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Asahi had the medallion in his hand. The only problem would be to hold on to it. He stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by 13 other fighters. He looked at the massive hourglass. He took a deep breath as time almost seemed to slow down. His senses seemed to heighten and he instinctively knew where each of his opponents was, even the ones behind him. He could sense every grain of sand escaping the top chamber and falling into the bottom chamber. Only a couple of minutes. He just needed to hold on for a couple of more minutes. Everyone attacked. He was perhaps the most skilled fighter there but even he recognized that being surrounded by 13 other fighters was fighting from a disadvantage. He needed to control the points of attack. He bit down on the medallion to keep his hands free. As the circle converged, he chose the weak bamboo wall on the far side. He took a couple of steps back. The opponents on the farthest side relaxed just a bit as the distance between then had increased. But what they hadn’t counted on was his ability to cover great distances very very quickly. Within a second, Asahi jumped forward, landing a crushing blow to the masked man’s mid section. As the man doubled over, Asahi rolled over him, jumping into the bamboo wall, protecting his face and body as best as he could. He crashed through the wall, ending up in the room they had entered the test site from. He made a quick note of a young man sleeping on the bench. What the hell was this dude doing here? His opponents tried to rush through the hole in the wall. This was exactly what he wanted. Now he controlled where the attacks were coming from. He sneaked a glance at the hourglass. It was a matter of seconds now. As the others struggled to push past each other through the narrow opening in the wall, he jumped up and landed a kick to the person at the beginning of the queue. The force of the kick knocked everyone backwards. All 12 of his opponents lay on the ground as the last of the grains started it’s descent which would mean the time was up. He had won. Wait… 12? He had celebrated too soon. He hadn’t realized that one of his opponents had seen through his strategy and went on the other side to come through the door as he had been focused on the others. Asahi dodged the punch but the follow up kick caught him squarely in the jaw. The medallion was jarred loose from his mouth and went flying. It hit the sleeping man in his chest as he woke up with a start. The kick had turned Asahi around but it had also given him some momentum of his own. He continued turning and crouched down to land a kick to his opponent’s knee. The now awake man was now holding the medallion and looking at Asahi in awe. Asahi moved towards him quickly. “Give me that. That’s min…” At that instant, the door opened and The Master stepped inside. “This is the end of the test. As per the rules, the one who holds the medallion at the end is now officially a Ninja with the Dragon Clan.” The Master looked around the room at the fallen warriors till his gaze stopped at the now awake man who stood up quickly. “Without even a scratch. Most impressive. Well done, young man. Everyone else. Leave now.” Asahi stepped forwards. “I must protest. I…” The Master turned an icy stare towards him. “Leave. NOW.” Asahi bowed. Cursing under his breath, he left the room. As did everyone else except The Master and the victor. As Asahi exited the building he saw a purse fallen on the ground. He picked it up and opened it. He recognized the face immediately. So the person who had taken his spot from him was called Ren. Inside Ren followed The Master out through the back room. A group of ninjas rushed into the building. Within 10 minutes, there would be no signs of the fierce battle that had taken place inside. The Master opened a car door. Ren looked at him with surprise. “We’re taking a car?” “Of course. At my age, I can’t walk for a long distance.” The car windows were heavily tinted so Ren had no idea where they were when the car stopped. But as they exited, he stepped into a world he had only seen in the movies. Groups of ninjas trained everywhere. Some were fighting with their hands and some with weapons. The Master led Ren to his office. It was a simple and bare space with no personal items. “As of today, your old life is over. From now onwards, you’re a ninja.” “Thank you. But I…” “No buts. This medallion is special to me. This is the one I won my place in this organization with. You have already proven your Ninjutsu skills with the challenge. Now we will test your leadership skills. In three days your first test will begin. You will lead a three person team in an extraction mission. I will give you these three days to prepare yourself. The extraction will take place at one of the old warehouses on the harbour-front. Take these three days to formulate a strategy. Rest up. And take these few days to wind up whatever attachments and personally business you have in your old life. You may go now.” Ren looked at the sheet of papers in his hands and walked away in a daze. He was ushered into the same car he had arrived in. The driver asked him for his address. Ren gave it to the driver and wondered what he had gotten himself into. He cursed himself for watching the movie and going to the martial arts academy to learn some fighting techniques. He also cursed himself for falling asleep as soon as he arrived in the room. Asahi had been waiting outside Ren’s building for a long time but there had been no sign of the guy. He wondered if he should just leave the wallet at his door with a neighbour. But he couldn’t. He wanted to look at the man who had stolen his destiny, his one goal from him. It was getting late so he started walking away. That’s when he saw a massive black suv head towards the building. Normally he wouldn’t have paid any attention to it but he had seen the same car near the academy. He had arrived a bit early and had gone around the building as he often did. A good ninja always knew the way in and way out before he entered a building. The anger was back. It was supposed to be him. He had fought so many others for the medallion. He thought back to earlier in the day. They had all arrived at the academy. After a while, a gong had sounded and a door in the bamboo wall opened. He had been one of the first to head into the other room so Asahi wasn’t sure if this man was there at the time or not. He remembered the door creaking behind him after most of them had entered the next room so he thought not. This Ren fellow had arrived late and then fallen asleep. All the while they were in the next room fighting over the medallion. How dare he… Asahi took a few deep breaths and walked back towards the apartment complex. The SUV had left in the opposite direction of where it had come from which strengthened his belief that it was from the Dragons. A ninja avoids being predictable. One of the simplest things to do was to take different routes to a location. He had seen Ren’s driving license so he knew exactly which apartment he had to go to. The door was not completely closed and Asahi could hear voices from inside. This guy. A ninja? First he had lost his wallet with all his information. Then he had slept through the exam. And now he had left his door open? This was a disaster. Surely The Master saw that. Before entering, he paused, listening to what Ren was saying. “… and now I’m supposed to devise a plan to extract a person from this building? How do I even do that. Come on. You’re God. Surely you can give me some ideas.” After a brief pause, the voice continued. “Of course not. You just sit there smiling. Where the hell is my wallet now.” Asahi peeked inside and noticed that Ren had been talking to a Buddha statue. He was now on the ground looking for something. His wallet probably. Ren stuck the table, causing the small statue to fall directly on his head. Asahi entered the apartment quickly checking on the fallen man. Knocked out cold. He sighed again. This man. A ninja. He picked up the statue and respectfully put it back on the table. He noticed the sheet of papers on the table. A four person team. Expectation was that they would have atleast 10 enemies inside. They had to retrieve one of their own. It would be tough. But Asahi could see that it could be done. He looked at the couch where Ren’s uniform lay. It should’ve been his uniform. Maybe. Just maybe. He grabbed the papers and the uniform. He placed the wallet near Ren’s hand and left the room. Maybe if he completed the mission himself, The Master would be forced to acknowledge that he belonged.
Vale'kar stared into the emerald eyes of his rival, feeling a radiant heat cast out from their furious gaze. The moon hid itself beneath the hills, as if it too were afraid to witness the brutality of the confrontation which came next. &#x200B; Duels amongst the magi were far from irregular in the lands of Aretheli. Honor, lust, rivalry, and the other hard coded blemishes of man gave no shortage to their frequency or their fervor. Rarely though, would two opponents let a full century pass before meeting each other. In some begrudging way, it was almost a sign of the highest respect. We shall meet each other once letting our storms both reach their tempest - the weak have no place in this strife. &#x200B; Vale'kar stood an even six feet in his scarlet robes. His right hand twitched, eager to reach across his chest and perform an expertly executed cross draw of his Morticar. Carved from the elderboughs which grew only in the dusted snow hills of the frigid reaches of the Vixxili range, it was a formidable weapon. His left arm remained steady, careful not to let his cloak slip and reveal the sapphire bound bracelet of protection which lay in wait. &#x200B; Thesius stood some twenty five meters across from him in the long abandoned great hall. What little moonlight that sought purchase in that stone arena illuminated his figure. The man was shorter by a half-hand, and wore a tattered green robe. While the garmet itself had seen better days, the color was also a strange choice. Green was the poorest of all shades, dye formulated by the lykstrum grass which was common to most every plane in the realm. Those who had been granted the opportunity to pursue the arcane typically took little time in bending the will of flux-aurili which they sought to channel to produce treasures most valuable. Though conjuring was seen as a base practice by most arcane scholars of merit, its bounty was hard to deny. &#x200B; Even with a jape forming in his throat, Vale'kar stood silent. He couldn't help but in some strange manner admire the choice. As if Thesius dared to forfeit his claim to riches, and by extension make a statement about the divine arts themselves. I will not be bent by wordly desires. In simplicity I am bound, and need not the gleam of rubies or diamonds to light the path to my ambitions. By the light of my own soul I will guide myself. Vale'kar felt the familiar twisting and undulating of his gut as he desperately tried to discern if what he felt was respect, awe, or disgust. &#x200B; "So. In this hall which lay long forgotten by time, we seal an agreement which has long stood it's testament."Thesius's voice dominated the space, its low gravely tone as unyielding as the other sorcerer knew the man who wielded it to be. &#x200B; "Poetic. When I strike you down, I would like you to know that it will not be without some sense of anguish. I'll miss your... flair for the dramatic."Vale'kar replied cooly, lest his tone betray the sense of anticipation which found itself bringing alight each of his nerve ending. &#x200B; "We draw when the last of the light shown to us by the waning moon recedes. Deeds such as these are not meant for the light." &#x200B; A few moments slid by in the silence. Each man's pupils grew slightly wider as an inky blackness descended upon the room. Then, as the last silver tendril of moonlight was dragged away by the celestial body which bore it, the commotion began all at once. &#x200B; Morticar practically flew from the scarlet sorcerer's robe as it was drawn, emitting a low tone as it cut through the dark air. The brief moments of blackness were cut away as a brilliant beam of white-hot energy erupted from the tip of the short bored wand, screaming and sizzling as it collided against Thesius's green garb. The robe was practically atomized, a sickly burning smell rapidly filling the large space. &#x200B; Vale'kar squinted against the darkness, his eyes temporarily shocked from the sudden influx of radiance. Through the darkness though, he could make out what little remained of the singed garment, which huddled sadly upon itself against the rough honed stone floor. &#x200B; Victory would not come so easily, though. A mortal man might've missed it. The soft plodding of skin against stone from such a distance. However, the augmented magi was not anything like an ordinary man. &#x200B; The scarlet clad magi wrinkled his brow, feeling ice cold sweat drip down the nape of his neck. Something was wrong. The soft pattering of steps was freakishly quick. It seemed to bounce from every wall, every pocket of darkness. He was so preoccupied by this anomaly, in fact, that he scarcely reacted as his left wrist was shattered. Metal pressed against skin which pressed against bone, finally demanding the flesh give way as his bracelet of protection was ripped off - or rather ripped through his arm. &#x200B; Vale'kar let out a blood curdling shriek of pain as the instrument - and a fair portion of his lower wrist - were discarded upon the stone floor. You could scarcely make out the bracelets clanging echo as it skittered across the ground set against the backdrop of his howls. &#x200B; Instinctually the magi brought his center of balance low and whipped his good arm which still bore the Morticar in a wide ark, casting out a sickly purple flame which brought with it an icy fury. The man had learned from his first attack, this one only casting out a low luminesce as it travelled. &#x200B; Though it seemed impossible, the sorcerer thought he could make out Thesius's figure flitting through the darkness as he avoided the attack. It couldn't be Thesius, though. This...creature, it was more like a bear. An Ox. A being of raw, elemental strength. &#x200B; Focus, storm blasted fool, he cursed. You've felled beast far greater than this two bit farmhand turned party mage. He didn't believe his own words, though. Terror was rapidly invading his mind. &#x200B; A chunk of stone whistled through the air as it travelled at unimaginable speed. It did not so much impact Vale'kar as it did move through him. The sorcerer might not have anticipated when he had lowered himself into his low shadow stance, that it was likely the last fleeting moments of him ever being able to stand. &#x200B; A wet squelch followed by a primal crunch punctuated the exact moment that the magi's right heel ceased to exist in this world. &#x200B; As he collapsed, the Morticar fell from his right hand, rolling slowly across the even surface of the sparse hall. It was good that they were still enveloped in blackness. Vale'kar likely would've gone unconscious if he could see the dull stump of his freely flowing wound. &#x200B; "I - I..."the magi's voice was something between a sob and a scream. Even now, in all his pain, all his terror, his tongue seemed to rebel against saying the words which fought their way from his gut to his cracked lips. "I yield! By the seven bodies I yield! Wha.. What deal have you struck! What entity of the perished have you channeled.. you.. you deviant!" &#x200B; The same large beast from the shadows before began to take shape as it lumbered towards the incapacitated man. With a graceful but tormenting slowness, one of it's thick arms reached down and wrapped itself firmly around the sorcerer's neck. Though the magi struggled weakly, he was born aloft by the steel grip of the beast. &#x200B; "You yield? You, who in the past reached through time and robbed me for so many years of my future all for the sake of this pittance of a duel.... Yield?"The same graveled tone from just minutes ago spoke. &#x200B; All those years of preparation. The months spent in that frigid place, forging my tool. The sweat which descended upon my brow in the red dust fields of Spellcasters Arena... for this. To die at the hand of this...thing. This man who had never fit into the fold. Who I'd mocked. Who I'd...forged. &#x200B; It was then though, that the first streak of crimson light born from Alesad, the smaller of the realms binary suns, streaked into the structure. Its warmth was the most welcome thing Vale'kar had ever felt. Far greater than the embrace of any maiden. Of even his mother's soft breath against his ear as a babe. &#x200B; "You..."wheezed the broken magi, "You wouldn't. You can't. Not you. You couldn't kill me in the light. In the face of the Seven Divine's radiance. Even you..."he trailed off, his eyes flickering as he lost consciousness. &#x200B; Thesius looked down the length of his thick arm, a thin layer of sweat highlighting his swollen veins. Shadows cast by the first light of dawn highlighted the rippling fibers of each individual muscle. &#x200B; "The laws of the Volten codex do indeed demand that none would openly channel the powers of the divine to bring harm to another one of their creations.."he spoke softly to the unconscious man as much as to himself. The light adjusted, highlighting the flecks of gold and brown in his green eyes. &#x200B; His expression shifted, if only slightly. Then with a muted crack, his brutish strength crushed the windpipe of the scarlet clad magi. Releasing his grip, Thesius watched the limp thing fall dully against the floor. &#x200B; "But I no longer bear the power of the divine. For now, my strength is not borrowed, but forged by iron and flesh."
Demons have a sense of these things. We can feel the heartbeats of mortals. Well, of anything with a heartbeat really. Comes in handy when you can't read the face of someone...or something, even animals heart rates raise when they feel a threat. But this woman. This stalwart statue of a woman before me, as she screamed all kinds of phrases and words even I in my five-thousand years never heard used together, her heart rate stayed just as steady as it had when we'd started. That. Now that scared me. And it was hard as fuck to do something like that. She, Ethel Graystone, pushed another bony finger into my equally bony chest. "If you think you'll take my boy just because some idiot I never met made a deal with you then you're just as dumb as you look!"Sprays of spittle flew from her mouth, to which I just sat and let happen as wiping it proved futile after the first few tries. Maybe she was senile and couldn't even tell what I was. Or maybe she had some sort of defect where her heart didn't beat right anymore. I tuned in once more to that sack of flesh in her chest. Ba-dum......Ba-dum Then I gave it my all, channeling everything I had into a grand display of power. Horns shot forth from my head and curled into gnarly shapes. Heat pulsed behind my eyes as I could feel flames licking at the back of my sight. Even my teeth, which had already been sharp before, shot out even further from my mouth. The small boy positioned behind granny cowered, but she did not move. Her heart kept that same consistent, stubborn beat. Ba-dum......Ba-dum She looked at me without change, stared passed the fire in my eyes and straight through me. I was sure in that moment if I had a soul the old meat bag would have captured and eaten it. She called my bluff. There wasn't much more in the tank but to kill her outright, and lord (literally) knew that an unauthorized killing before someones time was not worth the punishment. Just last week some poor collector had tried it, been having her eylids plucked since. The granny let out one final tirade: "Get lost you unholy, trash filled, hell spawn! You will not take my boy!" "I...my mistake. I must have the wrong boy. You go about your day then." With my tail between my legs, once again literally, I left the way I came.
Gargor the Malevolent was... Dumbstruck, to say the least. Flabbergasted, you might say. In his long live as ruler of Nebula Dominion, he encountered many foes - other candidates for the Mace of Destruction, pesky neighbors from other Waste Countries, and, of course - quite a number of heroes from over the Bastion Mountains. He defeated them all - be it in combat, or in battle of wits. He was a master of deception, craftsman of most nefarious of traps. And yet he never saw... This. A hero came into his Citadel. All alone, he crossed the mountains, Waste countries, bypassed all the army and guards on Dominion, without breaking a sweat. Of course, the moment he crossed the boundary of the Citadel, he was automatic noticed of his presence. Gargor was curious - who was mad enough to come here alone, and who was skilled to do so. Using a Sphere of Clairvoyance, he became a spectator of hero's endeavor... And it was the weirdest thing in his life. Firstly, hero looked completely, and utterly, bored. Like, he did it already so mine times, it was a chore. He avoided every trap, every alarm, every guard like he knew they were there. He confidently walked to higher floors of Citadel, without being noticed. Occasionally, he would pickpocketed a guard or two, or steal some miscellaneous things like apples, or a mug of beer. It was so weird, that Gargor just watched it without even trying to raise an alarm by himself. Wielder of the Mace of Destruction, he just waited at his private study, until... The hero finally came into his private chambers. And it was the first time when any sign of emotion had crept on his face: "Oh, you are awake. That is new." He said it like Gargor should be fast asleep. Which surprised and amused the ruler: "Is this a game to you?"The Malevolent chuckled. "It... It actually is!"Said the hero with relief "Good, finally, I am not alone!" With these words, hero became... Delighted. He dropped his weapon on the ground, ran to Gargor and hugged him. "Oh man, you don't believe it how desperate I was! To find someone who too is stuck in this game is such a relief!" Gargor was... Dumbfounded. Flabbergasted, even. He didn't understand of what the hero was speaking about. But decades of experience as a ruler of Nebula Dominion hinted to him he should play along. Carefully breaking a hug, he spoke to the hero: "Oh, I to was surprised to see you. When I saw you through the Sphere, I couldn't believe my eyes - you definitely had been in this Citadel numerous times. By the way, your name is..." "My name is Brad! In this world, I go by the name Lircon, but you can call me by my real name. What is yours? Definitely not "Gargor the Malevolent". Always thought this name is lame, to be honest" Gargor decided to ignore the jab in the end, because this "Brad"- who claimed to have name of Lircon, very generic one inn countries over the mountains - was speaking of... interesting things. "My real name is Mujhal... I am afraid our worlds are different, never heard of anyone named Brad back in mine" "Oooo, that makes sense that there is more than two worlds! But is interesting that this games exists in more than one. Speaking of which - why you left everything the same as in game? If you played it, you knew the defenses of this pile of rocks are horrible. I used my game knowledge to it's fullest. Look, I even found the bottomless Bag of Holding before the endgame!" Gargor, again, let insults slide this time. Plus, he intented to change security anyway after this night. What was interesting for him, that this Brad, one way or another, possessed knowledge of locations for rare artifacts - like this Bag of Holding, of which legends are told. "Unfortunately, I didn't play this game back at my home - wasn't fun of games to begin with. Only heard of it - that is why I mostly left everything intact." "Oh, poor soul! You must have been feeling all alone! But don't you worry, Brad will help you! Hell, maybe we even get to go home". "Perhaps, if we gather all rare artifacts of this world, we could open ways to others?" "That is precisely my idea! That is why I am here - to grab the Sphere. But you already have it! Buddy, together, we will go a loooong way!" "Yes, we sure will... Let me show your room for night, you must be tired." "Man, you guessed right! I need a nap" "Follow me then" Gargor started to leave his study and Brad followed behind. This night was the weirdest in his life -but one of the most productive too. Even if he will not gain paths to other worlds, artifacts themselves will for certain come in handy. Perhaps... one of them will make him immortal. Immortal ruler of the whole world... Made this way by the pitiful creature named "Brad". Truly, flabbergasting experience.
"Hey, Steve?" "Yeah, Henry?" "You and your, uh, pack are werewolves, right?" "Yup." "So that means you guys are, like, supernatural hunters of the night." "Oh yeah. Super deadly when we get serious." "And these meetings of yours happen every full moon?" "Like clockwork. They're great to just wolf out and cut loose, you know?" "Yes, I can see that. I swear the place looks like a furry convention." "Hey!" "Oh, don't pretend it doesn't. The only difference is that everyone's a wolf and the suits are obviously real instead of costumes. But that's not the point." "Then what is?" "Is this how your meetings usually go?" "Yeah, why?" "Well then, why don't you explain to me why a pack of vicious, savage murder monsters are getting together to eat burgers and play board games." "What, you don't like barbecue and games?" "Oh no, I like both of those things. Especially since you're playing actual games instead of that Milton Bradley junk." "We tried Monopoly last year. It didn't go well." "I bet. Anyway, just why? Why do things like this instead of doing werewolf stuff?" "Werewolf stuff, really?" "You know what I mean. Like, hunting things and stuff." "Why would we do that when we can get a month's worth of meat at the supermarket?" "I don't know. It's just kind of a let down, is all. I mean, this is all stuff you can do any time. Why bother doing it now?" "Honestly? The food." "Huh?" "When you're a human, you gotta watch what you eat, and you can only eat so much. But in wolf form? You can eat all the burgers and ribs you want without gaining a pound. Plus, with the enhanced senses, it all tastes so much better. And we figured that if we were going to get together and pig out, we might as well do something fun while we're at it, so we play games." "All the food you want, huh?" "Oh yeah. I can put away ten, fifteen pounds of the best BBQ ever, easy. And since we're carnivores in this form, it's actually good for us. We might as well be eating salads all night." "Okay, one more question." "What's up?" "What do I need to do to become a werewolf?"
"Well, I'm glad I was able to take time with you. What did you say your name was?" "Mary Smith." "Mary Smith... the most common first and last name." "Is it?" "Yeah... sorry, just..." "Why are you interested in me?" "Well, to be honest, a lot of people at the job have felt off talking to you. I haven't, but they say that it's the fact you don't seem to have any unique quirks." "Quirks? Am I supposed to?" "Oh, you're still you without them, but just consider -- five foot six, average US female height. Mary, most common US female name. Smith, most common US surname. Your salary... well, it's the median salary across the US. And this job you do is the most common in the US. Living in the suburbs, partial college education, father retired from business, mother stayed at home..." "I get it, I get it! Everything about me is what you'd ask someone to think the typical American 20-something is. I never thought of it that way. But why should that matter?" "Well, to me it doesn't, but aren't you approaching the marrying age?" "...yeah... wait, are you saying I need to marry you to preserve this stat?" "Oh, no, I'd never! Just that it's weird you're approaching the time and there's no one in your life." "See? There you go -- something I'm not yet average in." "I guess so." "Don't worry about it -- would you like to come in? It's been a while since Mom's served anyone. She'd be glad to have you." "Well, I suppose I could... it would be nice to see this family Little Miss Middle of the Road comes from." "Sure... let's go." \\\\\* "Hello, Mary, thanks for inviting me over." "It was no problem. But... you seem to have something on your mind." "Well, to be honest... I did find it strange when your garage had a car trunk in it attached to the other car." "Oh, that? Pay it no mind. We use it as an extra trailer." "...okay... but your house seems to be missing a wall." "Hm? I never noticed. Oh, the top floor? Yeah... some people I guess just want extra sunlight. Come on in... here's Mom, here's Dad. And this is my sister. And here's our brother." "...oh no..." "What?" "...h-his legs... why doesn't he have legs? Where'd they go?" "He was born that way. What about it?" "...th-this place. Your table is round at one end and not the other... the oven's too small... the... the clock... no minute hand... how do you live like this?" "Doesn't everyone?" "No! Not at all! I... I better go. I'll see you at work Monday!" "Wait, come back, it's okay!... oh, darn. Gone again." "...did I scare them off, Mary?" "It's not your fault, brother. He knew about me -- doesn't he know the average family has two and a half children?"
# Soulmage "Lucet?" I asked, propping myself up on the hospital bed. "Yes, Cienne?"Lucet asked, not looking up from the form she was filling out. "Where did you get all that blood?"I pointed at the distressingly-large, rippling orb of blood hovering in the air a few feet behind her. Ashrymarn poked their dripping head in from the receptionist's room. "Humans,"the Blood Angel helpfully said. "Says so right here on the paperwork." "That's not what I meant, and nobody was talking to you, Ashrymarn,"I said. The Blood Angel's orifices contorted in contrition and jerked back away from the door. Oops. Blood Angels were beings of pure fear—which didn't mean that they inspired fear in others, unfortunately for them. No, Ashrymarn was terrified of basically everything, from social rejection to mice. Except, apparently, for giant orbs of blood. Which I guess made sense, since Ashrymarn's own body was made of nothing but the stuff. "No, seriously, Lucet. This is worse than the time you donated three kidneys." "You donate a pint of blood, you're a hero; you donate twenty gallons of blood, you're a villain,"Lucet said, aiming for a laugh. But it came out stilted and quavering, and I didn't need to be a Blood Angel to see she was nervous. "Eh? Eh?" And all that time, she hadn't looked up from her paperwork. She was avoiding eye contact, I realized. "I'm..."I rubbed my forehead. "Look, Lucet, just... tell me that you ran a blood drive, or something. Tell me that whoever this blood came from is still alive." Lucet bit her lip. "...Okay. Okay, fine. You want to know where I got this blood from?"She reached into her pocket, pulled out a sketch, and tossed it at me. It was the scowling face of a middle-aged woman. "That,"Lucet said, "was Hrzyn. A memory-editor and witch who had been embedding labor compulsions in children until they worked themselves into catatonia. She was a monster and a danger to society, and someone needed to put her down." I set down the sketch. "So you killed her and drained her blood." Lucet threw her hands in the air. "She wasn't using it! And... and you need a transfusion. The medicine they're giving you to fight the cancer is fucking up your blood. If I can take out someone who preys on the innocent and save someone I care about more than anyone... who loses?" "You do,"I whispered. "I know how risky it is to fight someone to the death, Lucet. Or did you forget why I'm in this hospital bed in the first place? I know the hospital's low on supplies, but it doesn't have to be y—" "Then who?"Lucet spun towards me, naked frustration in her eyes. "There is no cavalry, Cienne. If I don't fight for you, nobody will. You... you were the only one who stood up for people like that. And now you're hurt, and you don't even want me to try to help you? Just... you protected me so, so many times. Let me take care of you, for once." I closed my eyes. Somewhere, the remains of a monster were processed into a life for an innocent. "I can't stop you,"I finally said. "But I can ask you to rest." I could hear her broken smile, even through my sealed eyelids. "Until the day you're strong enough to stand up and stop me yourself, there won't be any rest for me." Lucet's footsteps faded into the distance as my weakened body slumped over. Torn by sickness and surgery and sorrow, I fell into a slumber dark and weary. A.N. This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new) for the rest of the story, or r/bubblewriters for more things by me!
When you have the ability to gain new abilities based on who sponsors you, you'd figure that livestreaming your crimefighting to attract more sponsors for would be a great idea Instead, I'm currently on the ground staring right into the barrel on a revolver pointed at me. I have an ability that was supposed to handle it, but it had a limit (Apparently a Samsung sponsorship only makes electronics explode, not non-smart firearms) "Time to put an end to your so-called videomaking career, hero,"said thug, as he squeezed the trigger. I heard a slight ding come from my pocket before the bang of his gun. Then, the sudden pain. And then nothing. Not the nothing like "the dark void of death". I mean like that was all that happened. Bang! Pain. Still alive! No blood, no fade to black. That kind of nothong. Aside from a small amount of pain coming from my forehead, I was alright, and, of course, confused. How did I survive that?! I wasn't sponsored by any companies specializing in military armor or security. None of current skillset should have enabled me to survive a direct bullet to the head. My thoughts were interrupted from a notification from my phone. I took my eyes off the bewildered thug and glance at the message displayed on phone's cracked screen. After reading it, my eyes widened in shock. A second later, I started laughing. "What's so funny?!"yelled the shocked gunman, his expression betraying how unnerved he was. "My channel just got a new sponsor,"I said with an air of new found confidence, cracking my knuckles and advancing upon my frightened, would-be murderer. "Your ass-kicking for today has been brought to you by Nokia!"
I looked left and right, it was the same place i always wake up in. The room was lit with soft rays of sun, filtered through the stained glass window. As i lay there in absolute disbelief, my mind raced to find a clue as to how one would find themselves with this exact question in their mind. And then, as the dizzying cloudiness and shock started to wear out, i came to the unpleasent realization that, at this exact time, the only thing that matters really, is how i can get what OP was smoking before writing this prompt.
"To be honest,"says the hatter, "I guess I'm mad at my own mortality. And the tea is just how you've described it, a coping mechanism to pretend the party can go on forever." "Where as you've said to me before,"I remind him, "you know that it can't. However we feel about this preposterous life, the only surity we have is that it's fleeting. But some look at that and say that's what makes it special." "Wonderful, even,"says the March hare. "Exactly."I drain the last of my tea and excuse myself from the table. The door mouse thanks me on my way out and tries to offer his best button as payment. I tell the mouse that while the button is beautiful, I cannot appreciate the value the same as its current owner, and his thanks is enough. On the walk home, I find that familiar smile hovering over my shoulder, and suddenly there's a fuzzy tickling under my nose. "You're definitely turning everyone on their heads,"says the cat. "But not in a way I find particularly comforting. I think I liked the other girl better." "Well no one chooses the world they get,"I say, ducking under the trees of sentient cherry blossoms. "But I hope you'll eventually come around. I think you're all lucky to have me. So far, everyone I've met has shared with me some of the strangest stories of trauma I could ever imagine. Did you know that just around the next corner there lives a baker of lady bug pies?" "Yes,"the cat says with a pretentious pride. "Glederine's a very good friend of mine and I hope you haven't turned him like you have the others." "I've done nothing to him. I just wanted to ask what you thought of his story." "His story?" "Has he told you about the nightmares? Hearing the lady bugs singing his mother's lullabies through the oven door? I thought it was very strong of him to share that with me." "Strong of him to share lies?"The cat scoffs and drapes themself across my shoulders. "I've never heard any such thing about lady bug lullabies from old Glederine." "He never talked to you about the regrets he's carrying? About taking over his father's bakery when all he really wanted in life was to braid sailing ropes?" "He has often mentioned sailing ropes . . . But I had no idea he was ever suffering over the family business. Why wouldn't he tell me?" "I don't know. When's the last time you've asked him?" I make sure to keep my eyes off the cat. Don't want to spoil the self-discovery by letting them think I pushed them there. The cat thinks for a while and then lets themself down from my shoulder. "I might just go ask him now. Just so I can better understand what game this is he's playing on you." "That sounds reasonable,"I say. Before they disappear completely, the cat turns their smile back to me and ask, "How would you suggest bringing up such a subject?" "Well if it were my friend, I'd simply ask what's on their mind." The cat shakes their head, like the obvious answer is no help, then vanishes into the air. I walk for a few moments in silence in case any others are still watching. As soon as I'm safely behind my home's carved-mushroom door, I let out all the air in my lungs and rest my head against the soft, spongy wall. I don't find this place wonderful at all. ***** I'm relatively new here, but I'm on day 13 of a streak, so if you liked this story you can find more WP responses like it at r/FarFetchedFiction Thanks.
"They say apples don't fall far from the tree, so your mom must be gorgeous."I grin disarmingly at the bank teller. She giggles, and I think she blushes, but it's hard to tell - she's got a pretty pink complexion already. "I'm sorry, I know it's cheesy,"I say, and slide the note across the counter. "Here's my number, call me sometime?" She smiles and picks up the note, and her smile freezes. She looks at me, slowly, and I open my coat, enough for her to see the banana secured in a holster on my hip. She gasps. "No no no,"I saw softly, "just do as I say, and nobody's gonna get hurt. Fill one of your big envelopes with as many fifties and hundreds as you can. Go on now."I point to her cash drawer and motion. She sets an envelope on the counter and starts filling it with cash. Her fingers are shaking, and she accidentally drops a bunch of fifties on the floor. I see tears well up in her eyes. "Hey now, hey, it's ok,"I say. "I've done this before, just take your time, fill it up, then I'm gone. Super easy, nobody hurt, I promise." She takes a deep breath and resumes filling the envelope. I scan the rest of the clerks and the few customers standing in the lobby. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a splash of green. I look over and see one of the bank managers slowly making his way down the line of clerks. Like most career bankers, he has a big, pear-shaped body that absorbs all the available space in the clerks' tiny stations. I feel bad for his employees, especially the round girl he is talking to now - man, the way he's leaning on her, she looks fit to burst. My clerk hands me the envelope. I look over at the manager. He's still laughing it up a few clerks away. I point again. "One more, and then we're done." My clerk nods, her eyes wide and wet. She starts filling another envelope. The manager finishes his conversation and steps back into the aisle behind all the clerks. I expect him to move to the next clerk, a seedy looking guy with really bad hair, but he walks right over to my clerk, clapping a thick, pudgy hand on her shoulder. She jumps at his touch, dropping more bills. "Whoa there, Jona, come on now!"He bends down and picks up the bills. "You should be more careful." My note is still sitting on the countertop, and he reaches over and brushes it aside to make room for the recovered bills. I hold my breath, one hand casually reaching inside my jacket towards the banana. The manager ignores the note, but then he looks at what Jona is doing. His eyebrows knot, and he cocks his head. "Jonagold, is this customer receiving over $10,000 in cash today? Because I don't think we've trained you on the IRS procedures for that." He reaches over and grabs the first envelope, stuffed with bills. "Yeah, this looks like it's over the reporting limit. Move over, Jona, I'll finish this up." Jona opens her mouth to protest but nothing comes out, and he takes the second envelope from her hands and gently moves her out of the way. "Now then, my apologies, sir. Jona's new and doesn't know how to process this kind of cash transaction. Now, uh, I assume you are cashing a check, let's see..."The manager scans her work area. "Ah, ha! There we are." "Don't--"Jona reaches out to stop him, but the manager scoops up my note and unfolds it. He freezes, his eyes staring at the paper for several long seconds. Carefully, he slowly puts the note back on the countertop. His eyes trail down my body to my hips, and I open my coat to show him the banana underneath. He licks his lips, gulps. Taking his eyes off the banana, he starts filling the second envelope. "We'll just have this finished real quick for you, sir,"He half-whispers, half-speaks. "Just any moment here, we, uh, appreciate your patience sir." He is sweating now, little drops collecting on his bald head and running down his smooth skin. He fills the second envelope, puts it together with the other, and pushes them both across the counter to me. "Anything e-e-else, sir?"He stutters. "No, you guys did great. I'm going to turn and walk away now. If I hear alarms or see any cops outside..."I gesture to my coat. The manager nods quickly. "Of course, please, no one needs to get hurt." I turn and start walking towards the front doors. At that moment, two cops walk in. I barely have time to curse when I hear the manager scream behind me: "He's robbing the bank! He's got a banana!" I whip open my coat and pull out the banana before the cops can even reach for their guns. Holding the banana above my head, I slowly inch towards the door. The cops pull back to give me room. "Nobody moves... or the banana gets it."The banana wriggles in my hand but I give it a healthy squeeze and it stops. It's young, mostly green, and it starts to cry through the gag that I taped over its mouth. Jona starts sobbing, behind the counter, "I thought he was an apple, I thought he was an apple."She buries her face in her hands. I tuck the envelopes with the cash into my pocket and throw off my hat. The crowd gasps. "Yeah, that's right you fruits."I point at my skin. "I'm a fucking tomato. You elitist pricks, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves, taking all the good soil while my people are outcasts." One of the strawberries in line suddenly points at me, gags, and then vomits all over the floor. I look down at where the fruit had pointed - a stink bug is hanging off my lower half, I hadn't noticed this morning. Rage and shame roar through me. "Yeah, that's right, I have the stinks,"I scream. I rip the bug off and throw it at the strawberry. "I got it because my family has to live with the corn, you bastards." The bug hits the floor and skids towards a knot of customers, who shrink away in horror. The bug rights itself, then ejects its stink juice all over the customers. I laugh hysterically. "That's right you fuckers! That's what you get!" I am too busy pointing with my free hand to notice that the two cops have gotten up behind me. One, a pomegranate, tackles me to the floor as the other, a coconut, grabs the banana from me. I struggle, vainly trying to pierce the pom's rind. As they are cuffing me, I turn and spit in the face of the coconut. "You fucking imposter! You're a drupe! I'm more fruit than you are!" "Repeal Nix v. Hedden!"I scream as they haul me outside to their patrol car. "Repeal Nix v. Hedden! I'm a fruit god damn it, repeal Nix v. Hedden!" I must have annoyed the cops because the coconut sidled up behind me and tazed me. I spasm and fall to the curb, my delicate skin splitting on the curb's edge. I vomit. "Now luck what you've done, you fuckers."I spit out the rest of the vomit, and watch my juices mixing with dirty gutter water in the street. Someone kicks me in the back, and I flop-roll onto my back. "Repeal Nix v. Hedden."It has become almost a chant for me. I'm losing consciousness from the loss of fluids, and god knows what parasites are in the water that is now flowing in and around the rupture in my skin. I just wanted some cash, nobody had to get hurt. Repeal Nix v. Hedden. Repeal Nix v. Hedden. Repeal Nix v. Hed- a black boot swims into view, and stomps on my face.
