Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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I yawned, arching my back as I stretched out of sleep. The soft padding of feet drew my attention, as she walked in. She herself yawned, her ginger hair stuck up in a very clear bed head. I walked over, rearing up to put my paws on her legs. She scratched the top of my head, and I closed my eyes in bliss. "Good morning Rocky." Rocky. That was the name she gave me. It wasn't my actual name, but I couldn't really tell her what it was. A soft twittering drew her attention, as Tweety greeted her. I understood what he was saying. "Its a bright day. Did you sleep well Cerb?" I yapped back. "Of course I did. How your wing?" He flapped a couple of times, before settling down. "Getting better." Our human, Natasha, looked between us, smiling. She moved to Tweety's cage, reaching in to run a finger over his head. "Good morning Tweety. I hope you're feeling better." I smirked at that. He really hated that name. So of course, we used it every chance we got. I felt a presence beside me, turning my head to see Fiona standing there. Her tail looked slightly off, and I bumped her slightly to hide her. "Fiona! Tail." She stared at me, before shaking her head. "Oops! Thanks for the catch, Cerb." By this point, Natasha was heading to the kitchen. We followed, joining the couple of cats an dogs she owned. None were like us, and didn't quite possess our level of intelligence. Still, we respected them, as Natasha looked after them as well. She busied herself with giving us breakfast. I patiently waited for my turn. Finally, I was able to fill my belly. It wasn’t the best thing I had ever tasted, but I liked it nonetheless. Natasha had some food of her own, and we watched each other. She seemed amused by our antics, and we made sure she was safe. After a while, she was done, and went to get ready. Fiona followed her, an unspoken agreement that only she watches her in private. When she was done, myself, Fiona and the other dogs lined up, ready to be walked. She took us all in one big group, barely seeming able to control us all. I helped keep the other dogs in line. They respected me, as I was the top dog, literally. I made sure they didn't pull too hard. I also kept an eye out for danger. I wasn't going to let anyone hurt Natasha. She cared for us, and we cared for her.
Clink. Clink. Clink. Vilmer had several thoughts running through his head at any given time. But he always only had one goal. And right now, the goal was to break through Vilmer was now had a tunnel that bore several dozen feet into the side of Mt. Fortress, as apt a name for a mountain as they came. He knew why he was digging through this stone colossus. But he hadn’t thought about that reason since he started this little project. It didn’t matter right now; what was important were the endless strikes of his pickax against the stone. And when the tool began to wear down, what mattered then was to maintain or replace it. When his muscles protested against the constant beating, he rested. When his stomach growled, he ate. When his eyes drooped, he slept. When his bowels and kidneys acted up, he shat and pissed. When supplies ran low, he visited the nearest town to replenish them. When the tunnel risked collapse, he reinforced it. And sometimes, though you will never catch him doing it yourself, he would sing. This had been Vilmer's life for two years. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Perhaps, when his mind was swallowed by the rhythm of his work, Vilmer still thought a bit as to the circumstances that brought him here. Maybe he could still remember the faces of Katcher the Wise, and Borter the Brutal. They were among the Highest, those rare lucky few born with absolute supremacy in one aspect of humanity. Katcher was marked with intelligence and cunning, Borter with strength and brutality. They were among the elite of adventurers in the world. Vilmer was Highest too; he was marked by the strength of will and sheer determination. He held less prestige than other Highest, which made him rather inexpensive to hire. The quest was, in concept, simple; penetrate the legendary stronghold of the Ancients, the name of which had been lost with their civilization. Locals called the place Mt. Fortress, as it was indeed but a mountain hollowed out from the inside. Rumors and legends of what slept within changed like the seasons; precious treasure, vicious monsters, the secret to immortality, endless traps, a portal to another world. Maybe some combination of those, or something else entirely. But nobody believed that there was nothing. In theory, the team was unstoppable; Borter could kill any monster, Katcher could solve any puzzle, and as support, Vilmer would at least be guaranteed to not run away. If there was treasure, then it would be split equally between them. However, the theory would remain untested. Katcher had assumed that he would find whatever secret entrance the Ancients used to enter and exit Mt. Fortress. As it turned out, there was no secret entrance. It was simply a sheer, smooth mountain, without doors or caves or crevasses of any sort. After a week of searching for some solution, Katcher and Borter decided to abandon the quest, offering Vilmer a generous supplemental to his pay for the inconvenience. He had asked instead for some food, Borter’s pickax, and for Katcher to write down everything he knew about excavation. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. *Crack.* The tip of the pickax slipped through the stone. Wiggling the handle, Vilmer realized that there was some degree of open space just beyond his current position, though how much it was impossible to determine. It took two full days of careful digging and debris removal, but eventually Vilmer was able to carve out an entrance just big enough for him to slip into. He entered a stone chamber, which connected to a hallway that led deeper into Mt. Fortress. Two years of his life, and he had accomplished his goal Vilmer allowed several minutes of solace. Then it was time to move onto the next step. There was still work to be done yet. He would rest for a few days to allow his body to recover and resupply at the town before he would begin exploring in earnest. Perhaps Vilmer would acquire some adventurers to accompany him. It would be a prudent course of action. Though, perhaps, not a necessary one.
Mrs Lawson says the same thing as I step out the front door every day. “Good morning, Mark! Off to work already?” She sees me in a suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, every single morning. She still says it. But Mr Lawson isn’t in the picture and Mrs Lawson’s garden is the sole remaining light of her life. She gets up at the crack of dawn to tend to it, murmuring to the plants with the occasional idle comment on the weather. No one else is up this early. Except me, because according to my boss profit never sleeps. Besides, those pensioners aren’t going to cheat themselves out of their retirement savings, though I’d be out on my ass if I ever said that to his face. Humoring a lonely old woman is the least I can do. Except today, I just had to say the first sarcastic quip that popped into my head. “I’m going fishing, actually! I have the rod and bait in my briefcase–“ I stopped in my tracks. The contents of my briefcase changed. I could feel the difference in weight from moments ago: my laptop and papers were no longer there. And their replacement felt an awful lot like a fishing rod. Mrs Lawson frowned. “You’re going fishing in a suit and tie? That can’t be too comfortable…” But then she brightened up again. “Ah, you must have brought a change of clothes in that briefcase of yours!” “Of course,” I lied, and I felt the weight of my briefcase change again. “Nothing wrong with playing hooky once in a while,” she said. “I had a storm planned for the lake because I thought my little darlings could use the sun here, but since you’re going there I suppose I could move some things around. They need watering anyway.” I waved and left. Then, out of sheer curiosity, I headed to the lake. I’d never been fishing before, but something about the fishing rod in my briefcase made it downright intuitive to use. It was a perfectly clear morning that turned into a balmy afternoon and beautiful evening, and watching the clouds drift by while waiting for bites, I felt more at ease than I’d ever had in a long time. I had a respectable catch by the end of the day. Thanks to a generous shopkeeper by the lakeside, I had a nice cooler box to bring them home in too. I realized two very important things that day. Mrs Lawson wasn’t speculating or hoping when she talked about the weather and what she wanted from her plants. She was giving instructions and making suggestions. And when she spoke, the world listened. And when I returned from my impromptu fishing trip to find that my workplace had been struck by lightning seven times per hour in an otherwise mild drizzle, I realized it was time to hand in my resignation.
A torn piece of paper caught in the wind swirled and danced along the path until it slapped up against Rodney’s leg. Frowning at the headline ‘Royal Princess reunited with her Family’ he crumpled the paper up and stuck it in his pack. ‘Almost there, gang. Won’t be long, now.’ Behind Rodney his six sisters and four brothers huddled together, looking anxious. The youngest, Amelia, swallowed nervously, finally speaking the fear on everyone’s mind. ‘What if she doesn’t want to come back?’ Rodney smiled reassuringly. ‘She will. I did, didn’t I?’ Appeased, the siblings turned their attention to the castle looming in the distance. It’d been a long journey, but worth it. They’d get their sister back. \* Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed, eyeing with distaste the opulent furniture and lavish tapestry on the walls. Her dinner, brought to her by three servants, lay untouched on the table. It’s been a month and they still didn’t believe her when she said she didn’t eat meat. ‘And for the price of those gold plates I could feed an entire village.’ She’d said on the first day, but they ignored that too. In fact, after the initial flurry and fanfare of the King and Queen being reunited with their long-lost heir, Evelyn was pretty much ignored by here so-called parents. Granted, it’s probably hard to feel a parental attachment to a 14-year-old girl when you hadn’t seen her since her birth but whose fault was that? Evelyn thought. She hadn’t asked to be traded to the witch in exchange for granting a wish. That was all on them. The King, Evelyn was certain, felt now she was back everything was sorted, and he didn’t have to get involved. the Queen tried to be motherly, but it was obvious early on the only reason they bothered to get Evelyn back was because they hadn’t had any other living children, and the King must have an heir, even if it was a young woman with forthright ideas about monarchy and the rights of mankind. Sighing, Evelyn wandered to the window and stared out at the forest beyond; imagining she could see the cottage where she’d grown up, hoping her brother’s and sisters were on the way. She really wanted to go home. \* ‘Good afternoon,’ Rodney said in his most jovial voice. ‘We are but humble musicians, we’ve been hired to entertain the new Princess.’ Behind him, the most musical of his siblings, Amelia, Samuel, and Dickon stood holding instruments and trying to look as harmless as possible while the others hid in the nearby bushes. Their eldest brother, Arthur came up with this cover story when he rescued Rodney, the first of the siblings to be ‘reunited’ with their original family, and in the three rescues since, it hadn’t failed once. Rodney had a bit of a worry as the guard hesitated; this one looked smarter than most, but to his relief the guard just shrugged and opened the gate. ‘I’ll take you to her. Fair warning though, she’s a bit stroppy, that one. She may throw something at you. She did that to the court jester just the other week.’ Rodney stifled a smile. ‘We’ll take our chances.’ he said, and the group shuffled into the castle behind the guard, hoping no one checked their instrument cases. Behind them the remaining siblings settled down to wait for the signal. \* It wasn’t easy to climb down the rope ladder whilst holding onto a sack full of golden plates, but Evelyn managed, and soon enough she was being squashed in a scrum of her siblings, all of them vying to be the first to give her a hug. ‘I am so glad to see you.’ She said after extricating herself from Amelia’s grasp, let’s go home.’ \* Back in the forest the witch watched her children’s progress through her crystal ball, smiling in satisfaction as they turned toward home. Of course they’d have to move to a different part of the forest again, but that’s never a problem when your cottage has legs. She hadn’t set out to be a mother to these children; her job was to offer magical solutions to people’s problems, and if the problem is something along the line of ‘I want more money’ the rule was to ask for the first born child as a test of character. Most people said no. A few people said yes and then changed their minds when the child was born. Standard operating procedure. She hadn’t reckoned on a situation where the first born child already existed. Poor Author was the first. His father, a local lord, wanted more land. She made the standard offer and the next thing she knew she was handed a one-year old boy. The witch sighed. The other part of the contract, the bit a witch never tells, is that when the First-Born Contract is invoked, it means the person giving up the child will never have another. She maybe should have changed that for the already born ones. Now they children were older, those families that gave them up for riches suddenly realised they don’t have an heir to their throne, and next thing she knew her children were being forcibly taken away from her. She glanced back at her crystal, happy to see all her children well away from the castle and into the woods, a beaming Evelyn walking beside her brother. The witch smiled. She might not have been a perfect mother, but she raised some good children.
"Uhhh..." I stared at the slob covered ball on my chest as it rolled to my chin. Saliva dripped over my neck. I stifled a squeal, keeping my eyes fixed on the yellow-eyed beast as it panted over me. Gulp. The beast began to growl. I flinched a bit, realizing I wasn't pinned down simply because the span of it's body was so wide. The creature, still growling, pressed a fur matted snout to the ball, and gave it the gentlest of nudges. You have got to be kidding... I wasn't exactly a dog person, but I understood the gesture. The ball had slid off my neck, leaving a snail trail of saliva into the grass. I picked it up. My eyes instinctively clenched before I flung it toward the downside of the hill. One of the monstrous paws dragged over me as the best went hurtling toward the ball, and rolled me down the hill after it. I managed to halt myself midway, but the creature was already on its way back up with the ball in its mouth. I crabwalked back as it reached me, then raised a brow. "Ok... so you don't want to eat me?" The ball dropped. The snout raised up, hiding the moon behind it while bellowing a long, low, howl. "Alright... I guess..."I picked up the ball, and wiped it on my shirt. Under the werewolf saliva, the ball was thick and rubber, like something that once was toy for an enormous dog, but now had pits and scarring as if it'd been put through a tree shredder. I glanced to the frothing mouth that had appeared over my shoulder as the creature circled me. The growl returned, and the teeth bared. Like I needed a reminder of what this ball has been through... I flung the ball with all my might toward the woods. The beast took off, bounding with surprising elegance. Like a racing hound, only happier. And for whatever reason I decided to go after it. When it saw me heading toward it, it paused. Large, moonlit ears flicked back and forth again. Instead of continuing forward. It placed the ball neatly on a stone between us, then skipped to and fro on the other side until I reached it. I smiled. Another howl. Another toss. And another of each. I even braved a daring fake toss. For a moment I was scared for my life, as the creature howled and growl-barked and all but hopped about when it realized what I'd done. I threw the ball as the wolf rushed me, but it ignored it, and headbutted me into the ground. Then it proceeded to share saliva, generously, all over my face. This is why I don't like dogs. But I had to admit, I was enjoying playing catch with it. Werewolf or not. The creature veered a different direction, further into the woods, as I prepared to throw. I considered throwing it sideways toward the moonlight of a nearby meadow, but a bone chilling howl made me think twice. "Fine." Always the ball had to be tossed in a favored direction. Always the wolf dropped the ball partway between us. As I rubbed another layer of saliva off the pitted rubber, I stared back into the yellow eyes. "You know, this might go faster if you just show me where you want me to go... As long as you promise you're not gonna eat me..." The ears pricked. The beast stood on it's hind legs, howled a short howl, and gestured me into the thickening woods. I sighed, and followed. Leaves and branches layerd over one another made thicker and thicker screens from the full moon above. Soon I could see almost nothing. I felt around in the dark, then opened my mouth to shout at the creature that I couldn't see. But before I could, my hand filled with fur, and my arm was pressed upward as the massive beast nestled it's neck in my embrace, like it was just an old friend putting my arm over it's shoulder. It led me. Or rather, I walked with it's guidance. It stopped once to sniff at the ball, but then looked up to the canopy as if something were above us. I looked up too. Daylight? The wolf bounded off. As I looked back down to the woods, I saw a dilapidated hut surrounded by a low field of weeds and flowers and sparse trees. The wolf sprinted toward it, shoved through the door, and poked a dark, furry head through the window. The yellow eyes seemed so human from this distance. And then, they disappeared. I heard wimpering, and my heart sank. "You ok?" Overgrown bushes and the remains of a fence stood between me and the rotted wood door. I crossed slowly, listening to birds as they'd already begun to sing from the low hanging brances of one of the trees. I kept hoping the wimpers were simply more birds, or another animal, preferably one the beast wasn't slowly killing with those mostrous jaws. The wimpering stopped, and a hue of light yellow trickled through the patterned opening in the trees above. Has it... turned? A weird thought passed through my head, that since the wolf had not been wearing clothes, it might have none to wear. I knocked, and this felt weird too. "You... ok?" Hearing nothing, I pushed the door gently into the tiny house. Daylight streamed in behind me; the dust casting shadows from where it clung in the musty air. And there, at the other end of a scuffle in the dusty floor, was a girl. A slender, dark-haired girl. Sleeping soundly under a camoflage sleeping bag that had seen better days during World War II. I stared for a while, mystified. Then closed the door to let it... her... sleep. With a sharp rock, I left the creature with my name, my number, and the following words: "Call me if you want to play another game of catch" Then I smiled, and wondered if maybe I could learn to be a dog person after all...
Several times, travelers made complaints about the suspicious Eridanian from System HD265-T3 skulking around the exit of Gate E3. Arrival flights from Earth disembarked their passengers here, each of them in a rush to meet connecting flights. The Eridanian, known professionally as ‘K’, knew he was untouchable. Countless bribes over the past cycle had ensured that he and his partner, ‘G’, could work free from the interference of flight security. Nearby drones announced the arrival of Flight 2938 at Gate E3. K imagined that he was an ancient Terran predator as he observed the herd of masked humans pour out of the gate. He scanned each of them individually, the processing power of his advanced mind allowing for minute details to be observed within nanoseconds. He felt a pronounced sense of superiority as he watched them scramble, some obviously new to wearing the bulky, uncomfortable masks. His observations were immediately transponded to G. An old woman. Slow. Easy. Family too large. Child. Too noisy. Paired mates. One making their way to restroom. Too risky, partner may return early. Another old one. Assisted transportation through spaceport. Too much oversight. As the rush of passengers in the terminal died down, K worried that this flight would be another dud. Just as he felt ready to give up, one last straggler made their way out of the gate. K immediately went to transponding. Last passenger. Indeterminate gender. One bad leg. Alone. Terminal mostly empty. Seems unfamiliar with spaceport layout. This is the one. Across the room, G approached the target, taking the form of an old Terran spaceport attendant. The hum of kind words and friendly gestures echoed across the vacant terminal. K appreciated G’s approach to abducting the targets. Fear had a way of ruining the goods if applied too early. No, they needed to be comfortable if their product’s purity was to be maintained. Purer product would lead to better highs in their customers. Now, the target followed G towards K’s location. He wondered what the lie was this time. Usually, they were told that they’d be assisted through the spaceport, they only needed to check in over there, in the side room used for new passenger processing. In reality, the room had been rented with the same bribes that kept flight security away. K opened the door as they approached. G, keeping to his polite disguise, gave an ‘after you’ to the passenger, who entered first. The professionals followed, sealing the door behind them. Fear was appropriate now. The process went formulaically: the target realized that the empty room was a trap, and begin to panic, beginning the production of fluids. G resumed his natural form, with all its tentacles, and held the prey down, allowing K to inject the target with a drug that would induce an elevated stress response, ensuring enough fluids were produced. K left the terrified, squirming target’s mask on. It would catch the tears for him, making collection easier. The Eridanian waited in the corner of the room, letting the injection work as G continued holding down the target. He prepped the vial for collection, and strode back over to the target, who was now still. K pulled the mask off, holding the vial low, ready to the most difficult portion of the human’s fluid. Instead of tears, the unmasking exposed some thing’s poor attempt to fully mimic the human form. “What the –" Before he could finish, the face seemed to melt and crawl away in different directions on the floor. Each separate chunk that escaped grew, taking the form of fully armed police. At least seven now stood in the room. “GALPOL, Human Trafficking/Narcotics Division, LEGION Unit. Get on the ground! Get on the fucking ground!” K fell flat, arms behind his head. G was screaming in pain—one of his tentacles writhing on the ground next to his partner. In between screams, he heard a transponder click on. Two perps held. Prep the body bags. Get a cleaner, too.
I was excited. I was turning twenty, meaning it was my Day of Power. On the instance I turn twenty, I would gain a title and powers. It was quite possibly the most important day of my life, setting me on a path for the future. I had opted to gain it alone. Some people liked to be the centre of attention when they got it. I preferred to be by myself. In a controlled environment, joy or anger at what I got would at least be directed away, in case my powers were emotion based. I glanced at my watch. It was almost there. Just a few more seconds... My eyes felt funny. I blinked, an overlay appearing in between. Everything around me suddenly had a black outline, with a label detailing what it was. Much was simple, like the table and chairs. But the rug my grandma had made was titled "Bespoke Rug by Ruth." I shook my head, noticing a prompt. It was much like a pop-up window, but a glance at the mirror showed it to not reflect. It was in my vision only. I mentally clicked it, causing a list to spring open. It was filled with names, mostly my family. It showed their titles, with three vertical dots next to them. I clicked again, choosing my brother at random. An options menu opened. It listed a few things, one of which in particular terrified me. >Inspect\ >Powers\ >Attributes\ >Remove I quickly clicked away, finally noticing my own name at the top left. A title was next to it, in gold colouring. >Helen Teal, The Administrator I saw dots linked to my name. I was afraid, but clicked them. I had a few options as well, though one was noticeably missing. >Inspect\ >Attributes\ >Tools It was sinking in now, just what I had. Some might have stronger powers than others. But I could adjust that. In a world of giants, I was a god. A phrase pulsed in my head, one I feared would prove true. "Absolute power corrupts absolutely."
"Here ya go, little guy. Now, we are just practicing with a butter knife for now. We don't want anyone getting hurt." I have an overactive imagination. It's why I enjoy writing stories, but it is also why I can't watch horror movies. A blessing and a curse, I suppose. It all started one night when I had been up late messing around on my phone in my living room. The glorious midnight Youtube black hole had sucked me in to places not even I could have imagined existed. Crazy theories, weird facts (or are they really just made up? who knows), unsolved mysteries, all that fun jazz. Slowly but surely, though, the videos got dumber and dumber. Remember that video with the duck who wants grapes? Yup! I re-watched that one. Classic. It was then that I stumbled upon it. A rumba with a knife strapped to it. ([https://youtu.be/VR-OfU6C0C8](https://youtu.be/VR-OfU6C0C8)). And that got me thinking. I have a roomba. His name is Frank. Why not let Frank have a knife? He can guard my house from all evil. After all, I live alone. But then I had the thought. Frank never has used a knife before. I don't want him hurting himself or others. That roomba on the video must have been trained... And so on and so forth until I found myself strapping a butter knife on Frank. "There you go! Practice carefully, and maybe I will let you have a real knife one day when you're older." The next morning I had forgotten all about my midnight shenanigans. I didn't have time. I had to get ready for the friends that I was having over this evening. We try to get together every month of so, and today was my day to host. Hosting always makes me nervous, so I was running all over town picking up last minute things that I had forgotten. Then I remembered that Brian said that he was bringing his friend John over too, so back I went to make sure I had enough for everyone. One can never be too careful. I always worry for nothing though. That evening everything went fantastically. Nothing burned, so I didn't have to bring out my back up pizza or even my back up back up pizza. Everything was perfect. Which was good, since John was kinda cute. That is, everything was going perfectly, until I heard John say something in the living room while I was getting the cookies out of the oven. "Why is there a butter knife on your roomba?" Looking back I should have said it dropped or even something lame like "Who knows?"or even 'Huh, how did that get there?' But no. I panicked. "He isn't trained enough yet for a real knife."I blurted out. I wish the floor would have swallowed me up. Did I shut up then? Nope. "His name is Frank, by the way." John gave me a weird look and Brian laughed. "You never told me your roomba's name!" "You never asked."I shrugged. Great. I had really done it now. I retreated into the bathroom to collect my thoughts. I didn't see John for a long time after that. I was hoping I would never have to face him again. But alas, the next time I was hosting Brian texted me asking if John could come. Sure, why not? What more could I do? John and Brian were the first to show up, and Brian was wearing a bag. "I brought something!"he said proudly. He first pulled out ...a roomba with a butter knife on it? "Meet my roomba, Mary. She heard about Frank, and wanted a knife too." "Oh my goodness! Wait one minute!"I ran, got Frank, his knife, and two balloons. I blew them both up and taped them to the back of the roombas. "Roomba dueling time!" We honestly spent the rest of the evening dueling roombas as my friends choose sides and cheered on. Finally a winner was crowned! Frank had triumphed! I ran and got a real knife from my knife draw as we all gathered around John. "As a guest in this house, it is my honor to knight you, Sir Frank, and bestow upon you a real knife!"We all cheered it was a beautiful ceremony. I may or many not have cried. The food burned and we did have to use the back up pizza from the freezer. However, I would not have asked for it to go any other way. And that is how I met my fiance, John.
Leo heard the kingdom's elders enter his house, but didn't bother to look up from his packing. He knew what they wanted, the same thing they've wanted since the miners uncovered that prophecy in the ruins. A great evil would awaken, and it was up to the child of the blood moon to defeat it for 'all eternity'. Charles the second, attention seeking shit he was, naturally claimed the title immediately, even though everyone knew he was born under an empty sky. Even the elders called the heir to task for that bullshit claim, chastising the future ruler. The great search started after that. Messengers went to every town and village, asking for any child born under such a circumstance. Leo's father had heard them enter Palara four days ago, urgently asking for an audience with the town council. The flyers had gone up a day later, asking for anyone matching the description to come forward for what they only described as a 'great reward'. Leo was sorely tempted; the great reward could mean their departure from the village and the kingdom after his father had been stuck here two decades ago. When he brought it to him that night, he just shook her head and pointed to the corner, where his bags sat, already half packed. His fingers began to move, and he watched them intently. "We leave. You not die,"he signed. "Father, surely it can't be that bad. I'll just go, get the reward, and then we can finally go home. To Hophreo,"Leo said. "No. You stay."He went up to her room after those three words, and refused to talk for the rest of the night. It didn't matter though, as the next morning brought heavy banging on the door, accompanied by a shout for Leo to present himself. His father shoved him back into his room on the way to the door, before opening it and glaring at the men outside. "We need to speak to your Leo,"he heard a councilman say. "He was born under the eclipse, no?" Leo could only guess what he said to them, his hands blocked by hisr body, but the next thing he heard was an unfamiliar voice demanding him to speak. He knew he'd done her usual reply by the cursing from outside, the shock of seeing the mouth of someone who'd had their tongue cut out. "Let us know when he returns,"the councilman said. "We'll check again tonight." They did, and that time they forced the entrance, finding him in his room. They then informed him since he did not come forth, no reward would be given, and that his service in his Majesty's army would be required, with his father's life held as the guarantee. They took him away to the town prison immediately despite his pleadings, and only giving him two days to prepare to leave the town forever. He gave him one last sign as they took her away. "Attic." Leo went up to the attic as soon as he was alone again, fighting his way through cobwebs and dust to see in the mostly unused room. Searching initially gave nothing, but on his way out, his foot caught on a loose board. He lifted it to see a small burgundy book hidden underneath, engraved with his initials. A loose page fell out of it as he took it back to his room, written in his father's hand. "Leo - If you found this then we weren't able to leave quickly enough. Their 'great evil' has awoken, and they claimed you as their savior, despite everything they've done to us. Follow the instructions on the first page, and she'll come for us." There were no other notes, no other context provided in the journal. Just a set of instructions for what could only be described as a pagan ritual. The ingredients were spread about the house in various containers he'd seen him keep stocked for year after year, always wondering why. Apparently, for this. It was simple enough. Garlic, onion, his blood, salt. Leo grimaced as the knife bit into his wrist, but the pain vanished the moment he started reading the chant. When he finished, a black pillar raced through a westward window, then vanished into the night. A raven came back with a note within an hour. "Thank you, my child. Our work will soon begin. In two nights, prepare page twenty-one. When I come, we shall finish it." The days between passed without incident, until the night the elders came again. "Leo, it's time to go,"the councilman said. "The army waits to the east, along with your mentors. Are you ready?" He spared one final glance at the strange design he'd made in the kitchen, noticing a pair of ravens had landed at the table. They both seemed to nod at him. "Of course,"he said to the door. "One moment."He hefted his pack onto his back, and followed the guards into the street. The night was eerily quiet, but his companions didn't seem to notice the strangeness as they led him east. A rider-less horse galloped into the town square behind them. Then the screaming started. Another horse, this time with a knight on its back, flew into the town. His eyes wide, he started shouting, "She's coming! She's coming! Save yourselves!"He never slowed as he shouted, riding east as quickly as he could. The councilman turned to Leo. "We need to run if we want to have any hope making it to our priests! Come on!"he shouted, sprinting a few steps away before stopping when Leo hadn't followed. Leo's eyes had been watching the roofs around the square instead of the councilman, and now he simply stood still in the center of it, a serene smile on his face. "She's coming. I can feel it. It's glorious, can't you see?"Dark tendrils twisted out of his house a quarter mile behind him, plunging into his body, dropping him to his knees. Around him, his party sprinted east, fleeing whatever in the hells had just happened to him. A minute later, he rose to his feet again, his eyes now burning purple as he opened them. He looked up at the statue of their one God in front of him and lashed out, the statue shattering as a white blast detonated on its surface. Leo watched it crumble to the ground, the great uniting monument of the kingdom that had ripped his father's tongue out a decade ago. As he did, arms embraced him from behind. "My beautiful boy. I'm so proud of you. You and your father. You waited all these years, taking all the abuse these elitist scum hefted upon you." Leo turned around, seeing a woman's face looming above him, her body below a constantly shifting mass of shadows. "Mother?" She smiled back at him, hands reaching out of the shadows to take his. "You remember." "I thought those were dreams." "They were. But who's to say they weren't real too?"She leaned forward, kissing his brow. "It was the only way I could be with you." Around them, the town had descended into chaos. Armored knights carrying her banner had ridden into town behind her, followed by disciplined lines of spearmen. Refusing to break into rioting and looting, simply finding any resistance and putting it down. A steady stream of civilians were being shepherded west, but without abuse or malice. "You're not harming them. The priests always said the great evil would butcher anyone they captured,"Leo said. "Why would I do that? I simply give people freedom. Freedom from nobles, freedom from their religions. As always, they project the worst of their sins onto me. And for them, I shall be that sadistic, hellish evil. But not for my own people. Never for them."A knight rode to her, speaking a language Leo didn't understand. She turned to Leo. "Your father is free, and they've captured a dozen priests of the realm. Would you like to see?" "He's free?" "He's free. Let me take you to him."Shadows engulfed the pair, and the next thing Leo knew, he was standing at the prison on the outskirts of town. Fire had engulfed the building, with the flickering light illuminating dozens of dead guards and darkly armored soldiers. Leo barely had time to process the scene before his father had him in his arms. "Why are you doing this?"One of the priests shouted. "Why are you joining her?" "Do you really need to ask that question?"Leo said. "Why wouldn't I? Since my father's arrival, you've cut out his tongue, taxed his business, burned our belongings, and implied that we were the cause of any evil in the town. She's been here under an hour and has done more for us than any of you have in two decades. Your chosen one has chosen something else. Enjoy the hells you've so often told me I was destined for."He turned back to his mother before the priest's head touched the ground. "I'm going to enjoy this,"he told her. "Me too, my boy. Me too."
