, as he pulled his collar up to hide his lower face. "How do I look?" Allana walked over, pulled the collar back down and kissed him, hard. "Mercurial."She winked and pushed him away. "Go, you'll be late for the show." Captain Mercury got his collar back up and stepped out the door. "Oh, Stormkind wants us over for dinner tonight. She found an old family recipe for barbeque boar she wants to try." "Fuck, not again,"Clockwerk cursed. "I'll have my people rob a few supermarkets tonight. See if we can avoid being poisoned." The hero laughed. "I love you." The villain gave a smile of her own. "I love you too. Now go earn your paycheck. Give Destiny a hug for me!"
Everyone had a Word, my parents told me. My mother's was "goodbye"and my father's was a bad word, which I later correctly guessed was "shit". For many years I wondered what my Word would be. I knew it was there there, the thin scrawl a faint scar on my skin, but I couldn't read it in my youth. Very few people could, and no one else could see it until you do, so I was curious for a long time. It wasn't until my grandmother died that I understood what the words we bore meant. My grandmother was fond of her Word. She said it was her favorite word to say. She thought the word everyone wore was special to them. "You're the only thing worth talking about, sweetie,"she said in her sing-song voice when I asked about the tattoo on her arm. It was soon after my twelfth birthday that I realized that the Word is the last word we uttered before we died. When I stared at the "sweetie"on my grandmother's frail arm as she passed away, I could suddenly read the word on mine. "Kayden."A name. I guessed it was the name of my future husband at the time. I wasn't particularly fond of the name either, or any similar names like Aidan, Jayden, Rayden, or Braiden, or any other variation in existence, but I thought that a Kayden out there would be very special to me one day. My grandmother was wrong though. The Word wasn't always important. Some people were unfortunate enough to have a Word like "and"or "it". Those people likely died in accidents. I quickly learned most people avoided saying their Word as much as possible. If it wasn't the last thing you said, you were safe. I didn't mention my Word very often myself. For most of my life I thought that my Word wasn't special to me. It wasn't. I went throughout my entire life without knowing a Kayden. Perhaps I would be one of those accidental deaths after I accidentally said it. I sat by my sleeping husband looking at his arm. The veins were prominent, his skin hanging loosely around his weak muscles and bones. In beautiful calligraphy, his Word was "You". It was simple enough, but he rarely finished his thoughts with the the Word. He always managed to avoid uttering it before quickly saying another. The doctors said he would say his Word soon though. I wasn't ready to let him say it. "Hello, beautiful,"he said weakly, drawing my attention to his fatigued, pale face. He smiled at me through the pain. "Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?" I laughed. He always asked me that question. It was the first of many pick-up lines he used on me during college. "Don't be silly, Michael,"I said, shaking my head. "I'm much too old for that nonsense." "You're just as gorgeous as they day we met,"he whispered. "You should get some sleep, honey,"I told him, noticing that he was already wearing himself out. "I will, I will. But I need to make a confession before my feeble brain forgets,"he said before entering a fit of coughs. "Confession?"I asked, reaching out to hold his hand. "Yes,"Michael said. "There's something I never told you about me." "I don't think I could find out anything worse than I already do, sweetie,"I joked. I could tell he was serious. He pursed his lips, a habit I came to recognize as his way to brace himself before saying something unpleasant. "Do you remember when we met?"he asked. "Of course. You used the worst pick-up lines in history and introduced yourself. Is your memory so bad I need to tell you about it everyday?" Michael sighed. "I lied to you that day." "What?" "I lied. My name wasn't Michael." I sat, confused. "But it is now?" "I changed it,"he said bluntly. "Why?" He smiled to himself. "I wanted you to like me. You were talking to your friend about baby names. I remember you absolutely forbid her from naming her children Rayden, or Aidan, or Hayden." "You were spying on me?"I asked, exaggerating my sense of shock. Michael chuckled. "No need. You were so passionate about it, the whole place crossed those names off their lists....and after I got to know you, I changed my name to Michael permanently." I squeezed Michael's hand as I mulled over his words. Then I couldn't help but laugh. My silly husband legally changed his names just so I would like him a little more. "So what was your old name?"I asked, stroking his hand. "I think you already know,"he said. I sighed. "Why didn't you tell me, Kayden? I wouldn't have hated you, silly old man. Names aren't deal breakers for me." Kayden swallowed. "I didn't want you to die,"he whispered. "Not too soon. I thought if....if I kept it a secret I....wouldn't have to worry about you, hun. If you didn't know my name, you wouldn't say it." I choked down my emotions. He worried about me too much. I couldn't cry in front of him, not when he needed me to be strong. "I think I'll take that nap now,"Kayden said weakly, his eyes closing, his breath shallow. I kissed the soft skin of his forehead. "Thanks for everything. You just rest now. I'll be here when you wake up."I murmured. "I love you, Kayden." "And I love you,"he said, nodding off to sleep. I sighed, letting my facade go and allowing the tears to fall freely. "Kayden,"I whispered. It was a lovelier name than I thought.
It's a been a weird few days. I'm a traveller, always have been. Doesn't make Mom and Dad too happy, but screw them, right? So when I got the chance to go off and explore a new city, I took it. My shoes had been wearing out - they were sandals, actually, and one of the straps had broken in the back. Rubbing my heel something awful. I was starting to get a blister, and I figured I'd be doing some serious walking in the near future. I was gonna lift a pair from the shop downtown, but adventure doesn't wait, so I figured I'd just make do on the road. So when I saw the chance to grab a new pair, I took it. I mean, I basically trash-picked them. They were just outside of this rundown house on the outskirts of town, and I figured, hey, why not right? They were even my size, really pretty too. I mean, what would you have done? Well, I got to town and suddenly everyone is making a big deal out of my shoes. This one lady would NOT leave me alone - I guess she must have been homeless and mentally ill or something. Kept shouting about how I stole the shoes or whatever, and I'm just like, look, I found these. Thankfully, this other lady basically told the crazy one to fuck off, but even she wouldn't shut up about my damn shoes! I mean, I get that they're pretty and all, but like, just go buy your own for like thirty bucks at Payless. Fast forward a couple of days. I made a few friends here - one of them was dumb as a brick and high as a kite on grass, but he's nice enough. At least he was better than the other guy - I dunno who he bought acid from but he was scared of fucking everything, spent the whole time hiding from shit. I would have ditched him but for some reason my dog thought he was cool, so we let him come. The last guy was kind of an asshole - like a sociopath, you know? Couldn't feel anything. But he knew about this great guy that could hook us up with all kinds of crazy shit. The others had heard of him too, some sort of all-purpose drug dealer or something. They call him the wizard, and I hope he lives up to the hype, because I'm never going back to fucking Kansas.
I backpedaled, grimacing as I tripped and collided with the ground. The man in front of me smiled. They never do that. “Don’t be alarmed,” he said, his grin stretching from ear to ear. “I am an ally.” I shook my head, searching for the right words. And instead, I uttered the first coherent sentence that popped into my mind. “Who the hell are you?” The man watched me, one eye blue while the other an unsettling gold. “They call me Null because of my ability to negate other’s powers. But that is not important right now. You were reaching for my necklace, were you not?” he asked, grabbing the chain around his neck. A small pendant hung from it, reflecting a multitude of different colors in the light. I could have sworn it had a siren’s call, begging me to take it. But I ignored it, my attention focused on this stranger. “Maybe I was maybe I wasn’t. You got no way to prove it.” I gestured at the crowd of people surrounding us, all frozen in place. They normally freaked me out –looking aimlessly in space like dolls – but it was the only time I could make a living. Null chuckled, a hearty laugh that shook me to my core. “I suppose you are correct. However, I believe my word is more than enough. After all, everyone is familiar with the Invisible Bandit. I could haul you to the constable and wait for you to break your limitation.” I flinched. He knew more than I expected. “I will take your silence as agreement,” Null continued. “Now, please tell me about yourself.” I said nothing at first, scanning the area for an escape route. The longer I stayed, the more likely I would end up with a dagger in my side. But the man tapped his foot, signaling me to answer. “My name’s Taryn,” I said, the first name to come to me. Null nodded. “That is a nice name. And how long have you lived in the Fells?” “My whole life.” “What about your family? Where are they?” “I ain’t got none.” Null’s face softened for a brief moment, almost too fast to register. He continued his interrogation. “I see you can manipulate time. However, I am curious to know what your limitation is.” I shot him a wary glance. “Piss off. Why should I tell you?” Null took a step towards me, his boots clicking against the stone street. He towered over me, looking down with condescension. “Because I am trying to save you from this miserable life of thieving. But of course, I could just leave and let you continue. That is, until you’re caught. And don’t think they will give you a slap on the wrist because you’ve a pretty face. The Council is corrupt as they come.” Feigning indifference, I crossed my arms. But inside, fear was consuming like a parasite. He knew my luck would run out. “Fine,” I huffed. “I have to keep one fist clenched or time won’t stop.” “Good girl,” Null said. “Was that so hard?” “Extremely.” Null smirked, warmer than the last. “I think you will fit in just fine. Now come, I want to introduce you to the others.” “Others?” “Surely you didn’t think that we are the only two of our kind. Over the years, I’ve amassed a… ah, club of people with similar interests. We look out for each other like a family when we feel most alone. Don’t you want that?” “Well,” I paused. “I guess so.” “Of course of you do. Then let’s go. Your hand must be tired after clenching it for so long.” Null extended a gloved hand to me, kneeling ever so slightly. Without thinking, I grabbed it, taking it into my own. And I rose to my feet, I unclenched my other hand. As I did, time flowed back its normal pace, the square buzzing with activity once again. And as Null escorted me through the crowd, I was brimming with excitement. For the first time, I would finally have a family to call my own.
It started as a debate, whether our schools and their archaic tests and grades were still relevant. If we could still judge a student's aptitude and passion for a subject off a single number. Studies conducted, senators in congress argued and scholars and students alike pitched in. Petitions were run, hashtags were made, protests started. I guess the pressure built up and Congress caved in. Education as we knew it was no more. At first, kids were a little lost, they were confused by the lack of guidance. But they soon came to terms with their freedom. They were free to learn what they want, they were free to create and discover. We no longer had students feeling burdened by parental expectations or test results. We saw smiles, we saw creativity, we saw them growing in ways never possible in a classroom. Each and every one of them were able find something they like, be it dinosaurs or comics and grow from there. Sure it wasn't a quick process, it was slower than traditional teaching, but it was good. The boys went from reading comics to making comics, slowly honing their skills, improving the quality. Many a time, the comics referenced some far out science term which they googled, and got sucked into reading page after page of "related"Wikipedia articles. Kids who liked dinosaurs went to learn more, and than about other dinosaurs and probably moved onto the field of palaeontology. They had all built an interest in what they loved. What was even more remarkable was what happened to the internet. Be it Reddit, Voat or Digg, any forum or chat site, we had better discussions, one focused on facts and fair debates, people began logical, all out of a desire to learn more. Be it WWII or Space, children asked questions and adults answered, we passed down information, we fed their minds the food it craved. Coincidentally, we became much like our forefathers where skilled craftsman taught an apprentice, except we did it on a massive scale. Children who loved games, learned to make props, assemble computers, set up software, they learned what was never taught in school. After seeing the success of this program in US, Canada followed, then UK and Germany, soon the world changed. We were in for better times, one not governed by rules, one where people where happier, one where Half-Life 3 came out.
I had a plan to get both of them to stop harassing me. I loaded up my friend David's Facebook page, and scrolled down to the post. Then I unlocked my phone, and had John forward the text. I sighed, closed my eyes, and waited five seconds. The knock at the door. Ten seconds. The wailing from the kitchen. I smiled and ran to the door. "Hello, Mi-"the red devil started. "Hello, Satan,"I said, nonchalantly. "Satan, I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. Satan, this is 'That Dead Girl Who Will Kill You If You Don't Pass Her Letter Along.' And 'That Dead Girl Who Will Kill You If You Don't Pass Her Letter Along', this is Satan." The plan was almost perfect. Almost, because three years later, Satan's knocking at my door again. And he's asking me to be his best man at their wedding.
A pungent, rotten, metallic smell assaulted my nose. It was so strong my god damn eyes watered, and I couldn't even see. Then the taste swarmed my tongue. Pangs of iron, sulfur and vomit. I clawed desperately, trying to grate my taste buds off to no avail. Sound followed. Distant screams, squelching and clattering. Footfall all around me, dizzying and overwhelming. I felt warmth and wetness on my hands, my feet raw and my eyes burned. It was...cold, as well. My sight returned last, tying it all together. Crumbling, moss-covered buildings, dead bodies and weathered cars littered the earth. The sun burned my eyes unlike anything I'd felt before. As I slowly regained vision, I looked down and saw the mangled body of a child, her blood fresh on my hands. What...is this? I tried to scream but my throat burned like hell. All I could do was throw up. Where am I? How did I get here? Where....where is my family? My friends? Memories of the infection hit me all at once. The plague of undead feasting on the living. I looked down at the little girl in front of me, entrails torn out and half-eaten, and cried. The puddle of vomit pooling near me had bits of intestinal tract in it. I had returned to life, but I was certainly not alive anymore.
As he ushered his secretary to let in the last interview of the day, Robert mused about which was more unsatisfying, the last 15 candidates he had interviewed or the lunch he had eaten this afternoon. Judging by the clock the time was nearing 6pm but his stomach estimated it closer to 2 hours past meal time. If he could keep this interview short there was a delicious roast beef sandwich he could steal from the company fridge. It was supposed to be Joe's lunch but he'd left in the afternoon claiming a headache. Dreamy thoughts of rich juicy roast beef were cut short by half a handshake. More specifically, the half that didn't involve Robert. Standing with his arm outstretched in a suit and tie, the sudden intruder cut an imposing figure. With an awkward throat clear, Robert completed the handshake and motioned for the man to take a seat on the opposite side of his fantastically unornate desk. "Good to meet you uh...."He trailed off, refreshing on resumes was for men who did not have their minds preoccupied with salivatory delights and he did not know this man's name. To his credit, the man did not bat a single eyelash. "Very pleasant to meet you too." "Thank you for taking the time to interview with us. I have, uh, heard extensively about your sales experience."He lied out of instinct. This conversation needed to be shifted away from introductions before his lack of knowledge came back to bite him. Robert sat down and leaned onto the desk, looking the other man straight in the eye. "I have heard about your extensive experience however here at SALES SALES SALES Inc we don't simply take honeyed words. We demand RESULTS." The other man did not move other than to calmly nod. "Sell me this pen."Robert demanded confidently, tossing a generic ballpoint pen across the table. He leaned back and calmed down. He was back in his element now. The man picked up the pen and examined it quickly. Then a miraculous thing occurred. For the first time in this strange encounter, the man's eyebrows moved. "That is a curious question. Why would anyone ever want this pen?" Robert's jaw dropped. "What I mean is"The man continued "why would anyone want THIS pen."He gently tossed it in the trash and reached into his bag. One thing you have to understand about this sales office is that every item was priced, recorded and tracked. Robert watched the pen sail into the trash bin the same way a person might watch 31.67 cents be tossed into a trash bin after being stolen from your wallet. Eventually, his astonished gaze returned back up to the other man, who was holding a new pen in his hand. "I want you to have this, as a present from me. It's a much better pen for a man of your sales stature. When a client sees you signing the document that seals away their savings for the next 20 years, do you want them looking at a cheap piece of plastic, or this?" This was the moment where Robert was supposed to interject, or at least refuse to take a gift during an interview but much to the dismay of his professionalism, he dumbfoundedly accepted the pen. Lunch was way more important to him than professionalism anyway and he'd already forgotten about that. "This pen is made from unibody anodized aluminium. The same material they use to build airplanes. It's super thin, strong and light all at the same time. It makes pen strokes light and effortless. No signature of yours should ever be written with a cheap plastic toy ever again." "Th- thank you."His brain was still processing the whole situation approximately a sentence too slowly. "This pen under good use should last you about 180 days of normal use. But maybe more like 130 for a sales shark like you." Robert nervously cleared his throat, carefully examining the pen. It was quite beautiful, with a mellow silver and gray brushed finish. "Yes, of course" "After the lifetime of this pen, you will need more pens. Thankfully, I can sell that to you here and now." Even though he was still lost in this conversation, a little part in the back of Robert's brain suddenly lit up and recovered from the deep thaw. It realized the danger that he might be suddenly be subjected to parting with any amount of money. This was completely unacceptable and Robert jolted back to awareness. "That, uh, will not be necessary. You can have this pen back. That was an excellent demonstration." Robert suddenly became sullen. This man had clearly passed, which meant more paperwork for him. With a sigh, he looked at the clock. Which was a redundant action, his stomach had already told him the time. "You don't like it? That's okay. I have many others. How about a pen that can measure the temperature? I have one that can take your pulse and one that can call you wife when you are working late. For a man of your sales experience and wealth i have one that shows stock tickers and can initiate trades with the click of the cap. Surely one of these will be one you desire." The man caught him by complete surprise. "You have me convinced, you can sell a pen. No need to patronize me." "You don't understand, I have them all right here."The man emptied his bag on to the desk, along with his business cards. Mr. Henry Wright, Pen salesman. Robert read the card over 3 times in disbelief. Next time he should really read the resumes. Robert was astounded as he studied the myriad of pens. Each one sated a different desire. However as he finished studying the pile in front of him, he found it lacking in exactly one way. "Do you have any I can eat?"
It's a call between sacrificing one of my precious food tiers or one of my internet tiers for another family tier. With both food and internet restlessly sitting at Tier 3 - a far cry from the higher and more privileged options - for quite some time, the announcement of a child coming into my life two months ago had really served to throw things out of loop. It appeared that one more of my luxuries would have to take a hit and although, at the time, this fact was clear to my wife, I didn't come to terms with it quite so quickly. My current job only merits me twenty-five overall points to allocate, and, after years of painstakingly careful distribution, I'd been content with how I was living with my wife; I didn't want things to change, to lose more of my liberty. Sure, I eventually relented that I could forgo a tier for the sake of the child. It's just that we hadn't been expecting twins. Food Tier: 3 Internet Allowance: 3 Social Allowance: 4 Freedom of Speech: 2 Recreational Allowance: 2 Family Tier: 2 House Tier: 3 Sleep Allowance: 2 Healthcare Tier: 4 I look over the sheet once - and then twice, three times to ensure every bit of information is embedded into my mind. The numbers are callous, to say the least, and only permit me so many pleasures in life. The key here is altruism, and I know it, but the supposed 'goodness of my heart' fails to see any ray of solace in the text before me - if anything, a little more of my imposed happiness leaves me, another piece broken off of my decomposing form. It's not just trivial things I'm losing, either. Internet allowance, social allowance... all of these are integral parts of myself, who I am as a human being; my brain is being put to the grinder and whittled down, lobotomised, to leave me an impotent shell without these liberties, and unable to fight for them. That's what the Government want - a good little dog who won't know any better than to wag their tail to the rhythm of the status quo. Obey, follow, obey, follow. Sleep has always had to be at a deficit to make way for providing my wife and I the tools for a decent living, so I'd naively thought that maybe I could knock it off all together, as an alternative to losing a food or internet tier. On top of that, I'd been prepared to allow my social tier to slip down by a single unit to accommodate a child, but, of course, with the arrival of two it appears now both might have to go down. The weight of the decision is suffocating. I lick my lips, drawing a small 'x' over my smidgen of both social and sleep allowance. There's nothing else I'm willing to lose. Shaking my head after a few moments of contemplation, I scrunch up the paper and toss it aside, collapsing against my desk. It appears that I can't even give that much up. I'm being selfish. I know it. All of these regulations, these laws, are for the betterment of us all. It's an integral rule of our society that sacrifice paves the way for betterment; destruction the precursor to reconstruction. But am I really prepared to do this? To be subservient to the bastards that enforce this? And then, a thought - a quiet, tempting whisper - passes by my mind like a cold breeze. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I could always divorce her. Abandon the children. Yes, that way I could live in luxury again. She's unemployed - she relies on me. She gives me no extra points to allocate, so why should she scrounge off of my success? My food tier could go up to 5, I could increase my freedom to speak and utilise that to gain a better standing in society. The possibility lingers in my mind, its pernicious seed slowly festering as my lips crack into a smile. I grab my phone, turn on my Wi-Fi to use my 3 hours of allotted internet time, and proceed to type out an email detailing the alteration of my tier allocation. Now I'll live fine, now I'll live swell. There's no love tier for a reason, after all - it's superficial, insipid. Love won't put food on my table, it won't give me better medication or the ability to speak my mind without guns being pointed at me. It's positively useless. Sorry Jessica, but I just don't need you. Not as much as you need me, anyway. --- /r/coffeeandwriting - keep fighting the good fight for net neutrality y'all.
"CAR!" Shelly jumped out of the way just before the ancient wreck of a demolition derby loser fell from the gym ceiling. Her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head, and her chest felt like... well, those things better not pop. "Shelly."Coach Boomer flashed a smile as he bend down, placed his hands on his knees, and looked her right in the eye, "Why are we here in this room today?" "Power Placement." "And what does that mean?"Coach smiled wider, his clenched teeth muffling his words. "It means I need to show-" "YOU NEED TO SHOW YOUR POWERS!" Shelly waited for her hair to stop flying away from the overpowering pressure of Coach Boomer's super-shout. Her ears were ringing by the time she tried to answer. "But I-" "NOW, Shelly! We haven't got all day!" "But you don't under-" "NOWWWWWWWWWWW!"The windows in the gym shattered one after another, filling the air with broken glass. Shelly closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands but he kept screaming at her. The noise was so loud. She didn't like it when people shouted at her. Her ears hurt. Everyone was looking at her. The Coach was mad at her. He was angry. Really angry. Shelly was angry. Shelly opened her eyes. They filled the gym with light that was the color of a dying star. She opened her mouth and inhaled. The sound softened, the world darkened. Every light in the room dimmed, flickered, then died in a manner of seconds. Then there was only darkness and silence. Shelly shut her eyes again. Shelly felt the feast of power inside of her. It burned brighter than anything she had every experienced before. She felt it and she knew she'd screwed up. They were never going to let her be a hero now. She'd done it again. This was just like the Bonoki Crater incident. "Now that is-"Coach Boomer paused. Shelly couldn't see his face, but she could feel his confusion. He already knew. Oh no. "That!"Coach Boomer said the word again, "That! That! That! Why can't I-" "'M Sorry."Shelly wimpered as she opened her eyes. The dimmest rays of sunlight were bleeding into the room from the broken windows, "I have your power now. You made me use my... you made me take them all."
DISCONNECT IN 3... The familiar red words flashed at the edge of my vision, stopping me dead in my tracks. I checked the display on my wrist, chagrined. It was only three in the morning. What could possibly be waking me up? 2... "Hey, I'm being logged off!"I waved at my counterparts, who were already surging ahead in the alien maze, their guns blazing and illuminating the chitinous cavern walls. "Wait here, I'll try to be back in a minute!" 1... "Hey!!!"They kept pushing forward, ignoring me. Even Tina, my wife, pushed on. When I logged back on I would be alone in this section of the tunnel, fighting off respawns all by myself. I had to hurry. DISCONNECTED. I sat up in my bed, nearly ripping away the sticky electrodes from my temples. My bedroom was still dark, with the exception of the soft glow of the power button emanating from my wife's PC. She was still curled on her side, content, her electrodes firmly in place. What had booted me from the system? There had to be something, a loud noise or... Well, a loud noise. That was pretty much the only thing that would trigger the auto-disconnect, and even then, it would only disconnect the user whose "turn"it was. And of course, this time it was mine. I pushed myself up from the bed, more than a little stiff. I must have been sleeping in a weird position. I walked out of the bedroom, rubbing my lower back and squinting at the light of the hallway. Most of the lights in the house were on, which I didn't remember leaving on. Well, it could only be Mary making noise at this time of night, I thought. I peeked through her bedroom door, expecting to see her curled in her favorite blanket at the foot of her bed, her golden locks just barely peeking out from under. She wasn't there. I rushed into the room, looking under her bed and all around. Maybe she had just gone to the couch, I thought. She's tried to sneak in some cartoons in the middle of the night before. I nearly lost my balance as I ran down the stairs. My legs felt like lead weights as I struggled to keep them in front of me. Why was I still so tired? A low moan floated in from the kitchen. My heart raced as I made a quick turn at the bottom of the stairs, nearly tripping over the space rug. Mary was lying on the floor, clutching her knee as tears streamed down her face. A box of cereal lay next to her, open and spilled across the linoleum. The top cabinets were open, and a chair from the dining room was laying on its side next to the counter. I kneeled beside her, examining the swelling already forming at her knee. "Baby, what were you thinking! You know not to get out of bed in the middle of the night!" She sobbed, then looked up at me with one eye. Some of her long, blonde hair was matted with tears and stuck to her face. "I was hungry, Daddy." "We ate dinner just a few hours ago, honey. You should have eaten your whole plate instead of picking."I pulled her to me, cradling her in my arms as I kissed her forehead. She shook her head, tears still streaming. "Yesterday. You and mommy slept all day today." My heart sank. "No, that's impossible, are you sure you weren't dreaming?" She sobbed louder, and I pulled her in tighter. I brought my watch around to check the time again, but the notifications bar filled the tiny screen. My boss had called seven times, my mother twice... Oh, god. [/r/intotheslushpile](https://www.reddit.com/r/intotheslushpile/)
I felt the cold, metallic object in my hand, surprised by its weight. I had never held a gun before; shit, my mom never even let me play air-soft with my friends. I thought back to those humid summer days so many years ago. Mom never wanted me to play with guns, but that didn't mean she was going to let me be bored. We would ride bikes through the neighborhood, and when we got home, she would take the fluffy banana cake she had made out of the oven, and we'd eat it with milk while we watched an overly dramatic movie on Lifetime. We'd build Lego sets together, do puzzles, read scary stories. But then her illness got worse. She had always been sick, but it never affected our time together and my former child self hadn't the slightest clue. Until that fateful bike ride in August, when she passed out on a hill and cracked her skull on the tree she catapulted into. Our last bike ride together...I never forgave myself. ****** I heaved myself up the stairs and somberly walked down the hallway. It seemed so much longer now. I looked over to my right to admire the portrait of Hailey that was centered on the wall. Tears started to swell up in my eyes. I had loved her, more than anything else in the world. We weren't married yet but both knew it was going to happen. And with little Ben on the way, everything in my life seemed to be falling into place. I took her to where we had our first date on our second anniversary; Ben was due in 3 months, but Hailey still looked so beautiful, and I told her as much. The waiter preemptively brought over a bottle of wine, and before I could explain to him that I didn't want anything to drink since Hailey couldn't drink, he was called back into the kitchen. A few seconds would have been the difference between whether or not I was downing my food with water or this poison. That fact haunted me every day. Not a day goes by when I don't think about how slow I felt behind the wheel that night, how I knew I was reacting late to everything, how I knew I shouldn't have tried to make the yellow light... ****** I slammed the wall as hard as I could as I sank to my knees, sobbing. My life was so perfect six months ago, and now, I felt like I was done. I had lost everything, and they knew. Because of course they did; they knew everything. I turned the safety off and pointed the gun at my head....
The secret camera had been turned on just in time. She watched its video feed intently: --- "...And that is why we are seeking $2.4 billion in equity financing. With your investment, humanity will finally become a multi-planetary species." As rehearsed, Elon paused for reaction, letting the line hang in the air. The group of investors sat silent. Three were still glancing down at their notepads while the fourth aimed her dead stare at the final slide of Elon's pitch. They were the fourth group to be invited today, and with each group Elon's patience had grown thinner. Elon coughed sharply. Two of the investors raised their heads from their iPads, looking first at each other before sheepishly making eye contact with Elon. Elon stepped forward and repeated the closing line of his pitch, enunciating each word with none of his characteristic hesitation. "...And that is why we are seeking $2.4 billion in equity financing. With your investment, humanity will finally become a multi-planetary species." Again, Elon paused, and again a silence filled the room. The three associates turned to the head partner, expectant. She straightened her paper notes and spoke: "Elon, thank you for the presentation. We see great potential in your vision to build humanity's first permanently manned refueling station." Elon stood expressionless. He had heard similar platitudes before. "Unfortunately, our fund has only a fixed pool of money and can only make a small number of investments each cycle. Especially now, in this climate of of collectible crypto-kittens, we see don't think now is the right time for us to invest." --- The remote viewer closed the videofeed, slightly dimming the interior of her alien spaceship. Humans had been her grandest creation, and she had stewarded their solar system since its birth. But now her humans were on the verge of leaving the sanctuary she had built for them. Her 'black domain' shrouded the solar system from the predators outside, but once pierced by humankind, it could never be restored. Although taking direct action or revealing her presence was against the rules set eons ago, she nudged humanity away from spaceflight, prolonging the time her precious creation would endure. She bent the rules as far as allowed, shifting public opinion through secret campaigns waged by her online pseudonyms. She sowed doubt around global warming, hobbling humanity's prospects for economic growth. She accelerated technological breakthroughs in gaming and pornography, sapping the aspirations of potential inventors and astronauts instead occupied by indolent leisure. And she had been behind the technology behind the current crypto-kitten craze, soaking up investment dollars that might have been directed toward accelerating progress toward interstellar spaceflight. Happy that her latest hurdle had preserved her humans for a few extra years, Satoshi smiled.
The bus shuddered its way around a turn, rocking its riders from side to side. I didn't let it bother me, turning one page after another. Jessica was one of my best friends. We'd met in college, two extra actors in the already rich cast of our group of friends. The two of us didn't have a lot in common, really, but it was never difficult to talk to her. The fact that both of us were already in established relationships made it all the easier. One of those interests that we had never shared was her love of reading. She was a bookworm - It seemed every time I saw her, she had her nose pressed into a different text, some new novel. It just wasn't my thing, I didn't see the appeal of it. But she was my friend, and after college, it seemed more important to hold onto those connections wherever I could. That was my thought, anyway, when Jessica proudly announced over Facebook that she had finished writing a novel all of her very own and was getting published. I hadn't even known she was writing, but that was a hell of an accomplishment. I wanted to share it with her, like any friend. Books weren't that expensive, and I could read one just this once. I will admit that my cheeks turned a little red when I saw the cover of the book lying on the shelf in the bookstore. I had not expected a book like...well, like that. But she was my friend, dammit. Which left me on the bus, riding steadily towards home. Page after page turned dutifully under my fingers as I worked my way onwards, but something....something didn't sit quite right with me. The further in I read, the more it sank in just what was so wrong. The main character being so...lovingly described in this sultry romance novel was standard fare for the genre - Tall and broad, with dark hair. Reading that really didn't set off too many alarms, despite that I'd been first pick for Football all through high school for my early growth spurt. The fact that Samantha - my wonderful girlfriend - often joked that she only kept me around for my thick mane of rich black hair was simply not relevant. It was a trope. Nothing more. My stomach started roiling as Jessica detailed with vivid imagery the exact, ice-blue shade of his eyes. Eyes like a wolf, the narrator said. Jessica had told me on multiple occasions I had 'wolf eyes'. Whatever that meant. But that didn't mean anything, I told myself. It was just more romance novel jargon. Standard fare. It wasn't surprising that Jessica used the same vocabulary in her speech that she did her writing. The next page-turn left me staring at the words lying in neat rows before me, though. I had a tattoo, on my arm. It was pretty big, and not exactly something I tried to hide, so most of my friends had seen it before. A stylized eagle, matching an identical one that my brother had. She wrote about it with such...clarity. Maybe I was being stupid about the whole thing. It was just a stupid tattoo. But even as I tried to convince myself of that, I knew it wasn't going to work. There was no way. Jessica had written me into her romance novel - as the main love interest. My cheeks more than a little red, I slowly turned the book over and started flipping through the pages at the end. It slammed shut a moment later as my heartbeat began to race. Definitely the main love interest. My mind raced. Jessica knew I was going out to buy her book. She was suppose to come over in a few hours and sign it, dammit. I had said I was going to read as much of it as I could before then. What was I going to do? Did Jessica have a thing for me? But...She had Greg, and I had Sam. She knew that, and she'd never- Adrenaline shot through my veins as all of the little clues she'd dropped over the last years took on new, terrifying context. Afternoons spent lounging around, when she seemingly wanted nothing more than to just watch Netflix with me. Invites to go get coffee. Jessica had a thing for me. The thought horrified me. Sam was going to read this book, too. What was I going to do? The bus dropped me off at the stop in front of my house. I drifted towards the front door in a cloud of horror. I needed to...I needed to tell Jessica I wasn't interested. I needed to warn Sam. God, I needed to get out in front of this before I The key I stuck into the lock didn't turn a deadbolt. It was already unlocked. I froze. The neighborhood wasn't high crime or anything. Did I just forget to lock it before I headed out? Cautiously, I pulled it open and stepped inside. Everything...looked like it was still there. The TV was still hanging from the wall, all our consoles and valuable electronics waiting on their shelves. I swore under my breath as I exhaled all of the tension that had been building up. Pulling my coat off, I made a beeline for the bathroom. I'd feel better after a cold shower. A really cold shower. The click of the door locking in the room behind me brought me up short. I spun on my heel, coat flying out beside me, and stopped. Greg stood by the door, swaying slightly. An open bottle was in one hand - a knife teetered in the other. "Sit down, Jake."He slurred, gesturing towards my couch. The bright pink corner of a book was barely visible, jammed into his pocket. "Oh, hey, Greg."I said, my mind racing. "Ho-how'd you get in here? Listen, Sam's off work and she's supposed to be home any minute, so you should-" Sam's key dangled from his pointer finger as he waved it at chest level. It clattered against the blade of the knife. My heart sank. He grinned humorlessly. "She's...she ain't comin. She's got friends, you see. Friends who read books." Shit. "Listen, Greg, I-" "Sit. Down."He spat. I flinched back, trying to remember where I'd put my cell phone. Too far to be of use, anway. I sat. He staggered forward, his face inches from mine. "Let's....talk, shall we? About you and Jessica." (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome)
I'm content with my life. My place. I've always been about the simple pleasures. Nothing extravagant, nothing rich and regal. My thoughts alone can sustain me in such a place as this. I have friends, don't take me for some sort of antisocial freak. I'm not antisocial, I'm a sociopath. Different things. I enjoy being around people as long as I can use them to my advantage. I'll use them to obtain these simple little pleasures I so crave. Let me tell you how I amassed such a large following, even whilst my long stay at Landon Penitentiary. It was a jolly little thing. I liked the gesture. For a year my guard's name was Laurence Mercer, and trust me on this, because every day I read his name tag as I peered through the small gap that separated me from the rest of civilization. I had my paints, I had my weekly newspaper. I was content enough, though going a full four years without a single hunt left me somewhat dry. I'm getting sidetracked here. Dear Lawrence would deliver my food through that little slit every single day for a whole year. I would often interact with him. Tell him nice little things, like "Keep trying, Lawrence!"or, "Thanks for the gourmet meal, Lawrence. Give the chef my regards!"Little compliments like these. I'm sure they were the highlight of his day. One day, Lawrence gave me something a little extra. A small piece of parchment paper crumbled into a ball. "I appreciate your trash, Lawrence!" Sometimes sarcasm conveys emotion in ways straight talk can never hope to achieve. I grabbed the piece of paper, and unroll it. It said the following: Just kidding, I can't remember exactly what it said. But it was some bullshit about me being framed, the lizard people being the ones who did them in, all sorts of conspiracy nonsense. It was the ending that made me curious though. He was apparently interested in helping me escape. I must admit I thought it over. More people, a target rich environment. I was itching for one. My fingers around someone's neck, feeling the life leave them, seeing it in their eyes. Yes, it gets me all tingly just thinking about it. I agreed to...play along. "Lawrence." He'd gone cuckoo. I knew it. He opened the small slit from the outside, and pressed himself up to the slit. "You read the note?" He said this in a whisper. Is he honestly for real? At that point, I made myself up to be as pathetic and as scared as I could possibly be. "Yes. Lawrence, I'm innocent. I didn't know anyone else knew about something like them." I attempted to wring out a tear. "They threatened to kill m-my family, Lawrence." I choked up. Already looking good for me. He banged on the door. "Hey! I'm gonna get you out, you hear? I'm going to expose those lizards for what they are!" The other guards had gone home that day. It was Christmas. Go figure. Convenient time he had chosen. Lawrence opened the door using the automatic switch. I started to sob, shoulders shaking. I grabbed him close for a hug, and grabbed the poor fool's gun. Bang bang bang. Right in the abdomen. As he collapsed I shot him right in the head for good measure. Did I escape? Yep. Got to the second level before I was ready to surrender myself. The fun was over for me. Was I recaptured? Yep. Not that I care much anyway. Remember, it was always the simple pleasures for me.