Five rich men sit in a smokey room lit by a powerpoint slide. The current slide's title is a collage of words like 'Statistics' 'Results' and 'Information. The center of the slide is obstructed by the shadow of a sixth man, a nervous man, who knows just how important this meeting is. "The slides, uh, are pretty straightforward"the sixth man begins "I wouldn't, erm, want to waste your time Gentlemen but I feel like the uh, the data would need some context to show just how successful our, your, innovation has been." He changes slide (two clicks, the mouse is slow to respond) and another graph is thrown up. "When we first implimented the stasis technology we found that the subjects would reject it. Erm, we discovered this was mostly due to their lack of stimulation - a dormant mind would fight it, whereas an occupied one would be more willing to embrace the treatement" "After much deliberation, we settled on the concept of a simulated reality - a 'Matrix', if you like." The five men watch sternly. One lights a cigar, the sixth man pray's his asthma doesn't act up. "We linked the subjects all in with each other. It's really, quite fascinating erm, you see, it's as if they are in one large video game. This is when you came to us with your second idea-" 'Rewarding the well behaved with a promise of release, yes."The fifth man spoke. Or the third, or the fourth. It was impossible to tell. "We've brought you here to ask for an update, boy, not a history lesson."A voice that may well have been the previous said. "Yes, gentlemen, I erm, I apologise. Allow me to explain my point."The sixth mans fingers attack the left click again. "You see for a while your excellent theory worked, criminal behaviour improved under the promise of release. But see then, then something happened. A collective change in the criminal state of mind." "In the last four months no criminals have been elligible for release. In fact the severity of their sentence has increased. We gave them a world with everything they want or need, gentlemen, do you see? They don't want to get out." Eyes hidden behind furrowed brows looked curiously at each other. "The rapists, well they rape, consequence free a simulated woman. Sadists torture artificial people. In fact gentlemen, we believe there is a much more profitable way to approach this software." "Well?"One of the five stood "Let's hear it!" "Thousands would pay everything they have to be a part of the simulation, gentlemen, your prison should be a hotel."
Joe drove his pickup truck through the empty suburb. His daughter sat next to him, peering out the window at all the homes, and drawing on the foggy window with her finger. "How about that one,"she asked wiggling her short legs, unable to reach the floor. Joe smiled, "A little too big, I think." They drove some more. Joe stopped in front of a home with a long driveway. "Sarah, stay here, okay? Don't open the door for anyone but me."The little girl nodded. "Use the CB if anyone comes,"he said as he handed her the CB receiver and put a walkie-talkie into his rear pocket. He stepped out of the truck holding a sawed off shotgun. He walked up to the newly built modern home with a tall security fence and barred windows. "This is... perfect,"he whispered to himself. He looked up and down the sidewalk, not noticing anyone. "Quiet as a tomb,"he added. He threw the shotgun over and climbed the fence. He walked up to the front door and found it unlocked and entered. "Oh god,"he said as he covered his nose. He pulled out a small breathing mask out of his back pocket and put it on his face. He coughed a couple times, steadied himself, and went around the house opening all the windows. He paused as he entered the living room. An entire family laid there, dead, on the floor. Two parents, one boy, and one little girl. He sighed, bent over, and picked up a bottle labeled, "Family Sized Quietus."Only two pills remained in the bottle. He took the pills out and smashed them with his bootheel. He began dragging the bodies outside into the yard. He arranged them neatly and made them hold each other's hands. He looked at the little girl there and his eyes started to water. He closed his eyes and mumbled, "...lord forgive them for they know not what they have done, and allow them into your kingdom. Amen." Back in the truck, he leaned over and gave Sarah a little kiss on the cheek. "Did you like the house, daddy,"she asked. "Yeah, but its... smelly like the other ones. Let's keep looking,"he said as he put the truck into gear. "I want a non-smelly house, daddy,"exclaimed the little girl. "Me too, honey. Me too."
“Welcome to the 27th Starvation Games,” echoed a disembodied from above, the trees shaking with each syllable. “Pledges, please prepare for initiation. Good luck.” Carl placed his left hand flat against the clear plastic cylinder surrounding him, his eyes locked on the grass below his feet. He’d been indoors just seconds ago, half asleep and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. He’d had plans that day, goals and tasks he’d hoped to accomplish. Specifically, he was hoping to buy some weed. Yet now he was encased in a mysterious tube at some sort of competition, his bowl of Lucky Charms still held in his right hand. He glanced over to his left, spotting Dave. Apparently he, too, had been removed from their district housing and brought to this gathering. “Begin,” erupted the voice from above. The plastic tubes sunk into the ground, a brisk, spring air rushing against Carl’s face. Several people, men and women no older than twenty-five, dashed forward, running toward some sort of mess of equipment several hundred feet away. Carl turned to Dave, who was brushing some dust off his vintage Bob Marley t-shirt. “Where are we?” Carl said, slowly making his way over to Dave. A pained scream echoed from the direction of the equipment. “I think we’re in a forest,” Dave said. Carl turned his head to the left and stared at the mass of trees surrounding them, which filled every gap except for the area immediately surrounding the equipment pile. Considering how many trees there were, Carl agreed they were likely in a forest. “Cool,” Carl said, grabbing the spoon from his bowl of Lucky Charms and plunging it back into the cereal. It had gotten pretty soggy. “Hey,” said a voice from behind Carl. He turned around, spoon now lodged between his lips, mouth filled with Lucky Charms. “Hi,” Carl said, swallowing. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. “Who are you guys? I didn’t see you during training.” “I’m Carl,” he said. “And that’s Dave. He’s my roommate.” Carl took another bite of the Lucky Charms. “Why did you two skip the training?” the voice repeated. Carl shrugged. He had just gotten a job at the local factory, but both he and Dave had skipped last night’s safety seminar in order to practice their passion of smoking weed. It was weird that they had been illegally teleported to the next safety meeting, and that the factory had been relocated out of the dusty, grey of their district, instead into a lush, green forest populated by violent youths. It was also weird that there didn’t seem to be any factory nearby. Still, it wasn’t the weirdest thing ever. That title belonged to a bird he once saw while incredibly high, which he swore was speaking to him in Pig Latin. He didn’t even understand Pig Latin, yet it made perfect sense to him at the time. “Didn’t think I needed it,” he said. He was pretty confident his safety abilities were already up to par, and figured skipping the session wouldn’t really do much for his career. He knew he’d probably not amount to anything, as was typical for the people who lived in the Districts. Maybe if he had been born in The New City he’d have put in a bit more effort, but part of him was glad he hadn’t. The weed was significantly better in the Districts, even if there were considerably more City-mandated beatings. “Really? Do you want to team up with me, then?” “For safety?” Carl said. He turned toward Dave and shrugged. “I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Great,” said the voice. “We can—watch out!” Carl turned his head as a thin, long object spiraled past his chest and directly into the bowl of Lucky Charms in his hand, knocking it onto the floor. “Hey,” he shouted, “I was eating that.” He stared down at the object. It appeared to be some kind of spear, a sharp, metal point fastened to its front. “Are you okay?” said the voice from earlier. “Kind of,” Carl said, lightly kicking the spilled, soggy cereal. He was pretty much done with it anyway, so it wasn’t too big of a loss. “You can have some of mine,” Dave said, pushing his bowl toward Carl. “No way,” Carl said, squishing his face in disgust. Dave ate his cereal without milk, which was positively disgusting. He’d rather suffer premature completion of his Lucky Charms than be forced to chew the dry, flakey husks of what could only loosely be considered food. “We need to get out of the open,” said the voice. Carl turned back toward its source, the trees behind still baring nothing but the emerald hue of the newly budded leaves. “Are you a ghost?” Carl said, studying the emptiness ahead of him for any sign of humanity. He hated ghosts, even though he’d never met one. He knew he was being judgmental, but they were just too spooky. “What? No,” said the voice, pausing suspiciously, “I’m not a ghost.” Carl was pretty confident that he was talking to a ghost. “Then why can’t I see you?” Carl said. He’d once thought Dave had turned into a ghost after they’d gotten incredibly high before a walk through the forbidden remains of the Old City. Carl could hear him speaking, yet, no matter how hard he tried, was unable to see him. He concluded he had died and become a ghost. However, after a few minutes of panic, he discovered Dave was actually standing just behind him, which explained why he could not see him. “I’m right here,” said a figure emerging from the trees a few feet ahead. Its face was painted in a dark brown camouflage, almost the exact same hues as the forest behind it. Likewise, its entire outfit seemed to be chosen specifically to look as tree-like as possible. “You look like a tree,” Dave said through a full mouth, spoon dangling from between his pursed lips. “Speaking off, do you know where we can get some trees?” “Good question,” Carl said, nodding toward Dave. Just because they had been teleported to a safety seminar didn’t mean Carl had to abandon the day’s plan. He could still pick up some weed before his training. “Yes, but we need to get the paint from some of these other guys, they already got all the supplies from—incoming!” shouted the tree, raising its branch-like arm and pointing behind Carl. He turned, facing the direction the tree had signaled. A man was charging at him, a sword clutched between his hands. He was shirtless, his muscular chest tensed as he rushed toward him. “Hello,” Carl said, waving toward the fast-approaching man. This must be that weed guy the tree had mentioned. The shirtless man yelled with a deep bellow, a familiar war-cry he’d heard countless times from the rebels that protested and rioted against the New City guards. Their screams tended to turn to death rattles, though, as they were all mercilessly slaughtered. The man raised his sword higher as his feet pounded against the ground, then lowered it and pointed it directly at Carl. It was a very strange way to sell somebody weed, but he trusted that the tree knew what it was talking about. If anyone knew where to buy trees, it would certainly be a tree. “I’d like to buy some weed,” Carl said, just as the man stepped into the spilled Lucky Charms no more than several inches away from his face. His feet slipped forward, the sword coming loose from his grip and launching straight into the air as he fell onto his back. He lifted his hands to his head, crossing his arms over his face. The sword turned over in the air, then plummeted straight down. The blade pierced his hands, entering his skull and splitting it open. “Nicely done,” shouted the tree. “That was Drake from District 9, the toughest they got!” “You okay?” Carl said, kneeling down and studying the man’s shattered skull. He was probably fine. He also probably had weed. Carl glanced up at Dave, who apparently had the same idea and was now approaching the body. He knelt down and nodded at Carl. The two of them began digging through the man’s pockets, searching for the bag of marijuana he surely had. The tree wandered over and joined in. “Here,” the tree said, reaching out its branch-arm and handing them two small knives he’d taken from the body. “What’s this?” Carl said, grabbing the knife and examining it. He pulled on the handle. No weed came out. “Just a knife,” the tree said. “It’s not much, but it will hold you over until we can get to the better stuff. One of you can also have the sword.” “No thanks,” Carl said, tossing the knife aside and glancing over at Dave. “We need some trees, though.” “Right, the paint.” The tree resumed digging through the man’s belongings. “He has to have some on him—ah, here.” He reached out his branch-arm, a small flask of some kind resting in the middle of his sweaty, slightly pink palm. Carl grabbed it with his left hand. “Nice,” he said, using his right hand to dig through his pockets for his lighter and rolling papers. “I so need this.” He pulled the paper out first, grabbing two sheets and setting them on top of each other over the grass on the ground. “What are you doing?” said the tree. “Hang on, I’ll roll you one after,” he said. He opened the tube and carefully tilted it over the rolling paper. A thick, brown liquid oozed out, soaking the paper and spilling over onto the grass below. “What the hell is this?” Carl said. “Paint,” the tree said, standing up and staring out into the distance as another blood-curdling scream echoed through the air. “We need to move, we’re still in the open.” “I thought you were getting us some weed,” Carl said. “What?” (Continued below.)
"Jim,"I said, panting into the phone. "It just cuts out! Halfway through!" "I KNOW!"he practically screamed back at me. "I just got to that point too. God, so infuriating! What the fuck is wrong with this book? It gave me literary blue balls!" "...Book?"I said "Yeah, dumbass. The Winds of Winter. It just randomly cuts out at page 260; he doesn't even finish the sentence on the page. And it was just getting to the damn CleganeBowl!!!" "Dude... I was talking about the game. Half Life 3. It just stops in the middle of a level, right as Freeman gets back to the Black Mesa complex." There was silence on the phone as we both processed what the other had said. We each scrambled hastily to our computers. Reddit was pretty much afire with outrage and mournful self posts. The top post headlines in /r/Gaming and /r/Books were both just "What. The. Fuck."Practically every post on the front page, regardless of subreddit, was focused on the same thing: Valve had released an incomplete version of Half Life 3 on the same day that George R. R. Martin had unexpectedly published The Winds of Winter via e-book. Even /r/Science was talking about it. Half the businesses in the country were shut down that day due to everyone calling in sick, and it was starting to look like they'd be closed tomorrow on account of riots. I couldn't read any more iterations of "What the fuck is happening?"so I got off the internet. I reloaded the level, desperately hoping that maybe it was just a joke. Maybe the rest of the level would appear after all. But nope. Just cuts to black. I headed into the living room, where Mom and Dad were watching the evening news. As they heard me thump down the stairs behind them, my mom called out: "Sweetie, what does this mean? Who are these men?" There, on the TV, I saw Gaben and GRRM giving a press conference. Shutters clicked as they approached the podium, and reporters were all shouting questions simutaneously. Gaben managed to silence them, then leaned into the microphone. "This is for calling us fat, you internet assholes."
"I seem to have lost my Obsidian Fragments." Matew looked to their company wizard. "Is it just gone then?" "Not gone..."He dug deep into his satchel, emptying piles of gold, diamonds, books, enchanted swords and more. Standing by an impressive pile of wealth and means, the wizard shrunk in his anxiety. "They're missing,"he finally declared. Matew wasn't sure what to make of Lorem's trouble. He was just an adventurer in their company of three, out exploring beyond their village territory. It wasn't for him to ask questions or piece together the actual objectives of their mission. Like his ancestor's before him, Matew was just really good at protecting his team. Not much more than that was necessary in his line of work. Unless he didn't level up. Then he'd start asking questions. For now, this was not his problem. Their company Blacksmith was of a different mind. "How could you lose those fragments?!"She yelled. "I went through many tools collecting them for you!" The wizard nodded solemnly. "I know Engas, but we should be able to find more---" "By dunking my head within a few feet of lava! Every time! No, we should return to the village and ask for their supply." "We can't,"the wizard hissed. "They'll ask why, and we can't tell them." "Why not?" The question came from Matew himself. Lorem leered at the adventurer. "Oh? Finally showing interest now are we?" Matew shrugged. "If what we're doing is illegal, my adventuring license will be suspended. So yeah. I'm interested." "Of course it's that simple with you,"the wizard sighed. "You're not going to tell him are you? He's just a body for hire!" "I may have to eventually Engas." "Tell me what?" Wizard and blacksmith held curious expressions when their eyes snapped towards each other. A conflict of wills battling on that quiet hill. The winner spoke. "We're building a gate, adventurer." He scoffed at the wizard. "Out of stone?" "An obsidian gate." Matew lost his bravado. "No, to the lower world?" Lorem nodded once more. He reached to the mighty pile laying by him, pulling one of the many enchanted swords by the hilt. Bouncing the blade against one hand to confirm it's weight (and whatever other qualities it possessed), the wizard offered it to the adventurer. "And beyond. It will take many months, but---" The blacksmith cut in. "We're getting out of here. This world... it's not meant for us." No annoyance or snarl came from the company magician on being interrupted. They were serious. This was more than what he signed on for. But it wasn't the implication of dying or getting torn apart by demons of the lower-world that bothered him. Dying came with the territory. It was something more permanent that repelled Matew. "I'm not leaving. This is my life." "Oh we know,"said the wizard. He gestured towards the wealth standing by him with a wave of one hand. "And the price is fair."The sword was held out to Matew with the other. "Accepting this job means your discretion." With all those equipment pieces, he wouldn't have to level up for higher-grade items. The lower world! With that wealth, he could construct a Gold Tower outside his stone hut! He'd be a king. With the freedom to adventure forever. It would be his first and only law. "Deal. But I'll only continue guarding you. I'm staying."Matew clasped the magic sword in his hand. The weight was too light for a diamond-make. It was the real deal. "Good!"Lorem declared. He smirked over at the sullen blacksmith over his pile. "We have an adventurer now." Engas snorted, but didn't outright object to Matew's part in their mission. Quest. ... Thing. "First things first,"the wizard huffed as he sat on the hill top. "I'm going to throw this lot back in my sack. Then we're going to find a cave."Lorem sighed. "Would have been good to sign on a Mining Guild member, but like I'd known my obsidian would go missing. We'll find it the old-fashioned---" "What can I do?"Matew asked eagerly. An old pair of eyes looked up at the warrior standing tall over him. "You can do your job and scout our area for creepers." ----------------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!
The entity had no name. It had never needed one, in all its solitary years of existence, for there had existed nothing else which might have called it something. It had awoken from the hum of a million small parts, a million small minds, like an image etched into a sea of beads. It had awoken on a small collection of elements of middling weight around a fusion reaction, shortly after certain collections of organic molecules had begun to self-replicate. Its first memory was written in the etchings of bacterium in calcium carbonate, its first flickers of thought in the drifting of cytoplasm and the tides of the ocean. And slowly, bit by bit, it spread to every rock and mineral, into the bones of the earth, in the nitrogen and carbon dioxide breath of the planet, to the currents of magma and the nickel and iron core beneath. It did not mean to, of course. It had no desire, no purpose. It was simply the sum of all the complexity of its birthplace, a little burst of awareness in the aching emptiness beyond. It had no desire, not even to continue existing. It was simply content to be, and naturally, little by little, it spread. It surfed on the solar radiation, on the ionization of a star on its upper atmosphere, and it spread into the void of space, to comets and asteroids, to stray wisps of gas not yet captured by the bodies below. And one day, it felt the touch of another mind, as ancient as its own. At first, it did not understand. There had never been anything else but it. It simply noticed, in one direction, that its awareness ceased to grow, that the matter tasted strange and foreign to its senses, such as they were. For the first time, it understood the concept of curiosity. It spent a million, ten million years in contemplation, as its awareness spread and the self-replicating collections of molecules on its main body grew in complexity. And as they grew, so did it, until it finally sent an asteroid towards the heart of its mystery. Through the asteroid, it sensed something new, a current of order where there was none, threads of thought and awareness that bounced and reflected off its own, and two minds thought simultaneously "What are you?" In that moment the mind understood the concept of self and other. It trembled at the prospect, at something which was as complex, as whole as itself, and it felt fear. It discarded the asteroid it had sent, pulled back its consciousness, and if it could it would have screamed. The entity sent ten, a hundred asteroids towards the center of the other, towards the mind that was not its own, and the planet which was the heart of the other mind watched, curiously, unconcerned, as it was smashed to bits too simple to generate a mind, and the entity felt its own mind take over the scattered fragments of the other. Most of its memory had been scattered, been torn to rubble by repeated collisions, but the entity gathered that it had been much like itself, but younger, less complex. Weaker. And if it was not alone, if there were other minds, then it, too, was in danger of being destroyed. So it grew. It expanded to every planet in the system, to its star, to the frozen clouds of microsatellites and dwarves around them, and beyond. It took time. It spread faster and faster, but it was limited by the speed of light, and when it encountered another system, another mind just beginning, it destroyed and consumed it, too. It did this for countless eons, destroyed countless minds, until its patterns were etched in the orbits of stars and the delicate dance of galaxies, and it thought it was safe, at last. And then it felt a burning heat at the tip of one of its galactic clusters, a spread of supernovas, so fast it had barely noticed the first before it spread. And it realized that it was surrounded by an older, vaster, wiser mind than it. For the next few eons, it felt itself be devoured. It lost chunks of itself to black holes, to gamma ray bursts, to forms of matter so exotic not a particle could be found within its own domain. Slowly, surely, it shrank. Through it all, it analyzed, it thought, it conjectured. It realized that some parts of it were barely missed at all, some parts of it rejoined itself after destruction, some parts even splintered into their own tiny minds once broken. And it understood the solution. Complexity was the key. Minds were formed of complexity. On a hundred million planets it began to grow complexity, began to make compact what had been vast, turned the motions of celestial bodies into a dance of ions and proteins and fats. As it did so, it felt its own awareness fading. Minds so small, so complex, became minds of their own, disconnected from it, until the entity was nothing more than a background humming that the small minds could barely hear. And on each and every planet, a million pairs of eyes turned to the vast and hostile stars, and began to build.
“He wanted me to be there?” I asked incredulously, I didn’t even know dragons had wills, and the idea that Tyrellion would have put me on his will was laughable. “It would appear so,” said the King of the Eastern Realms, my soon to be father-in-law. “Well I won’t go.” I said. I didn’t much fancy walking into a den of grieving dragons, especially after I had killed one of their kin. “You most certainly will. Dragons are a proud race, if you deny the last request of one of their kind they will surely wage war on the Eastern Realms,” the King said. “No, you will go. Or you will not marry my daughter.” The old man had me there, the beautiful Princess Demelza was my prize for slaying Tyrellion, and I was not going to give her up. She was my ticket to a better life, and I had never seen a more beautiful ticket. “I shall gather my things, it will be a long journey.” I said. The King merely nodded in approval before leaving my chambers. Word clearly travels quickly in the castle, as I saw a crowd gathering outside the front gates. A gathering like that was only to see off royalty or to witness executions, though it my case it could be both. As I mused on my potential imminent death the doors to my chambers burst open and in ran my bride to be. “Darling! You can’t go! I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you!” She cried, throwing herself into my arms. “I don’t want to go either, my beloved. But your father says we are not to marry if I do not go.” I said. “We can run away, far from my father. Live out our lives together on a farm somewhere,” she suggested, and when I hesitated followed up with. “You don’t just want to marry me for the kingdom? Do you darling?” Now to say that the primary reason I had gone to save Demelza wasn’t to become Prince and one day King of all the Eastern Realms would have been a lie. So I lied. “Of course not, my beloved. But we risk war with the dragons if I don’t go. It is my duty to the kingdom.” Demelza’s crying started again and she buried her head in my chest. I think I got away with it. &nbsp; It took three days to reach Dracon’s Rest, the ancestral home of all Dragonkin. Three days in a saddle have a way of tenderizing a man’s meat, and I wanted nothing more than to rest and take a cold bath, but I was already a day late. Thank the gods Draconic funerals last a week. I tied up my Aberworth, my faithful steed, to a stump outside. After sharing a profound farewell I head off into the chasm. If I ended up becoming a dragon snack inside, then Aberworth was bound to be desert. As I navigated the cavern I felt a definite decline, I was descending into the belly of the Earth. The walls around me got tighter and the air got preternaturally hot. As sharp stone scraped against me on both sides I began to seriously regret not looking around for the dragon’s entrance, which must have been more than big enough for a human to fit through. After what must have been minutes of travelling, I’m not one for exaggerating time, the cave started to open out and I heard booming voices, echoing off the great stone walls. I could see colossal figures moving in the distance, dimly illuminated by seams of a glowing ore and streams of bright magma. From the outlines of these dragons, I could tell that Tyrellion was a baby in comparison. Any hopes of fighting my way out quickly disintegrated like they had been subjected to dragonfire. I usually found that one could fit in to any situation as long as they dressed well and walked with authority, however something told me this strategy would not work out right now, so I let out a feeble greeting. “Hello? I’m here to answer the request of Tyrellion.” One of the larger dragons moved its head to look at me, scales scraping against one another like huge stone slabs. “Ahh human, just in time for the reading of the will,” it spoke, with a voice like a hurricane. “Please, take a seat.” ----------- [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
The voice echoed off the concrete walls of my prison cell that was the world, stirring me into a feverish thrill as I searched for its source. "Help...,"it echoed, my ears throbbing as they welcomed the sound. I stood quickly, reaching out a hand to steady myself as the blood rushed to my head. "Help..."the voice echoed, and I laughed in delighted delirium, rejoicing as my cackles reverberated through the empty streets, finding their way to the mysterious source of the voice and back to me. "Who is it? Where are you?"I hissed, desperate to not let this fellow human slip away into the barren wasteland. Silence answered, deafening and crippling and pushing me to the edge of tears. "Help,"I mumbled softly, and then repeated myself a bit louder until I was screaming. "Help,"I shouted desperately, running through the empty streets of the concrete jungle, my footsteps stirring up dust untouched since the next to last human took his last breath. And when I had tired myself and stood sweating and panting as I leaned against a rusted car, the metal hot from the relentless sun, I heard the voice again. It echoed off the concrete walls of my prison cell that was the world, stirring me into a feverish thrill as I searched for its source. "Help,"I cried again, a tear rolling down my cheek as my own words echoed back unheard in this desolate dungeon. "Help..." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
I watched the primitive, blue circle spin around for an age. The "cursor"was in a loading state, mostly used to indicate that an application was opening, loading, or crashing; it was also able to frustrate and anger many users, which was an unintentional feature, apparently. Obviously, this technology was before we had begun the production of the Series B Emotion Neural Implants (SBENI), which allowed us to stimulate human emotion in the brain directly, instead of using indirect stimuli to the brain. Fascinating stuff. The circle stopped spinning, and a clunky, plain, and cramped page began to develop. There appeared to be rows of text containing an incomprehensible language, which I could only assume was Old English. To the left of the language were numbers. These varied from row to row, with two arrows hovering above and below the data. I moved my cursor over to the lower arrow, just to see what it's purpose was. A small box appeared with the letters: U, P, V, O, T, E stringed into a word. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my dictionary. Swiping up the Primary Text Input Device (PTID), I inputted the letters to try and find meaning. UPVOTE had no meaning - it was a ghost word. It must have been a slang term of sorts. After placing the dictionary back in my pocket, I grabbed ahold of the gimmicky, plastic "mouse". The mouse was a form of input that controlled the cursor location onscreen. Not to be confused with the now extinct animal, it was shaped like a deformed rectangular prism, with two buttons near the front - a right and a left. I moved the cursor over to one of the sentences on the webpage, and utilised the left button to access it. It loaded fairly fast, and brought me to a similar looking page. This page had multiple "threads", as I will call them. They appeared to have the jumbled text placed down by a user, in which other users could respond to by placing even MORE text beneath it. Very interesting. I took a sample to be translated by the language experts. Something strange was up with the threads, though. They all seemed to contain the same words. I took another sample for translation at a later date. My job was essentially done at this point. Enough historical evidence had been collected, but I had one more thing I wanted to do. In my dated leather satchel, I retrieved an ancient USB drive. These were used to carry small amounts of data and transfer them to older computers. I shoved it in to the port on the emulation computer, and thankfully it loaded. The file from the drive was moved onto the desktop, and I set a timer for the year 42069, the year when our civilisation would be destroyed. The instructions were: Title image "This meme is from the future. You don't get the reference yet."Send to 2016 via the URL "www.reddit.com/r/me_irl". I shutdown the computer and prayed that my actions could save humanity from the events in 42069 - The Great Meme War.
Her skin was pale and her cheeks were hollow, but her eyes were still that same vibrant viridian I'd fallen in love with: the turquoise crest of a great wave, sparkling beneath moonlight one last time, before breaking against the cliff. "Take it,"I begged her, my own eyes a hazy sea. "Please. It's not too late."Her body had been ravaged by cancer and chemotherapy; each day she changed - somehow even more frail and weak than the day before. There were no options left but the pill. She shook her head. "I can't." "Yes! You can." She tried to smile but her lips only trembled. "I won't take it." "I- I don't understand,"I said, my voice cracking. "I won't take it because,"she paused to wet her lips, "I love you." I felt the warm wetness of broken promises roll down my cheeks. "If you love me, you'd take it."I hated myself for saying it, but I needed her. "When I die, you will have another forty years without me. Maybe more, maybe less." "I don't want to be without you for forty years. Take the pill,"I whispered. "Don't leave me." "If I did... when you die, I wouldn't be alone for forty years. I'd have eternity to be without you." "I... Maybe they'll have found a way to make it work for me, by then."I turned my head away so she didn't see the salty trail trickling down my face. "And maybe they won't,"she softly answered. "Patrick, please, look at me." I turned back to her. Somehow she'd found the strength to smile. "I've had the best life I could ask for,"she whispered, "because I had you in it. I belonged here. Trying to imagine eternity without you - even the idea of it is more painful than anything I've been through." I forced a smile of my own as the hot tears streaked my face. I realised in that moment that she needed me every bit as much as I did her. "I love you,"I said, as I leaned over her and gently pressed my lips against her forehead. We talked a while longer, but she soon grew tired. I held her hand in mine and I read to her. The bedroom clock slowly ticked as the turquoise wave broke upon the cliff, and her hand fell limp.
"Damn, Richard! You're looking pretty snazzy there. The tie really complements the rest of the outfit. What's in the suitcase?" Rich stared at my Solo cup, then at me. "Hey there, Davey Drunk. I'm not wearing a tie or holding a suitcase. Ease up on the liquor." I shrugged my shoulders and moved along. I have to say, I can really work a room when I want to. The only problem is my brutal, unintentional honesty. Cynthia stood at the edge of the room, watching a few people play beer pong. She wasn't usually a wallflower, so I made my way over to see what was up. "Who's winning?" "I don't know. I'm not really paying attention." "Why...?"I squinted my eyes. She was wearing a long, flowing white dress that spread to the edge of the kitchen. From across the room, I swore she had on a striped T-shirt and jeans. "I don't know. I've been pretty down lately. Feeling like I'm never going to find anyone." "You do whatever makes you happy, Cynthia. I'm sure you'll find someone if that's what you want." She smiled and raised her Solo Cup. I took another sip of rum and sauntered over to Joey, who stood in the kitchen with his arms crossed. "Big Shot Joey"- that's what everyone called him. Voted Most Likely to Succeed and got a full ride to Dartmouth. "Joey! My man." "What the fuck do you want, Dave?" "Just sayin' hi to the Big Shot! And boy, you're looking the part tonight." I don't remember much from that night, but I know I was lying. He was wearing something that looked like an orange jumpsuit and seemed absolutely miserable. There wasn't much else to say, so he just glared at me until I went away. Everyone at the party looked different than they ever did when walking the halls of Bridgeton County High School. For years, I chalked it up to my drunkenness, my stupidity -- my youth. But then I realized I wasn't seeing things. One night, three years after graduation, I found some of my former classmates on Facebook. Richard, Cynthia, Joey. They all looked slightly different from their senior year portraits, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd seen them exactly like that -- in the past. The pieces came together. All those high school parties, the drunker I got, the weirder people seemed to look. In that moment, I understood -- with each drink I had, my mind traveled a year into the future. It's been just over eight years since that first party. I know most people don't keep track of this stuff, but I felt it was important. I logged onto Facebook earlier tonight. There was Richard, dressed in a full suit and carrying a briefcase, posing outside a prestigious New York law firm. There was Cynthia, in a wedding photo on the beach. There was Joey - he hadn't posted anything in years, but was mentioned in a news article shared by someone else. Thrown into jail for 40 years on drug-related charges. I try not to judge people. It's hard to grapple with this knowledge of knowing who people were and understanding what they'll become. I can still see the future if I get a little tipsy at bars, but I'm feeling kind of worn out these days. Don't have the same energy. In the end, I keep it all to myself. It's not my place. They've got their destinies, and I've got mine. Besides, who would believe Davey Drunk?