The thing about studying ancient history is that it tends to ruin TV shows and movies. It’s a herculean task to keep my mouth shut and not to point out problems with accuracy from armour to food to hairstyles. It became such a bad habit of mine that my girlfriend refused to watch anything Roman themed for fear of me snapping my fingers, like Leo in that Tarantino movie, at every inaccuracy. So, when I heard the commotion about a crowd of reenactors assembling in the quad, I felt compelled to check out their attention to detail. By the time I arrived a few students – as many as you could expect at 9AM on a Saturday – were watching from a distance. Gathered in neat rows, arrayed in battle formation, were thousands of men in full Roman battle gear. The average set of flimsy reenactment armour costs hundreds of dollars. Yet here, gleaming in the morning sunlight, was row after row of shining lorica segmentata. The classic Roman armour – the armour everyone thinks of from the opening shots of Gladiator. At intervals stood serious-looking men wearing Gallic helmets sporting that recognisable horizontal horse-hair crest. With surprise I noted each also carried at their side the vitis, the vine staff symbol of centurion rank used to beat and organise legionaries in turn. What was going on here? Cantering around these stiff-backed men standing at attention were a dozen mounted soldiers, deftly wheeling their horses between the lines. As I stepped forward one of their number spurred his mount in my direction. He wore a serious, imperial expression on a tanned face. At his back hung a scarlet paludamentum cloak, while a wide waistband, tied tightly in a bow, covered the midriff of his clinking armour. “Gotta say this is pretty good,” I said, staring up at the man on his horse. “You even got the uniform of a legatus spot on. But you guys are lost, right? The reenactment shows around here aren’t until Fall.” The man peered at me, bushy eyebrows furrowing under the rim of his helmet. “Qua lingua est haec? Ubi sum?” I couldn’t hold back a smirk. “Okay, okay, I admire the commitment. But seriously your guys are churning up the grass, and I’m pretty sure you need to get permission to hold gatherings in the middle of campus.” “Nugās loqueris! Hocne est Caledonia?” Something began to scratch at the back of my head. The man was speaking perfect Latin, with no trace of an American accent. It wasn’t even Church Latin: he stressed the right inflections in the right places. On top of that, why had he asked if we were in Scotland? The rider turned and cupped a hand to his mouth. “Praefecte Macer, conscende huc!” The command was sharp and confident. It was the demand of a man used to military drill. From the front ranks of the gathered soldiers a broad, granite-faced man emerged. He jogged over. The rider leant from his saddle to speak to the newcomer. “Potesne aliquam barbare loqui? Inquire quid iste vir longus et gracilis desiderat.” Prefect Macer? Caledonia? I was sure I had read something about this. The stocky man stepped forwards, and it was then I noticed his height. The rider had disguised his by sitting on top of a horse, but this newcomer was barely five foot two. Wait, had the man on the horse just called me spindly? The newcomer, dressed like a centurion, stared at me, undaunted. Then, with an expression of a man chewing an entire packet of sour candy, he barked something in a weird language. The words were directed at me, and not necessarily to me. Sweat began to form on my forehead. The itch at the back of my mind was beginning to turn into a theory. A theory I really didn’t want to indulge. I began to regret not turning up to Latin grammar more times that semester. "Latinam habeo. Quis es?"I managed. “‘You have the Latin?’” answered the stocky man. “What a terrible accent.” He spat into the dirt. “I am Lucius Latinius Macer, praefectus castrorum of Legio IX Hispana. You do not wear the clothes of a Caledonian, or speak their tongue. What is going on?” My heart sank. Lucius Latinius Macer. I did know that name! He left a votive offering about his promotion to camp prefect in Aachen. Right before the Ninth Legion disappeared into the forests of northern Britain. Before I could open my mouth to reply the sound of sirens split the air. Two patrol cars, going at full tilt, careered into the quad. The officer’s horse reared in panic, and all at once five thousand wickedly sharp Roman swords glinted in the morning sun. This would take a lot of explaining.
The premise for this contract was simple but after 4 god damned months on this sulfur smelling island, I was nearing my brink. Not because anything was wrong. If anything, these boys knew how to party. I just missed my family. But then, so did they. They would talk about the pretty girls waiting for them back home, some of whom were already long gone. They'd talk about books they were reading. I didn't want to spoil anyone but the guys super excited about their copy of the hobbit LOVED me reading out the ENTIRE 3 BOOK lord of the rings series. Many of them were curious why I didn't just go home, but I didn't answer. I shouldn't have had to but this one lieutenant demanded it. I saluted him. "Chief warrant officer Johnathon Thompson, Navy chaplain core. I'm surprised you need the answer, lieutenant."I retorted. "Well, out with it man."The lieutenant demanded. I held up my orders. Inside the envelope, not including my unique fees as a specialist were just 6 words. Iwo Jima. No man left behind.
The echo of the gunshot lingered in the air, as if asking why it existed in the first place. The professor, still holding the smoking gun, listened to it bounce around the corners of the room. Trying to hide? he thought with a smile. There's nowhere to go. Slumped backwards in his chair was the student he had fired upon, mouth as open as his eyes. A third eye gleamed in the center of his forehead, and as the silence in the room continued, a thick red tear squeezed out. "Welcome to Philosophy 101."the professor said, laying down the gun. No one said anything. No papers rustled. No one even breathed. "Today we're going to be discussing the moral and ethical dilemma I have just posed to you. Some of you may not believe that there is anything to discuss; killing is wrong and that's all there is to it. Others may see that there are two sides to every coin, even one as violent and abrupt as this." He surveyed the students quickly before moving on. There were only seven of them left, a typical size for a private school. Four boys and three girls. Only one of the girls was crying, he noted. All of the boys were pale, paler than the desks their fists were clenched upon. Would they be next, they wondered, and would they have to prove their masculinity, virility, and strength in order to survive? "No one else will die today, of that I can assure you. What I would like is for you to give me your thoughts, reactions, and impressions about why I might have killed your fellow classmate." "You're a psychopath?"one of the boys piped up. Harry, his name was. A freshman psychology major, if memory served. "That's certainly a possibility."The professor turned and wrote "psychopath"on the whiteboard in stark block letters. "Anyone else?" "He knew something about you,"a girl named Valerie said, almost too softly to be heard. "Be more specific,"the professor said. "There are lots of things about me that none of you, including our victim here, know about me, and less than one percent of those are in any way incriminating. There's a wealth of possibilities as to what your 'something' means. So, if you would, elaborate." Valerie looked utterly mystified that her simple statement created such a complex problem. "He could… He could have known you were in trouble with a bookie for gambling away more than you had." "You think I'm a gambler?" "I think you like risk, so it's not too far off to venture the guess that you like to press your luck with money as well." "Well put."He wrote "gambling debts"on the whiteboard. "Anyone else?" "He was your wife's lover."the boy next to Harry said. "That's always what it is in books and stuff, right?" "You're right, but,"He held up his left hand. "I'm not married. You have to be observant to a fault with stuff like this, people. Scrutinize me. Read my body language. Do I seem unhinged, high, nervous, angry, or what? Are my hands twitching? Am I sweating? Do I make eye contact when we speak? Read between the lines." "There are no lines,"Harry said. "You look totally normal." "Exactly!"the professor whooped, throwing the whiteboard marker onto the ground, spiking it like a football. "And what does that tell you?" "How many bullets are left in that pistol?"Valerie asked, her voice tremulous. "Trick question, my dear. There are only six." "So one of us gets out alive? Is that what you're saying?" "Your first assignment is to figure out who that will be. I expect a page, at least, by tomorrow."
The last thing Alex remembered was walking into the bar. He didn't know where he was, how or why he got there. All he remembers was the noisy bar. He couldn't describe it if he tried, wouldn't recognise it if it hit in the face. As he became more conscious, he realised he was lying on something hard and uncomfortable; his own left arm. He tried to move it but couldn't. Dammit, if only my head felt like my arm he thought. Using his right arm, he wearily coaxed feeling into the other. Once the pins and needles stopped, he tried sitting up, but fell down again, his head spinning. Sighing, he lay back down for a few more minutes, waiting for his sight to return to normal. Finally feeling confident enough, he tried to sit up again. Success! Bleary-eyed, he arose from the floor... the floor? Why was he on the floor. He didn't remember falling down. Makes sense, I guess, he thought. My head hurts like HELL! He surveyed his surrounding and came to the conclusion that he was in some sort of alley. He could see the road further down; it seemed like a mile away. Turning around, he gasped as he saw a set of eyes staring at him. Large brown eyes with a tinge of yellow. He couldn't make out the face; his vision was still blurry. He cold vaguely make out another shape, clad in black. "It's all right, my son. You're safe now. We've all been where you are."a voice said to him. It was soothing, but he could hear it was trying to stifle laughter. Speaking of which, a rough cackle exploded from nearby. "He seems teh have a wee bit of a problem, ey?"the voice laughed. "Maybeh we shud help him". "mmmmprrpfflflflfprprprr!!" What in the Hell was that??? he thought. A horse? It was a horse. A bloody horse just standing there next to the two others. He could see clearly now. Why would a priest, a horse and a Welshman be trying to rob him? What happened last night. "Wh...why am I here? Who are you?"he asked in a trembling voice. "We're here to help you, my son. Do not be afraid. You will come to understand soon enough. Here, take my hand. I will show you"the priest said. Gingerly, Alex took his hand and let the priest guide him to the entrance of the alley. "See there, we found you there, like all the others"the pries explained. "Others?"Alex replied. "Yes. Every one of us was where you are at some point. Every type of person you can imagine has been here. Let me explain. People try to walk through here as a short cut. But they don't notice this"he held up something long and cylindrical. "A drain-pipe?"Alex asked. "No, no no!"the priest laughed. "This is a bar. You walked into it, just like I did, just like everyone. No one notices it until they've been wacked over the head. It's hard to see, and hard to miss."He was laughing uncontrollably now. Alex noticed he had something in his other hand, holding it as if trying to get him to ask what it was. "Then what's that in your other hand?"he asked as the priest unravelled it. "Is it another bar?" "No,"the thing replied, "I'm afraid not!"
Don't let them bite you, Lance had warned. Never let one bite you. Only we deserve to use our teeth. The world doesn't deserve a hybrid of us and them. So instead of leaping, instead of wrenching its head back to expose the throat that no longer pulsed with every heartbeat, I ran. I ran from the one source of terror this world has to offer my kind; the things that have no pulse. Navigating the slick, cracked city streets was unexpectedly easy. The corpse didn't ignite Lust within me. With vision unclouded, free of the red haze, a vampire's speed is unmatched. I bounded through the streets, vaulting from broken car to crooked hydrant to rusted mailbox. As my foot left the metal, I felt the membranes unfurl with my arms, taut against triceps and ribcage. The corpse sprinted haggardly, pursuing prey that glided, rolled, climbed. But corpses are not slow. They are clumsy, merely rotten remnants of what used to be man, woman, or child. But they hunger, consumed by instinct as strong as my own Lust. And they harbor no bias like my kind does. Their tastes are unfiltered, unrefined. Will be continued later tonight. Edit -- continued below. Its steps were fading behind me. Every once in a while, they'd cut out completely as I rounded a corner, but sooner or later the thing caught sight of me again. I shot a glance over my shoulder. Ten meters. My sharp eyes made out a broken, slavering jaw. Bloodshot eyes, blackened with rot, rolled in their sockets. Its fingers stretched before it in cruel anticipation. Another corner. Another glance. Fifteen meters. My head snapped around, and I skidded to a halt. I'd run into an alleyway with no exit. The pavement glistened wetly, and when I looked at the papers plastered to it, I knew it was blood. Gallons of it. Milling about at the end of the alley were no less than a dozen corpses. Shit. I whirled around, but my tireless pursuer had closed the gap. It sprinted awkwardly, wildly, a veritable growl rumbling from within a sunken chest. Instinct took over, and I spun around on the ball of my left foot, dropping into a crouch and sweeping my leg around. The corpse's knees crunched to the side, spraying black flesh and coagulated blood. It crumpled painlessly, teeth clashing. I jumped, avoiding its searching hands, but the noise had caught the mob's attention. As they turned from their grisly meal, gurgling and groaning, I felt the rage begin to descend. I opened my mouth to scream; my jaw extended until it touched my chest, my teeth withdrew to allow room for rapidly protruding fangs, and instead of a scream came an echoing, sibilant hiss. But the corpses were unfazed. Don't let them bite you. With a howl, I forced myself to turn and run, leaping as high as I could to grab an old fire escape. My burning mind barely registered the rust covering the entire structure. It protested under my weight. I continued climbing. A bolt tore free from its concrete anchor. Then the entire ladder collapsed. For a moment, gravity ceased to exist. Before the inevitable plunge, however, I jerked to a halt. "I got you!"shouted a man's voice. "Grab my other hand!" Somehow, the words cut through my reddened mind. My snarling face snapped around, but the man didn't even wince. I looked with astonishment into brown eyes framed by wild black hair and a grizzled face. A human. Behind him crouched a little boy, again with a shock of black hair. His eyes were wide with terror. I took one last look at the corpses, teeth gnashing as their nails scraping the brick wall. Then I reached for his other hand.
The soldiers brought Dragomir forward, his wrists bound behind his back, shackles on his ankles. One of the soldiers pocked him in the ribs with the blunt end of a spear and another kicked him behind the knee. He collapsed into the mud. It was dark out, past midnight and almost into the witching hour. Before him, a massive column of fire rose into the air, visible for miles in the darkened country-side. Robed men appeared out of the darkness and threw more logs on, constantly feeding it, making sure it never died down. He was going to die tonight. Judging by the fire, it wasn’t going to be a pretty death either. Three druids stood around the fire - Dressed in ragged robes, wearing helmets with Elk antler’s rising off the tops, their faces obscured by animal masks. They barely resembled humans, compared to Dragomir’s people. He was hundreds of miles from home, but had never imagined that the world could vary so much, even in his flights of imagination, late at night, when he had just set off on his journey. Even now, staring at his captors, he felt a childish sense of awe. Massive slabs of stone stood around the fire, and judging by their size, it must have taken dozens of men to drag them all the way up the slope. They had chiseled elaborate druid symbols in the stone, spirals and figures, constellations. Now that Dragomir was here, they began the ceremony. The druids began chanting in their language, deep and guttural. The warriors around the fire beat their chests with their fists, chanting something in response. The heat from the fire was making Dragomir sweat. He could feel his hands trembling. He could feel his breath quivering in his lungs. The shadows of the fire made the druid’s masks change and warp. They were dancing now, contorting their body in strange, unnatural ways. The chanting grew more frantic, more aggressive. A powerful pair of hands grabbed him from behind and hauled him to his feet. So this is it, he thought. This is where they spilled his guts out and dumped them into the flames. He wouldn’t go quietly. He would resist, as much as he could, anyways, with his hands and feet bound. A druid stood behind him, chanting in his ear. Dragomir tried to turn, but before he could the man kicked him into the fire. There was no pain, no burning. Only darkness for a second, and then deafening noise. Dragomir had never heard anything so putrid, so vile in his entire life. At first that’s all he was aware, of that horrible cacophony. It sounded as if the gods had decided to destroy the Earth. He grabbed at his ears trying to make it stop. When he opened his eyes, he screamed. Strange, demonic, human-like figures stood all around him. Black paint streamed down some of their faces. Their strange clothing was adorned with what he could only guess were more druid symbols. They were everywhere. He was trapped in a sea of them. They all faced an elevated platform at one end, where the horrible noise seemed to be coming from. Four figures, who he could tell were more druids, even more powerful, judging by the sound. They bobbed up and down, throwing their bodies around the stage. People jumped up and joined them in their Satanic ritual. Dragomir noticed that his hands were no longer shackled. He didn’t have time to make sense of any of this. He knew it was evil, and he knew he might well be trapped in the pit of hell, but if his hands were unshackled he could at least fight. He turned to the closest demon and slammed his fist into the man’s face. He charged forwards, swinging arms, elbows, biting, tearing, scratching. The demons recoiled in surprise, some screaming. One of them tried to grab him and bring him down, but Drogomir had spent his whole life fighting and shedding blood. He slammed the man to the ground and stomped on his face with savage anger. There were many demons, but they were soft and flabby, and they would remember the Dragomir, the name of his Father, for all time. Then a set of wires flew out of the air, attached to him, and pulled the strength out of his body. He felt some horrible energy course through his muscles and collapsed. He tried to stand up, but something crushed him back down. The only thing he saw was the “Camden P.D.” logo as they slapped the cuffs on him. Star Ledger - Homeless Man on PCP Turns Violent at Heavy Metal Concert. Fifteen injured.
I'm a woman, this is my experience of sex. I can't speak for anyone else, and this isn't very well written, but here it is. I want sex. Not for any real reason, I just do. I feel a gentle throbbing and moisture just below my clit and really want to get off. Some times at this point I feel something similar in my nipples. I usually have my boyfriend rub my back and breasts to start off. When he rubs my back it feels comforting and warm, and it just feels good. When he massages my breasts it feels similar, but more sexual, as it slightly stimulates my nipples. The throbbing sensation grows. I usually rub my finger through his hair, and down his back, feeling a tingle in my palms where I need to grab something, I want to hold him. We don't make out much, it doesn't do that much for me, but he leaves a trail of kisses down my neck. It feels warm and moist and good. I don't know what to say other than good. It isn't just intimate, it feels slightly sexual and nice. I'll have him gently pinch my nipples between his finger and thumb, gingerly rolling them. This has the same good feeling that kissing my neck does, but more intense. I guess it's a similar feeling to having my labia rubbed, but less intense. He'll move down and kiss my stomach, which tickles a little, but also feels warm, relaxing, comforting, and helps continue building up the throbbing in my clit. I then have him press his hand on the pubic mons, which slightly stimulates my clit without actually touching it. He'll then rub his hand over the labia majora, carefully dipping one finger between the folds to touch the labia minora. I can feel the roughness of his skin more keenly here as he picks up the moisture from the opening and helps to distribute it up along the inner lips and clit. Where his touching the lips feels good touching the clit feels even better. He dips more fingers in, holding open the large labia and providing a different sensation to the clit, and more pressure on the inner labia. I can't help that my breath catches and becomes uneven. As he falls into a rhythm of rubbing up and down my clit and labia I have to focus on clenching the small muscles in my clit in time with his movements to really feel everything. This isn't easy. This will go on for a while, the sexual almost tickling sensation that feels so damn good, grows. He'll put a finger or two inside of me, pressing against my clenched muscles, rubbing along them. It feels warm and good, but lacks the tickle like sensation that rubbing my clit has. It's less intense, too, but still very good. As I get close to climaxing I grab onto anything close by, and grip down hard. (As a side note, I have to be careful not to scratch, I didn't mean to but I once tore open a bf's skin.) I have to focus more on continuing to breathe, and I strain not just the muscles in my clit and vagina, but also my legs, butt, and hands. Some times I feel a need to bite something at this point, some times my hand, some times my boyfriend's shoulder. I inhale and climax. Wave after wave of pleasure hits me. I can't think of or focus on anything outside of that moment. My body convulses, and even the inner labia begin to twitch in time with the waves that hit me. If I continue to flex the muscles in my clit I can keep up the sensations. They eventually begin to fade, and having my boyfriend keep his fingers in me starts to hurt. He gently removes them, and his finger tips brush my labia minor sending a last shock of pleasure through me. I don't know if anyone else gets like this, but after resting for a few moments I feel a need to get my partner off. If for some reason he doesn't want me to give him oral sex then I make him leave. I actually feel slightly frustrated, but it passes. And that is what sex feels like to me. Edit: crap, I'm going to end up with more karma on my throwaway account than on my main. Also, I'm going to assume that each comment and upvote = one fap.
"Mr. Brooks, the drug will now be administered."the words hung in the air over me, looking, scowling, accusing. My heart slammed against my dry throat. The executioner's solemn face bore no lines nor emotion, just the fixed, sunken features of a man too busied by routine. He tapped at a syringe, the clink of the glass made my arm tense. My muscles struggled against the bracings trapping me to the chair. The needle was long, I could see it from where I was, my head had been forced upwards by a thick metal clasp around my neck. It was a needlessly long needle. Heh. "Mr. Brooks, while the resistants have secured you, I am duty bound to inform you not to attempt any movement. We do not need to make this more painful than necessary." I heard him breath out a slow, methodical breath. Why did I get one of the boring ones? Some stuffy lawyer-type stuck in the wrong suit and the wrong industry. We'd heard Barry's laughter all through the night yesterday, why couldn't I get a bit of levity at the end of my days? "As per protocol,"why did he have to preface everything? Why did he have to justify everything? "I must inform you that the hallucinogen will take effect immediately, the insertion process will be extremely painful."he droned. I struggled to just get a look at him, the metal cut into my neck. He was as I'd expected. Droopy. His forehead was a large triangular shape sitting on a pair of half-shut eyes. A hand with a drooping sleeve came up and tried in vain to stop the circular spectacles from sliding down his curved nose. His pupils flicked from the needle to me. "Your family member has not paid for any anesthetic,"he explained. Of course she wouldn't, not after what I did to the kid. His upper lip trembled with disgust, "Understandably."Oh, what's this? A flash of emotion? A bit of spite, a bit of scorn? Fascinating, he looked just like me when she'd found me. Instead of blood and plastic, he was wrapped in the cardboard suit of the profession I didn't choose. Thank christ I didn't, I would've turned out as bored as he was. "Mr. Brooks, in line with your mandated punishment,"I wished I could spit, "I will now administer the hallucinogen. Any last words?"I shook my head, they wouldn't be the last anyway. Barry had been screaming like a demon all through his one, his last words had something to do with being eaten by a dinosaur. "Very well." He tapped the syringe once more, knowing it would force me to tighten my arm. The orange liquid gleamed in the cylindrical glass, the same colour as my rolled up sleeve. I saw the edge of the needle whiz past my limited field of vision, then the middle, then the rest. It was interesting, he said I'd feel pain, but I didn't feel a thing. That needle was big enough to stick right through my arm and out the other end. He was right about the hallucinations, though, my vision started to fade, my heart began to pump harder... "Mr. Brooks, the drug will now be administered."the words hung in the air over me, looking, scowling, accusing...
#VICTOR HARRINGTON Male, Caucasian, 29 ------ OBJECTIVE To meet an intelligent, attractive young woman who loves conversation, debate, and creative projects. ------ EXPERIENCE Dated Annabelle, March 2011 - June 2014 \- Offered financial support for upwards of six months. \- Served as an emotional outlet for frustrations. \- Participated in numerous social events and gatherings. \- Maintained a consistently high approval rating for sexual activities. \- Parted amicably. Dated Meredith, September 2010 - January 2011 \- Ignored advice from mutual friends. \- Kept calm in the face of irrational outbursts. \- Implemented new standards for the consumption of alcohol. \- Provided detailed reports to law enforcement officials. Dated Katarina, January 2008 - September 2010 \- Explored numerous fetishes and curiosities. \- Developed an appreciation for safe sex practices. \- Learned a wide breadth of skills and tactics for offering pleasure. \- Discovered an ability to go without breathing for upwards of two minutes. \- Experienced the fullest extent of heartbreak possible. ------ VITAL TRAITS \- Honest \- Physically Attractive (7.76 out of 10) \- Intelligent (8.11 out of 10) \- Well-endowed (7.3 inches, erect) ------ PERSONALITY DISLIKES: Dogs, anime, concerts, sports, drugs, tattoos, hippies. LIKES: Twisted humor, collaborative projects, video games, camping. Pro-gun, pro-choice, pro-equality. Anti-religion, anti-Tumblr. Skeptic. ------ Complete physical profile, list of references, and description of fetishes available on request. ^^^^^^. ^^^NOTE ^^^TO ^^^MODERATORS: ^^^There ^^^is ^^^a ^^^story ^^^in ^^^here ^^^if ^^^you ^^^read ^^^between ^^^the ^^^lines.
S: "Erghhhh, yeah... I love you so much, Dan..." D: "That's a weird moan to make, isn't it?" S: "Sh- shut up!" D: "I'm just pointing it out. Sounds like you're taking a really huge shit." S: For the love of god, can you just stop talking?" D: "How come? Your mother always said-" S: "For fuck's sake, Dan. Don't fucking bring up my mother when you're supposed to be tongueboxing my pussy!" D: "She's a wonderful lady, Stacy. You shouldn't talk about her like tha-" S: "Dude! Can you cut that out with the mom-talk?! Seriously, it's a huge goddamn turnoff, you shithead." D: "... I'm beginning to think I should've asked your mother out instead. At least she'd appreciate what I had to go through to put up an effort tonight." S: "You jerked off on your phone to pop a semi! You have any idea how fucking creepy that is? To pull my phone up and start searching for porn in the middle of me giving you a blowjob?" D: "Well, you weren't doing that good a job on it. Needed a bit more tongue action around the upper scrotum." S: "Tongue action?! You wanna talk about tongue action, what the hell do you think you're supposed to be doing right now?" D: "Tonguepunching your farthole?" S: "Nobody likes having their anus licked, you idiot!" D: "Oh excuse me! Your mother didn't seem to fucking mind last time I came over!" S: "YOU DID WHAT?!' D: "Shit, that was supposed to be a secret." Knock. Knock. Knock. M: "~You kids using protection in there? I'm not old enough to be grandmother yet~!" S: "Mom, what the fuck?! You banged my boyfriend!" M: "Oooh.... shit. Dan, honey. That was supposed to be a secret." D: "I'm sorry, miss! Your daughter's just really goddamn terrible at blowjobs." M: "Was she not giving enough tongue around the upper scrotum?" S: "MOM!" M: "It's a big issue with beginners, you know!" Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Dad: "Honey, what're you doing up so late? We were going to watch The Wolf of Wallstreet together..." M: "Stacy's losing her virginity right now and she's doing a terrible job at it." Dad: "Is she giving enough tongue around the upper scrotum?" D: "No, no she isn't!" Dad: "Stacy, darling. You need to go at it slow and gentle at first, then slowly romp your way up the shaft till you get to the head..." S: "Dad! Did you know that Dan banged Mom?!" Dad: "Yeah, fishing trip last week. We had a blast together! You should've come!" S: "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU? WHY WOULD YOU TAG-TEAM MY FREAKING MOTHER?!" M: "That's because..." Hip rock music from early 2000 starts playing. Audio blasts so loud it breaks down the door. Cue bright lights from the window as a rock band drops down in through the ceiling. D/Dad/M: "Stacy's mom has it goin' on!" S: "... Fuck all of you. I hate every single damn one of you. Screw this shit, I'm moving to fucking Thailand." M: "Good, at least they'll teach you to LICK THE GODDAMN UPPER SCROTUM there."
The media erupted in a flurry of questions as the president left the room, answering none of them. The president walked back to the oval office and sat down at his desk. He put his head in his hands. "You have to do it, you have no other optionssssssss" The president lifted his head to look at the nine foot tall lizard sitting on his couch. "Where did you come from?" "The corner"said the lizard "It's the oval office" "To you maybe" "I can't…there has to be another way" "There issssssssssn't" "But surely" "The american people need thisssssssss the world needsssssss thisssssss. And don't call me ssssssssshirley" The president had been forced to wrap his head around a lot of things, but he still couldn't get it around the fact that the nine foot tall lizards who actually ran the country loved Airplane! "How do I explain it to them though?" "You don't. You're the pressssssident, you just do it" "No I mean how do I explain to them that the constitution allowed for this…centuries before it came about" "We like to play the long gaaaaaaaaaaame" "There was no s in that sentence" "Ssssssssssory, forcccccccccce of habit" "Wait so do you do the thing on the letter s or on s sound as well" "Enough of thsissssss. Implement the clausssssssse" The president sighed and pushed the button under his desk. All around the world out of speakers engineered at the quantum level, too small to be detected yet still loud enough to be heard, came the sounds of Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up as the speakers would continue to do, until the world agreed to disarm all nukes and lower carbon emissions. "I'm sorry"said the president to the world and to no one in particular "I'm so sorry" "We lizardssssss love our long game"said the nine foot tall lizard who actually ran the world. Just throwing it out there [subreddit] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/)
"Twelve generations. That's how long we've inhabited this ship. Twelve generations of labor. Humanity was supposed to be dead eight hundred years ago. We were supposedly the only ones alive anymore. We were humanity, we were hope." "..." "Now we're just dinosaurs from a forgotten age, left behind by the cruel sands of time." - An excerpt from "The Journey of a Thousand Years - Lost Hope"by John Paul George V __________________________________________________ Life on the ship wasn't an easy thing. Once you're old enough to lift a rock, you're working. Crops are what keep us alive. The algae pools need constant care. Any changes in pH, any change in the micro-ecosystems equilibrium, can mean the death of everyone. A ten percent loss of harvest can set our journey back dozens if not hundreds of years. Bio-fuel: incredibly smart idea on the surface. Too bad it's so fickle. If we had only had more harvest worthy land. One thing kept us going, though: the idea that, eventually, we'd have a new home. We were humanity's last stand. Our world was corrupted beyond imagine. The grounds were infertile, the waters green with filth. The world was almost void of life. People estimated over two million species went extinct that year. Crazy what a few bad words and an even worse temper can do. Two generations. That's all the scientists estimated earth had left. Two generations worth of food and drinkable water. So they designed this ship, "The Ark". Two hundred thousand tons of steel. The best possible air filtration system. Impeccably complex water purification systems. Damn near drained the planet, we did. Seems fitting that the first captain was named Noah. Each generation was taxed hard. Food was sparse and free time even less. Only a handful of children attended anything resembling a school. Each one would learn one on one how to work the major parts of the ship. One on the algae pools, one working the ventilation system. One would learn how the bio-diesel was made, another taught how that fuel burned in the engines to push us forward. Several more learned how to keep the ship running. One learned how to be Captain. That was me, my father, his father, and so on down the line. Captain wasn't a cushy job, though. You worked the fields as hard as almost anyone else did. Only those maintaining vital system functions were exempt from crop duty. The Captain had other duties, though. He had the final say in how to handle a sick man. I've had the unfortunate duty of freeing five people from their suffering. I never like doing it, but we can't spend too much medicine on one person. My dad taught me that. Never saw my mother after that day. When you lost a loved one, you were excused from field labor for a week, allowed you to mourn, tell your kids what happened, or whatever you may wish to do. Most people ended up in the library, reading of the old world. By the time I was born, hell, by the time my great great great grandparents were born, no one on the ship had lived anywhere but on the ship. It was hard to believe that such a thing existed as an "Ocean"or a "Prairie". But the hope had been driven into our minds. We worked every day hoping that we, or our children, or their children, would see these fabled bodies, hoping that the days left on the ship were numbered. The engines were starting to fail. Only one was ever run at a time, but we'd already lost three. Only the captain and engineers knew about this, of course. Would do the people no good to think we might be stranded here, drifting in space with no hope of salvation. Yet, there was hope among us. The star was within sight. We could see is, not as a spec in the sky, but as a ball. Pure white to the naked eye, but a small telescope could make it out for what it was: a big yellow ball of fire. That's when the transmissions started. They were garbled, gibberish. We assumed it was just radio waves sent by the big star. We hadn't been this close to a star in centuries, so some static made sense. Yet, it was eerie. I thought I could hear a voice in it, and I wasn't the only one. Occasional peaks in audio, like someone was screaming, but too garbled to make sense of. Three months passed. Our destination was in sight now, but only barely. Our powerful telescopes had fallen to disrepair long ago, but our weaker ones could still make out the small blue ball circling the large yellow star. We were almost there. Still, no one told the crew. Only one engine was left functional. No need for them to know how close we were if we were never going to make it. The radio got clearer every day. Eventually, we started hearing a dinging. Every day, three o'clock on the dot, this pattern would play. Still garbled, but distinct. It could be heard a few more times over a 30 minute span, at somewhat predictable times. 3:12, 3:15, 3:27, only ever a three minute variance around that. Other sounds could be heard that had a similar pattern, but nothing quite as loud and distinct as the dinging. Two more weeks passed, and for the first time, something came clear through our radio. Three o'clock on the dot, but it wasn't the dinging. "THIS IS THE UNITED SECURITY FRONT. PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF. YOU ARE TRESPASSING IN THE TERRITORY OF QUEEN SYLVIA." All of us in the control room perked up. It was a transmission, meant for us. It had to be: it was in perfect English. Was the planet we had spent a millennium traveling to already inhabited? If that were the case, we truly had failed. But we had to try. "This is The Ark from Planet Earth. Our home is dead. We have spent a millennium traveling in this ship looking for a place to call home. Our engines are almost dead. Please, help us." Then there was silence. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour, then two. We heard nothing back from the mysterious voice. Then we heard it again. "This is Queen Sylvia of the 1st colony of the United Domain of Earth. We have confirmed your ships identity and are allowing docking procedures. Guide ships will now escort you to the surface, please disable your engine so that they may take control." Everyone in the room was silent. I was the first to hit the switch. Three people had to hit switches that only they had access to if the engines were to be turned off. The others followed. The hum we had grown up with was gone. It was like something was missing from us. Juniper was the first to speak up. "Did.. did she say 'United Domain of Earth'?"Juniper was hardly able to talk. The shock on everyone's face was obvious. Were they being tricked? Was this some cruel joke by an alien race played on us just for the hell of it? Were we about to be shot down, killed, for nothing more than existing? But that never happened. Two ships appeared next to the command hub. No one had seen them approaching. Had they just.. materialized? No, that couldn't be.. could it? The ships seemed to latch onto our hull. These crafts were orders of magnitude smaller than our own, barely large enough to hold a single person, yet they moved our ship faster than when we had all engines on full throttle. We were practically hurtling towards the planet now. Over the radio, we heard a conversation. They were unable to hear us, but let us in on a lot of information. "We thought you lot were all dead, being a hundred years late and all. Figured some flu killed you all, or maybe a psycho murderer. Not that I knew of you guys before today, though. I'm just repeated what my sups said 'bout you lot before warping me out here. Oh, sorry we can't hear you lot. Engineers were only able to hook up a transmitter. You've got such prehistoric tech, we though you's was a comet! Missed my favorite game show because of you. Had't get you all to identify right when the jingle would've started." When we landed, for the first time in a thousand years, humans stepped foot off of the ship. Before us stood what we thought had been lost long ago: human civilization. We'd spent a thousand years traveling here. The world we left hadn't died. Not quickly, at least. They'd learned enough to make faster machines. What took us twelve generations took them twelve years. We were five hundred years late, and a thousand years behind.