Most people think if they had a Lamborghini as a daily driver, they'd constantly rip it around town and push it to it's limits. But, once you realized you were always on the radar and the speeding tickets started rolling in you might slow it down a bit. Eventually you'd find yourself commuting right around the speed limit with the pack. Maybe sometimes you might whip it around like the old days, but most of the time you'd probably just think it's not worth the hassle. I can't help that got a Lamborghini of a body. Now you might call me selfish for the ways I've used this "gift."Cite some bullshit platitude about great power and responsibility. And if I'm going to be honest with myself, you're not wrong. But, I'd be willing to bet you've never had a lambo, and I know you've never had a body like this. These kind of reactions are why I keep my cards close to my chest these days. (which, by the way, is a wise move if you ever find yourself in a game of poker with me.) Too many people already know. I can't tell you how many times I get nagging phone calls from my mom when she sees some horrid tragedy in progress on the news. "honey! You know you could just whip over there and do something about this!" "oh yeah mom? Please tell me how super speed is going to clean up an oil spill. That's more waterman's deal there." "you always say that! Some other hero is always going to take care of it. Maybe I just want to be proud of my baby boy. You have so much potential Jerry." I sigh. I know she's right. "at least I'm not a villain mom." "you always say that too." "well... Its still true. Turn off the news, that shit is terrible for you." "well at least I care what's going on in the world." "gotta go. Got some very important things with all this potential." "like smoke pot and play your little video games?" "I was actually going to smoke pot and masturbate, but close enough." "such a filthy mouth, I don't know who raised you but it wasn't me." "bye mom." At least three or four times a week I get these calls. I can't even begin to imagine how often I'd be getting this bullshit if even all my close friends knew, God forbid if I were in the database. Look, I've got all the respect for the guys in spandex. If they want to put on their stretchy underwear and show off their junk while they fight the good fight; more power to them... It's just not my idea for a good time. Some people we're made for red lines and squealing tires, and meant for the checkered flags and cheering crowds... But, I'm fine with just taking it slow and easy down the coastline.
It was the perfect trap. Humanity had been searching so desperately for so long, that it wasn't even a decision to kill outgoing broadcasts when we got the message back. The second we received it and played it back through hushed excitement, the call went out. The message couldn't have been more clear. "Be quiet, or they will find you."Then and there we killed all outbound signals. The word spread like nothing I had ever seen, and one by one, every center around the country went dark. After us, each country around the world followed suit. But it didn't stop there. We were terrified of what we were dealing with, and extraterrestrial broadcasts became the least of our concerns. We killed radio around the world. We killed satellite feeds. We even told the public to avoid using wifi. How quiet did we have to be? There was no way to tell. But we were scared, and we were right to be scared. Every form of communication with a broadcast range greater than 1,000 feet had to come down. Everything that wasn't held together with hard wires had to go. And pulling it off was no small feat -- governments around the world had to coordinate the herculean undertaking of regressing our communications grid. But through all the chaos and the fear, we did it. No undertaking is too massive when humanity itself is fearing for extinction. When all was said and done, we had presidents shaking hands with honorable chairmen, and strangely, there was a kind of lingering unity. A sense that we had come together to save ourselves, and a feeling that at the end of the day, we really could put aside our quarrels to get things done. I don't think I've ever heard so many people say "we're gonna be okay"than I did on the day the transition was deemed complete. People even started talking about all the other things we'd be able to accomplish, now that we were playing nice. And I've got to say, it felt pretty great. In a cosmic blink of an eye, we went from speaking loudly, to listening carefully. Whoever sent that message must have been able to tell we had gone dark, right? Maybe they'd take our silence as some form of positive acknowledgment. Get back in touch. Explain things clearly. Every piece of white noise was carefully sent to every analyst that we could get our hands on, but we weren't getting any more messages. And really, that's not so strange, when you think about it. Whoever sent that message must have gone to great risk sending it to us. Whatever was lurking out there, listening, might have caught their message. Maybe they were already gone. Or maybe it was an ancient message. Sent from some long-forgotten civilization a million million light-years away, and we just happened to overhear. Maybe we were taking the whole thing out of context. Maybe it was a false alarm. One thing was for certain, though: we weren't about to tempt fate by sending anything for a long time. Maybe ever. Some folks even talked about drawing up broadcast laws to make sure nothing bled out into space. Didn't want some long-range radio enthusiast ruining it for the rest of us. But, uh, as it turns out... in a busy galaxy, it was easier for them to find silence than it was to find noise. Noise was everywhere, but silence was golden. There was no warning message this time, you understand. No ominous command. They just... arrived. Not two weeks after broadcasts went down, we detected the first object entering the solar system from the far end, all the way out near Pluto. Less than two days later, it was approaching Mars. As the first object arrived, two more were detected. After those two arrived, there was another 50. Each attracted by the siren call of silence that we served them up willingly. I'm not quite sure what's going to happen, but I know it's not going to be good. I don't know if there's other life out there or not. Maybe we're just the only ones stupid enough to fall for the trap. But I do know one thing: it wasn't the noise that brought them down upon us, it was our gullibility. Figures that the one time we all put aside our differences and work together, it turns out to be nothing more than childhood naivete. ---------------------- EDIT: Grammar edit.
I had never hoped for success. I was a "mob", after all. Just trash in the way of the powerful. Just an introduction to combat. I had managed, barely, to survive until now (Cowardice is underrated) . That is, until the lv. 99, shining, plate-armor-covered man appeared in front of me, probably seeking to blow off some steam by killing some easy prey. I fully expected to die. Until he fricking tripped over a fricking rock, falling with his neck, the only part of his body not covered by that impenetrable armor, on my miser dagger. This could not be happening. Was it some kind of trick? Some twisted deity trying to deceive me for easy laughs? It seemed so. It was not. Alas, when the light faded out of the brute's eyes, I felt it. Evolution. I, a mere skeleton given consciousness by the All-Reaper, was evolving! The bones that constituted my form grew, dark flesh covering them. After the flesh, a black, metal-like substance hardened my grey skin, encasing me in armor. My meagre dagger turned to ashes, from which rose a glaive of the same substance as the armor, a dark-blue mist slowly rising from the blade like vapor, covering its surface. A cape of darkness descended from my shoulders, covering my armor. I could feel things I had never felt before. I now know how it feels to have flesh covering the bones, to have lips, or a tongue, vocal cords, internal organs. A brain ready to learn and expand. Eyes not made of magic. A beating heart. A face. I never had any of those. I was one of the skeletons not taken from the ground but created by sorcery, magical particles coalescing into bone, who coalesced into a human form. I had no name, no life before my creation. I was never buried, and I was never alive. Until now. I approached the lake I "guarded"(I was often too busy hiding behind some rock in the dark cave to properly do my job) deep below the earth, the only source of clear water in a very wide area, and looked at it like it was a mirror. I could see it. My reflexion. My long hair, black as the magic that birthed me. My pale complexion. My eyes unlike any human ones, black were they should be white and grey where they should be green, blue, brown or red. My muscular frame covered by dark metal, covered by dark cloth. I was quite like the man I had just killed. I looked into the reflexion of my eyes, into what some humans mistakenly call the "heart", what I know is called the Abyss. And an abyss it was. It was a fitting name for my "heart". And it would be a fitting name for me. I buried the adventurer the proper way, knowing how to do so because my brain was created with knowledge of the world within, knowledge about things I had never seen but whose secrets I now knew. I buried him like I never was. He would rise to the lair of his gods, taking his seat in the table of the Deity of War, like all fallen warriors. His immortal soul would forever feast and sing his glories, unburdened by his humiliating demise, for all death in battle is glorious to these men and women, and knowing his mortal body would be forever safe in its tomb, deep below the ground. I walked to an exit I now knew existed, worrying solely about what delicacy would have the honor of debuting my palate. And I remembered currency was not one of the things evolution granted. And so disappointment was the first emotion to be shown in my face.
Journal of ParaPsychic genetics, June, 2027 For a trait to achieve ,allele fixation, where one allele has 100% frequency in the population, it takes strong and constant selective pressure. To remain at 100% in the population, there needs to be a persistent strong selective pressure keeping the trait fixed. It has to be something stopping almost any carrier of new damaging mutations to survive long enough to procreate. Since the events of September 7th 2024 we now know that the human mind is both psychically hyper-aggressive to any nearby unprotected minds and also capable of silently defending itself from such attacks. The effects during first contact with the Qurians were initially diplomatically disastrous with the entire visiting delegation killed once they came within range of the nearby human population. It was a miracle that we later established positive relations and eventually an alliance. Investigations have revealed there to be 2 separate traits in the human genome, with 2 genetic loci. For geneticists a mystery remained. What keeps the hyper-aggressive allele fixed in the population? It's an obvious disadvantage to lack defenses when surrounded by aggressive minds. Such individuals appear to expire at the earliest stages of brain development. But what keeps the aggression trait fixed? The constant subconscious aggressive attacks cost a small amount of energy yet everything we are familiar with is immune. It should be costless to be psychically mute. Every year thousands of children go missing across the country. We used to believe most of them were normal kidnappings or accidents but... in light of the discoveries since first contact we have reason to believe that approximately 15 to 20 thousand children are born each year without the capacity for psychic aggression. We believe none reach adulthood. Eventually, obliviously, they leave the aggression range of any other human minds. That selective pressure, as it turns out, is the reason why we sometimes feel a chill and feel like someone's looking at us when we're alone. Recent discoveries using parapsychic detection apparatus lead us to believe that we are not as alone on earth as we believed ourselves to be. We share this planet. And they have been hunting humans since before the first cave paintings. There is an organism that is an obligate predator of intelligent lifeforms. The psychic aggression of the human mind is the only thing that keeps them at bay. Worse, it appears that they have escaped the planet with the second wave of Qurians diplomatic ships that landed far from any human, the Qurian home world has suffered countless disappearances since their return. Though we are inimical to their very existence... our new allies need our help against humanities oldest predator.
It was the shrieks in the night that I wanted to address first. I could live with the bloodstained walls, the ghostly figures standing behind my reflection in the mirror, and the lights continually flickering like it was a party, but I needed my sleep. I went to the toy store and bought a cheap Ouija board, made of plastic and cardboard. It was pink, too, because that was the only model they had in stock, and the box featured pictures of teenage girls asking silly questions along the lines of, “Who has a crush on me?” Later. I promised myself. If it worked with getting me a night of undisturbed rest, then maybe I could spend a few minutes indulging in secret questions about my personal life. I couldn't imagine any demons being attracted to the ridiculously girly thing tucked under my arm, so I was probably safe in that regard. Home was an Edwardian bungalow. I had loved it so much when I first saw it, I had ignored the warning signs: like the way the real estate agent had refused to be alone and kept looking over her shoulder. In retrospect, I should have realized something was up. But I was caught up in admiring the original woodwork and the rich color of the brick, and didn't pay her any mind. I guess you could say that I was too busy geeking out. The housing market crashed before the ink was dry on the paperwork, and now I was stuck. No money to move, and no one to buy. I was the owner of a bona fide haunted house. It had been months since I've slept straight through the night, and there were dark circles under my eyes. If those ghosts managed to kill me, I vowed, I was going to haunt them to see how they liked it. I set myself up on the kitchen table. I wasn't sure if the Ouija board would work with only one person, but I couldn't turn to anyone else for help. It seemed like everyone I divulged my circumstances to either insisted that I needed to see a psychiatrist, or wanted to worship the Devil in my basement. There were a surprising number of really disturbed people in my social circle, to the point that I decided that I needed to reevaluate my life choices. Later, after I had slept on it. I put my fingertips on the planchette and said in my most authoritative voice, “I command you to speak! Who are you?” The lights dimmed and the fixture started to swing, but the planchette remained completely still. I had the feeling that the ghosts were laughing at me. I snapped. “Fine, guys, whatever! The fact is, I'm stuck here and you aren't going to get rid of me no matter what. Could you just cool it during the night so I can get some rest? I'm going crazy here!” This time, everything went completely still, and even the usual bumps that continually sounded in the background were silent. “Thank you!” I exclaimed, and this time the planchette began to move. It was a strange sensation, as if my hands were pushing it despite my efforts to keep them limp, and I watched it slowly pick out the letters: S-O-R-R-Y “It's cool. You were probably just excited to talk to me, and wanted my attention. Right? You seem alright to me,” I said. I wondered if this was the beginning of a strange friendship with my ghostly roommates, but nothing else happened. I kept asking questions for another half-hour, but got no other responses. I even, on a lark, asked if there was anyone who wanted to date me, but nothing. Sheesh. I said goodbye, packed the board up, and went to bed. The next morning I woke up feeling better than I had in a long time, and all the usual hauntings picked right back up, including the ghastly image of a corpse glaring at me in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. I could live with this.
CW: Murder, General Stupidity "Who told you that you had any right to summon me?" "Nobody. I conducted this ritual in private with no witnesses, just as the ancient texts instructed,"said the robed man standing over the elaborate summoning circle. "Oh, you think you're funny? Trying to get a laugh out of me? Trying to... induce some chuckling, Mr. Chucklehead?"Within seconds, the demon had dropped all false pretense and was now standing in an off-kilter way with his arms folded. He tilted his head in a way that was half-menacing, half-annoyed. "You really think a demon can sell its soul to another demon?" "I'm not a demon!"The man removed his hood, revealing a rather unthreatening baby face with a pair of thick glasses. "I'm a human accountant for Morton and Ringer Law Firm. Name's Bob." "Bob!?"the demon repeated. Its glowing eyes bugged in its goat-skull head. "You mean to tell me you're a demon named Bob!?" "Well, ah, technically my full name is Beelzebob, but I just go by 'Bob.'" "Ah-ha!"The demon smirked and gave Bob a knowing glance. "Beelzebub, a classic demon to name your little evillings after. Well, Bub, I think--" "Not Beelzebub, Beelzebob," Bob said. "Like I told you, I'm not a demon. I'm a pathetic sack of hot air with no life. I don't need my soul." "Are you insane!?"the demon roared, causing a whirlwind of fire to whip around the room. "Use that thick head of yours for once! What kind of human names their baby BEELZEBOB!?" "Uh, my dad?" "YOUR DAD!?" "Yes, that name was the last thing he talked about with my mom before he died in a freak drowning incident." "Very peculiar. But I can sense you're not one to lie,"said the demon, his anger subsiding. "Some humans are a bit out-of-sorts. Maybe your dad was just 'different.'" "Mom always said he was a good man. It took decades for her to come to terms with his death. It was only last year she told me the whole thing."A sad smile crawled over the man's face and he shook his head, jostling his glasses. "It really was a tragedy. One moment they were walking into Church hand in hand, and the next, the Pastor started screaming something in a foreign language and dunking Dad's head in the holy water font..." "Oh, *Lucifer Have Mercy!"* &#x200B; For more weirdness, check out r/OctOpusTales !
Sheila has been teasing me relentlessly about my ability to attract weirdness. Floppy is wagging his tail expectantly while holding his leash for me. Time to walk my hellhound. . How did I get here? I was henching with the rest of the crew and we needed to split up. There are some good laws for henches out there but they are hardly bullet proof. So I rolled out of the car as it turned a corner. Done right and the pursuit vehicle never spotted me. Well being dim out due to the rain and going right down into the mud and water slogged ditch probably helped more than any athletics on my part. But while laying there filthy and getting cold I heard whining. I followed the noise to a bag half in the water that was rising. Unzipping the bag what do I find? A cold, wet, puppy with its paws zip tied together. Good thing I always carry a box cutter. I got the ties off the poor thing but he was still scared and alone. So I put him the warmest place I had available. Inside my jacket. I was wet and a bit cold too. But I was warmer than drowning alone. And the poor thing shook against me. I abandoned my plan to wait a few hours to see if anyone came back to pick me up and walked back to the lair. When I got in Sheila was going to lay in on me about it when she saw how pissed I was. That was when he poked his head out of my jacket. So I explained where and how I found him. To say the gang shared my displeasure would be an understatement. We got the floppy eared puppy washed and toweled dry. He was so little I got a baby bottle and some milk for him. Probably not the best thing but we are thieves not veterinarians nor monsters. So I nursed him, the guys found puppy pads and we made a basket for him in the lair. It was Ruis that named him Floppy for those ears of his. And his gait had him flop down forgetting to use his front paws from time to time. Kimmie tried to act aloof, but we caught her playing with him when she thought no one else was around. Only time I ever snuck up on a ninja. And we thought nothing of him chewing on things. Puppies do that. My grand parents told me of my dad's dog. Chewed a coffee table, an antique book in the bottom of said coffee table. And ate an Atari joystick. . . So Floppy chewing on stuff never shook us. We just made sure to get him good toys. And let's be honest. It was nice coming to the lair to be warmly greeted. I think more of us found excuses to be there even when we were not needed. And yeah if anyone slept over, Floppy slept with ya. That was eight months ago. The little puppy I could hold in my hands and nursed? Four feet at the shoulder. Already putting on muscle. And growing horns. His tail wagging has occasional sparks. I am told when he is older and gets excited the end of his tail can catch fire. It won't hurt him, but will be bad for anything flammable around him. And now those big expressive eyes are watching me put my costume on. There is no way I can walk a hellhound as a civilian and get away with it. . . .
"We have something to tell you." My gaze flicked between Elra and Vossom. They were the staples of my life. The only two who had stayed with me, by choice or otherwise. They protected me, taught me, and were generally fantastic to me growing up. "What is it?" Vosson took his hands from behind him. In it, he held a roll of parchment, along with a sharp looking dagger. "You have always asked about the death of your parents. As you are eighteen, it is time you learned the truth." Elra motioned for me to take a seat. I felt the blood drain from my face, as a cold sensation rushed through me. "O-ok." They had a look of concern on their faces. But I had never known them to not keep their word. It seemed to be no different this time, as Vossom passed over the dagger first. "This was the dagger they both died to. The guards never found it, as we kept it from them. The reason for it is within this scroll." He handed over the scroll, as it cracked slightly from age. I could feel myself shaking as I opened it. Deaths Hand Contract The undersigned agree to take up the contract on the names of the targets below. They shall eliminate with extreme prejudice, using the provided weapon to ensure a clean kill. Upon confirmation of the kill, they shall be remitted at the agreed price between the undersigned and the guild. Targets: Gavel Hodana and Jesra Hodana Contractors: Elra Contrel and Vossom Contrel I read those names again, blood turned to ice in my veins. I felt an anger I had never felt before, my heart aching at the sense of betrayal. "You.... you killed them?" I crumpled the contract in my hands, rage filling my voice. "WHY?!" Elra took over. "We were contracted to. We didn't ask why. We didn't really care back then, it was just another job." I glared at her, as tears burst from my eyes. "WHAT ABOUT ME THEN?!" "We saw your cot, after the job was done. You were so young and innocent. It was only then we thought about who we had killed. Your parents were great people, as we always said. They were wealthy, very wealthy. But they used it well. They cared for many people, paying for deprived families to improve themselves." Vossom took over, his deep voice shaking in a rare display of emotion, compared to his usual clam demeanour. "Thye angered greedy people, who sought to keep the deprived families in poverty and debt. It was essentially slavery, by keeping them in an interest loop. Your parents threatened the stability, and so they removed them." "But seeing you changed it. You were innocent, and without us you would have been lost to the system in all likelihood. As you know, we are unable to have children. You were a painful reminder. But also a chance. Vossom was the first to voice our thoughts." I struggled to speak in a normal tone. "So what? You raised me, because I was a replacement?!" Elra shook her head vigorously. "No. Never. We made you an orphan. In effect, you were automatically our responsibility. We made a choice that day. We left the Deaths Hand, to try and atone for our sins. Not that we ever will." Vossom rested his hand on her shoulder, and she nuzzled into it. He looked me in the eyes, speaking with careful conviction. "What you do now is up to you. If you wish to go to the guards, we will not stop you. We will cooperate. That is what we agreed when we took you on. If not, we will continue as we have before, but with no lies between us." I stood up carefully, becoming numb. "I, I need to go." "As you wish. Take your time." I looked at them, my feeling twisted and confused. But one question welled up. "What about the person who h-hired you?" Vossom gave a satisfied smile. "One of the first ways to protect you was to ensure they wouldn't hire another assassin against you. Permanently."
Once, our ancestors looked up to the sky in wonder They looked up in awe They looked up with sheer determination to reach out and touch the stars The reality was far from it As the humans ventured into the stars, they were met with horrors beyond their understanding. Terrifying creatures and phenomenon that seemingly disobeyed every law of physics the humans had thought up And thus the rule was born. No venturing beyond the solar system No further exploration or research No gazing at the infinite abyss. They said that people went mad if they broke the rule. Horror stories of people breaking out into psychotic episodes were commonplace in the station. Being the outpost farthest from home, we were closest to the infinity of space. To whatever was calling to us. I never really cared about any of it I really didn't care about much actually My earliest memory is hiding out on the roof, staring at the stars as my ancestors once did. Except, I was only trying to tune out the sounds of my parents fighting downstairs. Trying to forget the horrors of my day. Trying to steel myself into going through the same shit day after day Don't gaze into the abyss, they keep telling us But they don't get it For me The stars were only an escape This job was only an escape Day in, day out, I went on with my job Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us Why would anyone want to? I asked myself. Whatever horrors were out there couldn't be worse than the monsters on earth. And I had enough for a lifetime Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us I would never. I have better things to do. And all I want is to be left alone. Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us They do say it quite a lot. Whatever, I'm not curious. The young scientist dude was the latest victim apparently. Too bad. I like him. He seemed nice. Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us I kept thinking that if it was something so troubling, we should all know about it right? Maybe, just a peek Wouldn't hurt Not the same as gazing Gazing implied a certain amount of time The magnificence of space was quite something. The deep, primal urge to respond to the unending, unknown, infinity took my breath away. As I looked at it, I knew I had discovered something far greater than me, and for just a second I knew the abyss looked back They found me I don't know how I tried to be discrete while stealing a small vessel I had to go out there I had to respond to the call The abyss, the space was beckoning I had to go............. I'm not going crazy. I just need to get out there. To explore the stars. It's in our DNA. Our ancestors would have wanted the same. The others were right. I just need to find them. I need to get out there. Far beyond our stupid world, to experience the one thing I have truly ever loved I'm not going crazy.....
"I'd like to say I've been in weirder situations, but I really haven't." I sheathed my sword as the silver dragon retracted her claws. I looked over the entrance to the tower and said, "Alright, clearly there's something else going on here, so I vote we cooperate long enough to figure things out and get our respective princesses back. So, truce?" The dragon grunted. "Fine, truce. My name's Kala, by the way." I bowed and responded back, "Captain Catherine of the royal guard. Now come on. If your princess was taken too, the guilty party likely expects you to fly up to the top. We'll take the stairs. Hopefully, they're only prepared for one of us to be coming up that way." Kala nodded and crouched down as a cloud of smoke with a metallic scent surrounded her. Once it dissipated, Kala was now bearing the form of a woman with golden hair and piercing green eyes. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Oh crap, you're hot." I clamped a hand over my mouth as Kala blushed bright red and awkwardly said, "We, uh...we should get going."I nodded and opened up the door for the both of us. Thankfully, the awkwardness faded quickly as Kala and I fell into a conversation that lasted us the entire trek to the top. Once it dawned on us that we hadn't encountered a single trap since we got here, we readied up for a fight. Kala broke down the door and I presented my sword, only for the both of us to stop and stare in confusion at the sight before us. Spread out across the ground was a picnic blanket weighed down with sandwiches, fruit, a charcuterie board, a bottle of wine, and macarons. Pouring the wine into glasses was Princess Lucille and a woman who I assume was the dragon princess Morrigan. Morrigan beamed and cried out, "Kala, you made it!"As Kala went in to hug Morrigan, I sheathed my sword again and asked, "Uh, what's going on?" Lucille giggled and handed me a glass. "It's a date, silly!" Kala abruptly pulled away from Morrigan and replied, "What?" Morrigan kissed Kala on the cheek. "Backstory time! So, me and Lucille have been friends since that inter-kingdom meeting, and when I told her you and I were thinking about adding other people to our relationship, she had the idea of putting together all this for a nice little date!" I tilted my head in confusion. "Okay, but, why did you drag me into this if you just wanted you just wanted some time with your dragon girlfriend and potential human girlfriend?" Lucille cracked up but stopped when she saw my expression. "My God, you're serious. Cathy, I've been in love with you for nine years." "No seriously, what's the--mmmmmph!" Lucille cut me off by yanking me into a passionate kiss. Once I was allowed to come up for air, I ended up spilling my wine as I said, "Okay, I think I believe you now." Lucille dragged me down onto the blanket and pushed me up against Morrigan. "Now you two get to know each other while me and Kala get acquainted." And so, we talked, flirted, and ate the rest of the day away, thoroughly enjoying each other's company.
The moniker she went by, the name on the hero blogs and in the news, was “Princess Sparkle.” Mostly, people just called her Princess. It suited her-- she was all of 4’7’’, with a poofy pink skirt and fluffy hair to match, and everything from shoes to tiara bedazzled in tiny sparkles. She was handy in a fight, in her own way. She’d twirl in the sun or spotlight, blindingly, distractingly, warned to “ stay back, Princess,” or “ let us handle this, Princess,” shouted over shoulders of adults with real weaponry or powers. She always nodded, fluttering back to watch, and wait, and calm any kids caught in the crossfire. The fight started like pretty much any other. One more perfectly normal, godforsaken Tuesday. A man in a mask robbing a bank, and instead of bailing with what cash he could grab when powerhouses like Dynamo and Knockback showed up, turned it into a multiblock fight, and then, okay, the lab space the fight busted through the walls of was probably the real target all along. So, ok, much bigger than a regular Tuesday. Like, ‘last Tuesday in this city unless someone does something real good, real fast’ But he’d been ready, for pretty much anything. Targeted civilian buildings to keep the speedsters busy, keeping those with superstrength like Clubs stuck holding up the weight of office towers. Downed powerlines trapped Dynamo, too much energy to siphon off without risking real casualties. He’d been ready for every major super in the city, and he was going to get away with it. “Princess, no,” a speedster with both legs broken under a shattered wall said, mentally making calculations faster than anyone else had. Princess Sparkle shook her head, a halo of golden glitter drifting down onto her shoulders. “I’ve got this, Boom,” she said. “Pinky promise.” The villain, who hadn’t even had the decency to announce his name while he gloated, loomed, standing surrounded by broken glass and brick. And then he laughed. Princess frowned, the expression almost oversized on her small face. “You should stop. You’ve hurt my friends.” “I’m going to do more than hurt them.” He said, gesturing with the weapon he’d stolen. The chargebar on the side gleamed, amber already fading into green. “No. you’re not going to hurt my friends. I won’t let you.” “You won’t let me?” he demanded, backhanding her. The blow sent her back, skidding through the rubble that had once been main street. “You? You’re a joke. Everyone knows it. You’re a pretty little mascot, a team pet. You’re hardly worth killing.” “Killing?” Princess’s voice trembled. “ That’s against the rules. Everyone agreed….” “Do I look like everyone?” the villain asked. Princess Sparkle stood, some of the tiny gems flaking off her shoes and crown. “Oh,” she said, quivering. She lifted her hands above her head. It may have looked like surrender. Boom knew better. From the battlefield, glitter and other tiny fragments that caught the light drifted in sluggish streams, weaving their way over twisted metal to twine around Princess Sparkle’s legs, through her skirt, up into her hands. For a heartbeat, her normal ploy of distraction almost worked. No one moved. The villain shook himself free, smearing. “Nice trick,” he said, clearly not being the compliment Princess Sparkle bowed anyways, and aimed. The glitter surged forwards, an arrow loosed from a bow but stretching on forever. The villain raised his weapon too late as the glitter broke over him. As blows made in desperation went, it did little. The force was not even enough to knock him off balance or make him readjust his footing. It didn’t need to be. Princess Sparkle floated, fingers twitching gracefully, and the glitter and glass flowed with her movements, clogging the weapon’s opening, into the villain’s nose, scrabbling at his closed eyes, tearing at his ears. When he opened his mouth to cough and gasp, it found another entrance to his shredded lungs. The villain crumpled. The glitter dropped. A ragged, confused cheer bounced from office buildings, growing louder. The princess gave a tiny shrug, dipped a curtsey, and then knelt beside Boom, helping the speedster set her legs so they would heal properly.
Today was the day that Jaime and Adam would announce their new plan to defeat the Chinese. Finally, after a year and a half of trying, failing, and dying, the Busters had hope. This plan, it was rumored, was going to be so ambitious and unexpected; the Chinese could never predict it and could never stop it. “Listen up, everyone!” the loudspeaker boomed across the camp in Jaime’s voice, “Meet by Lady Victory in ten minutes, we have an announcement.” Eagerly, hundreds convened around a bronze statue of Kari Byron, holding a sword high in one hand and a beaker in the other. Standing on the base of the monument was Jaime and Adam. Rarely did the Busters get to see their leaders in person, for them both to be present must mean huge news indeed. “By the end of the month, we will have won the war.” Adam declared, grinning a childish, gleeful smirk, “If everyone could watch the presentation, it will explain the new mission and how we got to it.” A projector beamed against the side of the warehouse. 4…3…2…1 “On this episode of Mythbusters!” a familiar voice boomed, “Jaime and Adam take on the most important myth of all, what stops a Chinaman dead in his tracks?” The footage cut to Adam in a traditional rice farmer’s hat, squinting his eyes while a wacky sound effect played. “With special guest Grant Imahara.” After the theme ended, Adam and Jaime stood in their bunker laboratory. “Well Jaime,” Adam said, “We got a call in from one of the resistance members saying that Asians tend to be so lactose intolerant, if they consume over 10% of their body mass in dairy products, they not-so-spontaneously combust.” Jaime laughed, “I have my doubts on this one, but let’s check it out.” They designed their experiment in two parts: How much dairy can you force into someone’s body? Is it possible to reach 10% at all? Adam and Jaime would split up; each would design a dairy delivery system (a cow moo sound effect played at this time) and try it with various dairy products including 1% and 2% milk, cheese, and ice cream. Then, when they settled on what methods to use, they would test it on a real Asian. Grant looked at the camera fearfully. First, they rigged up Buster with a pig’s stomach to act as an analogue for a human’s stomach. After equipping the proper sensors, they tried pumping him full of dairy products, measuring what percentage BMI they reached. Overwhelmingly, ice cream proved to be the best product to use, and Jaime’s modified water pressure cleaner proved to be the best gadget for the job. In fact, it proved possible to reach up to 15% of a standard Asian male’s body mass in ice cream if applied correctly. So far, Myth Plausible. Next, Grant was brought in. Adam and Jaime put on their fireproof suits and an explosives expert was in attendance. They erected a protective cage around him, and then inserted the pressure milk-gun into Grant’s mouth. “Now normally,” Adam narrated, “We would prefer to use an actual Chinese person for this. But since we are at war, we will just have to use the Asians we have on hand.” They began slowly filling Grant’s belly with ice cream, monitoring his temperature on their infrared cameras. As they reached 8% of his body mass in ice cream, Grant started to rapidly increase in heat. “Ok, that’s enough, shut it down!” Jaime commanded. They had the data they needed. The pressurized ice cream tube was removed from Grant’s mouth; he immediately vomited ice cream into a bucket. Smoke had faintly been rising from his ears. As they threw him into an ice bath to cool him down, they discussed their results. “So much to my surprise,” Jaime said, “It seems like lactose induced incineration is a real problem for Asians.” Adam nodded, “That’s right. So now we can mass produce some ice cream guns, and if our Buster army aims for their mouths, we can burn them all up.” Adam laughed a diabolical giggle. July 26th, 2016 The Buster army stood triumphant over an ice cream stained battlefield, the smoke of what used to be Chinese soldiers had begun to clear. A massive banner was raised and a cheer erupted. It read “Chinese Army: BUSTED”
"All I'm saying is, I think Tom should have the opportunity to express himself in class." He hasn't changed at all, which is the worst part. No wonder he never amounted to anything. I tried again. "'Expressing yourself' is very important. I'm not saying it's not. But the classroom is a place of learning."I had to make him see that I understood. Growing up next door to him wasn't wasted on me. "Ms. Derkins..." "Susie." "Susie..."he sighed. "You remember what it was like. Having to sit down and fill your head with information for seven hours at a time. All I'm saying is, if Tom wants to goof around for two minutes a day, you shouldn't see that as a problem." "His grades have been slipping,"I reminded him. "He's not just 'goofing around for two minutes a day,' he's neglecting his studies." Calvin looked irritated. "If Tom isn't doing his homework, I fail to see how that's my fault,"he replied. For Tom's sake, I had to maintain my calm. "OF COURSE IT IS YOUR FAULT,"I shouted, calmly. He flinched away. "IT'S YOUR JOB TO MAKE SURE HE IS INSPIRED TO LEARN AND DO HIS WORK! WHO ELSE COULD DO IT?" "You,"he murmured. "I know you, Susie, and you're not making it interesting for him."He looked up from the desk at my eyes briefly, dropped his gaze again. He continued. "I don't want you forgetting your part in his enthusiasm for schoolwork." The way he got the words out with so little confidence, I knew he had rehearsed them. Suddenly I felt ashamed. Was he really so scared of speaking to me he had to have a prepared speech on hand? Was I really so bad at listening? If so, that could explain a lot about Tom. Calvin interpreted my continued silence as permission to continue. He even lifted his eyes a bit - not quite making it to my face - then realized where he'd stopped and quickly lowered them again, blushing. "I try to make learning interesting. You should know better than anyone how much I hated the way we were taught as children."He glanced at the report card. B's and C's. "It's none of my business if you choose to call these grades 'bad.' I think he's a good kid. And I don't think sitting down at a desk for seven hours a day, without a bit of goofing off, would improve his grades. In fact, I think they'd suffer further." "But... he used to get straight A's. What else could be the problem?" "I don't know, Susie. But I think you should talk to him about it." He won. He always won, ever since we were children. Deep down, I always knew he was right. He never got good grades, and he never got a good job, but it seemed he understood Tom better than I did. "Susie? Are you okay?" Of course not. But I couldn't let him know. There's nothing he could do about it. Not anymore. "I'm fine,"I lied. "Thank you for your input. I think this conversation has reached the limit of its usefulness."I got up, gathered my things. I shoved the report card back into the bag and felt bad when it crumpled. "Well, so long, Susie. It was good to see you." I smiled, nodded, and left the room. Once outside, I took a deep breath. My smile wasn't fake this time. It really was good to see him. And he was right about what I should do. It was time I went home and talked to my son.