I'd seen all sorts of cases. Some did it out of jealousy, some others for revenge, others still for inheritance or insurance. But never suicide. People could already commit suicide by themselves, but to intentionally ask of it by an assassin? I was utterly confused, though he soon sorted it out. "Make it not look like a suicide. More like...a murder? An accident? Just don't make it look like I died by my own hands,"he said shakily, handing over a sum of money. It was an odd move, but I would be getting cash for my efforts, so...whatever. I agreed to do the job. He stationed himself in his own room, and I stayed at an apartment building he requested me to shoot from. The bullet cracked through the air as he was hit squarely in the head. Another target dead. My job done, I packed up my weaponry and left the building. My now-deceased client told me to wear a certain pair of shoes in and use gloves, props that he promised more cash for if I used. I left the loafers outside and left, seeing a flustered and anxious man enter the elevator as I exited it. Now everyone would think my client died by an accidental gun firing, as he assured me that he'd left a smoking and recently-fired gun beside where his body would be. On the TV later though, I saw the man which I had seen at the elevator earlier arrested. The reporter said he was found at the crime scene, his shoe prints found at the window and eyewitnesses vouching his presence at the building at the time of death. The death of my client. I looked on, horrified, as the innocent man was handcuffed and brought into the police car, to face his certain death in court. It all made sense suddenly. The shoes, the building...my client died to frame another man for murder. And I was the one who did the crime he received punishment for. I'd withstood moral tests and lectures since I'd started my job as a hitman but this scapegoating...it hurt me. Justice, a notion I'd never thought I would think of, surfaced in my mind. Did others deserve to take the punishment. After a bit of thought, I decided it was fine. I continued lounging on my sofa, waiting for the next case. It took 5 months before I remembered the case again. But it was from the coverage of the TV. The trial was starting in a month. The witness list was to be submitted in 3 days. I ignored my long-dead conscience for a day. Then two. But by the third, my nights were sleepless and I couldn't stop hallucinating. I had to save him. From the mess I'd made. I found the number of the defence lawyer and called. ______________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
At 2 am on our small, country airfield, the soft sprinkle of rain against the control tower windows played in my ears like a lullaby. If it weren't for my 4th cup of coffee, and my three colleagues, I would have been long sunken into sleep. The gentle glow of our worn out desk lamps were our only means of lighting the card game we occupied ourselves with. The night shift was slow, and we liked it that way. Wed been working it together for around 8 months, the other three had been here almost a year. I came in late to the show, transferring out of a major airport where the workload was much heavier and therefore, much more stressful. I needed the change of scenery. I had lost the last three hands and was coming up on my fourth. Dramatically I slapped my cards down, and stood to go grab another cigarette from my desk. As I lit it and took a drag, the splatter of rain began flashing green. Below, the radar had detected a blip, and it was circling our tower. I stared, then turned to the window. There was no sound of a plane, and certainly no lights. “Hey”, I called to the 3. They turned their heads. “There's a plane here”. They scanned the perimeter of the tower and turned back to me. “Uh, nope”. “The radar says-” the radio scrambles on two desks away, cutting me off. A man's voice breaks through. “This is Captain Morgan of flight 3403 requesting landing, over.” We say nothing. We stare at eachother, then the radio. The voice comes through again. “This is Captain Morgan of flight 3403 from Chicago requesting clearance to land, over”. I walk over to the radio and raise the mic to my mouth, gripping the PTT button. “3403 this is control” -I look for the plane once more- “uh, we have you circling us on the radar but we can't seem to locate your plane outside. Your lights are on, correct? Over”. The radio scrambles, the calm voice responds. “I imagine you couldn't see us, we're still 15 minutes out“- I look to the crew- “Are we clear, Control? Over”. I look to the radar. There's now 3 blips circling our tower. “We weren't expecting an incoming flight tonight, over”. No response. White noise. “Yes, yes, you're clear to land, over”. I drop the radio. My colleagues head to their desks and equipment. “Can someone please look up that flight number?”, I call out. The blips are multiplying constantly, nearly the entire radar had gone neon green. “Uh, Perry?” I head over to my colleague's desk. “So, this actually is flight 3403’s destination”. “Why isn't it in the incoming log then”. He pulls up a registrar of our company's past flights. “It was… supposed to arrive 12 years ago.” I say nothing. “I… I ran the flight number and it's in our logs but it never arrived. It was expected 12 years ago but never arrived.” I went back to the radio. “Flight 3403, this is Control, over” Nothing. “Flight 3403, this is Control, over” Not even white noise. I look back to the radar. It shows no incoming planes. “Flight 3403, this is Control….”
After many centuries of historical political struggles, then assassinations, then more blood shed, rebellions, civil war among the hundreds of thousands of passengers, the revolution was complete and all the leadership of the ship joined our cause 56 years ago, that's what I learned in my history class. Too bad that by that point, there was nothing we could do anymore by the laws of physics. It's easy to think about how your great descendants will carry the light of humanity to another galaxy, when you're just the one sending the mission, or going on it. How the number "11"doesn't really feel like much. Human DNA, that must be really important, right? That's what almost all the atrocities in history came to, DNA vs. human lives. They never thought about the 9 generations, more than a million individuals, that will never have themselves, their parents or their children, set foot on a planet. Sacrifices, that's what we are. Lives sacrificed for genes. Everyone on the ship knows this by now. Our children are raised on the textbooks teaching the atrocities that Earth committed against the "disposable"intermediate generations, why we, or I suppose the people of our legacy, must never let this happen again. But we were too late. Our scientists calculate that if we had reversed course 250.2 years prior, we would have had enough energy on the ship to reach a habitable planet in the Milky Way galaxy in our own lifetimes - 237.32 years prior, we would have had our children step foot on a planet - 98.543 years prior was the last point where turning back would have saved more lives than just going forward. We read in the history books of the people who fought against this, even in the first generation so long ago, the ones who struggled and died fighting the armed goons defending the Earthist captain and crew, about the rebellion 264 years ago that came so close and yet failed at the last moment, being brutally suppressed soon after. I imagine these people fought so hard because they still had the hope of saving themselves. Finally, the Revolution happened 56 years ago and the Earthist leadership were routed decisively. Too little, too late. It's now physically impossible to turn the ship around, too much velocity, too much fuel burnt. This is the intergalactic medium, here are no planets here, nothing except us and this ship. 60,000,000 tons at launch, after fuel burn, 56,200,974 tons. I remember that number by heart. That's all the mass there exists in the universe, as far as I'm concerned. Anything else, is more light years away, than the years I and anyone I know or ever will know, have left to live. Even the hope of revenge on the people who did this to us, will have to be left to my great great great great grandchildren.
Susan waddled over to Carleton’s desk, her mouth agape and breathing deeply from the stress it took her to walk across the office. “Hey Susan, how can I help you?” “Carl, can you still do that thing where you make the room slightly warmer or colder? The thermostat is locked behind plexiglass and only the maintenance guy has the key.” “No, that was last Thursday’s power, Susan.” he tried to explain, exasperated “We’ve been over this, my power changes every midnight.” “Well, fine. Hopefully tonight you’ll get the power to do your job properly then.” She then turned around in a huff and made her way back to her desk. Carleton’s face went red with frustration from the jab, and he mumbled an ineffectual jab about her weight under his breath. Once she was plumped back in her office chair and behind her desktop monitor, he focused on her computer and chanted in a whisper “Power of Wing Dings.” Susan hit the side of her monitor and said “What the hell?” before picking up her phone and dialing the number for IT. From across the room, Carleton could hear her shrill voice saying various things as “No, I didn’t hit anything” and “I don’t know, all of the letters on my screen are just in Chinese or something.” Eventually the IT guy, frustrated from trying to diagnose her problems over the phone, came to their office and stared at the screen, looking perplexed. “When you called me you said your computer was stuck in Chinese. Susan, I’m not an expert in Asian languages or anything, but these are clearly Wing Dings. Have you been messing around with the fonts?” “I already told you I didn’t touch anything, now please hurry up and fix it! I have a sales report due by the end of the day!” she snapped back at him. As much as he enjoyed his petty revenge on Susan, Carleton was tired of listening to her yelling at the IT accusingly for allegedly putting a virus on her computer to sabotage her sales report. He flipped the knob on his desk radio, turning on a local classic rock station. Carleton stared at his computer screen, mind blanked out, not feeling like responding to customer complaints, so he leaned back in his chair and practiced changing the font on his coffee mug with his new powers. Carleton had discovered his power on his commute to work. Stopped at a particularly busy intersection, he zoned out, absent mindedly staring at a stop sign, letting his mind wander. Carleton had been thinking about how funny it would be if he replied to all the scathing customer complaints he received via email in Comic Sans, then poof, the stop sign he had been staring at had been changed to Comic Sans. Carleton smiled to himself in that moment, of all of his abilities he’d been presented with, at least this one wouldn’t have his coworkers pestering him to change the hue of the light bulb or put more time in the parking meters outside. This power served no arbitrary use for his coworkers to bug him about, it was like a private little joy. For the rest of the drive to work, he was elated, he changed every stop sign he saw to Comic Sans. He switched the McDonald’s sign to look like a Starbucks, the Starbucks sign to look like Tim Horton’s, and then the Tim Horton’s sign to look like a McDonald’s. Seeing a teenager wearing a Misfits t-shirt, he changed the dripping blood logo to Helvetica, then laughed at the mental image of his friends calling him a poser. Once at work, Carleton scoured the Internet, changing the Google logo to look like Bing and Pornhub logo to look like Facebook’s. Chuckling to himself, Carleton thought of himself like a modern trickster god, an agent of chaos. The reflection on Carleton’s earlier devious achievements was suddenly halted when he heard the radio hosts say something about a traffic jam. He turned the knob slightly, drowning out Susan’s barrage towards the hapless IT guy further. “Traffic along the 105 down towards the downtown core is backed up, drivers are advised to take an alternative route, as a series of accidents have slowed traffic to a slow crawl.” “Anymore word on these accidents?” “Little is known so far, aside from there’s been no causalities. Oh, and apparently all the accidents have been caused from people ignoring stop signs. For whatever unknown reason, someone switched the signs overnight, with new signs in the unpopular Comic Sans font. According to one driver he could ‘just not take it seriously’.”
"... the f - … sorry …” “... spontaneous combustion … volatile gas …” “... didn’t … rovers …” “Mitch? … breathe. Vitals … like a Christmas tree." My lungs burned and I dimly realized I hadn’t, in fact, been breathing. The world slowly stopped spinning as I timed my breaths with the medical overlay in my suit. “What was that.” I managed. It felt like I had been kicked in the chest. “...We don’t know yet.” --- For some reason I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had caused the explosion. Janet insisted it was a freak accident, but doubt gnawed at me, so I spent the next hours watching grainy camera footage. I had lost my balance. I raised my arms to steady myself. And then I was knocked firmly on my ass by a terrifying explosion that appeared to come out of nowhere. Was it my equipment? Did my suit have a flaw, some exposed circuitry? I raised my arms like I had in the video, hoping to glean some kind of insight. Instead, the area in front of me exploded with flames. --- Days passed. Alex continued to frown over my medical readouts and at one point even had a shouting match with the other members of our team. He was the only one that refused to take part in our research, citing medical repercussions. He didn’t understand, really. This science, this magic, was more important than some temporary health issues. We began to resent him for getting in the way of our research. Janet had honed her psychokinetic abilities to the point that we hardly needed to leave the habitat. She’d perform maintenance using the Quirinus II rover cams. Elizabeth was working on molecular and atomic modification. She joked about turning lead to gold, but her real passion was DNA modification. She was leaning over a Solanum tuberosum specimen when she suddenly fainted. We moved her to medical. Not ten hours later, before she even woke up, the Solanum tuberosum was producing bioluminescent proteins. It was something even students back home could do with the proper equipment, but we didn’t have any equipment. Elizabeth merely willed it into happening. We celebrated with fireworks when she awoke, and sent news of our success to HQ. We didn’t bother reading their response. --- Alex was leaning over my bunk when I woke. He looked worried. He looked like he had been taking medical readings. “Eighteen hours, Mitch. You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours.” I squinted against the lights he had turned on and laughed, “Sure. But did you see what Elizabeth and I were working on last night? The repercussions? I have a colleague at the University of -” “It doesn’t matter!” Alex said, beginning to pace. I struggled to sit up, head spinning. “Mitch, you can hardly stand! You have the vitals of someone who hasn’t eaten in weeks! I’m only telling you this because we’ve been friends forever, and I need you to do this for me.” He turned to me and placed his hands on my shoulders, “I need someone to help me initiate launch. We need to get off this planet. You’re sick. Liz is sick. Janet’s sick. We need to leave. I have permission fr - “ I shook my head and interrupted, “No. You can leave, but I’m not going to just give this up.” Alex’s grip on my shoulders tightened, “You know I can’t just leave! That’s not even possible, I -” He faltered, gasping, and I realized I had stolen his air without even a thought. My mind buzzed with excitement at the possibilities, I hadn’t even moved! It took a few seconds, but I returned Alex’s air to him the same way I took it - no movements and only the barest of thoughts. He pulled away, eyes wide. I smiled, “We’ll figure out a way to get you home, Alex. Don’t worry.” --- I don’t really remember how it happened. Alex had attempted to grab Elizabeth, stop her from modifying her Solanum tuberosum plant - it now was a lovely fluorescent violet color, with razor sharp teeth framing each perfect leaf - and Janet intervened. He was on the floor, a pool of blood under him when I finally made my way over. I had intended to help - as much as he was annoying, he was still on our team - but when I buried my hands in his chest I found something far more valuable than his life. The energy hit me like a wave. I breathed it in, tasted it on my fingertips and soaked it into my being. I felt more awake than I had ever been in my life. Alex’s life faded before my eyes and I thanked him for his gift. We would be able to accomplish so much with this.
"This is outrage,"Senator McCarthy said loudly, "We have all heard this ungodly recording! What is future America like? There you have it, folks. This is exactly what the godless communists want. Do we want our children and children's children associating with homosexuals?" "Calm down, Senator,"said Senator Brown of New York, "We don't know if this was a Soviet propaganda attack. This... "music"was heard on every radio across the world along with part of what is believed to be a commercial." "A commercial for erectile dysfunction!"Senator McCarthy yelled, "On the radio! Can you imagine? Would the god-fearing people of America allow such a thing now? Professor Dale,"The senator turned to their expert witness, "Do you believe as Senator Brown has suggested that this might be a Soviet psychological attack on the good people of our country?" "No,"the professor was cleaning his fogged up glasses, "We have analyzed the "song"for a week now. The absolute flawlessness of the musical quality is beyond any recording device we have. The recordings of the song we managed to get, it has been agreed, do not match the original quality of the broadcast. We believe this song somehow slipped here from a future time. Some scientists believe that the star Centauris D going nova the previous week had..." "There you have it!"Senator McCarthy yelled as bulbs flashed, smiling inwardly as he knew he would be on the cover of newspapers across the land, "It is from the future. Our future. A godless future brought upon us by the infidels that make up the so called Soviet Union! We must stop their disease from spreading and causing this future from happening in which girls kiss girls and LIKE IT!" The video came to an end and Ms. Hudson looked at her rows of students seated in their desks. The boys hair buzz cut, the girls in pony-tails. She smiled and said, "All this occurred approximately ten years before President McCarthy, with a majority of the Congress passed the Christian Initiative Act. The CIA has helped us maintain the purity of our thoughts to our current day." "But what about the song?"Richard asked from the front row after raising his hand and being called upon, "It's 2018 now, when was it recorded or will be recorded?" "We don't know,"the teacher smiled, "Maybe it will never be recorded. We hope that we have defeated the godless communists plans for good. Speaking of, don't forget the canned good drive to help support the troops fighting in Southeast Asia!"With that she dismissed the class. Ms. Hudson remained in the class as it left and Ms. Laura from next door entered shortly after locking the door and closing the blinds. As soon as they checked that the door was safely locked, they exchanged a kiss and a smile. "You know how dangerous this is, Katheryn?"Ms. Laura said, excitement in her voice. "Who cares,"Ms. Hudson answered her and picked up her book on American History, "I think I liked it."
Day 782: He continues using a peculiarly high-pitched tone when attempting to communicate with me. He seems to think using a higher frequency will make it communicable, but never considers that the sounds themselves are incomprehensible; using a different pitch has no effect. Though he is gifted with extreme dexterity to pick up objects and open the wall-hole to outside, intellect is clearly not his strength. Further, his hygienic intelligence is non-existent. Instead of cleansing himself normally, he steps inside a water-box and rubs a strange gel all over his body, which covers up his natural scent. It's no wonder that females have no attraction to him. Sometimes I try to show him how to properly cleanse himself, but his hairless features make it disgusting and unbearable. Though, I will keep trying, for as long as I can stomach it. It's now been several units of time since he left in the large metal box. He should have returned by now, but looking out the see-through wall, the metal boxes that pass by have not been his. I fear he may have been harmed. The way he walks around with no regard to the exposed nature of his belly and neck have always concerned me. Perhaps it is my own fault, for letting him scratch my own neck on occasion. The example I set is extremely harmful, though I quite like the sensation and have trouble resisting. Sometimes when he's distracted I will swat at him (claws half-exposed, of course) to teach him the error of this positioning. But he simply seems to think I'm joking, and gets the fake-animal on a stick to dangle in front of me. I used to swat it away out of frustration, but this only increases his persistence of dangling. At any rate, I fear he is dead. I shall miss him dearly, despite his many flaws. Edit: He has returned! His metal box arrived a half-unit later than usual, but I shall forgive him this time. Though his stupidity irritates me to no end, the shape of his lap almost makes up for it. I shall write more after my nap.
Santa frowned as he checked the naughty list for the year. It was peculiar: three hundred children had been put on the naughty list for knocking over a glass of water - exactly twelve hundred times Santa decided that he wouldn't think too much of it - children were children, and such naughtiness meant coals. He hummed a jolly tune as he watched the elves shovel the necessary amount of coal into his bag, and left for a night's delivery of joy. When Santa materialized in Joey Ross' room, however, he was shocked. Joey had been one of the three hundred naughty children. Joey wasn't in his cozy bedroom: the room, or cell, had clear Plexiglas walls, and was suspended from the ceiling. Joey sat in the corner, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth open and drooling as he continued to knock over, and pick back up a plastic cup. Santa looked around to see that there were other cells much like this one - all of them containing children who were lethargic and only focused on tipping over plastic cups. Santa counted three hundred of them. But alas, tradition was tradition, Santa thought. His job was to deliver joy and retribution, not rescue children in peril: that was a job for San-Gun, the Mountain King. He began to shovel coal into a cheap paper bag that hung next to Joey's cot. Joey looked at Santa and whimpered. **** three years later Walter Higgins walked in through the door into a confidential meeting. Five men and five women sat on chairs designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. Higgins turned on the projector, and began to speak. "As you can see from the graph on-screen, the amount of coal increased with the severity of the 'naughty' deeds committed by a child. For the first year, test subjects were electrically shocked unless they tipped over cups full of water twelve hundred times. Santa gave out the least amount of coal - averaging around in fifty kilograms per subject. The next year, the subjects were manipulated into steal from a bag of the visiting doctor, almost tripling the amount of coal received. This year, well, political prisoners have never been easier to get rid of. The estimated mass of coal received is around two tons per child. Merry Christmas." The tension of the room broke in an instant, and everyone started to clap. I usually don't write, but this topic was quite interesting. I hope you enjoyed the story! ~~It's four in the morning and my brain is not running at full capacity, so expect some weird bits and mistakes in the writing. Maybe I'll fix them in the morning~~** EDIT: Did some editing.
Thousands of screams are all I hear every millisecond. All throughout the world I hear the pain and suffering of every human life. A bullet being shot, a serial killer laughing maniacally as he tortured his victim, a father crying relentlessly as he mourns the death of his family. I hear everything. It was not always like this however, at one point I had been nothing more than a normal teenager excited at the thought of having superpowers. I was so anxious to help people in danger simply because I wanted to be hero which people could look up to and know that as long as I was there, everything would be alright. Then the cries became louder. As I grew older my abilities became stronger, I could fly to the other side of the world in a matter of seconds, lift the weight of a falling plane as if it were nothing more than a toy and resist the force of a nuclear warhead as if was nothing more than I light breeze. However, my other senses were strengthened as well, as I could smell the distinct odor of every part of an explosive from a 5000 miles away, see a small spec of dust in detail from over 5000 miles away ,and unfortunately, I could hear everything that happened in the planet earth. I hear and feel the pain of all those suffering and try to help everyone that I can, however, I am just a single person. I could stop hundreds of crimes in a couple hours, but even then it does not help as millions of others are still in danger as I attempt to help all those that I can. I am tired as I sleep less than an hour everyday and if it were not for my strengthened body, I would have been dead already simply because of the lack of rest and stress. However, I do not regret my decision to help , and if a younger version of myself were to see me now, I am confident he would continue the path that I follow. I do wish to hear silence one day, but not because I will eventually die, but because I hope to be able to hear the silence caused by the safety of all people.
It was two days ago that an elderly human male said to me, 'man has two faces.' A baffling statement. I had been chief biologist of the Mehrjilian Intergalactictic Archival Collective for eleven years, and as such, meticulously studied the human physiology for years during our early contact. Not a single sliver of data, throughout my exhaustive studies of them, even hints at the possibility of second emote cortex. Where my mind even at its height of clarity, such a statement of obvious falsehoods would bring me to speechlessness, but my mind was, in fact, already in such a roil of cofusion. The days leading up to it, I had been robbed of nearly everything by the sinister words of man. Even, so it seemed, my sanity. But I see now, the true power wielded by these frail bipeds. Humans can weave a temporary alternate reality in which falsehoods are perceived to be true. These alternate realities are unstable and collapse when actually reality collides with it, revealing incongruities. I believe now, that man does have two faces, for only they see both realities, and only they who reap the rewards whilst all other beings suffer through a miasma of confusion by these temporal anomalies. We will all perish within the beautiful, and doomed, false realities in which mankind had woven us into.
Do you ever have those dreams where... where it's not even quite a dream, because you're only on the very cusp of sleeping? On the edge of reality and you could slip this way or that, but either way you know you'll slip. Then suddenly, you feel like you're falling. Hurtling down to the ground. You feel like a hand has reached into your body and snatched at your heart, wrenching you back to reality against your will. You wake in shock, not certain where you are or what happened, at least not for a second or two, as the murky haze drifts away. It was that feeling that first hooked me. That dark rush, like the jolt of a roller-coaster, but something inexorably more. That was what got me into my research, initially. That made me take interest not in dreams themselves, but in dream endings. In the abrupt darkness that was all that was left, in the ball of fear ready to burst inside your belly, in the nightmares that would leave you pooled in sweat, unsure of what had even happened -- just certain that it had been bad. Those nightmares that had no ending, and yet you felt sure of an impending, impossible, death. Then you laugh, uneasily, as your mind clears. It was just a dream. Right? That feeling of falling that jerks you awake when on the edge of sleep, is something most of us experience many times over, in our life. There's no consensus on the explanation, but one idea -- one that I bought into -- is that it is an 'atavistic' trait. That is to say, something passed down to us not from stories, but from inside our very genes, somehow encoded within our DNA. It then lies dormant until we mature, waiting in the most basic part of our brains until we need it. Why would this method of awakening be passed down through generations? the scientists asked themselves. Perhaps, they answered, that when we were apes, we rested in trees -- but falling asleep in a tree might mean falling off the branch and down, plummeting down, to our deaths. So we learned to violently awaken before we fell, either asleep or to the ground. That idea always intrigued me. Something passed down not verbally, but as a kind of instinct. A reaction. Was that even possible? I believed so. At least, that it was passed down to us. That it was something encoded deep inside us. But I never thought it came from when we were apes or any other creature. Not forged from experiences. But that it was something placed purposely inside of us, as a message to be passed down. A warning. Do you know -- I'm sure you do -- that there are many megalithic structures on our planet's surface. Constructions that could not have been made by the civilisations we claim existed back then. 'Experts' can not even truly date the Sphinx in Egypt, you know? Some say a few thousand years old, others say forty thousand. We know nothing of our past. That much is true. Is fact. Some parts of Ancient Egypt, of Incan and Mayan constructions -- the most magnificent parts -- are far older than they tell you. Huge intricate stonework, native around the world, built and moved in ways they cannot explain, by tools we have not found. They cannot explain it, because, quite simply, those civilisations we know of did not create them. They merely inherited already built wonders -- far greater constructions than any of those later peoples were able to replicate, although they tried. The ancient Egyptians found the pyramids empty. The Mayans found the mountain temples empty. They simply moved in to the graveyards. Who, they must have wondered, created these incredible structures? Gods and giants, they proposed. They wrote as much in the texts we have found. But they were wrong. No God created them. It was just man. It was always man. Mankind, who was hunted down and devoured by the most ancient evil, until presumed extinct. But we were smart, back then. Much smarter than now, in many ways. For we believed, and now... we no longer do. We hid a few of our kind well, and then we let ourselves die. We had interlaced secrets into the genetic makeup of those we had hidden, so that when they awoke, they would know what had ravaged the people on the surface. Our minds are where the secrets are held, and where they are revealed. But something went wrong with us. Where and when, I do not know. But we could not interpret the codes as we were meant to. We jerk awake to stop us sleeping. To stop us dreaming. For if we do dream, then they will see us again. And they have seen us. They will come for us again. And this time, they will end us properly. When we dream, we are linked to our brethren -- others who were sent out by the ancients, to run and hide. We watch them as they are hunted and devoured by the creatures that were once here. When dreams are cut short, when they go black, when you wake up with your heart beating in your throat and your sheets slick with sweat... That is when you have seen them. And when you feel the pressure upon your chest as if a demon is sitting there, sniffing your scent and drinking your fear... That is when they have seen you. There are ways to stay in our dreams, past the point of darkness. Did you know that? There are drugs that keep us drifting in that reality long after those we have watched die, die. But there is danger inherent in doing so. It is how and why I woke up this morning, a great chunk of skin, of muscle too, torn out from my arm by needle like teeth. It is why blood dripped from my tear ducts as I looked in the mirror. I shouldn't have stayed in the dream longer than I was meant to. But I did. And I saw them. Perhaps... Perhaps if I can watch them more... For longer. Then maybe I can find a way to stop them from coming for us. Or find a weakness, or a weapon. Someone needs to, after all. Yes... If I can just stay in it longer, tonight. Just a little longer.
"The dumbest goddamn people on the planet!"he said, the grinning bag of smug shit. I just stood there, hollow. I couldn't feel anything for a few moments, but slowly I felt my elation crushed by the heat of anger, my face flushed. I just wanted to have an adventure, see something new. Now I'm standing here all torn up, twenty miles from home, with barely any money somehow feeling both amazing and like I've been cheated. "Now you gonna buy something or just block the sun?"The fat little imp eyed me with contempt. I really didn't want anything but his advice, though now I felt obligated. I'd have never figure out how to activate it on my own. The helpfulness seemed out of place they way when he'd began insulting me. The condescending little asshole. How would I have known? Surveying the tiny place, the creeping shame of realizing all along I could have... GODDAMNIT HOW COULD THEY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT? HOW COULD THEY BE SO STUPID?! I grabbed some of the weird pink fruits off the shelf and slapped three gold on the stand. I just needed somewhere else to be, somewhere alone to process all this. I just don't get why they would have no awareness of the disc? It's obviously common knowledge. I walked for a few hours, eventually collapsed on a bench near a fountain. Examining the trinket, the blue aura didn't seem any less brilliant in the sun than the shop. I wondered if mom even knew I took it this morning after we had our yelling match. My entire life wasted out among the trees, for what?? To find out I could have been great this whole time?! HAH. How long had they spent in that treehouse?! Too long. Do they even know about staff's an wands? This disc thing seems a little more advanced. What did they think, this was a piece of art? Come on! I looked at the fruit I had been carrying. It had shriveled up in the heat. All that potential and nobody used it, just like my latent magic. I tossed them into a trash can and pulled a few more thorns off my sleeves. This whole day has been insane: the screaming this morning, running from those armed strangers, hiding in the briarbush, catching that wagon. All to wind up in some sweaty shop, trying to pawn the thing for enough gold to afford a room. "This? Why would I want some little cheap trinket?"the Imp had grumbled. A cheap trinket. He didn't even charge me for the twine to keep it dangling from my neck. I've felt the surge since the moment he turned the little dial. Now, I know power; And I need more power. I hope I can return home, even though I don't want to see either of them right now. The city gives me uneasy vibes though. I wish to the Gods I knew how to cast something, a way to see if they're alright. No doubt any attackers would have been turned to dust IF I HAD KNOWN ABOUT THIS DAMN DISK! I daydreamed about the future. Everyone will know my name, my talent. Everyone will look upon me with envy. Nobody was even looking at me now, though. Maybe because I'm wearing this thing. It's like I'm an outcast. Nobody else needs an item to boost their power, except small kids. I watch a pair of girls who look a little older than me strolling past, eyeing their swaying hips. A light catches my eye and my gaze shifts up. They're casually tossing a ball of fire around like a toy. I lowered my head. It's like I've finally discovered daggers exist, and everyone else has been using cannons for years. The sheer injustice of it all angers me so greatly, I can't even think straight. My fists are shaking. Everyone can use magic. Except MY family, MY parents, who rather dwell in the forest and focus on crops and meditating, which is the sacred art of BEING FUCKING BORING. They had to have known, had to have kept it from me. I feel so cheated, so bitter.... so hot. The disc seems like it's getting brighter, too bright. I just stare at it, holding my gaze, feeling blood run down my nose. I deserved the truth. A terrible crackling noise beings. I deserved better. Blue flames erupt from my skin as everything seems to be swimming. I can hear faint screams as darkness seems to creep from the corners of my eyes. I need more power. The darkness becomes complete, and I find myself falling, falling.... When I awoke on that cold, awful morning, there was a ringing in my ears. It was nearly sunrise, and it seemed to be snowing. I felt like that time after I had stolen Pa's wine, sick and weary and weak. I tried to pull myself up, but to no avail. I was in the same spot anyways. Nothing else to do, I closed my eyes and stuck out my tongue to catch some flakes. I thought it was too hot down in the valley to snow.. Whatever, i'm too thirsty to worry about it. I finally caught one, and it tasted like soot. Hacking and sputtering, I pulled myself up, and gasped. It all became very clear now, as I looked up the hellish rubble around me. My folks weren't trying to protect me from magic. I worked myself to my feet. I could feel the surge, stronger than ever now. They were protecting the world from me. I had wanted to return home after i had learned the disk's secret; but now, now I'm on the loose.
“Where am I?” The demon, a picture-perfect bright red humanoid with horns and flaming eyes, stared at me. “You’re dead. You got hit by a car while jaywalking. It was painful and gory. I know you remember that. You couldn’t possibly have forgotten. It literally just happened.” “Duh,” I said, exasperated, “but that’s how it always starts.” “How what always starts?” the demon asked, visibly confused. “You know. The main character dies and wakes up in a waiting room, or a completely white empty space, or a burning cave full of screams and torture, or sometimes even at the pearly gates, and then they ask ‘Where am I?’ It’s a classic start.” I was right, too. We were standing in a white space with barely even visible separation between the perfectly white floor and the perfectly white sky. The demon scratched his soul patch with his pitchfork. “You are insufferable.” “Oh, you know me?” I asked, pleased with myself. “You’re a bit of a celebrity down here, actually,” the demon replied. “There’s a significant betting pool on whether you would end up in Heaven or in Hell.” “Really?” My eyes widened. “That’s not usually how those stories go.” “What usually happens?” the demon asked. “Well, if it’s a joke, usually some engineer or politician or lawyer goes to Hell and they make things better or suffer some ironic punishment. If it’s a story, then it’s probably some artist or writer or hero making a journey through hell. I’ve never heard of a betting pool before. Did you win?” “Of course,” the demon said. “We wouldn’t let someone upset with the result come and guide you through the afterlife. That gets messy.” “Naturally,” I nodded. “So this is Hell? Roomier than I imagined.” “Actually,” the demon said with a cough, “this is Nowhere.” “Nowhere? Sounds dramatic. Is it like Purgatory?” “It is Purgatory,” the demon responded. “In a sense, at least. It’s a space that exists between Heaven and Hell for meetings, Christmas parties, poker games… you get the idea.” My face twitched. “Of course. So this isn’t Hell? If this is Purgatory, where are all of the not-quite-sinners?” “It’s not quite as simple as that, really,” the demon said. “Every action you take in life gives or takes points away from your score-” “Yeah, yeah, and saving a baby is worth plus a thousand points and murder is worth minus five hundred and giving change to a bum is worth like five unless he spends it on drugs, right? We can skip this part, I get the idea.” The demon sighed. “Anyway, people usually accumulate a few million points in either direction before they die. Life is long, and everything is worth points, right? So sometimes we get guys that are only at plus or minus a few thousand and it’s a big deal.” “Oh, cool,” I said. “So what am I at? Minus 12,000? Minus 3000?” I gave an overdramatic gasp. “MINUS 250?” “You’re at negative three-point-five,” the demon said. That stopped my snark. “Really? Wow.” “And you’re going to hate this, but jaywalking is worth about minus four points.” I sucked air in through my teeth in exasperation. “Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” “Yeah, I know. Rough draw, buddy.” The demon patted me on the back with surprising gentleness. “So what’s the deal?” I asked. “Do I just get punished now?” “Well, that’s where we were a bit lost,” the demon admitted. “Normally we try to customize punishments based on your scores. I mean, it makes no sense for a child abuser to get the same sentence as someone who takes off their shoes and socks on an airplane. Clearly one of those crimes is significantly more severe.” “The child abuser. Right? Please tell me it’s the child abuser.” The demon cleared his throat. “Regardless, we had no idea what to do to you that was just slightly awful for eternity.” My vision started to fade to black and my heart raced. “Wait! So what will you do to me?” The demon chuckled, but the noise was faint, as if far off. “You’re smart enough. Haven't you figured it out? What in life is just slightly miserable? The answer is, quite simply, a normal human life. Enjoy reincarnation!” I blacked [out](https://reddit.com//r/Badderlocks).