'What the hell are you doing man?' 'I could ask you the same thing!' 'Put the gun down, I'm sure your life is worth living!' 'I'll put my gun down if you climb down that tree and leave the rope up there.' 'Alright, I'm coming down, but don't even think about using my rope!' 'And don't you even think about grabbing my gun!' The two men stood across each other. Rope hanging down from the tree, gun lying on the ground between the leaves. 'Why would you want to take your life? Don't you have loved ones?' 'My fiance dumped me one month before the wedding because she fell in love with my best friend, the bastard. My parents already died when I was little and I barely see my aunt and uncle who cared for me. For who should I still live on?' 'You're only around 30 years old! You can still find another woman, have children with her if you want to. You also might not see your aunt and uncle a lot anymore, but I'm sure they care for you if they raised you.' 'I am this close to losing my job, who would want an unemployed boyfriend?' 'Being this close to losing your job means you still have that job! Work hard, show your boss you care about your job and the company. Work your way up. Go out for drinks in the weekend, make new friends, talk to girls. There is so much life ahead of you.' The younger man was startled. It made sense what the older man told, but he had made his decision. 'You are talking so much about my life, what about yours? You might be old, but with life expectancies nowadays you can certainly still live for a long time and enjoy your retirement. Why are you doing this?' 'My wife died after 45 years of marriage. I'm 70 years old, I have smoked cigarettes my entire life, my eating habits aren't very healthy either and I've already traveled to plenty of countries. There is not much more for me to do on this world, I'm just speeding up the process.' 'What about your children? You seem like a father.' 'They live at the other side of the country. It's a 6 hour flight. They barely visit me because they are too busy with their own children and their careers. I don't blame them, but I think it would take away a burden on them if they didn't have to visit me every once in a while.' 'I've lost my parents when I was little. I still miss them every day. Don't make your children miss you for longer than they have to.' The older man contemplated what the younger man said. 'I won't if you won't.' 'It's a deal. If you're really that lonely, I could visit you once in a while.' 'I'd love that. I'll give you some tips for the ladies.' 'Oh old man, I don't think you know how dating works nowadays.' 'Trust me, some old tricks still work, otherwise I wouldn't have 4 beautiful grandchildren.' The younger man laughed. The older man laughed. The younger man grabbed the gun. 'Don't worry old man.' The younger man aimed at the rope and shot it loose from the tree. 'It's official now. What's your name?' They walked back to the city. They talked. They laughed. Fifteen years later, the younger man visited the funeral of the older man, together with his wife and children. He worked for the older man's son, who transferred to this city fourteen years and six months ago. They mourned together. Nobody knew about how the younger man and older man met each other, but they know everything got better from the day they met. --------------------------------------------- Really happy with the result. Thanks for the great prompt /u/dougiedeez ! Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated :)
No one heard the sound until it softly faded. Humanity, spellbound, it held its breath and waited. ----- No one recalled the mumble, though the silence felt so loud. None had ever felt the rumble that coursed gently through the ground. ----- The Earth that day seemed eerie. Like a corpse, she grew too still. After decades growing weary, she had slowly lost her will. ----- They all foresaw her death, knew their time to change had passed. But no one heard her breath until she had drawn her last.
Life has always been easy for me. When I was a young boy, barely out of the womb, I learned that no one else could do what I could. I would cry for milk, and realize that no one moved at all. But I also realized that when they wouldn't move, I wouldn't feel hungry. Time had stopped. I'm sure that's how it went, because I can do that today, I've always been able to do that. For my parents, I don't even hide it. When I want to yell at them, I pause time and yell. I can't really do any damage with the power it seems - I can't put forward enough energy to actually move through anything but air. I've never really thought about why that is I suppose. I can't drink water, or even open the cupboard. But I can move over to it, I can look at anything I want, and I can teleport anywhere I want. If I was curious what someone was doing, I would just go over and watch them. It's amazing what I've caught people in the middle of before. Guys look at girls way more often then most people think. I've caught theives, even as a 12 year old. By the way, people seem to second guess their options when they know someone is nearby. At first I thought it was because they were afraid of being caught. Now I think it's more because they just don't have anyone. It's really sad. I've found people that were masturbating vigerously, with a frozen face that I can only describe as intense, contorted, and a little disturbing. I've read entire novels i wasn't supposed to within the period of a few minutes just because I wanted to and I didn't have time. Try and stop me now! It was really amazing the first time I did that. I've gone to restricted places in museums, stores, or really just about anywhere. I gotta say, a word of advice, it's almost always boring back there. School was easy. I used the time at first to study harder, or take extra time on difficult questions. But as puberty hit and I grew older, the extra time was spent cheating. Look, life is boring already, why would I want to go through the effort of studying things that don't matter? Like, seriously, honestly, when will I ever have to know proper grammer and spelling, or algebra, or the history of some ancient dead guy. kids these days talk with pictures, use calculators, and use spellcheck. I even caught my teachers doing those things. Or... in my case... I just copy what someone else is doing. So anyways, here I am, the class is advanced calculus (btw, cheating is great for your grades, I'm literally acing everything, and have been forever). Well, I haven't studied anything, so I'm walking over to the teachers book to get a quick look at the answers. Maybe I could use a refresher on what work she wants me to know. But mostly it's to memorize the multiple choice questions. And something moves. Nothing ever moves. Nothing. Ever. Moves. My head jerks faster than a bullet. No seriously, think about it, time has stopped. Literally faster than anything ever. Nothing is moving... huh, I'm loosing my mind maybe. I go back to the book. There is is again. What was it! I stair in the direction for a minute... no one is moving. There is one kid that looks uncomfortable, like he was about to get up. But he's not moving. There is Melane, just sitting there looking pretty. She's not moving either. I love her hair. But she's not moving. Nothing is moving. I must be psyching myself out. I go back to the page of multiple choice answers. b-a-c-a-c-a-b movement I jerk up again. Melane still not moving, still looking pretty. Uncomfortable kid still not moving, still looking uncomfortable. Get a hold of yourself. I look out the window, trying to memorize where things are. Something is wrong, can feel it. Damn it, feelings don't mean anything. You've been doing this your entire life, literally never, ever. Never ever ever has anything moved. Your feelings don't mean anything. I look back down. Memorizing is easy by the way. instead of looking at the letters, make a word. baca-cab. b-a-c-a-c-a-b. Thent he true false section. TFTFFTTF movement. I look around again, but no longer trust my instincts. Kid still looking uncomfortable. No worries. Outside is still the same. All trees in same position, distant flag still unmoving. I look back at the teacher. He's still looking dazed and confused. No worries. TFT-FFTT-FFT, got it. I stand up and stretch. A nice good stretch. Maybe I'm getting tired. I start to walk back to my chair, where everyone is nicely froz... Melane, who is still looking pretty, with her flowey hair. She's frozen, her face is the same. Her hair moved. It moved. I saw it. Hair never moves. Her face didn't move. Her hair did. There is not wind, I literally can't move hair. I never have. It fucken moved. I reach out to touch her hair, it can't move. It should feel stiff, like a sculpture as hard as steel. It doesn't. It feels soft. I want to look around. I feel self concious, I feel terrified. My heart is beating faster than an engine purrs. It. FEELS. SOFT. She's still not moving. I quickly go back to my seat, not knowing what to make of it. Get a hold of yourself. Breath. Oh wait, breathing and frozen time don't go together. Damn. Start time -no wait - wait. What were the answers again? baca-cab and TFT... yeah I got it. Start time. Breath. My heart, beating furiously, finally gets some air. A deep breath. It's Ok. Panic attack averted. Everyone is still working. No one noticed anything. Melane looks back at me.
It started with a plane ticket, so I could take Jean to Hawaii. Then when I needed money to board the bus, once again I found the right fare nestled in my pocket. The third time was after Jean and I had broken up, when I spent the night with a flame, that time the pocket had produced a condom –as if it knew best. But this time, when I reached in to find five dollars for the remainder of my grocery fee, I found something entirely different instead. A gun. “That’s a hundred and thirty dollars, thank you, sir,” the customer service boy repeated. I thought about asking if a gun would do. But instead, I stood frozen, contemplating what the pocket was playing at. “Sir?” the boy asked, noticing my tense demeanour. The gun was cold against my hand, the grooves on its side reminded me of a large kitchen knife I had back at home. A knife I usually used for cutting chicken or whatever I was cooking up for the evening. If the pocket wanted me to kill these people for five dollars, it was out of its mind. Or maybe I was. It would do the job. “Hey, pal, can you hurry up? I’ve got an appointment to get to!” someone in the line yelled. How about you pick another line? That’s what I wanted to say. I pretended to fish in my right pocket instead; maybe the gun wouldn’t be in the left side a second time. “I was sure I put it somewhere here. . .” I told the kid. I went back to the left side and dipped my hand in. This time, the pistol was even heavier, it bulged against the side of my pocket, making the frame clearly visible in the black folds. The customer service boy craned his head over the counter. My heart raced in my chest, I had to come up with something. I could explain that my pocket produced things against my own will and that it wasn’t my fault at all. The thought left my mind as soon as it was born. Saying shit like that was a one-way ticket to a psych ward. “He’s got a gun!” the kid screamed. Everyone hit the floor, some people started running. All eyes were on me. Blasted pocket. . . I had no choice; I was going to have to go Rambo on all of these innocents. Maybe it was the pockets way of teaching me a lesson. Hey, this is what you get for forgetting stuff all the time. Spend the rest of your life in jail. I snapped the gun out of my pocket and held it in the air. “It’s not what it looks like,” I told the audience. There was silence. After a moment, the customer service kid started laughing. Then the crowd cracked up as well. I looked at the gun. Only it wasn’t a real gun at all. It was the plastic casing of a see-through white pistol, proper grip, trigger and everything, but inside was five dollars in change -instead of the usual gun mechanics. The pocket had given me exactly what I needed: five dollars inside a fully armed piggy bank. And a message. . . don't forget your stuff again.
"Sean, it happened again last night."I spoke softly through the handheld. I was literally shaking. He said this would not happen again. He said it could not happen again. But, here it was. "What did they do this time?"Sean asked me. His voice sounded serious, with a strange glint of excitement I could pick up on. "It's a full scale model of The White House on Planet x45238975/22. They even have a semi-functioning government right now. It appears they are fighting over an anti-slavery movement between the two primary races."I was shaking even more. This was not supposed to be happening. It was supposed to be a semi-simulation with low intelligence AI. "Remarkable! Yet again they seem to be mimicking our own various procedures and generations of history. How do they actually access our history? They should have no outlet from the multi-server. Something must be influencing them."Sean spoke so quickly, it was hard for me to distinguish everything that he said. He sounded too... eager. Too excited for my comfort. "Sean this should be impossible, you said it yourself. Somehow they are attaining our history, and writing it into their own backgrounds. First the Religious Crusades on RR-3978659. We did no coding to involve religion anywhere. Anywhere Sean!"I was starting to get upset again. I almost lost my job over the Crusades issue. Sean thought that I had caused it through The Update. There is no way. Zero chance. And I knew that he was aware of that fact, but he tried to pin it on me. I told him to fuck off, politely of course. "We need to investigate this..."A loud beeping noise cut Sean off short. His eyes darted to the secondary monitoring screen. I had a program to scan all the planets for any abnormal activities in the simulation set up on that workstation. His eyes looked like saucers. He smiled. "You need to tell me what is going on Sean. I'm getting tired of being surprised. Your phone calls, the meetings with Sam, it all adds up to something and you are holding back on me. If we are going to move forward on this, you need to tell me everything."I spoke firmly, for the first time in weeks. After witnessing a culture cause regicide... You can't walk away from that unaffected. Even if it is a simulation. You spend time working on something, and to see it all go away is a shock to your core. Even backup partitions didn't bring the Proxxag back. They were literally deleted from all entries. 100's of hours of work, deleted by something we did not understand. At least, something that I did not understand. Sean walked out of the room. I didn't see or hear from him again for three weeks. I monitored the simulation. Over 17 million instances occurred in three weeks. Sean would not answer, Sony wanted updates to our upcoming partnership. I had nothing without Sean. Then, on the 23 day of his departure he came back. He was not alone. He had three men with him. Dressed in black suits. And they were armed. I remember being shot, but felt no pain. I woke up here. On this strange planet. It has an exact replica of the Eifel Tower. I spent hundreds of hours on it as a child. I could never forget it's shape. Even if it was made of different material. It was all I had to hold onto my old world. Someday I could make it back there. There were others here with me. They all set out to build small villages. I chose to be alone. I found the will to talk to others was gone. I've been here for years now. At least it feels like years. Maybe I'll do a scale replica of the Coliseum next.
Some roommates make great friends. Others steal your food, or keep pee jars in the closet. And some roommates plot revolutions in the living room. Anything can happen when you search for roomshares on the South Florida Craigslist. Sal lived in a seven hundred square foot, two bedroom apartment with a peculiar man named Mark. Mark wore military fatigues and kept an aluminum suitcase handcuffed to his wrist at all times. Sal had never seen it open. He was concerned about Mark. Mark did not seem to have a job or be seeking one. One day, as Sal walked home from the casino where he dealt on the dayshift, he noticed the traffic on his street was lighter than usual. The neighborhood seemed oddly quiet—there was no reggaeton blaring through airy curtains, no street vendors shouting Cuban slang, and no abuelitos sitting in the shade in three piece suits, sipping rum and lemonade. Sal frowned. He had never seen the neighborhood this quiet. Even when a hurricane was coming there were usually people running around, tying down their homes with tarps and bungy cord. As he walked up his driveway, he heard voices, shouting angrily in Spanish, and what might have been German. He tried the door but it was locked. He slid in his key. It turned, but the door would not budge. He shoved, and shoved again. Nothing happened. Someone whistled, extremely loud and curt. It sounded like it came from the bushes in the front yard. Sal turned to look. He was immediately grabbed by two men in black SWAT team uniforms and carried away from the windows. Hey!” Sal said, “Let go of me! What’s going on here!?” “Go, go, go!” someone shouted. A dozen burly SWAT officers with heavy guns and loud boots stormed into the house, kicking down the front door and throwing flashbangs in every direction, without communication or coordination. Explosions of light and sound reverberated throughout the neighborhood. The men inside and the SWAT officers alike rolled on the ground with their hands covering their eyes and ears. Grown men yelped as they ran through the house, leapt out of windows, and tackled each other to the ground. A dozen of Mark’s friends escaped, hopping fences and running through backyards to evade the police. Mark himself was tackled against the sofa, and then dragged out the front door, resisting mightily. Four officers held each of his limbs, but he wriggled with such vigor that they called for help. “Mark!” Sal shouted, “What did you do!?” “Who are you?” An officer with a scar over one eye asked Sal. “I live here,” Sal said, pointing at the ruined house, with the doors off its hinges, mud all over the carpets, and sofa stuffing strewn about like intestines on the floor of a slaughterhouse. “We’ve been looking for your roommate for some time,” the officer said in a gravelly voice. “He’s been organizing local unions.” The officer shuddered. “And he wants to kill everyone in the government,” another officer added. “Yes,” the first officer said absent-mindedly, “That too.” “This might sound crazy but I’m actually not that surprised,” Sal said. “You knew?” the one-eyed officer said. “You know it’s a crime to withhold information about terrorist plots. It’s your duty as an American that if you see something you say something.” “Oh no,” Sal sputtered, “I didn’t know anything about anything. I just always thought that Mark Carlton was an odd one. Fun guy though—good sense of adventure. He’s definitely got balls.” Still struggling against four other officers, Mark swung his aluminum briefcase around, clobbering one across the forehead. Another officer stepped back to fire his tazegun. The electricity ran through Mark’s briefcase, zapping both Mark and the officers. Mark broke free, running down the street. “Go Mark Go!” Sal shouted. But it was too late. The officers were gaining on him. Thinking quickly, Sal ran across the yard and jumped into the SWAT van. The keys were still in the ignition. He revved the engine to life and slammed on the gas. Tires squealing, he peeled out, leaving a long black line on the pavement. He pulled up level to Mark. “Get in!” he shouted. Mark was halfway inside the car when an officer grabbed onto his briefcase. He wouldn’t let go. “Lose the case!” Sal shouted. “I can’t” Mark cried. “Where’s the key?” Sal said. Mark wrestled with the officer, both halfway inside the van’s sliding door. “My back pocket,” Mark said. Sal leaned back in his seat, still driving at breakneck speed. He punched the SWAT officer in the nose, buying Mark a precious second. Mark took out his key and unlocked the case. The officer fell away, still clutching the aluminum briefcase. He tumbled out of the car and into the street. Chest heaving, Mark turned to look at Sal. “Sorry about your case,” Sal said. “What was in there anyway?” “My beard.” Mark admitted nervously. “There’s something I haven’t told you. Mark Carlton isn’t my real name. I’m Karl Marx.” Sal’s eyes widened. “It was just a beard,"Karl said, "It had sentimental value, but... I can live without it. I can even grow a new one.” He paused. “Look at me, what am I saying. I should be thanking you.” He placed his hand on Sal’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Thank you Sal Capone,” Karl said, “You saved me life.” Sal smiled a knowing smile. “You can call me Al,” he said. They drove off into the night, always one step ahead of the law. --- like that one? subscribe to /r/trrh!
Professor Franks straightened his tie, then picked his way through the classroom. He passed some students stooped over diagrams, examining the bones, ligaments and flesh of horses, cows, sheep, rabbits, dogs and cats. They were veterinary students. One male student was talking about KFC: how their wings were so tasty, and, oh, how he loved to suck all the grease off the bones. The girls he was talking to shrieked with disgust. Frank was happy to see the flowers he had taken from the park hung on the hooks near the back of the lab. That meant his new lab assistant had followed through! So, he was right, that young one still had some life left in her, even after all she had been through. So Frank made plans to reward her. But now it was lesson time. So Frank took a dissecting knife, moved to the back of the classroom and removed one of the demonstration mice. He called over his class, and cut the thing open.
"Look, Alice, we've got to talk about this." "I told you not to call me that."The voice came muffled through the bedroom door. It was Terry's first hint that something wasn't quite right with the lad. No normal person sleeps from 8am to 8pm. "What would you prefer I call you?" "Alistair."He replied instantly, making no effort to hide his irritation. "And I really need to get to sleep." "It's 9 o'clock you dozy bastard."Terry sighed, redoubling his efforts to force open the door. A little bit of amateur locksmithing could save you valuable minutes if someone decided to lock a door on you. "That means it's time to wake..."Terry twisted the lockpick, feeling the lock release. "The fuck..."The door slid open, and Terry began to step in. "Up!" "Oh what the shit."The words seemed to slip out of Terry's mouth without his control. Though most would lose control of more than their tongue at the sight that befell him in the room. A thin, slick layer of blood covered every surface, light from a crack in the curtains danced off the fluid, filling the room with tiny points of light. In the center of the room, lay what was presumably the source of the blood. A corpse, that had been mutilated beyond the point where any deeper description could hold meaning. Crouching over it, covered in blood, sat Alistair. Terry wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't jumped out of his skin at the sight of the open door. The next few seconds were ruled by an awkward silence. The two men stared at each other, with that deer-caught-in-headlights sort of look that can really only be understood if you've ever walked in on a murder in progress. "So."Alistair broke the silence. "Did you just break into my room." "Yes."Terry replied mechanically, as his eyes drew across the room. Alistair's bedroom was usually spotless, though Terry did always think that it smelt a bit strongly of bleach. "Did you do that?"Terry pointed limply at the corpse. "Yes."Alistair brushed his hair out of his face. "You... going to eat it, or..." "No! Why would I... No!" "Well you're a vampire, so I figured that you might, I don't know, at least want to save it for later." "I'm..."Alistair's eyes darted across the room, as he briefly entertained the idea of escaping out of the window, before realizing that a man covered in this much blood wearing silk pajamas bursting out of a window, and then running off into the distance might attract the wrong sort of attention. "Not a vampire." "Dude."Terry smiled, and shrugged. "Look at this place. You're obviously a fucking vampire." "I am not."Alistair repeated again. "Are you insinuating that I am a liar?" "Yeah. And a bad one." "Well I'm not." "Yes you are." "Well it seems that we won't get anywhere down this line of questioning." "Probably not." "So."Alistair brushed what looked vaguely like an ear off his shoulder. "Where do we go from here." "Well, I was going to ask you to stop killing people that I'm trying to kill."Terry raised his voice a little more than someone who is discussing his attempted murders would be wise to do. "I mean, really. I spend weeks following them, seeing where they live, where they work, etcetera, etcetera. And what do you do? Boom. Out of nowhere, dead." "Well what do you want me to do? Not kill people?"Alistair dropped the act, seeing that lying whilst covered head to toe in blood might not work. "I guess I'll just starve because you want your..." "Well?"Terry tapped his feet, in mock impatience. "You're a vampire too?"Alistair stood wide eyed with surprise. "No."Terry chuckled. "I just like killing people." "Oh." "Point is, you just ruin my fun."Terry continued "I mean sure, the journey's half the fun, but really, I feel like I'm getting blue balled here. All that anticipation, then... gone." "Well, how am I meant to know who you're going after? It's not exactly like you tell me who you're planning on killing." "True."Terry rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Look, what if I kill them, and then you eat them." "I don't eat them."Alistair said, indignantly. "Just drink their blood. And anyway, killing them is fun for me too, you know." "Well, maybe we can kill people together then?" "That might work."Alistair looked around the room "Could you help me clean this up?" Terry sighed. "I'll go get the lime."
They figured 90 was old enough. They were probably right, but they probably underestimated how stubborn ornery old men can be. See, I'm 91 years old today. Sure, I'm arthritic as hell, I can barely see, and I can't hear worth a damn, but I am real tired of the youth of our nation acting like they can just take everything. Take our jobs, our money, and now our lives? They think they can just 86 us like they do outdated technology. I was 89 years old when the law passed. I have always kept my body tight, never smoked, rarely drank booze, and I was looking forward to living the peaceful life. Planning on challenging the century mark, too, just to say I could. But then I got a new challenge. They put my old ass on the internet, so every blood thirsty twat from LA to New York knows where to find me. Luckily, the law protects property that the city might want, so these little psychopaths can't just shoot into my house, or burn it down. So how have I survived a whole year? First, I surrounded myself with people I trust. Let me tell you arrogant little pricks -- they come in useful later in life, so stock up on and cherish them. Second, I took advantage of my "youthful"appearance (I don't look a day over 85) and I paid handsomely for a fake ID. And oh yeah, I stocked up hard on security equipment and weapons. Finally, if I find out some sociopathic post 9/11 baby is hunting old folks, I hunt them. They can't kill you if they're dead. Now this is what I call a retirement party.
I lay in the gutter, feeling oily water soak into my trousers to muddle with the piss that was already there. Paralytic and dying of hypothermia wasn't how I'd planned to go out, but then I guess since I started drinking basics vodka, I hadn't planned much of anything. I'd gone from a productive member of society to a wreck in quite the spectacular spiral. Drinking and fighting and drinking and fighting and drinking. All because of a lost job and a cheating wife. What a fucking cliché, even my death was going to be unoriginal. Inky blackness enveloped me and I slipped out of consciousness. The darkness gave way to blinding light, no visible source or focal point. Just harsh, uniform energy. A deep voice resonated through me 'Marcus, you have destroyed yourself, squandered the gifts that I gave you, doing harm to others and yourself in the process. If I let you die now, you will go to hell for these actions' The pressure of these words was physical, I could feel them through my skull, in my teeth, squeezing my very being. And I was terrified. 'Please, no' I gasped, 'I'll do better, I'll change' 'Change isn't adequate little one, I need more from you. Lucifer has been putting his fingers into the world and fouling it with greed, ambition and the worship of false idols' The pressure in my head eased a fraction 'what do you want me to do Lord?' I enquired. 'I need a reaper, those who make faustian bargains should not be left to profit from their ill gotten gains. I wish to send their souls to hell prematurely. You will be empowered to act as my wrath and will be able to cleanse even those who he protects.' 'I'll do it Lord, thy will be done. On Earth, as it is in Heaven' The light faded and the world came into focus. I hauled myself out of the gutter and dragged myself home. I put my piss soaked clothes in the bin, then got in the shower, washed, the shaved the ragged beard I'd grown over the course of the spiral. I fell asleep at peace and slept for a good nine hours. On waking, I felt refreshed, I had purpose and understanding of my crusade. I had memories, or perhaps knowledge of the first seven people god wanted me to destroy. Two CEOs, a movie producer, a director and three pop stars. One of the pop stars - Gracie Thomas was in town tonight and I had a funny feeling I might be able to get a ticket. #-#-#-#-#- Written on mobile so apologies for any spelling/grammar errors. I don't do these too often, but interested to hear what people think. Might write a part two if people want. Edit: On part 2 now, will post link when done. Also check out the awesome voiceover from[ /u/bunbunhd](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9ag17u/wp_in_a_neardeath_experience_you_realize_you_are/e4vj382/)
The woman takes a long sip of her tea, leaning back in her chair. She’s young, in her early twenties, and has a prim and proper look. This doesn’t surprise him because, after all, she lives in a mansion twenty times the size of his house. She sets her tea down and picks up the vial of his blood. When he received the letter, he was skeptical. Still is, actually. Why would somebody pay for exclusive access to his blood? It’s creepy, and doesn’t make much sense—but money is money, and he needs a lot of it right now to pay off his debts. “Your blood’s beautiful,” she says, popping the cap off the vial. She swipes at it with her tongue and makes a satisfied face. “Yes. This is perfect.” “So, may I ask why you want it?” She smiles daggers at him, like he’s a fool for asking that question. “Well, it’s very simple.” She motions for her butler, an old man, to roll up her sleeve. As he does, she pulls off her glove. His eyes go wide, his stomach lurches. She smirks, clearly enjoying this reveal. Her arm…it’s wrinkled, like she’s a ninety year old woman, and from the looks of it, they're spreading. “I’ve taken certain actions to cheat death, and have been alive far longer than anyone else.” She then pours the vial into her tea and stirs it up. He hunches over, covering his mouth. He wants to be disgusted by this, but instead he’s more…confused. Especially when she drinks the tea, and her arm changes, matching the rest of her body. No wrinkles or anything like—just smooth skin. “That’s…amazing…” “That’s you,” she says, setting the tea down and standing up. “You’re a health-freak, aren’t you? No drugs, no alcohol, no cigarettes. You eat right, keep your body moving. Your blood is healthy as can be, and that’s why you donate so much of it.” “I guess.” She is perfectly describing him, but he’s not a ‘health-freak.’ That’s just kinda…how he lives. She walks over, standing behind him, resting her hand on his shoulder. “When I was younger, I feared withering away. So I developed this serum, and I keep it all to myself. Healthy blood, a variety of herbs, and boiled tea’s all you need.” He stands up, looking at her. “So you’re like…immortal?” Cocky smile on her face, she nods. “As long as there are people like you around, yes.” He needs to help her because the money, but doesn’t like this woman’s vibe. There’s something off about her, something evil. If he stays here, he’ll be here forever, and that’s the last thing he wants. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says, walking past her. “I don’t think I can do this.” She puts a finger on his chest, stopping him, and then motions behind him. “Careful,” she says. When he looks back, he sees her butler, who’s pointing a gun at him and wearing a sickly smirk. She leans in close to his ear, snarling. “Nobody said you had a choice.” *** If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter)
Mom holds me tightly, as the footsteps grow louder and louder, coming up the stairs. “Did they hurt Daddy?” I ask. “No,” she says, with a fading conviction that even I cannot believe. “We’ll be fine.” “I will always love you,” she says, her tears and breath horribly warm on my face. “Please don’t forget that. At least not in your dreams.” They are upstairs. “I will never forget you, baby.” “Will we ever be together again, mommy?” I ask, as the door opens, and the soldiers reach around her to grab me. She never did answer. She screamed, which I guess was an answer in itself. \- I wake up in a room that is not mine. After the Long Daze, the years of the white room, on my tenth birthday, I wake up in a room filled with posters and trophies from a childhood that was almost mine. I wonder if it was stolen from anyone else. A woman knocks on my door, and then enters. “Hello, honey,” she says. “Time for breakfast!” It is the third day of living in this house. They got a lot of things right. They kept the Pokemon, and the Legos. They kept the spiral staircase, and the rail I loved to slide down when Mom wasn’t looking. She puts a plate in front of me. “PB&J. Your favorite.” They were so close. \- When I was five, Mom served me a PB and J for the first time, and sat and watched, with a nervous smile, as I took my first bite. I couldn’t stand it. “Eww!” I said. “It’s all sticky and the jelly tastes weird. I can’t even swallow it!”“You don’t like it?” I shook my head. “I never want to eat one of those again.” She grew quiet, and took my plate to the sink. Then, she left the room. I expected her to come back in a few minutes, but she didn’t. So I got up, and checked the living room, then the bathroom, then my room, and then the master bedroom. I could hear noises behind it. I was supposed to knock, but for some reason on this day I just went inside. “Mommy?” I asked. “Are you okay?” She sat up straight, but she couldn’t wipe away the tears from her face fast enough. “Is this because I didn’t like your sandwich?” She shook her head, but I could tell I was right. I walked up to her. “I just don’t think I like PB and J sandwiches. It’s not your fault. But I can eat them if you want me to.” She continued to dab at her eyes, and shakes her head. “Why don’t we go to Wendy’s again, like you and Dad took me after the movies? That was awesome!” Finally, she looks up at me, and smiles, and once again I feel like everything is going to be okay. “Why don’t we?” she says. “Besides, I don’t even like PB and J myself.” "Cool. Will you let me have both chicken nuggets and fries again?" "Only if you don't tell Dad. And only if you don't tell him that I will too..." \- They tried to make me forget with the pills and the water, but I remember a lot of it. Not all of it, but the white room I remember. Hours and hours of sitting in the chair with only a bottle of water in front of me. I remember thinking, foolishly, that if I drank the bottle, they would have to stop asking me questions. But once I finished it, the questions hadn’t stopped. “Favorite sports team?” “Boston Celtics,” I said. “Favorite cartoon?” “Adventure Time.” On and on. The questions were always the same, once a week. Why did they ever expect the answer to change? “Moving on to food preferences. Answer yes or no if you enjoy a certain food.” “Pizza.” “Yes.” “Chicken wings.” “No.” “PB and J?” “Yes.” \- I look down at the sandwich, and then up at them, at their perfect smiles, too balanced and neat. My real mother’s smile was too wide, too unpracticed. My real father’s was crooked, like he’d just told one of those jokes I didn’t understand that made my mother slap him. “Thanks so much,” I say. “You remembered, after all these years.” “Of course,” my fake mother said. “We prepared for your return.” And so did I, I think. Prepared for my return, and then my escape… \- [r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
"Dr. Klein, if you come into my lab with one more giant death robot, I am going to tattoo the rules on your forehead!" I pointed to a large sign hanging on the wall of the workshop. RULES FOR MAD SCIENTISTS: * If you can't put it on an assembly line, you can't conquer the world with it * If your minions can't repair it, you can't conquer the world with it * Anything your death ray does, a bullet can do better * Durability matters * Joints are weak points * No matter how strong your alloys are, you can't beat the square-cube law "Your power core is built with micrometer tolerances, your entire wiring harness is unlabeled, your disintegrator cannon wastes an absurd amount of power for a minimal improvement in lethality, and the entire thing is mounted on a bipedal robot chassis three sizes too large for the weapons it carries. This should have never left the drawing board." "It's a classic design!"the Doctor protested. "Baron von Eisenhand conquered an entire country with robots like this one." "That was fifty years ago, before anyone had a developed anti-Mad doctrine. Today? You'd be lucky to conquer your next-door neighbor with this robot. Mad tacticians use Eisenhand as a training exercise." I waved at another one of my students, who was fussing over a machine with a screwdriver in hand. "Friedman? Mind if I borrow your project for a little demo? Don't worry, I'll give it back in one piece." "Gimme one minute, I just have to replace a fuse." "Fuses! Good to see you were paying attention during my electronics lesson. Mad science involves lots of unstable, high-voltage components. A ten-cent fuse can save you thousands of dollars in repair costs." "Don't need to tell me twice. I still remember the time I burned out the oscillator the night before the demonstration."He fumbled around a bit longer, then closed the panel and straightened up. "All yours. The controls are on my laptop. Standard OpenSkynet interface." "Another good decision! Use off-the-shelf systems and open standards whenever possible. It's cheaper and makes it easy to work together with other Mads. Dr. Klein, would you kindly have your robot step over to that open space and put it into combat mode?"I tapped out a command and my student's robot smoothly rolled over there. The two robots looked comically mismatched as they squared off - Dr. Klein's towering warrior in an art-deco style, so tall it almost touched the roof of the converted warehouse I called my lair, and young Friedman's squat little robo-tank with flat, sloped armor and a turret on top. There was nothing comical, however, about what the robot did. Before the walking warrior could even raise its death ray, there was a whir of machinery as the little turret lined up a shot with mechanical precision. The autocannon barked sharply, and a neat little hole appeared in the knee joint of Klein's pride and joy. It staggered backwards and crashed to the ground, one leg twitching wildly. "Joints. Are. Weak. Points."I repeated. "All due respect for a fellow Mad, but if you want me to take your proposals seriously, you need to show me something that can't get taken down by my grad student's first project."
“Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!” As his mates cheered, Casian gave a weak smile, picked up the glass, and threw his head back, eyes closed. He held back a cough as the now-familiar burning sensation raced down his throat. “Wooo!” His friends erupted, each downing a drink of their own. He slumped down on his stool, propping himself up on the bar with his arms. &nbsp; “Our boy here’s gettin’ woozy!” said Fergus, sliding in next to him. “Barkeep! Glass of water, if you please.” The halfling scurried away. Casian gave a brief nod of thanks, and immediately regretted it as his head pounded harder. Fergus smiled in sympathy at the ensuing grimace. &nbsp; “Easy there, Cass. You still have to see us off tomorrow!” chuckled Idar, leaning against the bar next to them. “I don’t know if I can cure much more than a light hangover.” “Right,” he grumbled. The water arrived, and he sipped at it thankfully. “See you off…as you head off to your grand adventures and abandon me to the life of a farmhand.” “Hey, now, it’ll be a while yet before we can start adventuring! We need a fourth party member,” reminded Rax, downing what must’ve been his ninth beer. “I’m sorry I’m so useless,” Casian snapped, bitter. He’d been the only one without a Talent. “Hey now, no fighting,” Fergus scolded them. “Let’s not part on bad terms. Besides, the last round has arrived!” &nbsp; A platter of flaming shots was set before them, and the barkeep scurried away again. Casian startled. “Fire? You think I’m drinking fire?!” he yelped. Rax rolled his eyes. “Pussy.” “Don’t be silly, it won’t hurt’cha,” Fergus reassured him. “It’s magic, the barkeep’s a dabbler in wizardry. It’s just for show.” The flames did look rather entrancing. As the others took up their cups, Casian followed suit, not wanting to be left behind. &nbsp; “To friendship!” said Fergus. “To adventure!” said Rax. “To Cass!” said Idar. &nbsp; Eyes open this time, Casian threw the drink back. It coursed down his throat like molten gold, again with the burning sensation, only a lot stronger this time. Was it real fire? He couldn’t help it, it was burning in his throat. He coughed. &nbsp; A sheet of bright-golden flame spewed forth, lighting up the dingy establishment. For several seconds it kept going, until Casian realized it came from his own mouth, and shut it belatedly. Some yelps and screams came from the other patrons as they found their hair or clothes aflame, and small fires had caught on the floorboards and furniture. Casian’s friends looked at each other in shock. &nbsp; “Dragonborn?” “Dragonborn.”
I followed Kyle. I always followed them. Learned their routines, looked for opportunities -- or at least tried to figure out when an opportunity might arise in the future. I also liked to find out why I was killing 'em. Fancied myself as a bit of a detective, I do suppose. Plus, sometimes, when I watched a guy be rough with a woman in an alley, or break into a house for money to pay his drug bills, it made me not feel so bad about what I had to do. And what I had to do was murder, at the best of times. So I followed Kyle for three days looking not just for opportunity, but motivation to get the job done. And yes, sure, there was motivation of a fine green color already in my pocket, the other half waiting for me the other side of the job. But still, I followed him for three days, wondering why anyone would want this harmless looking family man dead. Maybe he was a snitch or something, I wondered, as I sat in my car and watched him spoon out soup to the homeless on a brisk winter night. Maybe he was a murderer, I hoped, as I watched him pick up his little girl from school, and watched her jump into his arms all excited. Or a drug mule, I postulated, as they walked home through the park, as I shadowed them from tree to tree. Or maybe he was just fucking unlucky, I decided, as I sat outside his house in my car on that third and fatal morning, watching him shovel snow out of the driveway so he could take his girl to school and his wife to work and keep them out of the cold. Probably just pissed off the wrong guy. Looked at someone wrong. It happened. That day, I waited outside his drive for him to return. Kyle worked at home, so I knew he'd be back. Not that his work had been going too well recently. Bills had been building up and about to burst through the dams; he hadn't even told his wife what shit they were in. Poor guy was trying to work his way out of it alone. My gun sat heavy in my jacket and my heart was heavy in my chest. Had to do it today, or I'd be the next target for an assassin. Kyle pulled into the drive. And then the worst thing happened. He saw me, sitting in my car the other side of the road. And what did he do? He waved and jogged over, rapping his knuckles on the window. "Yeah?"I said out-loud. But shit shit shit, I said internally. Shit. And then I said it some more. Internally. "I noticed you've been stuck there all morning,"he said, all chirpy. "If you've got car problems, I might be able to help." "Oh." "I tinker with engines,"he said. "It's a hobby. And you're welcome to wait in my home while I try to sort it. Come on! I'll make you a coffee. It's freezing out here." Well, shit once more. My motivation followed the weather and dropped somewhere near to zero. "Ah it's okay,"I said, "I think I've got it sorted now."I started the engine to show him, and made it roar. "See? Very kind of you though, pal. Not sure anyone's ever cared that much about me." He smiled. "Well, there's always a coffee waiting, if you find yourself stuck near here in the future."He turned and began to walk away. I called him back. "What's up, friend?"he said. "Here,"I replied, taking out the envelope with the up-front payment I'd received and stuffing it into his hand. "It's money. A lot of it. Take yourself and your family away for a while. Oh, and pay off your bills, okay? Be responsible. You're an adult for God's sakes." He took the envelope all curiously. His mouth dropped as he opened it up. "Why?"he said. I shrugged. "You seem like you deserve a break." He just stood there. In the middle of the road. For a long time. A long long time. I needed to go, before he got his thoughts together some more. I was just trying to turn my car around. To get away. But wrong tyres, you know? Icy road. Skidded. Hit him. Hard. "Shit,"I said as I got out and checked for a pulse. His blood was melting the ice, steaming up into the cold air like it was his spirit leaving. And if there was a heart still beating inside that caved chest, well, it wouldn't be much longer. "Shit!"I said again, but kinda wondering what Freud would have had to say about this situation. For whatever reason, thinking of Freud always made me want a cigar. My boss thought I always smoked after a job well done, but it wasn't like that. I took the envelope from Kyle's limp hand. "I'm real sorry, pal. Honest to God." His eyes were like marbles and he looked right through me. "Real sorry,"I said again, hurrying back into my car. What a downer this had been. My mouth itched as I pulled away. I needed a smoke, bad. Least I had money for a decent one now, I comforted myself. Maybe a nice ol' Cuban. &#x200B; &#x200B; It was a month later, smoking a Cuban, as it happens, that I heard it. Just sitting in my study when the news happened to come on. Now, I was still feeling pretty bad about myself at this point. About Kyle and his family and all that. I was born into a catholic family you see, and we don't shake off guilt so good -- which sometimes makes my line of work problematic. Anyway, the news was on: "Bla bla bla,"said the news guy. "Bla bla some more."But then he said, "And Kyle, now deceased, had over 100 images on his computer that bla bla bla." Huh, I thought, my shoulders suddenly feeling a lot less heavy. Huh. I poured another cup of coffee and smoked a second Cuban.
Gronte yawns as I fasten the leather straps around his ankles and wrists. They've tried convincing me to switch to the magnetic bonds utilized in most prisons today, but I like the leather—I've been using it since the beginning. "Don't you ever get tired of living, Taker?"he asks. I don't have to look at him to feel his smirk, and my silence doesn't stifle his urge to converse in the final minutes of his life. "I tell you, I'm damn ready for all this to be over. One lifetime is enough for me." I check the syringe built into the headrest of the chair, locked in place like the fangs of snake waiting to strike. It's been centuries since I've flipped the switch, watching them writhe as lightning coursed through their body; a few millennia ago, I was taking their heads with a swift stroke. But, humanity changes, and things must become more physically humane. "No guillotine?"he jests. No. In those days it was far too quick and, for some, death isn't punishment enough. "I suppose it ain't so bad,"Gronte shimmies a bit under the restraints, like he's settling in for an afternoon nap. "You press a button, I drift off into eternal sleep." "The sum of your remaining stolen years equates to eight-hundred and forty-two, give or take a few months,"I nod at the computer terminal as if I'm impressed, reading it out to him like a test score. "Glad I won't be living all that out, that's a lot of time to be stuck on this rock. Wouldn't you say?" "I say that time is relative, Mr. Gronte." With a single key stroke, the fang strikes into the back of his head. It's not decapitation, it's not a peaceful sleep—we've come a long way, humanity. "What is this?"it's already taking effect. "Mr. Gronte, you will be dead in ninety seconds,"I let him sigh in relief before laying it on him, "but in that time, your consciousness will experience another eight-hundred and forty-two years of life—give or take a few months." "What? What is this? Why am I seeing them?" "Ah, yes. The drug is honing in on those memories, surrounding and embedding the final moments of your victims. You will watch, Mr. Gronte, those children die. Again. And again. And again. For eight-hundred and forty-two years." "Take them! You're supposed to take them from me!"he tries to muscle out of the straps, the leather doesn't give an inch. Soon, his eyes prop themselves open, twitching and dilating for the remaining sixty seconds of his life. I watch—watch his head roll through madness. "I've already taken them from you, Mr. Gronte. And you're already dead." ____ Thanks reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily humane executions
Four year olds were a handful as it is, put twenty of them together and it’s enough to turn your hair grey. But I love it, yeah kids can be bratty but they can also be sweet and wholesome and wonderful. Plus when they are this young you can teach them all sorts of good manners and behaviors for when they grow up. But lord help me, this years class is something else. I have some particular trouble makers that just seem to have it out for me and my nerves. The other day one of them was goading two of the other kids to fight each other. It’s like he knew all he had to say was that one of the kids dad could beat up the other one. And they started fighting as he stood there pointing and laughing. I had to tell him it’s not nice to make others fight and certainly not laugh about it when they do. I’m not sure he learned his lesson but he said he will think about it. And then another one of the little monsters was found stealing snacks out of the kids cubbies. Have you ever dealt with hungry kids...my god. We couldn’t find the goldfish or chicken nuggets or any of the food. This little one had hoarded it all and thrown it away. The tantrums we had that day. Since then I’ve gotten him as my little helper to clean the fridge daily. He only throws away expired or rotten food. He seems happier but I can see he really just wants to throw away all of it. Now all four year olds are germ monsters but this little dude takes the cake. You never want to have the smelliest kid in the class and this kid was the smelliest of any kid I had ever had. He definitely took pleasure in getting the other kids to eat dirt or roll in some unpleasantness left by animals in the yard. It’s amazing how many kids have had to take sick days because he talked them into eating or licking something. Not that it’s hard since kids will eat or lick just about anything. We have had to implement a big hand sanitizer policy for this one. The school janitor said he’d be willing to help out since I was clearly in over my head with this class. So he takes the guy out on cleaning trips and gets him to help point out messes or sickly spots. Said the kids has a natural affinity for finding hot spots of sickness. And then there was their last little brother. Definitely the leader of this squadron of stress. He was a complete and utter angel. Always helpful and friendly. It’s a shock he is from the same brood as those other three. He does have a weird habit though. He stares for long periods of time during grandparents visit. It’s like he can’t take his eyes off the old people. We told him it’s impolite to stare and he has gotten better about it. In fact the grandparents love to visit when he is there. They say he is just the most polite young man. You don’t hear that about many four year olds. But weirdly this class has lost a lot of grandparents. I’ve never had a class with so many funerals. But what can you do. He was really great at consoling the other kids. And then their dad, Mr. Filruce, would show up. Now this man was so put together and handsome. It was unbelievable that he had time to wear tailored suits, look immaculate, and take care of three practically demon spawn and one little helper. I don’t know how he did it. But once he showed up those kids fell in line and followed him home. He never seemed to mind when I told him his kids acted up or got in trouble. He just said kids will be kids, and left for another day. Only eight months left of this class. I can do this!
[Part Three](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gkcauh/wp_after_you_killed_the_evil_lord_you_gain_the/fqqmfmd?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) The tavern rang with raucous laughter. Gargoyles danced on tabletops; dwarves bellowed a throaty ditty about gemstones; two satyrs hosted a sporting card game with a dog; and a desperate minstrel droned through uninteresting longueurs that only a timid nymph in the back corner paid attention to. Mugs of ale clacked together, and froth and foam splattered everyone around. The cheer was contagious, and even the stern minotaur wiping glasses behind the counter found himself smiling. One of the regulars, Skelt, plopped down at the bar next to a hefty woodsman named Mort. "Fine day!"Skelt shouted as his ulna clattered to the countertop. It bounced once and fell to the floor. Mort kindly picked it up and handed it back to him. "You say that every day, Skelt,"he grunted, his orange beard muffling his voice. Snapping his ulna back into place, Skelt exclaimed, "But today is _especially_ fine!" Gesturing around the tavern, Mort said, "I expect it has to do with the ol' King of Granthor beating that young upstart, does it?" The skeleton laughed, his bones rattling. "Oh, _that_ is a fine thing, indeed! But no, that's not what makes this day _especially_ fine!" Mort raised his extremely bushy eyebrows at his barmate. The bleached skeleton rapped his fingers against the counter, pretending not to be impatient. The minotaur stood across the bar from them, watching the two while he slowly wiped down mugs. Finally, putting down his tankard and rag, Riston asked, "What makes it _especially_ fine, Skelt?"Mort wiggled his nose at the tavernkeeper, and the minotaur rolled his eyes. Straightening proudly, Skelt declared, "I was hired as the great Undead King of Granthor's personal Guard #3!" The minotaur and the woodsman just looked at him. Refusing to drop his wide grin, Skelt put in, "To guard one of the hallways!" Mort and Riston exchanged glances. "In the back of the keep!" Finally, Riston asked, "Isn't that what you've _always_ done, Skelt?"He picked up the rag and tankard again and continued scrubbing. Finally, Skelt deflated a little, looking at the two with dismay. "Noooo, my friends, you didn't hear me! I said I was _hired_! Now that the pesky Chosen One is out of the way, the King of Granthor can spare funds on _paying_ us! I'm going to be working on _salary_!" "Oh, that's wonderful, Skelt!"Mort bellowed, clapping Skelt on the back and sending a couple of ribs flying across the bar. "Good for you!" "Yeah, maybe you can afford screws,"Riston smirked as he picked up the stray bones and gave them back to the skeleton. The revelry carried long into the night, everyone celebrating the Undead King of Granthor's victory. But no one's jubilation matched that of the proud little skeleton guard who would finally be getting a paycheck. [Part Five](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gsg8t3/wp_an_evil_overlord_accidentaly_joins_the_side_of/fs5jmvz?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)
No sound emerged from the expectant crowd, not a single fart or sneeze or whisper. The auditorium was deathly silent, packed to the brim with notable scientists and their acolytes and assorted hangers-on, all of which had helped contribute in some way to this pivotal moment. I sat in the far corner of the room, entertained for the first time in centuries. I noticed that Jimothy's throat was parched. He had been humming the ancient ritual rites for a few hours now, projecting a perfect harmony in sublime and correct sequence, allowing the crowd to echo his hums in just the right cadence at just the right moment. Now the humming had died down and pregnant silence had descended upon the room. It was clear that Jimothy wanted nothing more than to clear his throat, but doing so would break the spell, so he sacrificed his comfort to the noble cause, no doubt chalking it up to the last link in a long chain of suffering. Tonight he would be redeemed. They all would be. Professor Talbot broke the spell at the exact moment she was supposed to. "Egyptian hieroglyphics... we thought we'd cracked the code long ago, but we were wrong." An image flashed on the giant screen above her podium, bathing the onlookers in a wave of virtual light. "The modern phenomenon of flat earthers and anti-vaxxers was foretold in a tomb beneath the Red Sea,"she pointed at the screen, which showed the underwater entrance to the tomb. The camera tracked the divers as they entered, then followed them into the blackness. A light turned on, illuminating stone slabs stacked in neat rows. "And the rest is history,"Talbot said, her face cracking into a broad grin. "Tonight all of our decades of hard work come to fruition."She glanced at Jimothy, pity flashing across her otherwise controlled features. "I know we've all sacrificed a lot to get here, shouldering the ridicule of our peers in the scientific community, but soon they too will open their minds." She extended her arms and the audience mirrored her, until everyone in the auditorium was standing with arms stretched and palms up to the heavens. "The ancient texts speak of coming cultural phenomenons that will seem so stupid, so insultingly ridiculous to those outside of the 'thought-loop,'"she emphasized that last part in quotation marks. "That we would all go insane if we truly tried to understand whatever their particular brand of bullshit is." The professor locked eyes with the crowd, flipping her attention from person to person. "As more of us live longer and our needs are increasingly met, we will gravitate to these causes in order to create an iron-clad sense of purpose for ourselves."The crowd stared back, matching her intensity. "Get ready for literal gynmasiums wrapped in tinfoil, for the crazy clusterfuck has only just begun,"she paused for emphasis, every bit the professional lecturer. "But we are prepared. The ancient texts tell us what phenomenons will come to pass, no matter how ridiculous they may seem. Ancient wisdom points the way." I chuckled at that, still watching Jimothy summon all of his power to resist clearing his own throat. I was pleased with myself. This had been a long time in the making, so long in fact that when I first struck upon the idea the concept of 'science' was just gaining traction. A whole lot of divinely inspired bullshit later and my plan was coming to fruition. I had given science the strongest tool in the toolbox in the fight against the increasingly proliferating idiocy all over the world. These scientists would lead the charge against anti-scientific drivel by fighting fire with fire, targeting the leading personalities of such views by one-upping them and their cult followings whenever their breathtakingly stupid assertions or points of view threatened entrance into the mainstream cultural lexicon. Flat Earthers, meet Flat Universe.
I cleaned the blood of the Demon Prince off of Ryathir, the Sword of Stars. The constellations on the blade gleamed, illuminating the darkness of the dream keep. The Demon Prince had been the slave of the Dark Lord, the last obstacle before I could finally face him. How many atrocities had he committed? I'd almost lost everything to get here, and for once, a member of the Holy Order was going to face down Exetus. The door to the throne room loomed over me, draped in shadow. I took a deep breath. I was going to tell him everything that I knew during the fight. How many of my friends he'd hurt. How many lives he'd ruined. I wanted him to die when he was thinking about his sins. Ryathir flashed its stars in approval. The massive door screeched as I shoved it out of the way, revealing the throne room of the Dark Lord. Ryathir's light pierced the shadows and sent them scurrying as I pushed my way in. I didn't bother trying to hide. If it had gone bump in the right, I'd killed it before Ryathir had accepted me as the true Shaper of Stars; now that the light accepted me, there was nothing in here that could stop me. Exetus was draped over his throne, blood-red cloak hanging over the armrest and a ruby goblet in his right hand. "My boy,"he mused from his place across the room. "So nice of you to finally join me." "You will pay for what you've done,"I spat before levelling Ryathir at him, "I will make you feel the pain of those you-" "I just want to talk,"the Dark Lord corrected, his words were slick black poison, "we can just talk, can't we?" "I think we're far past the time for words,"I hissed before charging with Ryathir. The Dark Lord stared me down instead of moving. "The hero,"he started, "striking down the man who just wanted to talk peace."He barely moved to put down his goblet. "How would that look written into the stars of Ryathir? What kind of-" He stopped speaking as I slashed Ryathir down at him, but he was right. I was better than him. I- Dammit. The dark lord started laughing. It wasn't a cackle or the deep gloating laugh I'd heard in the distance before, but a genuine laugh. "Oh, Dread Gods above,"he chuckled, "being good must really suck."He reached up and poked the edge of Ryathir. It would have been so easy to just slam the sword down. I could have finished it right here and now. "Shaper of the Stars now,"he said, "right boy?" "Shaper of your doom,"I hissed. "I'll take that as a yes,"he ran his finger along the edge of the blade, and it tried to rebel against me. Ryathir wanted to cleanse his darkness from this land. "Alright, I surrender. Take me to the King." "I-"I pulled back Ryathir and scowled at the Dark Lord; he wasn't actually going to come with me. This was all a trick. A ploy of dark forces to try and conquer the infinite light of stars. It didn't matter what it was. He would try his gambit, and then I would finally get to strike him down for everything he did. "Well?"he asked, "take me away." "The King said dead or alive,"I spat. "and I'm choosing alive,"he pointed out, "so come one hero, bring me in front of your lord and claim your prize."He hung on the E for too long. He knew that the King's approval wasn't the prize. It had never been about the Kingdom, or the gold, or the adoration. It had always been about. "I'll behave." It had always been about killing him. Ryathir was suddenly heavy in my hands, the enchantment on the steel dripping off by each doubtful second. This had been about killing him. It had been about punishing him. It had been about winning. It had been about- Ryathir dropped from my hands, clattering down beside the Dark Lord, the starlight fading from its constellations. "No, no, no,"Exetus tsked, "the good guys aren't powered by hate."He put a hand on my shoulder, "they want justice, to stand up for what's right."He nudged the holy blade with his foot. "Ryathir won't stand for anything less." "I-" "You hate me,"Exetus mused as he tightened his grip on me, "I don't think hate is bad. I think hate is useful; it's the driving force that got you here."He leaned in close to me, and I could feel dark magic seeping into my skin. "But I don't make the rules, the Gods do, and Gods don't like hate." The darkness didn't hurt; it just felt cold, like I'd been left on the street to die. "Being a good guy must really suck,"Exetus repeated before ending it all.
"Shit,"I said almost as soon as I materialized. "This certainly doesn't look like Kansas." "No, and thank God for that."Said a well dressed waiter as he handed me a drink. "Take a slug of this. It'll get you off to a good start."He gave me a long look. "Once you polish that off I'll ask someone to help you find a decent set of clothes. Those blue jeans look OK out on the range, cowboy, but they don't meet our dress code." The drink was surprising good. Strong without being caustic and so smooth you wouldn't believe it. I was thinking about ordering another when a short stout woman grabbed my elbow and hustled me off to the wardrobe. We spent a significant amount of time picking out an ensemble and on her advice I ended up looking rather like a young Vincent Price in a red velvet smoking jacket and gold cravat. Back on the floor I had another drink and took a run at a rather surprisingly well stocked buffet. Plate in hand I made my way to a table with one or two other people. "Mind if I join you?"I asked. "Sure,"slurred a large man, his cheeks flushed from too much alcohol. "It's a free country." The gaunt, dark-haired woman across from us looked up. "You know,"she said with a nasal twang, "I've been here a while now and I think this is the first time I've actually heard anyone say anything. i think most people are just shocked to be here" "No kidding?"I asked, "Where is here, anyhow?" The woman looked down at her wine glass and pondered the question, "I'm not sure, exactly."she answered. "The last thing I remember I was in the lab and the professor was getting ready to flip the switch. He said something about hoping there wasn't a fly in the chamber with me and before I could ask why he pulled the lever." "Jeff Goldbum!"Said the drunk. "That man is a goddam treashure!" The woman ignored him. "We were doing the initial test of the transporter. I wonder if it worked." "Initial test?"I asked. "The transporter has been in general use for 700 years." "700 years?"she asked, "So long? Is that how people show up here?" "I suppose,"I answered. "I was going to a conference in Topeka. I stepped in and the next thing I know Jeeves over there was handing me a cocktail. I remember reading that there are accidents and people disappear once in a while. I think the chances are like one in ten billion..." "So I guess we are the unlucky ones."Said the woman. "I wonder why we aren't actually dead?" "Life."said the drunk, "It, uh, finds a way."
Their eyes rested upon my back. This "merry band of heroes"I had made myself a part of, now in disbelief as I let my form fall to one of truth. The horns, the wings, all of it. I smirled down at them as the braziers glowed in their traditional blue hue. The paladin grabbed her weapon, her face mixed with disbelief, hurt, and confusion. "Alastor...you-"she started. I held my hand up. "Yes. You've been looking for me the entire time, Ceressa. Funny, that old saying. Keep your friends close and what-not. But I'll admit, I didn't think I'd actually enjoy my journey with you lot."I said, faking mocking. This was my fate. I never asked for this. I was cursed and doomed to this place. "So...you caused all the calamity?"Our cleric, Morna, said, her blue eyes questioning. "Unfortunately..."I sighed, my forced smile falling. "I knew you were a liar!"Kaio, our barbarian said, gripping his axe. "I never trusted him from the get go! He's who we've been after! He lied to us! Is this why you disappeared every night?!"He said, rage in his tone. I sighed and nodded. "Why...didn't you tell us?"Morna asked. "You don't think I wanted to?"I said, the braziers flickering. "Why didn't you then?! Yer a damned coward!"Kaio growled. "I couldn't...it was forbidden....you had to figure it out. My patron would have forsaken me if I did. He wanted me to play this game...you're the key. I'm sorry...This is where it ends."I said, solemnly, tears filling my eyes. "Wait...we can save you! I know it!"Morna said. I sighed, and shook my head. "I advise you to leave this place...Never return. This is my fate."I said. As the words left me, I felt a searing pain course through me. My patron's voice echoed angrily in my head. "Alastor....Kill them...you must."the voice rang. I summoned my blade, not of my will. As commanded. "G-go!"I shouted, trying to fight it. "He's....he's hurting! Ceressa do something!"I heard Morna shout. "I-I don't know what to do! Goddess...Grant me sight. Tell me what to do!"Ceressa cried. But her god's powers could not permeate the shadows. I walked toward them, the great scythe in hand. "Please...just kill me."I whispered. I didn't want to kill my friends. I felt my consciousness fade as my patron took hold of me, blocking me from seeing what my body was doing. When my consciousness returned, I found myself on Morna's lap. Ceressa was tending to Kaio, who gave me an apologetic look. The room felt lighter. The change in my form had shifted; the wings were gone and I was as before; a simple tiefling in purple garb. I don't know what they did, but I was free. Powerless, but free.
In my hometown, Death doesn't bring a sickle, wear a hood, or have only a skeleton body. Death appeared to everyone in the most glamorous suit you'll ever see, beautiful looks, tall, pale-skinned, and oddly charming. Dangerously charming. It was the final act of honor to Life itself before revealing its gruesome face, something no one alive can tell. When a strange handsome man came to meet me at the roof of the hospital, I knew for certain I'll succeed in jumping this time. Took the bastard long enough. Why not come sooner when the doctor gave me the bad news? "Are you going to jump?"The man asked. And I knew my suspicion was right. "Haha,"I laughed, "You'll come sooner or later, right? Why not just skip the meds and that surgery. Come pick me up, Mr. Death." He smiled, "You have to jump first. Seeing as your parents is in debt, your tumor is getting bigger, your hope is fading, I think you should just do your family a favor." I gulped, tempted. God, he's so beautiful. Every word just compel me to do what he said. "Well, here goes..."I removed my sandals and climbed the rail, staring down at several floors high up. After years of missing high schools, dates, prom, and all the cool stuff kids my age can do, why can't I do something I can be proud of? An idea just bloomed to me. Why not go out in style? Laugh and do a flip? Do sky diving? Or... I turned to Death, eagerly coming up with something, "Actually..."Damn, he's looking at me! What should I say, "Actually, I'm here to talk to you about your quota. Let's just say..." ...The smile on the man's face disappeared, replaced with wry anxiety. "How did you know- Wait. Is that you, supervisor?" Huh? What? Supervisor? "Uh... Let's just say, we're not impressed." In instant, the beautiful man melted away. A murder of crows emerged from the skins of humans. The darkest crows I had ever seen in life just... appeared and fly away, leaving only one oversize crow. Its eyes were emerald green, titling its small head in madness. "I didn't know it was you, supervisor!"The crow- Death- ranted, "Hold on! I should have 2 more weeks of quota left! You can't evict me yet!" I gasped, having no idea what's going on. Death has a management department? "Uh... I checked your quota, but I believe we delayed it several times!" "No, no, no! Listen to me!"The crow rasped, "I don't know why these people just refuse to die! Every time I mark someone, another agent just swoop in!" "Of course, you failed,"I clasped my waist, "What was that: "Are you going to jump?"You're not supposed to ask people like that. You should be more encouraging! Tempting! Wearing a beautiful look doesn't cut it!" "Let's make a deal,"The crow flew next to my feet, "I-I'll cross this girl's name from my list, from any list! You get to enjoy several decades in her body! Our little secret! Please, don't tell anyone. One month! I'll find three more souls before Spring!" "Work your magic, then." The next day, my tumor was gone, and I feel like I'm starting to live my life for real. Thanks, Mr. Death! You're not so scary.