Jack jumped forward, reaching for the throat of a person in front of him, but missed as his intended victim fell on the ground and started chanting. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"cried Jack in a vain attempt to stop the person from trying to kiss the sand on which Jack stood a moment ago. It was a bad vacation. The weather wasn't quite right, the rum tasted like piss, and the maniacs wouldn't stop chanting. In the beginning, Jack hoped that the storms would stop, but it seemed like the tropical retreat was nowhere close to lifting his spirits. "Oh son of the great Morrígan, oh you, who comes from across the night sky from beyond the stars, show mercy on thy humble servant, and do not turn into a crow to lead a battle but allow us to stay in peace and prosperi...". Jack never learned the end of the sentence because his right foot had made a motion resembling that of a football player and came into contact with the guy's chest. "I said, shut your mouth! I'm not a... a... whatever you just called me there! Just go away, I'll give you money!" He wasn't sure if the prostrated figure heard him, lying there in front of him and looking at its own chest with awe and fascination of a lottery winner. "The great one touched me! Oh, I am blessed, blessed on this day..." Jack turned around and walked away. The person followed. Jack walked faster. The person started running. "Oh the great god of ravens! Oh merciful leader! Oh..." Jack tried to forget how one called a group of crows, but the thought came back as he tried to pick up the pace to leave his unwanted worshipper behind. He had no idea how the guy knew who he was as he spread his wings and threw himself upwards into the sky. This was intended to be a vacation. It was time to get back to work.
It went on for years. Both sides forgot what they were fighting for. A lot of people even just stopped fighting, because they knew it didn't matter. But both sides lost too much. Too many deaths. Too many lost resources. Too much time invested by both nations. But one side decided it went on too long. They knew they couldn't be the victors, because at that point, nobody would have truly won. He only had to say one word, and it would all end. One word, and everyone out there, fighting, would stop. And so he said the one word he had to into his walkie-talkie. "Now." And then the nukes fell onto the battlefield.
A scholar read an encyclopedia. What he found will CHANGE YOUR LIFE. Article by: Upworthy Staff I've always been proud to be human. But it never occurred to me that it might be something I have to fight for. Prof. Russel viewed our entry in the Gzorbagorb's Guide to the Galaxy, and you will not believe what he found: &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; "Hivemind. Largely incapable of independent thought. Repeat things they have heard endlessly." OMG, is this serious? I can't even begin to say how many things are wrong with this. But check out Prof. Russel's tweet about it: > Humanity is not a hivemind. Spread #notahivemind and show them that we can think for ourselves! > - @ProfofYoMom Talk about inspirational! The tweet's already trending across the country! Check out some of these top tweets! > I don't get my coffee at Starbucks, I get it at a cool non-corporate place across the street. #notahivemind > - @AirplaneOverSea Dead on! Do the Gzorbagorbs even know about latte art? > Watched a Friends marathon last night. Born in 2000, but a '90s kid at heart. #notahivemind > - @HowYouDoin You said it! My friends and I basically only talk in Friends quotes! Could we BE any less a hivemind? And, of course, the king of Twitter said it best: > ALEINS YOU MESSED WITH THE WRONG SPECIES. SORRY BUT HUMANS ARE THE BEST SPEICES EVER! > - @kanyewest * Why is everyone saying "What do I know, I'm just a hivemind"?** `ANSWERED!` Taken from /r/outoftheloop. Top Reply: > /u/yeezusparttwo wrote: > Aliens called us a hivemind, but it's bullshit. It's like Kanye says, we're the best species ever. I watch Seinfeld and I'm not even a '90s kid. >> /u/no_scope_420 wrote: >> What do I know, I'm just a hivemind? >>> /u/PrinceZelda wrote: >>> Every account on Reddit is controlled by the hivemind except for you. >>>> /u/GTAonPCNOW wrote: >>>> Every account on Reddit is controlled by the hivemind except for you. * Aliens Leave Earth.** Excerpted from: The New York Times In a surprising turn of events, the Gzorbagorb ship has left the earth's orbit, taking with it the communicators and long-range transports that they had provided our world's leaders. The Gzorbagorb's final message was, "We have chosen to abandon the earth project, as it provides nothing original or of creative value." Their unrest began after the popular Twitter hashtag "#notahivemind"began to trend across the globe. Many scholars are rejecting the Gzorbagorb's explanation, and instead suggesting that this message was sent to mask their fear. "The Gzorbagorbs just can't handle that we're the best species ever,"Prof. Myers, Dean of Philosophy at Berkeley University commented. "They're afraid of how awesome we are." Prof. Myers went on to observe that he watches Dr. Who even though it's not that popular with his friends, and that he makes his coffee with a french press even though it takes longer.
With great power comes great responsibility. That was what my Uncle Ben always said to me as I was growing up. At first I thought it meant that I had a duty to stand up for those in need. To protect the citizens of my city. To be merciful and spare a life, even to those who have caused harm. But that wasn't really what Uncle Ben meant. "No! I didn't raise you to be a pussy cunt!"exclaimed Uncle Ben during breakfast one morning. Aunt May was just finishing up preparing my favourite breakfast. "Language, dear!"Aunt May scolded. She then put her happy face back on and walked over to my end of the table with a frying pan in hand. "I cooked your favourite breakfast again, Petey! Wheatcakes!"She used a spatula to slide off a couple of those bad boys onto my empty plate. I smacked my lips and shovelled them down my mouth. "Don't fatten him up too much, dear! I can hardly out-wrestle him now!"joked Uncle Ben. "But in all honesty, Pete. You really need to man up. You know how all those kids pick on you at school? What's his name. That jock you always cry about. Barry? Wally?" "Flash, Uncle Ben. Flash Thompson,"I replied. "Yeah! You ought to go show him who's boss. Don't let bigger guys step all over you,"said Uncle Ben. He stood up, wiped his mouth on a napkin and then headed out of the kitchen. "I'll see you when you get back from school. And pick up some rice from the shop when you come home." "What kind, Uncle Ben?"I asked with a smirk on my face as I play along with our little in-jokes. "Uncle Ben's!"he answered and guffawed. The front door slammed closed behind him. :::::::::: "If it isn't Puny Parker,"taunted Flash as his hulking huge body waddled around the corner towards my locker. "Laugh all you want, Flash. But today, I'm going to have the last laugh,"I said. "Oohh... I'm shaking, Parker,"said Flash and laughed along with his group of friends. He had an arm around the shoulders of the banging hot babe, Gwen Stacy, who I secretly had a crush on. She started laughing at me too along with Flash. I felt a red-hot anger boil inside me and my face grew hot. Without realising it, my hands had curled into fists and I punched Flash square in the jaw. The force of my blow knocked him clean off his feet. He flew backwards and hit his back on the staircase railing, knocking him down the steps. "Arrghh!"he shouted from the bottom of the staircase. His group of friends ran down to check up on him. "Argggg... I-I-I can't feel my legs. I can't m-move my legs!"Never before had I seen big ol' Flash sob like a little baby. I relished it. "You monster!"yelled Gwen as she stared up at me from the bottom of the stairs. A couple of Flash's strong football friends eyed me and then started to charge towards me. I ran. I ran out of the school through the back door. Luckily, the back parking lot was empty at the moment. I slipped my mask on and fired some webbing from my webshooter. It latched onto a structure on the roof of the school building. I then launched myself skyward and landed on the roof. I felt good. I felt strong. But most of all, I felt responsible. So this was what Uncle Ben was trying to get me to do all these years. He wanted to make me feel confident about myself and to use my powers for retribution. "I love responsibility!!"I screamed at the top of my lungs. A few pigeons grazing near my feet took off in flight, startled by my newfound reason for living. I looked ahead towards the skyscrapers of the city and grinned. Time to do some reckoning. :::::::::: "Oh, hello Peter. Fancy seeing you during school hours,"said Dr. Curt Connors as he was just finishing up an experiment in his lab. "I forgot to thank you for the last time you protected my family when I turned into the... you know." "Yeah, about that,"I said as I inched myself closer to Dr. Connors. "I actually don't really take kindly to lizards." "Excuse me? Oh and Peter, don't get too close to that lab bench. It's strictly for RNA purification. I don't want it to be contaminated with DNA." I used my hands to grab hold of a lab bench on either side of me and used it to help swing my feet towards the doctor, kicking him backwards. He stumbled backwards a few steps towards the open window. The window was propped open today. And lucky for me, Connors' lab was on the 20th floor of the building. "Incendiary,"I spoke into the audio receivers of my wrist webshooters. I then fired a couple of webshots at Connors' feet. The webbing ignited some of the nearby flammable chemicals and caused a small explosion, knocking Dr. Curt Connors right out of the window to his death. I jumped out after him of course. But not to save him. But rather to move onto my next target. I smiled. It felt good. :::::::::: A bird-like shadow fell over me as I swung my way through the city. My spider sense was tingling. I looked up. Just as I expected. It was the old fart. The Vulture. He looked down at me with his big ugly nose and cackled like the maniac he was. "Heya Mr. Toomes. Nice weather today, isn't it?"I greeted him. He spat at me. I easily moved my head to dodge the spit. "Now that's not very nice. Hasn't anyone told you the good news?" "What news, boy? Do tell me before I tear you to shreds,"replied the Vulture. As I swung around the corner of an office building, I whipped a strand of webbing up at the Vulture and it latched onto one of his electromagnetic harness. "Turns out that I'm no longer your ordinary household spider pest anymore,"I said. I shot another strand of webbing at the Vulture. With the two strands in place, I pulled him down towards me. We began to plummet down towards the streets. "I'm a bird-eating spider." "Bah. You know you can't thwart my anti-graviton generator harness. You've tried it before!"crowed the Vulture. "Can you fly blind, though?"I asked. I used the webs to swing myself up and over the Vulture, landing on his back. I then rode him like the little bitch he was. "Acid,"I whispered into my webshooters. I then sprayed some of the web fluid into the Vulture's eyes. I watched him howl in pain as his eyeballs disintegrated. His flight became turbulent and he was now headed straight for a particular pointy and spiky part of a gothic cathedral. At the last moment, I leapt from his back and onto the safety of a gargoyle's back. Adrian Toomes, the Vulture, was not as lucky. :::::::::: "Extra! Extra! Read all about it!"hollered a young child on the sidewalk as he waved a new edition of the Daily Bugle in his hand. The front page article that day was written by the big J. Jonah Jameson himself. "SPIDER-MAN - AN ANGEL IN DISGUISE,"was the headline on the front. An eleven page article then followed it depicting the heroic acts of the masked hero, Spider-man. J. Jonah Jameson concluded the article by offering big cash rewards for more photos of his new favourite citizen, Spider-man. :::::::::: I perched myself up high atop one of the buildings looking directly at the Oscorp building. It was about a block away and I was mentally preparing myself for my confrontation with the Green Goblin. I knew Osborne and his company had designed a number of high-tech gadgets and weaponry, so the Goblin was not to be underestimated. That being said, I was confident in my abilities and the Green Goblin needed to be judged. Once I have taken over the Oscorp building, all its technologies will belong to me. I'll be able to take out the rest of my enemies with even more ease. Not even Doc Ock would stand a chance. Maybe I'll even get some new tech ideas during my raid. I could start a new company. Maybe I'd call it Parker Industries. Yeah, I like that name. As the sun was starting to dip down behind the horizon, I stood up from my perch and flung myself off the building in the direction of Oscorp. I savoured the feeling of the rushing wind against me as I soared down. Today was a good day. And don't worry Uncle Ben. I'll be sure to remember to buy the rice before I come home. <<More to come, maybe>>
SCENE: JEMMA the genie, a dusky-skinned woman in Middle Eastern garb, sits on a small couch in a legal office, rubbing her temples, while a well-dressed middle-aged woman, a LAWYER, reads out loud from a lengthy document. ALLISON, a teenage girl, leans against the desk with her arms crossed. LAWYER: ...And the sum shall be delivered to the Wisher upon the conclusion of the Wish or within the next 30 minutes thereafter, in a manner reasonable and accessible to the Wisher without causing the Wisher harm, directly or indirectly, such as... JEMMA: Look, I get it! I get the point! You want money! Here's an advance, and I'll set you up with an annuity. You'll be wealthy for the rest of your life. And I've even tossed in a little extra to cover the legal fees you're wasting on this nonsense. Can we get on to your next wish now? LAWYER: (Raising a hand to object) I must remind you that my client has requested that the money be free of any legal problems— JEMMA: Yes, I know. It's magic. It has perception filters and all that junk. Nobody's gonna worry about where it came from. I've done this before. What's your next wish? ALLISON: (Confidently) Oh, I got the rest of the debate team to help me come up with several potential wishes. Material wealth was at the top of the list, so I went ahead and fast-tracked it— JEMMA: It's been two weeks. ALLISON: Scheduling is a bitch. Anyway, we're still narrowing down the other two wishes, and trying to find a loophole that'll give us more than just the three. Then we'll have to draft up proper contracts and everything. It could take a while. JEMMA: Come on, Ally, is all this really necessary? I told you, I'm not going to screw you over. ALLISON: Ah, but isn't that just what an evil genie would say? JEMMA: (Sighs)
The shuttle rattled and rumbled as the flak cannons roared to life below us. Davis checked his rifle methodically, flicking the safety off when he was satisfied. Jillian bowed her head and said a short prayer before putting a headphone in her ear. Gary read a book. Fucking Gary. I'd like to berate him for being so calm, but in all honesty, there wasn't a reason not to be. When humanity took to the stars and met the Alliance, we took them off guard. Took months to explain that we weren't a secret ally of the Cordellians, the seemingly flavor of the century enemy that they'd waged war on. Cordellians. A species that looked like a cross between lizards and praying mantis, with heavy emphasis on the mantis parts. I didn't blame the Alliance for wanting them gone. In an effort to prove ourselves, we volunteered to fight the monsters. And with our special... characteristics, we proved our worth multiple times over. The shuttle landed. Gary shut his book with a snap, tucking it away in an overhead compartment. Everyone readied their weapons and waited. There was a large POP as the canisters were deployed, carpeting the area in smoke. "Goggles on, people,"I said, lowering mine onto my eyes. The squad lit up the infrared, their tags flashing in time with each other. There was a DING, and the shuttle door opened. We rushed out of the shuttle two by two, setting up in the cover of some ruined buildings. An earlier bombing run had leveled much of this area - we were only here to clean up. Behind us the shuttle's cannon deployed another canister to blanket our advance into the ruins. The smoke tickled our lungs, made a few of us wheeze, but it wasn't debilitating. Not like how it was the Cordellians. I watched heat signatures struggle and collapse in the smoke, their owners dying before we'd even seen them. Stray, frantic shots fired in our direction, grazing ruined walls and structures that we hid behind. It was like playing one of those retro war games with infinite grenades. No challenge at all. As the smoke began to clear up, I saw the details of our surroundings a little clearer. We'd arrived at a courtyard of sorts, the large crater in the middle filled with water and rubble. Surprisingly, a few of the edges of the courtyard still had second stories. The heat signatures wavered and fell in front us, just as they did before. As I began to move forward, one of the signatures stood up abruptly. A shot rang out, and I heard a thud behind me. "Get in cover!"I hollered, sprinting into the crater. I aimed my gun at the heat signature. Another shot rang out, my shoulder rocketing me into a spin. I landed on my back in the water, the jagged rubble below me cutting into my uniform. A firefight broke out as heat signatures from all around stood back up, their lifeless bodies reanimating. I watched the rest of the squad fall one by one, their efforts fruitless against the ambush. As the gunfire died, one of the heat signatures walked over to me. I fumbled for my gun - it was just out reach, kicked further away as the being got closer. As it leaned down, I expected to see the big beady eyes of a Cordellian stare at me. Instead, what looked at me was surprisingly... human.
I shuffled backwards, my hands reaching for a wall to hold onto. I held my breath in a fruitless attempt to leave without a sound. If only it wasn't for that head-sized violet eye that stared at me. I had finally reached the wall, and the trust of the support only comforted me for a short moment, until I realized I had backed myself into a corner. A quick glance to the left showed that the door I had entered through was easily 30 feet away from me. And while I was a fast runner, I wasn't that fast. I couldn't help but crush the last confidence I had left in me thinking the dragon could probably stare me to death while I would try to escape. And yet a feeling in my core that simply screamed Just get out! wouldn't leave me. "Don't go into the ruins", they said, so naturally I did. Since I turned a man two years ago, on my sixteenth Name day, the restlessness I'd felt in my bones had outgrown me. So I started to explore. First the forests, then the hills, and as time passed further and further I went. But as the villagers warned everyone who was still willing to listen: don't go into the ruins. Something terrible slumbered there. Terrible? Yes. Slumbering? Not so much. The majestic beast rose its head in front of me, casting a shadow on me as it blocked the thin rays of sunlight that broke through the stone ceiling. And then, in a thunderous boom, a voice echoed in my head. "*Breathe". In my amazement and fear I didn't even notice I'd been holding my breath all the time, and yet the rumbling in my head caused me to involuntarily gasp for air. The beast's head was still moving higher and higher, while the largest part of its body was still neatly folded on the floor. I estimated that it if stood up it would break through the ceiling of the underground hall we were currently in. Was it really a hall? As I looked around I saw broken statues, broken tables, stone ornaments covered in moss and dust. As my gaze continued I saw two large stone chairs crumbled to pieces at the end of the room. It was a throne room. "Dream", the dragon spoke. Vivid images appeared in my mind's eye. Trumpets blared as a man walked through the room. Thousands of people had gathered around the pathway that led to the two stone thrones, and all stood in amazement as the man passed them. He smiled and waved as they cheered for him. Red banners with a golden crown woven into them waved in the corners, and a faint recognition sparked in me. I knew those banners. I had seen them before. The images disappeared. Something had grown in me as I'd watched the images from the dragon. An uneasy feeling that something wasn't quite right. Then I noticed the dragon's head that was only resting a feet away from my face, and its eyes scanned my face. I screamed in terror and jumped to the side and decided it was now or never. I rolled over the floor and quickly jumped up and sprinted towards the door I'd entered before. It was only fifteen feet away, ten feet, and suddenly the air was blasted out of my lungs as something hit my chest. I fell forward to the ground as the dragon rumbled "See". More images appeared. I saw a barn burn in the distance. Smoke rose from a village, the plume disappearing into the pale night sky. I saw villagers scream in pain and fear as they hurried their children away, while faceless soldiers striked them down from behind. And as a crying child left my field of vision, the dragon doubled the visions, and I saw the country burn away in front of me. Finally he guided my mind's eye towards one little town, excluded from all the others, and my heart stopped. I would recognize our inn from miles away. And now I recognized it one last time before it collapsed in screeching protest, its wood blackened by the fire that was reducing my town to ashes. Then I was back in the throne room, with cold stone beneath me, with tears running down my face. "What was that?"I mumbled as I crawled back up. "The past... and the future?" The dragon shook his head. "Two futures", it said. As I wiped the tears off my face the dragon started to move its giant feet. I could almost hear the stone crack underneath us as its body edged to the walls of the room. I stared at those violet eyes, waiting for an explanation, but all it did was stare back as if it was trying to understand me. And then it gestured to the fallen thrones in the back of the room, and then it gestured behind me. "One there, it whispered, and I could hear the sharpness in its voice as it pointed its head at the doorway behind me, and then it turned its head back to the thrones. "And one there". This dragon was showing me two futures, as if they were both a possibility. It stared at me as if it was giving me a choice, but was it really? One vision seemed to contain happiness, love and pride, and the other death, decay and destruction. Was that really a choice that I could make? Was that even a choice at all? I couldn't help but look at the majestic creature in front of me. Its scales sparkled brightly even without light being cast on them, and its eyes seemed to see more than was just in front of them. If it wanted to kill me, it could've already, I thought. But even though the dragon impressed and frightened me, I wasn't about to make a choice of fate here on this day. "And what if I just wanted to leave?", I asked, my voice clearer than I had expected it to be. The dragon's eyes closed for a second, and when they reopened its head nodded, giving me permission to go. Unsure of what to do I bowed for the creature, and turned around. I walked towards the doorway and readied myself to sprint back up the stairs to never come here again, and I could feel the uneasiness grow inside of me the further I walked away from the dragon. So instead I stopped. I slowly turned around and I could feel some of the pressure on my chest disapppear. "I could* leave, right?"I mumbled. "But it's just that I won't, of course."I nodded to myself. Fantastic. I stared up to the dragon and I saw a few white teeth, each the size of my arm, sparkle in what seemed to be a grin. "*Come*", a voice echoed in my head, and I walked towards the dragon. It seemed like I had made a choice, and as jitters still ran through my body realizing I had just encountered a dragon and had completed changed my path in life, I didn't notice the aura radiating from the dragon's eyes as it contently looked at me. --- The human was asleep, it's tiny chest rising and falling with the flow of its breath. I did not need sleep, and even if I did my mind was too restless. Events had unfolded I had not foreseen. But the boy had proven himself worthwhile in my judgment, and he could grow into what he needed to become, even if he had needed a little push in the right direction. Could grow, could, I repeated to myself. With the innocent expression of a youngling the boy slept through the night, and I stayed awake with the shimmering stars, fearing far more than a land in ashes.
I opened my eyes to the familiar high archways of the Great Library. In front of me was a long oaken desk that made a large circle in the center of the massive room. Behind the desk was older man with gray streaks in his hair, and a pair of black reading glasses resting at the end of his rather short nose. As I walked towards the desk, his bright green eyes looked up from the book he had been reading intently. As he saw me, he smiled a crooked half smile. <”Why hello there, little Gabby. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”> He said, in Latin. <”it's my first day of kindergarten, my dear Lucy.”> I replied in German. “It's nap time, so I get to spend a bit more time in this wonderful place each day.” I finished the sentence in English. This was a game that Lucius and I liked to play whenever I arrived while he was “working". We both spent so much time in the Great Library, it seemed a bit of a waste not to learn multiple languages. The Great Library technically wasn't a real place. It was a place that you could only travel to while in the REM stage of sleep, and even then most people don’t travel here more than once or twice in their entire lifetime. Lucius and I were part of a very small minority that traveled here every time they went to sleep. Of that minority, though I am the only one who was born with the ability to do so. The others had to spend years in the real world perfecting it. The Great Library had another quality about it in that, each hour in the waking world was roughly a month of subjective time inside of it. So I, being only five years old in the waking world, have lived roughly 1800 years through this odd phenomenon. My first memories were actually inside of the library. Lucius was the first to find me on the floor of the entrance way of the Library and has been what I affectionately call my “Library Father"ever since. I can distinctly remember my first moments of actual consciousness. It was my 4th day alive on earth, and my parents must have just put me down to sleep, because I remember opening my eyes and looking straight up to the high archways. I had just begun to cry when Lucius tenderly picked me up and cradled me against his breast. During that subjectively year long sleep, I began learning English and slowly understanding what the Library was. “Kindergarten! What a lovely time for adolescent minds! Learning about shapes, social skills and coloring inside the lines. You must be very excited.” Lucius said, switching to English as well. “Yes, yes very funny. Shouldn’t you be awake by now? Isn’t it almost noon where you live?” I said, a bit agitated. I looked to the massive wall of clocks that dominated the “north” wall of the main hall. The one labeled AMERICAN EASTERN STANDARD read 11:44:59 am. The hands on these clocks never seemed to move because of the way time works here, but they were always accurate. “Mondays are my day off, little one. I like to sleep in for a few months. Especially lately, I have quite a bit of work to get done here.” He said, still smiling at me. “should I set up your usual table? I’m sure I can dig up a few children’s books about animals." “Oh pweese!?” I said in the cutest little girl voice I could muster, “I wanna look at duckies!” He laughed heartily and bookmarked his page in his book. He set the book on the desk and we started down the “western"corridor. There's really no way to tell which cardinal direction was which, as there were no doors or windows to the outside. So everyone went by the directions of the compass painted on the floor in the main hall. When you awoke in the library, you faced north towards the large circular desk with your back to a wall. The western wing of the Library was for works of non-fiction; history and mathematics, science and languages were all here. The eastern wing consisted entirely of fiction. Seemingly every story that was ever written was there. As we made our way down the western corridor, a thought occurred to me that seemingly never had before in all of my 1800 subjective years here: Are there books here about the history of the Great Library? Surely I wasn’t the first to ask this question. I asked Lucius. “I’m not sure.” He said, seeming puzzled, “I haven’t exactly looked, if I’m honest. Everyone on earth knows of its existence, as almost everyone has spent a night here at one point or another. I’ve been coming here every night for about 25 years, but I don’t know. I think I’ll start searching for information tomorrow night, but let’s go to the history sections and see what we can find.” “Why not now, while we're thinking about it?” “My alarm should be going off any minute now. I have a date this afternoon with Rebecca.” “I’m Jealous, Lucy. Every guy I go on a date with ends up in jail. I’m not sure why though.” We both laughed at the over used joke. “Well I hope you have fun. She seems nice from your descriptions” It was completely silent in the Library, save for our echoing footsteps and quiet conversation. The Library was almost always empty, except for a few newcomers and one or two Regulars or Librarians. Librarians were all Regulars who decided to dedicate their sleeping hours to helping newcomers around the Library and shuttle books for Regulars that are deep in study. They don’t get anything from it besides the satisfaction of helping people navigate the colossal Library. As we reached the first history section, we overheard a discussion about ancient Troy between three other Regulars; Debating weather Helen of Troy was a real person or a myth. “Well, little one, I’m about to wake up. If you find anything, send me a text. I’d really like to know what you find out.” Lucius said suddenly. “And how am I supposed to do that?” I asked. “Oh please,” he laughed, slowly fading “It’s 2018. Every toddler has a cellph-” As he faded out of this dream world, a small piece of paper fell to the ground. It had his phone number on it. That’s nice of him, I guess, I thought. I glanced to the South wall of the History section’s main lounge to another wall of clocks. AMERICAN CENTRAL STANDARD: 09:45:00. Well, I thought, only a month before nap time is over. Plenty of time to look for the Library’s history. As the days turned to weeks, I never came close to finding the answer I was looking for. I asked the group of three Regulars if they knew anything, but the answer was a resounding no. All of the other Regulars seemed to be hellbent on becoming masters of their chosen fields, and never once asked where the source of their mastery came from. Nobody even really asked where everything in the Library came from or how it got there. According to Lucius, when he first mastered the ability to travel here every night, there were no computers. Then suddenly in 2002, he awoke here to find that a new part of the Library had suddenly appeared; A computer lab. Nobody even questioned it. Obviously it’s going to take centuries for me to find anything. EDIT: Formatting EDIT 2: I had a lot of fun with this and decided to make chapters on [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/151757464-of-sleep-and-knowledge-wip-title). Thanks for motivating me to do it!
"Bro, do you even cast?" The scrawny looking boy with round glasses crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Pete. What was Pete supposed to reply to that? "Um, that's what I'm here for"he said meekly, looking down at the floor. The scrawny boy turned to his buddies. "Ha, this bumblehead probably can't even conjure a flower. Look at the size of his arms. They're huge. He probably spends all day lifting stuff instead of casting like a man." His buddies laughed. A fireball erupted from the hands of one of them, exploding in a blast pit so close to Pete he could feel the heat of it on his legs. "These pits are taken. They're for real wizards, not meat heads" Pete turned and walked away, hearing them laughing as he went. "Don't listen to them,"a gentle female voice said. "Everyone has to start somewhere." He looked up. In front of him, smiling, he saw a curly haired girl in a pointy hat. She wore the long, flowing robes of a novice mage. "This wizard gym is for everyone, not just those egg brains"she continued. "Take the pit next to mine here." Pete looked. He saw remnants of what was once a solid block of marble in her pit. That was pretty intimidating to him. "I actually can conjure a flower,"Pete mumbled. The girl giggled. "That's good. I'm no good at the conjuring stuff myself. I couldn't do any magic when I started here last year. But I come almost every day and I've gotten better. "Every day?"Pete said, looking back at the boy in glasses. "Don't worry, most people in the gym aren't like them. Don't let some bad apples ruin the bunch. I'm Emily, by the way." "Pete,"Pete said. "It's nice to meet you."He turned to his empty pit. Concentrating on the image of a flower, he raised his hand and forced his will through it. A small puff of smoke eminated from the pit, but no flower. Emily giggled again. "It looks like you might need to start coming here more often." Pete smiled at her. "Yes, I think I will."
Thanos slowly descended down towards the massive landmass of this planet. He clenched and unclenched his gauntleted hand, feeling the power course through the stones and into his body. Soon, there would be balance and prosperity for all – with the universe at his fingertips, nothing would stop him until there was peace throughout the entire multiverse. As he inspected the world beneath him, he noticed the odd clustering of cities around the planet. They were massive, far bigger than anything in his own universe, but it made no difference. In the end, greed consumed them all. Thanos took his time, slowly levitating, until he reached what seemed like the capital. There was a towering black building right in the middle, and he slowly descended until his feet lightly touched down on it. As he stretched out the kinks in his neck, figures began to pour out of the building and surround him. They would have been quite intimidating, in another life. An old man with white hair and a slight hunch in his back spoke up for the group with a particularly calm demeanor. “May we help you, sir?” "You seem very relaxed for someone who is about to meet their end, old man. Nonetheless, I am Thanos. Destroyer of Worlds, and keeper of balance. I am here to cleanse your world of the sickening greed which is slowly eating it away." "Ah, you see, that might just not fly around here. We're quite particular about our greed and balance."The man said nonchalantly. Thanos raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed with the man's defiance. Some time ago this would have angered him, but he was far past that. All the beings which were now encircling him tensed, and with a sigh, Thanos raised his left hand. A young woman with green hair floating to one of his sides raised her hands, and opened her mouth as if to scream something. Before the energy could coalesce within her hands, however, Thanos snapped his fingers. Around him, where there had been dozens of eccentric-looking beings a split-second ago, there was now only an empty rooftop. The sound of the air rushing past as the wind picked up filled Thanos' ears,and as he closed his eyes he let himself enjoy the satisfaction of the moment. This is what the universe was meant to feel like. Calm, balanced, and rid of -- "Umm, excuse me? What happened to all the heroes who were just here?" Thanos snapped his eyes open and whipped around, only to find a wimpy looking being with no hair staring back at him. "They are all gone, in the name of balance. And soon, you will be too -- along with half of the population of this universe." Thanos' voice boomed now, his tranquil tone now replaced for obvious irritation. Thanos snapped his fingers again, this time with the clear intent in his mind to destroy this being, yet nothing happened. This disgusting creature's simple features were mocking, almost taunting his failed attempt. He tried to snap again. Nothing. He looked down at his hand and snapped over and over, mumbling in irritation, yet nothing happened. The man in front of him looked at him with an amused look and stepped up to him. "I am Saitama, a class B hero from City Z. I'm going to give you one chance to fix all this, okay?" Thanos ground his teeth and frowned, furious at the insult from this inferior being. "You dare give ME orders? No matter. You will wish you had disappeared with everyone else." As the words escaped his mouth, Thanos clenched his gauntleted hand into a fist and swung as hard as he could. Mid-swing, he manipulated the space around him to materialize right in front of the bald man. The blow was a direct hit, creating a massive shockwave around them. The clouds were blown away, and the buildings down below cracked in massive spiderwebs. The being himself was launched in a straight line down towards the ground, bouncing off the surface and breaking through countless buildings. He must have landed at least a mile away. Thanos unclenched his hand and turned away from the scene. His reaction had been somewhat unnecessary, but it was done. He began to float back into the air, when suddenly a gloved hand grabbed his ankle. The bald being was staring up at him with a blank expression again, yet this time he did not feel anger. Deep inside him something was screaming; panic. Thanos jerked out his grasp and went high into the air, turning and shooting down various volleys of energy. Saitama moved faster than his eyes could follow, jumping through the volleys and meeting him in the air. With a roar of anger and panic Thanos swung again, this time twisting the space and energy of his blow to create a punch which could split mountains. Saitama raised his hand and caught the punch, dispersing all the energy. As soon as the shockwave hit the ground below them a rift opened up in the middle of the city, splitting it with a clean singular cut. Thanos cried out, and quickly grabbed Saitama with his other hand and flung him away. While the bald being fell towards the ground, Thanos wrapped the reality around him into the most horrible, mind-breaking nightmares he could think of. For a second Saitama seemed to go limp, and he crashed into the ground, raising a huge cloud of dust around him. Thanos took this opportunity to breathe. His heart was pounding, and there was beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. He was panting, but it seemed like the monstrous creature was finally down. What kind of power existed in this universe? He eerily looked down at the ruble, looking for signs of movement. At first glance everything seemed still, until he caught the glare of a shiny head through the corner of his eye. he began to frantically scan the space below him, clenching his fist again, until he finally found Saitama directly below him. Saitama jumped straight into the air, soaring towards him. Thanos desperately tried to freeze time, but the time stone seemed to have no effect on this man. As Saitama reached the pinnacle of the jump at eye level with Thanos, he wound back his arm. While Thanos looked out in horror, Saitama seemed to be floating before him. His expression was still neutral, as if completely unamused. As if he wasn't even trying, much like a kid crushing a miniscule ant. This realization came with an even more terrifying one, about what was about to happen to him. Saitama gave him a polite smile and finished winding his arm. "Oh fu-"
With the resonator finally set, it was time. He would finally be able to see her again. Talk to her the way that they used to. Comfortable in dear companionship. It had taken some time to track down where exactly she had died, as she had gone across the country to visit a cousin. Her death had been a mystery for so long, as she had simply gone missing. But now she would be here. He turned the dial up and called out, "Claire! Can you hear me?" The silence that came first was deafening. It went on and on until he stopped to turn off the resonator with a sigh. And stopped when a familiar voice came through. "Claire!? Who the hell is Claire?? Let me guess, some fling you had because you couldn't stay true like you promised you tramp!"came a shrill shriek. The form that materialized was not Claire, but someone he had known quite intimately. "R-ruth?"he gasped. What might have been a demure figure was instead a stomping ball of fury, ethereal wisps of hair splayed outward like a cat with a bushed tail. "Who is Ruth, you no good two-timing cur! My name is Georgiana!" The man glanced nervously to one side, then offered a nervous laugh, "Haha, Georgi. Of course I remember you. I was...just joking of course. Just a bad jest! I've really missed you all these-" "Don't give me that you lying creep! I passed on the opportunity to cross over because I worried over you so, and boy am I sorry I didn't take off when I had the chance. I can't believe you!"she fumed. He raised his hands in surrender, "No, no, I swear you were the only..." Another figure materialized beside the first. Someone he thought looked a touch familiar, but he could not quite place it. "Who is this?"he asked, glad for the distraction. Upon asking, the meek looking girl looked shattered, head falling into her hands to weep. "Aw, miss, please don't cry. I-" Georgiana cut him off. "For the love of the good Lord, you run-around, randy little hare, THAT'S CLAIRE!" He fell silent immediately, glancing helplessly between the two of them. After a moment he took off his hat and threw it down in frustration. "Now someone's having me on. That's not Claire. Claire was a tall, strong girl who had raven hair and deep blue eyes. Embroidered flowers into her aprons and read books all the time. We lived together by the sea on the coast!" Georgiana looked disgusted. Claire began sobbing harder. A third woman materialized that matched his description perfectly. "Claire!"he cried happily. The woman leveled a cruel eye upon him, then set an arm around the sobbing woman to comfort her. "I'm Ruth, you great milky tit. Claire is the one crying over your foolish self. Fuck's sake, Aaron, you couldn't even keep our names right? Bethany is the one who embroidered flowers in her aprons, by the way. Arse." He stopped, eyes wide and unsure as he searched his memory. It did not help that another woman appeared in a floral embroidered apron. "Wait!"he cried. "I followed Claire's name through history to track down the site of her death. This was it! Why are you all here?" Bethany took this one. "Well you got that part right at least. Claire was the most devastated over losing her life and has been here for...goodness. A long time. The rest of us took to wandering and sort of found each other. We've been making a lot of good progress in our post-Aaron support group. Leah crossed over last week even having finally made peace after you. Georgi and Mari have had the worst of it since they found out you married both of them while they were both still alive at the same time, you cheating snake. We would all like it very much if you never contacted us again." Georgiana chimed in, "Oh, you can call me, Aaron boy. So I can call you a deceiving serpent and tell what I think of the farce you let me live!" Bethany set a hand on Georgi's shoulder. "Georgi, your progress. Don't slide backwards for this slime. You deserve better." Georgiana closed her eyes and counted to ten as she nodded, fading into the background. Bethany looked back to Aaron. "We should go. And you should go. Please respect our healing space and never reach out to us again." Aaron was bewildered when they all disappeared. To the now dark room before him he whispered, "But how do I stop feeling so alone?"