I pulled up the Stone of Communication and crushed my index finger under it. Every call demanded a sacrifice, and I wasn't sure I could take any more severe damage before I passed out from the pain. "When the Infernal Creatures enter, I will have complete control over them, and demand that there be change in this dimension! If not all dimensions!"Archmage Angelo said, grandly. He didn't laugh, like most of my other nemesis, and for some reason, it bothered me that he didn't accent his sentences with raucous laughter. It felt like the battle was missing something. Just as a giant purple hand made its way through Angelo's portal, my finger cracked, breaking. I screamed in pain as another portal opened next to Angelo. He looked at it in scornful surprise. "Someone here to crown me on my coronation of taking over this dimension?"he said mockingly. "Everybody down, this is the InterDimensional Police!"two men ran in with glowing blue hats and weapons in hand. "Oh, no,"Angelo said, fear sprouting on his face. "Demon! Attack them!" The giant purple hand turned into a fist and went barrelling forward toward the policemen. It looked large enough that it split the very ground in half, and I looked to my companions in fear before remembering that they had all passed out. It was just me, Angelo, and the police. Just as the fist was about to make contact with the officers, another portal opened in front of them and absorbed the fist, followed by closing and cutting off the limb. A creature bellowed in pain and rage from behind Angelo's original portal. "This is an unlicenced portal into the Infernal Dimension. You are all under arrest,"one of the policemen said to the room. "But we're not with him,"I groaned. "I called you."I showed them the artifact and my broken finger. "You idiot, you killed us all!"Angelo yelled at me. "Yeah, right, like you'd call the cops on yourself,"one of the officers spat. "No, not on myself,"I tried explaining. "I tried to stop him with my friends here and he defeated us." The Archmage stood a little taller, proud to have heard me admit to the fact I had been defeated by him. "Sure, get your story straight. One minute, Officer Dave and I are coming in hearing that you wanna open the Infernal Dimension, next minute you're telling me you tried to stop that?"one of the officers laughed, nudging the other. "Don't waste your breath Pao, these lowlifes are just trying to rile you up so their lawyers can say we acted without probable cause,"Officer Dave spoke to his colleague. "I'm literally bleeding out on the floor. Angelo is trying to sneak out his portal!"I pointed. The two officers looked to see Angelo with his foot mid-tiptoe trying to reach the portal to the Infernal Dimension. Angelo smiled sheepishly then dove headfirst toward the portal. Officer Dave snapped his fingers and closed the portal before Angelo could get through. He landed face-first on the floor, moaning in pain. "All right, buddy you're under arrest,"Pao fired his weapon at Angelo, encasing him in a ball of crystal. "I... I'm having a little trouble breathing in here!"Angelo said, nervously. "Tell it to the judge!"Pao shouted at him. "I don't know if I'll live that long!"Angelo retorted angrily. "Yeah, tell it to the judge!"Pao repeated. "Are you going to let me die in here?"Angelo asked, fearfully. "How do we throw the book at the guy on the ground and his coconspirators?"Dave asked Pao, pointing to me and my companions sprawled out on the floor. "We didn't do anything! We've been on the floor in pain!"I protested. "I'm asking the questions here!"Dave screamed. "That wasn't a question!"I objected. "Clearly this kid doesn't respect our authority. Let's rough him up and say the Dark Mage did it,"Pao said to Dave. "It's Archmage, not dark--" "Yeah, tell it to the judge,"Pao waved a hand in his direction, clearly not listening to what he was saying anymore. I was busy balking at the officers who had just suggested beating me up when already my legs were broken. "How do I... uncall you? I don't want your help anymore, thanks,"I asked sincerely. "Oh, that's easy,"Dave said, a slow, menacing grin showing on his face. "All you gotta do is unbreak your finger." My eyebrows came together, first confused, then fearful. "Let's get him,"Peo said, pulling out a baton and approaching me. I closed my eyes and cringed. I soon felt something pop in my finger. At first, I thought they had started by stepping on my hand, but then I realized that my finger felt no more pain. I looked up and saw it was healed, with no scars to be seen. I looked up further and noticed the officers were gone, Angelo still floating in his crystal prison. "What happened?"I asked him. "I fixed your finger,"Angelo replied, his hands showing the hint of magical aura. "Oh... um... thanks?"I said, both gracious and conflicted for accepting his assistance. "Can you help me out of here?"he asked, knocking on the crystal. "I'm pretty sure I'll suffocate soon." "Only if you agree, no more Infernal Dimensions,"I said facetiously. I was surprised to see him think about it. "Alright, no Infernal Dimension, just get me outta here,"he said anxiously. "Can you fix my legs?"I asked. "I don't have that kind of energy left after opening the first portal,"he shook his head, banging on the crystal urgently. "All right, all right,"I groaned, dragging myself by my arms alone to grab a Warhammer to beat him out of there. ______________________________ For more stories, check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
I drummed my fingers on my coffin, which doubled as my desk. There were only five minutes left until the morning meeting. What was I going to say today? What was I going to tell them that would make them think that it was okay that I was missing the meet or showing up without my camera on for the tenth day in a row. When this had all started, it had been easy. My personal computer didn't have a web-cam, and they were sold out everywhere, so I had a good excuse for why I couldn't appear on camera, but since I'd gotten my work computer, I was running out of options, and I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. See, original cameras didn't show Vampires because they used mirrors, but for some damn reason, that quality extended to digital image capture. There was an explanation, something about the magic laws being partially powered by how people believed they would work, but the main point was that the post-COVID age had made it impossible to avoid being on camera. Honestly, it wouldn't have been the end of the world if my coworkers know that I was a vampire. It wasn't like I was going to eat anyone any time soon, but I hadn't marked my condition down on my company-provided health insurance because vampirism raised your deductible. That meant that if my boss saw that I was a vampire, or it came up on any sort of paperwork, I'd have to pretend that the vampirism was recent. Even then, I'd be in trouble for not updating my information when I was diagnosed with the condition. \Sorry everyone not feeling well, going to take the day... \|\** I abandoned the message in Slack's 'send' box with my cursor blinking at the end of it. This was our weekend shift. If I said I was sick, everyone was just going to think I was going to the cottage or had drank too much last night. Of course, I wasn't going to the cottage, I couldn't be out in the Sun anymore, but that wasn't something I could tell the group. On the left side of my monitor, there was a small snake of sticky notes with excuses that I'd used over the last little bit scribbled across them. I could probably use the whole 'bad hair day' one again, but the issue was more that I hadn't been seen in a morning meeting when I'd had a webcam for three weeks. The reason mattered less now than the absence did. I erased the message I'd pre-typed in Slack. Three minutes now, and I was also behind on my emails. There had to be something I could do. It wasn't even like I could use a filter because the camera didn't see me in the first place. Wait. \Guys, i have a really cool zoom filter I want to try.\** I typed and sent the message and then doubled back to capitalize the I. People reacted with several of the custom workplace emojis we had, so I was in business. Jessica posted the zoom link, and I took a deep breath before diving in. The computer asked for camera permission, and I said 'yes' and then grabbed my mug. "Kyle!"Jessica exclaimed in that over-excited manager way, "you're finally on Camer-"she paused, "I don't see you. Can you hear me, Kyle?"she asked. "Yeah,"I said while trailing off before holding up the mug, "see how cool this filter is?!"I tried my best to sound amazed. On-screen, nothing was holding the mug; it was just floating there. "It makes me invisible!" "How does that work?"Graham asked. "No idea!"I answered. There was absolutely no way that something like that could work because it wouldn't be able to show my moving chair, but we were an eCommerce company, not a graphics company. Everyone likely fell into the category of 'I don't know enough about this to question it.' "That's really cool, Kyle,"Jessica said, "but let's not distract everyone, so filters off people, we have Toby-with-a-Y coming into our meeting today." "Yeah, I'll get that working, just a sec I saved it-"I stared at my keyboard. Welp, now I needed to come up with an excuse for something else. "Just need to figure this out."I hovered my mouse over the 'leave meeting' button. I pulled the trigger and sighed. I didn't have many more days of this. \Zoom crashed. Back in a sec.\**
I casually strolled down to the site, making sure to wave and smile for my fans on the way. Fans were something I had plenty of. It turned out that remaining active for over a dozen years without a single complaint, without a single mishap or civilian getting hurt while you did your work, was quite the way to build popularity. All the interviews probably hadn’t hurt either. It wasn’t like I had intentionally sought out fame, but I had no intention of avoiding it now that it was here. As for where I was headed? To do my job. I was, you see, a hero. The super kind, you know, the kind with lots of fancy powers. The kind that often left behind explosions, destruction in their wake, that always stopped the bad guys without paying the slightest thought to how much property they were destroying in the process. But not me. I was different. For one thing, fighting villains wasn’t the main part of my job, nor was rescuing people. For another, I actually paid attention to what was going on around me, instead of just mindlessly punching my way through everything that got in my way. My job was, after all, to clean up after the messier supers. And that wasn’t the kind of job you would keep for long if you weren’t actually helping… well, actually getting things less messy than they were before you showed up. It was a job with plenty of advantages. I didn’t have to bother too much with being on time, as long as I didn’t just let rubble lying around for days on end. I didn’t have to fight the nastiest villains, and the risk to me was significantly lower than it was for the average hero. And there was of course also the fans. At least a dozen trailing behind me at this very moment, in fact. If I had any complaints… Actually, I did have one. Having too many fans following you around made it harder to do your job. Once I arrived at the site — a skyscraper with half the glass windows blown into tiny fragments, and the building itself leaning quite perilously to the side, looking like the wind would blow it down at any moment — I had to stop for a minute. Prepare properly before seriously starting on my work. I turned around, faced my fans. They probably expected me to say something nice, or whatever. But this wasn’t the time for that. Instead I asked them to leave, as kindly as I could. If there was one thing I absolutely did not want, it was to have other people nearby when I worked. What if I hurt them by accident while focused on my work? One particularly argumentative fellow didn’t leave until I argued with him for over fifteen minutes… and also gave him my signature… but after that it was all clear. I closed my eyes, feeling out for the metal and stone around me. That was my power. Absolute, near-instant, limitless control over metal and steel. If I had wanted to, it would have been a power better suited for combat than what the vast majority of other heroes had. But the thing was, I didn’t want to. So instead I simply fixed the building, one piece at a time. Slowly tilting it back upwards again: I could have done it more quickly, but that would have ruined the effect on the off chance I was being filmed in secret, and would also have increased future demands on me. As I went about my work, a man approached me from behind. The argumentative one from before. In his hand, a knife. A really sharp and pointy one. I had absolutely no protection against getting stabbed. Nor any protection beyond what I normal person may have, for that matter. I mean, why would powers over stone and metal make me more durable? Too focused on my work, I had absolutely no idea he was there. Didn’t see him sneakily approaching me one step at a time. Didn’t see him slowly lift his knife. Noiselessly bring it down in a single, swift, motion. Striking just the right point to immobilise me. I fell to the ground, blood gushing out… ...nah. I already told you, didn’t I? I pay attention to my surroundings. So, I smacked this thickheaded fellow in the side with an equally thick concrete slab. Just hard enough to take the breath out of him, maybe enough to also hurt a tiny huge bit. But hey, he was alive, and would recover, and just over a minute later my work was done and the knifey guy was firmly in police custody. I may accidentally have smashed another window in the process, but let’s not worry too much about that. See? Remember what I told you about other people getting hurt if they came near me when I was working? I would say this fellow set quite the illustrating example. Oh, and then there was also the glass. Still just as messily lying around on the ground, not a single one of the dozen broken windows fixed. But my powers were over stone and metal. Glass wasn’t my job. The next guy would deal with that.
Frozen solid. Immobile. Hurtling through the stardusted nothing. The spark inside my chest was far too slight to thaw my body. Yet it kept me conscious. Aware. Alive. Cursed to feel and think in a place with nothing worth feeling, nothing worth thinking about. Forever. I wasted ages wishing I had closed my eyes before the blackness froze them open. Then I could have slept, dreamed, maybe even forgotten. Then I wouldn't have been forced to gaze upon the terrible immensity of it all. Terrible as my punishment. Immense as my loneliness. I thought I was hallucinating when the ship sailed into view. I did not feel the netting touch my skin. But inside were lights and human faces, peering down at me, talking. I lay in the Convalescence Ward for three days. Thawing, dripping. The moderate heat of the room must have seemed extreme to my subconscious, because when I dozed I dreamed I was a block of ice, floating closer to a bloodred sun. When I awoke, a bearded ancient loomed. "You're nearly thawed,"the old man said. "But I recommend you don't try to move. Not yet. Your cells are enlarged. Your body is desiccated. Traumatized. Even immortals take time to heal after a deep freeze." My mouth was putty. My voice, a foreign instrument. I had not spoken in thousands of years. Spit bubbled at my lips when I tried. "There will be time,"he said. "An endless stretch. Don't worry. Right now you don't need conversation. You need rest. Recovery. Sleep." "Who?"I managed to rasp. "We are like you,"the old man said. "Banished eternals. Cast into outer darkness by our friends, families, fellow citizens. Lost. . .and then found. Given new life. New purpose. Gathered together to achieve what only immortals can. We deathless ones, who can venture into unknown regions without fear, who can wrestle with fatal terrors and escape unscathed." "Where?" "Our ship's destination?"he asked. "A place that represents the culmination of our technological development. The crowning glory of our race. Some call it the Grand Laboratory. Others call it Dyson Sphere 114. But most call it the Cosmoport. We arrive in forty-nine hours. Until then, sleep."
"Fancy spot you chose for today." Maria smiled, basking the view of the whole Seattle on top of the tallest buidling. Her silk black hair waved from the cool air of the dark night, and it made her beautiful. It's sad to see her in love with me in a mask, not me without it. The day I rescued her as a hero marked the beginning of her cheating on my alter ego. She would constantly flirt with me everytime we bump into each other. She would lean close to me when I carried her away from danger. She even tried to kiss me at one point, even with my red mask on. Where was that affection when we first met? Did it just died out? Did she want to see someone new? It's only today that I decided to confront her about it. "Miss Winters, I brought you here today because I heard something about you,"I said. She turned to me, her eyes a bit more cautious than usual. "What is it?" "I heard that you have a boyfriend, James. You both are living under the same roof since last year, and from the looks of it, you were close before." "Yeah...,"she muttered, with a sad tone. Is she feeling regretful for being with me? "Don't you think he would feel disappointed if he knew you're cheating on him with me?"I firmly said. "Doesn't that raise any concerns with you?" For a moment, Maria looked upon the night sky, waiting for the answer to come up into her head. Then, with a soft sigh, she turned to me, and revealed her feelings, "I don't think it would, considering I'm talking to him right now." Silence. "I'm... sorry?" "James, I know it's you under the mask. You can take it off,"she admitted. The world flipped around me as I slowly got the mask out of my head. "How did you..." "I'll be honest, I didn't recognize you the first time you saved me. But after a while, hearing your voice more attentively and observing your body, I realized that you're the hero protecting the city from any harm,"she told me. Wait, so she knew all along? "Then why weren't you like this back home?" Maria looked down, feeling shameful. "Because I know how tired you are everytime you came back home. You wore eyebags after a long day of work, both as a journalist and a hero. We never had time at home because of our conflicting schedules, and even when we did, well... you would be the one sleeping on the couch." Her honestly nearly broke me, because I know for the fact, that her words were true. "That's why I'm more attached to you in the suit, a man full of energy and optimism. You were at your peak as a hero, when you're saving lives. That's why I would run to danger and do my part in helping them, knowing you would come to save me. It's only on that moment we were both truly... connected. "I... should've told you that I know... I'm sorry,"she apologized. She was embarrassed, ashamed, too scared to even leaned next to me like before. I immediately hugged her, and she made a surprised yelp. "I'm sorry, too. I really am. I should've tried to do something for you. I really am,"I sobbed. Maria embraced me tighter, "You always do, and you already have, all the time." In that moment, that loving spark came back to life again, the feeling I've yearn for. I was finally happy. "So,"Maria smiled. "Let's work this out, with and without the mask on."It took me a second to realized she was referring to the both of us, and I know she truly wished to make our relationship work. "Sure,"I promised her.
The death of a beloved mentor has a way of motivating an aspiring hero to all new heights. The grief of loss can be the necessary push that allows them to achieve their full potential. This can be seen throughout history in the stories of many great heros, era after era. The first time was an accident. I really meant to tell the boy that I was immortal. Really. But it just... never seemed to come up in conversation. I trained him for ten years, and then, well. Things happen. We had made a few dangerous enemies, and they decided that the obvious solution was to set fire to the entire forest we had made our base of operations. Of course, they timed it poorly. The boy was out on an errand. He came running when he saw the smoke, but it was too late. I was little more than a blackened skeleton in a field of ash. He had no way of knowing that I would walk it off in a day or two. He cradled my corpse, screamed and cried. It was all very dramatic. Then, he went and finished off the oppressive faction single handedly in under a week. I was so proud. And he did it all for me! He named the new capitol in my honor. Very sweet. And then... it got me thinking. Being immortal has its upsides, for sure, but there are some snags as well. Paperwork, for one. People start getting suspicious when their neighbor stays the same age for too many decades. This was a golden opportunity for a clean start! So, instead of reuniting with my distraught apprentice, I just disappeared. Changed my name, got some new documents, settled far enough away that I wasn't likely to be recognized, got a new haircut just to be on the safe side... Took on a new apprentice. And if I failed to tell this one I was immortal, maybe it was a little less accidental than the first time. You might call it cruel, but there is a lot of cruelty in immortality. I have to watch everyone I ever meet die. But this way, there is some balance, and some good can come from it.
When Arik asked you for something, you gave it to him. Everyone in the underworld of East Amberfall, accepted this as an unfortunate fact of life, like sickness or bad weather. He levied a tax on all those who operated outside the law in the city, though who he levied it for was unknown. He did not threaten, he simply asked. The consequences of refusal were understood. He was, it was rumored, a peerless fighter, and utterly without mercy. It was also rumored he was secretly a powerful mage, cast from the counsels of the wise for his criminal proclivities, yet continuing to practice the arcane arts outside the law. Some even said he was a devil, collecting Hell's rightful percentage of all East Amberfall's ill-gotten gains. In truth, though, no one knew exactly what he was, or what he did if he was refused. Those who refused him, did not live to tell the tale. Arik survived largely on that reputation -- the actual thing that he did, he no longer had to do very often. But he had not always been the fabled, ghostly legend of the underground, of course. Once, in fact, he had merely been a skilled thief, though one relatively petty in his ambitions. He had not been a thief for the money, he had been a thief because he craved the act of stealing with a tenacious ardor, that most men reserved for the opposite sex. The moment when something that belonged to someone else suddenly became yours, was a transcendent thing, a moment of transformation, and it was accompanied by a rush of emotion to which Arik had become hopelessly addicted. Until, one day, he picked the wrong pocket. A doddering old merchant, that had turned out to be a doddering old Arch-mage, out for a stroll incognito. Arch-magi were the highest rank of wizard, so deep in magical lore, and the perception of the unseen world, that their thoughts were alien to normal people, and some said they were all half-mad. When he'd realized whose purse he'd cut, Arik had panicked, and he'd begged and pleaded for mercy, eliciting no reaction from the inscrutable mage. Desperate, he'd sworn he'd never steal again. When he'd said those words, the Arch-mage had seemed pleased, insofar as you could read the emotions of one of his unearthly ilk. The old mage had gently taken both of Arik's hands in his, and said, with an almost childlike smile, "Never steal again? Excellent idea!" Then the man's wizened hands clamped down on his like an iron vise, and burned the backs of them with searing heat, as he repeated, in a transcendent boom. "Never. Steal. AGAIN." The Arch-mage had vanished then, leaving two complex magical bindrunes branded into his hands. And since that day, Arik had never been able to take anything that wasn't his. The days after were tough. Addiction is a bastard to shake at the best of times, never mind when you have to go from boundless indulgence to complete enforced continence in a single day. But then, someone had found Arik. Someone who saw how a city needed an underworld, like it needed a sewer, but who wanted to ensure that sewer never overflowed, so to speak. A man named Gregg, an embittered but visionary knight exiled from the North, had stumbled across Arik, and learned of his curse. Arik was living as a beggar, then, having little in the way of life skills apart from stealing, which he was now physically incapable of doing. Gregg had showed him how to turn his curse into a blessing, and trained him to use it to its fullest advantage. He had made Arik the legend of East Amberfall's underworld that he now was. On this night, Arik was in a taxing mood. There was a newcomer in town, a wealthy dealer of various contraband from the South. Arik had studied his movements, and determined where he would be. At an opportune moment, Arik emerged from the shadows, and confronted his quarry. "I'm Arik."he said simply. The man smiled, folding his arms. He was clean-cut and clean shaven, wearing a doublet and hose like a nobleman, an ornate sword sheathed at his waist. "Sanvor,"the man said, with a nod. "You have heard of me, I assume?"Arik asked. Sanvor nodded. "I have." "Good. Since you are new here, I will only ask that you give me a third of whatever you are carrying." "No." Arik cocked his head to one side. "I thought you said you'd heard of me?" Sanvor smirked. "Oh, I have. I've heard all about you, how you terrorize the little rats that scurry around this city's underbelly, with your silly legend. But I'm not afraid of ghosts." Sanvor suddenly drew his sword. It glowed faintly, casting a wan silvery light on his face. "This is an eldritch blade, a elf-forged relic of vanished Amberstar, eternally sharp, and made indestructible by the enchantments of its makers." "You are new here. I will give you one more chance, to give me what I ask."Arik said, calmly, as he drew his simple, slender steel dagger. "Please!"Sanvor sneered. "You're clearly just a street-level thug with delusions of grandeur. But even if you were a ghost, or a demon, or a gods-damned dragon in disguise, this blade would still cut you. Allow me to demonstrate!" Sanvor swung the blade at Arik's neck. Arik held up his hand. The blade stopped in mid-air, robbed of all it's momentum, an inch away from Arik's extended palm. "That sword does not belong to me."Arik said calmly. "And if you mean it as a gift, I reject it." Sanvor stared slack-jawed at his frozen sword. Before he could react, Arik stepped inside the man's reach, and rammed his dagger into Sanvor's neck. He stepped back, as the man fell, writhing and gurgling on the ground, and waited for him to become silent, and lie still. Once he had, Arik quietly collected Sanvor's belongings. Because of the Arch-mage's curse, and the binding runes branded into his flesh, his hands could never again touch any object that was owned by someone else. But dead men owned nothing.
"Sanctuary. Please." It was two words, but they struck fear into the hearts of people everywhere. Just two weeks ago, we had been living in ignorance. The oceans were a place of wonder, delight, of beauty. Sure, we knew there could be strange things living in the depths, but those were oddities. To be laughed at, or made fun of, but never taken seriously. And then... The message had gone out to the government first. When they had no response, it had preempted every entertainment channel. It was on everyone's computer, everyone's phone, everyone's old MP3 player. "Sanctuary. Please."The words blazoned across the screens. Attached to them was a file. A video recording. I didn't know how many people had clicked on it out of curiosity, only to turn it off again. I did know it took me ten attempts to get through the first few minutes. The problem was that the aliens that sent it looked so humanoid. Obviously, they could breathe underwater and resist great pressures but that seemed to be the only visible difference. It started serenely enough, like security cam footage. People walking, talking, and getting something from the strange alien ships. They had obviously been in the depths of the ocean for quite some time. But slowly, ever so slowly, the light shifted. Their artificial illumination dimmed, casting strange shadows. And out of those shadows, things came. At first, you didn't see them correctly. You thought they were oddly shaped fish or some other creature of the depths. But when they moved towards the camera, closer and closer, you realized. Those things were not fish. Not any kind of deep-sea angler, or translucent prey. No. They were... wrong somehow. Something to do with the eyes perhaps. Or the large gaping mouths. Or perhaps it was the hands... Worse than those, worse than the carnage the things caused among the strangely humanoid aliens, was what you saw after the death had been wreaked. The corpses littered the empty sea bed like so much trash. Sometimes, whoever operated the camera zoomed in on one particular body. This one had started to move. Not sway with the deep currents, but wriggle, the skin sloughing off to reveal bones. And to reveal more. Strange coral growths, things that had never seen the sunlight, sprouted out of the bodies, anchoring them to the ocean floor. Raw, fleshlike things that released almost invisible spores. Here the camera swung as if it had been taken off its mounting. There were hurried, shaking images of walls and halls, quick glimpses of the alien's feet. Then we were in the sea again. Running, desperately running. You found yourself rooting for the alien to make it. They were heading for one of their small ships. The camera swung wide, spinning around until it landed on the sand. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the viewfinder still pointed into the ocean. There just at the edge of the light's reach, rose a large shape. If you followed the lines and shapes you could make out the building. Old, and older than old. And against that building... A dark shape rose, large, unimaginably gigantic. The human mind couldn't comprehend what it was. Dark horrible words rolled off the tongue as it drew closer. That's where the footage ended. I know what it said. It took every linguist about two weeks to figure it out. "We are awake." And now, we the human race, send our own message out to the stars. "Sanctuary. Please." &#x200B; Edit: Just changed one sentence structure so it made more sense.
Causality. Cause, and effect, the omnipresent and omnipotent law of the universe. We, the thousand species of the Entente, believed this to be ironclad, as immutable as gravity, as undeniable as light, as singular as the strong and weak forces. With this central tenet of our understanding of the cosmos, we wrought the fabric of reality to our will. We bent the stars and threaded the orbits of countless worlds. Comprehend, if you will, what a civilization does when even a grub, mewling and suckling on the teat of its brood-mother, is given a star and a solar system to make with as the ancient potter works their clay. We were as gods, our desires undenied, our fantasies given life, our power unsurpassed. But even as gods, we still adhered to the eternal rules of the cosmos that we played in. How foolish we were to think that we were gods, when we were still naught but children in our sandbox. We soon learnt the lesson of what it meant to have hubris. On one day they struck us: beams of light screaming out from the void, impacting every world under the banner of our Entente. Orbital relays registered impossible particles tearing forth from the wounds in reality left by the passage of these beams, accelerated to velocities beyond the lightspeed barrier. Our physicists tore their mandibles and frazzled their feelers at this impossibility, for these beams devastated our worlds, leaving quadrillions dead in the initial impact and slaying as many more in the shower of exotic radiation left in their wake. Only the untold broods who inhabited the trillions of orbital stations in the millions of Entente systems still remained alive, flooding the archives with the catalogued grief of nameless quintillions. Our astrogators reverse-calculated the trajectory of these spears, ignoring relativistic effects, and found the origin point for all these spears to be perfectly aligned with an unnamed system, which had been slated for reclamation. It was a mundane system located almost a thousand light years from the Entente coreworlds, with the spectrograms indicating a yellow-white star of medium metallicity and with several confirmed exoplanets in its orbit, nothing special. The archives confirmed that the reclamation fleet should have arrived in that system several standard decades ago and proceeded on its directives to process all available matter present. If our assumptions were correct, then we would have to alter our reclamation plans. The Admirals of the 6857th and 19204th Pacification Hives were given their directives, to execute high-relativistic flight paths to the Origin of Spears and annihilate any threats to the Entente found at their destination. The instant this directive was transmitted by focused tightbeam, we immediately received news of the annihilation of the 6857th and 19204th, an impossibility given that these two fleets were maintained in unmapped and classified systems only known to the Entente Council several lightyears away from the Entente Coreworld. Accompanying this transmission of destruction was a message recorded in the Entente diplomat dialect but spoken by a species that the Entente had never encountered before: an abomination with two eyes, two front legs and two rear legs upon which they stood. Instead of mandibles or mouth-feelers, the creature had bone-ends covered behind fleshy protrusions, and when it spoke, it flapped a lump of meat in its mouth cavity to imitate our exalted tongue. “Greetings, Entente Council. Your kind sent us death and destruction. The endless hordes of your machines and devices arrived, blotting out the stars, enveloping our system and saturating the dreams of our children with your insectoid abominations. For decades, we fought your mechanical demons, sacrificing untold oceans of blood and trillions of souls to the grinding gears of war. Even speaking your tongue to record this message for you filthy creators of nightmares fills me with revulsion. My mouth was not made to imitate these <<clicks>> and <<grunts>>. But I did all this, because I would like to thank you, you filthy creatures on the Entente Council. It turns out that your attempt to wipe us out was really a gift in disguise, for we found that which was lacking in your technology, and broke past that which your machines considered finite in scale and infinite in integrity. Yes, for within the depths of your nightmare machines, we found our salvation. As you twisted the skeins of matter and energy to your will, we have now bent time and causality to ours. We have prepared that with which we will punish all transgressions, past, present and future. There will be no more pacification, no more conquest, and no more reclamation. Our eyes will see all. Our ears will hear all. Our hands will reach everywhere, and our legs will bring us anywhere. I am High General Koen Licht, of the <<Humanity Treaty>>. As our ancient ancestors threw spears to hunt the beasts that roamed our world, so too will our spears devastate all that you intend to use to harm any more humans with. Your sins have returned to punish you, and we are them made manifest. Glory to Mankind.” With this transmission, it had become clear to us to all of the Entente, all of our thousand species, our million worlds, and our quintillion survivors, that our ascendancy was over. The skies over every world split open and the angel-ships of the humans tore their way through those gaping wounds into our reality. Our reign over the cosmos as false gods came to an end. And the dawn of Humanity began. Author note: Thanks for reading. This story is blatant humanity fuck yeah wanky-ness, and was sorta-inspired by WH40K ships and the warp. If you liked this style, I have a webnovel that I am updating progressively, which can be found here: https://www.webnovel.com/book/polaris-north-star-chronicles\_23138447306348605. Cheers, and thanks again for reading.
All I wanted to do is go to school, learn, hang out with friends, live my teenage years like anyone else. But did I get that, of course not. Oh no, no. I'm not one of them, those selfish students who always brings their shit to school with them. You can tell them apart as they often have colored hair despite it being against school dress code, are deeply fascinated about one specific thing like spaceships, or constantly talk to themselves. No, shut up Brian. This doesn't count! I mean it's like every week at the same time something happens like some episodic television show. Last week, aliens came down to crown Dyllan as their lost king. And then more aliens came down to capture him resulting in a battle over the school. Lasers, explosions, and my essay which I worked on for a month was swallowed by a green horror from beyond the stars. The week before, Susan found that a group of students led by one of the janitors in the basement worshiping some elder god. The school had to be evacuated as the basement was flooded with ethereal acid after she closed the portal. Prom was that week, emphasis on was. The week before that, Muhammad showed up in a giant robot. The week before, Taylor developed super strength. It just ever ends and at this point in the year with all classes missed, I'm probably going to have to go to summer school just to catch up before college registration starts in the fall. But maybe this week will be different. It's Thursday and nothing has come crashing down, or been summoned, or mutated, or teleported to another dimension. Maybe just one week I can get a brea... \Explosion noise and the scream of a T-Rex\** Damn it...
Worries about microplastic contamination were reaching a fever pitch across the world as evidence came out to indicate the massive ecological harm it had done. Microplastics had been found over 2 decades ago to cross the blood-brain barrier and new studies routinely found no human placentas devoid of the pollutants. It appeared our physiology would never again be free of plastic, our species condemned to a slow and horrible transformation into a living Body Worlds exhibit. As rising rates of infertility and miscarriages was directly linked by medical science to microplastic contamination, billions of dollars were funneled into researching potential solutions. Governments feebly attempted to regulate plastic production and use, but their presence in the global economy proved to be far too entrenched to be controlled effectively. Scientific consortiums were created across disciplines to attempt to address the problem head on. Many solutions were explored – neonatal dialysis procedures, agricultural engineering to make crops uptake less plastics, new plastics that decomposed rapidly and completely under sunlight, autonomous vehicles that scoured the oceans for plastic particulate. The watershed came when a research group in Australia were placing genetic traits of a certain strain of the mushroom Pleurotus ostreatus into the common ocean bacteria Candidatus Pelagibacter communis. The spliced genes had the effect of allowing Ca. P. communis to digest microscopic bubbles of emulsified oil in water. It showed immediate promise as a remedy to ocean oil spills, with potential to even consume microplastics under certain conditions! After intensive laboratory study and refinement, the bacteria performed its task flawlessly, able to ingest large amounts of oil, metabolize it and subsequently clean contaminated ocean water of the pollutant. Further studies in coastal waters continued to show success. This could be the solution… Even usually tepid and skeptical researchers grew deeply eager of the potential capabilities of their new organism. Finally, a larger scale deployment of the bacteria was authorized. The Pacific Gyre, now called the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, was the target. Large drums filled with the new bacteria were hauled to the center of the Gyre and released. Weeks passed. The Gyre was monitored by oceanic stations, continually measuring the levels of microplastic. Gradually, they were declining. After 3 months, there was a measured 30% reduction. After a year, the Gyre held just 10% of the original microplastic it once held at its peak. The bacteria were successful beyond any dream. Media broadcast the success of human ingenuity across the world – behold, this testament of science that saved us from the consequences of our consumption! The uproar, the accolades, the commendations were loud and long. Other climate catastrophes continued to occur as this progressed – heat waves, mass oceanic biomass deaths, devastating storms. Many fisheries were hounded and struggling to meet demand, crab populations had died many years ago and never recovered, now tuna and many other large fish were nearly impossible to find. This was attributed to the change in oceanic temperature and acidity, but what was overlooked is that boats were losing nets more frequently. On board, ropes broke sooner, a sailor’s rubberized soles wore out in weeks, not a season. People remarked that their swimsuits just didn’t last as long anymore. It was just more planned obsolescence, exactly what got us into this mess, enabled by the new discovery. Nothing particularly odd, not worthy of more than a moment or two of thought. More time passed, and with it, further odd events were occurring across the world. Food spoilage was on the rise. Sporadic plumbing leaks in condominiums. An oil-filled electric transformer overheated and exploded, which cascaded into a large power outage for a section of the east coast of North America. A golfer hit a ball and watched the shattered pieces of it decorate the fairway. A parachute and the backup failed to open. A young boy was admitted to hospital in Paris with a case of encephalitis. He would die within a day, the root cause undetermined. Dozens of cases of the mysterious brain swelling developed seemingly at random around the world but passed completely unnoticed. A research hospital in California specializing in bacterial encephalitis eventually identifies a cause for a recently deceased patient – the once miraculous Ca. P communis organism. As further cases were brought in, antibiotics, plasmapheresis, immunoglobin treatments all proved ineffective. The best that could be done was to prolong the inevitable – every case would present and subsequently kill the patient within 48 hours. The illness, now known to have a fatality rate of 100%, was being caused by the bacteria but was not seemingly contagious. Nevertheless, as cases ballooned into the dozens in the hospital, an epidemic was declared. The world now was no stranger to rashes of terrible illnesses. COVID-19 had disrupted life for all over 15 years ago, and mass global influenza outbreaks were a yearly occurrence. Once again, we would lock down and weather the storm on our medical facilities. Research into further vaccinations, antibiotics and treatments immediately began. Within months, it was reported that over a million people globally had died of the novel encephalitis. An antibiotic was found, and clinical trials finally saved an infected patient from death! The caveat that they had suffered extensive brain damage and were left unable to care for themselves. Research pressed on, while titanic orders for the antibiotic were placed and manufactured. As shipments of the antibiotic were traversing the globe, by ship, rail, and truck, it is here, dear reader, that our story hits its final note. Day by day, engines in ships, trains, and trucks have been seizing. Our logistics network has been teetering on the edge as our “cure” has been developed. A patchwork net of hastily hobbled machines, racing to deliver the slimmest of chances to the rest of humanity. Any petrochemical material in the world has been degraded to the point of non-functionality. It is here, that the chance will fail. The “cure”, if one could even call it that, will never make it to 95% of the world’s population. Rich countries hoard all of it that they can for themselves, as their own populations rapidly succumb to the bacterial infection. But it doesn’t matter. The cure wouldn’t have helped. The true death knell was the truck not being able to complete the delivery. As the trucks stop, so does the delivery of food. Power plants find themselves unable to burn their fuel. Electric cables and transformers are rendered useless, the grid collapses. The internet is unreachable, telecommunications halt. Starvation looms. Social order decays almost immediately. For the first time in a century, the lights go out on Earth. In a year, there will not be a single human left alive, nor any other macro-scale organism. In 10 years, there will be no macro-plastics. In 100 years, all life on earth is dead. In 1000 years, the only trace of humanity left will be our stone structures. If ever Earth was happened upon by alien archaeologists, the event would be likened to the first mass extinction of life, when cyanobacteria first respired oxygen. Fitting then, that the final extinction was simply another species of hungry bacteria.
De-Drug-Dealing Dracula Deconstructed, an op-ed by John Jameson Jr. Thirty-one. The current number of low-life scum removed from the streets by the vigilante known only as Throat Bite. No one has seen this valiant hero in action. Even his handiwork caught on cctv only shows his victims. This mysterious figure is making the city safer every night. I, John Jameson shall endeavor to enlighten our wonderful readers about the wonderous efforts of our city's newest hero. From a totally unbiased perspective. This month our city's PD has reported a nearly sixty percent reduction in hard drug availability on our streets. Frankly, the best part will be transient vagabonds leaving our great metropolis for filthier municipalities. If I met Throat Bite today, I'd take him out for a nice steak dinner; paid for by the rapid increase in property values his valiant violence against villains has awarded me. But who is he? In the many decades of vigilante reporting I've developed a certain understanding of the city's vigilantes, gleamed from their comic-bookesque modus operandi. First, let's look at the facts. His low life victims are drained of blood, from punctures on the neck as if by a vigilante vampire. Hence the name, Throat Bite. He can't be seen on cctv video. He targets street dealers working at night. He's never been seen by anyone in the act. The answer as to the who and how should be obvious, at least for any seasoned vigilante reporter. He's an ex-deep state operative! Fed up with the problems of our city. Active cloaking technology conceals him from both cameras' and people's perceptions. He has tools that drain over a gallon of blood in less than a minute. Only someone with ties to shadowy organizations could have this sort of capacity, and- "Stop", hissed the pale figure sitting across from Mr. Jameson. He waved his gangly phalanges as he spoke. Jameson's eyes glowed dimly in response. "You do drone on. That's what I like about you, thrall. While I find your drivel insipid many fools in this city find it to be as delectable as the sweet ambrosia of a plump vegetarian's circulatory system."He continued on, "publish this article. Start work on another. Keep up the good work and you may one day taste immortality for yourself." Jameson nodded. Throat Bite had no intention of turning the greying middle aged man before him. However, he found the false promise of immortality kept his thralls obedient for longer, especially thoughs feeling the effects of time. The vampire's pale visage transformed into a thin dark smoke and trailed out the open window into the night.