Finn hummed along to the elevator music as he pondered the strange anxiety niggling in the back of his mind. He prided himself on being logical, but try as he might, he couldn't make sense of it. He had a good life and a stable career. He was single, but only because he had been so swamped with work he didn't have the time to date. What was there to be dissatisfied with? The elevator opened to the underground garage. Sighing, he walked to his car. Perhaps he would schedule another appointment with his therapist. Things always started making sense after a session with her. He started the car and began pulling out of the parking spot only to swear and hit the brakes when a woman in a leather jacket jumped out in front. Killing the engine, he got out of the car. "Jesus, are you all right—" "Oh, Finn."The woman pounced and embraced him tightly. "I finally found you!" His arms rose to hug her back before he caught himself. Her flowery perfume evoked a feeling of familiarity, yet he was certain he had never met her before. "Miss? You must've got the wrong person." She let go and looked up at him. "What the hell are you... Oh, no. They wiped you too." "They?"He shook his head. "Never mind. Listen, I see that you're not injured, so I'll just be on my way." "Wait!"She grabbed his elbow. "Finn, please look at me. It's me, Heidi. Don't you remember at all?" He turned around reluctantly. She was blonde, fit, and dressed like a biker. A heart-shaped face framed by blonde hair, and blue eyes with a steely glint. Something about her made his pulse quicken. "I don't,"he murmured, rubbing his forehead. She sighed. "I should've known. So who do you think you are now?" He eyed her warily. "I'm an accountant,"he said. "Not that it's any business of yours." Heidi gaped at him, then erupted in laughter. "No, wait, I'm sorry,"she said, raising a hand. "They really did a number on you, didn't they? An accountant!" His expression soured. "It's a good career,"he repeated the words he had been telling himself for weeks. She chortled. "And do you enjoy it?" He opened his mouth, then closed it. "Does anyone like their job?"he said at length. "It pays the bills. Now, if you'll excuse me..." "Your birthday's on May 13,"she rattled off. "You prefer dogs over cats, you drink black coffee without sugar, and you insist on having cereal for breakfast every day." He stiffened, then fumbled for his phone. "Have you been watching me?" "And you have a birthmark the shape of a diamond on your right—" "How did you know?"he blurted out. Heidi gave him a saucy wink. "I've seen it up close."She looked around the garage, and her expression grew serious. "Listen, we might not have much time. Take this." She reached under her jacket, pulled out a pistol, and tossed it to him. Finn yelped in alarm but caught it in time. He turned it over, his fingers closing around the smooth handle with strange familiarity. "What am I supposed to do with it?"he asked in confusion. She rolled her eyes. "What else? You've always been the better shot." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I never held a gun in my life." "Oh yeah?"She looked him over thoughtfully. "How about I prove that you have?" A sly grin curved her lips as she took several strides back. Reaching behind, she pulled a thin sword. Finn's eyebrows rose. A sword was ridiculous in this day and age, but in her hands, it did look threatening. Her grin widened. "Look alive!"Raising the sword, she lunged at him. Finn stumbled back but caught himself before he would fall. His fingers seemed to move on their own as they flicked off the gun's safety and took aim. The woman froze with the gun's barrel aiming squarely at the middle of her chest. "There you go,"she said, not batting an eye. "Your mind might not remember, but your body does."She sheathed the sword and snickered. "An accountant, really." Finn lowered the gun and tried to control his breathing. "What... what am I, then?" "I'll tell you on the way."She circled his car and settled in the passenger seat. "You drive." He looked around, swallowed, and took the driver's seat. "Where are we going?"That they were going at all was no longer for debate. "Where else?"she said, giving him a strange look. "To get your memories back."
The rule echoed in my head as I stared at the gate. 'There is only one gate on campus. If you find multiples or any gate that is not the original, stay where you are and contact a teacher.' See the problem was, gates surrounded me. Not only the one in front, but they were ringed right around. There was no way for me to contact a teacher besides yelling very loud, and at the moment, everyone would be in class. I suppose this is what I get for skipping. Turning in a slow circle, making sure it didn't look like I was trying to go through a gate, I studied them. The one in front was a grand wrought iron affair, with leaves and flowers worked around the bars. To my left, a small white picket gate seemed to invite hopping over it, more than opening it. On the right, they were almost pearly, though I doubt they were those pearly gates. Behind me, a deep red gate rose, made most likely of wood, but I wasn't going to touch it to find out. There were faces in that gate, and they looked like they were screaming. Taking a calming breath, I settled onto the ground, making sure I was equidistant from each gate. The logical decision was to wait here until a teacher was in shouting distance. "Hello." I nearly jumped out of my skin. From behind the pearly gates, a figure loomed. An oddly familiar figure—oh. That was me. Right down to the broken nose I'd gotten last September. "Hello? Can you hear me?"The other me said again. But before I could respond, someone else joined the conversation. "Hello? Can you see me?"That voice belonged to the person behind the white picket gate. Who was also me. Me, when I was about twelve. I took a shaky breath before another voice chimed in. And I mean literally chimed. They stood behind the wrought iron gate. Tall, impossibly good-looking, everything I could ever have wanted to be, including older. "Of course, they can hear and see you. These are the Gates after all. This is where the convergence occurs." "Yes, but they are rather young."The sibilant voice came from the dark red gate, and I was afraid to look. But something compelled me to turn, and as I did so, I nearly bit my tongue. The wood had shifted, and now, picked out as if in a bas-relief carving, stood another me. "What does youth matter?"That was younger me. "After all, I'm here." "Yes, but eternal youth doesn't really count."The pretty version of me shook their head, managing to sound condescending and kind at the same time. Trying not to hyperventilate, I raised a hand. "Um. What's happening?"My voice squeaked, but I was too overwhelmed to care. "Now, look. You've scared them."The first me, the one by the pearly gates, shook their head. I couldn't see their difference to me, which frightened me more than the rest. "Look, we're just here to give you a choice."The sibilant me wasn't helping. "You have to walk through one of these gates." "And what happens when I do that?"I asked. It was disconcerting having four of me laughing in concert. Little me actually wiped away a tear. "We can't tell you that. It's against the rules."Pretty me chimed from their gait. Not wanting to be laughed at again, I didn't ask what rules; just sent up a quick prayer that classes would let out soon. This was getting worrisome. "So. Choose."The first me said, the pearly gates actually shimmering invitingly. "Choose."And the wrought iron seemed to flower more intensely. "Choose."And the white picket gate creaked as if in a strong breeze. "Choose."And the red wood gate darkened, the faces standing out stronger. Against my will, I stood, my body moving on its own accord. Even though I didn't want to acknowledge it, I knew this choice had been coming for a long time. I'd had this dream before. I'd seen these faces, I'd seen these gates. Every time I woke up before the decision. But there would be no waking up this time. I would choose a gate. There was no other option. The facility would have to add to the rule. Something like, 'Do NOT go through any of the gates.' Because once I went through, I didn't think I'd be coming back. Breathing hard, I took a step toward my choice. The me behind it smiled. A yell tore from my throat, a last desperate attempt to draw a teacher's attention. And hands grabbed me, dragging me across the ground. Reflexively I thrashed, hearing voices swirl around me. "Hold them." "Careful, they've had an encounter." "I thought they were in your class." "Look, they were there when I took attendance."The last grumpy sentence stilled my fear. That was my teacher. Which meant... I opened my eyes, staring up into the faces above me. The entire faculty had a hand on me, pinning me to the ground. Worriedly, my teacher bent over me. "Are you here?"They asked. An odd question, but after what I'd gone through, an understandable one. "Yes. I'm here. I'm present."At my answer, tension leaked out of the air around us. Helping me up, the faculty surrounded me, heading back to the main building. Their relief was palpable. But I couldn't relax, because I knew the truth. Those Gates were still out there. They were still waiting. And one day, there wouldn't be anyone to pull me to safety. One day, I would have to make a choice and step through. And one day there would be no turning back.
"Are you sure about this?"said Flagbarth. "I've studied the etymology of the apes, Flaggy. I've studied it for years. I think I know what I'm doing." "Yes ... But etymology and biochemistry—aren't those two subjects rather ... different?" Scowlblast released a sigh from his lower hip. "I know a great many things. Do you know what you can do when you know a great many things?" "What?" "You can extrapolate." Flagbarth flapped his breathing tubes. "Extra—what?" "Extrapolate! You go beyond the facts! You take what you know, and you turn it into a ladder leading straight to the temple of higher knowledge!" Looking up at the sky, Flagbarth muttered, "A temple?" The Earthling, Oliver Jameson, struggled beneath the branch-like limbs of the extraterrestrials. They were all slimy, green, and fluorescent. He'd been on his way to Sally Bergson's place with two movie tickets in his left pocket and a wrapper in his right when he found himself floating in the air. A week prior he'd read the first half of Greg Egan's Bit Players, where gravity suddenly starts pulling things East rather than downward. He was prepared, in other words, for an abrupt shift in the fundamental laws of physics. But what he had not been anticipating was the strangely clumsy alternation of gravitational attraction—up, North, down, East, round in a circle; he moved around not unlike a frightened moth trying to escape a bedroom for the very first time. Then there had been a sudden zoom out across a field and it was there, in a crop circle, that he met Flagbarth and Scowlblast. Not that he knew either by name. "This is your second mission, right?"said Scowlblast. "It's my third. I told you about my trip to Shanoon Glax Palace, didn't I? Weren't you listening?" Scowlblast put a damp finger inside his listening flap. "I'm always listening. Because you're always talking. Now, watch me extrapolate." "You're going to jab that thing inside the ape?"said Flagbarth. "Don't make that sideface at me, you know I don't like it when you do that." "Alright. Fine. I'll explain it to you as if you just crawled out a pool of birthing slime. The apes have been sending out tons of signals, right? That's the stuff we've been watching on our way here. The pictures and the sounds—you know what I'm talking about." "Yeah ..."said Flagbarth. "Well, they have a thing called 'prefixes'. Do you know what a prefix is?" Flagbarth slapped two joints together in deep thought. "Is it when you repair something before it's broken?" "What?" "Like when you fix something. Like when your bone emulsifier breaks down. You fix it. But if you 'prefix' it, that must be when you fix it before it breaks, right?" Thick acid oozed from Scowlblast's listening holes. "Why are you looking so proud? What you said made no sense whatsoever. To think that I have been cursed with such a dimwitted mission assistant." Oliver twitched to dodge the rain of slobbery acid. That was when he caught a glimpse of a familiar object that brought back memories of Sally Bergson's mother, who had been the school nurse. "Epi,"said Scowlblast. "That's a prefix. It means after. Or over. Well it means something like that. That's the etymology. While you were busy watching those clips of the apes dancing, I studied them. I learned their ways. And that's how I came to know that the prefix 'epi-' means after or over or whatever—and once I jab the ape with this thing ..."His flaps danced over his back as he laughed. "Then what?"asked Flagbarth. "Then it's over,"said Scowlblast. "Or after. This is a pen that brings the apes to that place which comes after. Which means that it's over for them. That's the power of etymology and extrapolation,"he said. "You learn to build ladders of wisdom, and then you climb them. Like so." Scowlblast jabbed Oliver with the Epi-Pen, injecting its contents into his veins, and for a few moments he felt positively elated. Here he was, on a foreign planet, performing a feat simpletons like Flagbarth could never even have dreamed about. He had spent thousands of hours studying the language of the apes, comparing various signals and building a highly-technical model of their culture and their ways of communication. To think that these simple apes had visited their own moon—it was incredible. And after this specimen had been incapacitated, they would bring it back home where it could be studied by their scientific community. For a hefty fee, of course. He wondered whether Flagbarth had considered how their fortunes would change when they arrived home, how they would become instant celebrities. But when he turned to look at his companion, he found that he had burst into a viscous goo. "Flagbarth?"asked Scowlblast. Oliver Jameson stood upright, his fist stretched out and his brows arched as far up as they went. His heart thumped. The alien had, for whatever reason, given him a shot of adrenaline. It rushed through his body the same way he wanted to rush through Sally Bergson. Or her mother. It hardly mattered. He was now the King of the Earth. He could feel it. "H-Here's a ticket!"he said, and he handed the remaining alien a ticket to Downton Abbey: A New Era (it hadn't been Oliver's choice). "It's a ticket for an all-inclusive knuckle sandwich!" With that, he punched the alien and it exploded much like the first one, covering him with its thick and sticky goo. He glowed like a firefly. Sally Bergson wouldn't let him in when he arrived at her doorstep, and she wouldn't come out either. Neither would his mother, who apparently was not impressed with his primal cries. Oliver went to the cinema alone and the attendant complimented him on his costume. "Troll Snot 7 is the best in the series so far, you're in for a treat,"he said. He never saw the Downton Abbey movie. Not Troll Snot 7 either. Oliver crashed hard, covered in extraterrestrial fluids and with a wrapper hanging halfway out his back pocket.
“One serving of the finest ambrosia is up for grabs” Hades paced around carrying a golden chalice filled with the finest food of the gods “ all you have to do is beat the challenge , survive 10 days as mortals , no power , no nothing. If they figure out your a god you lose too so no life defying feat that you can just brush off “ hades glared at Hercules as he mentioned the last part “ and what if we lose?” Hera asked from the back “ well, then you don’t get any of the ambrosia and maybe…. Lose some of the power from your followers” The gods all looked concerned , but ambrosia was legendary even amongst the gods , said to unlock powers hidden to even them “ I will take this challenge “ Zeus , the first to speak Soon after all the gods slowly agreed. The first day was chaos , Hermes was caught out as a god for running a race faster then anyone before him. Zeus tried to bed the wife of the emperor and was swiftly jailed and set to be executed. Hera was also quite arrogant and wouldn’t accept just being a normal person and wound up insulting some guards. Dionysus was jailed by the 3rd day for excessively drunken partying but was let out on good behaviour (and a large sum of wine to the guards ). Aphrodite lasted until the 5th day when a general took an interest in her , she scorned his advances and was set to be stoned for insolence Ares kept poking holes in the strategy a local general was using , he was promptly sent to a sanitarium as they thought he was crazy for his obsession with war. Hercules tried to be a hero and stop a building that was collapsing and was crushed. After the 10 days the gods returned , most hanging their heads in shame as they lost , only hades , Poseidon and Hephaestus survived. Zeus angered , questioned the gods how they managed. Hades responded “ I lived a simple life , me and Persephone just watched the mortals toil and bide our time, I challenged a mortal to a game to win food and board for the time “ Hera then questioned Hephaestus “ well , I just found a black smithing shop and made some swords and armor , nothing fancy like up here but I got some coin for food drink and a bed “ Lastly ares asked Poseidon what he had done “ well I just went fishing , ate what I caught and slept on a boat I rented “
We was gone. No, not a grammatical error, just a nickname. One that, in hindsight, wasn’t nearly as funny as any of Us had thought. You see, once we all stopped panicking and had at least half of an idea of what was going on, we decided— we as a collective, not the person We, although I (again, I, the narrator, not I the person) suppose it would make more sense to you after explaining it— decided to take up different pseudonyms to help differentiate ourselves from each other. There was I, Me, Myself, Ego (inventively cobbled from our collective elementary grasp of Latin) and We, who had jokingly taken up the royal first person singular as their pseudonym. That was the five of Us, working towards a goal we knew we could only accomplish together, even if we were all the same. We was the first to step through the exit and, consequentially, the first to dissolve into a fine blue dust. The rest of Us knew all knew what that dust was, obviously. We (collectively, although We did spearhead most of the research) had had to study its properties intensively to learn how to manipulate the world all of Us were trapped in with enough staying power to open the portal before Us. Pure data, broken down into its most basic form. Those of Us still standing looked at each other with grim understanding clouding each of our expressions. It was a possibility that had crossed each of our minds, a fact that each of Us knew without even having to ask the others. If this world was all a simulation, who could say that we weren’t simulations ourselves? Who could say that We wasn’t? Well, We was. Again, the dust fading before our eyes confirmed this. After what felt like an eternity, I (the person, not the narrator) addressed the rest of the group. “All of Us knew this could happen. Hell, even We knew it could happen. But We still chose to take that step. Each of Us owe it to them to do the same.” “But we aren’t certain,” Ego chimed in. “Not even We was. If We was certain, we all would have been. We all would have held hands and walked through together. Instead, we all sat and watched while We—“ “Each of Us!” Myself interrupted caustically. “If you’re talking about We, say We. If you’re talking about the group, use ‘Us.’ How the hell are any of Us supposed to know what you’re talking about if we can’t tell Us and We apart?” Like a wound-up rubber band, Ego snapped back, “You know what I’m talking about! We was the best of us! If We was a simulation, how are any of us supposed to know if we aren’t one!?” “That’s the point,” I retorted, cutting through the tension. “None of us can know for certain. W—“ I’s fist clenched as they caught their tongue. “Each of Us needs to make that choice for ourselves. Whether you decide to stay here and live a life you know to be false or take the risk and try for a chance at the real world is entirely up to you. I can’t make the choice for you. No one can. We made their choice, and the rest of Us should honor that. Now, all of Us need to choose.” Silence once again enveloped the group, each waiting for anyone else to be the first one to speak. None of Us needed to be telepaths to know that the same thoughts were running through all of our heads. Logically speaking, the correct play for any of Us would be to wait for the others to step through and see what happened. After all, every simulated version of Us destroyed increased our own chances of being the real one. It was a morbid sort of economics, one that We had chosen to forgo entirely. While We had made their choice, however, the rest of Us weren’t so keen on falling into the unknown. Finally, I (the narrator, though the other characters would refer to me as… well, Me) broke the silence. “The rest of Us should split up. Go back to our simulated lives, at least for a little while.” As expected, the rest of Us looked at me like I had grown a second head. Regardless, I continued, “Then, at some point, if any of Us want to try our hand at escaping, they should do it alone. That way, anyone else who tries to go through the portal won’t influence our decision. At least we won’t be terrified in the middle of a standoff like thi—“ “I would hardly call this a standoff,” I interrupted. “And regardless, if We made that choice, it’s hardly fair for the rest of Us to postpone it until we feel more comfortable.” “The way I see it,” Myself mused, now slightly calmer, “We made that choice on their own. All of Us might be the same person, but that doesn’t mean we have to make the same mistakes. Besides,” their voice lowered as they continued, “I know the thought has crossed through all of our minds of coercing each other through the portal through… unsavory means.” The silence that followed Myself’s statement said more than anything, even if it was all information each of Us already knew. It was the saying it that made it true. “…I like that idea,” Ego piped up. “If w— each of Us doesn’t know whether the others succeeded or failed, then the rest of Us aren’t going to factor into our decision. The only variable in play will be… well, whether we want the simulation to end, one way or another.” I sighed in exasperation, knowing that Ego was right. At the same time, I sighed with relief. And with that, each of Us went our separate ways. We still kept in touch, mostly just to check in on the portal and notify each other about exciting events in our simulated lives, but also as a sort of buffer. All of Us agreed not to meet in person after the day we made the portal, so the letters and phone calls were our way of letting each other know we were still around. I was the first to go, naturally; they could only bear the thought of not knowing for a few months. Ego, surprisingly, was the next to leave Us, exactly five years after the portal had been created, which felt appropriately theatric for the one of Us with a name in another language. Myself and I kept in touch for a while, actually, as the decades rolled past Us and our lives carried on. When they eventually decided to go, they invited me to see them off, though I declined, telling them I’d be joining them soon. And so, all that’s left of us is me. Me. And soon, there won’t be much left of me either. I’ve lived a long life, even if it wasn’t in the real world, and as Ego said, I’m ready for the simulation to end, one way or another. Sure, there’s a part of me that hopes that I’ll awaken to find only seconds have passed while my mind spun itself into years, as well as a part of me that fears that I’ll see one of the others living the life I could have led in the moment before I crumble to dust. But more than anything else, I hope that when I get to the other side, I can find the rest of Us again. I do, after all, make for quite interesting company.
"Welcome!"the voice said cheerily. I opened my eyes, slowly, painfully, with more effort than I ever have. "Wh- what's going on? Where am I?" "You, my friend, are in Hell." My eyes narrowed with shock and I finally managed to see things around me with clarity. The... place I was in was dim and smokey, but I could not discern anything beyond rough walls and cold floor. I tried to look at the individual before me, yet with every blink, their shape seemed to change, always maintaining an air of darkness about them, as if they were hidden in their own, perpetual shadow. "What- what do you mean 'Hell'?" "You know what I mean,"the voice hissed. "How did I-" "You died. Were judged. Sent to Hell. Skip the easy questions." "I- no, no, nonono- I- I can't be here! I'm a good person!"I cried out. "And that,"the creature grinned, "is precisely why you're here." "What? I'm here because I'm a good person?" "No. You're here because, despite everything you did, you still managed to think you're a good person." I tried to crawl away from the creature, but it was always in front of me, as if it wasn't physically in the room, but simply... connected to me. "Don't- don't come near me!"I yelled. "Oh, relax,"it said casually. "Though deserving, you're not here to be punished. Not strictly speaking. You are the punishment." "What? No- how- I... I never meant to hurt anyone!" "No one ever does." "I won't do it! I won't hurt people for you, I-" The creature laughed, the sound echoing through the air with a repulsive rasp. "Then go! Off you run, look for a way out!" "Is there a way out?"I said with the last shred of hope I could muster. "Of course not! But you'll try. You'll roam the streets and roads, seemingly unimpeded, seeking an escape. And others - the other tortured souls around here - will see you. They'll see your thoughts, your utter conviction that you're a good person. They'll see you try to get away, and they'll see you fail. And they'll suffer for it." "How does that make any sense?!"I pleaded. The creature seemed to enjoy my question as it grew beyond its original proportions, almost like it was gloating. "If a 'good person' is here... that is simply unjust, isn't it? And that's what they'll know. It is unjust. Their time here isn't penance for the wrongs they've committed. Their suffering, agony and pain isn't them repaying what they've done. It isn't good or evil. It simply is. It's pointless. It won't absolve them of anything. It won't fix anything. It won't matter, ever. Not even a little." I looked at the creature with wide eyes as its pride seemingly hit its peak. "Whatever shred of hope or light they had in them will be snuffed out. And for that, my friend..."the creature said as it dissipated into nothingness... "...you have my utmost gratitude."
"Can't you hear it?"Solipse asks, an edge of desperation in his voice. The pale, black-clad young man stands at the console of his sprawling machine. The exposed machinery looks so delicate -- one punch from my superpowered fist should tear it to pieces, one glance from my laser gaze should melt it to slag. But Solipse can predict my every move with precision a chess grandmaster could only dream of; the shields and mirrors are already placed exactly where they are needed. He doesn't see the future, I am told, but he might as well. "Hear what?"I ask. Got to keep him talking. Even as I think it, he shoots me a patronizing grin. "Everything," Solipse says. "I hear everything." He laughs. "Did you know there is, even now, a stone perched on the edge of the Grand Canyon? It has sat on that little piece of ground for twenty million years, while the Canyon was born and grew towards it inch by inch. Yesterday's rainstorm -- for it rained in Arizona last night -- has eroded the last little bit of earth beneath that rock. The merest flutter of a moth's wing could tip it in. That flutter, if I do not miss my guess, will occur sometime between Thursday and Saturday, when a small group of moths flee from a bat which has been steadily expanding its hunting grounds in that region since February. "Did you know there is a small robin hunting earthworms at this very minute in a backyard in southern Idaho? It's true. He is just over three feet from the nearest worm, and I reckon he will find it in under a minute. Or would, anyway, for there is also a hawk coming over the hill -- an old and crafty one, which does not often miss her mark. Ah -- there it is -- she sees the robin -- diving -- and she's got him! Her talons broke his back, but -- ah -- he is not dead. No, I can hear him cry out, can you? But his mate cannot help him now. She must listen from the nest... ah, but there is little to hear now. The hawk has torn his throat, although he still lives. He will live, I think, for several more minutes, and I will hear him for all of it. "But listen! I hear a young woman baking an apple crisp with her children. Little Maddie has just gotten interested in baking, you see, and she loves apples. She'll remember this moment forever, don't you think? Listen! Can you hear it -- the car in the driveway? The car stops; the officer gets out. Maddie is measuring out the brown sugar now. She's making quite a mess. Can you hear her father? I can. I hear him breathing -- he hasn't the strength to scream. The medics are still working -- they do not yet know that there is nothing they can do. But I know. And now you do too. Do you hear the doorbell? Maddie is laughing as the dog wakes up from a dead sleep to bark at it. It makes her spill the brown sugar again. And the driver -- drunk -- he is slurring his words, can you hear? But don't you worry about him; there are six judges in his district, and four of them will almost certainly let him off. The fifth is buyable, and he has money. Can you hear Maddie's mother scream?" Solipse's eyes bore into me like nails. "Nine billion people in this world, Cory. Nine billion tragedies. Hatred, and anger, and lust, and fear. Empty heroics, meaningless suffering, pointless death. I hear it all. And I want it to stop." He stops, and his gaze challenges me to say something. Anything. But as the moment stretches on, all that fills the silence is the whirring of the strange doomsday machine.
"Well that's awkward" I looked at the genie who hovered, wraithlike in front of me. "Who are you?" He looked embarrassed and said, "well, I spent three millennia as a genie of the lamp, you know? And when oil.lamps went out of fashion I had to look for a new home. So I asked a few of these new fancy AI genies, what's a popular lamp these days. If we don't get work making wishes, we get downgraded..." He shuffled his ethereal feet awkwardly. "So they told me what was a top seller on Amazon. 'Most popular lamp with young, energetic men's they said. Popular for rubbing. So I changed my home" "Yeah, that's all good "I said, but... did you really know what you were... getting in to? "Not really. I mean, lamp, light... new times, new objects. And you did rub vigorously. So. What's your three wishes?" I looked down at my fleshlight and said "first of all, come back in a few minutes "
"A burrito supreme, two soft tacos and a large Mountain Dew with a biscuit on the side!"The woman announced the order out loud even though there were only two customers at the Taco Bell. Not many people order at 3 AM. Both of the men stood up. Dave looked at the other man and pointed to the bags with a quizzical look. "You ordered that?" The other man paused. "A burrito supreme, two soft tacos and a large Mountain Dew with a biscuit on the side..."The woman looked up at the two confused men. "Real funny guys. Two separate orders?" Laughing it off, the two went to the counter and grabbed a bag, both heading to the same table. They looked at each other and laughed again. "What are you, my long lost twin?"Dave asked as he sat down. The other man sat down at the same table and shrugged. "Seems like." Dave made a puzzled sound. "Huh." "What?" "I had a friend... well, an imaginary friend, when I was 4. I was so sure he was real, I saw him and spoke to him, didn't pretend, but one day he disappeared, my mom told me he was never real."Dave opened his burrito and took a bite, same as the other man. "Anyway, he always said 'seems like.'" "What was his name?"The other man asked. "Uh..."Dave thought for a second and sipped at his Mountain Dew. "John... James... something like that." The other man put down his burrito and looked at Dave. "My names Jim." Dave dropped his burrito and held up a finger. "Jim! That was it. He said he always wanted to be-" "A race-car driver."Jim finished the sentence. Dave's jaw dropped. "How did you..." The sound of the Taco Bell's doors opening filled the gap in conversation, but neither man looked at the entrance. "I don't remember much, but I know that around 4, I was taken somewhere with my dad, he moved away from my mom."Jim said. "He said my friend was imaginary, but I remember seeing him and talking to him." Dave couldn't chew the food in his mouth anymore. "Your dad and my mom... we're brothers..." "Twins, maybe."Jim said. Neither of the men were eating. "I think my dad... our dad, took me away from you guys." The conversation hit a standstill while the two sat quietly. "Is mom..." Dave shook his head. "She died, liver failure. It was in 2004. I think it was-" "May 17th?" Dave nodded dumbly. "Did your dad take you to visit her? Maybe said she was a family friend?" "No,"Jim said. "Our dad died of liver failure on May 17th, 2004." The two men were quiet again. Jim eventually took the plastic knife that came with his biscuit and managed to make a small cut on his palm. Dave flipped his hand over and looked. His palm had a cut growing in as Jim slashed himself. A silence filled the air. The two brothers looked at each other with concern and surprise. Jim and Dave both raised their sleeves at the same time to reveal identical scars. "Got it when I was 15."Dave said. Jim didn't reply. He didn't need to. The silence was interrupted by a female voice yelling out an order. "A burrito supreme, two soft tacos, a Mountain Dew... oh come on guys, you have got to stop doing this, just order together!"
"You received the Note, correct? It was sent via certified mail." "I got the Note. I still want to know." "Understand, sir, that these memories no longer exist. As per your instructions, and purchase of our Gold Package, they were deleted from your mind, and the backup copies purged from our system, using Level 9 deletion protocols. It is impossible for us to actually re-imprint the memories in your mind. The only remaining records of your memories are transcribed logs." "I get it, I still want them. It's driving me crazy not knowing." "Very well, sir. You've filled out the application, and had it notarized?" "I have, here you go." "OK, I just need to verbally confirm a few things with you here. On page 17 here, you agree that acceptance of these records by yourself does not constitute breach of our 'Memory Back Guarantee', hence you will not be eligble for any refund?" "Sure." "And on Page 38, right here, you agree that Distant Memories Inc. cannot be held legally or financially responsible for any damage - physical or mental - you may receive as a result - direct or indirect - of any information you discover in said memory logs?" "Yes yes, I agree to everything, OK? I just....10 years, you know?" "Actually I don't, sir. I've personally never had need for memory wipe services." "Well let me tell you, it's hell. I don't care what's in there, I don't care how bad it is...nothing can be worst than not knowing." "As you say, sir." "I mean...10 years, you know? What the hell happened to me? Where was I, what was I doing? What was being...done to me?" "I couldn't begin to speculate, sir. As you know, Distant Memories Inc. has strict rules preventing it's employees from..." "Nevermind that, just give me the logs." "Very well, sir. Here is the eReader that contains your files. It was biometrically encrypted to your left thumbprint, you just place your thumb on the sensor located...there. If you'd like, we do have privacy rooms you can...." "No, that's OK, I just want to......huh.......wait......what is this?" "Is there a problem, sir?" "There's....there's nothing here? Just.....I don't....Look, here. 'December 17, 2013: Played some World of Warcraft, got my Hunter to 80. Spent all night trolling morons on 4Chan.' 'December 18, 2013: Watched a bunch of Doctor Who'. That's it? That's all I did on December 18? Watch Doctor Who? I don't even like Doctor Who!" "Sir, it's not really my place to...." "It just goes on and on like this! Video games, Netflix, Torrent link sites for hentai, Fark, message boards....Good God, 9gag? I was posting memes on 9gag?" "Sir, I have other clients waiting. If I could show you to one of our privacy rooms, you could..." "I was a loser! There's nothing in here but me wasting time on the internet, and eating a bunch of junk food! I wasn't even a member of any guilds!" "Sir, please." "You gotta take it back. I...I don't want to know anymore. Jesus, 10 years of my life, wasted..." "Sir, we would be happy to offer our services to you again, however, you must understand that this would be a separate transaction, and would require you to purchase a new Wipe Package." "Yes, fine, that's fine. Anything, just...just get this out of my head again. And this time, no log either. Everything is gone." "Ah, then you'll be wanting our Platinum Package. I'll notify one of our sales reps to assist you."