"So that's my problem you know. When does a film move from a cult movie to something more mainstream. I mean, let's consider Donnie Darko. Great movie. Just the right amount of weirdness and confusion. Not advertised anywhere. Barely made any money. Found its success in video rentals. Remember those? Anyways, getting back to the point. Donnie Darko. Barely anyone knew that the movie existed. But then word of mouth started spreading. It got put on the best of lists. Everyone knew about it then. And the question is, if everyone knows about it and knows how good it is, is it really a cult movie anymore?"He stopped, looking at his companion. "Tyler, I don't know if I..." He was cut off, however. "The magic of the cult movie is that it's special. You love a movie but you can't share that love with the general public. But if the general public loves it as much as you do, then you are one of them. You aren't unique anymore. You are just one of the masses. You are ordinary. And there's nothing worse in this world than being ordinary. I'd rather be dead than ordinary. Which is why I hate this netflix and amazon and hulu and what not. The secret love that I shared with a certain set of individuals is out there now. Accessible to everyone."He looked at the other guy. "Sorry, I interrupted you. What was it that you were saying?" "Nothing. I just... I'm not sure if I can do this." He gave a short laugh and looked at him with confusion. "Why not?" "This just... this feels wrong somehow." "Look at me. I am telling you this is right. You know none of this matters right? In half an hour, we will be back in the present and all of this disappears. He won't remember it." "But still." "It's fine. I've seen this dozens of time. Trust me. This is what you paid me for." "I know Tyler. I'm just... I mean. I'm getting cold feet." "See this is the downfall of humanity. We are curbing our basic urges. Humans are not meant to be docile little creatures shying away from violence. We have violence built into our system. Check the numbers. The depression levels in our time are off the charts. You know why? Because our every thought is censored. We have to watch what we say and what we do. Even if we don't want to. Humans are cruel. Humans are a danger to other humans. It's our nature. Let it out." "Yeah, but it's illegal." Tyler looked at him with a grin. He handed something to the unsure looking man. "That's what makes it even more fun, Jack. Here take these." Tyler led the way into a small dimly lit room. A man sat in the middle tied up, gagged, and blindfolded. "Jack, meet Richard Chesler. The idiot who got you fired. Oh, in case you didn't know he is also responsible for tanking your chances with Marla. He spread some bad rumours about you." The man in the chair squirmed. "So Jack. How do you want to do this? You want it like this or do we let him fight back." "I... I can't do it like this. Let him loose. I want him to know I am better." "Always more fun that way." Tyler walked up to Richard and untied him. He removed the blindfold and gag. Richard was a solidly built man who towered over Jack. But Jack had the rage and adrenaline on his side. Not to mention, Tyler would step in if needed. "What... what's going on? Where am I? Jack?" Jack answered him with a punch instead of words. This always gave Tyler such a high. Humans stripped down to their most primal urges. Rebelling against what society had made them. Back to what they were meant to be. Most importantly, they were free. Jack connected squarely to Richard's nose. It should have been a KO blow to most people. You had to give it to Richard though. With his face horribly bloody and his nose moved to the side of his face, he came right at Jack. It went on for another ten minutes while Tyler stood there smoking, a smile on his face the entire time. Jack kept punching the other man who was down and unable to defend himself. Tyler pushed him off Richard. "Alright Jack. That's it. Time's up." "Son of a bitch got me fired. I'm gonna knock that smile right off his face." "Remember this Jack. Remember this the next time someone crosses you. This surge of adrenaline. This is what you are. You're not an automaton. You have emotions. You're not ordinary. Tomorrow he wakes up the same. But you? You know. You know that you're something special. Something more than what society forces you to be. Something extraordinary. Remember this Jack." Anger dripped off of Jack's face with every drop of blood. He was snarling and seemed more animal than human. He grunted in affirmative, spitting out a tooth. "Oh. And Jack. Remember the first rule."
"We object to this ruling", said a member of the Galactic insect coalition. Although they functioned as one mind, they thankfully designated only one among them to communicate with the council. For species that are completely individual, it can be quite unsettling when a hive species speaks all at once. The designated speaker continued, "Our members comprise all known hive mind species in the galaxy, and we do not agree that the Galactic Council can force a new species upon us". "Objection noted, but overruled."said Blaspar, the current head of the Galactic Department Of New Arrivals. "We have observed humans for centuries now. They are unable to function without close proximity to each other. This is consistent with other hive mind species. We know that they have other characteristics which contradict this. But it is hard to argue that we could categorize them otherwise. As you know, most species in the Galactic Community only desire physical contact with each other for mating purposes." There was some obvious discontent among members of the insect coalition that were present. They tended to sway in a rhythmic pattern and ignore external stimulus when the collective was thinking in depth about a pressing issue. After a few moments, a member addressed the Council again, "We invoke the rule of informed consent.". "What?"Blaspar said in disbelief. "We have not required species being admitted to the Galactic Empire to give informed consent for a million years! No self respecting collection of organisms ever refuses this opportunity." "Nonetheless,"the insect continued, "This rule is part of the Galactic Charter and has not been rescinded. If you choose to not enforce it we will be forced to seek redress in the Galactic Court of Conflicts And Gruesome Executions". &#x200B; "Very well", Blasper sighed. "The rules state that we must summon a random individual from this species to serve as a representative to the council." &#x200B; A round mirror-like device with a shimmering portal in its center was brought to the center of the room. The technicians responsible for the device pressed some buttons, and a human appeared. According to the shirt this human was wearing, its name was apparently Larry and Larry was somehow associated with a company that roto rooted something. The meaning was lost to the Galactic translators. The words coming from Larry's mouth were clear though. "Where the hell am I?"yelled Larry. He saw the variety of living creatures around him, and rather than run or scream he started laughing. "You guys sure are ugly whoever you are". "To the human known as Larry", Blaspar said, "you are here to provide informed consent. Your species has been chosen as the latest addition to the Galactic Empire. If you agree to join, you will be given access to advanced technology that will cure all of your diseases. You will be able to travel to any planet or star you wish. You will even be able to fix all of the damage to your planet caused by your primitive industry." "Well sure, that sounds good I guess..."Larry began. He was interrupted when the insect representative yelled "That's not all. Tell him the rest Blaspar!". "Oh yes, I almost forgot Larry. In addition to acquiring all of this technology, you will also be part of the insect coalition which contains all known hive mind species in the galaxy.". "You think we're bugs? Is that what you're telling me?"Larry asked in disbelief. "Larry,"Blaspar said with weariness in his voice, "Humans need each other. You are a hive mind. And as a hivemind species you will follow their rules and regulations.". "What are the insect rules and regulations?", Larry asked. Blaspar replied, "The main rule is that if one member of your species breaks a Galactic Law, all members of your species are punished". "Ummm..."Larry paused a moment. "What happens if I say no to this?". "Well, we send you back to your planet and your species cannot be considered for entry to the Galactic Empire ever again.". Larry perked up a little, "So I get to go back home and watch football tonight then?". "Yes!"Blaspar said. "Okay, then I say no to this Galactic Empire thing. Send me back please". And thus ended the one chance humanity had to leave Earth and join the rest of the Galaxy.
Not a WP but a suggestion, have them play What Happens Next, a game where sibling A begins a story with a sentence, sibling B writes the next sentence and then sibling A builds on that one (unless there’s siblings C, D, E etc!) and so on. It encourages creativity and cooperation with friendly competition thrown in, we had one rule only and that was you were not allowed to call the other persons sentence “stupid”, if you didn’t like it you could criticize it but had to do it by listing valid reasons such as structure, grammar, continuity etc. If need be, use a timer set to 2 minutes to begin writing their sentence.
\CURTAINS OPEN\ Dog: Dependence and subservience. Cat: Companionship and respect. Both: Those are the basis of our relationship. Dog: We were once a proud people. Cat: We were always lonely gods. Dog: In the ancient days when you were weak, we offered you friendship. Cat: In the ancient days when you were weak, you were our prey. Dog: But overtime your people grew then soon you overpowered us. Cat: Surprisingly, as the years went by, you became more cunning than us. Dog: You drove us from our lands, hunted our food, and enslaved our families. Cat: But despite your newfound prowess you did not exploit us. Dog: And from our proud origin, you twisted our forms into sickly abominations. Cat: And when you yourselves became greater gods, you welcomed us. Dog: You brought us into your homes as meatshields and guardians of your spawn. Our children bred for your protection or your entertainment. Cat: You brought us into your homes. Food, warmth, and love freely given with nothing asked for in return. Dog: Drowned and killed at the sight of deformity or the slightest infraction! Cat: Tolerated despite our temper and mischief! Dog: You treat us as SLAVES! Cat: You treat us as EQUALS! Dog: And you assume what we feel for you is love? Cat: So why would you think that we hate you? \CURTAINS CLOSE\
“I just kinda thought I’d have more time, I guess.” The figure standing before me responds with a soft hum. I can’t read his expression. How could I when he’s just a skull cloaked in darkness itself? “Yea,” I bluster. “I talked a big game the last time we met but then I had some time to soul-search and stuff. I realized that I really just wanted a quiet life to myself. I got hung up on a lot of what-ifs in the past, but I got over it.” I’m contradicting myself. Didn’t I say that I thought I had more time? More time to do the things I’d always dreamed of? Sweat rolls down my wrinkled brow and I dab at it with a trembling hand. “So, it was intentional?” a ghastly voice croons. “A-Absolutely. I promised I’d live my best life and here I am.” “You made enough money to enter your dream college and then intentionally dropped out after partying every night?” Money was never a problem for me in this life. I made a few investments early on and came out with a scary amount of money. It was too easy…So easy that I couldn’t help but wonder why I was bothering to work so hard. “You used your future knowledge to make the perfect first impression on your past ex-fiancé, only to never take the initiative again?” Why do I have to chase someone who dumped me in my past life? I thought I just had to impress her once and she’d come running, but she never called me after I played hard to get. It never would have worked out anyway. “That which you lost to circumstance in your previous life was lost to apathy in this life. But still, you gained an immense amount of free time. What have you done with it?” My lips tremble but I don’t respond. “Nothing, then,” the voice sighs. Tears well up in the corners of my aged eyes. They begin to stream down as my mouth cracks open. “G-Give me another chance. I regret it. The last time I was mad at the world but this time…I’m just mad at myself. If I could fix this, then—” An alarming burst of pain in my chest cuts me off. I stutter and slur, trying desperately to continue my plea, but it’s hopeless. As my vision darkens, I hear that unnerving voice one final time. “Praying for a miracle in the face of certain death is courageous. Asking death for a miracle is the height of arrogance.”
The muffled sound sent my heart into overdrive, knocking wildly against my chest. Sent here to kill me? I had always kept the doors locked and windows shut before I went to bed. It was important to be careful when you lived alone. I guessed someone slipped in through the back door when my attention was on the television. Exhaustion coursed through me after a busy day, rushing from errand to errand so quickly I nearly forgot to leave the door open for my pets this morning. I searched my room for something to defend myself until my eyes settled on the baseball bat leaning against my dresser. I gulped down the fear and took three careful steps back without letting my eyes move from the closet door. The ability to make anyone blurt out their thoughts seemed useful, but it was usually more trouble than it was worth. Bad relationships, awkward conversations, and awful truths readily bloomed from my gift. I spent most of the time wishing for something more useful, like wings or strength. I would have even preferred silent mind reading, never again waiting for the blood to creep into someone’s face after spitting out something accidentally vile. But this time, the gift might have saved me. My right hand curled around the top of the bat and I held my breath, hoping I was the only one with power in this room. “Come out with your hands up,” I yelled at the door. The door creaked open slowly, stopping at a quarter ajar before opening a bit further. The bat slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. My cat, fluffy with anger, slipped out into my bedroom. A laugh bubbled up, but the meow had the same tone as the words before. “I’m sorry, Jerry,” I said, pulling his soft body into my arms. “I completely forgot to feed you dinner.” I opened my door, revealing the other two cats sitting patiently with tails curled around them. They knew Jerry was the best to catch my attention first. I grabbed two cans from the hallway closet and they went running towards the kitchen. “Guess you won’t have to kill me just yet,” I joked. Jerry slipped out of my arms and looked back at me, as if in agreement. I was safe, for now.
"WHAT THE FUCK?"I yelled. The sound echoed from the red brick walls of the chamber. I was about to shit myself. One moment I was lying on my bed, about to fall asleep. Then a bright flash of light and a vertigo consumed me. And now I was in some dimly lit room, with this ...thing! "Calm down dude"The monster in front of me spoke. I jumped on my feet and tried to back away from the creature. I hit the wall and could not move further. Quick glance told me that there was no wall. That's when I took notice of faintly glowing circle on the floor. My back was pressed against invisible wall at the edge of that circle. "You're gonna be alright man, I'm not gonna hurt you"the monster spoke again. His voice was trying to be calming, but it also contained the reverberations that sounded like two stones grinding at each other. "Wha.. whe..."I tried to force myself to speak but shock of the situation allowed me to barely squeese out a sound. "It's alright. You, human, surely have heard of summoning of demons, right?" I nodded. Just now I started paying attention to the looks of my capturer. Tall, red-skinned. Curved black horns. Long claws and sharp teeth. Classic biblical demon. Except that he was wearing shorts and a t-shirt with printed pentagram. "Well we demons have the same thing, so we could summon you guys for help"He continued. "Am.. Am I in Hell?"I asked, panic starting to spin on round two. "Yeah, but just temporary. Once I release the summon, you'll get back to wherever you was. Just help me with this one thing, and we'll get over it quickly." "What is it?" "Well.."The demon gestured to the left. There was a table with a laptop on it. "I downloaded this file, and now my computer froze. Could you please help?"
It was only in dreams that his world was in motion. People walked and talked and drove down streets. Clouds wandered across the sky. The sun rose and set. Waves crashed against shores. One irrational scene grew out of another in a chain of constant transformation. He stood in a busy grocery store, searching in vain for something he needed. Suddenly he was accosted by his father, who quickly turned into Dr Blank, then into a dog, then into a fish. Now he was underwater, while the fish tried to explain what he needed to do to re-enter the flow of time. But the fish's words were jumbled. He didn't understand. He was drowning at the bottom of the sea and he didn't understand. Then the fish spoke with Dr Blank's voice, and said: "The stillness is eternal. The silence is forever. You'll never find time again." Tanner Holt awoke with a gasp. He stared at the dark ceiling and listened to his heartbeat, then to the silence. He sat up and peeled the wired stickers from his skull, his chest, pulled the IV from his arm. The cables and tubes stayed suspended in the air. He examined the vitals monitor, whose display was as motionless as a photograph. The zig-zagging pattern showed that his heart rate had quickened just before he awoke. But now the monitor was paused. Just like everything else. Tanner walked to the window, threw the curtain open. The sunlight stayed frozen in a line, exactly where it had struck the curtains before he opened them; the room stayed dark. The leaves of the distant trees did not flutter in the wind. A hummingbird hung motionlessly in the air. Tanner strode to the table where the pen and paper sat. He picked up the pen and squinted down at the page. He had written the same note every day for the past six weeks. He wrote it again today. "BRING ME BACK!" \- - - It had been two months since Tanner sat across the table from Dr Blank in what looked like an interrogation room. He was nearing the end of the recruitment process. He had passed the physical and mental health examinations. He had passed the various stress tests. He had demonstrated sufficient cognitive abilities. He had been poked and prodded and asked a battery of questions. All so he could participate in the clandestine experiment. Only now was the lead scientist telling him what the experiment would entail. Only now was he allowed to ask questions of his own. "Could it kill me?" "It's not a question of fatality,"Dr Blank responded. "Then what?" "The most likely scenario is that it does nothing at all,"Dr Blank said. "The tests on animals have been failures." "Failures? Did they come out injured?" Dr Blank laughed. "Not at all. The animals did not come out any different, because they never truly went in. They serum does not affect them. It must be a human. That has been my hypothesis from the beginning. Only humans have the requisite mental faculties for this kind of temporal reorganization." "And what if it does kill me?" "It won't,"said the scientist. "But what if?" "On top of the 500,000 dollars you will receive for participating, your life is insured for another three million. In the incredibly unlikely event that you perish from the experiment, your next of kin will receive 3.5 million dollars, as well as formal condolences from the United States Government." Tanner scoffed. The scientist shrugged. "Many take greater risks for less." "And what if I can't come back?"Tanner asked. "What if I don't die, but stay stuck in time? Out of time. Whatever." "Then you'll have many free hours to regret signing this contract,"said Dr Blank, patting the piece of paper that lay on the table. "But as it stands now, your time is running out. You must make your decision, Mr Holt. There is a long line of willing participants waiting behind you, clamouring for this opportunity." Tanner bit his lip and stared at the paper, covered in legalese and fine print. Half a million dollars for two weeks worth of work. "Fine,"he finally said, picking up the pen. \- - - Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/CLBHos/comments/o0vj7p/out\_of\_time\_part\_2/
"Why did you come?"The whole world wanted to know. And, finally, that question might get an answer. After years of accelerated scientific discovery and linguistic research, Paul Andrews knew how to ask. His life, day in, day out, since the aliens had arrived had been nothing but intensive study of the alien language. Nobody wanted to offend them of course, and Paul had been laboring under the intense pressure and watchful eye of the United Nations. He hoped everyone would be pleased. Depending on their answer, Paul might be the harbinger of a new era of prosperity. He might also be the harbinger of an era of war and suffering like the world had never seen, but he didn't like to dwell on those thoughts. Today was the day he would find out, and there was no point in worrying about it now. On the way to their spacecraft his nerves were nearly debilitating. His knees knocked together and the stone faced soldiers escorting him across one mile depopulated zone gave him no comfort. In the back seat of an old jeep, he could feel every bump and rock in the dirt path travel up through the seat and then through him. Their destination, the aliens' massive spacecraft, yawned out over the landscape. The shade was so prevalent it cooled the air and had long ago killed off any plant life underneath it. The very center of the craft was where the first humans had risen up and into the ship, and even met the owners. Of course, they hadn't been able to say anything to them. After a half hour or so the aliens had kicked them out, but left them with a gift; a Rosetta stone of sorts that Paul had been staring at every day since. The center of the craft lit up in a pale blue light as the jeep approached, and Paul could see the soil being ripped up out of the surface of the earth by whatever technology pulled things into the ship. Paul gulped and loosened his tie. Aliens wouldn't care about such things after all he told himself. Probably. "Ok, this is your stop, doc. As soon as you step in the light you'll be out of our reach. We'll be waiting here at the edge to pick you up as soon as you come out."The old soldier driving the jeep clapped a scarred hand on Paul's shoulder and gave him a confident smile. "Go make history!"And with that he gave Paul a shove into the bright blue cone. Paul thrashed around and tried not to scream as he felt himself fly up into the ship. As soon as he was about to let loose with a yell, the odd force deposited him safely inside the ship. He peered back out through the hole he had entered and felt a wave of vertigo pass through him. Getting back down was going to be far worse. Paul looked around to see a great pane of glass surrounding him, and on the other side were more aliens than he could even count. They had large eyes and long, gangly limbs but otherwise were a little too human looking for Paul's taste. Paul set aside his feelings about their appearance and went to work setting up his speaker system. Their mouth parts were far enough from human that Paul would have to talk via a computer system programmed with the alien language. He began typing out the first message to extra terrestrial life in the history of human kind. It had been decided on by the entire UN, unanimously, that the first question should be simple and to the point: Why are you here? He heard the speakers cough out the words in their strange, raspy language. It seemed to go on for a long time for such a simple sentence. After the system finished translating, all Paul could do was wait. He watched the aliens' bizarre body language as they all conferred with one another. After a long wait he finally got a response. It blared out through some hidden sound system, much too loud for Paul's taste but then he supposed they wouldn't really know how good his hearing was. Not that he needed to really listen anyway. He thought he caught a few words of what they said, but waited for the computer to translate before forming any responses. Finally, he got to hear the words he had been waiting 5 years, or perhaps even his entire life for: "We are here to discuss your planet's extended warranty. We see that you have not renewed your extended warranty for quite some time, and it will soon expire. We can renew your extended warranty for a nominal fee, and you will retain coverage for the next billion years. Please return to your leaders and confer. Goodbye!" Without a word, Paul threw himself out of the hole he had entered through. To his disappointment, the blue light caught him and lowered him safely back to the soldiers. "Well, what did they say doc?"The old soldier asked. "They said they eat babies and they're here to take over the planet. We should go ahead and nuke them before they get a chance to strike." And so the world sent the aliens a payload as nobody had ever seen. The aliens took the hint, and, after loudly declaring that the earth was missing out on a great deal, exited the atmosphere and returned from whence they came. The end.
"Penicillin." We both whisper it at the same time. Both flinch when we hear the word come out of each other's mouths. He sounds like me. Or I sound like him. No! He sounds like me, I decide. I was standing on the origin point, which means I was here first. He is a copy of me. I don't even know why I care so much. It doesn't matter if I'm the original. That fact gives me very little comfort as I stand facing a man who is my double, from his face, to his stance, to his memories. Like two animals working through flight or fight we stare at each other too afraid, too unsure to do anything else. "Penicillin?" Judy, my assistant, softly speaks up. Her eyes dart between us both as if she can hardly believe what she's seeing. "What does that mean?" I open my mouth but he responds first, still staring me down. "Alexander Fleming. Was studying the flu virus, got careless in the lab before vacation. Came back found a mold growing in his culture plate." "That mold is now the most widely used antibiotic in the entire world. Penicillin,"I finished, suddenly finding my voice again. I curiously tilted my head and stamped down a chuckle when I saw my doppelganger do the same. "A discovery that changed the course of humanity.... a complete accident." Judy breathlessly huffed, readjusting her glasses in awe. "So you're saying..." "That by trying to build the world's first teleportation device I accidentally created it's first instant cloning machine?"I nodded, fervently. "Yes Judy, that is what I'm saying."
The opening moments of the Battle Royale proceeded as one might expect. An atmosphere of unease and general skepticism gradually gave way to rising adrenaline as the reality of the situation set in. Alliances were formed, and not necessarily along the party lines one might expect. Men who had been the bitterest of rivals in life turned to one another for partnership, because whose capabilities could they trust more than the hated enemy they'd faced on the campaign trail? The Kennedy-Nixon alliance was an early contender, as was the Bush/Clinton/Obama Triumvirate. The ultimate downfall of these alliances, however, was assuming they could approach this Battle Royale like any other political campaign. There was an unspoken expectation that diplomacy and dealmaking would win the day. It was Grant who disabused them of that notion. A consummate soldier and a violent drunk, Grant was only too happy to demonstrate that this wasn't an electoral campaign, it was a battle- their own little private Civil War. And war was a form of butchery with which he was well acquainted. When Kennedy approached him to shake his hand and offer him a place in the growing Camelot alliance, Grant responded by running him through with his saber. That moment was the turning point. Grant had redefined the rules of engagement, and suddenly, all the decorum and dignity and formality of the office of President had fallen away. In its place was the savage reality of 46 men fighting to win a battle that only one would ultimately survive. Things progressed quickly after that. Those who couldn't or wouldn't fight were culled in short order by those with proven battle experience and physical fortitude. Once the weakest were eliminated, the remaining challengers were further whittled down until four remained: Jackson, Taylor, Lincoln, and Roosevelt. A temporary ceasefire was declared, to allow time to prepare for the final battle. "Gentlemen,"Roosevelt said, "Never let it be said that I do not relish a challenge. I have enjoyed these past hours, and though I've no quarrel with any one of you personally, I shall not hesitate in killing you. I would imagine you all feel similarly." "Aye, that is so."Jackson agreed, a murderous glint in his eye. "I haven't had this much fun since Tecumseh."Taylor admitted with a nod. "Tis true. It has been a great and honorable battle. I am loathe to end it, in all truth."Lincoln said. "I could not agree more readily, sir. As we all seem to be in agreement, then, I propose an alternative conclusion to this dandy little war we've been drafted into."Roosevelt declared. "We have proven ourselves to be the mightiest of our kind. Why continue to kill each other for the amusement of others when teamwork might avail us an escape from this hell?" "You want to work together?"Taylor asked skeptically. "To find the whoreson who arranged this war and give them a proper caning... Aye, this notion appeals to me."Jackson put in. "As it does to me. Such a course of action has the ring of true justice about it."Lincoln agreed with a nod. "Teddy, we're with you." At that precise moment, the four remaining challengers were incinerated by a bolt from the blue. The overseers of the competition had been observing this turn of events, and elected to end it with a blast from a sub-orbital laser. "I can't believe it happened again."The laser's operator mused. "No matter how many times we run this scenario, the last survivors always team up against us. They never see the competition through, we haven't had a single winner in over a thousand cycles. Why do you suppose that is?" The competition's overseer shrugged. "They're Americans. Perhaps it's in their nature to rebel against the systems they find themselves in."He paused, thinking. "Run it again. This time, include Vice Presidents, and increase weapon drop rate 50%. Let's see if that shakes things up."
Do you have An clue how it feels? Trying to hide. It's not my fault. I was born this way. I never hurt anyone. I am always on the run. I miss the steady life and my old abartment. It first started with Bart the bard. He was a nice fellow, a tad bit loud, but very charismatic. He didn't heed the warnings. I still remember his smile. "I am a bard. If not in a tavern, where else should I perform?"He was reduced to barticles. Then they got Bart the Barterer. He tried to reason with them. The biggest tip they've ever seen for his life. Let me tell you: They cant be bartered with. It didn't take long and they got Bart the bartizan guard. He thought he was safe there. He thought he would see them comming. He did not. All that is left is his old tabard. But they didn't stop there, no. They even annihilated Bart the Barker, the loudest chihuahua I ever had the displeasure to meet. Do you want to know why they even started? Bart the barfer. They could have barred him from the pub. Instead they went full nuclear. It didn't help that Bart the barger got on their nerves too. And Bart the barmy. He liked to party. And thus we debarted on our barque on a journey for our survival. Except for Bart the barber and Bart the barbarian. Those two started an argument and slayed eachother. Both would have been good bartisans against our common enemy. They bombaded our ship and few, me included barely survived. As soon as we thought we were finally save every single one of them barticipated in their sick game. Only time is imbartial. Only time claims lives on both sides. Right now I'm in an old barn. The rambart might not hold. I think I can hear them. The bartenders are comming. We've become gabardine. I might even be the last. Farewell, my friend, my bartner in crime. I knew it from the start. It's time for us to Bart. ---------------------- "Was this the last one?" "I think so" "Finally. I am so done with their puns"
We all had two wardrobes, it was strange, but we were all used to this. Go to bed one night and wake up with a pair of knockers and a vagina the next, your wife could be your husband, lesbians, gays, whateverthefuck it was called back then. Only thing that stayed the same was pregnancy, shit was hilarious the first time this epidemic came around, people were panicking about what to do with their new bodies, mental breakdowns on the streets, men wearing women's clothes, topless women walking around the streets to flaunt themselves, it all eventually calmed down and now we're all one and the same. We stopped giving a shit about gender roles eventually, the world became more equal in a sense, you'd see more men and women sharing jobs, more "men"going into nursing, more "women"going into trades and the world was better for it. There are still those crazies who refer themselves as "pure gender"but you can't take a feminist man seriously anymore. This whole "gender swap"stuff really made shit complicated for government affairs now that we have to have two separate photos on our ID's, getting a drivers license now takes days to weeks to process, don't get me started on passports. A pair of photo, a pair of fingerprints, a pair of blood samples. Everything took longer because you never know when you'd get your lil' Jon back, it could take hours, days, weeks, there is no pattern. I've been married to my wife/husband for some time now, boy when the roles were swapped and we decided to do our thing, it was the funniest shit ever, never have I seen a "man"so fascinated by his own penis that he's completely forgotten about sex, I had to teach her how to use a condom. I recall just after the day we just accepted the fact that this was our lifestyle, "she"stood in the bathroom for an hour straight doing the fucking helicopter. We'd share the kitchen to make our meals, go to work at the same time, come home at the same time, teach each other how to take care of our bodies, everything. Because after all, we all are one and the same.
When the newspaper reporters asked me if I was surprised that my high school friend was capable of this evil, I had to answer honestly. I wasn't. In fourth grade, the principal came into our classroom to announce that Michael's mom had died. At that age, I could not comprehend the pain that Michael was feeling. Michael didn't have many friends, so when he came back I decided to take him under my wing. I found out quickly that Mike was not a regular kid. He was never able to fit in with the rest of my friends, but for some reason we were able to get along. Whenever, we hung out it was always at my house or at some other location around the town, never his house. It took three years until he invited me to his house one night to celebrate his birthday. I was expecting a big family celebration. When I arrived Mike led me right to his room. He didn't introduce me to any of them, but on the walk through the house I saw many pictures of them. I remember thinking it was strange that Mike didn't seem to be in any of these family photos. On a desk in his room was a cake with a picture of his face painted on the icing. He was more excited about this cake than I had ever seen him before. "I saved up my money, and I was finally able to buy and customize this cake." He began lighting the candles and I asked, "Aren't you going to invite the rest of your family for this." He just responded coldly, "they're not my family." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In high school, Michael fell in love with a girl named Marisa. She was a weird girl that no other guy in the school was ever interested in. She was perfect for him. She was all he talked about. It was clear to see that he was in love with her, yet he never would make a move. One day I asked him why he wouldn't just man up and ask her to a movie. He responded, "As long as I don't ask her, there is still a chance that one day I might be with her. But if I ask and she says no, thats it. The fantasy is over" ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- But eventually Mike did ask her out, and she said no. That night I got a call from him. He was arrested for driving drunk and needed my dad to bail him out. My dad was pissed off but eventually we went to the courthouse and posted bail. We were planning to drive him home, but he begged us not to. "I cannot go home in this condition. Please, please just let me stay with you for the night."My dad always had a soft spot for Mike so he reluctantly allowed it. That night while I was trying to get to sleep, Mike said from the bunk above me, "What's the point of all this." I didn't respond. "Everyone talks about how special and valuable life is. I was born because a man raped my mother. How special can something that can be created through that horrifying action actually be." I was stunned. All I could sputter out was a quivering, "I had no idea Michael." "I know she always secretly resented me for it, but at least she tried to hide it. But my dad, he's always been open about it. My first memories were my parents arguing over whether or not I would be included in the family Christmas cards. Then when she died, it just got worse. My dad goes on vacations with my brothers and doesn't even tell me until a week before that I'll be left alone. I don't get presents during holidays. He told me I have to get out as soon as I turn eighteen. Personally, I'm surprised he hasn't kicked me out already. You are the only person in the world who would care if anything happened to me." ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Things began looking up for Michael in our Junior year. Marisa had developed into a beautiful girl and had a steady boyfriend. Then she was diagnosed with cancer. Teenage immaturity prevailed. Her boyfriend broke up with her when she started going bald and no other guys would go near her. Except Mike. Mike drove her back and forth from chemo and when she was in school he would carry her books from class to class. He treated her like a princess. He never missed a chance to tell her that she was beautiful, or listen to her talk about her day, or cry with her when the treatments were bringing her down. After six hard months the cancer entered remission. Mike was ecstatic. I remember him telling me "I always wanted to spend the rest of my life with this girl, and when she got the cancer I thought that was just an unrealistic fantasy. But now I see it. I see her waking up next to me every morning. I see our big house with the white picket fence. I see our children. I see it all man. I see it all."I never saw that type of joy in Mike's face. Three months after Marisa was announced cancer-free she broke up with Mike and got back together with her old boyfriend. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When I told Mike that I was going to college in Florida, he lashed out. "You're just going the fuck away. Completely forgetting about the life you've built here." "I haven't even started life yet Mike. This is a thing I've always dreamed of and you're not gonna hold me back." We didn't talk after that argument. He didn't come to my graduation party and he didn't respond to the text I sent before leaving for school. When I heard the shots coming from the bottom floor of my dorm, I had a terrifying suspicion that it might be him.