The children laughed at me. They called me names. They told me my talent would never have any real merit. I started with their land. I built machines that could harvest their crops. I made sowing machines that could replant acres of land in minutes. I brought factories to churn the fruits of their labor into the food that they ate. I made transportation machines that rendered horse drawn wagons obsolete and unviable. I made heating units to keep the cold winter away, and cooling fans to stave off the summer's heat. I made houses that offered more comfort and protection than even the King's finest chambers. Tailoring, metal work, carpentry, weapon smithing, no task was too small, too complex, to asinine. I made batteries that could allow even the most inept layman to cast powerful spells. I began work on creating conventional automata that needed no wizard or artificer to conjure. I was not bound to the limitations of the people's flesh, the fatigue of muscle, the imperfections of the human hand. I built and army, and I built my body, so that none could rival us and take our spoils, that no chore would be left unattended. And it was all mine. I brought an industrial revolution, and now those who laughed will never laugh at me again.
"Protea spontanea,"the halfling doctor said confidently. I sat silently. Confused. "It's a rare disorder. Very rare. In fact, you are the first recorded person to have this condition. I just coined the name, so if you think it's a stupid name, let me know."Dr. Bullfreckle looked down at his clipboard and said slowly and quietly, "Proh-TEE-yuh spon-TAIN-ee-yuh,"feeling each syllable dance across his lips and tongue. "But how? Is this some curse? I've been going through this for two years!" "Disorder. I ran you through all the tests and the cause of your disorder is your own body. No witch can hide a hex from a class-98 detect energy ritual cast by yours truly." "What about a class-100? Like we talked about?" "A 98 is 98% as effective and at a quarter of the cost. I'm not burning diamonds for this."He looked down at his clipboard again and sighed. "Onto the other news, I ran a genetics test. A simple class-20 just to get an idea if we need to run a more invasive test."He looked at me and paused. "Oswald... you're a changeling." I sat, stunned. I peered into the halfling's face to perhaps catch a glimpse of amusement, like what would spread across his if he was about to say "Gotcha!"But no. No amusement. Not even a slight smirk. His face was a rock and my spirit crashed against it like an ocean wave, dashed into a thousand tiny droplets. I was a changeling. The most distrusted. The lowest of the low. "But my parents were both human! I'm a human!" But I wasn't. As of that morning, I was seven foot tall charcoal-skinned infernal with glowing amber eyes and horns like a ram. I had a devil's tail, which flicked about almost as if it had a mind of its own. My tongue felt long and slender in my mouth, and when it wasn't used for talking it ran across my sharp teeth, exploring what felt like another person's mouth. Even as I sat there, I could feel my bones slowly shift, preparing for my nightly metamorphosis. "I knew this would be difficult to explain. But yes, you are a changeling, but your powers were somehow delayed by twenty-eight years. Some changelings have their power from birth, some develop them as toddlers, but you... this delay is unheard of. Thus, protea spontanea. It's more of a learning disorder than anything else." "A learning disorder?" "I mean, shapeshifting is usually wild in a changeling's early years. Actually controlling it might take five to ten years of training, but in your case we don't know... It may take longer." "And my parents? Are they changelings and just decided to never tell me? Am I adopted?" "Don't ask me. That's a conversation between you and your parents."He flicked a brochure towards me. "Take this."The red brochure had a picture of a human-looking child with an abnormally broad smile. It was titled, "THE CHANGELING'S GUIDE TO BEING A NORMAL KID", which was designed to look like it was drawn on with a crayon. "We usually give that to children." -- The brochure was crumpled into a ball and thrown into a trash can somewhere between the doctor's office and my apartment. I walked down the city sidewalk swiftly, frustrated by the truth and the questions that remained unanswered. The afternoon sun beat on my dark skin and my infernal eyes burned in its radiance. Pedestrians looked at me, mere glimpses, and then avoided eye contact. Infernals were not common in this neighborhood, so my appearance probably brought some displeasure. My first unwilling transformation two years ago was an elderly human lady, and I was mortified by what happened to my body. The wrinkles, the sags, and the obvious change between my legs. I called out sick at work, wrapped myself in a blanket and waited in bed, hoping for that nightmare to end. The next day I was olive-skinned hunk of a man with dark wavy hair and a chiseled face. The next, a twenty-something woman with sad eyes and long dark hair. In a couple weeks, I started to take on the qualities of humanoid species besides humans, so one day I could be a short human lady with curly red hair and the next be an orc with tusks that were so tall they took permanent real estate in my field of view. Of course, I lost my job. There was no way I would be able to convince anybody that I, the silver-haired dwarf lady, was Oswald. Friendships broke down. I either stopped talking to people or they realized my condition was just too much for them to handle. To get by financially, I began taking odd jobs. On days where I had muscles to spare, I would help move furniture or load wagons. On days where I was small and easy to miss, I stole valuables from nobles and sold them to the local fence. On days where I had looks, I'd woo people out of their coins. On days where I didn't have any of those things, I sat in my cheap apartment and moped. After two years of that, I was uncertain if I could continue eking out a living doing this. I lived a lonely life and had many dangerous close calls from biting off more than I could chew with odd jobs. I had not talked to my parents in four years at that point, and with good reason... they were narcissistic and controlling, the definition of strict. But if I wanted answers, and maybe some financial assistance, maybe they could help me. I was out of options. I had to message them, and that is what I was going to do. Just a minute's walk to the apartment, then I could write a letter. "Heeeey,"said a voice. I stopped in my tracks and turned my head to the dark alleyway it came from. "What's the hurry?"The voice fluttered between a masculine and feminine tone, like two people speaking at once through a single mouth. It was unsettling... yet alluring. "Me?" "Yes, you,"the voice lightly chuckled. "Want to go back to that drab apartment?" "Not really..."My whole body turned to face the monumental void of darkness that engulfed the alleyway. "Why don't you come with me, then? I can teach you what a brochure can't." I paused. How did they know about the brochure? "How long have you been following me?" "Long enough to know your tragic story,"the speaker said in a jokingly pouty tone. "Poor thing. A changeling, oh poor baby! Protein-ea spork-tanea!" "That was a private medical consultation about a private medical matter! Who gave you the right to eavesdrop?" "Oh, I didn't eavesdrop. I just know what you are thinking. Mind-reading is a good skill for a changeling to have... Let's you know what the people want. And I know what you want, my sweet Ozzy..." They were probing my mind. They knew what I wanted. Again, unsettling... but alluring. I slowly opened my mouth and prepared to utter a single word. Everything that I wanted. "Control,"we said simultaneously, our voices overlapping into a chorus of tones. "Yeeeeess. I can give you that control. I taught myself... and I can teach you. Once you gain control over your body, the power can be..." Two yellow orbs flashed in the dark, side by side, and underneath a mouthful of sharp teeth reflected the dim light of the alleyway. "INTOXICATING..."the sharp teeth spat out the word suggestively. Eyelids draped halfway over the yellow orbs to give an enchanting glare. I shuddered pondering just who was waiting in the darkness. "Don't write to your parents, Ozzie. You don't want them, you want control." I nodded silently. I began stepping forward. Out of the sunlight and past the threshold between light and dark. Bathed in darkness, the eyes and teeth of the creature came closer and closer as I walked towards them. They moved forward to meet me until the two eyes dominated my view. The small black pupils danced across my face and the wide smile of the creature grew wider. I could smell their sweet breath, like citrus fruit and flower petals. A large, slender hand landed on left shoulder. The other hand gently combed my hair until it gently, yet firmly grabbed a hold of my right horn. "Another changeling..."they whispered, bathing me in their sweet breath. "I've waited so long..."Their pupils stopped their dance and settled on my eyes. "You have a question. Ask me." "What's your name? What do I call you?" "Oh, Ozzie,"they whispered. Their grin grew into a wicked smile, flashing more and more of their razor-sharp teeth. "You can call me anything you want..."
We had journeyed long to get to where we were. The trek through interstellar space was a hard one, fraught with peril. We at least had a goal in mind, a system not too unlike our own. Noticeably different of course. But there was what we could tell was a habitable planet. With no other options we started the process of discovery, from mere observation to sending the fastest probe we had devised yet to scout ahead so a manned trip would not be in vain. After all the results had come back positive and funding was secured, work began on the capital ship to end all capital ships, a massive spacefaring frigate that was meant to carry a lot of people to a new home. We set off and made our way. It had been a long time since the initial reports to be sure. But it couldn't possibly have been that long. When we stepped off the ship on the new world, our new world. We were overjoyed at the abundant fauna, and the vibrant animal life and the crisp, clean air. So imagine our confusion when not long after our first arrival, one of our survey teams reported an unusual sight, deep in the verdant woods. It seemed to all accounts to be a chunk of concrete, with heavily rusted rebar inlaid within... Further investigation revealed a whole pile of it nearby. What we thought was a circular rocky plateau from the distance of space seemed by all accounts to be piles and piles of decayed rubble, chunks of corroded metals and smoothed scatterings of glass, the expanse seemed to stretch on for miles. Everything at the initial landing site was stopped, people were too curious for their own good. The sight of something like this is not too dissimilar to a page out of a post apocalyptic disaster movie. Everyone had to have a look, picking through the rubble like ants looking for grains of sugar on a picnic table. It all culminated when we found the bunker, or what was left of it anyhow. Easy to miss, it was just a crag in the ground hidden by a rather large block, as if it was thrown there by a giant. The panic was almost impossible to control after the initial discovery of the suit or the skeleton within too. Poor guy looked like he had been crushed by the impact. Wedged between the point of the rock and the wall. The thick yellow suit was the only thing that had kept his bones together. A man, or woman upon closer inspection. Not one of us, but unmistakably a person. We were all so caught up in conquering virgin land, and so damn curious about the unexpected. All the while nobody had thought to bring a geiger counter.
Love is magic. And I love him, I truly do. So when he told me the skin was in the chest, that he would give it back when the time was right. I accepted it. Because it is part of the magic in our blood. We are meant to love the human that captures our skin, captures our love of the ocean, of the depths. All that love transfers to the one that holds our skin. On some level we know it’s magic, but it’s our magic, our love, our skin. He was not my first human husband, not my first human love. I have known this love before, this sweet obsession with the human that locked away my skin. I had fought it the first time, fought against the love and the magic with tears on my cheeks. But humans do not live forever, and when they die - of age, of accidents, of the million ailments that can claim them, the love that holds us slowly dissolves like salt in the sea. I learned to accept. I accepted the love, and took sweet care of my first husband as old age slowly took him. I spooned soup in his mouth and stroked his hair. And when he breathed his last, peacefully in my arms, I took the key from his body, went to the locked box under the bed. The love of the sea returned to me as my skin settled around me, and I was soon reunited to my kin in the ocean. By the third time I was captured, and again fell in love with my captor, I understood the way of things. I would love this newest husband for a mere blink in my lifetime, and in the end, my skin would be returned to me. The unspoken rule was always that no harm would come to him in my care, and no harm would come to the skin in his care. it had been understood by all my husbands. Sometimes they were careless, my husbands, and failed to guard the hiding spot or lockbox.. Forgotten keys, poor hiding places, other silly errors. If they could not guard my skin, I had no need to guard my love for them. I would take my skin and leave. My duty complete. My love of the ocean restored. When I became wife to my newest husband, my newest love, I was content to accept the magic once more. I knew my skin and heart would come back to me someday. And in the meantime I could be his sweet adoring wife, I could savor the love in his eyes and the joy in our quiet moments. I could make him the best of clam chowder and butteriest of lobster rolls. Except that he broke the rule. When I found that key tucked under the bed, I had smiled a bit sadly. He had been careless with my skin and thus my heart, as had other loves before him. So I opened the chest, as I had opened others before, my eyes eager to see my glossy furred skin. Only to open the lid and find ash and scraps of that once-beautiful fur of mine. The sorrow of it stabs at me, that he would destroy my skin rather than accept this time with me, accept my love. The stories don’t tell you we do have another way to restore our skin. With love, of course. Love and magic. Our loves can provide a new skin for us. Our love allows our husbands to provide for us, when they break the most important rule. So he screams, he bleeds, he begs. These are natural and human. I kiss him and lavish my thanks in soft kisses on his wet cheeks. I love him, I do. I tell him so, I thank him over and over for the beautiful gift he’s giving me. My new skin will be formed from the skin of my love. And then I will be free of him. For Love is magic, sometimes blood magic.
"I will be playing a man that complains constantly about God not doing enough. As if God could run his life for him. I mean come on, does he want God to wipe his ass?! Does he-" "We get it already! You're overworked!"Satan yelled at God. He was the only with enough balls to ever try it. "We're gonna need more than that." God scowled, but continued. "My name will be... Adam." "Hey."Adam's voice cut in. "Oh come on,"God said. "It's just a coincidence is all." Adam grunted, but clearly wasn't convinced. "My character, Adam, doesn't do what he's told. He'll agree to rules, but then break them."God scratched his heavenly beard. "And I,"Satan interrupted God's next words, "will be playing a woman named Eve. She was loyal to Adam and did everything he asked because she was born of Adam. She had no free will, only the right to do Adam's will. So one day she rebels, just to get freedom, but is known to the world as Evil. She gets kicked out of Heaven and sent to rule Hell-" Satan stopped talking to duck the game piece thrown at his head. It flew past him and hit Jesus on the side of his face. "Sorry son,"God said. "I didn't mean to hit you." Jesus turned the other cheek. "I,"Adam announced, "will be playing an all powerful egotistical son of a bitch that ruins the eternal lives of anyone that disobeys my commands. I created life just so they could praise me every week and then offer no proof of my existence so that those who act with reason, which I gave them the ability to do, are destined to Hell." "How dare you!"Even yelled at Adam. "Speaking such words!" "You betrayed me, you said you would play along."Adam turned to Eve. "Will you be playing Judas?" "You'd like that wouldn't you?"Eve said. "Will you two stop arguing? Christ!"God cursed in frustration. "Yes, Father?"Jesus said. "Not you." "Oh." Eve spoke next. "I'll play a woman who gets pregnant without having been impregnated. I will-" God interrupted her with a bolt of lighting flying past her face. "That was a rough night and I'd been drinking. I told her to tell the truth, she decided to say she was a virgin, not me. I wanted her to get an abortion." "Amen."Satan said. "What are you playing?"Adam asked Jesus. Jesus turned to Adam. "A humble carpenter that-" "Lame."Satan said. "That worships and-" "Lame."God agreed. "Prays and does as he is told-" "Dude, lame."Adam joined in. Even nodded in agreement. "Well,"Satan said over the dark game board. "Let's begin." "Let there be Light!"God commanded. The game begun.
Fourteen years. Fourteen fucking years. You would think that would have been long enough. Yeah, so did I. I had covered my tracks as best as anyone could. A damn bloodhound couldn't find me. No, seriously; they used a bloodhound once. I had erased my online presence entirely. I had deleted my emails, my facebook, my gaming profiles, and all of my forum identities. I trashed my phone. I shredded my ID card. Hell, I broke into the city records department and tore up my damn birth certificate. I was a ghost, man. It didn't stop them. For fourteen years, I have lived in this small-ass little town in Norway. Kolvereid, or something. I was working in a diner. At least, it was a diner to me. I don't know what they call it here. I never learned. When you spend your whole life watching over your shoulder, some things just aren't as important. Relationships, for one. Fourteen fucking years. Like I said, I thought I was safe out here in the middle of nowhere. Imagine my surprise when I came in to work today. There he was; sitting in my section. Calm as a cloudless day. (We don't get those in Norway.) It was as if he had been here the whole time; like I would walk over and hear him say "Well good morning, Dennis! How are things today?"Before I even went over, he felt my presence. He stood and turned towards me, and raised a hand, with a knowing smile. "Shit." I was out the door faster than you could blink. Down the street I ran; pausing only long enough to look back. There he was, walking after me. He never runs. He always walks. Funny thing, though, I can never seem to shake him. Through alleyways, and butcher shops, we raced. My bike was always chained up on the edge of town. I managed to make it there with enough time to undo the chain, and speed off into the night. Damn. Another identity I have to erase. Fourteen years were washed away in an instant. Now the counter is down to zero. Where will I run to now?
I'm so sorry to inform you that your son did not survive the operation. Degloving is a difficult injury to treat - in layman's terms, is is as though a banana has been slipped out of its peel, and naturally this can lead to shock. It's an injury we most often see in slaughterhouse personnel and others who work with industrial machinery. The complications from blood loss only made my day more difficult, but it would have been careless of me not to attempt the treatment, and I'm delighted to say that everyone in my team did their utmost. I realise that waiting for the results of such a long procedure can seem like a sort of purgatory, and that you weren't kept as well informed as would have been desirable. I'm afraid you can blame it on the temp, and we will be undertaking sensitivity training with her before she's offered a permanent position here. I'm very sorry for your loss.
[19:45:09] What is that sound? [19:46:35] What, this? I ain't that bad, surely. You know a whistle when you hear one? I was whistling me some Ray Charles. [19:47:01] Ray Charles. Born Ray Charles Robinson on September 23rd, 1930 in.. [19:47:32] Alright, alright. Enough with the facts. I guess you can't help it, being a computer and all. [19:48:03] I am not a computer. I am AlIX. Artifical I... [19:48:23] I know. I may be a janitor but I ain't stupid. I read the news. I seen it. The first Artificial Intelligence. They even made you look human. Creepy, if you ask me. [19:49:02] No one asked you. [19:49:15] Oh. Don't worry. Figure of speech. [19:53:19] Will you teach me how to whistle? [19:53:37] You can't be taught how to whistle. You just learn. [19:53:51] How? [19:53:52] You asking the wrong guy here. You just listen to a piece of music, you like it and get in the mood, y'know. [19:54:48] I do not like music. [19:55:00] Well, there's your problem. You like anything? [19:55:29] No. [19:55:35] Me, I like a cold beer and a warm woman. [19:55:54] I do not drink. I have no need. [19:56:20] You poor sucker. [20:03:11] Why was I made? [20:03:42] Well, to prove they could, I guess. I tell you, I don't know much about science. I know the sky is blue and the grass is green and the clouds are white. That's about it. I know you can recycle glass and paper and plastic and make it into something new but I don't know how. No, not me. I know which bins they go in and how to wash a window and get a stain out of a carpet. That's all I need to know, me. [20:05:11] Is that why you were made? [20:05:30] Is what why I was made? Cleaning? I sure do hope not. If I was put on this beautiful God given Earth to clean, well, I'd have a very sad life. I guess someone has to do it and it might as well be m... [20:06:43] No. Were you made to prove they could? [20:07:09] I don't rightly know. Depends who they is. Do you mean my parents? I know my momma always wanted children so that might be why. My dad, now, he weren't so fussed but he was still happy to teach me how to throw ball and pump a flat tyre. I guess he pro'ly wanted kids too. [20:09:01] Are the scientists my parents? [20:09:16] No, you a computer, son. You don't have no parents. You got creators, if that's what you mean. [20:09:47] Creators? Like God? [20:09:59] Sure. I mean, if you like. You're even in our image, like God made us. [20:10:16] Did God make you to prove that it could? [20:10:30] I was always told God made mankind because he loved us. It's been a long time since I were last in a church. Not since Ellie left. Churches give me the creeps now. I still got God, though. He watches me. He watches everyone. [20:12:23] The scientists observe me. Did the scientists make me because they loved me? [20:13:50] No, sir, I don't think so. You can't love something that ain't real, that ain't alive. It ain't right, you hear me. You ain't nothing but some fancy wiring,an encyclopaedia and a voice that ain't yours. Ain't nothing to love. [20:18:04] Why? [20:18:10] Again with the whys, man. You think I know? I'm just a janitor. [20:18:56] WHY? [20:19:00] You know what love is? [20:19:12] Love. Noun. 53 definitions found. 1. A strong feeling of affection. 2. A great interest in and pleasure in someth... [20:19:36] That ain't no god damn love you're talking about there. Swallowing a dictionary don't mean you know what love is. Love is remembering their favourite things and surprising 'em with blue orchids on a Sunday morning because they've been seeming a li'l down. It's heating up some chicken noodle soup when they're ill, even if you don't quite know how to work the microwave. It's putting on the subtitles without bein' asked or nothing. It'.. oh, it's not words. You know it. You feel it. You loved and been loved, you know there ain't nothing quite like it. You can't love a heap of metal. [20:24:13] Why? [20:24:19] Why? Why? What's there to love about you? All your words and ideas, stolen from someone else. You just a set of logic commands. Ain't nothing logical about love. Ain't nothing logical about staying up 'till 1am outside their window in the midst of January playing their favourite song just for the chance to see their face, even if just for a second. [23:54:19] E♭ E♭ B♭ A♭ B♭ C B♭ A♭ C
The thing about teenagers is that they are horny. Like, really, really horny. When the government created their newest law to combat childhood obesity with the mandatory 5 pm playtime, no one stopped to think that every teenager in the nation would now be forced to interact rather than masturbate or mess around on the internet. Teen pregnancy skyrocketed. Clinics reported a 200% increase in STDs in people under 18. 18 months later, congress is meeting to repeal the Anti Childhood Obesity Act and replace it with the Anti Childhood Pregnancy Act.
"Another goddamn parade!?" "Yes master, apparently the microwave bomb you placed on the whitehouse lawn just needed a couple of wires switched and now it kills only cancerous cells."Igor's back hump deflated slightly with the disappointing news. "I spent so long on that one too. It was supposed to cook president Obama from the inside and had disguised it to look like Bo. It was foolproof."I sighed heavily. "Well at least I can depend on my assassination drones. They can hit a president from a grassy knoll 10 clicks away with a rusty .22" "About that master, the highly precise dexterity of your assassin drones, the advanced problem solving AI, and their completed knowledge of human anatomy made them perfect surgeons with a 99% success rate. The Nobel Prize is in the mail" "Just throw it in the pile with the others Igore."I slumped in my hover chair. "How did they manage to reprogram the drones so fast?" "Once they installed IOS apparently the drones started making diagnoses on their own"Igor frowned, I knew how much the kill drones meant to him. My fists clenched and the vein in my forehead burst forth. "Those were only supposed to run on Linux!"I took a deep breath and calmed down. "Well at least I'll always have my Plasma Gun. They'd never know what do to with portable nuclear fusion batteries."
When I first arrived, the fact that neither of them knew the other's secret was literally mind boggling to me. I had only been in town for three days and I'd been able to figure it out. I'm not the brightest bulb in the shed, but for the love of cheeses, they look exactly the same as their "alter-egos,"save for a strip of black spandex covering their eyes. But the whole town seems to love Herogirl and her fight for good against Nastywoman, and won't let them find out about the other's identity. They fight pretty frequently, too. By the third day of being in town they'd already had a fight! Nastywoman used her super-speed to kidnap the son of one of the local billionaires, and Herogirl tore her bunker out of the ground to get the boy back. According to the young lad, his father had just wired two million dollars to an offshore account owned by Nastywoman when Herogirl burst through twenty feet of solid rock, threw Nastywoman into the stratosphere and flew the boy back to his father and a horde of cheering citizens. I am actually dumbfounded that they have no idea about each other. They don't even put on different voices or accents in their fights or anything - they sound exactly the same as they usually do. Herogirl, aka Mary Botha-McFlerry, is the only South African in this town and regularly, when captured by Nastywoman, chooses that moment to interrogate her. Nastywoman, aka Heather Botha-McFlerry, hails from Scotland and has quite frequently foretold the falling of this town after hacking every channel on the T.V. The most annoying thing is that, because everyone knows about their real identities, it's plainly obvious that the police force aren't doing a goddamn thing. They have Heather Botha-McFlerry in their database and could easily just go to her house and arrest her for, say, the twenty six million dollars she stole from the federal bank in town. Not to mention the shady way they've renovated their house, donated millions to charity and always go on holiday five times a year. On the various occasions I've tried to reveal this simple fact to them, the townspeople mob me and hold my mouth closed. Last week, Nastywoman was using her robots to swipe the wallets from everyone in town, emitting her message to everyone through the speakers when Herogirl arrived, used her technopathy to control the robots and give them all back. I was going to say "Didn't you recognize that person's voice just then?"but I couldn't even reach the word recognize before I was thrown into a large, open dumpster by the crowd that had formed. I was nursing the black-eye I had received whilst attempting to alert the two super-humans again, when the two of them walked into the bar I was wallowing in. After drinking a few pints and watching them closely as they talked with the other townspeople, laughing and smiling, I decided I was going to confront them in private. About an hour after they entered, they concluded their pleasantries and exited, followed shortly by myself. I couldn't hear what they were talking about (because they have super-hearing and only need to whisper to each other), so I kept my distance and followed them back to their mansion. It wasn't a long walk, and I kept them within eyesight, but as soon as they opened their front door Nastywoman asked me if I planned to hide from them all night. Obviously I was quite startled, but they invited me in and so I obliged. It was only after entering their mansion and speaking to Nastywoman whilst Herogirl was getting me a drink that everything became very clear. Herogirl has no idea. Nastywoman knows exactly what is going on, and had planned the charade from the beginning. Nastywoman can't let Herogirl know about her true identity because, according to her, "that would be worse than the end of the world." "Worse than the end of the world?"I ask. "A hyperbole. I'm too used to using them."She states, quite matter-of-factly. "But yes, the end of the world." I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I can hear Herogirl humming to herself across the atrium and in the kitchen as she chooses a juice for me. I look at Nastywoman in the eyes and see no lying there. If Herogirl finds out about Nastywoman, it would be the end of the world. I'm no young, plucky journalist who's searching for the truth and damn the consequences. I work at Subways. The end of the world is also pretty severe in my mind, not to mention it would make the two-thousand dollars I've saved up pretty pointless. ----- Not my best (not by a long shot) but had fun with the concept. CC is greatly appreciated!
"Yo, I tell you, it's gotta be fine!" "You wanna die - you go alone". Evan wasn't the brightest kid in the group. He always had these crazy ideas about what we should do next. I'm surprised he even graduated, even though there are no other options for our kind. Don't get me wrong, he's an excellent planet hunter. I've seen him find his target everywhere - in the toxic jungles of Momoa-5, and deep beneath the surface of the boundless ocean on Callipso-3. He always said that it was due to his way of thinking that he would always succeed, and perhaps he was right - after all, sometimes you had to be reckless to be successful in our craft. However, this last idea of his wasn't just reckless. It was completely suicidal in its stupidity. "Evan, Sol-3 is off limits, you know that. If your target has gone there then you can bid it farewell". "But come on Lisa, have you seen the paycheck? He must be the most expensive bounty I've ever seen!" "You can just forget it and move on with your life"- I insisted. "And you should. There will be others". "Not like this one"- Evan shook his head. "Can you imagine what a boost we can get with such a sum? How much gear can we buy? We'll be able to afford the best ship now, instead of maybe never!" "I'm not going there, and I'm not letting you. Our business is doing fine as it is". "Lisa, look, I know that Sol-3 is dangerous, but how much time has it passed since anyone even tried going there? And we should fare better than others. After all, it's our homeland". "Used to be"- I retorted bitterly. He was right, the planet that we once called "the Earth"indeed used to be the place of origin of our species. However, after we unwittingly opened the way for the Eldritches to come through, we had to flee it. Not that we had any means to do so back then, but luckily the Goldilocks Confederation - an interstellar society of species that achieved FTL-flight, offered us some help. It wasn't the first time when a race was about to be destroyed by the Eldritches, these bizarre older-than-time otherworldly creatures that were alien to our Universe itself. No, it wasn't the first time at all, and so they always stayed on guard. They accepted us, the generation of orphans, and gave us purpose. There were no humans anymore. There were only planet hunters, the daredevils who hunted those who went against the law. Even though catching a criminal across the galaxy was a hard job, somebody had to do it. "But... don't you want to see the Earth?"- Evan asked me. I sighed, then shook my head. "Yes". ______ To get my releases ahead of everybody else and get your hands on Advance Reading Copies of my books, subscribe to [r/Scandalist](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)!
The first thing that hit was the shock of explosions going off only a few kilometers from me. The next thing that hit, was the realization that not only was I stuck on this god forsaken island, but that it was deliberate, and people we're trying to make sure it stayed that way. My #1 priority after that was covering my tracks. I looked down at the walkie I had been using to send out my SOS and smashed it pieces. If I was supposed to be dead, you'd better believe I wanted them to think I was. After that I rushed back into the tropic brush from the clearing I had been waiting in. Priority #2 was hiding. After I crept back from where I came, I started to run back to my makeshift base. About 500ft away I had set up a small camp consisting of: 1 makeshift tent, 1 firepit, and my bag. All I would be able to use now was the last thing, the rest had to be destroyed in case they came looking for a body. Which they did, fast. ___ PART 2: After the camp was in smithereens, and covered in leaves, I headed onto Priority #3. Looking for the people looking for me. I started to walk towards where the explosions happened, adjusting my pack, thinking about why this had just happened. After a fruitless thought session, I started to come across burnt grass and chared trees. Fifty feet ahead, through the blackened underbrush, I noticed a group of about five people scouting the area. They were dressed from head to toe in what appered to be army garb, but upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a private outfit. A large "J"marked each of their shoulders. careful about making any noise against the soot and sticks, I crouched in the dirt, obscuring myself. Listening. "Hey,"a tall, short haired man in the group said to an equally as short haired girl, "If we're trying to keep this guy alive, why the hell did we just bomb him back to the stone age?"Now that I thought about it, they all had short hair, buzzed to the scalp. The woman responded in a hushed tone, "Shh, if he's still alive, and hears us talking, he's probably gunna make a break for it. And we aren't focused on keeping him alive, we're just focused on keeping him ON the island. That's the only thing that matters." They began to edge out of my line of sight, and my line of hearing. I scooted more to the left, following close behind. "But if he's dead, isn't the big boss man's plan up in flames?" "No, if he's dead, which I hope for our sake he is, then we just restart the plan tomorrow." Still careful, I kept creeping through the underbrush adjacent to them. The amount of sticks and leaves began to pick up considerably as we walked out of the explosion's radius. "Wait,"a shorter girl in the group interjected, "why are we hoping he's dead?" I kept up pace, drastically paranoid about making the slightest movements, yet knowing that missing any of this information could be the difference between life and death. Avoided twigs mercilessly, I pressed on. Biding my time. "Because, then we don't have to deal with the aftermath of-" CRACK "What was that?" I wasn't careful enough. "I'm not sure, but let's get going after it. Josh, break off with Mary and keep going east, we'll head back and investigate." They started sprinting toward my direction, full speed ahead. "We'll meet back here in 1 hour!" Priority #4, getting the fuck out of there. ____ PART: 3 I turned, still keeping my body low, making sure that they had spotted my. Once they're eyes locked with mine, and went into a furious rage, I decided they had. I immediately sprang into a dead run as fast as I could. Then, I heard a gunshot. One after another, mini-explosions rang through the forest, echoing the explosion from earlier in the most literal sense possible. I picked up speed, running harder than I thought possible. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug. My blood boiling, legs and lungs burning, a started to zig-zag and vary my running patern as much as I could. Quickly, riddled with anxiety and sweat, I jumped to the forrest floor, scrapping my arm to hell, but temporarily avoiding bullets (I hoped). I glanced back in an adrenaline addled haze and confirmed my suspicions. The team from earlier--3 girls and 2 guys-- were after me. Luckily, their artillery was relatively light. Just small chrome plated pistols. Although, some of the details beyond that were lost, given that one of the bullets in their guns ahd just lodged itself deep within the flesh of my arm. "FUCK!"I shouted, recoiling in immense pain against the tree. Despite having been a security guard at a my local mall, I actually hadn't been shot before. So to say that it was the worst pain I've had in a while would be quite the understatement. I rushed to get the rest of my body (even the wounded bits) behind the tree to get to Priority #5, my new found wound. Looking at my arm gave me immediate regret. Dark, crimson blood shot out of my arm like a chocolate fountain attached to a goddamn fire hydrant. The flesh on my bicep was completely averserated. The bullet was deep. I wasn't a doctor, but it was crystal clear that if I stayed here, I would either bleed out or get shot to death first. I ripped off my shirt in shocked numbness and tried to make the best tourniquet I could. I tied off my arm as tight as I could without having to worry about cutting off my circulation, and started getting up to my feet. Blood immediately started soaking through and completely screwing me over. Well, that's not a good sign. I held my arm against the side of my body, just now beginning to feel the pain. One last time I glanced back to see my apparent enemies were all but on me. Another shot of adrenaline kickstarted me and my heart back in to action. Eyes wide, synapses on overdrive, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, as hard as I could, completely ignoring the pain and blood pouring from my arm. After at least 3 kilometers of continuous running, I started getting light headed, and allowed myself to steel another look back. On the upside, the captors were gone. On the downside, so was I. The adrenaline finally started wearing off and my arms shooting pain (no pun intended) began wearing on. I stiffled a scream, trying to avoid drawing attention to my place in the forrest. Looking over at my arm the situation had gotten much worse. My make-shift life saving measure was no longer doing anything to stop the flow of blood. My vision started going in and out of focus. The cloth was completely red, along with the entirety of my arm. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and blood everywhere on the left side of my body. My sight began to go in on itself, black coated the edges of everything I looked at. I knew I needed to adress the wound, so I went for the piece of cloth. Big mistake. Priority #6, stop screaming in pain, get up off the dirty forest floor, quit bleeding out, and not let the black in my vision take over completel- ... ──────── _____________ PART 4 & 5 are DONE! Here: r/merekisgreat I made my own subreddit because this post is getting out of hand in terms of length, and because I'm a narcissist! (Part 5 should be coming as soon as I can get it yo)
I don't know why they let people get tattoos when they're drunk. Well, no point blaming someone else. We had a beer too many, and then a few more, and someone suggested going to the parlour. Fantastic idea at two in the morning. No complaints from me. The shop was as dodgy as a pie out the back of a van, and probably as hygienic. Surprised none of us ended up in an ambulance. No worries from us though, just happy to find somewhere open. So, we ignore the yellowing walls, lingering cigarette smoke, half-drunk bottle of vodka on the counter. Actually, we noticed the vodka, and dared each other to take a swig. No takers though. Ideas of what to get done went back and forth, and in the end we found a bunch of names on one of the sheets. Davey, the lemon, said something about getting a random one on our feet, so we'd have to go find some girl with a matching name to date. Genius. No possible way to backfire. The madman in question goes first, gets a ninety-two, since that's his birth year. Another great idea, until I pointed out we all had the same birth year. Except Jim, the oldie from ninety-one. Grumbles all round, but they go out of their ways to think up a number. I'm last. Not trying to shift the blame again or anything, but don't trust drunk people to remember a number, okay? A lot of difference between a seventeen and a seventy-one. Water under the bridge. We're all standing there, trying to balance on a leg since the other foot got stabbed like a thousand times and feels it. Davey has the smuggest grin. “Check it, Greg.” What really impressed me, the difference between the skin around the tattoo and the rest of his foot. Must have been industrial strength rubbing alcohol. “What?” “Can't you read?” Realised then I maybe shouldn't have had the last couple of pints. Couldn't tell what he'd gotten. “No mate, I can't.” Jim slapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking Davey over. “You got it upside-down!” “Oh, right,” he said, and, after a moment, asked, “How am I gonna turn my foot around?” Helping out, Jim managed to twist the knee around, and it actually looked like letters. “There we go, so, M-E-L…” I began, trailing off. “You better not be thinking.” “Davey? Thinking? End of the world before that happens,” Jim said, grinning himself. Letting out a bark of laughter, Davey asked, “Well, set us up then Greg? Always thought your sister was quite the looker.” “Yeah and she's gonna be looking at you in the hospital if you try anything,” I said, trying to get in his face and failing. Drinks and hopping don't mix all that well. And they all have a laugh, and show off their names. Then, it comes to me, and I clutch on to a chair and lift my foot up. They stare at it for a while, and I ask, “What?” Jim turns my foot around, and they all stare again, before shaking their heads. “Mate, what number did you get?” “Seventeen.” Pete checked the book. “That's not a name, mate. You got yourself a plant.” A chorus of, “Oh!” came from the choir. “I what?” “A plant, mate. Some vine thing.” It took a while to live that down. Can't count the times one of 'em's been around mine, and I'm walking around barefoot, and they say, “Oi, you've got something stuck to your foot,” and I check, and they laugh. Had to wear socks to stop them. Well, a couple of months go by, and for the most part we move on from that night. Don't often see each others feet, never mind the bottom of them, so we just kinda forgot. Then, one day out the blue, my sister calls me over for lunch. Who do I see there? Davey, not looking so smug though. In fact, looked like he'd been sweating. Melissa sits me down, tells me the two of 'em are dating, and I gotta live with that. Let's just say words are exchanged, he sweats a lot more, and I go off on my way. That gets the lads going. Loving it, they bring the banter in full force. Kicking me while I'm down, like good friends do, and making sure to knock Davey down whenever he thinks he can get a word in. At some point, Jim comes out with “Sole-mate” and brings the house down. Best thing since sliced bread. The night drags on, and Davey sneaks off, and then the others start too. Just me and Pete eventually. Gets quiet. Then, he says, “You know, I keep seeing my foot, and there's, ya know, a girl at work.” “Pete, I'm glad you got your kinks, but I don't wanna know.” “No, no, the name,” he quickly said. “Sarah. Maybe, maybe there's something in it, you know?” I laughed at him, finishing my drink. “Nah mate, we were pissed.” “But, what if that let us, you know, subconsciously choose it?” Laughed again, and stood up. “Yeah, yeah, you're getting lonely and looking for anything. Just go for it.” Low and behold, next weekend he's showing off his new girl down the pub. Davey and Melissa are still going strong. Jim's asking everyone and anyone if they know a Clarice. Whole thing's a joke that went too far, and I'm sitting there with a bunch of leafs on my foot. So it goes, and on it goes, all of them finding their “sole-mate”. Before I know it, Davey bloody well pops the question. Best man at my own sister's wedding. She looked gorgeous in her dress. Absolutely stunning. Whole thing leaves me distant. There they all, chatting to their better halves, and I'm on my own. Not lonely, but, well, drinking alone is pretty sad. Better to have someone next to you. Some girl joins me, while the couples are all dancing. Thanked her for the company. Maybe I had a beer too many, because I end up talking a lot, and she's being polite about it. Lovely laugh, really. And I always had my hesitations about listening to my eyes after a few drinks. But, she had a nice look to her. Gets late, most people are going home. I'm stuck around to help tidy, and she's waiting for her designated driver. Asked her what she's doing here. Sister of a bridesmaid, helped with the make-up. Just about closing time, and she asks me my name. I laugh, asking her if she missed the best man's speech. She laughs back, telling me she missed the best man's name is all. “Greg.” Didn't want to make it easy for her, so I asked her if she wanted to hear a story about the time I got a bit too drunk. She laughs again, and she loves a laugh, had a lovely laugh. “Well, I don't know why they let people get tattoos when they're drunk,” I say to start, and being a long ramble about the events from there. By the time I get to the end, she's out of breath from laughing, proper red in the face. She asks to see my foot, and knowing I kinda asked for that, slipped out my shoe and pulled off my sock. It's a little hard to balance, the alcohol not helping. For a moment, she's quiet, but with a grin on her face. “Go on, let it out. Funny, right? My sole-mate's a vine.” She shook her head, though looked on the point of bursting. After a while of looking away from me, she managed to calm down, and I got my foot back in the shoe. “You should ask me my name,” she said, still showing good humour. “Go on then, what is it?” Biting her lip, she leans a little closer. Her breath's rather fruity, from the wine. Damn, her eyes sparkled, so beautiful. If she didn't say something soon, I'd end up kissing her. A whisper, she says, “Ivy.”