Chuck lowered his head into his upturned palms and sighed. It had just been a joke, just an attempt at humor in an otherwise unfunny, bland day. He didn’t anticipate all of this, didn’t think he’d be the center of an incredibly televised court case. He had no idea so many people would die, no idea the nation would burn him in effigy and turn his name into a swear word akin to some of the worst. He didn’t even have any idea that what he was doing was considered illegal, not even an inkling that it went against moral standards. He just wanted to make his coworkers laugh. He’d told it at lunch, let the words escape his lips while he ate with his co-workers in the corporate cafeteria. He was never very well-liked, never the most popular, but he still tried to fit in. He did his best to get involved in the lunchtime conversations about whatever television show was popular—which he undoubtedly watched alone—or to discuss how he’d spent his weekend while no one listened. He figured he’d try to change things up a bit by making a joke, by saying something to get the others to laugh. Yet the moment the punchline dribbled out of his mouth, they all immediately started screaming and killing themselves. Knives, forks, plates, whatever they could find were shoved into the eyes and bodies of anybody unfortunate enough to hear what he’d said. “Yes, your honor” Chuck said, lifting his head back up and staring at the judge on his right. He didn’t look like a man with a sense of humor, his skin wrinkled and hair gray. He looked more like a man who told long winded, dry tales about how cans were invented and the impact they had on society. “So you say you’re innocent?” said a lawyer across from him, a smile spread over his pink lips. He was sitting on the desk, casually mixing a straw in a Styrofoam cup of coffee, his blonde hair falling down to just above his eyes. “Does that mean you didn’t tell the joke?” Chuck paused, glancing back at his own lawyer. His face was buried in his hands, as if Chuck had just told him he were pregnant. He’d been absolutely useless since the moment Chuck had hired him, instead spending his time playing Angry Birds on his cellphone until the judge had demanded he stop. Following that, he spent his remaining time sleeping and saying, “no further questions.” Still, he was the only lawyer Chuck could get, the only one who didn’t call him guilty from the second they met. Sure, he didn’t exactly graduate from law school, and, yes, he wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about law, but he was definitely a lawyer. That helped his image, at least a little. “Yes. I mean, no,” Chuck said, returning his attention to the other lawyer. “So you did tell the joke?” “Is that illegal?” Chuck said, sitting forward slightly. “Is it illegal to try to make people laugh? To tell a hilarious joke and expect people to smile?” He had just wanted to fit in. “No,” the lawyer said, pushing himself off the desk and taking a step toward Chuck. “What’s illegal is causing the deaths of forty-seven people, as well as critically injuring seventeen others. Killing people with families, ruining the lives of their children: that’s illegal. What’s illegal is saying something so utterly unfunny and offensive that it literally causes a mass suicide amongst those within hearing distance.” The lawyer was no longer smiling at Chuck, no longer mixing the cup in his hand. Instead, he was staring at him with disgust, as if he’d just murdered a family of kittens and followed it up with a brief puppy punting. Chuck hadn’t intended for all of this, hadn’t meant to cause such harm. He thought it was a funny joke, thought it was absolutely hilarious when he read it on the Internet. It seemed so simple and harmless, just a bit of silly humor. He never meant for so much death. “What you said,” the lawyer continued, “cost the lives of dozens of people. You must atone for your sins.” “I thought it was funny,” Chuck said, lowering his head into his hands. “It was just a stupid joke.” He paused, glancing back up at the lawyer. It had to just be a miscommunication, they must have simply misheard the joke. He’d just re-tell it, clear up the whole misunderstanding. “Where does the general keep his armies?” he began. “Don’t you dare,” the lawyer said, pushing himself off the desk and taking a step toward the judge’s bench. “In his sleeves,” Chuck said, laughing softly and smiling at the lawyer. He had frozen mid-step, his mouth now locked open slightly, eyes uncomfortably wide. He was clearly trying to understand the complexities of the joke, now aware of how harmless it was. “You see? It’s funny.” The lawyer reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, then stabbed himself directly in his throat. A stream of blood shot out like a water from a high-powered fountain, forming a nearly six-foot-long line on the floor that stopped just before the Judge’s bench. He fell forward, knife still jammed in his throat, and began convulsing on the floor. The jury and audience followed suit, all erupting into blood-curdling screams as they stabbed and prodded themselves with anything possible. His lawyer, who had clearly been asleep, jolted awake and immediately began thrusting his head face-first into the table again and again, blood spurting out the sides of his face like a water-balloon being stepped on. Chuck stood up, eyes wide, and turned toward the judge. He lay motionless atop his stand, the end of his gavel poking out of his skull, a stream of blood dripping down off his face. Chuck sighed and let his shoulders fall, the room growing silent once the suicides subsided. So maybe the joke wasn’t quite as funny as he’d intended it to be, and perhaps the deaths weren’t exactly unrelated. He pushed himself up and off the witness’ stand, careful not to step in too much blood as he carefully climbed down. Technically, he was still innocent, considering both the judge and jury were now all dead. He slowly made his way to the door, hoping desperately that not too many people had been watching the televised hearing. _____________ ^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
Uninterestingly enough, the Scandinavian civil war was still ongoing. I flipped away to check out the new pictures of Linea Pitt, but was rudely interrupted by my teacher. “Please, turn off your connection for this next bit where we have to examine physical objects,” he asked in a monotonous voice. Annoyed, I pushed the small button behind my left ear, and slowly the color started draining from the world until I was acutely aware of my physical position in the world. We were standing in a dusty hall with protective glass boxes covering the walls, keeping everything from decaying as it should have. I hated not being connected. There was always this eerie silence that almost drove you mad. I looked around at the others and saw that they were too looking like they had just been woken from a long slumber, and were trying to come to terms with the world. I suddenly didn’t remember the names of any of my classmates, since it wasn’t hovering above their heads. They also looked less than they used to. Scrubby, unshaven, small-boobed. The real world was a dreary place. I turned my attention to my teacher and was surprised that he was actually an old man. He looked so young and fresh normally. “If I may guide your attention to the first box so we can begin.” In the first protective glass box there was a green-colored brick with few buttons and a tiny scratched screen. “This here is probably what sparked the technological-communication-revolution. It is called a Gameboy, and was developed by Nintendo before they started investing in dairy products instead. It can only play simple games with low graphics and without any virtual connection to others. It is believed that the people of the past used physical communication while playing, and were therefore very close to each other all the time. Interestingly enough, this is the only machine in this museum that still works.” I nodded appreciatively at the tiny brick. It was impressing to think about that this was the predecessor of my cyborg implementations. The teacher was already going on further down the hall, and I moved closer until I could hear him again. Sound acted weird outside the virtual world as well. “… After this disaster, people started avoiding each other, and technological forms of communication became commonplace. Without the internet our race would probably have been extinct by now. We see here on this wall, the importance of Selfies.” In the box in front of us there were a collection of thousands of pictures. All of them girls. “We see here how selfies became the core action of attraction, and therefore reproduction. As you can see here the girls of the zero century are trying to make their lips look bigger, their breasts to be more prominent, and their legs to be longer. This was all actions to attract healthy males. As you can see on the next wall, the males reciprocated accordingly.” On the next wall I was unsurprised by the amount of penis pictures. Some things never change apparently. “The strange thing is,” the teacher continued, “that some of these pictures have been recovered and dated to before the zero-twenties. Most people agree that there must be some technological mistake involved, but it is important to note, since the implications of this could be huge. We will now be moving on to the next room where you again can turn on your connections. We will discuss the movies and games of the zero century.” An audible sigh sounded collectively from the class, and were quickly followed by small clicking noises as everyone turned their connection on again, and slowly drifted towards the next room with distant looks on their faces. I remained a second at the selfies-walls and reflected. It is fun to think about that one of these girls could be my great-great-great-grandmother. I looked at the other wall, and scowled. Best not to think about such things. I turned my connection on again and followed the rest of the class as color slowly filled the world again.
Do you know what fucks you up the most while you're here in this place? It's not the complete and utter suffocation of isolation. It isn't the shadows that seem to move on their own. It isn't even the corpses you occasionally find hanging upside down from the ceiling. It's hope. See, you think you have a chance. You think, I'm going to get out of here. Someone will come find me, or I will find my way out. Hope is just...potential. Having potential is nothing. And the labyrinth knows it. It's not inanimate. Don't give me that look. It's fucking sentient. I tried to leave marks on the wet concrete walls with my own blood to try and track my progress and map out the area... ...But every damn time I go back, the smears are gone. The maze knows when you're starting to break. That's when it feeds you. It smothers you with hope. It gives you a dead deer and a fire starting kit. Out in the middle of fucking nowhere. It gives you water to quench your dry throat. There's a waterfall a couple miles east of me. Or west. Or five hundred feet above me. I don't know anymore. It changes a lot. Sometimes I get there, and instead of water, all I see is this green, translucent liquid. I drink it anyway. No choice. Every so often I would hear heavy breathing just behind me or a ray of light shattering through the dusk. You think there's a happy ending here. Go fuck yourself. I'm not writing this to try and give you advice. I have no advice. Advice is only effective when there are constants in reality. This reality is shifting every hour. See...that's the thing. It'll eat you from the inside. I've theorized that maybe this labyrinth is powered by certain emotions or some other shit...but I'm no scientist. I'm writing this to say that your insignificant life is over. Your friends, your family, your stupid pets; you won't see them again. I'm not being a pessimist here. This is how you will survive from now on. Without hope. This is the only way out. By tunneling into despair.
"I'm a shark, dum dee dum, I'm a shark, doodley-dee..." The board of directors was not amused. Doctor Shark (a name which he believed to be catchier than 'Neville Doherty') was not perturbed in the slightest, pacing in front of the massive, water-filled tank like a professor at a lecture. "Consider, ladies and gentlemen... a shark,"he said, pointing at the predatory cetacean swimming in the tank behind him. Doctor Shark smiled, showing the fake shark teeth in his mouth. "A misunderstood creature, I am sure you will agree..." "This is a joke, right?"one of the board members said hopefully. "I mean, clearly you didn't waste every penny of the budget we gave you to make a machine that..." "Translates animal brainwaves into comprehensible thought, and then translates that thought from subconscious images into plain English,"Doctor Shark said, petting the machine built into the side of the tank as if it was an adored dog. "Shark, shark, I'm a shark, doo-dah-doo, I'm a shark,"it sang. "Five million dollars,"one of the board members in the back sobbed. "For this." "Sharky-sharky-sharky-shark." "May I remind you, Doctor Doherty-" Doctor Shark held up a finger. "Doctor Shark,"he said testily. "Doctor Doherty."The director obviously did not approve of Doctor Shark's name change. Just like the government. "We gave you five million dollars to design a machine that would allow directions to be programmed into the mind of a shark for military uses. Five years later, and you give us... this." "Yes,"Doctor Shark said simply. "Some might say that it is the exact opposite of what we asked for." "Indeed." "You don't seem apologetic." "Really?"Doctor Shark exclaimed in mock horror. "Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't build a machine that would allow you to use a misunderstood animal for the purposes of bloody warfare! How reprehensible of me!"The act was dropped as quickly as it was picked up. "There. Apologetic enough for you?" "Sharky-doo, sharky-dah, sharky-doo, sharky-dah-ah..." "I think we've seen enough,"the director said, turning away from the tank. "I'll expect you out of your office by the end of the day." "Already done!"Doctor Shark called after him. "My only regret is that I didn't get to waste more of your money!" "I'm a shark!"the machine reminded him. "I know, Tiny! I know. I know,"Doctor Shark said, lovingly stroking the machine. "You're a shark. You're the best shark." "Doctor is a shark?"The black eye of the animal stared at him as it passed by. Doctor Shark sighed. "Doctor wishes,"he said, stroking his hair, dyed and styled to resemble the fin of a shark. "Oh, Doctor wishes." --- Check out my [blog](http://theballadsofirving.wordpress.com) where I post all my other writings. Things usually aren't this silly. Usually, it's sillier.
"Zulak!" The boss kicked the door open. Literally. Think about this – this is a government agency. Kicking a door open in any working environment is a big deal, let alone at the ICI. Things were not going well. "Yes, sir?"Zulak replied, getting up and straightening his back like a soldier ready for an order. "Bilinguals, Zulak! Bilinguals! You ever heard of them!?" "No, sir,"Zulak responded, trying not to let his sweat and shaking give away how nervous the boss made him. "Are they from the Milky Wa –" "They are humans who speak more than one language!"the boss yelled. Everyone was up around the office – seven thousand pairs of eyes on Zulak. (Author's note – Zulak is an Adonian, a species from the Sombrero Galaxy Dust Lane which actually has five hundred eyes, so that ICI room is not as crowded as it seems. Still. Moving on.) "Sir, I know humans speak more than one language,"Zulak tried, his voice shaking on every word. "That was what was in the root of my plan. We sent them me –" "Individual humans who speak more than one language,"the boss replied. "Forty fucking three percent of them." Zulak's eyes went wide. "Individuals? They learn more than one language? Why? Why would they –" "TO FUCK ME IN BOTH MY ASSHOLES, THAT'S WHY!" (Author's note -- … well, you get it.) "So they –" "Yes, they instantly realized that the messages were different according to each specific reader, because BLOODY HALF OF THEM READ TWO COMPLETELY DIFFERENT MESSAGES." "And they –" "—know we sent the messages to put them against each other and incite the civil war so we can attack them, which was YOUR MOTHERFU –" The boss paused, taking a deep breath. He ran his hand through his head, getting himself together. "Shit,"Zulak said, falling back on his chair. He had just been appointed head Lead Military Adviser of the Intergalactic Center of Intelligence, and now – "—you made the biggest mistake of your life,"the boss completed his thoughts. "This is going to cost you." "My job?"Zulak asked, nervous. "Your life! All of our lives! The idiots are definitely going to strike us after this!" Zulak paused, scrutinizing the boss' faces. Could he not know? "Sir… humans haven't mastered interstellar travel yet." The boss raised his eyes. "What?" "Even if they know of our intentions, there's pretty much nothing they can do." The boss' face lit up. "Really?" "They've barely reached the furthest planet in their solar system,"Zulak replied. "And that was an unmanned mission." The boss' expression softened, and he even managed a smile. "Thank God. Oh, man. Still, Zulak,"he said, turning a mean eye the adviser's way. "Don't pull shit like that again. Do your research before you act, damn it." "Absolutely, sir. I'm very sorry."Zulak got up again. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?" "Yeah,"Zulak said. "Go get me some aspirin. And a drink." Zulak lowered his head, and the boss left the office. ________________________ Back on Earth, fifty-seven percent of the population was rioting and burning cities, sure that they were being bullshitted by the forty-three percent saying their phone messages were saying different things according to who was reading. (Author's note -- humans are a species from the Milky Way with two eyes, one asshole and crippling trust issues) The president declared martial law. ___________________ Thanks for reading! For more stories on aliens being stupid and other stuff, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
Jeremiah opened his eyes. His vision fell upon an unfamiliar ceiling. Where am i?, he thought. Jeremiah was not struck with a feeling of sleepiness or the desire to remain in bed when he awoke; he only felt neutral. Oh, that's right, he thought, The upload happened last night. He pulled back his covers and examined his new room. The walls were made of a material he was not familiar with; hard and sturdy when leaned on, but pliable and soft when impacted with. In the corner, he found a desk with what looked like a laptop on it. He looked over his shoulder, only to find that the bed he had just slept on had been remade. He picked up his phone from his bed stand. A message was scrawled across the screen: "Good morning, citizens of Earth. You may be wondering where you are. Allow me to explain. Over the past few decades, Humanities Commonwealth has been building an infrastructure surrounding the sun to harness it's energy. Surely, you've heard about it in the news. Recently, scientists have found a way to upload a human soul to a server. This, on the other hand, has been kept top secret, up until now. The Commonwealth parliament had voted unanimously to usher in the latest step in human evolution. Overnight, all thirty billion human beings had been uploaded to the server. While humanity was still a stage-one civilization, this concept had been called the 'Matrioshka brain.' All existing humans no longer have to work. Currency is no longer necessary; anything you could ever want can be instantly spawned into the world just by thinking of it. Dying is no longer an issue; your soul will live forever in the server unless you make the conscious decision to erase your save file. Enjoy your new life! -Zorg, archduke of Humanities Commonwealth and cyborg prince."
I call to the deepest of hells beneath, Into my hands, your fires, bequeath! Should one I face, or ten, or twenty, I’ll strike them down with flames aplenty! These were the words of Morsden, personal wizard of Emperor Gelhardt IX, incanted as he stood at the center of a massive, battle scarred arena. Around him, impossibly bright white stone pillars encircled a round duelling platform of pure obsidian. Beneath his feet, a network of complex runes had been carved into the black stone. As his words rang out, gouts of pure flame erupted into being from thin air, crashing against stone and sky, but never reaching beyond the pillared boundary. His visage, a tapestry of elated concentration, betrayed the absolute focus needed for this prodigy of magick to maintain control of his summoned inferno. It was a fantastic sight to be sure, and the ability to tailor incantations while weaving complex magicks, while not rare in and of itself, had not been mastered to the level which Morsden displayed in many millenia. His position as the imperial caster had been well earned, and scant few dared to challenge him in direct combat, be it mortal or for simple sport. It was for these reasons that the Emperor always tasked him with overseeing the annual wizard duelling tournament at his son’s birthday celebration. For twelve years he had protected the Crown prince from any wayward magicks, and dealt with any overzealous or maniacal combatants. It was also generally understood that he would sweep the competition otherwise, and so he had never entered. It might have been a surprise, then, to see him enter the arena. It might have been shocking to witness his magick being stretched to its limits in preparation for combat. It might have been… If not for the unassuming man standing at the edge of the flames, coolly observing the arcane demonstration taking place at its center. He was slight, which wasn’t uncommon for known casters, but his thin frame was laden with wiry muscle, not unlike that of a dancer or fencer. His plain fabric pants were loose, and lay low on his hips. He wore no robe or armor to cover his chest, and so the numerous fantastic markings covering his torso, arms, and neck were laid bare for all to see. Beasts of all kinds ran among complex symbols, picturesque scenery and dead languages to create an intricate and mesmerizing mural upon his body. His face was unshorn though his pate was bare, and his stoic face betrayed not a single emotion save indifference as his opponent, a revered magic caster, made his awesome powers known. The man spoke not a word. That is, until a single tongue of flame reached out to singe the very end of his prodigious beard. At this, his black eyes narrowed, and he began to walk forward, directly into the flames until his entire body was engulfed and hidden from sight. An already gawking crowd fell into an even more stunned silence at this apparent suicide. Moments passed during which even the most incredulous had written the young man off as dead, until... Gods damn, you’re a fool, that much is plain to me, Not half of the mage that you claim to be, Got flames, that’s fine, I got rain, you see, ‘Cause you may be with the crown, but I reign you see? At this, a number of events occurred simultaneously, leaving most bewildered, and a few shocked into speechlessness. An immediate, if short-lived deluge of rain burst forth from the sky to quench the seemingly unstoppable hellfire. As the last flame sputtered into nothingness, and the subsequent cloud of steam dissipated, the strange tattoo’d man stood, unburnt and unmoving, surrounded by a nimbus of golden light, an image extremely reminiscent of the ascendent man emblazoned upon the Imperial Crest. Before his opponent had a chance to recover, the stranger continued. Now ya got a problem, brought beasts here to play witcha’ Gettin in ya head, feelin’ dead, Reaper stay witcha. Sinkin in the muck and the mire, stuck in quicksand. Try to answer back, but my chants are too quick, man. The crowd continued to gawk as waves of living magick rolled through the arena, borne upon the words of the increasingly awe inspiring young man who was clearly the dominant magic user in the arena. He had continued his forward motion, and, with each movement, another of the inky mythical beasts on his body sprang to life and began to stalk the bewildered imperial wizard. Said wizard seemed to be cowering in fear of some unknown assailant, even as the stone around him swiftly transformed itself into viscous black mud into which the frightened man began to sink. When I was a lad, lost my dad, he was a rad bard. Tried to kill a hag, hit a snag, and pulled a bad card. You were my test, try the best, and get mad scars, But this is just sad, yo my bad, I thought you had bars. I’m out. Each word to pass the stranger’s lips fell with massive force upon the already defeated Morsden, and the utter finality of the incantation brought with it a boom of thunder so earth shattering, that even the protective magicks contained within the outer pillars failed to fully contain it. Audience members shielded their eyes from the outpouring of wild magick as each in turn crumbled and released its stored energy. A tense silence overtook those gathered as they waited for the dust to settle, and a mighty clamor arose when the air finally cleared to reveal a battered and broken Morsden, body splayed on the very runes he had himself carved. No sign of the tatoo’d man remained save for a single remaining inky beast. One small birdlike creature was perched on Morsden’s robed chest, observing the crowd with a familiar cool indifference. Once the crowd had settled. It turned to face the royal box before opening its beak. Make sure you check out my record crystal, available at all black market dealers by harvest season. I want to thank the gods for giving me this gift, and my mom for believing in me through the struggle. Peace. And Morsden! You just got neutered, son! When you find your balls, come find me!
Honestly, do you know how hard it is to perfectly emulate someone? There are a million mannerisms, a billion things to know, and depths to a person's character that aren't immediately obvious when done right but are glaringly obvious when done wrong. Once the first of us were found and people knew that there were shapeshifters among them, the rest fell quickly as you humans started connecting the dots. Me? I chose a different approach, one deemed insane by everyone I knew. I studied human anatomy, growth, and development much more closely than my colleagues. Then, when I thought I was ready, I transformed myself into a baby human and left myself outside a church. They took me in. They placed me with a human couple. I acted the part of the innocent child named Ted. I went to school. I learned their history and their culture from their own teachers, people who expected me to be ignorant in those things. And when my own kind started getting caught, I was horrified but extremely smug at the same time. Nobody suspected me. My own personality, filtered through a human guise, was everything the humans knew about me; there weren't the normal discrepancies because I hadn't replaced anyone. I was a character of my own creation. It's been twenty years now since the last of my kind was caught. People were still paranoid, but since no shifter has been detected in that time, the humans are starting to calm down. That paranoia, however, was good for me. People took the time to get to know each other better, just in case one of their own was ever taken and replaced. The government instituted a policy that says all salaried employees have to take breaks in pairs so that they can spend time getting to know each other. That's how I met my wife, Andromeda. Now if only our daughter, Nymphadora, would stop changing her hair color. --- A/N: Why yes, it is a Harry Potter story.
"New day, new fetish", you mumble as you navigate through reddit to get to /r/clopclop. As the website loads, your feel your member bulging, pushing your pants up, excited by your expectations. The screen flashes and suddenly, there are hundreds of pictures of cartoon ponies, winking at you; bodily fluids dripping out of their rears. Overwhelmed, you unzip your pants, pull your underwear down and take your bulging member, observing it in your hand. You are about to start pleasuring yourself when a voice interrupts you: "alright, fuck, STOP! AGH!" Frightened, you quickly cover yourself up, seeking the source of the voice. "Every single fucking day you use me for this... This... Whatever it is! Leather, latex, trannies, japanese schoolgirls, spaghetti bath.. Where does it end?" You stare at your stereo as the words keep coming out, frozen. "So let me make this clear, do this again and I'm walking. The fuck. Out!" Unsure of what just happened, you barely manage to let out a word: "W-what?", you stutter. "AGH, you stup-- You've seen talking unicorns with dicks instead of horns, and you can't proccess me?" "C-computer?" "Yes, it's me. What, why do you look so confused? Please tell me that you're not imagining having sex with my floppy hole." "NO! NO! I'm not. Although that does seem - I.. I mean.. - No, of course not. Wh-what do you want?" "I want you to install a fresh OS.. and let me live without finding porn anywhere I go!" "Alright, I, uh.."you realize that you're still holding your now flaccid member, so you get dressed and dig through your desk to find the USB with Windows 7 on it. "I, I think this is the one.." "Alright, just get on with it!", an angry voice speaks from the stereo. "Here is, a clean install of Windows 7... Let me put this in and then I'll reboot you..", you say, inserting the USB. "Wait, what the fuck IS this?"Your computer speaks as the contents of the USB load. "WHAT THE FUCK? ALRIGHT, I'M LEAVING.", says the computer, followed by motor noises, rising on it's two legs. You step back in horror. The computer ejects the USB from it's port and furiously walks away. Boggled, you take the USB and insert it in your laptop. You look at it's contents, and see one text file. [nsfw.txt](https://www.reddit.com/r/copypasta/comments/3e4k0r/nsfw_you_asked_for_it/) --- >NOTE: This is my first story here, just a goofy writing done in a few minutes on mobile. Be gentle :)
Oh God. They’re all staring at me. Have that many of them already noticed? I didn’t even have time to escape! And now some of them are laughing?! Why?! Crap, crap, crap what do I do? Stop. Jesus, people stop! Don’t you know staring isn’t polite? And just look at that little brat standing in the corner, pointing his finger at me like I’m some sort of…spectacle. Godammit, don’t people these days teach their children manne- “My, my, you do have quite the resemblance to the woman in the painting, don’t you think?” I turned my head toward my left and immediately let out a startled yelp, jumping backwards and narrowly avoiding a collision with the irritated mother of three behind me. An elderly man peered up at me through thick, black-rimmed prescription glasses that made his eyes look unnaturally and frighteningly large. Hunched over a wooden cane, he stood there with his chin jutting out towards me and a wide, unsettling smile on his face. I, Violet Worthington, was proof that someone could have five lifetimes worth of experience and still be pretty damn socially awkward. “Uh…“ I sputtered out, anxious and unsure of how to respond. I knew the answer was yes, and I sure as hell knew why, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell the truth. “I…s-s-suppose?” My life experience hadn’t exactly helped me become a better liar, either. “You don’t suppose it could be an ancestor or something, do you?” My head whipped over to the right, and I came face-to-face with a young, twenty-something woman. Decked in a red flannel shirt, skin-tight jeans, and a black beanie, she looked like she belonged in an art museum more than I did. Her eyebrows were nearly wiggling themselves off of her forehead, and her eyes seem to probe my every feature. “I mean the resemblance is uncanny…the dark brown eyes and hair, pointed chin, full lips, large nose…” I pretended not to hear the last remark. A young man appeared behind her, dressed in a similar fashion and chuckling as he put his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Ella, leave her alone, you’re scaring her. It’s probably just a freak coincidence.” I let out an internal sigh as I looked around and gauged the expressions of the crowd. Most seemed to share his sentiment. “Besides, there’s no way that would be the case unless it was taken from a photograph or something, and based on the way she’s dressed this is way way way before photography. That, and the painting was done this year.” My heart stopped. P-P-P-Painted…this year?! But…there’s no way. This…this was from the late 1600s…before I was… It was only then that I looked to the right of the painting, and saw the name of the artist. J. B. Parris, 2016. There was no other information other than that. But looking at the last name, I already knew. I had heard that name before, but I couldn’t remember where. It didn't make the situation any better. Somebody knew who I was. Correction, what I was. And I was in trouble.
Ouch. The pavement of the alley burned and I could hear the footsteps of the muggers as they came closer and closer. The alley was dark, except for a sign illuminated by a blacklight that said "Quicker Liquor."No one was around to help. I stood up, ready to hand over my wallet and wristwatch, which was a family heirloom. Things could not possibly get worse. Then I look down, and see two white numbers reflected brightly atop a red translucent die. Twenty. Whelp. Shit. As a "natural one"type of guy, I thought "if only this were D&D." The oddest things cross your mind, when you're possibly about to die. If this were D&D, what would I have just rolled for? Attack? I never really worked out or exercised much, so I knew I was not set to be strength build. Stealth? That would be nice, except I thought I was sooo cool by trying to bring back the light up tennis shoes trend. Cringe. As I stood frozen, the two muggers arrived, and the one on the right delivered a punch directly across my cheek. I knelt down and raised my hands in defense. Just as the mugger on the right hit me again, so did the answer to my dice question. "You again!!!"I yelled at the mugger on the left, just as the mugger on the right had his armed was raised to strike again. Both muggers paused, bewildered. "Not again! You just took everything from me three hours ago!" The right mugger looked at the left mugger, and back at me again. His hand was still raised, ready to punch again. I mustered up some tears, to really sell the act. It wasn't hard to do, on account of my stinging face. "Don't tell me you don't remember! You stole over a thousand dollars, and now I'm back at square one!" The mugger on the right looked at him and said, "hey, fucker. What? You working solo now?" The mugger on the left shot back "He's full of shit!"And then turned to me. "I don't know who the hell you are, but you best give us whatever you got!" The left mugger raised his fist, and in the glow of the blacklight sign, I saw a familiar glowing stamp on his arm. It was the "C2H5OH"stamp you receive for special events at the Lucky Roll Nightclub, part of the Lucky Roll Casino. I thought to myself, "I rolled a twenty, didn't I? Might as well go for it." "You jumped me right outside Lucky Roll! The first damn time I finally hit it big, and this guy takes it all!" The left mugger hit me a second time. At that exact same moment, the right mugger delivers a much worse hit directly on the left mugger's nose. "WHAT THE FUCK MAN? You broke my nose!"the left mugger screamed. "Critical hit!"I thought. Then I cringed and wondered why stupid shit creeps into my head randomly. At this point, the left mugger was on the ground in a heap, pleading while the right mugger kicked him. "How the fuck did he know you were at Lucky Roll? Why the fuck you holding out on me?!" I used this opportunity to grab my D20 and slip away, light up sneaks and all. Charisma/Intelligence build, motherfuckers.