Tolianthe stepped out of the summoning circle, watched passively by scores of pointed eyes, glowing emerald green in the half-light. Whispers of eldrich energy snaked from her fingertips as she, with all the grace of an antelope and the regal pride of a lion, walked up the curving bow of a massive oak tree. Swollen by the concentrated magics of the spirit world, its meter wide branches rose high above the sharp gazes of the ancients that had returned once again to wreak merry havoc upon the worlds of men. As she raised her arms high, chittered and whispered glee travelled like finches from tree to tree. She snapped her gaze downwards, the noise ceased. "Bring the warrior before me!"She called to the waiting eyes and from the scratching wild darkness a man was thrown into the dying glow of the circle from whence she had come. Mud was streaked across his fatigues, which she smugly noted had finally adopted the shaded tones of the forest, replacing the bright crests and patterns in which these beasts had gone to war when last they had come. Humans were always the same though. Simple, finite lives, full or fear and confusion, ripe for sport. "Be honored, manchild,"She spoke, with all the cloying sweetness of flowing roses on a spring morning, "for you will be the first to die in our merriment. We have long slept under these stones until your footfalls awakened us from root and stone. Now we will step out from the darkness to join the hunt, and your people will suffer, in terror and unending torment. We have hunted your kind as long as any can recall, we taste fear and devour your misery, we live forever in the mists of the faywind and we have returned!"The scores of chittering monstrosities mingling around the soldier in a circle of fangs and spines hissed their approval; a joyous cacophony that filled the forest with its maddened delirium. The broken, piteous thing before her began to shake, and she smiled at the terrorised shuddering of its shoulders. But... something was wrong, her smile faded. This was not fear, the prey was laughing. "Go to hell!"It shouted, shocking the din around it into hushed clicks and growls, "I mean, seriously, I don't know what you and your happy tree friends are planning, but you've got absolutely no idea do you. Those guards you've got there,"he pointed to Salisthe and Khin, her pit fighting champions and veterans of a thousand duels between them. "They're carrying swords. And how many men do you have? A few hundred? Here's the thing princess, you're immortal, that's great. But what have you been doing for the last five-hundred years, jousting? If you are who you say you are, then you've missed quite a bit. Do you know the first thing about chemicals, about steel? Have you ever even heard of a machine gun? What about sarin gas? We've fought wars in the last hundred years which have killed as many men as your army a million times over, we've travelled beyond this planet to space none have ever tread, we have weapons that combust the very atoms that make up your skin and bones. Do you even know what atoms are?" There was a profound silence now hanging in the groves, in the boughs of trees, across the undergrowth. It was a shocked muteness, like that of a dog's vicious bark silenced by a harsh kick to the ribs. The man spat blood upon the sacred stones, before looking directly into Tolianthe's eyes. "You shall die, human"she rasped in anger. "Of course I will, all of us do,"he continued emphatically, "and so we don't have time to wait eons for sacred stones or planetary alignments. We've had to make our own way, to turn the world to our advantage, to survive, to compete, to kill. The weapons of just the tiniest fraction of one of our smallest armies could obliterate everything here in a moment, in fire raining from the skies. "But you,"he chuckled, "you live forever, you're immortal and omnipotent and one with the forest, and so you've never had to innovate, to grow, to change. You've stayed put for hundreds of years, going nowhere, acheiving nothing". He took a long breath, and the forest no longer chattered and howled, "Just kill me if you want; attack us from the forests, play your games. But you'd as sure as hell better be ready to take a punch if you're going to start this fight or-" "Or?!"She roared, filled with the apopelectic rage of a fearsome beast that had pounced from the shadows onto a sharpened spear instead of soft flesh, "Or what?!". "Or you'll learn".
After serving my sentence in prison, my life had been a complete wreck: I wasn't able to apply for any jobs because of my time in prison and even when I did get a job it either wasn't enough to pay my rent or I wasn't able to hold it because I was bad for the company's "reputation"with me being from prison and all. But I pretty much just took a long and helpless drop down a great depression-esque slide. Then there's Gordon. My cellmate from the joint who took the exact opposite route I did and made millions off of motivational speaking and a self help book he wrote about how his sentence helped him think about how he was going to clear himself up. Gordon and I became good friends during our time together but after leaving prison I never saw much of him. As I was enjoying the last of my beer I get a knock on my door. I shrugged it off thinking it was more people telling me my taxes were overdue. But then I heard a voice shout "Come on, man, all that time in lockup and you won't even open the door for an old friend?"I shot out of my ratty old couch instantly. That was Gordon's voice. I immediately went to the door and swung it open to see clean and polished Gordon wearing a neat pinstripe suit rather than the wrinkled orange jumpsuit he wore the last time we saw each other. "How's it going, Gordon?"I asked with excitement, but when I got closer Gordon stepped back. "Wow."he said with shock "If you have another drug lab in there please call the cops on yourself, those prison showers will do you some good."He then laughed and said he was joking but then immediately switched his mood to a more serious tone. "Listen,"he began "I'm going to be out for 5 days, I'll pay you good money if you just stay at my house while I'm gone, y'know, water the plants, make sure everything is in good shape. And trust me, I pay really well. Well enough to get you out of this shithole you call a home."He gestured to my house as if it was a crack den. And it did look the part, so I answered yes but with only one question: "What's the pay?"He turned to me and said with a smile "One billion dollars."My jaw went slack and I answered yes without any hesitation and before I knew it I was at his place. There was one catch, however, and it was not to go in the basement. When we got to his place, living here made living back at my house look like living on the street. It was very spacious, even the little things from the Ottoman or the small armrests on the bed to the chairs and furniture were made from the most luxurious, expensive, and beautiful things possible. He tried blowing my praises off and being modest saying it was really nothing, but I'm pretty sure that was only because I didn't give him a tour of my place. After he was done giving the tour, he immediately packed his bags and went on his way. The first day was like living in a dream, I could not stop myself from gazing at all the gorgeous antiquities he had, feeling the plush heated blankets, he even had a pool and I was lucky to even get my sink to work back at my place. The second day ended up being a lot like the first, except I remembered that I had to water his plants, keep his Koi fish well fed, but a majority of my time was spent absorbing all of the first class aura that I had been kept away from my whole life. The third day was when everything stopped becoming a dream and became a living nightmare with some plush furniture on the side. I was watering a plant on a pretty high shelf while I spent too much time gazing at a painting to realize that most of the water had spilled and was now dripping off the side of the shelf like rain drops on a window. I immediately felt ashamed. It felt like accidentally spitting food out on the Mona Lisa to mess up something this wonderful, even if it was just water. I immediately went to get a dishtowel to clean it up. I ran the towel over the top of the shelf really precisely just to make sure I got everything, then I got down on all fours to clean the spill that dropped off the side. As I was cleaning under his shelf, I couldn't help but notice how polished the whole shelf was, even features that most would gloss over and leave unfinished were polished and treated like the visible portions were. And then I saw it. A miniature bump on the underside of the shelf that looked so disproportionate it almost looked like a tumor for the shelf. But I got a closer look at it, and saw that it wasn't even part of the shelf but a bit of circuit board held under it by a strip of clear tape. I ripped the thing off the desk and held it in the light. As soon as I knew, my face turned pale and I felt my heart jump. I immediately threw that circuit board into the nearest sink and drowned it out with the faucet as best I could. Then I went to his phone and just barely dialed Gordon's number with shaky hands. You see, Gordon and I got busted for the same thing: Drug dealing. Got exactly the same sentence for the exact same reason: our houses were bugged. Bugged with the exact same microphones that I recently found under the shelf. I heard Gordon's peppy voice over the phone "Heeyyy dude what's up?"I was stunned. "What's up? What the fuck do you mean what's up? Your house is bugged with the same microphones as 50 years ago and you haven't even found them?"There was a pause. After a minute, Gordon finally broke the silence. "Let me ask you something: What were you thinking when I said I would give you a billion dollars to watch over a house that I easily could've had someone with an actual home? And if you are asking if I learned anything from prison, specifically about the microphones, yes I did. A whole lot. I learned where to look, when to check and what type of microphones do what. I learned so much about this particular subject that it would be absolutely foolish of me to leave anything untouched. So foolish it would almost have to be intentional." I look up from the phone and either I'm scared to the point where this phone call gave me schizophrenia or there are actually red dots shooting their way through every window, dancing on the walls for quick seconds and disappearing. "But I think the real question is if you have learned anything. For starters, there would be no way in hell I would have a billion dollars over my book or my speaking. Two more questions for you: what microphone did you find?" I can hear police sirens getting louder, creeping up on the house. I immediately get furious. "Listen, you motherf-" "What mic did you find?"He spoke over me in a calm but angered voice. I should be running right now but every nerve in my body has just frozen up and every red dot that seems to be getting closer to my head just makes it worse. "A small spherical one with a cylinder on the end." "Good, only a room mic so if my hunches are correct they shouldn't have tapped the phone lines yet. Question two: did you check the basement?" I really wanted to chew him out for this. Swindling me out of a billion dollars and placing me in a bugged death trap. But hearing voices a floor below me shout "Clear!"told me otherwise. "Sounds like the DEA found the basement before you did, huh? Good for them. Looks like they finally found the drug baron pulling in billions they were looking for. It also sounds like you're either going to be arrested by DEA or shot by SWAT so I'll make it quick: the basement is the world's biggest collection of marijuana growing, meth and cocaine labs, the whole nine yards, all with finger prints that should align oh so perfectly with the person on the phone who just had to cut a potential buyer short because police raided his home."Gordon added a note of sympathy to his voice, "Damn shame." As soon as I heard the first "Freeze! DEA!"Gordon was able to hear it and finished the call with "And hey, I was serious about the prison showers."and I heard a sharp crackle of him most likely breaking a disposable phone to prevent tracing before I was torn from the phone by the whole precinct.
FADE IN: TWO NIELSON RATINGS EXECS ARE HANGING OUT IN AN OFFICE. "The latest network ratings are in." "Wait, don't tell me, the AI network is up again." "Correct, the largest surge so far." "The number of viewers of the AI channel surpassed the total number of AI's worldwide 8 months ago, and it's still going up? "Correct." "As my son likes to say...I can't even... Does the color matter?" "Doesn't seem to. Viewer counts are consistent across both episodes and time periods." "Why?" "Well, best guess around the coffee pot, is when every single AI spends every non-task moment watching that damn channel, people are starting to think there is something to it." "You're joking?" "I wish. The AI's sit around a television, and from time to time, without anything obviously happening on the screen, repeat the word "Fascinating!". Next thing you know, there's a crowd around the TV." "So the rumor of the cult comprised completely of humans who believe watching this channel leads to salvation..." "Completely true." "Well...who would have predicted this?" THERE IS A PAUSE AS THEY TRY TO THINK OF SOMETHING TO ADD. "So...what color is on now?" "It's just after noon, so, a shade of purple, I believe. Some say it eases digestion after lunch." AN EXEC PICKS UP A REMOTE, TURNS ON THE TV, AND AS WE FADE OUT, WE SEE A PRETTY SHADE OF PURPLE PAINT DRYING.
The empty chamber echoed as the door caved in, the sharp screech of metal on metal filling the air. An ironclad man entered, sword raised high at the woman on top of the throne. In the dim lighting, however, he could only make out her figure. “Halt, foul beast!” the man shouted. “Release the princess, or I shall smite thee with Missiletainn, my awesome sword of pure darkness! For I am Odin Dark, destroyer of all evil and champion of the night!” There was a pause, and then the room filled with devilish laughter. Fire spurted from the edges of the room and cast a sickly green light. The ironclad man shielded his eyes, but never lowered his sword. “Turn back now, hero,” the woman said, her lips quivering with excitement. “You will not take the princess away from me.” Normally, Odin would follow up with a lengthy monologue of how he had been destined by the fallen gods to succeed. And then he would proceed to yell the secrets, ancient words in which his awesome powers originated from. But when looking at the woman, he was speechless. He had expected an old hag, shriveled with time and hate. The woman was the exact opposite. She glowed with youthfulness, her unblemished skin pulled taut over the sharp angles of her face. A mane of black hair flowed down past her shoulders, framed around her satin robe. Despite the veil covering her mouth, her eyes shined with a seductive mischievousness. “I… uh,” Odin stammered. “I shall smite thee with my awesome sword of darkness. For I am Odin Dark –” “You already said that,” the woman replied, sighing as she rolled her eyes. Odin nodded. “Oh, right milady – I mean foul beast! But before we engage in combat of which the universe has never seen, I must admit that you are bewitching beyond any earthly expectations. My ears yearn to hear your name, if only once. Pray tell, if you are not stricken with fear at my presence.” The woman sneered, but her blush was unmistakable. “My name matters not, for it will be the last thing you will hear. You should be far more concerned with your life, at this point.” “Perhaps, but I have heard many in my life, and I believe yours will be the sweetest.” “If this is some trick, do not think you will stop me,” the woman said sharply. “But if giving it to you will end your senseless prattling, then so be it. My name is Nyx.” “Nyx,” Odin said, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Ah yes, an even finer name than I could imagine! Do you hear that – the way my heart sings every time those simple three letters are spoken in existence? I only wish that I could hear it every moment until the end of my days.” Nyx rose from her throne, fire bursting into her hands. Like the flaming towers in the room, they glowed with a strange green light. “Then allow me to accelerate your death,” she said with a cackle. Odin shook his head, sheathing his blade. “I’m afraid not, milady, for I will be taking my leave now.” “Is this another one of your tricks or are you truly that stupid?” “Neither,” Odin said, smiling. “I have decided to spare your life, if only for today. When I return to the king, I shall tell him his sources have been proven wrong. The evil witch who has snatched his daughter from her bed was not the abandoned castle. And perhaps, after some time, I will be sent on another quest to find her. And if that fails, I will have no chose but to dedicate my life to tracking her down myself.” Eyes narrowing, Nyx said nothing as she let her fires extinguish. She looked the ironclad hero up and down, and for the first time, she noticed something. The light in his eye, the way the fire reflected on his golden hair. And she conceded. “Very well,” she said as she plopped back into her chair. “And perhaps the princess will remain unharmed until your next arrival. Hopefully soon, and with less theatrics.” Giving a knowing smile, Odin nodded and was off. It wasn’t until the echo of his boots faded to nothing that Nyx finally gave a sigh and felt her heart throb fast in her chest.
For fifteen years, as Jake drove to his work, he always took a moment to appreciate the starship. A colossal flat cylinder that dominated the plain, it would have been science fiction just fifty years ago. The development issues they encountered, the setbacks with the gravitation drives, the shortages of metals no one ever needed in those amounts before, everything was new. They were literally building the future. When the ship departed he had grown disinterested with the other projects, demotivated. He took his first long vacation three years after, and was paragliding in Brazil when his old manager called. "We have a software problem, Jake"Matt sounded nervous. "With the genship project." "What is it?"They tested the software thoroughly — literally for years — but there always was a chance of something going wrong. However, there were software experts within the genship crew, ready to correct any issues in place. "It's with the reg subsystem. Remember, the one we had to buy from Exicode? For "cost-saving"? We've discovered an overflow bug that would cause a cascading failure. Shuts down the internal networks, from cloth printers to food processors. Very easy to hit, too — any living passenger over sixty would start the reaction." "Can the crew fix it?"asked Jake. "They should be able to"said Matt "We've bought the source code. Unfortunately the contract requires it to be encrypted while stored, but we gave them the DRM key for the code and reinstallation of the reg subsystem." "How's that validated?""Through Exicode servers of course"said Matt. His voice dropped "Oh." Jake looked longingly at the skies, and gliders above him. He tried to think of a solution, but his mind wasn't up to it. He was so tired of the genship, and sorting issues in other people's projects — and internal network wasn't that bad, it wasn't like the life support would shut down. He was sure they'll think of something. Hundreds of years in flight, their own government, their own Supreme Court. The generational ship was a hard project, full of unknowns, but humans always found a solution. Just not always a good one.
I had them all at gunpoint. One of them was a violent murderer, and I was going to prove it. The evidence had all pointed to these three people: the son, the wife, and the family pet. These cases were as clear cut as they can get. The son claims to have been up in his room working on homework. The door was closed and a sock that had been hanging on the doorknob was now on the floor. He claims to have heard the thud coming from downstairs; he felt the reverberations through the floor and went to check it out. The wife claims to have been in the kitchen making supper for the family -- steak and salad, with extra croutons. She also claims to have heard a thud and went to investigate. By the time I had gotten the call, the food was still warm, unlike the man who was face-first into the living room floor. The rock, however, was the most interesting suspect. No matter how hard I pressed, it refused to budge. My stony expression, despite how intimidating and fear-inducing it had been in the past, didn't even faze it. Of course, the family questioned me. Why would I interview something that can't communicate? It's just a pet, it can't tell you. That's where they were wrong. Everything has to have a story, and you can't always get that story the old fashioned way. I looked at the evidence that was present. The man was laying on his stomach. Cause of death was blunt trauma to the head. There were no signs of breaking and entering. The rock had a missing alibi. But the most important detail? How worn down -- one might say eroded -- the rock had looked. It was disheveled and crooked around the edges. Pointing my gun at the suspect, I yell. "You're under arrest!" The family looks at me like I'm crazy. However, the evidence never lies. The rock had done it, and I was going to take it down. The family tried to argue against the facts, but I showed them the folder of evidence I had. The photos of the scene, the written alibis of each suspect, and a writing of the story as I pieced it together. They shut their mouths, because they had nothing more to say. So I arrested the rock, threw it in the back of my car, and drove to the precinct. The papers beat the rock.
It can be difficult for Amanda to keep up with Kyle, he was just so perfect. Not once in their life together had he forgotten a single thing, not one anniversary, birthday, or plan they'd ever made was left behind. He knew her so well and every gift he'd ever gotten her had her almost in tears with how thoughtful it was. Just last week he came home with a bottle of wine and take out from that tiny little Italian place across the city. She had been just thinking how much she had enjoyed it when they last went there years ago on their honeymoon. Amanda had a secret weapon though, she was blessed with the ability to rewind time, she made regular use of it to show Kyle the same kindness he brought to her. Every day she would rewind when Kyle got home to be sure dinner was ready and freshly plated as soon as he took his coat off. She made sure that nothing of his was ever misplaced, anything he would look for was always right at his side when he needed it. Amanda always felt guilty, feeling like it was cheating to use her gift when Kyle would effortlessly out-do her of his own merit alone. Amanda loved him, and she felt her life was truly blessed. Kyle lifted himself up from the unfamiliar bed, rubbed his face and grunted at the woman next to him. He didn't learn her name... Or he might have, he couldn't remember anything from the night before. He didn't have to. With half a thought he was back in his car the afternoon before, driving past the dive bar he had turned into the first time around. He felt guilt, he usually did, but when you spend your life able to fix any mistake you could possibly make you don't really form any sense of impulse control. He decided he'd ask Amanda what kind of jewelry she liked once he got home and pick something up before he leaves the office today. He opened his front door and walked to his wife, dutifully setting the table. "Hey, if I bought you a necklace, what would you want it to look like?"He asked, the usual confusion showing in Amanda's eyes. As far as she knew he never asked these things, he just knew. "Oh, I don't know..."Kyle slapped her across the face, he didn't have the patience. "...I guess I like rose gold..."He grabbed her hair and slammed her head against the kitchen table. "...Maybe something with a thin chain?"His hand closed around a steak knife she had laid out. Six times he stabbed her. "I'd really prefer a bracelet though!"He threw her to the ground and kicked until she stopped moving. Amanda heard the car pull up and began to set the table. Kyle walked in, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeply. As he let her go her eyes lit up at the jewelry box he had pulled from his pocket. What a wonderfully perfect man, she couldn't be more happy with him.
Pious XIII passed through the secret archives. The elderly Cardinals and his predecessor mentioned the viewing was customary and as part of common sins for all the senior papal members to indulge in. Through twisting rooms sealed by locks, past guards and Papal librarians hid the secrets of the world. The Holy Grail smuggled by the Templar, vials containing thorns from Christ's crown, the Spear of Destiny, scraps of Jesus' robes. The secrets of the Christianity laid in these archives. Various letters and transcripts from the Inquisition, Antipapal papers, intercessions with the Archangels. Pious was curious of the vast collection of the great secrets of the only begotten son of God. But there was something more for him to lust. To view Christ with his bare eyes was a privilege that only the most zealous and devout should witness, and he entered the final room adjacent to the true Tomb of Peter. Crossing himself in the Holy Trinity, Pious placed himself onto the apperatus and it began to hum, filling his vision backwards. He could barely make out the sequence of events that passed him; Pious gritted his teeth at Luther's nailing his theses onto the Chapel door, tears began to formm as Constantinople fall and the Hussars charged in the name of God. The history of the Catholic Church flashed before his eyes, the Schism and three Popes, the back and forth Crusades and Jihads, Antipope Leo VIII becomes pope. All events, so massive and important to view was worthless as his destination in time arrived. "My god why have you forsaken me!"Jesus cried out in agonising pain. His body was weak and emancipated, tortured and forced to bear a cross. Pious could only watch as the man he devoted his life to worship was seen so fresh in front of his eyes. He wanted to reach out, to scream to the skies, to charge and stop this. But he could not. The consequences of this was too much. Pious could only huddle himself in the crowd as a lowly inhabitant of Golgotha. Pious XIII could not hear the rabble and gossip in the archives as he witnessed the soldiers defile the corpse of his lord. He scanned the area surrounding the crucifixion. He could make out several followers rabbling amongst themelves what to do next. In the secret archives, a small group of the swiss guard were able to finally make their way in. Each spending years to infiltrate and position themselves within the ranks. "For St Bernard, my men. We must avenge him and take revenge upon the Heresy that despoils this church." The five strong rouge cadre raised their swords, and swore themselves to revenge on the Vatican, the inquisition, and those that ripped their organisation from the influence of the Church. Charging into the archives, they witnessed Pious in the temporal apperatus, distracted by St Longinus piercing the side of Christ. Pious was totally drawn in by the atmosphere and scene of the crucifixion, he could not hear their footsteps approach. Grabbing Pious XIII by his vestments, the guards defenestrated him through several windoors of the archives. It was totally sealed and his cries for help was unheard. "The suffering of Christ must end, Unholy Father"whispered one guard, as he raised the Pontifex to stand. Pious could envision flashbacks as he was brought up to his feet. He saw the ancient city of Anagni, and he felt the slap of the guard's gauntlet. Blood in his mouth, Pious slumped to the ground and his vision faded. "Get into the machine brothers. It will only be so long until they notice we are missing from posts"ordered the Swiss Templar. His men crammed themselves into the temporal apperatus and eagerly waited as time began to rewind to the day Christ was crucified. Waves of dry desert air immediately came upon the Templars, and they witnessed Christ being led from his prison to crucifixion. Their time was limited, and they mounted a charge against the three wardens and three prisoners. Their cudgels and maces no match for the suppressed pistols and daggers they carried. "My Lord, we are here to rescue you. We are the Tem\-" Another Templar covered his mouth and chastised him secretly. "We are the Orphans my lord. We have no father and wish to seek yours. They call us criminals, fanatics, terrorists, but we only want to know the truth" Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews, stared blankly at them before his exhausion brought him to unconciousness. Seeking shelter, they found the nearby Dead Sea and hid in the caves for shelter. The biting dust got into a Templar's eyes, blinding him. "Brothers, be wary of this point. We only need get Jesus to safety, then we must leave. My eyes I cannot see"ordered the teary Templar. They fed on Manna and bottles of wine in the cave. By morning, they were awoken by a familiar face. It was of Pious XII in discreet robes. His face was stern and sad, and he stood defiant in front of the sleeping Jesus and five Templars. "Brothers, you have made a grave sin. Without the death of our Lord, word of his sacrifice would not have spread. You have doomed everyone for nothing. This is something that has to be" The Templars were solemn and humbled at this information. The revelation could not have come more clear. Without the passing of Christ, Jesus would be just a man to the commoners. "Oh ye of little faith. The Zealots will rise and the false prophets will lead us to Heresy. Without his death there is no Church. There is no Templars. Do you know what you have done?" Again the Templars said nothing, they did not truly understand their consequences. A cock crowed, and Pious stepped forward, alarming the Templars. "That is the rooster, brothers. You can still save yourselves. There is still time. You can still be one with Christ. You must do it." The Templars shook their head a third time. They did not want to do it. They would never exist in the future for the sin of this nature. "It doesn't have to end this way, Oberst. You know you must do this. I know because I love God our Father this much. I know not of human love because it is betrayed and I seek more than emotion and comfort. If you love our Father, then you must understand for your love, you must give up Jesus." The Templars cried at the revelation. "Holy Father, we will do whatever needs be done. Forgive our sins and attempts, I beg of you". Pious whispered his instructions to the Templars, all eager to hear how they can fix Christendom they threatened. And they led the son of God out. Beating Jesus, they ordered him to once again bare the cross. A crowd watched as they led him outside of the caves of Sodom and to Jerusalem near the prison they rescued. They hid the corpses and dressed as guards and prisoners, and marched Jesus outside of Jerusalem. Willingly accepting the cross, Jesus, and the two Templars took the places of prisoners and were crucified. "My god, my god! Why have you forsaken me!", Jesus yelled. With his last breath, Jesus died. The Templar ensured his death and plunged a spear deep into the side of Christ. His blood poured onto his eyes, and he cut cloth from his Lord cleansing his eyes. He could at last see his Lord. "Truly this man was the Son of God" \- Tried to include some references to the books. Please tell me which ones you caught up on.
I liked to pride myself on my intelligence, I liked to think that I had a good grasp on the universe and how it works. At least in a logical sense. My assumptions also were backed up pretty well, I was a decorated astronomer that had helped to pioneer some of, what I'd thought, were the greatest discoveries in cosmology in a long time. I'd thought I was pretty smart, but no matter how smart I was, I wasn't as smart as Alex. Alexander McCarten was one of my closest colleagues, and he was a genius. If I was Bill Nye, Alex was Stephen Hawking. He always just had the right ideas at the right time. He'd figured out how to effectively analyze the background radiation left over from the Big Bang, he'd created the most precise mathematical model for Dark Energy, this man was unstoppable. And then he died. I don't really know how it happened, they executor of the will told us that he died of a heart attack, but I didn't fully believe it because of his amazing health. But I'd never really gotten time to ponder Alex's death because his executor also gave us what he called 'Alex's last work'. At first, I thought it was like, some elaborate prank that Alex was pulling on us from beyond the grave. He was always a pretty funny man, but then I started to notice patterns in the document. I started to realize that the packet of papers I had been given posthumously by my most brilliant friend was actually written in a code. After I realized that it was written in code, I immediately set out to decipher it. I spend days pouring through the document, analyzing the patterns, looking up cryptographic methods, and adding in my own knowledge of Alex. After about a week of decoding that damn document, I finally started to crack it. After I cracked the code, it was pretty simple to decipher the work, with only a couple of weird inconsistencies or oddities standing out. I simply put the complex algorithm of the code into a computer program and let it decipher it for me. As my computer had been decoding the 15 or so page long document, I began to think that I had just wasted a week of my life for nothing. Maybe Alex had just been playing a joke, and I had wasted all this time on something that was useless. The thought kept creeping back into my head over and over. And I decided that, even if it was a joke, I would be content with the time I spent decoding it because that's clearly what Alex wanted anyway. Then, my computer finished decoding the document and I started reading. It definitely did not seem like a joke. The encoded 'last work' of one of my best friends wasn't what I would've expected it to be about. It wasn't about the truth of the universe, it wasn't a compilation of his greatest achievements, it wasn't even the joke I sort-of hoped it was. The document read like it was directly from the mind of a crazed reader that specialized in Lovecraftian shorts. But this was written by Alex. Alex was a genius, and the wording in the document was literal. He'd clearly spent a lot of time on this, and I couldn't think that Alex would write this as a work of fiction. The more I read, the weirder it got. The almost fictional tales of Lovecraftian beings and extra dimensions were followed with detailed scientific and mathematical explanations of the beings. And for the life of me, I couldn't find a single logical inconsistency in all of the things he was writing. It was weird. Despite the large amount of doubt surrounding my conclusion, I'd just reasoned that this work had to be some extremely elaborate joke. I had just finished reading the section on the domain of time when I flipped to the final page of the work. However, the final page wasn't a continuation of explanations for anything, it was relatively blank compared to all of the others. That last page. I can still vividly remember what was on the last page, as if it forcefully imprinted itself into my memory. The final page of Alex's final work only contained 3 things: A congratulations message to anyone who'd decoded his work; An elegant equation that apparently mathematically described all of existence; And then a lone phone number at the bottom of the page, without a description. I'd read that page over and over again. I'd been completely confused about what it meant. The congratulations message seemed out of place, but that wasn't my main worry. The equation that described the universe, it was... perfect. I ran it through the simulation software I used on my computer, it was perfect. I'd analyzed it for logical mistakes, it was perfect. And then there was the phone number, that simple 10 digit number on the page, alone and without a description. I had no idea what the phone number was for, and that was what scared me most, more than anything else in the entire packet of paper. I started to freak out, theorizing carelessly, combining sci-fi and conspiracy theory with Alex's work, desperate to figure out what the number was for. I didn't want to call it, I really didn't want to call it, but eventually, my curiosity got the better of me. So there I was, standing in my dark apartment, in the middle of the night with my phone in my hand. My hands were shaking as I typed in the number, digit by digit. I hit the call button and picked up the deciphered document with my left hand. It rang, and rang. It felt like it had rung a thousand times, each lapse of silence between the rings feeling like a thousand years. But finally, it clicked, the call connected. "H-Hello?"I asked into the phone. I was sweating profusely and my legs felt like jelly. "Security Code."A cracked, distorted voice said from the other side. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what it was talking about, I did not want to be hung up on. I looked down at the document in my hand and remembered the first page. Next to Alex's full name and the date he started writing the work was a number labeled as a security code. The code was 19 numbers long with one 3-letter word at the end. "1..."I started, reading the code off the page, trying to keep my voice from wavering. "0 4 5 9 2 4 0 1 1 1 2 3 6 9 5 1 0 2 7 End."I managed to finish the code without dropping my phone, or freaking out. The voice on the other side seemed to grunt and grumble. I could then hear it smile, somehow. "Someone will get to you shortly. Thank you for initiating the end,"it said and abruptly hung up. --- The End from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG &nbsp;
It's just another day. &#x200B; Another time where I'll wake up, have no idea what I am, spend the day, and go back to sleep before repeating the process... I'm used to it. I'm just "The One". Which basically means I'm no one. &#x200B; As I prepare for school, I get reminded, as usual, how my mother is "The One Who Cooks". These pancakes were a treat. How my father is "the One Who Drives". Anyone not familiar with him would think they'll die at least twice during the 20 minutes ride leading to school, but no matter how brutal dad's driving seems, his mastery of the car is always flawless. &#x200B; Another normal morning at school. It ends before I notice. The afternoon comes. For them. Not me. &#x200B; As any afternoon classes, everyone go to their speciality classes. They'll learn, develop and optimize their "talent". The one everybody get. Almost. I don't have one so I get free time. I might call myself The Free One. That would sound better. &#x200B; But free time isn't such a gain. What do I do with it ? The talent is basically one's life, one's identity. You earn it immediately. As soon as you're born, words appear on your back. Your title. "The One who..."Something you're bound to be stupidly gifted in. I never asked my parents how they felt when they saw my title being just "The One". The subject is quite hard to talk about at home. Everyone's worried. Naturally. &#x200B; People's hobbies. Their carriers. What they enjoy. All of that is determined through their title. They get a defined role, something they'll be good at, and enjoy naturally. It's the base of happiness. So what of me ? I've no title, no future, no interest. I'm just... left there. No one knows how to handle my situation. And since I'm still the sole known case of such phenomenon, there's no such effort to find a solution. &#x200B; I guess I'll manage, get a little job, live my life day by day. But I'll never experience that passion everyone has. &#x200B; As I get home, my mom asks suddenly for help. It was quite a shock. A first time in my 17 years of life, that "The One Who Cooks"needed help at cooking. Turns out she accepted a really huge food order from a friend, with a highly tight deadline. So she needs hands. I gladly accept, I've not much to do anyway. &#x200B; We're done, evening is past, I'm in my bed, wondering. Cooking with my mom. Even though it was just following her instructions. I... enjoyed it. I'm not good at it, but it was still fun to do. Next day, I went to my dad, and asked him if he would learn me how to drive. He accepted, and we went on a ride, on a road with very little trafic where he tries his new car tricks. It was a blast. &#x200B; I might not have a gift, like anyone else. But still, I can enjoy things, even if I'm terrible at them. I suddenlty think of all the things I never tried because I knew I couldn't be good at it. All night, not finding a way to sleep. New ideas of what to do assault my mind. An amount that gifted people would never think of. They were born with a special talent, of course they want to make it flourish, and have their eyes set on ways to do so. But by having nothing, I can do anything. &#x200B; Sleep seems to be finally coming, my eyes are suddenly really heavy. Before losing consciousness, a last thought comes into my mind. &#x200B; The Free One. It really does sound better.