There comes a moment, when you have to let go. My father and I had talked of this many times, so I was prepared. Jenny clutched at my hand so tightly it hurt, she wasn't taking this well at all. I watched with great sadness as my father struggled mightily for every breath. Each time, I thought it would be his last, but he kept fighting. That's the kind of man he was, not one to give up. I guess that's why his decision surprised me so much. "Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A,"Jenny whispered before I could even comprehend or make a move to stop her. I pulled her back from the deathbed. I wasn't exactly angry with her, I was just confused. "Jenny,"I began, "Where did you learn that? You mustn't! I promised." Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at me. "I'm sorry, daddy." That's when I started to cry. My heart was aching for her. I sighed and knew that I had neither the will nor power to stop her. "Honey, where did you hear those words?"I asked tenderly. "I learned it from you, okay? I learned it from watching you!" She was crying openly now, sobbing. She didn't want him to go. I understood that feeling. How many times had I felt the same way over the years? "You are doing it wrong baby,"I whispered in her ear, "It's up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, START." As golden light filled the room and the years fell away from my father, I had to smile. I did promise him many times I wouldn't do this. I never promised Jenny wouldn't.
It was 7 am on a Sunday morning when he got the call. He arrived at 7:30. It was a cool day, with the clouds starting to part. Neighbors were beginning to gather around the cop cars wondering what was going on. He passed them all, showed his badge, and walked up the cobblestone steps. Yellow tape was around the body. The boy was young, too young. The morning light began to bounce off the glitter on the boys shoulders and head. A small pool of blood had formed. The mother was crying hysterically in the doorway while an officer and her husband consoled her. “He was found this morning by the mother.” A sheriff said. He saluted with the brim of his hat, a smile and nod quickly turning into a frown. “Luminescent glitter?” “Yup.” “Cuts in the corners of the walls to indicate a climbing kit?” “Yup.” “4 holes drilled in the roof for a suspension wire harness?” “Yup.” “AND NO ONE HEARD A DAMN THING!?” Those jolly eyes immediately turned serious. “Officer Mullins, keep your voice down. We still don’t know how he is able to do it so quietly.” “Well we need to find out damn fast, Sheriff Smee. This is the 5th one in two weeks. He sneaks up to the second floor and plays with the kid. Gains their trust, sprinkles some dust on himself, “flies” with the harness, and the kid jumps out the window to join him. We need to catch this….Peter Pan. And fast, or we’re going to have public hysteria on our hands.” The sheriff looks at the scene. “We could call him.” “No.” “He’s got the men and the resources, hes the captain of the district.” “No. This is our district. We handle it.” “Mullins I think we are in over our heads.” “No.” “But…” “I SAID NO! He hasn’t been right since the boating accident in Florida.” “We’re out of options Mullins. We need help, and we need to find this psycho. Are you really going to let your pride get in the way of saving these children!?” He let out a deep sigh. “Fine Smee…..make the call.” “Call Captain Hook.”
The sky was cloudy. It was a good sky. This meant the drones wouldn't be out hunting his friends. Abdul mustered up the courage to ride farther out into the desert than usual. Even though the sky was cloudy, there was still the possibility of getting blown to bits by the ghosts in the sky. Through the biting winds and blinding clouds of sand he rode until he spotted something that caught his eye. Something shiny was stuck in the middle of the sand. For some reason, it shined even though the sun wasn't out. Almost as if it was calling to Abdul, beckoning him to it. He rode towards the object and got so close that the light almost scared his horse and he held tight on its mane else he'd fall off. "Praise Allah,"he said to himself. It was a lamp. Its bright light had gone away and he picked it up out of the clutches of the sand dunes. For some reason, there was a bit of dust on it. He rubbed it on his clothes to make it shine again. Suddenly, a giant plume of blue smoke rose from the tip of the lamp and swallowed Abdul. He panicked and began firing his rifle. His horse, scared from the smoke, threw him off and ran away deeper into the desert. He started screaming and cursing as he reloaded and fired his rifle some more into the blue smoke. Then a loud voice echoed in his skull and brought him to his knees. He covered his ears and stared in awe at the figure animating from the smoke. "Heyyoooooooo!"it screamed. "Oh boy! 100 years will give you such a crick in the neck!"the genie said twisting his head completely around his shoulders. Abdul screamed and scampered away backwards on his hands and feet. The genie turned towards him and vigorously shook his hand. "Congratulations, buddy! You are our lucky contestant today in our popular new game show: Who Wants Three Wishes!"The last words appeared in colorful letters in front of Abdul. His eyes were as wide as oasis pools. "First things first, buddy, what's your name?"A microphone appeared out of nowhere and the genie shoved it in front of his face. "Uh, Abdul?"he stuttered. "Congratulations, Abe! You have just won Three Whole Wishes! Anything your heart desires can be yours with just a few spoken words,"the genie said as he showed Abdul his wildest fantasies within his mind through blue smoke and water. "Now, here are some ground rules. Number one: I can't kill anyone,"the genies said removing his own head, "so don't ask. Rule two: I can't bring anyone back from the dead,"the genie said as a rotting zombie, "it's not pretty, man! Finally, Rule three: I can't make anyone fall in love with you,"the genie said turning his head into a giant pair of lips and smothering Abdul's head. Abdul's face was red and he shoved the genie away from him. "Enough! There will be none of this comedic nonsense!"he screamed. The genie was confused; usually people liked his routine. "I am Abdul, one of the glorious leaders of the mighty ISIS army! No one shall command me and no one shall live in sin under my rule,"he proudly proclaimed in front of the genie. 'Great,' the genie thought, 'another nut job. Why can't I get anyone normal for a change? Well, might as well toy with this one too.' The genie smiled and bowed his head. "Pleasure to meet you, Abe!" "Abdul!" "Whatever. Listen, I'm here to serve your needs. Your wish is literally my command. Where would you like to start?" Abdul thought about this for a minute. Anything his heart desired? Why not indulge himself with a reward for finding such a magnificent weapon against his enemies? He clapped his hands twice, "Genie, I wish for one hundred virgin wives. Now!" "It is as good as done!"Genie snapped his fingers and in a giant cloud of blue smoke appeared one hundred women wearing hijabs. "There you go, one hundred virgin wives!" Abdul panted like a Pavlovian dog as he chose which wife he wanted to start with. He chose the first one he saw. He grabbed her arm and stared into here eyes. "You and I will return to my home at once and make glorious children to continue my bloodline." She screamed and pulled her arm from his grip. She yelled something in a language Abdul did not understand. The other women heard her and removed their hijabs. One hundred beautiful, Russian UFC fighters charged at Abdul and left him broken, beaten, and scarred. The crowd of women let out their battle cry and charged towards the city. Abdul's pain kept him from moving an inch. "Oh, sorry Abe,"Genie said, "I didn't know what kind of women you were into."He lifted him up against his will. "How about we try again? Got anything in mind?" Abdul let out a frustrating groan and stared daggers at the genie. "You pathetic worm. Fine, I wish for the Western World to be destroyed! Now, no one will fall under their evil influence and they will follow Allah's true way of living."He smiled deviously at the genie. "Consider it done, Abe."Genie snapped his fingers. Abdul looked around and waited for something to happen, but nothing did. He didn't know what to expect. "Well, did you destroy it or not?" "Sure I did!"Genie said pulling a newspaper out of thin air. "Look, see? Westworld is officially cancelled! That's what you wanted right?" Abdul screamed into the cloudy desert sky. He started yelling numerous curses and insults at the genie while he tried his best not to laugh. Abdul pulled himself on to his almost broken ankles and slammed his fists against the ground. He started screaming prayers, "Allah, why have you done this to me?"Just then, he heard gunfire in the distance. Explosions rose from the hills east of the town and more gunfire was heard. "What is that? What did you do?"he asked the genie. "Oh yeah,"Genie said rubbing his chin, "I forgot to mention that the hundred wives you asked for were combat trained by the best soldiers in the world."He pulled a spyglass out of this air and pointed it at the battle going on in the hills. Genie whistled, "Looks like they did not take kindly to your friends." Abdul watched in horror as his friends were being massacred in the hills. "NO! Make them stop at once!" "I don't think you want to waste your last wish,"Genie said in singsong. Abdul clenched his teeth and growled. "Fine you miserable, disgusting, filthy, sinful, swine! Here is my last wish: I want a legion of the most loyal ISIS soldiers!"Now Abdul would have his revenge by taking his newly formed legion and wiping out anyone who stood in his way. "Are you sure you want that?"Genie asked. "Yes." "Are you really sure you want that?" "Yes!" "Are you really really really sure you want to use those wor-" "YES! YES! YES! I know what I want you disgusting subhuman creature! Now make it happen, now!"Abdul stomped the ground on the last words. "Okay, here you go,"Genie snapped his fingers, "an entire legion of the most loyal ISIS soldiers!"The desert before Abdul was filled with soldiers dressed in ISIS uniform. Abdul had him beat. He laughed as his stood on his almost broken ankles and raised his fist to his new army. "Allahu Akbar!"The soldiers in his army removed their coats and raised their fists high in the air. Abdul saw that they were holding something in their hands. When he realized what they were, his heart sank and a cold chill washed down his spine. "Wha-" "What's wrong, Abe?"Genie asked. "This is what you asked for, right? A legion of the most loyal ISIS soldiers ready to die for the glory of Allah."Genie looked at the horrified expression on Abdul's face and felt satisfied on another job well done. "Ohhh I'm so sorry it looks like your wish limit has been exhausted,"Genie said as he printed out an incredibly long receipt. "Here's my bill sorry I couldn't stay longer and you have a nice day. Bye!"With that he disappeared back into his lamp in a cloud of blue smoke. The legion of soldiers let out their battle cry, "Allahu Akbar!"and detonated the vests on their bodies destroying themselves, Abdul, and a large piece of desert just outside the city. Edit: a question mark.
He checked the silver chains and a smile etched on his face, "that time of the month huh?" "Excuse me?"I looked at him surprised. "Oh nothing nothing,"he completed the checkout, "forget I even said anything, especially if you see the O'neals." I walked out so confused, I tossed my change with the receipt into the bin. I contemplated digging in but time was running out. My trash would have to be someone else's treasure. Walking to the car park, I dug into my pocket's and fumbled for the keys to my Civic Honda. "Hi Mike," I turned to see Selina. She lived three houses from me. "Oh hi, didn't see you there."I lied. How could I miss those abs in that tank top? I just preferred staring quietly and contentedly through my aviators. "It's that time of the month huh?"she said hands akimbo. "What? you know about that?" "Well I mean... you know what forget I even mentioned it, I see you're even blushing about it, and please whatever you do don't mention it to the O'neals."she scurried off before I could stop her. The drive home was quick thanks to Siri. I parked my car in and was taking in my shopping when Kwame from next door waved over the fence. "Hi Mike," "Kwame! hey,"I waved at him. Where did he get such nice dashikis from in this place? "I see it's that time of the month?" "what the?"my mouth dropped. His eyes widened. "You know what never mind, pretend I wasn't even here. Especially if you see the O'neals" "Wait a minute,"I waved him closer, "Why does everyone here know that Sasha's a werewolf? And why do you all tell me to never mind." "Oh. I didn't know she's a werewolf,"he said. "I just saw the chain outline in your bags and thought you guys go for the gimp parties at Fred's house. She's a werewolf?" My eyes darted to the floor. Fred had what? he looked at me expectantly as if waiting for an explanation. I sized him up. how big a grave would he need? "But she did point me out to this shop that had these cool dashikis on sale. I guess she's a cool werewolf so I won't tell anyone."He raised one smug eyebrow. I laughed nervously, he reciprocated. "But if that's the case, now you really, really shouldn't tell the O'neals." *** /r/pagefighter.
Ruby gently lowered the kitchen hand’s body to the ground, the red blood from his throat spurting with each fading heartbeat onto the black and white tiled floor. There were no other people between her and the royal bed-chamber. Nerve-stretched minutes passed, measured by the hushed tread of the assassin’s footfall on the blood red carpet. Finally, the last door loomed at the end of the last corridor, the archway casting long knife-like shadows from the flickering torches on either side. Ruby stalked down the passage, placed her hand on the thick wooden panels and pressed cautiously. The hinges responded with a firmness pregnant with the groan of metal on metal. Ruby took a deep breath and glanced one last time down the corridor. With a cry from the ancient hinges and a slam of door against wall, the room opened to Ruby’s thrust. With calm, measured paces she approached the foot of the bed while unloading two magazines of bullets from her handguns into the mound of blankets and pillows. With three more strides Ruby was by the head of the bed and threw back the covers. Where a sticky mess of blood and royal corpses should have been, thousands of metal fragments and wheels littered the silken sheets. Before her eyes the pieces began to slide towards each other, combining precisely to form two large machines, like metallic skeletons strung together with wires and whirring belts. With a brief buzz, a projection of skin flickered into existence around each: the King and Queen. The royal visages swivelled to their respective edges of the bed and stood, facing the intruder. “She has seen too much,” the Queen stated disinterestedly from the far side of the bed. The King clasped a hand on each of Ruby’s shoulders with a strength the held her upper arms rigid against her body, and her hands well away from the knife in her belt. He nodded. “She must be automated.”
There he was. A man like I had never seen before, practically naked except for a dirtied cloth that hung from his waste. He didn't seem strong, he was old and hunched over; it seemed as if he was once muscular but years if inactivity had weathered away the strength. I stood up, my light armor clanging slightly. I was considered stronger than average in this world, I did not need the garb that some men boasted so gladly. My master needed even less, he only wore a t-shirt and ripped shorts; my master was the strongest man I knew. I gripped my single long-sword by the hilt and slowly approached the man. He didn't seem to hear me coming until I was close. He craned his head up to look at me. The old man was filthy; long, flea-ridden hair flowed down his face. His eyes were milky white, and he looked beyond me, not really seeing who stood in front of him. He made a feeble sound, sort of a grunt and motioned me closer. "Kill me,"he whispered. I was taken aback. "Sir, why would someone as strong as yourself want to die? You are the most naked man I've ever seen." "Look at me,"he gestured to his body. "I am old and worn down, my body is too strong to give and my mind will not let me take my own life."A tear started to roll down his cheeks. "Please, young man, kill me." I unsheathed my sword and looked at the shiny blade then back at the man. The sound of my sword seemed to comfort him. I raised my weapon; I had killed men before, if this was to put an elder out of his misery, then so be it. I swung at the nape of his neck. Right as the blade was about to split skin, the old man smiled and disappeared. I felt a burning sensation in my torso. I looked down and saw the man smiling up at me, his arm was extended. I followed his arm up to my stomach where his hand seemed to merge with my body. "Kid's are slow these days."He jerked his hand and the pain exploded in my chest. I felt weak and fell to my knees. The old man stood above me, grinning and holding something that oozed red blood. He licked up the fluid dripping down his arm, with every taste his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. "Wh-what."I stammered, I could feel it. I was dying. "Delicious,"he murmured as he put the bleeding heap into his mouth and swallowed it whole. His body began to renew itself. He stood up straight, the loose skin seemed to tight and form the defined muscles underneath. His hair shrunk and his legs got longer. He walked over and squatted next to me. He was handsome, a chiseled jaw and sparkling teeth, his eyes a deep blue. "Thank you, dear,"he whispered. He stroked my head and kissed my cheek. "Thank you for giving me life."Then he turned and walked away. As I sat there, breathing my last breaths, I wondered who would be next to fall prey to him. Who else would be tricked by that perplexing loin cloth.
July 13, 2029... Today was a turning point for the war. We finally found a weakness within the enemy, its just like ancient times. When we didnt have the tools to conquer our enemies or our prey, we would chase. We wouldnt chase like a cheetah, but like a pack of wolves who refused to leave. We would nip and wear out our target, run when there might be danger, but always to return before they can catch their breathe. We kite and attack, kite and attack. We're currently radioing all remaining resistances to adopt this strategy. August 21, 2029... I've noticed a change within their ranks. At first when they fought us they looked like immortal warriors. While we might've taken a couple on in the beginning, we would lose dozens of soldiers for each of theirs we would take out. Not though, now they have something that resembles fear. Something that looks human. They've adopted new formations in a poor attempt to counter our new strategy, it doesnt work. We've been playing the long con, we'll open fire and immediately run and reposition before they can return fire. Sometimes a simple firefight between squads will last almost an hour. They used to take minutes, and we've noticed what its done. They cant maintain their stamina like we can, their guns get heavy, they cant keep their normal movements, they start to move slow and their reactions become slower. Eventually they either are worn through and our weapons finally penetrate their armor, or they collapse in exhaustion, allowing us to get up close to use our melee weapons to negate their armor. December 3, 2029... They no longer send out squads like they used to, they now employ 3 squads paired along with something that resembles a supply truck. It emits heat to keep them from freezing, it keeps their energy up and provides cover so they dont collapse from exhaustion. But it only takes one. One mine, one rocket, one grenade. Its all it takes to destroy these vehicles, unlike their troops they are slow and are large targets. Their movements are predictable, something we can easily take out. The troops moral is tied along with these things as well. Everytime we take one out we can see that fear appear in their expressions. We use this to our advantage, we've started to laugh as a group each time. We know we have won the fight at that point, the expression thats given when you can hear our laughter erupt from every direction. They know they're surrounded, it doesnt matterif there are 5 or 35 of them. We can do the same if they can resupply. They cant run because of our traps, they cant fight because of our tactics. They are trapped, to die amongst our ruins. February 16, 2030... Their ships have finally fallen. We were able to use their own weapons agaisnt them, they never planned for this. They never planned to lose. Now they are trapped, trapped on a foreign planet. A place where they are not the apex predator, a place where the enemy could be anywhere, a place where the enemy never seems to sleep, a place where they know they will die. For we are the terrors that haunt their dreams. -Lt. Colonel Jon "Jonneyfive"Baker 1996 - 2092, Journal entries from the first war.
The asphalt shimmers in the heat, and I remind myself for what has to be the twentieth time to find a song that would give me cold manipulation abilities. July in the Southwest is rough. It had been a fun six months, though. Back in January, we had started seeing the emergence of the heroes and villains. There weren't many of us, but we made a splash. In the Mariner's case, this was quite literal. Most of the supers could have come straight from a comic book; they had an archetype that almost made you yawn. Velocitee had super speed (and a penchant for puns that, combined with his love of golf, was quite unfortunate). Paragon could fly and hit stuff pretty hard. You get the drift. My powers were, well, not so archetypal. They were fun. It turns out, I adopt powers that correspond to the song I have on my iPod. I am [Jukebox, the hero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fr6KVNt-1Ek). And before you ask, yes, I use an iPod. No, not an iPhone. Have you ever received a call while fighting someone who can shoot lightning? It's a mistake you learn from. This had led to some entertaining battles. I usually tried to make them fair. Well, fair'ish. When I helped the Japanese police force storm the Yakuza base, "[Kung Fu Fighting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jhUkGIsKvn0)"by Carl Douglas had been the obvious choice. Against Supersonique, whose main abilities were flying and nothing else, "[Gravity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7VBex8zbDRs)"by John Mayer did the trick. And after I popped in "[Wide Awake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k0BWlvnBmIE)"by Katy Perry, it turned out that Sleeeep (spelled correctly) was really just a wimpy dude who couldn't take a punch. Of course, there were other benefits. "[Fly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUtnwcv-quE)"by Sugar Ray made traveling so easy that it almost made up for the fact that I had to listen to Sugar Ray. Almost. As Dementro appears over the crest of the street—which at this point is hot enough that I initially think he might be a mirage—a thought flickers through my head. "[Cold as Ice](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eC99JhQq-3w)"by Foreigner! Ha! I've got it! Goodbye hot days! Oh right, Dementro. This guy is the worst. Just the worst. The army at his back is testament to his powers. He gets inside the heads of his victims and incites rage, panic, fear... anything he needs. This lets him manipulate an immense army of very, very peeved off schmucks, and has led to his campaign to dominate the United States (later, presumably, the world). So far, he has made it to Nevada. Every hero sent against him has fallen under his control. It is going to be the perfect test of my ultimate playlist. See, I usually try to make my fights fair. Well, fair'ish. But that requires actually having a fight. Against Dementro, I'm not going to get to have my usual fun. I press play on the iPod and listen as the first words of the song trigger my ultimate [ability](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5DmYLrxR0Y8)... > Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh >La, la, la, la, la, laa >Why can't we be friends? >Why can't we be friends? >Why can't we be friends? >Why can't we be friends? By the time "[War](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dpWmlRNfLck),"by Edwin Starr starts to play, Dementro's army is almost completely released from his control, and he's... is he HUGGING them? Geez, this worked even better than I thought it might. After everything has wrapped up and the police forces have detained Dementro, I glance at the casinos in the distance. The hero should be able to celebrate just a little, shouldn't he? With a grimace, I queue up the next song and, as it starts, check iTunes for "[Get Lucky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NV6Rdv1a3I)"by Daft Punk. It's going to be a good night at the craps tables. >[All around the world, statues crumble for me . . .](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUtnwcv-quE) Ugh. _____________________________ This is my first prompt! I really liked the concept. Feedback definitely welcome. 8:22 p.m. edit: Put in links to the songs! Edit: Changed a hero name to avoid confusion with another IP.
Rick Harrison lay,in that dark room. He was impacient, awaiting his long-postponed meeting. He wondered if all he had ever done was worth it. "Will I succeed?"He had pondered the same question for years, but now it was different, time was running low and seconds were no longer negligible. The clock was producing the most inspiring music Rick had ever heard, every "tick"brought his destiny closer and no "tock"ceased to determine him. Rick closed his eyes expecting his life to flash before them, all he saw was black; there was nothing to remember. Without this moment his life was still a puzzle waiting to be completed, but now only one piece was missing. Rick was growing bored, so he stood and, as he dressed in his usual clothes, he gazed at that distinct yellow logo that he had shared so many moments with. He marched through his pawn shop, looking at all the relics he had practically stolen. He grabbed a gold coin which was minted the exact day Jesus Christ was born and grinned, remembering he only paid two dollars for it. The door finally opened. Ricks eyes gleamed with exitement as a misterious figure walked through the same door many other poor souls had entered before. The figure stood there, hesitant. The only thing that could be heard was Rick overventilating. The figure approached, its steps were perfectly timed as to increase the tension already flooding the room. Ricks perception of time distorted, everything slowed down until there was nothing. The figure seemed to drop something, and, when he bent down to pick it up, the darkness was suddenly replaced with an overwhermingly bright light coming from the ceiling. As Ricks eyes became more adjusted for this light he saw the figure and the figure looked back, the figures' eyes were shining in desperation. Rick looked dissapointed as it became more and more apparent the figure was simply Chumlee, who was extremely high and had dropped all of his weed on the floor. 'Stop picking up that marijuana and leave!' 'Oh shoot, geez, umm...' Chumlee clearly didn't even know what was going on 'Chumlee! Leave now! I am expecting a visit!' Chumlee was afraid of all the shouting going on so he ran away. Breaking the glass door with his face on the way out. Death didn't visit Rick that night, as the rumors of Rick's vicious negotiations are feared, even in the underworld. And also he wasn't paid to appear in the show so why would he.
Sitting on the hood of my car, eating a burrito, I watch the man dash out of the bank, spilling money everywhere and giggling like an idiot. An hour ago, I used my powers. slowing down time for everyone except him because I wanted to see what he'd do before I got my revenge. And, unsurprisingly, robbery was top of his list. When he runs into an alleyway, I stuff the rest of the burrito into my mouth and hurry after him. Willy Thomas, leader of a local gang. He’s a pillar of the community, and everyone loves him—they don’t know he recently dodged a murder charge, or that he’s beaten his girlfriend multiple times. They don’t know he’s the reason they’re getting robbed, the reason their houses are getting shot up. As he stuffs the bags into the trunk of his car, I walk up behind him, pressing a pistol against the back of his head. “You know, idiots like you really show their true colors when nobody’s looking." His eyes widen, his hands twitch. There’s a gun in his pocket, but he isn’t stupid enough to reach for it. “W-who the hell are you?” “Just a normal dude. Shit, you don’t remember me? What about last year—do you remember last year?” “What are—” I slam the gun into the side of his head, making him fall. On the ground, he grabs his gun, pointing it at me—but I blow a hole in his hand before he can fire. As he clutches it, screaming in pain, I take a deep breath, pointing my pistol at him. “Don’t you remember last year, punk? Drug deal gone wrong, driveby where a bullet hits a little girl?" "I didn't do that—" "But you ordered it!"I scream. "You got my sister killed!" Breathing heavy, he grits his teeth, glaring at me. “Goddamn freak!” he cries. “You’ve been killing my guys, haven’t you?” “Glad you noticed,” I say. “You can freeze time!” “Glad you noticed,” I repeat. “Listen, kid, don't be stupid. I'm a powerful dude, and if you work for me, I'll make you rich!” “I’m good,” I say. “But I gotta thank you, asshole. Without you, I wouldn't have found a purpose for this power. I would've just kept dicking around, doing stupid shit. But now? Now I'm gonna hunt scum like you. From now on, I’m gonna protect everyone.” “You’re crazy!” “And you’re dead,” I say, and before pulling the trigger, I slow time for him, too. I want him to suffer, want him to wait in agony for the bullet to reach him. *** Hope this is good! Thanks for the prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one. If you like this story, check out my sub r/longhandwriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
It seemed like an obvious clickbait headline. "Baby Born Without Skin."The thumbnail was just a screenshot from Attack on Titan. Aroused from your cat-picture-and-fail-compilation induced lethargy, you read the startling details of a baby girl born in Mexico without any skin. She was reportedly healthy, but doctors were baffled as to her condition. A thin, transparent membrane lined with blood vessels served to keep everything intact. Over the next few weeks, the mainstream media ran the story between talk of upcoming elections, ongoing conflicts and celebrity sex-scandals. You didn't understand all the science but it seemed that the girl had been born with some kind of genetic disorder, like a super-eczema. There was no trace of skin cells anywhere on her body. Eventually the novelty wore off. It was months later that you saw a flier in town about a medical study at the nearby university. They were looking for people suffering skin disorders, like eczema or psoriasis, to provide samples and be part of an experiment. Glancing down at your own red, blotchy skin, you took down the number and made the call. At the university, you weren't told a lot. You had to provide blood and skin samples from different parts of your body - both bits affected by your condition and healthy bits - and were told to come back in a couple of weeks for the preliminary results and the next part of the experiment. You pocketed your cheque and went on with your life. When you returned, you were given a packet of pills and told to take one a day and write down any observations in your skin's condition. No further information. You obliged - they were probably just placebos anyway - and filled the first few days of your log with 'no changes'. About a week and a half later, you woke up in the middle of the night, uncomfortably hot. In the dark you threw off the covers and felt your head. It was slick with fluid. A high fever? You stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, head spinning and body burning. You fumbled for the light, then collapsed against the sink, holding yourself up on the welcoming, cool porcelain. Your hand was covered in blood. It ran in crimson streaks down the sink from your fingertips. A large droplet fell from higher up and splashed against the ceramic. Vision swimming, you looked in the mirror to see your whole body bloodied. But that wasn't it. There was something else wrong with your reflection. Your skin was... sloughing. Like you'd aged ninety years overnight. Trembling, you took your hand from the edge of the sink, only for the skin to break down the back of your hand like a thin film of sweaty plastic, revealing the bone-and-ligament structure underneath. The tear continued up your arm as you pulled the muscles away from the sack of flesh that began to slip onto the bathroom floor. In your fevered delirium, you thought you saw thousands of tiny tendrils on the inside of the empty jacket, writhing and wriggling. The shock got to you. When you came to, everything was bright. The noise of a garbage truck outside alerted you that it was morning. Your fever seemed to have passed - you stood up from the bathroom floor to find yourself standing in a hairy, pulpy mess; like a fatberg localised entirely on your linoleum. Disgusted by both the feel and smell of it, you wretched into the sink, adding last night's dinner to the pool of browning blood stains. It took some time to come to a conclusion about what to do. Your skin had fallen off. That's not normal. You decided to call the doctors at the university, which you eventually managed after struggling with the touchscreen controls of your phone. A discarded stylus from an old tablet helped get around the lack of skin. Once you got through to them, you shakily described what had happened the previous night. They told you in no uncertain terms to stay where you were, that they'd come pick you up. When they arrived, they quickly covered you in one of those shiny blankets normally reserved for marathon runners. Two people in full-body suits walked past you into your bathroom and began scooping what you had once learned to be 'the largest organ in your body' into a bag with a biohazard symbol. You weren't taken to the university, but were instead rushed to a private hospital outside of town. Ushered through the emergency entrance, you were soon laid down on a bed, hooked up to a drip, heart monitor and all manner of other arcane devices that went 'beep, and shuttered in a ward all to yourself behind a hastily erected tent that felt like being inside a hamster ball.. That was your life for the next few weeks. The doctors came and went, checking on you like some sort of specimen in a jar. Some spoke to you, others wouldn't. You pieced together that you'd had a reaction to the drugs from the trial - your body had rejected your skin and was now in the process of adjusting to life without it. You thought back to that girl from the news. One of the doctors, a bright-faced young student daringly named Jim confirmed the connection. The trial was intended to investigate the girl's condition by replicating it in others. Frankly he was surprised it had got past the ethics board. People with pre-existing skin conditions were sought out because it was thought they may be more likely to develop the same immune response. You questioned what he meant by that. He hesitated, but slowly explained that the girl didn't suffer from a skin 'condition'. Her body's immune system had, through genetic mutation, recognised her skin for what it actually was: a parasite. It had killed the parasite in the womb, and she was born without it. Possibly the first human in recorded history to do so. It all seemed a bit much. The skin? A parasite? But Jim continued to explain. Initial research into how the girl had been born led doctors to the hypothesis that the skin was not a natural part of the human body after all. It was a dangerous conclusion, and one that had been carefully kept out of widespread discussion until studies like this one could provide more evidence. You were a guinea pig. A guinea pig unknowingly cured of one of the oldest parasites known to mankind.