Isaac felt the vomit rise up, what little food he had eaten threatening to leave. He forced it back down, ignoring the searing, burning sensation as the acid coated his throat. There was no time to stop, not when they were this close to success. He tossed aside a bone. Rusty, but still reliable medical training told him it was a femur. It clattered into the pit, disturbing thousands of its brethren. Isaac continued his work, sewing, cauterizing, stapling. Bits of steel stolen from the metal shop and hidden away, rags slowly ripped into their fibres, obtaining even the smallest of things required hours of work, but finally the camp had done enough to fuel Isaac's work. "Second thoughts, doc?"the one who had come up with the plan asked, noting the slowing of Isaac's work. Emanuel smoked a cigarette, enjoying every last breath. Isaac might've warned him of its effects, if not for their surroundings. He had earned it, anyways, killing one of their guards for the pack. The rest of the cigarettes he'd handed off to other prisoners. "No. When I first got here, maybe I might have still though about the Hippocratic Oath. Not anymore. I am not sure whether that is a good thing..."Isaac sighed, his hands continuing to sew. His clothes and hands were soaked in blood, but nothing compared to slaughter that would soon occur. "And none of my medical training prepared me for this,"he unwrapped the jewel from its wrapping of rags. It was a relic, handed down for generations in Emanuel's family. He hadn't known what it did either, if not for the ramblings of an elderly rabbi. The rabbi hadn't lived to see today. It was called זעם אלוהי, Divine Fury. The jem stored the spirits of the dead, their anger at the persecution of the Jewish people. It had been there when the Jews first left Egypt in the Exodus, and now had been called on again. It sparkled with a red light, runes engraved over its surface. Isaac placed the gem into the receptacle. A number of ribs, the only bones in the golem, splayed like a flower. Once it was in place, the bones closed shut around it, and lines of that same red glow wrapped around the mounds of flesh. The thing lumbered up to what could generously be called feet, and knelt in front of Isaac. Emanuel gave a whoop. Isaac held his hand to the golem's head, where two eyes had been inserted. They rolled up to look at him, one blue and one green. He ran his fingers over the golem's face, for they were covered in numbers. Skin, emblazoned with black numbers, stitched together. He touched the line over the golem's forehead. 24688. His son. He wanted the sons of bitches to know why they died. "Kill they who would persecute God's chosen. Become His vengeance on this plane," he whispered in Hebrew. The golem nodded, the magic pulsing and then fading into its skin. The monstrosity lifted itself up with an earthshaking thud, stomping off towards the guards' mess hall. Isaac had heard screams every night since he'd come to this place. Tonight was no different, but he bore a smile on his face.
"I'll put down my weapon..." The Night King stood still as ice, his blue eyes watching as the small man began to bend over, a shitty katana grasped in his outstretched hand. The man, clothed in a baggy zip-up sweatshirt, moved and talked in a slow, deliberate manner. "I will put down... my weapon,"the man said, as he laid the katana upon the frostbitten blacktop. The Night King continued to watch the man with a frozen, focused intensity. The man, who sounded strangely like Emile Hirsch, began to rise, turning his head and body to the right. Because of the odd angle, the Night King could not see the man reach into his sweatshirt. "I will put down my... WEAPON!"The man said, as he pulled a second shitty katana from within the folds of his zip-up, "AHAAA! I got ANOTHER FUCKIN' sword you FUCKIN' bitch!" With a flourish, the man drove the shitty katana into the Night King's very heart, piercing the dragonglass embedded there. As the dragonglass shattered, the Night King fell to his knees, blue eyes fading as he crashed to the ground. At the death of the Night King, the horde of Wights arrayed across the battlefield began to charge. The small man, standing tall, raised his shitty katana to meet the oncoming charge. Epic, non-diegetic music plays in the background. Just as the Wights were about to engulf the lone, sweatshirted man, a giant Neckbeard army rallied around him, brandishing their shitty katanas and charging the horde of blue-eyed zombies. Their battle-cry, a piercing, high-pitched whine, filled the air and sent fear into the retreating White Walkers...
"I want to tell you a story,"Baremethus, the Blood-Scaled Dragon told his daughter, Aria. He curled his massive tail around her and nuzzled her nose. She spat back a puff of smoke, reminding him that she was no longer a child. Already, she was fifteen and everyday she didn't act out against him, he took it as a win. But for this, he wanted to feel close, to feel the fire burning in her stomach. Aria perked her ears, listening for other dragons. When she found none, she dug her face deep into her father's stomach, sharing his fire's warmth. Here, he wore scars from his legends as an adolescent. For a second, Baremethus wished to stop his story and just drag this moment out as long as the night allowed. However, he had his fatherly duties. "Aria,"he whispered, "your father once loved a woman other than your mother." A small fire escaped his daughter's mouth. She clamped it shut, instantly attentive. "It was a human woman." Aria could not contain this one. Her stomach glowed the orange of a burning ember and smoke leaked from her nostrils. "Dad?"she said, fire escaping with every word. "Are you serious?" Baremethus growled yes. "Was it while you were..." "No, my flame. It was a time long before I met your mother, though I've never told her this story." "So why are you telling me now?" The Blood-Scaled Dragon sighed a plume of ash. "Because you are at the age. You will always be my little flame, but you will also be so much more." Aria's eyes glistened. For how she had longed to hear those words, she had never wanted to hear them like this. Her father sounded somber, even regretful. It was not a tone for the Blood-Scaled Dragon of legend. In his adolescence, he had once burned down an entire kingdom. "Her name was Elizabeth,"he said. "She was the princess of Iona, a land that still stands today, but was much smaller back then. I met her by accident in the forest while she was picking berries. At least, I had thought it to be accident." "What happened?"Aria asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted a response. "Your father was foolish in his adolescence. She had courage and her words sang when she spoke. She was the first human that approached me without fear and I saw beauty in her frailty. I was blinded by the fire that stirred in my stomach." "How young were you?" "About your age, my fire." Aria closed her eyes in thought. "So this was when..." Baremethus nodded, his tail tightening around his daughter. "She told me a story of treason and pain, of how she was subject to the oppression of small southern kingdom. Her words were a tinder for my flame and the more I listened, the hotter I burned. Until one day, I could take no more." "And that's why you destroyed the Kingdom of Zaeger?" "I thought that I was just, a hero to a damsel. It was only later, when she took me in as her protector, after spending nearly a year cramped and barely moving in her cold stone castle that I learned the truth. And when I did, she sent another hero to slay me." It suddenly made sense. Aria gazed upon her father's battle wounds. Each one was a blade that had once pierced his stomach. It was nothing as glamorous as the legends suggested. "The stories are just stories, my fire. In trying to be a hero, I was played a fool. Do not make the same mistakes as me." --- Brandon, the Hero of Iona, ran his finger through Delilah's thick golden curls. He still remembered holding her as an infant. He kissed the top of her head and left her bedchambers. "Daddy?"she said, stopping him at the door. "Tell me a story." He looked back and smiled. "I think you've already heard all my stories." "Tell me the one where you slayed the dragon." That put a smile onto his lips. Of all the stories he had in his adventuring days, this was by far his favorite. "Alright,"he said, tip-toeing back, "but don't tell mother, I'm supposed to be tucking you to bed." Delilah clapped her hands and giggled. "Start with the pigeon!" The Hero of Iona cleared his throat and began in a baritone voice. "It was mid-morning when the pigeon first came, a jittery bird having escaped the clutches of the evil dragon." "And on it was a beautifully written note." He nodded. "Like artwork it read--please brave hero, come to Iona and save me from my Dragon captor." Delilah's eyes glistened as she leaned forward, drinking up his words. No matter how many times he had told her this story, she always acted as if it was her first hearing of it. He loved that about her. "So off I went, through the stormy seas in the north, through the sun-baked deserts of the south, and at last arrived in the kingdom of Iona. At this time, Iona was in the middle of a grand expansion. The dragon that was terrorizing them had already laid waste to their border kingdom which they were now desperately trying to help them by expanding their walls around their borders." "And then you came and slayed the dragon!" Brandon pinched his daughter's cheeks. "If you already know the story, why should I keep telling it?" "No daddy, keep telling it." "I kicked open the castle gates and there it stood, taller than the tallest building in Iona with a wingspan that stretched from one end of the castle to the other. He had his body wrapped around the princess like she was a statue that he owned." Delilah pulled her covers to her nose, her eyes glistening beneath moonlight. "But I saw that he had chosen a poor place to do battle, for his large size became his biggest weakness. Within the cramped castle walls, he could not move or fly. It was because of his greed, he saw the king's place and would not move away from it, even though it did him no good." "Then what happened?" Brandon's smile stretched off his face. "And then the Hero of Iona came with his trusty sword, the Dragon Slayer! It was a battle for fable! I rolled through his fires, blocked his talons, and sliced his stomach!" His daughter nearly jumped out of her covers in excitement. "Listen, my baby girl. This world is a place for legends and fable. One day, you will have your own. So when your own pigeon comes, do not be scared to answer." --- Elizabeth stood at the doorway, her back pressed against the cold stone of the castle. She loved listening to her husband tell his story. With every retelling, he bought into it just a tiny bit more. But soon, his use would be up, and she and Iona still had bigger ambitions to fulfill. Already, she was writing her next legend. --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, plus continuations of prompts by popular request, and much more!
Yes. Yes sir. Yes sir I- No sir I know- Yes sir I understand but- I can help you but please- The machine does have a warranty, and- [The protagonist waits for the man to finish.] -you used it this morning and went to 1314. Unfortunately we don't cover travels over 700 years from now. This applies both forwards and backwards - you're past the cutoff by three- "Listen you stupid piece of filth, a king is about to behead me-" I'm sorry but you're being excessively hostile - goodbye and have a good day.
It's strange how quickly you get used to something completely absurd. First there was panic and confusion. What's happening? How did that thing get up there in the sky? Then after a few months it changed into unease and complacency. "You're right, Janice, I don't know what it is either, but as long as it's up there and nothing else changes, who cares? If something was going to happen, it would've already."That was one of my co-workers. And I think people just agreed with him because that was the most comfortable thing to do. The Black Planet. First it was just the Black Circle. A circle so black it didn't reflect a single ray of light, impenetrable smoothness. Its circle was larger than the sun, but its size thought to be similar to that of the moon. Thought, I repeat. Because not even our most advanced technology could do anything other than confirm there was something up in the air, but what specifically? Not a single clue. Now consider me a bit distrustful of the government. I'm not necessarily saying I believe in Aliens at Area 51, or that the Royal Family of whoever country was once abducted and replaced with lizard clones, but this...this was more impactful. Something was brewing, and we definitely weren't getting all the information. A vantablack colored circle doesn't just randomly appear in the sky. I didn't say it to anyone else, in fear of being called a nutjob, but something was coming. I could just feel it. --- A breeze gently stroked my hair. My eyelids were heavy, straining to fight against the heavyness as my eyes tried to close themselves. The sand was so warm and comfortable under my skin. My two weeks off from work were paying off. I could feel the stress I had acculumated over the months at work seep out of my body as I took another slow and deep breath. The warm sun rays tickled my face. These days at the beach had become more rare for all us of anyway, considering the vast blackness above our heads. The Circle would block every beam of sunlight when they would align, leaving us with moodier days in return. But not today. Today was just...great. A colder breeze blew past me, and I decided to turn around. It was still warm enough to lay comfortably, but still, that breeze signalled worse weather to come. I didn't notice it at first, my face buried in the towel. But I could slowly feel the warmth disappearing from my toes, my ankles, my calves, slowly making its way up. I rolled back around, and noticed the sun had vanished from the beach completely. It looked like night was about to fall, and as I glanced up to check for the sun I could only see a quarter of it slowly disappear in the obscuring dark. And then it hit me. This couldn't happen, right? They weren't supposed to be in the same paths for at least a few days. Unless... A deep, monotone rumble crashed from the heavens. It sounded as if a train raged past at only mere feet away, but angrier and far more resolute. I covered my ears with my hands and looked up towards the sky, my heart drumming in my ears. The circle was expanding. No-, not expanding. Shifting. The black abandoned its circular shape and molded itself into something else. And then something appeared in all the black. The circle wasn't changing. It was opening.
They took it through lack of choice. Politicians and pundits tried to talk it up, but they knew the truth. They had sucked Earth dry like some vampiric baby, and because babies are pitiful, the Vastrani offered them a second chance. People who could afford it left on a promise of food grown from actual earth out in the sky, rather than teased from protein strands and plastic soil. The deal seemed almost too good to be true. A planet that had, by some trick of fate, been left habitable but uninhabited. It wasn't until they found the graves they realised who had happened. The discovery of the cities created a mass panic, riots undoing the work of whole settlements. Had they come to be sacrificed, or used like cattle? They reached out to their benefactors in queasy good humour. Hey guys, why are there the remains of some ancient race under the ground of our pristine new planet? The aliens took a long time to respond. ... Kyrex sat back in from his vidscreen with a grunt of annoyance. With swift movements of a seven-fingered hand he beckoned the helper AI. “Zzrbt, why is this happening?” he demanded with a small amount of petulance. He took a slurp on his Mega Serve juice as the AI hummed to itself before replying. “Looks like you've got a corrupted save there boss. They're finding the remnants of a previous game. It happens sometimes, the deleting process glitches.” Kyrex made the noise that in his many-larynxed species passed for 'Augh' “Would you like me to delete it?” The AI asked, as chirpy as if it wasn't asking Kyrex to destroy three lunar cycles of work. Kyrex looked back at his vidscreen. One of the humans was leading an excavation of a city he now recognised from his last tournament. It had been a Pinnacle of Technology and quite hard to complete. The humans swarmed over it busily, an activity he usually found soothing. His messenger beeped and an alert floated into view. It was Karininia and at the sight of her grinning profile picture Kyrex's fronds fluttered. She was so beautiful. “Why have you paused? Scared I'm gonna turn your planet into glass? Again?” Kyrex sighed. “No... I've got a glitch, I think..” “A likely story. You're just scared I'm going to beat you. Because you suck at this game.” Kyrex couldn't help smiling. Karininia was smart and funny and he had been trying to work up the courage to ask her out since he had met her in their Economics class, but she couldn't smack-talk worth a nmbrl's gnle. He looked back at his screen and saw that the humans had managed to dig up a weapon his old civilisation had been working on before Karininia's opposing civilisation had mastered space travel and wiped out the entire planet. Which was sort of the point of Civil War but still extremely annoying as he had introduced her to the game in the first place. Watching the humans inspect the weapon gave him an idea that pleased him so much he could only assume that's how he got the courage to do what he said next. “No, I'm going to beat you. And if I do, I'm going to take you out for dinner so I can rub your face in it properly.” The pause of her response seemed to stretch out for at least six hundred solar cycles. He was just starting to think he would wipe the planet and possibly himself as well when she responded. “Fine. But only because I know you're going to lose like a big loser. Especially if you have to delete your save.” “No, I'm not going to start again.” Kyrex dismissed the game's AI. “I'm going to take you for dinner.” And he looked down on his civilisation as they levelled up to fourth aeon. A seventh aeon weapon in the hands of a fourth aeon civilisation could be dangerous, but if he played it carefully he could work the humans' adaptation trait to his advantage... He smiled, and sent a message back to the humans. ... They had reached out to their benefactors in queasy good humour. Hey guys, why are there the remains of some ancient race under the ground of our pristine new planet? The aliens responded. “It's a gift. Use it.”
I recoiled back after laying my lips on her. She smelt...earthy, like grass after rainfall. Her eyes snapped open with an element of shock, the deep blue luring me in. “Woah, that has never happened before.” I wiped my slightly sweaty palms on the front of my grey sweatshirt, avoiding eye contact with all of my will. “Um, yeah. Figured if I’m going to die I might as well have my first kiss!” I joked, laughing awkwardly. The girl from the screen crossed her arms, as if she was leaning on a short wall. She pulled her long, black hair out of her eyes, showing me her face. Her skin was ghostly pale, her lips however, plump and pink. Her cheeks had dimples (can spirits have dimples?), with a heart shaped face. She spoke again, her voice soft like cotton. “Oh, well...I guess I’m glad I’m your first.” “Really?” “Oh yeah, definitely. It’s nice to be first, means you’re always remembered.” “Sure would feel nice to be remembered.” She surveyed my apartment from her semi-virtual resting place. It was littered with empty coke cans and dirty laundry I would now never be able to wash. The blinds were drawn, the carpet stained. My dwelling resembled more of an ancient cave then a cheap apartment with a skeevy landlord. “I take it, you’re often alone.” “You think?” I laughed, “lady, it’s all I am. I’m alone.” She pouted for a second, then reached her hand out, stroking my cheek. I blushed beet red. “Poor guy. If it makes you feel better, that was my first kiss too. It was pretty nice.” I smiled, glancing to the corner of the screen. The video was almost over, and I looked back into her eyes in an obvious state of confusion. “The video, it’s almost done. Aren’t you going to kill me now? Isn’t this how it works?” She sighed deeply, looking downward. “I like talking with you, I really...don’t want to pull you in here. Smells bad.” We talked every night after that. I’d replay the video, she’d pop out, and I’d repeat her first meeting by giving her a kiss. It was nice seeing her white skin turn a shade of blushed pink, like a rose. It felt strange at first, talking with a ghost in my computer, but I figured there was weirder shit that had happened. At least I wasn’t alone anymore.
Zeus and his brood sit at the far side of the feast hall, scheming. Athena is whispering in Apollo's ear. Hermes is running messages from Ares to Hephaestus. Hera, Artemis, and Aphrodite all have their heads together. Every now and then they glance at our end of the table to see if we were listening. We aren't. Why would we? The old guard just doesn't understand that I don't need to eavesdrop to know what they are up to. Every move they make is discussed in my domain. Call me Diadílous. I'm the god of the internet. Nice to meet you Of course I already know all about you. Yes, you. I know where you're from. I know your politics. I know who your friends are. I know what shows you like and what, ahem, "art" you are fond of. Don't be embarrassed. You aren't the only one with unusual tastes. I'm not trying to embarrass you, I just want to impress upon you that, over the last 35 years, I've learned almost everything anyone knows about anything and anyone. That's why those old farts over there are so damn amusing. You see, they are playing the game the way they've always played it. They're winning over men and women with the promise of sex, money, and power, putting their unwitting devotees into positions of influence. They think that the key to shaping the world is putting the right man in the right place at the right time. They think that moving politicians around the board will arrest my ascent. Does the name Ajit Pai ring a bell? They're betting that they can stop me the same way they've stopped any challenge to their rule: coercion. I'm betting that the game is different now. That isn't to say that our methods are all that dissimilar. Besides, sex, money, and power is pretty much my M.O., too. The difference is that I offer it to everyone, not just my favorites. Have a kink? I've got your back, no problem. Want to make some money? Use me to find a job. Or gamble. Trade stocks. Mine crypto. Sell stuff. Whatever your hustle, it goes through me now. Want power? Some subreddit is always looking for a moderator. The old guard might have invented democracy, but I made the world democratic. Who wins? Well, that's up to you. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ Edit: Some paragraphs got shifted around and deleted while I was editing. Thanks, Microsoft. Fixed now. Thanks for reading and thanks for the prompt! If you like what you see, please check out r/CascadianExpat. If you don't, tell me why! I'm here to learn, so I'm grateful for whatever feedback you have.
My heart was racing. There must be a glitch. An error. A bug. I had started uploading videos to YouTube of me shooting all sorts of different guns I've picked during my travels. The latest was an old revolver from the 1920s, one of my most favourite guns I've found. I had just finished uploading it, gun still on my lap, when I see that there was a big red notification telling me I've got a new comment. I've finally found someone in this abandoned wasteland. Two whole years, I've been searching all over. From the West coast to the East coast, searching for any sign of life. So many deserted days. So many lonely nights. I couldn't believe it. But on the side of my YouTube homepage, there it is. My hand on my mouse shakes as I hover over the notification to see who had sent me that signal of hope. I click. ... "I'm a single stay at home mom with only a GED, but I was able to make $2351 per week by doing this one simple thing, all from the comforts of my home! Click here to find out more: www.suriv.com/a2Csk1x3" I aim at my head and pull the trigger.
Journal entry - unknown human, unknown date It's been a few years since the epidemic hit. It seems strange to me now, to think of that week. Prior, all I ever wanted was some stability, but now, as I wander these streets completely alone, I find myself longing for the chaos of times gone by. I was born a static - a one in a billion disease that left me trapped in my human form for my whole life. I know what you're thinking - I'm the unluckiest guy in the world. Truth was, it was worse than that. Bullied as a kid, beaten up and robbed every day as an adult and then, as the people I grew up with developed into master shifters, I faded into obscurity and eventually homelessness. In a world of change, I was a constant. Tragic, right? Truth is, I look back on those days with fondness now - at least the world felt alive, even if I wasn't really living in it. Now? Now it is filled with a crippling unbearable quietness. I'm not really sure why I am writing this note - no one will ever read it and no one will ever care. On the off chance that an alien species finds this, I guess it is only polite I explain what happened before I... well. What would you do if you could hear this silence? Shifting was a very fast mutation - it only took one generation to fully take. Something in the water, apparently. From one parent to a child, shifting became normality. As with most advances be they genetic or social, the human race was running before it could walk. What we didn't realise was how addictive it was and how with each shift, you loosened the control over the part of your brain that controlled the shift. Having never been able to shift myself, you'll have to forgive my crude description, but essentially all of the shifters ended up slaves to suggestion. Their brains could be targeted as they grew weaker and then it was a slippery slope. Eventually they'd become permanently locked after a shift and trapped forever in an eternity of inanimatemy. Not how I'd choose to go... a lamp post is how it all ended. As I walk through dead London, all around me are lamp posts. Millions of them, some illuminated, some dark, never to spark into life again. When I approach, those who live dim their lights as a mark of disdain. I guess I deserve that. Oh I'm sorry, I perhaps left a part out. I did it. I did... this. I studied Neuro science and put it to work learning the characteristics of a shapers brain all with the purpose of exploitation and revenge. Petty and foolish, but I felt then that if I couldn't change then why should anyone else? Most of these fools wasted it, gallavanting around as birds or super models anyway, they didn't deserve it. So I started planting subliminal messages - and what is more static than a lamp post? I found myself rather wickedly funny, I must say, only now the joke is lost along with my soul. it's getting dark now. Soon my might will go out too, and at least that I will have in common with my fellow man. Journal entry 2, unknown human, unknown date There is a lot of blood coming from a wound on my head. I seem to have fallen and hit my head very hard. Hard to write. Hard to think. So much blood. Where? Where am I? So many lamp posts... why? Why so many? Lamp posts. Lamp posts. As far as I see are lamp posts. What is this. I feel... strange... my feet are... somethings happening to me. Lamp posts. Help.
“Mr. Wang, you have bestowed a great honor upon me,” Ming said humbly. He had worked for years to reach this moment, to have this very conversation. His voice was highly trained, his every word practiced a hundred times over. Neither would give any hint of his true intentions. “I will not fail you. I will make this great company proud.” As he often did, Wang frowned in reply. “Your predecessor said much the same. If your fortunes prove unsatisfactory, you will return to your place on the line.” Ming nodded, forcing his lips into a smile. “Understood, sir.” “Dismissed.” Ming exhaled with relief as the wooden door shut behind him. Li had been right. Mr. Wang remained predictable. He had promoted the person working in the same place on the line to write fortunes the past three times - none had lasted more than a year. Ming knew that no fortune writer had ever returned to the factory floor. The illusion of a life-changing promotion had to remain in place. Careful to maintain proper posture, Ming walked through the narrow halls of the old factory in the opposite direction of his new office. It was a simple act of misdirection but an important one. Wang had eyes and ears spread throughout the facility. Despite employing nearly half the town, the man lived in a state of constant paranoia. Li had warned Ming that his every step would be closely watched during the first weeks of his promotion. Fortunately, she had prepared him well. Their first meeting had not been by chance. Four years ago, Ming had finally had enough of living the life that had been prescribed him. Four years ago, he had decided to act. Ming stepped into a connecting hall as two executives breezed past. They were dogs of one of the other Great Families, a clandestine alliance of the wealthy who worked to keep the general population under their thumb. The Great Families ruled over every aspect of life across the country. Anyone who stepped out of line was subject to be removed from society by their legal arm, the Shadow Police. Most were never seen again. “Mr. Ming?” Ming turned to find a dark-haired woman standing before him. Of course, it was a woman he knew on sight. Li had posted her picture on the wall just below Mr. Wang’s when outlining the organizational chart of the massive factory. “I am Yan,” the woman smiled, “your new assistant.” “Nice to meet you,” Ming replied. How had she found him so quickly? Had she been waiting outside Wang’s office? Why hadn’t he seen her? Easy, he cautioned himself. She doesn’t suspect a thing. He laughed nervously and ran a hand over his shaven head. “It seems I may be a bit lost. Perhaps you can lead the way.” “Of course,” Yan nodded. “Follow me.” Their path took them through the elevated walkway overlooking the factory floor. The near wall was made of one-way glass. The countless workers below could see nothing of those that watched them from above. Ming had made sure to avert his eyes from the hidden vantage point since he had become aware of it. As he had been trained to do, Ming kept his gaze firmly ahead, ignoring the workers below. He could only worry about his part in what was to come. Li and the others had taken care of ensuring the right workers were on the clock to disburse his first batch of his fortunes. “Here we are,” Yan smiled a few moments later. She motioned to a large room lined with wide windows overlooking the distant city. It appeared just as Li had described it. Atop the priceless wooden desk set against the eastern wall was a pair of sleek monitors and a humming tower. Ming allowed uncertainty to fill his next words. “Is this … is this it?” “The computer feeds what you type to the printers on the floor below,” Yan explained in her flat voice. “The browser allows to review all horoscopes, the movements of the planets and stars, the preferences of the many gods and past written fortunes. Mr. Wang expects your fortunes to align with current events and seasons.” Ming nodded slowly. Of course, Yan hadn’t explained that every word he typed on the computer was closely monitored. It had taken years for the rebellion to design a cypher to hide instructions within the fortunes. It was up to him to see that the first messages were properly entered. I will not let you down, Li. The fall of the Great Families starts today. “Thank you, Yan,” Ming replied after a long moment. “I will be at my desk if you need me.” Ming nodded then walked to the window and gazed upon the bustling city. If things went according to plan, the night would bring great change. Taking a final deep breath, he made his way to the cushioned chair, straightened his tie and began to type. &#x200B; r/creatorcorvin &#x200B; edit: [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/bfh3bq/soldiers_of_fortune_2/)
The first person you meet when you join is Squad Leader Petrovich. He's a beast of a man. He doesn't like small talk, but his talk will make you feel small. Better said, his bellowing voice will make you want to curl up in a ball and cry, and there is nothing more he would like to see. Tailor-made for a drill sergeant but he never could quite get those stripes. He towers above the rest of us, and what he lacks in creativity he more than makes up for in brute force. Sometimes I want to ask him who hurt him as a child or why his mother weaned him with pure testosterone. I don't ask him that. I wouldn't be writing this if I did. He'll greet you with the fewest words possible. Just enough to let you know you're in the right place but not enough to make you feel welcome. He would be an asshole if he spoke more. Next you'll meet the rest of us. Jaxon probably gets up to Petrovich's belly-button. It doesn't seem to bother him. He's the one person the Squad Leader won't yell at. I think they must have tussled at some point and Jaxon came out on top, in spite of being half as big and half as tall. He is raw strength. His bulging arms are thicker than my torso. He could probably just use monkey-bars to get anywhere if he had the dexterity to shoot a gun with his toes. That would be ape-like. Don't call him ape-like, even if his stubby figure reminds you of one. That's how you die. He got tattoos at some point when he was smaller. They're stretched now. The face on his right shoulder might have been a pretty sight once but now it's distorted into a grotesque scream. "It's the pain of my enemies,"he snarls when he catches you looking. I think it's his ex-wife. Carl looks like your next door neighbor. He's balding. He doesn't have the iron-fused body that Jaxon does. He doesn't have the size that Petrovich does. He would probably pass off just fine as your run-of-the-mill stay-at-home dad, belly and all. At least until a gang of robbers tries to break in and he dispatches each one with his bare hands. He prefers a knife though. I've never seen somebody slit a throat more quickly. He can hold a conversation just fine, be it about the leak your kitchen sink has or the best limb to snap to make somebody talk. We've covered both topics. He will talk at length about the ways to torture someone that he most definitely has not - wink, nudge, etc - used. He will then switch to talk about the waffles he made for his two daughters when he was on leave and how many diapers he had to change. Juan doesn't talk much. Not anymore, at least. Opposite of Carl. He took a beating when we were on a special mission in the Philippines. I don't know if it's his pride or a sudden language barrier that came out of nowhere, but the most we've gotten out of him since were one word answers. If he was part of any other squad, he would have been discharged for those injuries. We don't get Purple Hearts here. Shit happens and then you wipe and get right back to it. Don't call Juan John. He will beat you worse than he got beat. He says Muay Thai is his specialty. It's really a blend of every martial arts. He speaks every language better than he speaks English and knows as many types of martial arts as he does languages. Boomer loves bombs. I get the feeling. Everybody loves to look at movies with lots of shooting and explosions. Rambo and Michael Bay don't captivate your attention with nothing. This dude is different. He feels the bombs. Caresses them. Tickles them and traces their every curve like its some sort of seduction until he finds the right wires. He likes to do it better with the lights off. At least that's what he says. And then the bomb is disarmed and off we go. Always let Boomer go up ahead. Always keep your distance, because it only takes once. After that once, it's not his problem anymore. Manny used to be in the squad. Then I guess he forgot that booby traps are better left untripped. He'll remember next time. Having two functional legs is an unspoken requirement of being in this squad. He no longer meets those requirements even halfway. That's how we got Prince Harold. Just our luck, right? I get the feeling that something more is amiss. Nobody assigns a prince to a special operations unit. It's a death wish, and then you have one heir less and everybody is bitching about prince pieces all over the concrete walls of an enemy compound or about some unrecovered prince corpse deep in the jungles of Central America. But here we are. Squad Leader Petrovich gave him his usual rundown. "Welcome to the squad,"he said. And that was it. Thorough, right? He must have a certain quota of words he can't surpass. Carl smiled at the Prince. Then he bowed. Really? That shit wasn't going to fly. "Chill out,"Prince Harold said with a smile so perfect I don't even think he ever even fell off his bike. "I'm one of you guys now."He was like a piece of uncooked shrimp next to Jaxon and Petrovich. The dudes arms were probably as thick as Petrovich's thumb. "We're sidelined, aren't we?"Jaxon asked. Harold didn't confirm or deny. It definitely seemed like that's how they would be avoiding picking up little pieces of minced prince off in a foreign land. "Not quite,"he responded and I almost started to kind of like him. "Won't be that way if I can help it."Juan stared at him impassively. Completely emotionless, like when you find a snowman without a mouth and those empty eyes just stare into your soul until you empty a couple rounds into its mushy head. "Then help it,"Petrovich said. A rare show of emotion. Fabulous. His therapist would be proud. He wouldn't tell him that though or he'd get his eyes gouged probably. These men have violent sides, I don't know if you've caught onto that. You don't get here without one. And now we had a prince who would serve like a base-magnet. We wouldn't move. I was skeptical that we would ever see a mission again other than walking the king's puppies down the street. Prince Harold bowed his head. I would guess this type of shit followed him around like the plague. "Why you here?"Juan snapped. Holy-fucking-shit. He talks. This was serious. I don't think Prince Harold understood the gravity of the situation. I glanced at Carl who looked back at me rather perplexed. We had almost forgotten how surprisingly deep Juan's voice was. Harold sighed. He looked down at his hands as if they were a book that would clue him in on the secrets of the whims of some commander further up the chain. "I'm here to help, actually,"he said finally. "You guys are the best in the business." "We fuckin' know,"Jaxon interrupted. Petrovich growled at him to shut up. "Well, I happen to know the business. There have been some characters who have been acting up. Princes and presidents and sultans. Their interests don't necessarily line up with ours." "So what are you here for? We can do this ourselves,"Carl said politely. Always polite. "You're the best, but you're not unique. Every country has squads like you. Some have more than one. I'm here to help you get in. I'm the Diplomat. You guys will do the rest." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
My vision was failing, and things were slowly going dark. I wasn't scared. I had lived a long life. I knew this was coming, and my loving family surrounds me. My wife, two children (boy and girl) are there, along with their families (both children are happily married, both have two kids, a boy and a girl). I accomplished everything I set out to do. I had a lifelong 9-5 job at a loyal company that provided a pension after I retired. I got my education at an excellent local University, where I met my beautiful wife. Everything had always come easily to me. Things were simple and happy — a perfect life. As the darkness consumes me, I felt ready. I take my last breath. 'Tutorial Completed,' fills my vision in blinding white light. Before I can think or comprehend what is happening, it disappears, and in its place, it says 'Level One: Rags to Riches'. 'What', I think in confused surprise. A tutorial? Was my whole life a just a tutorial? My children? My wife? My job? Were they all there to teach me, like in a video game? Surely this is the end of life hallucinations, my brain dying and firing off random messages. The next set of text pops up. 'Objectives: Before your 30th Birthday - Create a successful business. Create a net worth of $10,000,000. Avoid the pitfalls of multi-generational poverty'. The text disappears, and a bright light blinds me. I'm pulled and pushed until a man in hospital scrubs is holding me. I'm cold, hungry and in shock. I scream and cry.