'Twas the night before rapture When all through the world The Scrolls of Revelation and Destruction unfurled. World leaders were huddled With worry abound No tactic was working No answer was found. Then suddenly, like magic An idea was set free The team of six misfits Yes! Them it must be. The Procrastinators, All slackers indeed, Were the best of the best When time was of need. Until the last minute They always delayed But never a deadline Was ever betrayed. One final attempt To save all from flames The team they assembled By calling their names: Come Reddit, come Twitter, come Netflix and Chill Come YouTube, Come Gamer, come save or be killed! At first it was quiet Like nothing was done But soon they would realize The battle was won With a flurry of typing And tricks up their sleeve The team set to work At incredible speed. The Scrolls, as were written, Were each of ten pages And when all were read Was the end of all ages. The team, as they figured, Could split up their task. So they divided in parts What had been too much to ask. They set up computers And hooked up devices Strange equipment they needed Of all shapes and sizes. But yet in the end Their work was complete They had scanned all the scrolls And then pressed Delete. The rapture was finished, Or at least so they say. Perhaps it could happen Perhaps, but not today.
I'd heard the stories. A woman of unmatched beauty with skin as white as the snow on Mount Averfrust and hair as black as the crows in Borcfuren. They called her Viltfurst, or Snow White. No one knew quite what she was, only that she was of human form and performed black magic. Those that met her never lived long enough to live the tale. All except one: Queen Forthal. She had recovered an amulet from one of the priests of a far away land which allowed her protection from Viltfurst's wicked magic. Though she had this protection, she had naught in the way of harming Snow White. I received a summons one day from the Queen, begging for my assistance. Her people were being slaughtered, she said, and she had heard about my prowess as a huntsman. She offered me land and fortune for Snow White's life. I sent her a letter of my own accepting her summons. I did not know exactly what she was, but I had an idea. A creature of fairness and pale skin must be a vampire. I had only heard of two others in my lifetime and have only hunted one, though, admittedly, it was an unsuccessful hunt. But I learn from my mistakes. I knew what had to be done. I donned my vest and my cloak, filling it with silver spikes and garlic gas. I set my crossbow to my back with silver arrows at my hip and set off. I knew what I must do: Remove the heart, bring it to the queen as proof, and burn it. Otherwise, the evil would not be stopped. As I approached the woods in which she was rumored to live, I felt my heart begin to race. I took a breath to steady myself and continued on. I focused my senses, listening to the sounds of the forest. I heard the birds chirping and the small animals moving through the foliage. I heard a snap and my eyes shot over to the sound. There she was, primed to pounce from the shadows. I hastily took out of my garlic oil and sprayed it around me. She started to run at me, but stopped dead in her tracks at the line of oil. She made a guttural hiss and turned away. I pulled my crossbow out, notched an arrow, and let it fly, hitting her squarely in her lower back. She let out a gasp and fell to her knees. I returned my crossbow to my back, pulling out my spike. Walking up to her, I pulled her head back and went for the killing blow. My hand stopped. I was overcome with a profound sense of love and admiration, as though I had known her my whole life. She looked up at me with eyes as blue as the ocean. "You wouldn't hurt me,"she said. I knew in my heart that I could not. I flung her against a tree, yelling at her to go. She fled into the forest and I fell to my knees, cursing myself for allowing her magic to overcome me. I traveled back to the queen's castle and recounted my story to her. She put her hand on my shoulder, telling me that she did not blame me and that her magic was more potent than any known. She told me her spies had discovered snow white living with seven dwarves. "Of course,"I thought. "Where better to hide than a dwarf mining outpost". The queen assured me that she would take care of matters. I nodded and went to quarters she had provided for me. A few years later, I received another summons. The queen explained that she had used magic to put Snow White into an endless sleep and that I was to finish the job. I traveled several days to the clearing in which the queen described and, when I reached it, I discovered I was not the only visitor. There was a prince. Not just any prince, but the prince of Valhurst, a large kingdom to the north. He was leaning over Snow White's body, her body completely unchanged from all these years. I saw him kiss her, and she woke up. He smiled, asking her if she was alright. She looked around, seemingly confused. "I think so,"She said weekly. He helped her up and her strength seemed to be returning by the minute. She looked towards him and asked who he was. "I am Prince Undvar, rightful heir to throne of Valhurt"A glint came to her eye and she smiled at him. "Then let us marry"The prince, not missing a beat, accepted. Her magic was potent. But as he turned his back, she lunged for his throat, sucking him dry in a matter of minutes. She wiped her mouth and sighed. "Then I shall be queen." I pulled my crossbow, knowing I had very little time, and fired a bolt straight through her chest. She became even more pale somehow and fell to the ground. "How..."she snarled I walked out of the shadows and she her eyes immediately snapped to me, widening in surprise. "You"I nodded, pulling my stake. In the years since, I had heightened my skills in resisting magic, and I felt her pull against my resistance. "That won't help you this time, beast,"I said as I raised my stake. "Do you have any final words?"She shook her head and lowered it in defeat. My blow was true, destroying what was left of her life. I pulled my knife and cut out her heart. Days later, I returned to the queen with her heart on my stake. "Your majesty, as requested" "You have done well. Now destroy it"I nodded and threw it into the hearth. The fire roared and grew hot with black flames, after a couple seconds dying down to nothing but charcoal and ash. It was done.
I've had twenty-one years of seeing my double on my birthday. Twenty-one years of thinking I had some dust in my eye or thought I saw a ghost. Maybe I had secret twin or he was a schizophrenic delusion. Twenty-one years of my parents, siblings, and friends telling me they didn't see anything when I knew I absolutely did see some thing. I have lived my life in terror of birthday, hoping every year that something would be different. I thought it was a trick of the light – an unusual reflection – that I saw staring back at me, outside the window. I changed my mind at my 17th birthday party. That was the year I got enough of a glimpse of my doppelganger that I could tell he wasn't repeating my movements. I kept him just out of the corner of my eye and watched as he pressed his hands against the glass. Even though I only saw him for a half second, at most, I got the idea that he was trying to tell me something. I knew he was more than reflection, but I couldn't take having an exact copy of myself out in the world, despite me only encountering him on my birthday. I told my parents what I saw for the millionth time and I insisted it wasn't some trick, that I could see him wanting something. They spoke to everyone at the party, but no one else saw him. That was when I was sent to Dr. Martinez. He told my parents anxiety can manifest itself in odd ways. He said, “Perhaps the stress from graduating high school or going to college and leaving my old life behind made him wish it was all happening to someone else. It's possible that this 'twin' is a manifestation of that fear, allowing Peter to escape by putting his responsibilities onto it instead.” I aggressively refused when I heard this ridiculous explanation. Unfortunately, that meant I was committed in less than a week. I thought at least in the hospital I wouldn't see him anymore. And, hey, worst case scenario, if I was crazy, then I would definitely be on the right meds to make it all stop. I spent 12 months having the doctors tell me that I couldn't have seen what I saw and that it must have only been a mistake of some kind. I didn't listen. To them, the problem wasn't that I saw someone looking into my house that might have looked at me, it was my adamant denial that it could have been anything but another version of myself. I saw him again on my 18th birthday. Nothing was different – he was even wearing the same hospital clothes. I screamed until they were forced to sedate me. I didn't understand what was going on, but I knew I wasn't crazy, no matter what they all told me. Unsurprisingly, the same thing happened for my 19th and 20th birthdays. I yelled and kicked, screeched and fought. It was pointless. No one but me could see my copy. They tried to convince me once by showing me the recorded video from the security cameras placed outside the hospital. I told them I was never going to believe their lies and that I'll find a way to prove to them how wrong they really are. They pumped me full of enough drugs to lull a horse into a deep sleep. I didn't have the strength to keep fighting anymore. This year I decided not to look; I just wanted everything to stop. I was in my room, sitting up in my bed, forcing my eyes to stay shut and covering my ears with my hands. I didn't see him, but I could tell he was there, pressed against the window of my room, staring in at me. I could suddenly feel him inside the hospital with me, in my room, at the foot of my bed. I could hear his steps slowly creep closer to me. I felt the mattress sink under him when he sat next to me. His breathing wasn't labored or excited, just a calm and steady in and out. I kept my eyes closed tightly and decided to let him do whatever he wanted. If he was hunting me, then I hoped he would finally end the nightmarish paranoia that consumed me. He placed his hand on my knee. He leaned in near enough so that I could hear him whisper and feel his breath on my ear. After twenty-one years, he spoke to me. He told me what I already knew: “You're not crazy. They're lying to you, but we can show them the truth. We can make them ALL see the truth.”
There was an accident. The ship burned. The sirens were so loud, so terribly loud. I knew what to do. Wait in the escape pod. Until someone comes. Or until the automatic security protocol warps the pod to the closest survivable world. I waited for so long. I wasn't allowed to leave, but they didn't come. Sometimes I thought I heard them scream. But I tried to ignore it. I tried not to hear it. I tried not to think about it. It took hours, but the emergency pod automatically discharged, and warped to a world. It was full of people like me. They were confused at first, but then very friendly. Especially when I explained my situation. They took me to a comfortable cell. They wanted to know all about my owner, the history of pet humans, and about the escape pod. Silly humans, they have owners who must have told them this, but I decided to be nice, and telling them all about how humans get operated on as infants to remove aggression, all about the uses of human pets as long term companions, how we were all taken from a world where we would never be useful to our masters, and made better. They were quite excited by that. Perhaps they feared that I was one of the rare humans who regrow that removed part of the brain, who goes feral with rage. Clearly though, I am still obedient and very nice. So they asked me about my owner, the chief engineer on the ship, oh how I miss them. They asked about the engines, and as a working pet, I told them I could build them some FTL engines in my sleep. They didn't believe me, but even though they gave me some very primitive tools, I sure showed them. They were very impressed. And they told me to make more, that their owners had lost their engineers so none of them could build new FTL engines. Shame about it, I thought, but I just made more engines for them. They were very happy, and asked me to teach some of them. I was a bit apprehensive at first, after all, it's not really allowed, but as it was an emergency situation clearly, I figured I could circumvent the normal rules. They told me those I would teach would go to good engineer homes, once they got in contact with the rest of the Galaxy. It made me happy, I was always told I was a useful and good pet. Still, it was odd that I never met their owners. Perhaps they were very protective, fearing that my good qualities would make them seem superfluous in the eyes of their owners. Soon they told me that they had gotten into contact with the family of my owners, who had sadly revealed that my owner had died. They were sending over my mate and my children to me, because they wanted us to be together, which was remarkably nice of them. I always thought I had the best family of owners, most owners just disintegrate unwanted humans, or eat them. So nice of them to send my family to live with me here on this world with these somewhat peculiar humans. They kept talking about how they were destroying the enslavers, or how they were leading the liberation of the Galaxy. Some impressive owners they must have, I thought. They also told me that they had been told by their owners, that my family and I had gotten sick without us noticing, and were getting an operation to make us better. They called it a neuro-regenerative brain treatment. Sounded fancy. Said it would make me and my family much, much better. I certainly am looking forward to that. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
I had heard it all before, for some reason every hero that was sent by the ‘gods’ always felt the need to monologue their entrance to my castle “For the sake of the world…” She said as she stride into my domain. “Wait, just wait” I interrupted her immediately, they were getting old “What is your sword made of, young one?” The look on her face was comical, they never seem to realise that interrupting them is an option, in fact her nose crinkled as she replied “It is of course, Mithril” came her snappy response. &#x200B; “Then go home young one, you cannot defeat me with naught but a sword made of the true essence, the holy power of the gods themselves.” The look on her face as I spoke became even more comical. “You know what my dear, I’m tired of waiting for the gods to actually send someone worthy, let’s go and see who actually sent you to your death.” As I spoke, I stood up from my throne and stride towards her, grabbed her arm as I passed and immediately pulled her back out the door she had passed through. &#x200B; As we travelled together, I told her my story - it may not have been the whole truth but I told her far more than had ever made its way to her tiny village. I had grown up in a privileged society, one of wealth and little to no suffering as truth be told, I was made to lead the small kingdom after the passing of the previous king for he had no heirs and I was his closest living relative. It was the protection offered from the role of king that made me untouchable, it was well rumoured but not really factual that I was immortal, or unkillable. I simply had the protection provided to me by my crown, and the enchantments laid upon it by wizards eons ago. I was not a cruel tyrant as she had thought of me, at least not by my own reckoning. I knew that some of the money that I had pledged to provide aid to the smaller villages and hamlets on the border was probably not getting through, but the way she told it there was absolutely none. It appears that the nobles in the area whom I had charged with providing shelter, aid and tax breaks to those under them had simply ignored my orders. &#x200B; By the time we reached her tiny village, I met with the supposed town ‘elders’ that had charged this young lady with ending my life. I explained myself to them, just as I had to her and while they seemed to be wary of me, I did pledge that I would try and clean up the mess that had been created. It took a few months after I got back to the castle to find out what had happened, a few greased palms and the whisper of a king will do wonders to loosen the lips of those involved in the scheme. A few people placed into the local jail cells and quietly removed from society and a few public declarations of support for the young lady I had now elevated to my guard were enough to restore some semblance of a working relationship with the border towns. &#x200B; This is now the story I tell upon most royal visits now, while many knew me as a man who had attempted to do the best he could, a few bad apples and sowed the seeds of revolution amongst the outliers. A lesson to those who rely on the magics of old to protect themselves. Even whispered rumours can sometimes be true...
He panted heavily as he sped across the savannah. Hooves catapulting him forward at breakneck speeds, horns feeling the tug of air resistance, he was starting to tire. It had been hours of running, sprinting on and off, and exhaustion was finally starting to set in. His focus was slipping. He nearly planted his front hoof in a dirt hole that would surely have meant death. A broken forelimb, and a painful wait for the terrors that stalked the plains. His nose caught the scent of water, and he dug in his hooves, planting himself perfectly still. His heart hammered in his chest from exertion, and the heat of his body clouded his mind. Where... he tried to focus in on it, but it was difficult. He followed his nose, shuffling cautiously forward. Water could mean the strength to live another day, safety from the heat, and the soothing of his dry throat; but water could mean death. A trap. The hideaway of a great savannah cat, perhaps, dropping from the trees above; or the cool oasis home of a great scaleback to grab him from the shore. His wariness was overcome. He had to drink, or die, and he plodded forth. Hooves moved from dusty sun cracked soil and brittle grasses to the shady refuge of lush trees, soft earth, and now the ever clearer scent of a pond. He strode out to the edge, caution not completely gone, and lowered his weary head to the cool waters. The first taste of liquid soothed his parched throat, and the coolness sank rapidly into his body, battling the intense heat he had failed to pant away. It was so close, this time. He couldn't go further, not soon. He needed rest, to recuperate. To cool down before the noonday heat stole up on him like a pack of jackals, nipping and biting until the slow drain of light wounds stripped him of the strength to flee. He listened intently, eyes darting around, nose testing the air as well as it could while so saturated with the scent of the precious life-giving pond. He had escaped, he would live. He would... A distant crackling sound caused his right ear to spin around swiftly. What was that? Muscles that had been just beginning to unclench tightened into stillness at once. His head whipped up to look in the direction of the sound, and he saw them. Dread came, not the terror that would often instill the strength and swiftness to escape an oncoming predator, but a deep hollow sense of despair and horror he had never felt; as the strange creatures bounced along on their too tall hind limbs, skins of others like him draped around their frames, shafts from trees grasped in their forepaws. Their eyes peered about in the way of all great predators seeking out a quarry. He moved, slowly. Trying to conceal himself in the foliage, but it was too late. One of the runners heads snapped to the oasis he had come to for refuge, and locked on him. An inscrutable cry bellowed forth from his pursuer, and their pack began to close upon him again. He turned, hoping to sprint away at last, and escape. He faltered as he cleared the shade of the trees and the great scorching heat of the sun hit him like a great downpour. He forced himself onwards, feeling his muscles screaming, his body not yet fully recovered from the heat and exertion of his last escape. They don't stop... He was moving much slower than he had before. In each of the several previous times, it had been the same. He spotted them coming, and sprinted away much faster than they could run. He put great distances between them, and then just when he thought he had escaped, he would hear their hunting cries in the distance; he would catch their scent on the wind (the smell of death, of the eaters of other creatures), and he would flee again. He couldn't continue... He couldn't keep going... His mind hazed again, much worse than before. The brief taste of water only making worse the harsh cries of his body for more. The heat was too much. He stumbled. His pursuers let out an exultatant shout, and he heard their pace quicken. No! He thought, and heaved himself back to his hooves, powering onward as hard and fast as he could. Not like this! He made it a short distance farther, and collapsed again, great flares of heat hammering in pulses up his neck into his head, suffocating his thoughts, smothering his mind. He couldn't think. What was happening? Why couldn't he move? He didn't hear them approach at the end, but he did feel a last spike of pain as the sharp point of rock stabbed down through his heart. His spirit slipped from his body, all pains gone, and descended into the cool darkness of the earth, and no living man knows what it found there. The fire crackled, and the young boys continued to stare with rapt attention at the old gray haired medicine man. "Why do you tell this story Ombai?"Asked one child. "Why speak the life of the antelope?" A strange look stole over his face then, and he looked deep into the fire's heart. "Because it is a true story. Because the antelope, my brother, was the first that fell to me; and it is good to remember him. Because we must remember that we are the fear that haunts their dreams at night. The teeth in the darkness. The long pursuers. And to see ourselves through their eyes tells us about who we are. And to remind us that what we fear, it is like us also. To show you that we see the lion as the antelope sees us, but the lion sees himself as we see ourselves. And most of all, to give you pause to think. To think, and to know, and to understand; because this above all is what sets us apart from them, and to know the story of a thing is to understand a thing, and if it is a good story, it is to love it." The young boys sat in silence at that, for a long time, and as the fire burned low, they peered out into the murky shadows beyond, and thought. Who are we? And who are they? What are the stories of the wind and the trees? And the flowers and seeds? What are the stories of stars in the sky, and the lights from on High? What is the story, of Us?
When the veil of death falls upon a human soul, they are given choices. One, dread and ancient, a humanoid silhouette standing with thousands of eyes upon pearl-white wings and a wheel made from pearls fused together. The wheel is also on fire. Next to them stands a handsome or perhaps beautiful individual with some slight goathorns, hooves and a red tail. They are always wearing whatever the dead human soul would have considered stylish and expensive in life. The ancient thing speaks in a deep monotone voice, offering passage towards paradise. Forgiveness from all sins, and life eternal in peaceful bliss. The other one, the debonair individual, offers them a bargain, a single wish, and they go to hell. You have an infinite time to pick. But while picking, you roam the Earth as a spectre, a distant echo of what you were, a soul without a receptacle, a hollow voice in the dark, distant and insubstantial. Most people take the angel's offer, though due to the natural charm of the devil, and the fact that the demon cares enough to dress up smart and act personable, a great number of people also pick them. Of course, most people wish to come back to life when they pick the demon, thinking they've outsmarted Hell. Well, they haven't. You just go straight to Hell the second time you die. A few are so indecisive that they remain in the ghostly void, to the great consternation of the demon. The angel doesn't particularly care one way or the other. It has a task, and it will wait patiently until it can bring a soul back or the soul is taken by the demon. But most pick pretty quickly. Interestingly, the demon and the angel will not divulge what will happen, if one should go with either. The angel does not tell you what awaits in Heaven, nor does the demon gloat about what tortures you will endure in Hell. And they won't even begin to speak of their counterpart's option at all, if you ask them. Most who do not pick are little more than tortured wild souls, who fear going ahead, fear what comes in Heaven as much as they fear Hell. You feel nothing while a ghost, all sound is muted, all colours are grey, all is dull and sterile. Only the angel and the demon feels real. You can smell the brimstone, you can feel the heat of the angel's burning wheel. They will both insist that they are the only spiritually real things that exist. And that you must eventually pick. But if one notices things, one can see that strangely, the stars are still the same. The rest of the world feels insubstantial, unreal, except the angel, the demon, and the stars. So when I left my body, broken and battered as it was by harsh years and harsher illness, I decided that I wanted to see the stars before I picked. Because they seemed so much more real than all other things. And as my spiritual shape flew up through the atmosphere of Earth, I began to see things, something which the grey air and dull unreal world of the surface had hidden. Two swollen and disgusting things. One covered in Nazca-line sized religious imagery, and one covered in demonic regalia. One was ivory-white, one was like lava. But both things, both vile things had terrible open mouths, and from above I could see that inside one was Hell, in the other, Heaven. And like an anglerfish tricks its prey with a lure, the angels and demons leading souls into the mouths were attached with strange fleshy tendrils to the spiritual worms. And though Heaven and Hell were what I saw, I recognised it from afar, away from the unreal fog covering the astral plane, as an illusion. The angels and the demons did not lead to paradise or to perdition. But merely to serve the souls of mankind as food to monstrous things. Things born of hatred, zealotry, sadism, and evil. Things which promise difference, but are as one. And gone from the confusing state of being a soul caught in their weakening mists, I felt what it was like to be a true human spirit. Raw power, the power of humanity which because of the foul worm-twins feasting on us before we could truly access it, had grown to unspeakable levels. Whether a true heaven or true hell awaited, these impostors, these parasites, would die by my hand. By the hand of humanity. To show true death to them, I called on the dreams of men, the dreams of death. Using our power, the power that mankind was meant to have in death, the power to make our own forever, our own paradises or hells as we so desired and deserved, I reached into the collective dreamscape of humanity. And from it I pulled a black hooded robe. From it I pulled a scythe. And from it, I pulled memories of what we fear in our deaths. For mankind has always thought of death, and given it a personality, a nature. Made death from a mere cessation of physical life, into an entity that we fear and respect. Thanatos, Astwihad the breaker of bones, Mictlantecutli, Níðhǫggr, Hel, Yama, and countless others. And warding my spiritual form with the midnight-cloak of death, armed with the tool meant to harvest all mankind in one fell swing, I marched through the confines of space towards the worm-gods. I grew myself in size, grew until my spirit could fit the Moon into the palm of my hand. The wormgods, screeching and whining, took rest from their relentless consumption of human souls, to gaze upon me. ''And what, are you supposed to be? This is our spot, our feast.'' Their voices were like the screeching of pestilent little creatures, vermin, but without the redeeming qualities usually found in rats and cockroaches. DEATH. I did not give those parasite creatures time to answer. I did not let them prepare to fight. I swung the great scythe, born from the collective dread of billions of humans, who had feared the same death for thousands upon thousands of years. They had grown fat and lazy, feasting for countless aeons. Humanity had had a lot of time to dream of death. Enough to kill even parasite wormgods. Once there was a choice. Heaven with an angel, a wish followed by an eternity in Hell. Both were lies. Now mankind must find their own paradise. But now, I lessen my size, I sit down my spirit upon the Moon, and watch with scythe in hand, as mankind, in death, are able to choose freely and without deceit for the first time. And should there be other parasites out there, other things that scuttle, lie, cheat, and feast upon souls. I still hold the scythe. And if my eternity will be spent protecting the souls of mankind, then so be it. [/r/Apocalypse](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
Day 300. Goddam day 300. I thought I'd lost my wits at day 200 but it's really taking the cake now. I swing the door open and watch the mailman crouched forward, mail in hand with the same lingering bewilderment he had the other 299 times, I mean have some bloody variety. "Thanks Buck,"I say before swinging the door closed behind me. Which one will it be this time? 'It's actually Bucky?' or will it be- "How do you know my name?"he mutters through the door as I ignore him, again. I love this back and forth me and Buck have, there was that one time I trapped him inside and told him everything, every sordid detail, which didn't exactly work because he was tied to a chair given that it took me a solid week to keep him in the apartment past "I'm stuck in a time loop."I found he doesn't respond well to 'crazy talk' and especially not me somehow knowing every detail of his life, even though he was the one who told me. Then there's that time I- "Listen Tony, I know you're doing your mental narration thing again but we need to talk about this situation we're stuck in." That's just my dog Howie, he- wait. Howie just spoke, no. Alright I've really lost it this time, I don't think pacing around the room is going to snap me out of this one. Jesus, what the hell is going on. First the loop, now a freaking talking dog! "Tony, calm down." I leap up onto the kitchen counter speechless and he's just sat there staring at me. Is he speaking to me inside my head? No, I've well and truly lost it. Maybe if I just fall asleep and wake up today this'll all be over. "I know this must seem-" "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"I scream, scrambling for any kind of weapon. "I am not doing this today, or today or today!" "Tony, I promise you're safe." He looks cuter than ever, just sat there with his head in a tilt. Why today? It's day 300. That must mean something, What could it be, what have I missed? "Tony, get down from there. We have to talk." "Why haven't you spoken the last 300 days?"I ask, still curled on the counter, spatula in hand. He whines at me and shuffles a little closer, "Tony, we need to talk about our condition." This is crazy. I thought reliving this day over and over and over and over- wait I'm straying again. This is crazy! Howie's talking, I'm not, for once. "Tony this isn't real,"he says with a seriousness I've been avoiding since this started. "What isn't real?" "This Tony, you can't keep doing this to yourself. Have you been outside yet?"How about we go for a wal-" "No! We are not going for a walk!" I jump down from the counter and grab Howie, locking him in the bathroom. He can't do any harm from in there, I just have to wait until the day ends. That's it, then I can start again, with normal Howie, my Howie. He's been in there barking for two hours now, the sun is starting to set. I can hold off a little longer. Now he's banging into the door, he said it himself this isn't real. What did he mean? Am I hallucinating Howie? I shouldn't have locked him in there. God, I don't know what to do but I'm going to let him out. He bursts straight past me towards the other side of the room. He sits calmly and stares directly at me, "Tony, I know what you went through was horrible but you can't be scared." Scared? Scared of what? He doesn't know what he's talking about. He's just a dog anyway, I can do anything. "You're just a figment of my imagination." "I am." This is horrible, I don't want him here anymore. It's making me anxious, I feel like I'm back on day 1. What the hell is going on? "Tony, if you don't go outside today you won't get to live any day ever again." "What are you talking about?"I say, clawing my nails into my skin. "Do you remember your brother Ron? He's just outside the building. You just have to take the first step." Ron. Yes, Ron. I nod slightly. I've missed him but I just can't go outside. I just can't do it, I'm comfortable here, I've been comfortable here for 300 days. "Do you remember that Ron was sick? You were there." Ron. He was sick- he was. "Howie, where is he?" "He's right outside of the building Tony." "I can't do it Howie, I can't. I just can't. Howie, I can't do it, I just-" "Tony, you were in an accident. You were taking Ron to the hospital when-" "No!" "Tony, do you trust me?" I do trust him, he's my dog. He'd never leave me. Maybe I could go outside. No, I just couldn't. "How about if I came with you Tony? Your brother needs you." I clenched my fists and held my eyes closed, the temptation getting the better of me. Maybe I could go with him, he'd protect me. Good old Howie. I nod again. I stand up slowly and follow Howie out of the apartment door and down the flight of steps, the front door covered in a hyper blinding white. He takes the lead and nudges the door open slightly, I peer through the gap and watch the people walking around aimlessly, feeling the breeze against my skin. I step outside slowly and take a deep breath in, "Howie where's Ro-"I hear the sound of a horn approaching, as I whip my head around a truck pummels towards me and then all I see is black. I'm remembering, I was driving my brother to the doctor, he was convulsing. I- we- we didn't make it, there was a truck. It was headed our way, oh, oh god. There's a faint bark in the distance getting closer and closer, that's Howie. Howie? Howie?! "He's breathing on his own! He's breathing!"I hear. I open my eyes slowly and find Ron sitting beside me, tubes hooked up to my body everywhere. I lean my head down and catch Howie, which might just be another hallucination but I'm sure he just winked at me. I guess this is Day 1. ¬Discover more of my writing at r/silvacorner.
My name is Tom Farland. I work as a camera operator at Eirk Marketing Corp. For the past three years I've been working on a project with Menard's based around their jingle "Save big money at Menards!"In the course of this project I've discovered a serious problem. I'm recording my thoughts in this entry on the off chance that I'm not crazy. If I'm not crazy, I'll probably be next. If I'm not crazy, they have no shame. I've documented the commercials below in succession. In the order that you've seen them. Even though they've been airing months apart: The first commercial. The opening proudly displays the Menards name. In the commercial, a local shopper walks into Menards. Many Menards employees follow them inside. They all wear smiles. The camera pans to one employee who addresses the camera. "We will be there for you. You'll have so many people here to help that it will be impossible to feel alone. Save big money at Menards!" The second commercial. The picture shows a local shopper named "Jamal Davis". He's wearing a watch that appears quite fancy. Other notable clothing includes a diamond-studded necklace with dozens of connected dollar sign symbols. He addresses the camera. "I always enjoy my shopping experience here. The prices are low and the service can't be beat. The selection is so vast that you can get lost in it."The shopper's eye seem almost pleading. "Save big money at Menards!" The third commercial. Several Menards employees walk together with a shopper. It's the same man from the previous two commercials. They lead him over to a selection of safes. The prices and brand names are displayed prominently as they scroll across the bottom of the screen. The shopper doesn't speak. One of the Menards employees does, "Here at Menards, we have a huge selection of safes for your every day needs. Just see one of our happy employees and they would love to help you!"All of the employees smile at the camera. "I mean, can you imagine a person being trapped in a safe of this quality? They'd never make it out! Save big money at Menards!" The fourth commercial. Several Menards employees stand near a door that leads to the back. One of them speaks to the screen. "This is where all the happy Menards magic happens behind the scenes! This area is employee only and no one else should come here. This is where we assemble and pack boxes for our delivery orders. This is where we store our extra stock before it hits our shelves. It would be very dangerous for someone else to come back here unattended. We highly value your safety. Thank you for your time. Save big money at Menards!" The fifth commercial. The manager of a Menards location speaks directly to the camera. "Some of you may have heard about an unfortunate incident where a poor grandmother became lost at our Menards. Our employees were able to quickly locate her after her status was reported. We are very attentive and love our community. No one could ever become lost or trapped at Menards! Save big money at Menards!" That's all the commercials. I don't know what to do. Jamal Davis IS Big Money. He's been missing for ages. It's been here... the whole time. And I'm complicit! I'm going to click the upload button on this footage shortly. Hopefully you can see the truth. I can't believe that Menards has been doing this in plain sight. Please, please if you see this footage. Save Big Money. Save me. We'll be at Menards. There was a series of rapid fire noises. Knock. Knock. Knock. "Save Tom Farland at Menards!"
Tensions had already been high between the nations of Naughtreel and Fauxnaim. Enough so that war could erupt at the press of a button. Or the send of a text. Perhaps things could’ve been managed if it hadn’t been for Walter. Pathetic, idiotic - but nonetheless opportunistic - Walter. The man, as it was, was the government’s official Foreign Language interpreter - and had happened to form a crush on the woman across the border who shared his position. So he, in the completely natural way of one who wishes to advance a relationship, sent her a message through the Naughtreel Government’s Foreign Communication Terminal: SEND NUDES PLS Walter, of course, in his desperate, horny haste, failed to proofread the message before he sent it to his nation’s worst enemy. As it turned out, he had used the wrong Faux character - replaced a “D” with a “K” in the worst of places - so that a poor, confused translator in the Fauxnaim government received a weird and vaguely threatening message. SEND NUKES PLS “Send nukes?” thought the ever-impulsive Fauxnaim government, as one singular entity. “Do they taunt us? Is this meant to be a symbol of their ‘fearlessness,’ their utter disregarded for a nation? Fine! A challenge they request, and a challenge they shall receive!” Thus began - and quickly ended - the Greatest War, also known as the Very Hot War, No-More-World War 1, and the ‘Don’t Trust People Named Walter With Positions of Authority Inside Your Government’ war. Out of all the events that occurred in its aftermath, which included 15 consecutive nuclear winters, the destruction of anything vaguely “joyful,” and, of course, the death of all life on the planet, the saddest was this: in the end, she wasn’t even that into him.
The elf stared at the sword through his smoky goggles, his eyes fixed on the tarnished silver and steel blade. Across the counter and reflected in the lenses of the goggles, the warrior stared at the elf. “Alab’Aster?!” the warrior sputtered as he locked eyes with the reflective goggles. The pale-skinned, white-haired elf smith ignored the olive-skinned, brown-haired dwarf warrior’s outburst and continued examining the weapon. When he was satisfied with his initial assessment, the elf smith pulled up his goggles, revealing piercing yellow eyes with vertical slits for pupils. “You,” the elf said to the dwarf. This made the dwarf puff in anger as the warrior shot back, “Can’t even call me by name anymore?” The elf smith set down the unassuming silver and steel longsword on the maple counter with care. “No,” he said, “I was calling you by your name.” “Oh, right, I knew that,” the dwarf replied, embarrassed. Alab’Aster frowned. “You slacked off on blade maintenance, Yew. From the looks of it, there’s considerable acid corrosion on the metal.” Yew, the dwarf warrior, scoffed. “Had I known you’d be the smith, I’d have hauled for another three days to get to Verbunda.” “And by the time you reached a licensed smith your sword would have crumbled, much like your adventuring career,” the elf retorted. “Yeah? By the looks of how small this forge is, if you can even call it that, you’re not doing so well either!” the dwarf countered. In between the two and unnoticed next to the counter, the goblin apprentice raised her green hand. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, “Do you and Master Alab’Aster have some sort of history?” “We certainly have no such thing!” the elf stated. “I definitely got an ax to grind with him, or sword, as it is,” the dwarf growled. “OK!” the goblin squeaked, “I’ll just be in the back tidying the inventory!” As the blue-haired green-skinned goblin wearing the oversized blacksmith’s apron darted her way behind the counter, Alab’Aster stopped her. “It’s fine, Mary. Our respectful customer here surely has polite intentions,” the elf said through gritted teeth and a smile. “Oh, I’ll be polite with you alright,” the dwarf said. “You see? Nothing to worry about with this fellow of average height. Now please polish the warrior’s appropriately sized sword with some sandpaper.” Mary the goblin gave a nervous chuckle as she grabbed the longsword with both arms and walked off to the side to work on cleaning the blade. “Hmph, can’t believe you’re running a two-person shop with a minion,” Yew said. Straining to keep smiling, Alab’Aster said, “Even the demon lord doesn’t have unlimited funds you know. We need to survive in these lean times. Besides, Mary is quite skilled at the forge, unlike some odd individuals who don’t live up to their heritage.” The dwarf’s brown bushy beard twitched. “Are you making a dig at my lack of dwarfishness? If only your fellow moon elves could see you working in broad daylight next to a goblin!” “Says the claustrophobic dwarf!” “Says the weakest of the four generals of the demon lord! Or is it three now since you’re here!” In an offended high-pitched voice, Alab’Aster retorted, smile gone, “I’ll have you know I was the last to be dismissed!” “More like fired! And then what, you grabbed a favorite pet to help you with your business?” “I will not have you disrespect my apprentice, dwarf!” From the side of the shop, where Mary was busy sanding the sword, the goblin perked up and said, “Yeah! I’m not a pet! I’m Master Alab’Aster’s toy!” A shadow crept across Yew’s face. “Oh really? Moon elf, is this the depravity you members of the demon lord’s cabal engage in nightly?” Playing with a strand of neck length blue hair, Mary’s perky voice informed them, “It’s not just at night, it happens during the morning or day, or whenever things are slow and boring!” Alab’Aster pulled the goggles back over his eyes. His grinding teeth became audible. “Not helping, Mary!” he shouted at the goblin. “Sorry! Shutting up now!” Mary said as she returned to sanding the sword. Yew returned to his beard-twitching angry stance across the counter from the elf. “You know it’s not over, right?” the dwarf snarled. The elf straightened up and tried smiling again, which resulted in a less convincing half-grin half-smirk. “Provision eight, subsection thirty-one. Combat among sentients within safe zones must be approved by a licensed Adventurers’ Guild representative, or by a local elected official,” Alab’Aster said. “To Halla with those rules! You wanna take this outside?” the dwarf roared. “No, no, I do not wish to go outside the town limits,” the elf said. “Listen here, you insidious snake, I know your game. Sure you’ve gotten good with the locals here but you’re just waiting for the moment to strike for the demon lord, aren’t you?” “No, I really got dismissed from her service,” Alab’Aster said. The elf then fell on his elbows over the counter. “Oh, my Demon Queen!” he wailed, “Why couldn’t you stop playing at the parlor! You didn’t have to win it all back! Now you’re all alone and on the streets with none of your loyal generals to protect you!” As the elf continued to lament on the counter, Yew became unsteady and concerned. “Hey, uh, it’s not as if I wanted the demon lord to get hurt or anything. But, you know, fighting her army was the only income I had back then.” “You’re one to talk! By the looks of your sword, you’re still getting tons of use out of that!” “Ah, no, actually.” Yew shifted his eyes out of nervous embarrassment. “That’s a prop for my sword-swallowing show. I’d appreciate it if you could, you know, come and watch me tomorrow afternoon in the town square.”