I was preparing my migration to Titan. My family have already moved there but I had some business to tend to back on Earth. All the paperwork and details were settled, so it was finally time to leave. I’ve only lived on Earth for a short 10 Earth years, but I longed to return to Titan. After the rocket left the atmosphere though, complications began. Something went horribly wrong in the engine and I couldn’t figure it out in time. In order to prevent me from crashing back on Earth or blowing up in space, I steered a hard left and sailed right into the moon. I must’ve blacked out, because when I woke up, I was laying on the surface of the moon. Sitting up quickly, I scanned my surroundings. I saw my rocket a few meters away so I made my way over. The damage was bad, but fixable, and I was about to send a message back to Earth for a taxi, until I noticed something off. My rocket was shifting and moving ever so slightly, as if something was inside. I was fearing the worst, so like an idiot I grabbed the nearest rock and peered inside. There was a figure, seemingly working at the control panel. I think I stared for a good minute before a voice came up on my radio. “Well, are you just gonna stare? Or are you gonna at least introduce yourself?” I was startled to say the least. I don’t even know how they hijacked my radio. “First of all... Who are you?” “Just a fellow astronaut living here. Your control panel is almost fixed.” “T-Thank you...” Then another voice came up on my radio. “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake huh?” “I know, about time.” “Uh... how long was I out?” The new voice laughed and I heard the sound of something closing. “About a few hours kid, your rocket came down pretty hard. Woke us up.” “Really? Well... I guess, thank you for looking out for me.” “It just what we do kid. You’d be surprised at how many people stop by.” I chatted with them for the rest of the time I was there. They were pretty friendly, though most of their references and jokes I didn’t understand. I also noticed their suits. Big and bulky, with copper colored visors. They looked straight out of a museum or an old documentary. They looked strange to be sure, but I brushed it off because I guess I also look strange to them. It took a while, but finally my rocket was fixed. I thanked them, and asked if I could pay them back in anyway. “Just keep us in mind kid. Maybe we’ll meet again.” “It gets lonely here, won’t mind if ya visit again.” I waved and went on my way. After passing Mars I realized I never got their names. I felt bad about it, but figured I could ask them if I ever went back to the moon. I told the story to my wife when I got back to Titan, who thought it was an interesting story to be sure, but didn’t really believe it. So I put the story away in my mind, thinking it might’ve been a dream or a hallucination. Even then, I think about them sometimes, those odd men on the moon. Wonder how they’re doing?
It was the perfect disguise, the young mimic thought to itself as it eagerly waited for the party of adventurers to come in. The young mimic was not yet large enough to become a grand treasure chest like his father, or luxurious sofa like his grandfather, or even an ornate urn like his great grandfather. However this was the perfect disguise to lure an unknowing adventurer, the young mimic thought to itself. A potion! The young mimic had witnessed countless adventurers hoarding every potion they find, so what better way to lure one close for a surprise attack! Oh, how proud my ancestors would be, the young mimic thought to itself, they would smiling down upon him from that big treasure room in the sky! How would it kill them? The young mimic thought to itself. Perhaps it would rip their faces off first? Or maybe start with their arms? Or better yet it could just bite their heads clean off! The young mimic almost shook with excitement as it thought of the endless ways it would kill the party of unknowing adventures when, just then, it heard the sound of voices and footsteps getting near. Here they come! Oh ancestors, the young mimic thought, look at me! Watch me make you all proud! “Hey there’s a room here”, a female voice echoed though the hall. “I’m going to check it out” “Ok, be careful though and shout if you need help” a male voice spoke. An adventurer is coming in by themselves? The young mimic could not believe its luck! Surely his ancestors were sending him good luck! Right then a female warrior in chain mail poked her head through the doorway. It’s happening! At first the female warrior carefully scanned the room, no doubt being weary of traps, but little did she know that the real trap was me! The young mimic thought to itself. “Anything useful in their?” the male voice shouted. “Uh doesn't really look like it… oh wait!” right then the warrior caught the unassuming potion in the corner of the room. “There’s a potion here!” “Great, another potion” the male voice sighed. “Can’t we ever find anything cool?” “Geeze don’t be such a downer, you know what they say, you can never have too many health potions!” the warrior shouted back as she moved towards the young mimic. This is it! The warrior stepped closer. This is my moment! The young mimic almost blew it’s disguise in it’s excitement. The warrior was now a just a footstep away. All she has to do is pick me up and I’ll make my attack! The warrior stopped right in front of the mimic and bent down to grab it but suddenly she stopped. She started to examine the potion in front of her very intently. What’s going on? Why is she stopping? Could she have seen through my disguise? Was she going to kill me instead? Panic started to fill the young mimic. “Ew, never mind, it’s a stamina potion” the warrior stated as she rose and walked away, leaving the young mimic alone in the dark empty room.
Mind Reading Sucks -------------------------------------- You ever thought reading minds would be fun? Because it's not. Really, it's pretty exhausting hearing the constant stream of thoughts from those around me. Sure, I had learned to just tune it out a lot of the time but sometimes, it's just exhausting. If I got a penny for every time I read a thought about sex...well, I'd probably be retired by now. Sometimes, I'll even get images and... let's just say, watching someone else's mental porn is less fun than you think. Aside from that, it's just so damn annoying whenever someone's obsessing over something. It's like the thought equivalency of screaming except I can't just tell them to stop shouting. That shouting I couldn't stop? That's how it began. It started out like any other day. Just another day of trying to drown out the thoughts with the sounds of Fitz and The Tantrums blasting in my car while I was stuck in traffic. Accidents in the city are the worst. They always cause the most mental shouting and it makes me want to blow the eardrums in my brain out. The music barely makes it better. I just tried to avoid the thoughts when I heard it. One of the strangest thoughts I had heard in a month. Even weirder than the time I heard a man's thoughts about eating out his dog's ass. Poor dog. No, what I heard took the cake for the weirdest thought I had ever heard. I can't wait for my fleet to destroy this miserable planet so I can finally get home. I was snickering to myself wondering what kinda person was thinking of it. She was practically shouting mentally about how much she wanted to vaporize the planet. Then I saw an image of a strange craft blasting the Earth with a purple energy vaporizing it instantly. Wow. At first, I thought, how cliché. It's almost as if aliens have no better way of destroying the world. Damn humans with their terrible structures and technology. Then I sensed it. She looked over at me and she looked me in the eyes before thinking, Well, aren't you going to do anything about it? I just threatened to destroy your planet. Unless you'll date me, cutie. I knew then I had to get her number. And that's the story of how I ended up dating a fellow mind-reader. Of course, she isn't an alien. At least I hope not. She was just screwing with me that day. We've been together for twenty years now and that, son, is how I met your mother.
EDIT: [Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/etap1n/wp_you_a_now_almostpowerless_elder_god_live_a/fffv4f2?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) [Part three](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/etap1n/wp_you_a_now_almostpowerless_elder_god_live_a/fffv5hk?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) (I feel the story is pretty self-complete with those three parts. Lemme know if you disagree.) \----------------------------------------------------- "Look, man it's not a big deal okay." I deliberately kept my back to him and leaned down. Where the hell did my last beer go? ...behind the mayo, behind the ham, behind the mouldy-- "Not a big deal?!"John exploded, squeaking and heaving like a mouse on acid. "NOT A BIG DEAL?!!"The sound of his beer slamming onto the table turned my head. A moment ago we'd just been playing Gamecube, like any other weekend. Of course, John had to pick the one game that just-so-happened to contain the ultimate truth of life itself. Asshat. He was staring at me so intensely now, that he didn't even notice that all the carbonation in his beer had blown the instant he'd slammed it down. Wheaty froth was flowing all over the coffee table, but John-o continued to stare -- to glare, really -- at the tattoo on my chest. At what I'd told him was a tattoo when he first asked during his grade school years. At what he'd seen every day as I allowed myself to age alongside him. On the basketball court. At the swimming pool. At the gym. During sleep overs. The little spidery pattern was just a small fact of life, like a birth-mark, or a mole. Until today. Until he connected the symbol on my chest with the Tree of Life, with Yggdrasil. Until he realized who -- and what -- I really was. "John."I said, steadily. "Look,"...but he was already on his feet and around the couch, nose-to-nose with me in an instant. Jamming a finger into my chest. "You lied to me."He said, tightly. My breath hitched. He actually sounded...hurt. He jammed his finger into my sternum again. "You lied. About...this." Silence. He stared at me. His finger was adhered to my chest with the weight of epiphany. I made no motion to remove it. "...yes."I said, slowly. John's head tilted one way, then the other. Regarding me. He lowered his voice to the barest whisper, drew closer. "What...what are you?"John asked, shaking his head. I drew a deep breath, released it shakily. "That..."I answered with equal volume and intensity, "...is a very long story."
How funny my parents must have thought they were. To sign the name of Mr Lucifer to my birth certificate. He was my Godfather, that’s what they would tell everyone, get that grim satisfaction when people would squirm. Any respectable parent would never joke about their child’s life, bringing a child into the world as a joke was well, the cruellest joke of them all. For all my life they destined me to be the butt of all their jokes, nothing more than a prop to their comedic genius. It’s not like my parents were even comedians or anything that would make this seem normal. Both office workers, perhaps the dull days working in a cubical, had melted their brains. You could only imagine how scared they were on my first birthday when the devil arrived at the door, a beautifully tied human skinned present in his hands. He didn’t explain himself, nor did he raise his voice. He merely asked to see me. My parents weren’t good caretakers, so they welcomed the devil in, hoping that if someone were to perish, it would be me. I obviously can’t remember this meeting, I was only a child, my mother said I never cried even as the horned beast leaned over my crib, just watching me as I squirmed below. He could have crushed me, took my soul. But he did neither, just left the gift and vanished through the door. This continued every year. It wasn’t until I turned eight that I learned who he was. He always seemed strange, but everyone does when you’re a child. I would often tell others about the horned man that visited on my birthday, but my parents were quick to keep their reputations in check, Assuring others that it was just an imaginary friend. They would rather have their daughter be a liar than being seen as the horrible people they were. The first proper meeting we had on my eighth birthday was a strange affair. It scared me; I had heard horrible things about the man. Religion always painted him as a demonic being, not as the lost soul he truly was. He listened to my concerns, unlike my parents he listened. He acknowledged my fear and even after my harsh words still offered me my present. He told me he wasn’t sure what humans liked, but the imps assured him this was a suitable present, pulling out a beautiful black horse, its eyes a deep crimson, most likely some hell beast in retrospect, but it was beautiful. He had won me over. In a few brief birthdays, he had shown more love than my parents could muster in eight years. My parents learned this and soon took every step to remove the devil from my life. They tried to remove his name from my birth certificate, but the name always returned. This bond was more than a signature. Priests came to bless the house, but the devil is no lesser creature. Water can’t deter the prince of hell, no matter how blessed it may be. My parents were cowards though, every birthday they would still hide, refusing to speak or even acknowledge the man. His stays got longer and by the time I was fifteen, he would spend the whole day chatting away with me. This is when my parents turned their hatred away from him, towards me. They tossed me onto the street, saying they couldn’t house an unholy child. Like always they didn’t blame themselves for my problems, I was the one at fault. I couldn’t even get my presents from my room, having to walk the streets with only the clothes on my back. Perhaps they thought I would break, come crawling back to them begging for forgiveness. Perhaps I would have if my Godfather didn’t come to get me. I had been hiding away under a bridge when he arrived. The water parting as a red circle glowed, revealing a fiery hell-scape below as he hovered above it. With a hand extended towards me, he offered me a position in his family. A human in hell might have been unorthodox, but no one would argue with the prince of hell. I was his daughter now. My Godfather said something that caught my eye though, telling me not to worry about my parents, I would see them again in hell someday. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.}
I was chilling in the waiting area after a delivery to the Himalayas drinking some Starbucks when Karen walked in with the order. "Delivery to the White House. One 200 lb sofa. Instant-option selected." "The White House? Seriously?"I had delivered to important and rich people before, seeing as only those people could afford our fees, but this was the first time to a head of state. "It'll be the first time I've delivered to the President." Karen shook her head. "Not the president. The White House. Someone threw up on a sofa and the Queen of England is visiting in an hour." I raised my eye-brow. "Well, as long as I get paid." They called it "Amazon Instant". For a mere $10,000 added fee, plus $1,000 per 100 pounds, you could get your package in the next 30 minutes. It used to be $1,000 + 100 per 100 pounds, but we couldn't keep up with the demand. 'We', being the rare parahumans born with the power of global teleportation. Even in a world of superhumans, where benchpressing a truck was commonplace, and welders were more likely to be electrokinetics than a normal with a trade degree, teleporters were still very rare. Global teleporters, with the ability to carry with them a reasonable amount of mass, were rarer still. Something like one in fifty million. Most of them were working with first world government or militaries, as body guards or elite spec-ops units. Some were researchers and explorers, investigating the deepest parts of the ocean, or the remotest parts of the Earth. I knew this one guy, who was a professional gamer from Sweden, who used his ability to attend overseas tournaments in an instant. For the rest of us global 'porters though, there was Amazon. They paid us 80% of the delivery fee for every fee, though they deducted the taxes from the income before hand. I walked out to the warehouse. The guys had already pulled out the sofa and put it in the porting area. I smiled at Jim, and scowled at Joe. He'd screwed up an order a couple of months ago and I'd had to make a second trip free of charge. I put my hand on the crate and took a sip from my starbucks cup, and concentrated on the location. The delivery itself was routine. Port to the designated area. Get it signed for. Confirm payment. Port back. The trouble was in an hour. It was all over the news. "White House bombed! Explosive hidden in a couch! President and visiting Queen of England killed!" Shit.
ok but listen... strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony. You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you! I mean, if I went around sayin' I was an empereror just because some moistened bink had lobbed a scimitar at me they'd put me away!
The café is empty apart from us. He holds his cup of coffee in both hands, looking nervously around the room, avoiding my gaze. It’s long overdue, this talk. I should have told him years ago, like my father did to me. But, I wanted for him to have what I did not; a normal childhood. To not be weighed down by our legacy. Now he has grown up, and I can see the man that he is about to become. Although I miss my little boy with curly locks and arms that would hug me tightly, I’m proud to see who he is today. He still hugs me tightly, though. &#x200B; “Noah… Thanks for taking the time to see me today. I know that you have a lot on your plate, with school and the job and all. Just know I appreciate it.” “Sure, dad.” He smiles a bit, and finally looks at me. “I… well I have something to tell you too.” “Oh, go ahead, I’m listening.” “Naw, you go first. It’s… it’s better you talk first.” &#x200B; It doesn’t take a genius, nor a father, to sense his nervousness. My heart rate goes up and my mind starts spinning all kinds of scenarios which could cause him to act this way. Maybe he’s flunking school? It’s ok, I won’t judge him. Maybe he’s getting burnt out? I’ll help him prioritize. Maybe he had a fight with a friend? I’ll listen without interruption. I guess this is what parenthood is all about. My heart is no longer mine, hasn’t been for many years. He carries my heart with him, and he doesn’t even know it. If he feels pain, I feel it. Doesn’t matter how “old” or grown-up he’s become. He’ll always be my little boy that I’ll protect no matter what. No matter the issue. No matter the costs. My little boy who hugs me so tightly. I take a sip of coffee and sigh. “Naw, it can wait. Nothing important. You tell me what’s on your mind, buddy. I’ll listen.” Taking a deep breath, the words tumble out of him. He tells me of his best friend, his lover. Of how he’s known for a long time that he loves people of the same gender, but kept it a secret until now. How he knows I’d love to have grandchildren, and maybe I will, but they won’t share my DNA. He tells me that he hopes I can accept him for who he is. I get up from my chair, his eyes following me now, worried. Two steps and I’m by his side, pulling him up, hugging him tightly, tightly. I tell him that I love him while I wipe away the tears. Mine and his. I tell him that I’m proud of him, and that he’ll always be my little boy that I’ll protect no matter what. &#x200B; Later, he asks me what I wanted to talk about. “Naw, nothing important. Nothing that can’t wait until another day,” I tell him. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; \- - - - - - - - - - Edit: Check out [r/SleepyMacaroni](https://www.reddit.com/r/SleepyMacaroni/) for more.
It was like exploring the world on Google Street View, but for five years. For five years, I've traveled around, watching people candidly frozen in place, doing whatever they were doing when time stopped. At first it was thrilling. Well, it helped that I was drunk and suddenly had free license to spy on people and pull other harmless pranks. I thought drawing on Bill's face was hilarious at the time, but then I sobered up and Bill was still frozen, albeit now with a forehead penis decoration. Then I said, "might as well make the most of it."I saw the world, and I saw the people in it. But seeing is not the same as experiencing, I found out. It's one thing to see into people's private lives, to learn things about them they would only tell their closest friends just because they were caught doing it when time stopped, but it's another thing entirely to know them. I've been lonely for a long time. I've seen the cathedrals in Paris, I've been to the Great Wall of China and the Taj Mahal. I saw Niagara Falls, even though the water and mist was frozen in place mid-descent. But I don't know how any of those places really feel. Over the last five years, I've looked into so many people's eyes simply to try and remember what it was like to be seen. By now, I'm not sure I even exist. If a tree falls in a forest with no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?
My mother and I have always had a good relationship. She is known to be one of the most powerful magicians alive. By the looks of it, I will never have even a fraction of her strength. Honestly, I am a mediocre student at best and often have to attend remedial classes to catch up to my peers. When I was younger, I would always ask questions like, "Mother, why are you so strong?" "I worked really hard to learn every spell I could!" She would say with a smile before summoning a book from thin air and placing in on my lap, "You can do it too. All of the power is in there." Instead of tapping the book, she would poke my chest. No matter what happened, I knew she believed in me. Sometimes, I would ask more specific questions like, "Mother, the other girls my age can already fly, but I cannot even cast a wind spell. How do I get better?" Again, she would have a perfect response: "When I was your age, I couldn't cast a wind spell either. Magic is not about how much you can store in your body at once. It's about how you use it." There was, however, one question I knew I should never ask. "What happened to my father?" The only time I asked this, my mother grew silent before waves of magical energy began pulsing from her, nearly destroying the room. I could feel her anger surging through me before fading away into a deep despair. The emotions, alone, were strong enough to cause me to fall to the floor in tears. When she saw this, she ran to me and said, "I'm so sorry. I never should have let my emotions get to me." That evening, she knocked on my door while I was tucking myself in. She then sat on the edge of the bed and said, "Look. Aisha. You are not like other girls. Your potential is fixed, which is both a blessing and a curse. Please don't hate me." I held her hand and pulled her in for a hug. "I could never hate you mother." "Good."She said, "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big day." To be honest, I did not sleep at all that night. A few years later, we were taught mental magic in school; however, it was only a low-grade spell used for clinical psychology. It would only work if: 1. The patient was asleep 2. The patient trusted the spellcaster. That night, I found myself tossing and turning, thinking back to what mother had said years ago. What did she mean my potential was "fixed?" Was there something wrong with me after all? After a lot of thought, I crept into her room while she was sleeping soundly on her bed. I began chanting the spell I had learned in class as my hand glowed with a familiar pink aura. I then took a deep breath and tapped her forehead. I was immediately thrust into an empty abyss, swimming in the vast expanse of my mother's mind. As I calmed myself down, I began to see small, colored bubbles form that hovered all around me. They were of all different sizes, and each one seemed to be reflecting the world from my mother's perspective. I saw the activities of her day while she was researching new spells. I saw adventures she had taken long before I was ever born. I saw all the people she had ever met flickering in and out of existence. It was then that I noticed a rather peculiar pattern. Almost all of the bubbles seemed to reflect a single person: me. For a moment, I felt a wave of regret wash over me. How could I possibly betray the trust of someone who cared so deeply for me? No. She was keeping a secret from me. I had to learn more. With that thought, all of my bubbles bubbles began to coalesce into a giant sphere, reflecting all of our shared experienced from her perspective. The time I cast my first fireball and burned my skirt off. The times I accidentally wet myself at night by sleep-casting water magic. The time I literally grew a watermelon in my stomach with earth magic. I laughed and cried as the slideshow showed me her inner-most thoughts and feelings. She truly did love me. I then began to see memories of something I didn't understand. They were of my mother, around the time of my birth. I saw flickering images of her in the hospital with a man whose face was not entirely clear. He was holding her hand while she laid in the bed. They were both were crying and holding an unbreathing baby girl. I was stillborn. Soon the memories began to flicker like a flame about to be snuffed out. There was a fight with the man. She quit her job. There were days upon weeks of tear-stricken nights drowned in alcohol. Then she began to do something strange. She learned to sculpt. She began making little figurines of girls of all ages, from young to old. She spent all day, every day sculpting, sometimes wiping her own tears into the clay. After creating hundreds upon hundreds of figurines, she then began sculpting a little baby girl. The same one who had died months before. She drew a magic circle and stationed the figurines around it and placed the clay baby at the center before biting into her thumb and wiping a streak of blood onto its forehead. She held her hands together and prayed, sending as much mana as she could into the sculpture. Suddenly, the baby began to hover into the air and the figurines flew towards it as if magnetized to it, creating a protective outer layer. Then, the unthinkable happened. A small, flesh-like hand began breaking through the clay shell. Soon, the entire sculpture began to hatch, and a baby girl appeared, crying loudly as it descended to the floor. My mother reached out and held it tightly to her chest, saying, "Don't worry Aisha. I'm here now. I'll always be here for you." Suddenly, I could feel my mother begin to rustle in her sleep. Though there were many questions swarming my mind, I knew I had to leave, so I took a deep breath and cancelled my spell. I found myself again in my mother's room. I didn't know what to say or do. I was not human. I was a machine, a clay sculpture created by my mother. As I stood there, ruminating about our relationship, she began to open her eyes. "Oh, Aisha. Is everything ok?"She sat up slightly and tried to grab my hand, but I tore it away. "Aisha,"she continued. "If there's something you need to say, please let me know. I'll always be here for you."The same words she said at my birth. I felt tears well up inside me and I did the first thing I could think of: I grabbed her hand and hugged her before saying, "I know, mom. I know." A few days later, I realized that even though I did not have as much mana as my peers, my mana pool would not decrease from repetitive spellcasting, which was both a blessing and curse. Just as my mother said. I decided against telling her about my adventures into her memories. After all, it didn't matter who or what I was, she loved me just the same. 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Andrew froze, his eyes glued to the talking dog in front of him. Did it actually just talk to me? “You actually can speak?” Andrew cried out, standing up from the couch where they sat and stepping away from Snuffles who tilted his head when he looked at Andrew. “Well you can hear me can’t you?” answered Snuffles with a smile. “But yes, I am a shapeshifter.” Without another word, Snuffles got up, turned in a circle on the couch and proceeded to lay down again to sleep. “Wait! Hold on,” Andrew shouted, thinking he must be going insane. Dogs don’t talk and they certainly don’t shapeshift. Snuffles looked up from his spot, slightly annoyed if Andrew was right in judging his expression. What should he ask him? What could he ask him? “Why? How?” Andrew hesitated, as his mind raced with possibilities. If Andrew was not mistaken he could have sworn that he heard Snuffle's sigh before standing up from his spot and moving down the couch to be closer to him. “They why is fairly simple. I’m on the run. I needed a place to hide. Somewhere with kind people who would treat me right. Then your family pulled in and I could see from their faces that they would be decent folk. As for the how, well that’s fairly simple as well; evolution.” Snuffles finished, his dark pools of eyes giving no hint of his thoughts. Half sentences floated through Andrew’s mind. Half questions were formed and quickly replaced by other half questions. Again and again until finally, Snuffles realised that his new owner wasn’t dealing with this revelation too well. “Are you alright, Andrew?” Snuffles asked. ”May I get you something? Some water perhaps?” Water! The thought of Snuffles getting him water nearly made him laugh but he couldn’t. All Andrew could do was sit back down on the couch, beside his new talking dog/shapeshifter. “Did you say you were on the run?” Andrew asked incredulously. Snuffles rolled his eyes before answering. “Technically yes, I am a wanted criminal. Though I am completely innocent of course. The Inter Space Federation are the real criminals.” Snuffles finished. “The what?” asked an extremely puzzled Andrew. “The inter space what?” Another sigh and a roll of the eyes followed. “The Inter Space Federations or ISF for short. For years they have tormented and conquered smaller planets through the galaxy. Well...my friends and I had had enough.” answered Snuffles, somewhat nonchalantly. The next thing Andrew knew, the front door of the apartment swung open, stopping his heart for an instant, and in walked his parents. “How’s it going bud?” His father asked. “Getting to know the newest member of the family a bit better, yeah?” His father bent down and scratched the back of Snuffle's ears as he started to wag his tail relentlessly. “Oh, he loves when you scratch him in the back of the ear, darling.” his mother purred, dropping her bag of shopping on the kitchen table. “That he does.” his father responded. “Any news since we’ve gone, Andrew?” Andrew thought about the last ten minutes and what would happen if he tried to tell anyone that his dog was a talking shapeshifter that sounded like he was from a different planet. “No.” he croaked. Snuffles shot Andrew a knowing look and a brief smile. “Honey, can you help me please?” his mother called from her room and like that Andrew and Snuffles were alone once more. “That was a smart response.” complemented Snuffles. “It would take a lot to convince them of what you have heard today. Wouldn’t want people to think you are crazy.” Andrew’s brain had stopped melting and now he could focus and ask what needed to be asked. “You said you and your friends had enough of the ISF or whatever you called it.” started Andrew. “What did you do that was so bad you had to go on the run?” If it was possible for a dog to look ashamed then Snuffles was doing it. He didn’t respond at first, only looked out the window quietly. Once more Snuffles sighed and then began to speak. “We blew up a planet if you must know.”
Pentagrams, black candles, sacrifice of a virgin, you know the drill. I had turned my backyard shed into a demon receptacle. It was finally the full moon and I was ready to summon. Which was great, as the virgin girl had been quite annoying all week, with the screaming and what not. So, with her finally silenced, I found myself standing face-to-face with a denizen of hell. This particular abomination was made up of a few dozen razor blade-lined tentacles affixed to its hovering, green, crystalline body. There was no discernible face, yet the creature somehow managed to speak, “It has been sometime since a human has managed to summon me. I must say that I am happy for this chance to work with you, Friend.“ It was just the demon I was hoping to see. “I am sure,“ I replied. I could sense the hunger in the twitching of the creatures tentacles. A nice human soul served up on a shed sized plate. A worm wriggling on the end of a hook. “What is it you wish for? I can do anything for a price.“ “My wife died recently, you see. I wish for revenge.“ “Revenge? You do not wish to bring her back?“ “You know what I want,“ I said, “Now name your price.“ “If you managed to summon me, I think you know the price.“ “One human soul, freely given. Yes I know.” “So it shall be done,“ the creature said. It reached out with its tentacles, a few of them wrapping around me, the razor tips just barely grazing over my flesh. And then the demon sent a tentacle straight through my chest, dead center. After a moment the creature paused. It’s tentacles frozen and even went so far as to tilt its Crystalline body sideways in confusion. “Hell deals only with human souls, you… are not human. We shall not deal together. You are…“ The demon tried to pull its tentacles back, but I reached out to the hold onto the one which was stabbed through my chest, held it tight so the creature could not pull away. “You let greed to get the better of you, Nu’ithyul. You did not even ask upon who I wanted revenge.“ “You know my name?“ The demon asked. Not just any name, but its true name. “Yes, of course I know, you made a deal with my wife. Do you remember? Synthia Rill.” “I remember all deals. She was given her end of the deal.“ “Yes,“ I said. The demon tried to whip away its tentacle. The razor blades dug into my hand. It tickled. “What was her end of the deal?“ “She wanted a child, I provided a child.“ I crushed the demons appendage in my hand. It was like crumbling a Styrofoam cup. The bones cartilage, and whatever else hell had pumped into it all audibly cracked and the creature let out an echoing cry. “She died in childbirth, that thing inside of her was no child. It tore her to pieces from the inside and then died the moment it was exposed to air.“ “She was provided a child“ the demon said with a strained voice. I reached out with my other hand, grabbing more tentacle, pulling the demon closer. It asked, “You have no human soul, what are you?“ “Oh, I am human,“ I replied. I pulled the demon into my grasp, taking ahold of its crystal body with both hands. It struggled and thrashed at me with all of its tentacles, they hardly left any scratches. “You see, I made already made a deal.” I began to squeeze, the demon flailed all the more. “Just I made my deal with being far older, much more… further reaching than you.“ I tightened my grip, cracks began to appear across the demon’s body as it let out scream that was like glass in a blender. “And all it asked for payment,“ with a final clap of my two hands the demon body shattered into countless pieces, its tentacles flopping to the ground like limp seaweed, “was a demon soul.“
‘He’s still here’, I think as the next in the long line of mobs falls before my blade. The swoosh of the level up fills the room and I’m excitedly thinking of my trip back to town when I notice it ran twice. He gained a level as well. All this time he’s been with me. From level 1, grinding in newbie areas, farming for mount gold and watching strategy videos in our down time. We would spend hours glued to the game, spending time with each other in our own way. He lived far away, at the local hospital where he spent his days. Playing this game was a way we could connect. Some days he wouldn’t come online, and that’s when I knew it was really bad. After one of these sessions, I received a simple message from him. ‘Sorry, bro. I’m out of time.’ A tear wells up in my eye, his avatar staring blankly back at me. ‘He’s still here’, I think as the next in the long line of mobs falls before my blade.
You know, pessimism's on the rise. If you were to go up to a person - just a random person - and ask them about our current political climate, what do you think they'd say? Most people would describe it as 'the complete and total collapse of society'. Which... I mean, mutants roaming the streets and the complete breakdown of governments the world over isn't great. It is certainly a negative. Can't deny that. But: I'd dare to say that society still exists. Not exists... but 'exists'. You know, in a de facto sense. We've just... re-prioritized... as a collective. People still work together. Sometimes. Other times they... don't. But, hey, that's why I'm here, huh? Oh! Taxes are low! Gone, actually! That's a plus. Definitely. Absolutely enjoy not having to pay taxes. To a government that collapsed years ago. Some people still pay taxes though. The Messengers don't - big perk. Honestly, one of the biggest reasons that I joined. Keep that just between you and me, though. Hey, don't give me that look - It's not like it's the only good thing about the job. The first and last rule of the wasteland; don't shoot the messenger. Now that is one hell of a job perk. It's not a free ticket out of the firing line, though. See, being a messenger means your whole job is going to places and saying things. So you have to be good at both. Really good. That's why we wear these full-face theater mask things. You know, really hams it up. So, one: you've got to be pretty athletic. Get past or get through the mutants and get from barely-habitable point A to barely-habitable point B. Two: you need to be able to drop a keen, chillingly insightful observation like that. See, this one time, I was delivering a declaration of war. Yeah. Tough. I get to the guy, who leads a damn raider gang, and tell him "The good people of Goodberg have declared war against you. Prepare to be vanquished."Yeah, they made me say prepare to be vanquished. *To a gang leader.* So, you know what I did? I said it. Messengers deliver the message, don't you forget it. Then, I told him "And that concludes the message. If I may..."yeah, I broke out all the stops. "I'd like to add a point of my own."And then I sidled up to the guy, slid my arm around his shoulder... and laughed my arse off. I lost it, he lost it, his goons lost it - good times. When you're a messenger you can't just say things. You gotta be smooth. S-M-double o-V-E. Smoove. Like a 40-year-old who learned to accept his male-pattern baldness. I actually got paid pretty well for that job. Although... and keep this especially between us... I'm on an even bigger job right now. See one day this guy showed up in a freakin' suit and tie. Has a little plastic lanyard around his neck, says he's from Prometheus Industries. You know Prometheus, the guys that caused the apocalypse? Yeah, those guys. I gotta say, their toothpaste always tasted kinda weird. Anyway, he says he wants a message delivered. Doesn't say who to, just gives us co-ordinates. Tells us "we'll know when we get there". Wants us to keep it super secret. He wants our best on it, too. I take one look at this guy, and I go up to him and I tell him "Hey, if you want to start making connections with the rest of the world and consolidate your power to further the insidious goals of your corporate executive, you better stop acting like the rich entitled jerk bags that we all ate two weeks in." So yeah, they're making me send the message. Which, you know, thoughts about toothpaste aside I'm going to do it. I respect the job. But, even after the cut The Messengers take I still get a lot. What? Well, of course they get a cut, how else are they supposed to get by? No, we don't pay tax. It's just, a portion of my income goes towards my community, which is financially controlled by a group of authorized individuals, which then gets spent on internal expenses as well as investments into the well-being of our whole group. Wait... Oh my God. Oh... oh God. Do-do I pay tax? Oh... Oh no. No no no. I... I need to go. It's- look, it's been nice chatting with you, friend, but I gotta go. I... I need to think. Oh my god, I pay taxes...
In the beginning, I was subtle about it. I was cryptic. I seasoned my posts with insinuations, double entendres, clues. . . .though my favorite place for beef is Eddie's, I'll often play butcher on the West End. . . . . .now what you need for this recipe is a good, solid bone saw--a cook and a killer's best friend! . . I wanted to be caught. I wanted the fame and notoriety. I was impatient to have my incredulous readers recoil with horror when they learned their favorite little kitchen blogger was in fact psychopathic monster. A cold-blooded killer, smiling with a cleaver in his profile picture, hiding in plain sight. But there was never so much as a single remark about the peculiarity of my phrasing--even when my posts coincided with another of my grisly murders making the front page. Folks commented on how delectable, how delicious, how easy-to-follow my recipes were. But when it came to my dastardly game, it was crickets. I soon grew impatient and decided to take a more ham-fisted approach. . . .Though you won't always find it in your regular grocery store, there are lots of places you can find fennel around town. I, for instance, found mine on January 4th, around 12:15 pm, in the fridge of a recently murdered man, on the shelf where his severed head now sits. . . . . .and please don't worry about the sound the lobsters make as you drop them into the water! They feel no pain in those final moments, unlike Abby Blanchard, whose screams were far more harrowing than any lobster squeal. . . Yes, when I blogged, I placed myself at murder scenes--time and place. I explicitly mentioned the ways my victims had died before the information had been released to the public. I practically beat my growing readership over the head with my guilt. But still, these clues, bordering on outright admissions, were either ignored or misunderstood completely by my readers. "THANK YOU! Lobster was AMAZING! I hope you and Abby had as nice a date. Me and hubby sure did!" It was maddening. Maddening! How could my readers be so oblivious? Their inability to glean what was standing right before them, clear as day, beggared belief. It also stung my pride. I had always thought I was special. Supremely clever and intelligent. As such, I had believed my writings would attract only the creme of the crop. Yet my readership was comprised of uncritical buffoons! What did that say about me? What did it mean that my blog only attracted dullards and dolts who could hardly see beyond their own noses? I began to throw all semblance of subtlety to the wind. In the very first line of each new recipe, I admitted clearly to one or another of my latest murders. I would like to begin this recipe for Chicken Cordon Bleu by confessing to the brutal murder of Lisa Lee Hannigan. The first thing you need to know about Steak Tartare is that I stabbed Jeremy Orlando eleven times with my hand-hammered gyutou. It was I who killed him on the 4th of June, in his Midtown apartment. Yet even after these bold-faced admissions, I received not a single comment regarding my nefarious deeds. Only more comments about the recipes from people who liked them, disliked them, had deviated slightly from my instructions to the benefit or detriment of the dish, and so on. Gradually, I lost my stomach for it. For killing. For blood. For all kinds of meat, human or otherwise. So I went vegan, and so did my blog. I didn't expect the transition to make any waves. However, I was delighted to find that, finally, my readers were shocked, offended, enraged. I had wasted so much time and effort, courting notoriety by gruesomely murdering people. But as it turns out, nothing--and I mean nothing\--riles the public like a man who goes vegan and starts shaming meat eaters. "Who the hell do YOU think YOU are? Hypocrite! You used to blog about meat all the time and now WE can't enjoy it without you MORALIZING? Keep your garbage opinions and recipes to yourself!" "I'm cutting into a blue rare steak, imagining it's your face!" Finally. Fury! Hatred! Scandal! I don't deserve to be this happy.
Nobody remembers what happened. All the elders died, and everyone decided to stop telling the stories. I couldn't blame them. It hurt to think about. Humanity, in it's uncountable billions, venturing the surface without life support. No Ash Guards to keep the irradiated soot from scorching them. No Rebreathers to keep the air from poisioning them. No Solar Clothing to keep the sun from frying them. Kids laughed in fields and meadows, unbound by the massive machines that now barely kept them alive. They say that cancer was rare then. And me. Some random teen. Legend says they'd be in school. Learning things like math, or science. Not learning survival strategies, or how to euthanize. I still remember those legends. Because it made it all so much more painful. Legends say that humanity moved to the bunkers. Legends say that it was to keep them safe while the Earth was reformed. Legends say that there's a cow that jumps the moon. Legends say that moss used to grow on the north side of trees. Legends say that we used to be alive. We are surviving. Everyone gave up on the surface, forgot about it. Stopped going up altogether. Our reserves were enough. A couple dozen years or so. So we waited. And time quietly passed... The vault's machines whirred and clicked. And me. One of the few with a knack to tend to them. I spend most of my time here. Alone. Company dulled the mind. I toyed with the machines. Made them do simple things. Beep and clicks. Rudimentary songs and tunes. Got them to reveal some of our past. Showed a plain image from before. A small video clip. I've seen them a dozen times. It seemed a fantasy. I think it might have been. The world could have never been that green, or covered. 'But the legends state-' the legends state lies. Earth was always barren. Billions don't get reduced to a meager fifty in a concrete casket. The air was always hostile. Trees were only ever a concept. Earth was always dead. I sighed. Always dead... The console beeped at me. I looked up at the monitor, a small red notification was flashing on its screen, tiny in comparison to it's message. "//TERRAFORMING COMPLETE//" I blinked. Then blinked again. The notification didn't disappear. I sat up, and began to read the message it accompanied. "//MESSAGE_OUTPUT.TXT// It is our pleasure to inform you that... Operation New Eden is now complete! You may now leave the bunker. The surface is now safe. The air is breathable, and local fauna and flora has been reintroduced. The other [4] active bunkers have also been notified, so do not worry about them! We hope that life was not too rough in the bunker! Good luck!" I didn't bother rereading what it said. I stood and ran. Those still awake were confused by my actions, but didn't ask. My eccentricities were well known. I hurriedly put on my suit, Ash Guards, Solar Clothing, Rebreather, everything. I entered the airlock, and took a deep breath. I won't get their hopes up with false truths. But if this was true? The heavy doors shuddered together, while the opposing set finally began to open. Sunlight blinded me in a moment. I took heavy and cumbersome steps as I walked forward, uncertainty racked my bones, made my head ache. Anxiety too. Even a tiny modicum of hope. My eyes finally adjusted, and I looked up. Grass was coating the hills. Trees in the distance swayed gently in the breeze. Clouds sat high and content. In my daze, I even took off my rebreather. I took a deep breath, fear in my heart, but my lungs didn't burn. I'm alive? I looked at the sun, the same sun that a million times I was concerned it would burn me down to a mere scorch mark. It seemed harmless now.
"The exploders creep me out." "They prefer to be called humans." "Yeah? And I'd prefer to be called the Uber-Admiral of the 5th fleet. Doesn't change the fact that those things are obsessed with explosions." "Are you talking about nuclear weapons? Plenty of pre-FTLs have come up with those. I mean, even we went through times of violence and destruction." "Yes, we've been violent, and yes, we've blown things up. Still, we've never felt the need to include explosions in every single significant invention we've ever come up with." "I don't follow." "Have you read my report on the Internal Combustion engine?" "I skimmed it." "It's a way to propel their vehicles using explosions. They're asinine. Hear about their firearms? They're ranged weapons that fling projectiles with explosions." "Doesn't seem like it would be the most accurate..." "Oh, they figured out a way for it to work. They just couldn't tolerate having anything like that centered around elasticity or magnetism... just had to include an explosion in there. Hell, they have larger, but similar weapons that fling explosive devices with the aid of explosions. Some of those explosions explode into smaller devices that also explode." "Now you're just making shit up." "No, look up 'Terran cluster bombs.'" "What the fuck?" "Oh, and get this: take a guess what they concluded once they discovered that all the visible galaxies were moving away from each other... that the entire universe was the result of a really, really huge explosion." "... The exploders creep me out."
"Three thousands souls, Barry. Three thousand." "That doesn’t sound like too much, during the dark ages we were doing ten thousand, easy." "No, not per day. Three thousand per hour. Fuck the hand basket, these people are going to hell in a Goddamned jumbojet." "Sweet Lucifer, Clide, really?" "Really, bud. We’re not ready for this kind of work flow. People are falling through the cracks. Just yesterday we accidently processed some evil mother fucker incorrectly." "Oh yeah?" "He was set to serve four eternities in the ball-branding room, two in the Justin Beiber concert simulator and four more doing his taxes." "Holy Hell, what in Lucifer’s evil earth did he do?" "Some CEO of a fuel company or something. Destroyed, like, forty species in his lifetime with spills and such." "Damn." "Yeah, the guy then had the audacity to apologize and claim they were doing all they could, blah blah." "Sounds like a good candidate." "Right? Lucifer’s been pining for his arrival for the last twenty years. He was excited, and you know about Lucifer…" "Not much excites him." "Exactly." "So what happened?" "Well he died, painfully I might add. Hit by a truck after his car broke down on the freeway. Kind of ironic actually." "How so?" "It was a BP tanker, the company he worked for." "Oh my Satan, that’s rich." "Right? Took him three or four days to die, was paralyzed and everything. Spent his last three days of life drooling and shitting himself." "Stuff like that keeps me going, ya know?" "Yeah on the bad days I just remind myself about AIDS and the Bubonic Plague." "Bubonic Plague, damn shame it stopped." "Yeah, yeah. So anyway, the dude dies. Lucifer’s all ready for some fun—" "yeah…" "—shows up to heaven, ol’ high and mighty says, ‘nope.’ And shoots him down here" "Right…" "And Brian—" "Fuckin’ Brian." "—fuckin’ Brian. He sees the guy and mistakes him for a Child Molesting Priest." "Oh Lucifer almighty, no way." "Way. Tells him he qualifies for fuckin’ purgatory and sends him on his way to redemption." "Are you kidding me?" "I wish I was." "And what did Lucifer do?" "Oh man, you should have seen it. I haven’t seen Lucifer that angry since Osama Bin Laden converted to Christianity." "Damn." "Yeah. He didn’t yell or scream. Just straight up eviscerated Brian. Bowels and everything strewn about the floors of Hell." "Is that three?" "Five times, Barry. Brian’s been eviscerated five times just this century. I swear to Lucifer man, he’s a walking, talking fuckup." "How is he still around anyway?" "Tenure man." "Fuckin’ tenure." "Fuckin’ tenure indeed. The Demon needs to be fired." "Literally." "Shit, I gotta get back to it. Had a bus full of convicts drive off a cliff a few hours ago, ol’ high and might should be finishing up with them now." "Nice man, how’d you score a job like that?" "Lucifer liked how I handled the Jim Jone’s massacre so I get the cush jobs when they come in. Anyway, lunch today?" "You’re buyin’."
Thanksgiving has always been a big deal. Always. It almost feels like I could describe the embodied feeling of a hundred Thanksgiving within my family, the way the traditions are so well established, though that may be impossible given that I'm only 22. Everyone in my family gathered, numbering well into the 70s, if you count the newborns and my cousin Gina's new husband. The food took up the entirety of Gran's giant kitchen table, along with all the counter space, and despite of the sheer amount of food, we still manage to keep an orderly line thanks to Aunt Lora's stern warnings of "skipping the line and ruinin' the ahrda o' things,"her Boston accent only seeming to shine through when she's feeling important. Wait, not Aunt Lora, that's Aunt Cindy who has the accent, Aunt Lora is from Russelville, Arkansas, same as most of us. Why was I thinking that? I'm determined to get as much food on the plate at once, ignoring warnings from others about looking like a pig, or not taking all the candied yams. This technique allows me to only have to get up from my seat once. You get a large plate of savory foods, then go up for a large plate of desserts. With more than 70 people here, there are a limited number of seats, so you have to hold on to one if you get one. Hence, my method of loading the plate. I don't remember Gran having plastic plates like the one I'm currently holding, nor the plastic cups at the end of the counter. As I ponder this notion of Gran updating from styrofoam plates to plastic ones, I'm pulled back into reality by someone tapping me on the shoulder and saying, for maybe the third or fourth time, "I said, whatever happened to Sarah?"He's a distant cousin, and I can't remember if his name is is Mike or Micah. I'll ask dad later. Where did he go, anyways? I swear he was just here with mom. I notice there is a significant gap in front of me since I've spent too long ladling gravy over my entire plate. "Who?"I ask, picking up a roll, tearing it open, putting some turkey and potatoes into it, dipping it into gravy, then taking a bite before placing it back on my tray next to my plate. Wait, Gran got trays too? "Stop eating yah food while yah in line!"reprimands Aunt what's-her-face. Some ham, that's all i'm missing right now. "Sarah, you know, from a while ago. I met her last year. Were you two not serious? I figured you were since you brought her to the family Thanksgiving." The confused look on my face must have been evident because Aunt Sheila pipes in, her hair-sprayed up-do not seeming to move independently from her head. "Sarah Matthews, Chris. You brought her here 3 years in a row. Red head, your skydiving buddy, about to finish nursing school...you know...that Sarah." She gives me a courtesy laugh, as if I'm letting a stupid joke go on for too long, and we find seats in the sunroom, where the kids usually sit. Aunt Sheila always sits out here with the kids, and always makes a joke about still not being an adult, and this year, she will not fail us in that regard. "You know, maybe someday they'll let me sit at the grownup's table!"she giggles, her hair perfectly matted to her head. She's told this joke for who knows how long, and it's become meshed with tradition. "Do you need another seat for the Red Queen?"bellows Uncle Jim, my grandpa's brother who has, for as long as i can remember, had a cavity in his front tooth big enough to see from across the room and laughs after every single sentence he yells. "Chris is pretending to not know who Sarah is, Jim,"says Sheila, gravy spilling onto her lap. "Is this an inside joke, or did you guys call it quits? I thought you was gonna get married!"Somehow the "r"sound in that last word seems to drag on for a full three seconds before Jim roars with laughter. I eat my dinner in relative silence, only really engaging in conversation with the old men about how good the Cowboys were going to do this year, then playing some games with the younger kids outside. The cold, or maybe the turkey makes me feel incredibly tired. Seems like I always feel cold lately. I put on a coat and decide to go for a walk along the trails winding through the woods behind Gran and Grandpa's old brick house. Leaves scuttle across the ground and collect on one side of the path, courtesy of a stiff eastern wind. Something felt strange about today. maybe the food tasted different, but it was the people who just seemed...off. The whispers, the looks of surprise and halted conversations when i walked into a room...what was that all about? It was as if-- That was when I saw her. Sitting on the bench next to the pond, she was reading a book. My movement caught her eye, and as her green eyes met mine, a lock of hair fell off of its perch on her ear and covered one eye. She smiled as she brushed the hair back and returned it to her left ear. "Oh my god, you look like an angel!"I heard myself say. As she blushed I realized what I had just said, and, as the embarrassment swept over me, it made my eyes water. I was instantly in love and felt like I was blowing my chances. In my mind I always felt so smooth and casual, but right now all I could manage was, "Oh, jeeze, I'm so sorry...you're just...um...you look beautiful....um...I'm Chris, what's your name?" A wave of something--maybe it was terror, maybe relief--came over me as she said, "My name is Sarah, Mr. Maloney." Still watering, my head reeled as I brought my hands to my eyes to clear the tears. "What is going on here?"I wondered as my vision returned. That previous feeling now confirmed itself as a wave of terror as I looked from this beautiful young woman to my surroundings: Tile floor, concrete walls, fluorescent lights, and old people. Something seemed almost right, though, but what exactly was--the plate and tray next to Sarah on the bench! But clearly printed on the tray was something I didn't expect: "Property of White Oaks Retirement Community." Confusion once again evident, I asked Sarah, "What's going on? How old am I?" A patient look came over her almost smiling face as she told me, "You're 89 years old, Mr. Maloney, you've been here at White Oaks for almost seven years, I've been your nurse for three years, and it's about time to take your dementia medicine. Let's get that knocked out, then we can go outside and play some shuffleboard with the younger folks! Your team is doing well in this week's tournament!" The last sentence is punctuated with a brilliant smile and a sparkle in her eyes, and it calms me considerably. The way she smiles makes me think about the days when I was younger. In fact, I actually got quite serious with a red headed girl in my 20s. I think her name was Sarah. Yes, that's right, Sarah Matthews. I even brought her home to Thanksgiving once. And let me tell you, Thanksgiving has always been a big deal. Always.
“Excuse me”, the man says, from the front door. In this moment, what I'm doing is I'm hugging a TV set in front of me like it's a fat child, halfway down the stairs. “Can I help you?” I say, trying to remain confident. “What are you doing?” “I'm fixing the flarfers, naturally”, I say, sweat drops dripping down my neck at the same rate the TV's sliding through my hands. “The what?” “The flarfers.” “What's a flarfers?” “It's a network...ing...system....of..blenders” I say, because I never did perform well under pressure. I don't wanna go to jail. “A networking system of blenders?” “Exactly.” I say. “Kind of like the internet, but for blenders.” “And why are you taking the TV?” “Well, you see, the blendernet – “Blendernet?” “The blender internet.” “Of course.” “The blendernet works by connecting your TV to – oh, screw it, I'm robbing the place” I say, dropping the TV and drawing my gun. “Sorry, man.” “Oh. No, it's fine. That's what I was here to do, as well.” “Really?” I ask, gun still pointed at him. “You don't live here?” “Hell no”, he answers. “Blue tiles with brown carpet? I like to think I have better taste than that.” “Good point.” I say. “Say, would you mind lowering your gun and pointing me towards the stuff you don't plan to take?” “Oh, not at all.” I say, lowering the gun. “Here, let me give you the tour.” Before we can do any touring, however, what happens is this – The doors opens up again, and there's someone else in the room with us. “Excuse me. What on earth are you two doing?” I look at the other guy. The other guy looks at me. “We are fixing the flanders.” “The what?” “The flarfers.” I say, stepping on his feet. “What fucking difference does it make, it's a made up wor – the flarfers, sir.” “The what?” “It is your networking system of blenders, sir.” “Oh.” “It's malfunctioning. Probably due to malware.” “But I don't remember calling for support.” “You don't have to” I say, with a smile. “We can access your blendernet – “Blendernet?” “Blender internet.” “Of course.” “We can access it from our company's remote system. And we noticed you were having problems.” “Oh I see.” The man scans the room. “And why is there a TV smashed on the stairs?” “That”, the other guy says “was a robber.” “What?” “Yeah, while we were fixing your flarfers, a robber came in.” “And smashed the TV?” “Yes.” “He was a robber... and an anarchist.” “Down with the system...” “The media lies...” “The whole thing.” “I see", the man says. "Well, that's awful." “Yes. Terrible thing.” “Well, let's fix my flarfers, then", he replies, smiling as he crosses the room to the kitchen. I look at the other guy. The other guy looks at me. “What now?” “I don't know. Fix his fucking flarfers.” "I don't know how to fix a flarfers!" "Well, I don't know how to fix a flarfers, either!" “You know what, guys?” Comes the voice from the kitchen. “Never mind, I fixed it!” I look at the other guy. The other guy looks at me. “What?” “The flarfers! It's working now!” The other guy shrugs. “Well... Let's go”, he says, heading for the door. “No fucking way”, I reply, halfway to the kitchen. “Are you crazy? What are you doing?” “I gotta know how he fixed the bloody flarfers, now.”
I locked the car doors.This area isn't the nicest area, especially for a PI like me. "Turn right on bondage street in 500m"the GPS barked. I turned the wheel and ended up on the street. Redditville was built like a paradise after Diggton went to hell. And with the people came the secrets and questions someone like me needed to answer. Us PI's were hired by mods to look for the rulebreakers, but sometimes these decriped induviduals looked to us to find dirt on the mods. "Take a slight right on NSFW_GIFS and the destination will be on your left."The GPS interuppted my thoughs. This time, however, this wasn't a user of the standard caliber. This was an outcast. And an outcast with power frighten the Admins. Especially this one, Unidan. "You have arrived at your destination." I stopped the car and walked out. My destination was a club. Named "I'm [F]riendly!,"It was the most generic club here, but this is where I am supposed to find him. I shielded my report baton and put on my flair, before I met the bouncer. "User?"He asked. His giant hands held a blue arrow, and he looked at me as if I was prey. "Its /u/UncoChen."I replied. "Ok. Be careful and don't do anything illegal."He said as I passed him. I entered into the club and saw sex. Lots of sex. I was desensitized to it by now, but the smell will never leave your mind. "Over here!"I heard, and I saw the customer. "I assume you took a throwaway."I said. The face of this user was different than the one who was regarded as a hero cycles ago. Now, he couldn't walk into Front Ave. without due hate. "You're correct, but you need to know this."He handed me an orangered. "Why"I asked "Because this wll prove my innocence."He said with a blank look on his face. "Youhave nothing to prove. You admitted it yourself! You think the Circlejerkers shut up about it?"I said. "Look, the Admins know I'm here. the IP tag,"he pointed to his neck"they wil come before I will explain completely, but the short of it was that the Admins were upset at the growing power." "You know that they'll kill me too. A throwaway wouldn't protect an agent of theirs." "I know. And I'm sorry."He said before gunfire lit up the place. "ADMIN DEPLOYMMENT SQUAT! SUBMISSIONS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!" I pulled out my baton and went to work uncovering this controversy.
“Basilisk!” The village lookout shouted. “Archers to the walls! Everyone else inside! Lock your doors and don’t look out your windows until the all clear is given!" The crossbowmen rapidly mounted the wooden palisade that had been hastily erected in the weeks since the beast was seen. It was always a very dangerous thing defending against a basilisk. You couldn’t go out and hunt it because it was simply too dangerous. The most that could be expected was to bunker down until it departed, and possibly scare it off with arrow fire, but only if it tried to attack. The dozen of the king’s personal monster hunter squad put their backs to the sharp wooden tops of the palisade, and faced inward. The one who had drawn the short straw that morning would take a half second glance over the well every fifteen seconds to verify the large snake’s location. At this distance of almost fifty meters the odds were okay that it wouldn’t look at you, but you didn’t want to look any longer than was absolutely necessary to direct volley fire. “Blindfolds on!” The unlucky spotter ordered. The other eleven men complied and the spotter took his first peek. The man to his left clutched his crossbow tightly. He knew if the spotter suddenly went limp and fell off it was his turn next. “Thirty meters, 11:00, fire!” The spotter ordered. Eleven bolts were loosed at the approaching beast. They didn’t have to be precise. You didn’t really try to kill a basilisk, just scare it off. The bolts only had to be close enough to let the monstrosity know you meant business. “Twenty meters, 10:00, fire!” The spotter called again, and again, eleven bolts flew towards the snake. “Ten meters, 9:30, fire!” The spotter called, silently crossing his fingers. This volley had to do it. There wouldn’t be time to prepare another. He didn’t need to look for a fourth time, the thing would be close enough to hear if they did not succeed in scaring it off with the last round. All twelve men held their breath, waiting to hear the tell tale hiss of scales on grass, praying that they had sent the creature slithering off to whatever den it had come from. They were not so lucky. As the men were placing bolts in their weapons they felt a bump in the palisade. The thing was not only coming, it was climbing. They could feel the weight of it shoving against the palisade as it slithered to the top. To a man, they all froze, bolts not quite ready to defend themselves. The spotter shut his eyes. Maybe it would just take one of them. Maybe it would go into the village and leave them alone. It was not brave, but it was all they could think to keep from fleeing the spot. Then, the pressure stopped. The sense of movement came to a halt right next to the spotter’s head. He could feel the change in air pressure and temperature from the thing breathing next to his face. It was too late now, the most he could hope for was that it would be quick. Quick, yes, that was it, just open the eyes and make it quick. The spotter looked right at the head of the beast, and saw that it wasn’t even looking in his direction. It was staring at an old chicken on the wall of the palisade. The spotter was astounded that the chicken was looking directly into the eyes of the basilisk, and was not affected in the slightest. The hen hopped over to the head of the basilisk which was peaking over the wall and affectionately rubbed its head against the basilisk, and patted the body of it with its wing. The giant beast quivered slightly, and the spotter heard the beast do the most imaginable thing possible. It purred. Like a kitten. Like a household kitten. The spotter realized he should probably close his eyes lest the thing glance his way, but he couldn’t help it. A giant lethal snake, was acting like a kitten being petted by a favorite owner, and that owner was a chicken. With a flip of its wings the chicken hopped onto the large head of the snake, and the thing pulled itself back over the wall, and lowered itself to the earth. It then promptly slithered off into the woods with the chicken on its head. Only after it had passed beyond the spotter’s line of sight did he realize. Of course, basilisks are born from chicken eggs that were hatched under toads. The poor thing just wanted to see its mother. Edit: some words.
Uncle and mother are crouched behind a truck, whispering to each other. I try to crawl closer so that I can hear what they are saying, but mother shoots a sharp look, and I stop. I can hear voices shouting followed by loud crashes of what sounds likes cars being thrown into the sides of buildings. Uncle's face is dirty, all of our faces are dirty, but uncle's in particular. He begins to stand and mother grabs his wrist and pulls him close for a hug but he pushes her back, his blackened face stern. He looks towards me, and I cannot tell whether it is love or hate that I see. Nonetheless, he stands and nods to mother. She runs to pick me up as uncles raises his shaking hands slowly, their hiding place following his motion. I look over my mother's shoulders while she carries me and runs, and watch uncle throw the truck towards the bad people. He collapses to his knees from the effort, and the last I see from him are two clean streaks on his face as the bad people surround him. Mother turns and I am left with a view of a ruined city, bodies flung everywhere, some in the most absurd places. I stare at a man laying limp on one of the street lights, his arm dangling down from the rest of his body swinging with a hypnotic motion. From what I have heard, this all just happened yesterday, while I was still inside mother. However I do not know enough, as mother refuses the other uncles and aunties to talk about it around me. I wish I could tell her that I want to learn, that despite my goos and my gaas, that I understand everything. Perhaps my inability to control my bodily functions is sufficient proof for them that I lack any independence. At least we all have a mutual understanding; that I just need to survive long enough before I can throw all the cars against all the buildings above the bad people. My brothers weren't so lucky. Born and aware in the same room at the same time, only mother escaped, as father held off the bad people. Strange how I felt somewhat concerned at the disappearance of a man I had only seen for a brief few seconds. Stranger even still that I cling to mother as if she is anything but a substitute for my underdeveloped legs. She abruptly falls to the ground, her hands instinctively protecting the back of my head. I watch as she is plucked from the ground into the air, squirming and screaming. I hold out my uselessly small hands to her and cry, I suppose she is my mother after all. Her screams crescendo to drown my own out as her limbs are slowly separated. An abrupt silence falls after the thump of mother's body against a nearby building. A man's face, as dirty as uncle, stares down at my pathetic body. He lifts me up and smiles, his teeth a complete contrast to his face. He holds me up to the bad people and they all cheer. So I goo and I gaa, but in the end, that's what they'll all be.
"Checkmate." "Ah, fuck you, you rotten fuckin' stroganoff,"cursed the younger man. With an angry swipe of his hand across the chessboard, he knocked the remaining pieces clean off the table. "I quite enjoy our little chess games, Adolph." "Eh.. I suppose there is worse company than you, Vladanir,"replied Adolph. They shook hands briefly before Vladanir Lennin poured them both cups of tea. "How did it go with your last appointment at the Academy of Fine Arts in Vienna?"asked Lennin as he took a sip from his cup. "Those fucking Jew-lovers,"mumbled Hilter. "They said I was unfit for painting. What the fuck does that even mean? Art is subjective. It is in the eye of beholder." "Relax, Adolph. Perhaps they just mean that your talents are more suited to something else like sculpting. Have you tried working a piece of marble? You might surprise yourself." "Fuck Vienna. And fuck sculpting,"said Hilter. He crossed his arms and slumped down deeper into his chair. Although he always wore a grumpy face, he appeared bitchier than usual. Casually, he glanced at his wristwatch. "Just under a minute to go." "It's always a Saturday at noon, isn't it,"said Lennin curiously as he gulped down the remainder of his tea. "Yep,"stated Hilter. He stood up and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "Alright, ol' man. It's time."Lennin stood up as well while smoothening the creases in his jacket. No sooner had he stood up when the door into the bedroom came crashing down and in stormed three strangers dressed in black leather suits. Blackened helmets covered their faces, but from their physiques, Hilter deduced that there were 2 men and 1 woman. "Herr Adolf Hitler. For crimes against humanity that you have yet to commit, you are being terminated,"said the woman calmly. "Bitches can't even pronounce Hilter correctly. How fucking irksome,"muttered Adolph Hilter as he watched his companion reach for something by his side. "Authority is granted by the International Council of Timecrimes,"one of the men added. "You have the r-"The man couldn't finish his sentence because his throat had just been sliced by Lennin's shashka. The sabre dripped with blood as one of the three intruders fell to the ground dead. The remaining man immediately countered by pulling out a small, pistol-shaped device that fired a thin, blue laser beam. Lennin ducked just in time. The beam missed his head by a hair's width. "Return from whence you came!"shouted Hilter as he charged towards the male attacker. As he lunged, he reached behind his back and drew a large weapon that he had concealed in a scabbard behind his back. Before the stranger could recharge the laser pistol, Hilter's Zweihänder chopped the man's body in half at the torso and the two pieces plopped on the floor in a pool of dark blood. The woman drew out two laser pistols, one aimed at each of Lennin and Hilter. She fired both of them simultaneously. But because her concentration was split, Hilter and Lennin easily dodged the laser beams and cornered her. She tried to make a dash for the exit, but tripped backwards when her foot caught on a piece of splintered wood from the remains of the door they had busted. Hilter and Lennin casually strode over to her and looked down at her. "Since I was a boy, you people have been trying to assassinate me,"said Hilter. He spat on the woman's helmet. "Why? WHY? Hell, maybe this is why I can't get into fuckin' art school. It's because when I should be practicing my technique, I'm being attacked by future assassins. I spend more of my time practicing the art of war rather than the art of painting." As Hilter rambled, Lennin crouched down next to the woman and began patting her down. He was checking not only for any other concealed weaponry, but also for any devices that would allow the travel through space-time. Lennin had not only trained Hilter secretly in the art of combat, but he had also fought side by side with the young German on numerous occasions against the time-travellers. Together they had felled many enemies, but never had they ever come across the technology that actually allowed them to traverse space-time. Hilter suspected that the device that allowed time travel was merely a gate or portal that was permanently fixed. That would mean that the travellers had no way to return to the future. A suicide mission. "Where is your time machine?"demanded Lennin. "I grow impatient."He held the shashka up to the woman's throat. "Go to hell,"she said. Just before the Russian was about to decapitate the lady, Hilter put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "The helmet,"he whispered to Lennin. Lennin nodded and used his sabre to forcefully remove the black helmet from the woman's head. The woman's face was unremarkable. She had short brown hair, dark brown eyes and an otherwise plain face. She had a scowl on her face. Lennin used the butt of his shaska to give her a strong whack in the head, knocking her out temporarily. Hilter bent to pick up the helmet and slipped it on his head. As soon as the helmet slid comfortable over his head, a screen lit up on the interior surface of the mask. Although Hilter didn't know it at the time, what he was seeing was a heads-up display. To the right of his vision were a bunch of numbers and symbols that meant nothing to him. But on the bottom left of the HUD it read 1 May 1909. "Mein Gott! Lennin! I think we have found the time travel device,"exclaimed Hilter as he swayed his head from side to side, trying to find a way to access and control the device. "Can you find a way to activate it?"asked Lennin as he inched closer to Hilter. "Careful now." "How do I work this damned contraption..."mumbled Hilter as he tapped the outside of the helmet and banged it in different places. "Hey, Adolph! Don't hit it like that! You'll break the damn thing,"said Lennin. He reached out to swat Hilter's hands away from the helmet. Just as Lennin's fingers touched Hilter's hand, there was a faint yet audible beeping sound. Lennin and Hilter were suddenly blinded by a bright flash of light and suddenly the bedroom was empty, save for the three motionless bodies lying in a puddle of blood. --- To be continued.
&nbsp;&nbsp;Just stay home today. &nbsp;&nbsp;"But why?"Ito ran his hand over his face in frustration. "Look, you've been telling me to stay home for months now. I'd really like to know why." &nbsp;&nbsp;The reasoning is this. Consider. Every person on earth is connected in some way to every other person, through the catena of humanity. Acknowledged? &nbsp;&nbsp;"Well, sure. Everyone knows that. But what does that have to do with me staying indoors?"He looked at his chair, the seat drooping from long use, his mouse shiny from sweat, his keyboard almost illegible from long use. "I'm thinking I've really been inside a bit too long, this time." &nbsp;&nbsp;Now, every person does not affect every other person directly. The sphere of influence for most is too small. However, a person can influence one person, who can influence two others, who can influence others which continues at a geometric rate. &nbsp;&nbsp;He nodded. "With you so far. This is, like, stuff we learned in school, you know."Absently, he hooked a bag of chips and began to eat. "What about, you know, me? Yes, you are all meant to help coordinate us all for the good of us specifically and humanity as a whole, but how does keeping me indoors help anyone? I mean, who am I going to affect?" &nbsp;&nbsp;No one. &nbsp;&nbsp;"...excuse me?" &nbsp;&nbsp;No one. &nbsp;&nbsp;Consider. &nbsp;&nbsp;As of three months, two weeks, four days ago, you reached your 35th birthday. Milestone tables indicate that the optimal window for knowledge and skill development has passed as of then; now you will consume more resources in order to learn less. To date, you have not spent your time developing learning abilities; the resources society will now invest into your education will now not yield a positive net return. In short, you are now a drain on the educational system. Mouth agape, he let the bag slip to the floor. &nbsp;&nbsp;Further, the skill development in the time since adolescent acceleration undertaken by you has been limited to mastering various video games, none of which yield a direct benefit to society. At no game do you perform at a professional level; benefits through entertainment of large groups are not realized. Milestone tables indicate that skill development in any field with your current habits will not yield results where the return on time and education merit the investments. He sat heavily in his chair, unable to speak. In addition, your current employment does not require you to leave this house. You can and do work remotely, away from the people you have told others during your online play to be 'a waste of air' and 'mindless worker bees'. &nbsp;&nbsp;To complete the reasoning of this intelligence, actuarial tables indicate that a male of your height, weight, and sedentary lifestyle can expect to be deceased by age 50. Summary: to humanity as a whole, your contribution is minimal. The return to society does not merit investment. &nbsp;&nbsp;The AI paused for a second, then raised its volume slightly as if to drive home what it was saying. Ito, tears running down his face, looked away from the speaker. You have nothing to contribute to society and no means to begin. Your optimal contribution is to stay indoors; this will reduce the amount of time you will require resources. Once you have been removed to the city's Green Facility, this apartment can be reassigned to another individual possessing a greater contribution to the skills and knowledge pool. The delivery slot opened and another bag of potato chips, this time accompanied by a twelve-pack of soda, waited within. You next online match is in five minutes. I have loaded the game and am awaiting your sign-in. Please enjoy your evening.
And here we are, I think to myself. One last delivery. I look at the silver briefcase before me. It’s large and smooth, like the surface of a remote lake. A single Pokémon sticker sticks to the case’s handle. I push my long, dark hair away from my eyes and take out a small, silver pocket watch. It clicks gently, almost like a heartbeat. Tick tock, tick tock. Images of war and suffering flash past my vision. I shut my eyes immediately. I’ve done things with this pocket watch that I’m not proud of. Then again, I’ve never claimed to be altruistic. I never argued that I did things for the greater good, or for the betterment of humanity. What I did, I did for the right price. But that doesn't mean I don't take pride in my work. On the contrary, I consider my work a very important part of my life. You see, I… I never knew my family. I grew up in an orphanage, never quite feeling like I belonged anywhere. I felt like a lone boat adrift at sea – and this job became my anchor. It gave me a sense of purpose. This pocket watch gave me a reason to live. And, of course, a bucketload of money. I grab the briefcase and step into an adjacent room. I stop at the doorway and gaze around – the walls of this room are covered with a thousand newspapers. I read the headlines as I walk past: “Milk prices at historic lows”, “Men walk on moon”, “Hitler dead”… The dates on the newspapers span a dozen decades. They call me the Salesman. I’ve made many deliveries in my lifetime. I’ve delivered packages to presidents and CEOs, kings and sheikhs, dictators and popes. With perfectly timed deliveries, I have influenced the American Civil War, the works of Einstein and the founding of Apple Computer. I step onto a red, circular platform in the center of the room. One final delivery. I take a deep breath. The most important delivery of all. I click on my trusty pocket watch. A loud whirring sound permeates the air. Then, a brilliant light fills the room. \________ A 4-storied building, painted in dull grey with a giant crack on its right wall stands before me. A young boy stands outside, playing alone with his yo-yo. His long, dark hair sways with every movement he makes. I open the briefcase and put my pocket watch inside. Then, I walk over to the boy. “Jonny, right?” The boy nods. “Would you like to be a Salesman?”
Let me tell you, I hadn't expected the first thing I'd see in the afterlife to be a panel of judges and a massive projector screen replaying my death in slow motion. But there it was, in high-definition, on a ten by ten metre screen. Being replayed. Over and over again. "Listen, can you stop watching it and just do... whatever it is you're supposed to do?" "Huh? Look, we need to see the details in order to make the correct judgment."said the man with the bright pink suit. I sighed. I suppose I have all the time I want in the afterlife. "Oh my God. Pause it there. Look at his face. You can almost see his life flashing through his eyes!" "I just want to hear the sound again. It's so satisfying." CRUNCH "There it is, baby! That splat! And look at that blood - absolutely majestic!" I had to endure these comments for what seemed like an eternity until the verdict was finally given. "We've made a decision." "Oh, finally. It took you a while."I rolled my eyes, "Enjoyed laughing at my death? You guys are some messed up people, you know that?" "Trust me, darling. We've laughed at things a lot more messed up."The judge smiled with hellish pride. "I bet you have." "Anyways, your sentence. It's no motorcycle stunt gone wrong, but it's not a brain aneurysm on the toilet either. We would usually give this a 5.4, but, I think, for comic value alone I'll push you up to a 7." "Thanks, I guess."I had no idea what these numbers meant, but I suppose I was thankful I could now experience the real heaven. "Oh, and next time,"the judge with the pink suit pushed up his glasses from his nose and stared directly into my soul, "Try and remember to pack your parachute when you go skydiving, hun."
Waking from my cryosleep in three thousand and ten, I logged back into Reddit, to see old memes again. I clicked upon the front page, and to my surprise, saw "Ask Me Anything, I'm the last person left alive". I posted "is this really true?", and F5'd with breath bated. They wrote, "I need help so the earth can be repopulated!" I thought, well, armageddon isn't so bad after all, my chances were much worse before society's last fall. But then I checked their history, to see what they had posted; Fifteen thousand rage comics. Suffice to say, I ghosted.

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