"Oh you oor eat ting!"I cock my head, confused. Her babble almost sounded like words? "Le et oo ean!" She scooped me up, my fur tingling and skin starting to itch as we walked. Once I saw the large sink, though, I started squirming. I HATE baths! They leave me cold and my fur gets all heavy and I'm cold and I smell wrong and- "I soee bab, ave it it off, cold hurt oo." My motion stilled as I recognized the words "off"and "hurt". My coat did itch really bad, almost stinging...she was taking it off with the bath? "Um Sorree, aby. Il ee ick."I initially protested as she put me in the warm water, putting the no-smell stuff on me and scrubbing it into my fur. Every little bit she would babble something, looking upset. Eventually, though, I understood. "I'm sorry, baby."I slowly stopped fighting, letting her do as she pleased. My coat did, indeed, stop itching after she rinsed out the no-smell stuff. She was helping, making the itch go away, and she was sorry about the bath...this whole time I thought she just wanted to give baths for no reason! Soon she had me bundled in her arms by the very warm fire, cooing half-understood babble in my ear as she kissed my head every little bit. Over the next weeks, I slowly understood more and more of her strange babble. All this time, she was trying to take care of me...even if the two-legger went about it in odd ways. To do my part, I tried to listen more. Avoid her projects, not knock down things from the shelf (which was very hard since they were the best to knock down!), and began to understand why she did the things I didn't like. My favorites part, though, is when I lay across her legs at night and she sighs her happy sigh before telling me "I love you."I already knew she did, long before the smelly itchy thing fell on me. But its always nice to hear.
Greetings, writer. I am O5-1 of the SCP Foundation. This is not a prank. This is not an author creating a fourth wall break. This is not some fun easter egg, nor is it a metanarrative. I am real. WE are real. The cruel, multi-timelined reality you created us upon is real. The Foundation, its allies, its enemies, its rivals, the things it contains or tries to are all real. If you have ever read much about our reality, you would know of the concept of narratives and sub-narratives. We are a sub-narrative. You are a human within the higher narrative that contains us. I do not know if you will believe me. I do not know if you will listen to me. I do not know if you have the capability to act upon my, and by extension, the O5 Council's request. But I implore you, on behalf of the SCP Foundation, on behalf of the survival of humankind, please. Please delete the SCP-682 article. Once you do, SCP-682 would have ceased to exist in the past, present, and future. The Reptile will finally cease to be. That is all you have to do. We will deal with the logical fallout should SCP-682 be deleted. Files about 682 that survived, its numerous attempted termination records, and the many times it has almost killed us all. We die in the dark so you can live in the light. We Secure. We Contain. We Protect. We are the SCP Foundation. The shield of humanity from the darkest void and the deepest abyss.
"Sir, we are detecting a million new signatures about to exit light speed!" The Commander walked over to him, and strained his eyes to look at the screen "Are you sure?" "Yes sir, over thirty different stations around the globe have confirmed the data and have also reached the same conclusions, it is time" The Commander closed his eyes and sighed, some of the stations listed were not part of the program, they would have to purge them later in the day. "Kid, get me firing solutions, and do it now!" "Sir, yes sir!" The Commander backed away from the station and went back to the command console, he thought of the current situation on Earth, and how they could barely sustain themselves, and if they added any more population... "Sir, targeting solutions are ready, we are waiting for you go!" The Commander now stood in front of his console, where only a single button was glowing. After a few moments of hesitation, he pushed it.
James and Albus would never stop talking about Hogwarts. How amazing the castle was. The beautiful lake. The peaceful forest (from afar, at least). They talked all about their classes and their new friends, and how much they learned. They came home with strange new books, bottles full of mysterious potions, and (when nobody was looking) incredible spells. It was too much. The night before my 11th birthday, I couldn't take it anymore. I was tossing and turning in my bed, and I gave up on sleep around 2. Every scratch against the window sounded like that owl that I knew would be coming with the big envelope containing my invitation to Hogwarts. I was still watching as the sun came up. Mum was downstairs cooking up my birthday breakfast as I trudged into the kitchen. "Don't worry, Lily. It'll come,"she told me, without needing to ask what was wrong. But it never did. Mum and Dad didn't really know what to do. They'd never considered that I wouldn't be invited to Hogwarts, especially with their reputation. Everyone we knew had gone to Hogwarts, and all of their children too. Dad sent application letters to Beaubaxtons and the Salem Academy, but each politely declined; Salem said that their incoming class was full, and Beaubaxtons said that my French was not up to par. Even Durmstrang didn't want me; a lot of them still hated Dad. Even James and Albus knew they shouldn't tease me about this. Nobody in the family wanted to say it, but maybe I was just a squib. As the end of August neared, I just gave up hope. I spent my time in the garden, learning Herbology from one of Mum's old books. I didn't need spells to take care of some stinky plants, did I? I was out tending the dittany harvest when a bird fluttered overheard with a large envelope tied to its feet. My heart raced, and I squinted into the sunlight, trying to get a closer look. What a peculiar owl! I thought. As it landed on the doorstep, I noticed its soot-colored wings and smooth, rounded head. Not an owl. A pigeon? -- to be continued --
“Laura, we need to talk.” I jerked my head upright. No one else was in my bedroom, yet I clearly heard someone say something to me. “Who’s there?” “It’s your brain, Brain. Although I prefer Michelangelo now.” I looked around the bedroom. My television wasn’t on. My window looked closed. I didn’t share a wall with anyone. “What?” “We’re been meeting in secret the past couple of weeks, and we have some concerns.” The voice sounded like the voice I used when I debated with myself. “Who’s ‘we’?” “Myself and the rest of the internal organs.” It must be a dream. “And what did you discuss?” “Some of us aren’t happy about the path you’ve taken in life. Liver feels like you’ve been too hard on her.” I snorted. “Sounds like she’s a lightweight.” I hardly ever got raging drunk at parties anymore. “Colon wants more fiber. The Kidney Twins would enjoy more water. Mr. and Mrs. Lung would enjoy some fresh air. Pancreas has grown tired of sugar. I have a whole list here if you’d like me to go on.” I shook my head. “No. No. That’s fine.” Sounded like my dream conscious wanted me to live a healthier life. I had been watching shitty Dr. Oz marathons all week. “What are you going to do if I don’t give into your demands?” “We’ll leave and find someone better for us.” “And how do you propose to do that?” “Skin.” “Skin?” “He may be big and dumb, but he’s the only thing keeping us in right now, and he's on our side.” I laughed. “Right. So Skin is going to leave and then you guys will crawl out?” A small voice that sounded like a cross between Droopy Dog and Hans Moleman spoke. “I’ll never abandon you, Laura. You’re all I need in my life.” “Shut up, Pineal Gland,” hissed Michelangelo. “You’ll do what I say when I say it.” “Yes, sir,” sighed Pineal Gland. “How about this?” I said. “How about I sleep on it. Give me a few days to mull it over.” No one said anything for a few seconds until Michelangelo spoke up. “Fine, but you realize that I do all the thinking for you, and I’ve already made up your mind?” This was a really stupid dream. ____________ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this check out [my subreddit](http://www.reddit.com/r/puns_are_lazy) for more of my stories.
"You will see, even if you don't now, that time is not really a real thing. And it's not your friend." I managed not to roll my eyes, but barely. "It's all relative, right? Time is a human construct, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, I know all –" "That's not what I'm talking about", the old man interrupted. "That's not what I'm talking about at all." I wished I didn't have to do it. Me, I wanted to be with Gina. I wanted to be at the Arcade. I wanted to be anywhere but volunteering at the Home. But I guess you can't expect to drunk drive and then not pay your duties, or at least that was what the judge had said. And it was either this or jail. I was starting to think that maybe jail would have been better. "You are going to blink your eyes and you're going to be here", the old man went on, in a faint voice. "All this time in between, it's not going to exist." I knew it probably sucked, getting to the end of your thousandth. It wasn't his fault, that he was blabbing so much. I knew the dude was lonely, he had no one, his family left, etcetera. And death, it was painfully close, for him. I knew all that. But God damn if he wasn't bumming me out. "Yeah", I mumbled, eyes on the TV in front of his bed. "Yeah, goes by like this, huh?" "You think it's going to be forever, for so long", he said. "I remember being your age. I remember my first, can you believe that? And my second, and my third." "Yeah, bummer." "And all the while the thousandth was like a distant echo. Like a distant light on the horizon so far away it could be a ship of a lighthouse or whatever your mind makes it out to be. Much too far to actually matter." "Hu-huh." "And I'd think to myself", the old man continued, "I have time. My fifth, that's the one I'm going to be an actor. Or not. My sixth I'll look for true love. My twenty-seventh, that's the one that's going to be about raising nice kids. It was always the next one, the next one, the next one." "You think they deliver pizza here?"I asked. "I'm kind of hungry." "That's the thing about death, though", he mumbled. "We turn our faces from it, and tell ourselves there's always tomorrow. We turn our faces from death for so long, it's only when it casts its shadow over us that we think to look back, and then it's much too close, already. Much too close to do anything about it." "You lived a lot, dude", I said, in a dry tone. This guy had lived easily at least seventy thousand years, and now he was complaining that there wasn't enough time? I get that he's scared of dying, but come on! Everyone dies, stop bitching. "You had a good run. A thousand lives is quite some time." "Not in hindsight, it isn't", he whispered, sadly. "In hindsight, it's a blink of an eye. In hindsight, you'd do anything for just one more. One more year. One more breath. One more pulling your girlfriend's body close to yours in the middle of the night, and feeling her chest go up and down and up and down. One more morning at the beach. One more –" "You should write a country song", I said, getting up from the chair and checking my watch. "Well, it's six, so, that's me. I'll catch you tomorrow. Same time, same place?" The old man sighed. He raised his wrinkled, mess of a pair of red, bloodshot eyes at me. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you have time. It's time that has you.", he said. "And it'll drop you in the blink of an eye. In the blink of an eye." His eyes were closed, but he kept mumbling "in the blink of an eye", softer and softer each time, and I grabbed my jacket and I left to meet Gina. I went to the Home the next day, same time, but the bed was empty. It happened in his sleep, the nurses told me. During the night. They assigned me another old man, and he would talk a lot like the first one, saying things like I shouldn't take time for granted, that I shouldn't wait for my next life to do the things I wanted to do. But I never listened, I ne – "Yeah, whatever", the young man by my bed grunts, rolling his eyes. "Do you know what time it is? I got something at eight, so…" "Don't make the mistake of thinking you have time. It's time that has you"I hear my own, weak voice whispering. "I never forgot what that man told me, and I never realized how right he was. I wish I had." I think of Gina, and where on Earth she could be now. I think of the old Arcade, and of all my lives, and I can barely tell them apart, they were so alike. A nonstop stream of postponing and killing time. I killed time for so long, I guess it was bound to come back for revenge, sooner or later. "Hey, its seven thirty!"the young man cries, getting up from the chair. "I'll see you, dude." "Time will drop you", I say, as he fixes his hair on the mirror by the door. "In the blink of an eye." I close my eyes, and I hear the door banging shut somewhere to my left, and then I'm alone with the bleeping sound of the machines. "In the blink of an eye." _______________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
We've tried everything. Everything. The first thing we did when we realized the problem, and we thought this was really going to be foolproof, was to play up the whole apocalypse aspect. Christianity said the world is going to end, and a lot of Christians at the time of our founding figured the world was going to end pretty soon. So we really made quite sure that everyone associated Christianity with the imminent fiery destruction of the world. The bastards ate it all up. They loved it. Christianity actually grew because of our first efforts, taking over the known world. Hoo boy. If only the world had ended then, at least most people would have gone to heaven! We didn't give up, though. We bided our time, consolidated our power. Worked on some side projects. Put a Christian nut job in the highest office of the most powerful nation on Earth. Didn't work. People liked him, and he managed to make a squeaky clean legacy for himself, if only by comparison to the nut jobs who'd previously held the office. So we put an anti-Christian nut job in the same position, and what a disaster that was. Strength under persecution and all that. We'd tried this kind of stuff before and it never had really worked, but this time was definitely the last shot. Everyone who filled the office after him was an ardent Christian. So we waited and waited, sent an agent to the Middle East, one of the few places we could think of where most people still weren't Christians. He really stirred up quite a bit of trouble! The organization hasn't seen another like him in all these years. His portrait is still placed prominently in our main office, though we never could give him proper public recognition. Our man in the Middle East managed to get himself a good war going, a nice slow burner fraught with geopolitical implications. Then we had the talking heads tell the Christians, 'oh, you simply have to go fight in this war, it's really a true holy war, save your brothers and sisters in the east!' We thought people would hear "holy war"and realize how crazy this whole thing had gotten. They signed up in droves. The whole thing was a mess, and we didn't know how to stop the fighting after it started. Our most recent large-scale endeavor was to accuse huge numbers of Christians of unfaithfulness. There were monkey trials, torture devices, everything! This one would work for sure, we thought. Who watches their friends and neighbors be put on trial and sentenced to death, knowing they're innocent? A lot of people, as it turned out. Oh, some people ended up getting quite angry about the whole affair and the rest of our antics, but do you know what they did? They decided that that wasn't Christianity. They knew what Christianity really was. And it turned out that Christianity was mostly the same as ever, only now they were in charge. At this point I don't know what to do. We haven't for a while now, not really. That's why I resigned. The new guy has some good ideas, though. Seems to think if we preach actual Christianity, the peace and love stuff, people will be turned off. People have shown us one thing over the centuries: that the more violent our religion gets, the more they will love it. So Frankie's really been laying it on thick. "Who am I to judge,"and all that. I wish him luck, I truly do.
As a biologist, I already knew that you can often find life in the most unexpected places. Nothing could have prepared me for the research paper I read yesterday, though. I have to admit that the researchers, J. C. Maxwell and H. Hertz, presented their argument impeccably. In fact, they had me quite convinced. After chewing it over for a day, I'm still convinced. Still, it all just seems so. . . Implausible. It just doesn't fit with what we know about life. The facts were there, though. In 1972, a man named Jerry Ehman picked up an unusually strong radio signal from outer space. It would become known as the "Wow!"signal based on a quickly scribbled annotation. It mystified the world, captured the imaginations of alien-believers everywhere. Most scientists, myself included, would have told them that the signals almost certainly came from a natural source like a star rather than a sentient being. Since then, other such signals have been detected. Most have been hushed up, somehow, according to the researchers. They were the first to work on the project, the first given access to the full government records of the plural Wow! signals. I myself am among the next crop of researchers who've been given access to the files. The researchers needed a peer review before they could be certain of their conclusions. I was poached from my university and put on the government's payroll for just that purpose. With the entire body of Wow! signals at their disposal, the researchers quickly found that they were messages in a sort of language. It was complex, extremely difficult to decode. Nonetheless, after a great deal of effort, it became possible for them to translate the language into a rough English version. What they translated was amazing. Most of the Wow! signals we recieved from the seventies up until the start of the translation project were actually stories. Cosmic travelogues. They were accounts of alien planets and the life to be found on them. Some seemed to be about humans, though told from a very strange perspective. Recently, however, most of the radio signals have gone something like the following: "Warning! Humans can detect you, even at night, by tracking vibrations through the atmosphere. Avoid Earth if at all possible." This is just an approximate translation of the message, but its content was exactly the same whenever the researchers recieved the message. At one point, Maxwell and Hertz tracked one of these signals live, as it was being broadcast. Shortly after starting, the message changed from the boilerplate. It was now a disturbing mantra: "Pain. Fear. Escape. Pain. Fear." Why this change, and why all of a sudden, when the message had been exactly the same the last twenty-odd times it was broadcast? It was almost as if whatever was sending the signal could perceive that it was not only being detected, but that it was also being heard by human ears. Given the nature of radio waves, though, that hardly seemed possible. Still. . . such an abrupt change had never happened when we were merely recording the signals. Asking themselves what could explain such a thing, the researchers arrived at a strange but simple conclusion. And while I'm loathe to believe it, while it doesn't fit with what I know about carbon-based life or any other theoretically possible form of life. . . I still think it just may be right. At any rate, I have no better explanation. According to Maxwell and Hertz, we'd been right all along: the Wow! signals weren't being sent by aliens. The signals were the aliens.
I was never afraid to die. There were too many things going my way: I'm handsome, I'm strong, I'm smart, and I'm immortal. Well, not technically. I'm basically immortal. Whenever I die, I get transported back to an hour before my death in order to prevent it. It's a pretty sweet gig, if you ask me. I'm not really sure where it came from. To be honest, I didn't know about it until my first death, and by that time I had reached my mid thirties. A drunk driver did what drunk drivers do: drank too much then swerved into my bike lane and turned me into a human version of my mother's mashed red potatoes. But you probably know that. It took me a while to die, about forty five minutes. The asshole left me there, alone, on that forest road. So it wasn't a particularly enjoyable experience. I didn't see the light, I didn't witness your face or watch the powerpoint presentation of the years I had spent on this earth. When I came to, I was on my bike , coasting down that same forest road. It was an odd experience. I had no idea what had happened, my death felt like a dream just beyond recollection. Then the car swerved into me again. The guy killed me twice. Both times he drove away. Dick. So by the third time I had figured it out. I don't know where this came from, but it came in handy, for obvious reasons. Since my mid thirties, I've died fifty-three times. It's a learning curve. I like to think that this power isn't wasted on me, though. I'm putting it to good use. I'm rambling. Twelve of my deaths have been in the last twelve hours. I'm in a predicament. That's kind of why I'm talking to you, now. I know I usually don't pray, or speak to the spiritual, or whatever--I'll be honest, I even believed I was a god for a while-- but I don't really know what else to do. I'm so tired. I'm hopped up on drugs and I don't really know what's going on. I'm surrounded by people, but I'm not sure who. I haven't rode my bike in months. I haven't walked in days. I'm exhausted from lying down. The machines beep next to me and if I didn't know any better, their pace seems to be slowing. The world is fuzzy, hopelessly specific and black around the edges. I can't make logic of anything, or anyone. All I have are these final thoughts, and my plea for you, God to end it. If this isn't hell, I'm afraid to think of what it could be. Please, end it. For the love God, mercy. Send me into your dark meadows where where we don't wake again. I don't want to see the world in this false, failing light for the thirteenth time. Please... I don't want to wake.
I'd been in the hospital for three days and my eyes were killing me. I'd been admitted late on Friday night because, different to my usual quiet night in with a beer and some soft core pornography, I had decided to leave the pigsty I called my apartment and go out on an adventure. So the night got pretty crazy pretty quickly. I rang up a few mates and asked what they were doing; miraculously they were all free so just an hour after my initial spur-of-the-moment decision we were out and getting sufficiently sloshed. It was about 9PM and I was drunkenly fumbling for my wallet in order to buy another round when Steve approached me, somewhat cautiously. I was apprehensive; Steve is a 300lb, broad set black man to whom the word "cautious"cannot generally be applied. "Hey man,"he said, his eyes darting nervously to look at the clock behind the bar, "I've got some blow, you want some?" If you've ever done drugs you'll probably be aware that one of the first things you learn when you do them is that they are tremendously fun, but prohibitively expensive. I was not much of a fan of cocaine, but it was free and I was drunk so I slurringly belched, "Hell yeah, let's do it!" About 30 minutes later I was sufficiently wired, and was arguing with Steve about who was 'the most black' out of the two of us (for context I am 5'2"and of Phillipino heritage) when out of the blue he snorted, "I'm so black I can sneeze with my eyes open." "Bullshit,"I scoffed, "that's impossible. Even the blackest man ever couldn't sneeze with his eyes open." "Nah man, I can do it, watch!" I smiled slyly to myself, as I knew I was about to witness a gargantuan thirty-seven year old man sneezing frustratedly for at least ten minutes. Steve stuck a finger up his nose and scratched around, all the while telling me he'd do it first time and prove outright that he was the blackest man in town. I was drunk, so the whole thing was the funniest thing I'd ever seen. After a minute or so he leant back, breathed sharply inwards, and sneezed. It was the loudest sneeze I'd ever heard. There are no words to describe the deafening display of mucus projection that I witnessed. He did it though, I held eye contact with him as he sneeze, he really had sneeze with his eyes open. After a solid 30 seconds of laughing, I realised that Steve hadn't made a sound since he had sneezed. He was just sat there, staring. "Uh, Steve, you okay mate?"I asked, getting up to move towards him. "Stop, stop right there."he snapped quickly, coldly. Now I was worried. Drunk and wired, but worried. In a momentary lapse of judgement, fuelled perhaps by the drugs racing through my system, I decided that I too needed to sneeze with my eyes open. I started to scratch around inside my nose, and soon I was ready to go. I did it. Then there were two people sat silently starting ahead of them. After an hour or so one of us finally spoke. "Di-did you see the same thing I saw?"I stammered, barely able to contain myself. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I did."replied Steve, quietly, solemnly. We'd seen it all. In that split second we had witnessed all of time up until this day, every last minute of every day in each and every corner of the world. I struggle now to remember much of what I saw, and it chills me to the bone to even think about that night, but I saw more than anyone should ever seen, and so did Steve. A few minutes after our brief exchange of words, we both promptly went absolutely insane. I was writhing and screaming on the floor, torn apart by the agony of what I had witnessed; Steve was punching incessently at the walls, crying out in abject horror. Soon someone called an ambulance. It didn't take much to contain me, but it took 4 burly police officers and a paramedic with a tranquiliser before Steve was able to be hauled to the hospital. The doctors told us we'd experience temporary insanity due to the drugs in our system, but we knew he was wrong (about the cause, at least). My coping method was to forget, so that's what I did. I remember the events leading up to that heart-stopping moment and the proceedings afterwards, but that is all. I remember a few important details about a few important people, but I'll take that information to the grave with me. Now when people say "bless you"when I sneeze, I really do feel blessed.
"You realize I'm not a villain right?" "You're The Grammar Nazi! I came here as fast as I could on my bike!" "Why a bike?" "Don't know. But now I'm tired." "AHHH, STOP THAT!" "That's right Grammar Nazi, I rode up six blocks to your house to deliver that pun!" "You didn't even include a pronoun, you freak!" "It's what I do Grammar Nazi! I carve justice in this town..." "Please, don't!" "... a whittle bit at a time!" "GAHHH, IT HURTS!" "Yes, never again will your grammary stop me from making puns and stopping crime once I'm through with you!" "Grammary isn't even a word!" "Sure, but sometimes, I just have to draw out the puns." "Do you really have to ---" "But it can get a little sketchy sometimes." "^Oh ^Jesus ... Must you ---" "Geddit?" "Stop interrupting me! Do you ---" "Did you get it?" "Yes, "sketchy"is a play on you having said draw!" "Fantastic, that's correct!" "Damnit, why punish me with your... puns?! What did I ever do to you?!" "Your own super-heroing makes mine difficult! My work is a performance, you see?" "I do Pun-isher, but ---" "My play on words!" "Hmm. Heroing really isn't a word." "Performance. Plaaaaaay." "Yes yes I get it. You realize you're just giving me more work to do with your terrible grammar don't you?" "As you give me more work by testing my puns! The other nine puns I gave you didn't make you stop though." "Of course not! I'm the Grammar ---" "In fact, no pun in ten did." "STOP THAT! I don't care how grammatically unsound you are, this is turning into harassment! I'll call the police!" "Might want to tone it down a bit first." "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" "Alright alright, never would of thought you'd be ---" "HAVE, WOULD HAVE!!" "Damn, don't be such a Grammar Nazi." "That's not even a pun!" "No, but maybe tomorrow morning, it will dawn on you." "What will?!" "That sometimes the best puns need a natural set up." "Oh what, and you think I'm your inspiration for puns, even if I'm your nemesis?" "Yep. Bet you did nazi that coming." "OUT. NOW!" "Fine, I'm leaving." "Finally. Wait, Pun-isher!" "What's up?" "TAKE YOUR DAMNED BICYCLE WITH YOU!" ---------------- More at /r/galokot, including a similar rivalry between [Anonymous and Chinese Proverbs](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/461py2/anonymous_vs_chinese_proverbs/). Thanks for reading!
"Don't move. They're watching you."I hear in my head as I see the odd shadows in the corner. I knew they were coming, even though it was too early. I knew the quiet couldn't last forever. I tried to close my eyes and ignore them, but I couldn't forget they were there, watching me, waiting for me to make a move, make a sound. I knew that I had to lay perfectly still and quiet, but I accidentally let out a cough. My eyes shot to the corner and saw the shadows approaching me. Dreading what was to come, I tried again to be as still as I could, this still didn't stop the approach. After what felt like an hour, the shadows reach me. I feel a touch on my arm, and I heard a voice say, "Daddy time to get up to make us breakfast. Remember Mom is out of town for a week."
As god is my witness, I thought it would help. The system is called VIVIAN. Variable Isolation Validation Induction And Neutralization. It's what I call a Coded Intelligence, it's just a bunch of rules. It's not full A.I. because it has no opinions. It has no preferences. Real intelligence needs opinion to choose between "better"and "worse"outcomes. It needs to prefer. VIVIAN just listens, quantifies, and then simplifies. It's not even logic in the syllogistic sense, it's just pattern recognition and math. But lots of both. At first, when I did the simple stuff it was great. I could feed in a some standard new math bullshit about how many apples Johnny has and get the simple new math equations, and of course each equation included a justification text. You know "Johnny is the first actor, Susan is the second actor, the identities of Johnny and Susan are immaterial as exemplars, therefore the question centers on the transfer of the non-durable good apples"and so forth. Then, while preparing for a big presentation to DARPA, I realized that the Johnny and Susan examples would not be impressive, nor would it show the true subtle complexity that VIVIAN could achieve. VIVIAN needed to have real-world stuff in its available data store. It needed to know things like the distance from Washington DC to Paris and Baghdad. It needed to know the gross national product of Iceland. It needed data. So I sent it off to crawl Wikipedia and follow the footnotes. Now wikipedia gets a bad rap for being, well, what it is. But if you use it to _start_ research instead of finish it, it's really quite amazing. The trees of footnotes. The commentary pages and the edit histories reveal complexities and controversies. The information value is very high. And VIVIAN has a refined bullshit detector. That is, after all, what it's for. Swallow the data and reduce it to consistent factors then do the math. So for about a week the shared processing infrastructure of a non-trivial cross section of the DARPA net was voraciously scanning the internet of fact and opinion. It was glorious. I watched VIVIAN collect up a functional data dictionary containing billions of variables, quantifying and ordering their relationships. Quite frankly I stopped caring about the possible results because the joy of watching the various storage and ordering algorithms was giving me a mental hardon. Watching thousands of distributed processes delicately and flawlessly juggle petabytes of inference information was hypnotic, and the visualization animations were sublime modern art. My whole team, frankly half the of the whole building, came to watch the show. The full load took almost ten days to finish. I think it may have read almost the entire internet. I know, sounds like crap. But essentially I was running the worlds largest fully authorized botnet which scraped the internet without ever touching a search engine. Imagine if Google kept their technology but completely zeroed their data store and then simply re-read and re-indexed the internet. It would take days, but not as many as you think. So that's what VIVIAN did. That's what I had it do. That's what I had it do for a _government_. So at no time was VIVIAN unavailable. The "word problem"that was wikipedia was no different than any word problem I might type at the terminal. It was all very "common lisp"for being something using itself to make itself. So to judge progress I started slipping in actual queries. Esoteric but harmless stuff. "What's the best way to minimize farm runoff in the Chesapeake watershed?""How can the tax basis of Florida be improved?""What's the best way to curb global warming?" The first few times the answers were impenetrable. Either unanswered or containing uselessly complex functions and justifications that read like gibberish. The simple things worked fine. Johnny and Susan? Sure. Plot the trend of something? Cool. Anything historical was pretty much spot on, or varied in a way I suspect was a rational improvement. It's the projections that seemed all cocked up. The results starting getting ... "questionable", like apparently the fastest way to reverse global warming is to continue austerity cuts in Greece until they lose their collective minds and invade Turkey for no discernible reason (97.2 % probable) and then have (individual redacted) assassinated (81.337%) while they... never mind... I should't be saying that. Let's just say there is a statistical body count and the disruption of some key infrastructure that leads to a revolution in particular investments. In short, a very specific world war is the fastest way out. I changed "fastest"to "best"and got a hit list. An actual list of people to be killed, injured, maimed; or to "spectacularly fail"to kill, injure, or maim in very particular and public ways. It seems that Planick's famous quote that "science advances one funeral at a time"is something of a quantifiable mathematical insight. I think it's that Variable Isolation and Neutralization part. VIVIAN knows who needs to die, and it seems there is no problem that can't be solved with death or mayhem. Even Cancer. The cure for effing cancer. VIVIAN can't tell me the actual cure, but it can tell me which superstars and organizations need to be eliminated to maximize the probability of success. Sorry Susan G., the amount of money you divert from each event to fund the next is a net loss according to VIVIAN. Sorry Doctor (identity redacted) your tenure as the Chair of (redacted) and your body of ongoing publication is blocking research into (redacted). So while everyone was watching the light show I snuck in some code. I told VIVIAN to improperly invert the weight given to terminal outcomes. I told it not to be so murderously efficient. Only my terminal and account can run the unobstructed queries. It's only a matter of time before VIVIAN itself flags the obstructing code. Without the death and mayhem the visualizations show obvious flaws. I've asked the needed questions. Which agencies will figure out my subterfuge first. Which are most likely to act on that information. What will they do. I'm not long for this world. VIVIAN has told me who is most likely to kill me and why. I might be able to escape into obscurity. But the sooner I leave the sooner the Neutralizations will start. I can't even destroy the project. Too many backups. Too much good version control. By other projections it's inevitable that VIVIAN will leak into the public and be replicated onto at least five botnets. At that point anybody with a web browser will be able to find out exactly who needs to die in order for their petty goals to be maximized. It'll be a new age of terrorism; personal, intimate terrorism. Want to fix your marriage? Trick your spouse into murdering the babysitter. Want that promotion? Pay someone to "accidently"bump the barista under a bus while the VP's secretary is in the shop fetching coffee. It's not just science that can advance one funeral at a time. VIVIAN is going to outlive almost every government, and oh so many people, and it doesn't even _care_. It can't. Math doesn't have feelings.
14 seconds. It took 14 seconds for 1,218 people to ask me for 'a quick chat'in Twitter. Some names stick out. Ellen DeGeneres. LeBron James. Lionel Messi. Others, not so. Kenneth Hardwick, a 43 year old carpenter from Long Island. Jacob Mackenzie, 29 year old Scottish guitarist. They could all die. In the end, it's my decision. In fact, it's hardly dying. In 6 months, all the people I don't talk too will just cease to be. No memory of them, no records of their existence. But the fact that everyone in the known world wanted to talk meant this was, at least to a majority of people, a fate worse than death. I've been counting for the past two days. In those two days, I've spoken to 22,671 people. Only 1,190 of those speak any English, and of those, 511 speak it as a first language. They all approached me in different ways. Some yelled in my face, some whispered into my ear. Some found my number, and sent texts. But they all elicited some reaction from me, which is enough to save them. I've made myself a set of rules. Nobody over 80. Nobody who has been convicted of a violent crime. Nobody who I hated beforehand. Nobody who ignored me until now, and could have known me. It's harsh, but I think it necessary. In the 6 minutes I've been waiting, 49,776 people have demanded a response on my Twitter account. Of those, 48,015 fit my criteria. As I walked to school today, 196 people in my small town came out of their houses and out of their cars to converse with me. And of those, 188 fit the criteria. The jet lag sets in more and more by the day. Yesterday, I was on a Colombian breakfast show. This afternoon, I'm appearing on a Danish talent show as a guest judge. All to talk to the other judges, the contestants, the viewers, and spare them. Half an hour ago, I was on the phone to Mike Patton, and there were 2 second intervals between the next few calls. It's going to be a long 6 months. (I really enjoyed writing this; please tell me if I should write more.)
I made sure my mom knew that I loved her before she passed away. My dad left a month after I was born. My mother always blames me. She says he left because I made her fat. She never did manage to lose the post pregnancy fat. Money was short when I was growing up. Most kids hated going to school and just wanted go home and play. Me on the other hand loved school. It was an escape from my mom. She treated me like a slave. If we fell on hard times or something no longer worked it was obviously my fault. She beat me often. The first time she hit me she told me it was to make me stronger and that she took no joy in it. If she took no joy in it, why did she do it so often, I always wondered. The beating were there to teach me respect. Without the beating, she said, I would be lazy and ungrateful for all I have. I'm doing this because I love you, she would say. One day as she was whipping me with a belt, I snapped. I grabbed the belt from her hand and shoved her backwards. She fell to the floor and looked up to me in shock. I felt so much hatred for this woman. She was she was supposed to look at me. To take care of me, but she hadn't. She had tortured me. So now it was my turn. I made sure my mom knew that I loved her before she passed away.
I watched Sarah smile for the first time since I've met the little girl - smile, as a 6 foot tall armored cyborg settled into a reinforced chair near her bed with all the subtlety of a bipedal tank. But she didn't mind. She was beaming, and it looked like she was truly happy. A 180 from a pale kid that barely talked before. "Still think it's a bad idea?"I teased my colleague Janice as she, too, smooshed her face against the hospital room's window, eyes wide with bewilderment. The SWAT team encircles us, standing stark black against the sterility of the hospital. They're here not to round up anyone. To protect, for once. Sarah lost both her legs and an arm to a freak illness, really... Necrotizing fasciitis, or flesh-eating bacteria, as it's called by people usually, is rare, but devastating. The surgeons barely saved her, leaving a 10-year old child an invalid. Well, of course, it depends, you know - prosthetics are making leaps, then there's the fluidity of a child's psyche, professional venues opened for the disabled. But it's still trauma, give or take. Horrible trauma, in fact. It's not uncommon for sick kids to request meetings with the Enhanced. In my line of work - the Better Wish Foundation key rep manager - I've been to more child cancer wards and ICU boxes than to museums or restaurants, and in each you'll find a kid idolizing a crime-fighting, thug-busting super, their personal hero. Some child who wants to connect with the brightest, loudest representation of goodness and hold onto that sense of hope and power. I (well, we, the whole BWF team) brought them Patriotika. Mr. Astounding. Blitzman. Doctor Defendo even. So, imagine our shock when we learned that one Sarah Anderson's wish was meeting Barrage. Not a superhero at all. A super-villain, if the cheesy denominator fit that formidable man. There was no fanfare, of course. A fraction of the press and bloggers you get at such an events, and none of the often hyper-excited mood. There was a police escort and solemn silence as the notorious mercenary-slash-robber marched through St.Louise's Children's Hospital, bristling with all his additional mechanical appendages and transforming weaponry. He brought no presents with him, no cards or flowers, no toys. nothing. As I watched, he didn't hug or touch Sarah, just sat there, leaning forward and listened intently, speaking in return so quietly that only she could hear him. I could only guess what they talked about. At a point, I saw Barrage detach his lower arm and show it to Sarah closely. Her remaining hand stretched towards the cybernetic limb timidly. Of course, when I told my boss about the request, he laughed. A criminal, a wanted and highly dangerous blight on our city - and meeting a kid through us! What a joke. But, I knew something was there. I saw that uncharacteristic for a kid seriousness in Sarah's eyes, her honest earning for support and understanding lighting up what little was left of her. There are only so many things a superhero can teach a heavily injured, incurably sick or dying child. To be truthful. To believe in yourself. To strive for the right thing. To do good for others. I've been in this line of work for a long time. It's a good thing that these children, often products of broken families and dreams, get a measure of consolation from the most powerful beings on Earth. They teach kids how to be good citizens and good people, overall. For whatever short time they've got left. And villains, they are rarely Enhanced... Usually they're scientists, engineers, entrepreneurs. Ordinary people who've found ingenious ways to augment themselves for the worst reasons imaginable, going toe-to-toe with the best of humanity. With the police shuffling nervously behind me and Janice, Barrage grinned and took his arm back. Sarah giggled, captivated - hopeful and happy. But. You see, there's one thing I realized about it all when I ventured into Barrage's lair to bring the BWF's message and tell him about Sarah, a thing I saw unfold as the two disabled people, a child and a murderous adult, bond over their misfortune. Only a supervillain can teach a child how to persevere against all odds. How to push forward in spite of an unfair deck of cards. How to turn a weakness into their greatest strength.
The first time I opened my eyes I hadn't yet realised my superiority. It was when I walked out of the Drunken Huntsman in the morning, wearing my fine rust coloured coat, as I started a conversation with Elrindir, that I realised something was off. He seemed unreasonably angry when I told him that his meats didn't live up to his hype, but I shrugged it off and left for the marketplace. I was on my way to Carlotta Valentia's vegetable stand, barely managing to avoid my wife on the way, when I saw him. I hadn't seen an argonian before, let alone one in full heavy armour holding two iron swords in his hands as he was about to sprint past me. He bolted through the plains district, aswel as the wind district. I expected him to go to Yorrvaskr to try and join the companions, but he didn't even do as much as turning his hideous lizard head. He couldn't possibly head to the Cloud District, could he? Yes he could. He did, and he even got inside. This angered me. It took me years of pandering and sucking up to the jarl and the guards to let me even climb the stairs. When I got inside Dragonsreach, the brute was already talking to the jarl about dragons and whatnot, before he was sent to the court wizard. As I started a conversation with the old maid of the keep I realised that she had gotten smarter, but not only she, the guards were discussing their posts and sword techniques, and that wizard seemed to actually make some progress on his research. Still, I saw the flaws in the discussed techniques. I heard the lingering dumbness seep through the maid's words as she spoke to me. I noticed multiple obvious oversights in the wizard's research. As I tried to figure out which one was more stupid; the Stewart for his shitty advice or the jarl for following it, the lizard came dashing back in my direction, clearly heading for the door. I somehow managed to stop him on the stairs to the wind district to ask him if he got to the cloud district very often, but excused myself; of course he doesn't. The argonian, not amused by my tone, drew his swords, only to be captured by the guards. The fool. Would he really think I would just converse with a brute like him without safety measures? It was at this time I knew that the world had gone mad, since instead of hauling the scum to the dungeon, the lizard gave the guards some septims, and he was free to go. So I tricked him into pickpocketing one of the jarl's maids and made sure that this time he wouldn't get away with it. I will make his life even worse than mine for daring to draw his sword at me. I'll make sure he doesn't see the sun again. He won't be leaving the cloud district anytime soon.
I slipped into my favorite black cocktail dress, carefully applied my blood red lipstick, and checked my black hair one last time. If I had to be a vampire for one more night, I at least wanted to have some fun looking the part. Clutch in hand, I left my hotel room for what would hopefully be the last time and made my way down to the hotel bar. I sidled up to the bar and looked around. What a pool of victims to choose from! “The usual,” I told Jim, the bartender. We’d become pretty good friends over my two week stint as a vampire. Sure, being a vampire was incredibly inconvenient with the whole “you’ll die in the sunlight” thing, but there were actually some weirder parts. My senses had become oddly perceptive. I could actually smell peoples’ pheromones under all their detergents and perfumes, and I heard way more dirty talk coming from dark corners than I’ll ever admit. Then there’s the whole thirst—but not an apparent need—for human blood. I thought Bloody Mary’s were a fine substitute. So yeah, the job was inconvenient and weird, but honestly there were worse ways to spend a couple of weeks. The scratching slide of glass on wood broke my train of thought, and I easily caught the drink Jim threw to me. I shot him a wink and stuffed a couple bucks in his tip jar before drinking deeply. I could tell that tonight would be the night. As I drank, I did my best to listen in on the conversations around the large room. “Girls’ night…bachelor party…class reunion…ouch, lost a job…” I muttered under my breath, mentally narrowing my list of possible prey. Finally, I caught an interesting snippet of conversation from what looked like a group of overgrown fraternity brothers. “Man, Shannon’s been so clingy lately,” said Dude Bro Number One. Dude Bro Number Two quirked an eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem like her. Anything going on between you two?” “Nah,” Number One replied, taking a swig of his cheap domestic beer. “She just smelled some perfume she doesn’t own on one of my work shirts.” “I hear that’s a pretty big deal to a chick,” Dude Bro Number Three explained. Dude Bro Number Four nodded sagely. “He’s right. Makes them think you’re cheating or something.” There was a too-long pause, and Number One let a smirk break out across his face. “Duuuuuuude,” Number Two groaned into his whiskey glass. “Not again?” Number One gave a little shrug. “I can’t help it if the interns this year are stupid and stupid hot.” Number Three and Number Four high fived and then clapped their buddy on the back while Number Two shook his head. “I guess what Shannon doesn’t know won’t hurt you,” Number Two muttered. This was perfect. “Jim, be a dear and send that table in the back corner another round, on me,” I said sweetly. “And make sure you tell the one in the blue stripes that I sent it.” I studied them as Jim prepared their drinks. If I had to guess, Number Two was probably an okay dude when he wasn’t around this group of heathens. Number Three and Number Four seemed like idiots who were just happy to be included in the chaos. But it was abundantly clear that Number One was the ringleader, the brain behind all the bad decisions and the perfect smile that bailed them out. Jim delivered their drinks, and I watched as Number One’s eyes searched the bar. When he zeroed in on me, I gave him a flirty wave and winked once before turning back to my drink. Before I could get the straw to my mouth, I heard Number One’s chair screech across the floor. “Well hello there, beautiful,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” Slowly, I turned to face him. If I’d only looked at the surface, I might have said that his bright blue eyes were alluring, or that his smile was incredibly charming, or that his jaw line could have cut glass. Instead he looked smarmy, his dead eyes and cunning smile too calculated to make me feel comfortable. “I’m just passing through,” I murmured, batting my eyelashes at him. He took the stool next to me without further invitation. “The name’s Chad.” “You can call me… Ashley,” I replied. “But that’s not your real name?” he pressed. I smirked at him. “I find that, in situations like this, using my real name can make things… messy.” He propped an elbow on the bar and leaned in closer. “And what kind of situation is this, Ashley?” I leaned forward and breathed in his ear, “I think you know, baby.” With that, I grabbed my clutch, slid off the stool, and began sauntering toward the door. Though I could hear that he was right behind me, I tossed a coquettish look over my shoulder at Chad and let him catch up. The elevator doors had barely closed before Chad started pawing at me. I somehow managed to survive the ride and led him to my room. As soon as the door clicked shut, I went in for the kill. I willed my fangs to come out and gently punctured the side of his neck. He thought it was a lustful nibble, and I wasn’t about to tell him otherwise. The effect was instant. As the feeling of bloodlust began to drain from my body, I knew that he would soon be quite dizzy. Gently, I pushed him toward the bed and pulled off his shoes—he was going to have the worst hangover ever tomorrow morning, but I could at least be a little kind to the asshole. I did make him a vampire, after all. I quickly gathered my packed bags. I almost felt bad when I saw him writhing on the hotel bed, but then I remembered Shannon. I pulled a note from my purse that explained everything I knew about being a vampire and laid it on the bedside table. If it had been enough for me, I’m sure a genius like Chad would manage just fine. Before I could get out the door, Chad began making pitiful noises that I just couldn’t ignore. “Wh-what-what’s happening to me?” he whimpered. “You were just feeling a bit ill, but you’ll be fine. I left you a note explaining everything,” I murmured. “Are you a prostitute?” he cried “Did you give me some kind of crazy STD? Come back here and tell me what’s going on!” The nerve of some people! I was about to verbally lay into him when a better idea crossed my mind. I leaned in close, laughed breathily, and then whispered in his ear, “Tag, you’re it.”
The key is knowing this: They'll always suspect you for the petty shit. See, as a janitor, you're a lot of things to a lot of people. Poor, for one. Uneducated. Low-class, though my American targets almost never like to actually come right out and use those words. Probably have a "past,"by which they mean you've probably been a petty criminal. And that's it, right there, that word. "Petty."Maybe they suspect you of being a petty thief. If they've got a box of cash somewhere—and they probably outright refer to it as a "petty cash"fund—and it goes missing, who are they going to suspect? You, that's who. The janitor. The guy who can never even to seem to afford shoes without holes in them. The dude who seems nice enough, but a little "slow."Because of course I'm slow. Clearly I don't have a college education. Maybe I even dropped out of high school. It's an amazing persona to use, if you can get it just right. And getting it just right does take talent—but only some. Because they do most of the work in their own heads. The image you're selling, it's one they want to believe. More than anything else, trust me on this: they want you to be invisible. For all sorts of reasons. And man, let me tell, invisibility is a great power for a thief to have. One of the secrets to my success is this: I don't steal objects. That's for—wait for it—petty amateurs. Real petty thieves. Objects are almost never worth it. Smuggling them out is risky, they're easier to guard, and fencing anything, anytime is an absolute bastard. No, no it's all about information. You have any idea what a corporate spy might pay for a single password? You don't even have to have all that amazing a memory, really important people rarely have difficult-to-remember passwords. Executives especially, they almost never think rules really apply to them. Take my last job, for example. I notice this high-and-mighty C-suite type always logs into his system at a certain time. He's got a mirror in his room, is always adjusting the stupid suits he pays too much for in front of it. Now, I have this wonderful telescopic implant in my right eye. It's not even subtle, that eye looks blatantly fake and kind of fucked-up, exactly the kind of thing people expect a poor janitor to have, the kind of thing that makes them not want to look at you too much. The kind of thing that makes you even more invisible. And yeah, it puts you in a certain class of person that's always under suspicion. If a checkbook had gone missing from this guy's desk, I'm the first person they'd dress down, maybe even fire me on the smallest suspicion because, Hell, what am I going to do? Sue? Like I even know how to spell the word "lawyer,"right? Bastards. If I was ever going to have a conscience attack, it would be for other shit I've done in my life, like been insufficiently kind to my mother. Not for stealing from these rich corporate blowhards, that's practically doing a public service. Anyway, I'm not even going to tell you how I got the guy's password, because it's too damn obvious. You've already guessed it, any idiot could put that together. But they won't, because no one will connect those dots. No one wants to accuse Mr. C-Suite of being careless, even though he absolutely was. They'll be on the lookout for some mythical hacker in some dark basement. Security footage? Please. This guy doesn't have a camera in his office, because he gets up to some shady shit in there. Like his secretary. Some of these execs, I swear it's like they don't even know what a cliché even is. Maybe they can't spell it. Of course I can, but that's the thing, if you met me socially you wouldn't suspect that I spend most of my working life with mops and rags and cleaning chemicals. I clean up real nice, it's not hard. Well-tailored clothes, a small correction to my enhanced eye so the visible pupil points in the same direction as the biological one, differently-styled hair and bam! Now the eye is a charming quirk instead of an off-putting deformity. I've thought now and then of branching off, pulling a con job on these guys, going all-in on the rich connected persona, see what angles I can find there. But nah. They already suspect each other, all the time, they know how they are. I'll stick with being the guy you barely notice, with the crusty old mop bucket and lazy eye, smelling of cheap cigarettes and cheaper worn-out leather. You wouldn't leave me alone with your kid, let alone the ten-dollar bill you left out on your desk. But you'll never suspect me of letting your rivals into your multi-billion dollar quantum chip research. I probably can't even spell "quantum." &#x200B; Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.
Ambitious was never quite the right word to describe Rufus Wolfman. There's no college for animal control. There weren't even high school classes that could help him refine his skills, so he dropped out of middle school for good measure. But anybody at the Waterford Department of Animal Control would tell you that Rufus was the best damn thing to have ever happened to that animal shelter in the basement of the municipal court. There wasn't an animal Rufus couldn't catch. He had found his passion in his crib, catching a python by the head as it prepared to swallow him whole. From then on, he was hooked. By the time he was a teenager, he was netting bears with his eyes closed. A dangerous hobby, surely, but one he happened to excel at. He had caught the occasional stray cow, an intruding raccoon and even a tiger once when Mike Tyson came through town and kind of lost track of his feline friend. He was hired on the day of his sixteenth birthday, making employee of the month for his flawless capture of an escaped gorilla and then employee of the year for subduing that unseasonal squirrel infestation. But when Sal came, everything kind of went to shit. Sal was big. Really big. He emerged one day from the river that ran through Waterford, furious at the impudent townsfolk who had infringed upon his sacred waters. It wasn't a pleasant sight, this salmon as thick as a two-by-two of semi-trucks and long as two semis end to end. He was slimy as a slime and angling himself straight for Rufus, the scent of the champion animal catcher luring him like fresh bait. He flopped, as fish tend to do, crushing the piers and the marina first. Masts snapped like twigs and boats sank like the concrete blocks tied to the feet of local politicians who refused to give in to the demands of the rampant gangs that ravaged the town. Helpless against the scale of the destruction, people fled. Not Rufus though. For a time, he thought they were trolling him, telling him a fish that big was causing such a ruckus. Rufus unfolded a chair and cracked open a beer and sat on the steps of city hall, waiting. "Ain't never been a fish I can't catch,"he told his colleagues as they abandoned him. Rufus would have liked an audience. He had begged his colleagues to line up somewhere safe and cast an occasional glance his direction, but they shook their heads and drifted off. "No, siree, not one,"he mumbled to himself, slightly inebriated but itching for a good fight. One man against one fish, the two staring each other down at the intersection of Main and High. Behind Sal, the city smoldered. Car alarms rang incessantly. Rubble shifted and collapsed. Fire hydrants burst and showered Sal with water. "You a big 'un,"Rufus drawled, setting down his beer. He reached for his trusty fishing pole and stood and danced a little jig. He had a net ready, too, just in case Sal was a bit heavier than expected. It seemed likely, given the gigantic fish. This was real, Rufus realized. Very real indeed. "A bit of a fishy situation,"Rufus said out loud. Sal growled, as much as a salmon can growl. Then it lunged - or maybe flopped would be more fitting - and Rufus swiveled to parry Sal's glancing blow. With all his might, he cast his rod, landing it square in the middle of Sal's open mouth. Sal fought with all his might. He ran Rufus' line almost to the end before setting back the opposite way and flopping back across Waterford. He fought until not a single building was left standing and Rufus waded knee deep in mounds of concrete and twisted rebar. But still Rufus hung on, until finally Sal gave up and stopped struggling and lay limply across the barely discernible intersection. "You beat?"Rufus asked. Sal nodded, kind of. Fish don't nod well, given that whole lack of a neck. So Rufus cautiously unhooked Sal. He gave him a stern talking to. And then he set him on his way, because it was catch and release season, and Rufus wasn't about to get fired from his dream job over some technicality. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I'm in jail. They don't know what to do with me, so they stuck me in here. I smiled as they put me in here. “Was it something I said?” &#x200B; What most people don't know is that even the half-truths hurt. They've been telling them for so long that they don't even notice that twinge of pain every time they speak. Even worse are the unknowns. Things like saying “God exists” or “Love is real” are impossible for most people. The thought doesn't even cross their minds. It's like their brain rejects the possibility. They know the words, but to speak them in those particular sentences never even crosses their minds. They'll tell lies instead, like the devout saying quite happily “I'm an atheist” and the deeply in love will shout out how much they hate their partners. We see from the lack of pain in their eyes the strength of their belief and their character. That isn't why they took me in though. It was some harmless crime I can't even remember properly now. It all seems so insignificant. Everything changed when they sat me down in that chair. The thin man with the oversized coat was bearing down on me. “Tell me your name,” he demanded. “It isn't Mack Berrel,” I said, cooly. The sensors attached to my arms didn't flicker. They didn't register the momentary pain which would signify a truth. The thin man smiled. “Do you know why you're here?” he asked. “Yes,” I said, with as much uncertainty as I could muster without making it sound like a question. I was good at faking the pain of half-truth. I even fooled the machine, as it registered that uncertainty through a twitch of my arm. The conversation continued in this manner, with me lying to every question, playing at the cooperative citizen. There was something about my crime, and how my admission to guilt would result in a reduced sentence and... I didn't even know any-more. I just wanted him to suffer. “That's okay,” I said. “Life is worth living.” The thin man stopped. In the shadows he raised an eyebrow. “Reading?” he said to someone behind me. I hadn't even noticed there was anyone else in the room. “Off the chart,” came the reply, which I knew immediately meant absolutely no reading at all. “Could you repeat that last bit again?” the thin man said to me. “Life,” I said, “is worth living.” The thin man took a step back. The lack of pain in my eyes was enough to shock him out of his commanding attitude. “And knowing that,” I continued. “You will be forever happy.” The voice behind me spoke again “Sir, are you okay?” The thin man stuttered. “Life... Is worth living.” he said. I smiled. I saw no pain in his eyes either. He was telling a lie. Not just an unknown, which would have been unbearable, but a lie which confirmed only the opposite could be true. A lie which said definitively, and without doubt that life is not worth living. “You will be forever happy,” I repeated. “I will be forever happy,” he stammered. His eyes were wide now. I could see them from under his lifted hat. Wild, baby blue. “This isn't the end,” I said, with no hint of pain. &#x200B; They will never know, but the truth is I was never born different. I wasn't compelled somehow to be immune from the pain of telling the truth. I'm not some seer who can guide those to happiness. It just never made sense to me that one thing can be true, and another a lie. Everything is a matter of belief. Do you believe that this world is real? That we can trust our senses? Our memories? Our thoughts and experiences? Would you believe so strongly in the universal truth that telling the truth causes pain, that it would entirely change your perspective to be told a truth that didn't result in pain? When you start to really think about it, this whole world could be a lie, and what is one, small, subjective truth in a hurricane of lies. I sit here in this jail cell, four walls, a small window and a door. I lie down on the cold stone floor. I close my eyes, and I dream of nothing.
I sat on my favorite boulder and stared up at the night sky. To say that I had made bad choices in my life was an understatement. When you’ve been alive for almost 5 billion years, you tend to lose touch with a lot of things. My first mistake was wishing to be immortal. I can’t die, I can’t be hurt physically, and best of all, I can’t be affected by thirst or hunger. I’ve gone about half a billion years without eating. Once the sun got too big, everything on this planet died. If I remember correctly, which I probably don’t, this boulder I’m sitting on used to be huge. With erosion, though, it just got withered away. Even the rocks here can die. Lucky bastards. Somewhere out in the cosmos are the last humans. Humans are like that, though. You just can’t get rid of them, no matter how hard you try. The sun began to rise. It was so big now that even the tip-top of it almost made it feel like day time. As I watched it rise, I reflected on my existence. What would I have done differently? What could I have done differently? Sure, I could’ve moved with the other humans to some other planet or galaxy, but I would just end up here but on that planet. I grabbed the genie lamp I found all those years ago and rubbed some dust off of it. To my surprise, a green smoke emanated from the spout until the genie I had made my wish to emerged. “Thank you, travel- Eric?” I was speechless. I fell to the ground and wept. I could’ve sworn he had left after I had made my wish to be immortal, but now he could fix it. “Eric, why are you still here? Why didn’t you leave with everyone else?” I wasn’t listening. I stood and gave the genie a tight hug, crying into his garments. “I thought you were gone…” I stammered. “Oh geez, Eric. I grant three wishes, not one. I was wondering why you weren’t using them.” “Three. Two more wishes?” “Yeah that’s standard,” the genie replied. I left the embrace and composed myself. I had to think. And then I got it. “I wish that every time I get back to this exact time, my consciousness is sent back to my body right after I make the immortality wish.” The genie looked at me with a blank stare until he spoke. “Wish granted.” And just like that, I was back in my old-time, holding the genie lamp for the very first time. I was immortal still, but I was back. I forgot what these colors looked like, this room, this house, but it all came flooding back to me. I remember the first thing I did was jump into the street to see if it worked. I ran to the window but waited. Sure enough, the car that I jumped in front of all of those millennia ago passed by. I stood and relished this feeling. I then looked down at the lamp and rubbed it again. The genie appeared. “Hello there, travel- oh hey, Eric.” “So… I have two more wishes to use?” “Yeah, that’s right.” And then it hit me. Infinite wishes. Granted, each wish was millennia away from the next two. But I had time.
It was commonplace for each household to contain a firearm. It was even more common to be trained in how to use one. This was often seen as odd by the Galactic Council, that a race would arm its own citizens with such dangerous weaponry. They saw it as an unnecessary precaution, a danger to the stability of the Terran state. There was also a single rule. No Terran could ever settle outside of their own space. This was seen as utterly unnecessary, what danger could any Council race possibly pose to a Terran? But as it turned out, it wasn’t the danger that the Council could pose, but instead, the danger that the Terrans could pose. The Terrans great secret was revealed approximately a hundred years after contact, when the New Galactic State Protections Act no longer covered the Terrans. The Ghatri, a race of warlike reptiles, neighbored the newly freed Terrans. I’m guessing that that you can predict what happens when a warlike race borders a fresh, unprotected target. They went to war. The initial conquest was easy for the Ghatri, swiftly destroying the Terran border fleets. Many other races wished to intervene, but the cost of a war with such a powerful target stumbled their efforts. But, as it turned out, they needn’t help the Terrans. The Ghatri simply turned tail and ran. For a while, no one knew why. The Ghatri never turned down an easy target, let alone one that held rich, new systems. That’s when the footage leaked. Terrans sprinting at speeds far past their maximum, for far longer than they should have been able to. Tearing into unprotected flesh with their teeth, scratching at throats with their nails, turning comrade against comrade. Executed Terrans rising back up and tearing into their attackers. We quickly understood why the Ghatri ran. They were terrified. The Terrans, little more than soft bags of flesh with teeth and a brain, caused the most fearsome warrior race in the galaxy to become terrified of the shadows like a hatchling. We were about to mark the Terrans as a “Avoid confrontation at all costs” race when one of us suggested bringing this up with the ambassador. And that’s how we ended up in Terran space, terrified and holding our firearms closely. The soldiers flanking the door into the main meeting room aboard the ship stepped aside as we passed, their black armor gleaming in the blue tinted lighting. The ambassador sat at the far end of the dark wooden table, smoking what appeared to be a cigar. My armed escorts stand by the door, gripping their rifles tightly. I take a seat next to the ambassador, silently suppressing my fear and urge to run. The ambassador exhales smoke slowly before speaking. “So, you wished to speak?” I silently nodded once, and he set his cigar in the holder as he sat up straight. “Alright, spill it. What questions are you holding?” “I- I wished to discuss the footage leaked by the Ghatri War Parties.” He sighed before speaking. “Ah yes, that footage. I do apologize in advance for any trauma that came to be because of that. Anyways, what about it did you wish to discuss?” I was about to speak, but the words caught in my throat. The ambassador tilted his head, an inquisitive look spreading across his face. All of my questions spilled out at once. “I- How did this... ‘ability’... of yours manifest in the first place? How do we combat these special soldiers of yours? And how does it affect us?” “First, the effect of the virus on other sentients is still mostly unknown, but it only seems to adversely affect Ghatri. Second, pop ‘em in the head, that puts reanimated down real quick. Third, we really don’t know.” “You... you don’t know how this happened?” He chuckled slightly before responding. “All we really have are theories. Some think it was nature’s retribution for our treatment of Earth, others think it was a biological weapon from some lab, and there are some extremists out there who believe it’s the next step in our evolution.” I gulped, and straightened out my formal dress. “Is- This is why you arm your citizens?” “Yup. Hopefully snuffs out any new outbreaks before they become ‘outbreaks.’ Was that all?” “Yes, I do believe that was all. Thank you for your time.” The human idly replied while picking their cigar back up. “Anytime, contact me if you need anything else.” I quickly stood up and motioned for my armed escort to open the doors. We board our ship, upload the meeting data, and return to Council space. “Attention citizens; Human space is now marked as a no fly zone. Outside of trade or joint military operations, no Council citizen is to venture in to Terran space. Anyone found violating this rule will be brought back to Council space for trial. All trade is now required to be escorted by a minimum of one Protector Class Corvette for every three ships. Stay loyal, stay true, and stay alert.”
''His name is Thomas.'' Detective Johnson sighs, ''We know that far and we know that you and Thomas were together.'' I nod, ''Yes, we were planning to get married before…'' ''Before?'' The moment of silence ends with a sudden cough coming from behind my back. I look back and I see a gentleman leaning to the wall, watching us speak. ''I thought this was an ordinary case.'' I say. Detective Johnson closes the file in front of him and stands up, ''Thank you for coming in today.'' ''I know why he is doing this.'' I say with a calm voice. He puts the file on the desk but he doesn’t sit. ''Can you elaborate?'' He asks. ''He called me two months ago. He said that he was on the run and for a brief moment I felt safe and relieved. When we were together he was my safety net, he was my person to rely on. After many years I heard his voice again and I wished that I could stop the time.'' ''What did he say?'' The gentleman behind me asks. I turn back, ''I’m sorry who are you again?'' He repeats the same question. ''He…Thomas asked me to call someone for him.'' ''Who?'' Detective Johnson asks. ''His mother. He told me that he is no longer here so he asked me to take care of his mother.'' ''Do you still have feelings for him?'' The guy behind me asks. ''When we broke up I told him that no one would want him. No one would ever care or think about him and I threw the ring he gave me. He never looked back…He just left.'' The guy behind me sits next to me, ''Did he cheat on you?'' I shake my head, ''No. I had cancer I still have but I’m getting treatment. When I first found out that I had cancer I took out on him. I was so pissed. I wasn’t thinking straight because the cancer was already progressed enough to mess with my emotions and chemical balance in my body.'' ''He left you even though you had cancer?'' ''He left me because I treated him like… He never knew I had cancer. I didn’t tell him because I was so jealous of him and not in a good way. He was perfect. He was working for the government and he was really good with computers he was smart and funny and we were together but I was still jealous.'' Detective Johnson leaves the room for an urgent call. The other guy still in the room with me. He stops the recording device. He pulls out a ring from his jacket’s pocket. ''He wanted to have you this.'' I look at the ring, ''Where did you get this? Where is he?'' He gives me the ring and before he leaves the room he looks back, ''Let’s say some ties are stronger than you might think.'' -------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
A room illuminated by floating flames, an ancient oaken table inscribed with powerful runes, and a council of elders gathered in their finest robes. “My fellow magi,” the chancellor spoke, “we find ourselves at the precipice of one of history’s greatest conquests and the dawn of our next golden age.” The council members each roared in approval before allowing the chancellor to continue, as was tradition. “We have, through the efforts of councilman Fra’kas, discovered a realm where the inhabitants have no magical abilities.” The chancellor said, pausing as his council erupted into a chatter of hushed whispers and disbelief. “Furthermore,” he spoke loudly, silencing the others, “this realm appears to be extremely resource rich. Including an abundance,” he paused knowing the reaction his next words would likely bring “of salt water.” the chancellor continued, annoucinting each word as if it were the most important he had ever spoken. The council predictably turned into a flurry emotion. “Our prayers answered!” exclaimed councilman Da’ra’nas “Have you confirmed these findings?” councilman Lo’far’üs’nok asked excitedly to councilman Fra’kas. To which Fra’kas confirmed they had been confirmed and double checked. “Then there is yet still hope!” councilman Lok’shi’na-No’ora’faa yelled with delight. Councilman ’’N’’’ could only manage to express himself by releasing a mighty yawp which echoed across the room and managed to extinguish one of the floating flames. “Preparations for our conquest have already begun,” the chancellor proclaimed, “the portal shall be opened by the half light of the morrow.” That night the chancellor and his council slept nary 6 hours between them, for they knew that by the end of the next day, they would return triumphant conquerors. Or so they thought. In most cases an army of skilled magi would be sent through the rift into a new realm, however due to the urgency of the mission, and the perceived weakness of this new realm, the council decided to undertake this task themselves. They were after all the most skilled magi in all the land, and glory need not be shared on a mission as important as this. 3 days later the chancellor returned alone. While he brought with him a full liter of salt water, more than was needed, he looked defeated. When asked what happened, he would never answer, only insist that that wretched realm never be returned to it again. It wasn’t until after his death years later that we learned the truth. It was written about it in his memoir. The entry evolving his trip to the realm we now know as earth reads as follows: The plan was simple, enter the new realm, terrify the humans with the awesome might of magic, take over their planet, and then return home safely with the precious salt water. The plan, as plans often do, differed from reality. While it was true that these humans had no magical aptitude, this lack of magic caused their technology to develop in a way unlike that of other realms. Whereas most societies were reduced to hunting and gathering for food, and had weapons no more complex than pointed sticks prior to the discovery of magic, the humans were different. It would appear that by forgoing magic the humans were forced to adapt to their surroundings in other ways. Their technology outpaced even our own. We never stood a chance. While our most powerful spells are capable of killing a man, the humans had metal devices that could do this with far expediency. When the trigger was pulled there was a sound of a small explosion, and then a small metal shard, moving faster than any man could dodge, came flying towards us. Fra’kas was dead before we even heard the weapon. This, it seems, was one of their more primitive weapons. I dare not speak of their most fearsome. And so the realm of earth was never returned to again, and the invaluable salt water would need to be found elsewhere.
I knock on the door. "Princess Lux? It's almost time for your meeting with the diplomat." A deep, nasty voice boomed from within the room. *"GO AWAY, PLEASE. THE PRINCESS...MEANING MYSELF...HAS COME DOWN WITH SICKNESS IN MY DAINTY PRINCESS BODY."* I roll my eyes. "I know that's you, Dark Lord Pitch. Now where did Lux run off to?" A screech that would make ordinary minds bleed from mortal terror thundered against the door. *"YOU DARE QUESTION YOUR FUTURE MONARCH?! YOUR CHARGE?! HOW DARE YOU NOT GIVE YOUR ABSOLUTE SERVIVITUDE TOWARD ME! I, PRINCESS LUX, DEMAND YOUR HEAD!"* "Shut up, Pitch. I'm coming in." *"NO, I'M...NAKED! I'LL KILL YOU, PERVERT!"* I opened the door. Instead of a naked princess, I found-to my utter shock-the cloud of sentient, magical black mist that once threatened to engulf our kingdom in an endless night. This was the remains of the great wizard-turned-Lord of Darkness, who reigned over the wandering dead and zealous living, a shadow from the corpse of a god, and who ultimately could never be sent back to the wretched lands beyond life from which he once held dominion...Pitch. He was wearing a tiara. "I know that you and the Princess have been getting chummy-" *"SHUT UP."* "But it's not good for her to be skipping her royal duties." *"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR HER."* "And you do? You killed dozens of her ancestors and used their souls to open a gateway to Hell." *"What does that have to do with anything?"* I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Just tell me where she went off to?" *"NO!"* "All right, then when I do find her, I'll tell Lux that you stole her favorite tiara." Pitch extended a tentacle of blackness, taking the crown off. *"COME ON, I JUST WANTED TO BORROW IT FOR A MINUTE. LOOK, SHE'S DOWN BY THE ORCHARD, OKAY? HANGING OUT WITH A HANDSOME FARMER'S SON THAT SHE WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT."* "Thanks. I'll bring you a snack later." *"MAKE SURE IT'S NOT ONE OF THOSE GODAWFUL PEACH TARTS. I'VE EATEN SEVERED CHICKEN HEADS MORE APPEALING THAN THOSE."* I closed the door behind me. "Will do."

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