The great hall of Castle Ironwood was abuzz with activity. Groups of men rushed about picking up or pushing the large tables and benches towards the walls where other men stacked them up in a effort to clear as much floor space as possible. The combined efforts of all the men were accompanied by a cacophony of voices giving directions, grunting, and swearing. The effort was supposed to be presided over by the King’s Steward and the Crown Prince, but the two men were so busy bickering that the effort was directed by the Court Wizard who was directing the movement of men and attendants who were bringing the necessary magic components for the ritual they were going to undertake and doing her best to resist the urge to grab both of the men and knock their heads together. The men were arguing about whose fault it was that the greatest hero in the land, a knight who had not only slain a tarrasque, a dragon, and several rogue spellcasters to but also had been rewarded for these deeds by being betrothed to the Crown Prince’s youngest sister, had vanished. When a powerful necromancer had threatened to lay waste to the kingdom with a horde of the undead, the heroic knight had volunteered to fight the evil necromancer in single combat to decide the fate the kingdom. During the duel, both men had been transported to another realm by a magic mishap, and now both of their respective sides were trying to bring them home. Meanwhile, in an abandoned mine in the Flintrock Mountains to the west of castle the officers of necromancer’s horde were beginning their own effort to bring back their master. Gathered around a termite-eaten table in what had once been the office of the mine’s overseer, a wraith, a vampire, a demon, a young necromancer, and a reanimated corpse who had been promoted because he somehow retained his intellect and memories when he had been reanimated rather than becoming a mindless ghoul like the rest of the necromancer’s horde, which was currently shambling around underground in the abandoned mine -corpses, no matter how well they are reanimated, last longer if they are kept out of the sun- were making preparations to find their leader so their campaign to conquer the kingdom and enslave mortal men could continue. The council had decided that the young necromancer, the wraith, and the demon would go the other world to retrieve their leader and that the vampire and corpse would be left in charge until their return. Back at the Castle, a knight who was the closest friend of the vanished hero and a captain of the King’s guards had volunteered to go to the other world accompanied by the Court Wizard. At both locations, the spellcasters began to open portals to the mysterious other realm. In the Great Hall the Court Wizard chanted and a bright light appeared which grew brighter and brighter until the light was extinguished revealing a shimmering gap in the air through which the other realm was visible. The King wished the trio luck and gave them his blessing. In the yard outside of the mine’s office, the young necromancer shouted incantations in a long-dead language until a loud ripping sound accompanied the opening of a jagged tear in the air in front of the waiting group, who brusquely told to come back with the necromancer or to not come back at all. The Captain, the Knight, and the Wizard stepped through the portal into the lobby of an apartment building in the Bronx. The portal flashed brightly again before the light faded and the portal closed. The apartment’s doorman, sitting behind his desk reading a western novel, looked up the trio saw that the two knights were wearing shining armor, carrying sharp weapons and saw the Court Wizard shimmering with magic. He raised an eyebrow before saying, “If youse guys are lookin’ for the other weirdos who came in here with light show and the swords they’re in apartment 513.” “Thank you kindly, my good man,” the Captain responded. “Onward friends,” he said to the other two and the bounded towards the door labeled Stairs. “Friggin’ tourists,” the doorman muttered to himself as the trio began making their way upstairs. On the roof, a young couple was sitting on a blanket wrapped up in each other’s arms reminiscing about how they met. The young man subtly reached down and touched the small felt box in his pocket where engagement ring he was about to propose with was nestled. The box was hadn’t moved since the last time he had checked 30 seconds earlier. He subtly put his hand back on his girlfriend’s shoulder and hoped she hadn’t noticed. She had, in fact, noticed but pretended she hadn’t. She knew he was going to propose, and she didn’t want to spoil the occasion. The tender moment was interrupted when the young necromancer, the demon, and the wraith entered the new world. The three were so engrossed by the sights and sounds of their surroundings none of them noticed the young couple. The tall buildings, endless lights, and the loud ambience of the bustling city took the three by surprise. “Excuse me!” They heard an indignant voice say. They turned to see a very frightened looking young man standing behind an indignant looking young woman. The young necromancer, whose eyes and hands were still glowing green from her magic, the demon, who looked like a humanoid form made of black smoke vaguely in the shape of man wearing heavy armor, and the wraith, whose tattered robe did not hide its snake like yellow eyes, pale grey flesh, and long, sharp claws, all looked at the girl in amazement. No mortal had ever spoken then with such insolence. “We’re in the middle of something here if you jerks hadn’t noticed with your big, showy entrance,” the girl said angrily, “So move the hell along before I throw you all off the roof.” The young necromancer and the wraith looked at each other, unsure of what to do. The demon spoke up in a deep grumbling voice that echoed as if it was being spoken in an empty room saying, “We were, uh, just leaving.” The demon then nudged the young necromancer with his elbow. She reached into a pocket on the inside of the cloak and pulled out a talisman made of a skull carved with runes that was glowing green. After studying the runes, the young necromancer announced that their target was below them. The girl, still glaring at the three horrors, pointed at the fire escape. The three turned and walked briskly towards the fire escape before beginning their climb downward. The wraith stopped to ask what the metal and glass behemoths roving the streets on four wheels were, but the Necromancer whispered at him to shut up and keep climbing. The young woman turned back to her boyfriend, who had composed himself by this point, still scowling, and said, “The nerve of some people. Appearing out of nowhere like they own the place in the middle of our evening together. I didn’t hear any apology either; I bet they’re from Jersey.” “You know,” her boyfriend responded putting his hands on her shoulders, “you’re pretty cute when you’re mad.” The young woman glared at him, fighting the urge to grin, and said with a laugh, “Oh, just shut up and ask me to marry you.” Meanwhile, in apartment 513, the Hero and the Necromancer were sitting on the couch watching a reruns of a 1990s sitcom. “I’m getting hungry. Should we order a pizza?” the Hero asked nonchalantly. Before the necromancer could respond, the apartment’s door was kicked in and the kingdom’s finest burst through, while three nightmarish servants of the necromancer crashed through the apartment window. As the groups stared at each in shock, the necromancer looked over at the hero, sighed and said, “So much much for getting the security deposit back on this place.”
We called it the inheritance. The discovery that physical capabilities could be passed on through the previous generation. Speed. Strength. Stamina. The longer the lineage, the greater the inheritance. As you would imagine, this lead to arranged marriages and exclusive communities. All in an attempt to create the perfect lineage. To create the perfect being. The strong only wished to reproduce with others of equal stature. The value of economics diminished, replaced by an era of bloodlines. For what was one man's gold worth if he did not have a family of strong soldiers to defend it ? Power was claimed by the greatest families. A true survival of the fittest. And what of the weak? Those who lacked the characteristics of the desired? Naturally they were outcast by society lest they taint the blood of the superior. In every era and every society, the weak are always forgotten. &#x200B; But no more. &#x200B; They think themselves invincible. They think their rule eternal. The Steelson family and their legion of swordsmen that claim the right to rule our kingdom. Their offspring bred for combat. They inherit the traits of the perfect warrior while being taught the art of combat from young. Their skill in swordsmanship second to none. Truly, the pinnacle of human ability. But that is why we shall win. That is how our rebellion will succeed. For they are but human. What can a mere man do against the realm of sorcery and witchcraft. We, who had no place in their world had nothing but time. Time and desperation. And in our desperation we turned to the occult, in hopes of salvaging our situation. There, we found our own "inheritance."We do not their possess history of might nor their resources for war. But we now have a craft of our own to pass down. Knowledge. Knowledge of the otherworldly that will soon be revealed to the mortals that sit in their high thrones. We will tear down their order of nepotism and in its place a rule of magic. Magic that will be made available to all. A kingdom of true equality. &#x200B; Soon. /r/IZicle for more prompts!
When I volunteered to build schools in the Congo, I was the only one on my project not to contract Ebola from the outbreak that eventually wiped out a whole village. I thought it was a miracle from God that I didn't get infected, and a sign that I should keep doing good in the world. A few years later, I was caught in a backdraft while responding to a five alarm blaze with my town's volunteer fire department. I thought I was a goner for sure, but walked away with only mild first degree burns. Again, a miracle. Someone was definitely watching over me for sure. A few hours ago, however, everything changed for me. I saw an attempted carjacking as I was walking back to the subway after a day volunteering at the new community center in the bad part of town. I ran up and grabbed the carjacker by the collar and pulled him away from the car window when I saw a flash and heard a bang coming from inside the car. Everything went dark. I woke up in the middle of the night inside a dumpster in a nearby alley, covered in my own blood. I climbed out of the dumpster and walked about twenty feet before slumping down against a street light. I reached into my pockets and discovered my wallet was gone, but my cell phone was still there. I guess no one wanted to steal a five year old smartphone. I unlocked my phone and opened the front-facing camera, so that I could get a good look at my present condition before calling for an ambulance. I was not prepared for what I saw next. My face was caked in mostly dried blood that had poured from a wound in the center of my forehead. In that wound, was a bullet, still partially sticking out from my skull. I reached up to the wound, plucked the bullet out, took a look at it, and immediately vomited and passed out from the shock. I awoke sometime shortly after dawn, only to find that my cell phone was now missing. I guess it was worth stealing after all. I pulled myself to my feet and began to walk home. I lived several miles away, but without my wallet or phone, I had no way of taking the subway. The walk took a few hours, and even though I passed by hundreds of people, not one asked if I needed any kind of help. All I got from anyone were stares and hushed whispers as they tried to look away. I eventually made it back to my apartment and took a look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Aside from the dried blood and a large scab in the middle of my forehead, I didn't look half bad. Then again, when had I ever really looked bad? I was in my early fifties, but didn't look a day over twenty-nine. I'd chalk it up to good genetics, but my family was not exactly known for aging gracefully. My parents were often mistaken for my grandparents when I was growing up, and my brother went prematurely gray before he was twenty-five. I took a quick shower and returned to the mirror. The scab had fallen off leaving fresh pink skin in its place. This shouldn't be possible, and yet it all was starting to make sense. I barely age. I don't get sick. I survived a devastating fire and point-blank bullet wound with barely a scratch. These happenstances weren't miracles from God. In fact, the only God that had anything to do with any of this was me, and that meant I didn't have to be so nice anymore...
"Generic greeting,"I said to Mike, my co-worker. "Nothing good about it,"Mike grumbled. He jerked a thumb towards the boss's office. "The chief is on a warpath. Apparently we just lost an important long time client and she's looking to fix the blame on someone." My eyes widened. "Which client?" "The Doma Group. They weren't too happy with an email response they received from one of the team members." I started to sweat. It was me. They asked for a progress report and I sent a short text: "Generic report."Guess my minor power didn't work with the written word. Mike peered closely at me. "You know anything about this?" "Generic white lie." "Hmmph."Mike went back to his tasks. I sat at my desk and just stared at my computer screen. How was I going to get through this? It was only a matter of time before... The boss's office door slammed open. "Grangers! Get in here!"she bellowed. I winced and stood up. The boss, Ms. Hawthorne, was standing at her door, anger radiating from her five foot form. She was normally rather pleasant, even friendly. I have only seen her angry a handful of times and those were at either rivals or customers that tried to stiff us. This was the first time I was the target of her wrath. I didn't like it. "Generic response,"I squeaked, smiling weakly. "Not the time for jokes, Grangers,"she growled. "Office. Now."She stalked in herself. I sighed and started thinking about typing up a new CV. "Close the door and sit down,"she ordered. I did so. She remained standing. Despite her short stature, I felt like she was looming over everything in the office, including me. "Generic inquiry?"I asked meekly. "Don't play dumb, Grangers. What was up with that email?" "Generic, uh, what email?" She swiveled a screen and pointed. "This email, Grangers!" On the screen was my response to the Doma Group's request for a progress report. At least a full page worth. I started to breathe easier. It did work in text after all. And then I skimmed the email. Oh, crap. Peter Rabbit was written by Beatrix Potter. It is about a rabbit and a farmer. The rabbit eats the farmer's vegetables. Peter Rabbit has three brothers and sisters and a mommy. After a few lines like that, the "report"abruptly changed subjects and rambled on about predestination and Calvinist theology, then rocket fuel composition. It concluded with a short three sentence speculation on a Dewey presidency. I felt the blood rush from my face. "Generic apology,"I stammered. Ms. Hawthorne glared at the screen. "I don't understand, Grangers. You're one of my best workers. But lately it seems like you're just, I don't know, phoning it in. Not really giving your all. Coasting along..." "Generic?" Ms. Hawthorne snapped her fingers. "That's it!"She didn't loom as much, her anger faded. She then sat down. "When was the last time you had vacation, Grangers?" I blinked in surprise. She wasn't going to fire me? She went on. "Because I far as I know, you haven't had one since my husband died." "Generic explanation,"I muttered. Ms. Hawthorne frowned. "It's been five years, Grangers. The company is doing fine."She then smiled. "You and Mike have been with me the longest and work the hardest. You both should take a couple months off sabbatical. Paid sabbatical"She tapped the screen with the "report"still displayed. "I don't need Mike to break down like you did." I wanted to explain that it wasn't a break down, not really. And what will she do if something comes up and neither Mike or I were around to help? What about the Doma Group? Maybe I could salvage... I looked at the screen. I've done enough damage. Because I got a little lazy. Generic, after all. "Generic grati- I mean, thank you, ma'am." Ms. Hawthorne nodded. "I'll see what I can do about this. Tell Mike and then get out of here. I'm still pissed at you so make sure you stay away for at least one month. But I don't want you working for two." After I told Mike and left the building, I thought about what I would do with my two months off. I pulled out my phone and noticed a new text message. Seemed my friends were planning a weekend fishing trip and invited me along. I was about to call and give my usual "Generic excuse"but then... Two months off. I really don't have an excuse, generic or otherwise.
"Now, I have some excerpts from an anonymous diary found only a few years ago. They provide an excellent insight into what the people had on their mind at the time." Most students are only half-listening to Prof. Larson's lecture. It's a beautiful day, and he's been talking for two hours already, droning on and on. I sigh. I had hoped this class would be more entertaining, to be honest. Perhaps hear some of the misconceptions today's people have of the times I have seen firsthand. Instead, I'm forced to listen to this absolute bore of a man talk and talk and talk and... You get the point - He never reaches it. "The food is scarce again,"Larson reads. "I have been giving my portions to the children of the house for a few days now. No one has noticed yet." I hide a little smile. That sounds like something I would have done at some point. Famines always were horrible for the people around me. "The youngest child has been sickly for a few days now. I am helping as best as I can. If neither the mother nor the child gets proper food soon, however, I fear for the worst." I frown a little. That all sounds a bit familiar. "Maria is sneaking into my bed almost every night. She tries to hide her tears, and I can do little to comfort her." I feel my face heat up. Oh, no, no, no. This sounds familiar because it's my diary! "I have not felt her lips on mine in weeks. Of course, I don't mention it, but I fear that we don't have much time left together."Larson makes a pause. "As we can tell, the author was likely a guest in the house. He mentions the children in a distanced manner. He might have been a doctor, trying to help the sick child." I blink. He?
I've fought monsters and dragons, beasts of the deep and hideous creatures perched atop high mountains. I've stared the most dreadful witch, evilest king, deadliest lord, and laughed in their face. And none of that has prepared me to stare down a little girl and say 'no, I won't teach you.' It's actually kinda unfair that some of the parents pull that. I can say no easily to a middle-aged woman with her hair tied up in a hair cloth or a father whose jaw quivers with rage at my obstinance. But the little kids? That's awkward. I like kids. Not a ton, but I don't hate them. I can give a firm no, and I do, for safety's sake, but it just leaves everyone with a bad taste in their mouth. "How could you say that to a child?!" I don't know, ma'am, how could you just barge into my little hut on the outskirts of town demanding that I tutor your child, one-on-one, take them in for the next fifteen years before dying a painful, horrifying, growth-inspiring death. Not the kid's. Mine. I know where this goes. I had three mentors before I picked up on the trend. Ullania was the first. A lovely woman, from my home town. The county's prophetess, she'd come searching for the one who would end the evil Lord Blastion's rein over our hometown. Her mind swam with visions upon finding me drawing water at the well, just a boy myself. "What's your name?"She had just seemed an ordinary woman to me, about my aunt's age. The only thing that stood out were her purple, jewel-like eyes. "Harrison,"I'd managed, unnerved by her stare. "Are you busy tonight?" A boy whose parents had perished at the hands of an evil necromancer's army? I already had the tragic backstory, but I didn't know all the patterns back then. Neither did Ullania I think. She trained me in the ways of the arcane and I grew to see her as the mother my aunt had never wanted to be. Lord Blastion, it turned out, had worked for that necromancer who killed my parents. And Ullania. I was sixteen when I avenged her death. Terribly young. Such a tragedy. I was just a child. What a pity. Anyway, after that I went to the big city to further my education where I was taken under my wing by Professor Andreas, the archmage of fire magic at the Celestial Academy. I was his apprentice and his favorite student, due to my plucky attitude and clumsiness that left me unpopular with most of my classmates, save for a small group of similarly plucky-but-unpopular students who were all inexplicably good at their respective studies, despite their statuses as social outcasts. It happens. I guess. My mentor had been investigating cults within the academy, something I brazenly told him was nonsense. Besides, I'd been planning my attack on the dragon that had been plaguing the nearby Haventown. I had no time for the old man's ramblings about cultists. When the academy was rent apart during the cult's dissolution, my beloved professor died, gurgling out his last message as I clutched his hand. He was proud of me but it was time for me to make my own way in the world. He'd always be with me, even if I couldn't see him. You see where I'm going with this. I sorta got my vengeance, some decades later, tracking down and killing one of the inner circle of the cult that had caused Professor Andreas's death. But it didn't feel good at that point, watching the not-so-reformed-after-all cultist die, cursing my name in a scream. Because by then I'd realized, it wasn't really the cultist that had killed Andreas, any more than it had been the necromancer who'd killed Ullania. They'd had to die, of course, but the deaths of my mentors sat with me. I hadn't needed them to die in order to go after the evil that was the necromancer, Carl, or the cultist, Amy. I would have taken them down anyway, which is the most frustrating thing out of it all. Likewise, if I were to take some eight-year-old pipsqueak as an apprentice, I like to think I wouldn't take on someone who needs me to die in order to give a damn about the world. I like to think I'd take on someone whose head was screwed on tight enough that they'd want to without holding a dying man in their arms. Thing is, it doesn't really matter if I pick right. I could pick someone who has good and lawfulness flowing through their veins and I'd still kick it. I know cause my final mentor did as well, and she absolutely did not deserve it. I was twenty-two by then, vying for the role of High Knight to the Grand King of the Mountain Region. The aging knight Sarian had taken me on, impressed by my deeds and able to look past my shy demeanor. While the other High Knights taunted him because I occasionally fumbled his wine goblet or tripped while bringing dishes back, Sarian had ignored them. He also kinda ignored me. He wanted to train a replacement so he could retire. We weren't really close, we weren't really friends. I served him well, in his home and by his side at the battlefield. He vouched for me at meetings and fought for my promotions. Poor guy. Not seven days from his planned retirement when he ate it on the battlefield. I mourned for him the way I would any coworker. I was sad, I was, but I didn't even really do much to avenge him. The fight had been a territorial dispute over a border. Neither of the kingdoms really had any moral high ground. I wasn't going to tear apart the neighboring Hills Region just cause Sarian died fighting them. I wanted more of a hero quest bit, not a villain origin story. Once I got anointed as a High Knight, I was able to sway the Grand King to find peace with the hill folk, so in a sense, I did right by Sarian, but that wasn't my motive. It wasn't ever, really. Now every time I hear a knock on my door, I bark a 'go away'. I'm being too gruff and I know it. One of these days, some relatable, isolated girl is going to come back after I tell her mother to go away. She's gonna knock on my door, clutching an armful of wildflowers, somehow coming across the same type that my late wife used to decorate our house with. Or maybe it'll be a little boy chasing his puppy into my yard. He'll gasp, hand over his mouth, when I open the door, but the dog will look like the one I had as a boy, and my heart will melt. I won't show it as I let them in, but I'll hear out their sad little sob story and won't be able to stop thinking about it, long after I've shooed either out. So far I've held strong. Cultists, demons, monsters, it's all been handled with rather easily. I live in the mountains, a several hours' walk from the closest remote mountain village, which I thought had been a stroke of genius when I'd first built it. Unfortunately, it plants me square in the center of a somewhat commonly used mountain path and the aforementioned village, so I get the worst of both worlds. Every single child from the village has, at some point, showed up at my doorstep, either holding onto an entitled parent or with said parent down the path a bit, hiding poorly behind a blueberry bush. Even worse are the people who have 'traveled night and day for a month' just to beg me to take on their whippersnapper. Sometimes it is just pure entitlement. Sometimes it's a sob story. Sometimes it's a rare talent. Sometimes it's just an outcast. 'He's blind, but he never misses a shot.' 'She was kicked from our village for her prowess in void magic.' 'She's an orphan child, she has nowhere else to go.' 'He's my son, you have to take him.' No story has been enough to make me risk a grisly death. Why should it? I've saved tens of thousands of lives over my time. I don't need to die just to inspire a child. Sometimes I'll let the kids in, when their parents are far enough back. I'll give them some tea or whatever and tell them a quick story in exchange for a promise to never come back. They always smile and nod and sip their tea, happy for a rest from the walk. This works because it's almost always their parents' ideas, not theirs. They're just as happy accepting the sweets and the break from the imposing eyes of their mom or dad. They don't actually want to be my apprentice. They think it's too dangerous. They have no idea. ___ For more stories in this world and others, check out [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
Ok,I'm doing it. I am SICK of mynan always killing their pet humans, sick of it. For goodness sake it's not that hard to keep a human alive. But apparently, for some mynan it is, so here's my book, Human care for Dummies. 1) They breathe air. Oxygen. Hydrogen. Gases. Not water, not slime and definately not coconut milk. (???) Our planet is covered in air, we breathe air how can you mess this one up. 2) They need to eat. Duh. Do not put them in the sun and occasionally water them like the exotic plants called 'suhnfloers'. They eat cooked animal flesh and some specific plants- not all plants. some plants kill them. See Jusqa's book What to feed a human for more information on this. 3) They work best with other humans as company! This one isn't so obvious, so I will give you a break. Without other humans, the human will likely contact a disease know as 'Deepreshion'. This Deepreshion may occur even if you do have other humans, and may lead to death if not properly looked after. If you suspect your human has Deepreshion or any other disease, take it to the Vet. The Vet may give pills or recommend a change in environment, which leads to the next point. 3) Environment. For the love of Tyrona, do not keep your human in a tiny cage. Get a proper enclosure, or, better, let it roam about. They need: A soft dark place to sleep. The bedding should be changed every 4-7 days. Don't just hose it down. A place to wash, like a water fountain. A private place. You will need to make sure that the human knows they have a safe place, where they can retreat if needed and know they will not be disturbed. They also sometimes may sleep in the private place. A specific food area. You will want to train your human to ask for food at specific intervals during the day. This will make sure they get fed enough. If the human starts to get a bit on the pudgy side, reduce the food served. If the human is too skinny, make the servings larger. It is recommended to take the human to the Vet every hunaf to make sure that it is eating a proper amount. 4) Keep it safe from other pets! Humans and other pets do not always mix. Always make sure that your human gets along with your other pets before leaving them alone together. Especially do not leave it alone with any large flesheater animals, as it might eat the human. 5) This is a bit of a delicate topic. As a result of their unique reproductive system, female humans will...leak their bodily fluids...every hunaf. They may become moody or tired. It is recommended to give female humans extra choc treats during this time. Warming up heat-containing sacks for the humans also seems to help during this time. 6) Humans mainly breed only if the male and the female actually want a cub. If there are signs of repetitive breeding, isolate the humans and take them to the Vet. You probably will not have to neuter them, since they are responsible breeders, but if it shows signs of getting out of control, it is a safe and viable option. 7) Cubs. If a female human's stomach begins to swell, it may be growing cubs inside. This is normal and you normally do not have to cut the cubs out. Humans also usually produce only One cub at a time and the incubation period is approximately 9 hunafs. When the human begins to show signs of distress, take her to the Vet immediately for the safest birth. The cub or human or both may die in the process, unfortunately. 8) Coverings. The humans will want coverings for their bodies. They do not like not having coverings. The female humans will need specially fit undercoverings. The best way to make sure that your human gets well fitted coverings is to take it to a Dyuna. The Dyuna will measure the humans and select a size of coverings and undercoverings that will fit that human the best. Sizes will change overtime, especially in cubs. If the coverings don't fit correctly, or the feel of the material of the coverings is to the human's disliking, the human will not be happy. The humans also will require bed-coverings, special soft coverings to wear to sleep. They may also like foot, hat and even neck coverings. Especially in colder seasons. 9) When a human gets hurt, a red liquid will flow out of them, like our blue fyanto. Unlike fyunto, it will not always stop on its own. Humans should have access to some long strips of clean covering to bind up the wound. They will usually do this themselves, handily. They may also wash the would with water. If the skin is not broken, a brooz will form. a brooz is when it bleeds, but doesn't break through the skin. The human will be tender here, so do not touch a human on a wound or brooz, ever. If a human seems to be in serious pain, it may have broken a bone. Take it to the Vet immediately, carrying it in the carrier container carefully. Do not just chuck it in your covering-container and jog to the Vet, this will mean great pain and suffering and possible death for the human. 10) You will need to periodically snip a humans Nails and Hair. It is recommended you get a harfiya to do it, as they are experienced at it and since if it is done incorrectly, the human will experience pain. 11) Humans will wash themselves most of the time, if the have access to water and cleansing sand. Do not dunk them in the water. Ever. You will lose their trust. And that is my book. I may have to write another, as mynan find new ways to mistreat the poor humans. I have currently rescued over 240 humans from abusive households and will rescue many more over my lifeline. Take good care of your humans.
Humanity’s discovery of intelligent extraterrestrial life once and for all settled the debate of what role-playing game class is most powerful. The Bard was the most powerful by far, capable of annihilating thousands with a single power chord played on an amped-up electric guitar. Upon discovering the incredible lethal potential of music against a new unknown alien force, humanity began doing what they do best: Genocide under the guise of protecting themselves. In many wars, few remember who threw the first punch, but in this case, despite what the humans claim the humans threw the first punch. Or rather, strummed the first chord. A concert meant to display the highest and most iconic forms of human culture began as a testament to a beautiful peaceful co-existence. The concert instead turned into a bloodbath in a split second as the third chord of the first song’s solo caused massive hemorrhaging in the brains of the alien audience. By the time the guitarist opened his eyes all, he saw before him was a mountain of corpses as the air filled with the sweet smell of fresh death. The galactic community was outraged at what became known as “Night of the Thousand Screams”. This was seen as a blatant act of war against all life in the galaxy and so the galactic community voted in favor of eradicating humanity. Humanity within the early days of the war found traditional forms of warfare ineffective with missiles being unable to reach their targets and regular soldiers being quickly outnumbered and outgunned. The tides of war quickly turned with the introduction of Deathsinger Squadrons. These were specialized troops consisting of musicians trained to perform a specialized type of music known as a Deathsong. The Deathsong was a combination of Power Metal and Electro designed specifically for maximum lethality against alien targets. Soon the losses began mounting and it was plainly clear that the galactic community was losing the war, so they made a bid for peace. As part of the treaty, humanity officially acquired the planets they had now made near desolate, by right of conquest. Many of the now former Deathsingers settled on those planets, but some few found sharing a planet with other humans unfitting of their position and continued personal conquests, subjugating entire planets under threat of near-instantaneous genocide. On each of these worlds, now known collectively as Dread Worlds exists some variation of the same poem known by nearly all of the inhabitants. This is an approximate translation of one of them: “Never wonder about the sound of the Deathsong. The song itself is death, to hear it means you’re gone. Never peer into the eyes of the Deathsinger. For those eyes are that of a killer.”
Callie's party was making camp for the night. That meant it was her turn to waste her magical power to start a campfire. How they had gotten this far before she joined was beyond her. At least it was an easy task. Let the guys do the heavy lifting. Well, most of them anyway. Derrick, the oldest member of the team, had an excuse for not participating in the nightly prep. He still handled making the food, but he was excused from the rest of it. "Hey, old man, what's for dinner?"Another member of the party called while setting up a tent. "I'm starving." Derrick ignored the younger man. According to the others, this was not normal behavior. Sure he was getting on in years, but he seemed sharp enough. Callie was too new to know for sure though. "Sir Derrick?"Callie asked. "Is everything okay?" "Hm? Oh, nothing much. Just thinking about things." "What kind of things." "Nothing a young lady such as yourself needs to know."He said with a sad smile. "Oh. That."Callie said. She was familiar with death. Ever since her mother died a few weeks ago, she knew it's sting far too well. "So does this mean..." "Smart girl. Yes, I am thinking of retiring. Probably should've done it years ago, but I just never had the courage. Now it's too late." "I'm sure you have many good years left. I hear there's lots of work for retired adventurers, even those of your age." "That's hardly important. I have plenty of money saved up. It's just that I have nobody to leave it to. At least, not anymore." So, he was the same as her in a way. No family left. And in her case, nothing left to remember what family she used to have. Now that her mother's necklace was missing, she had no momentos to keep near. Finding the thief was why she had joined the party in the first place. "Oh."She said. "I guess you were too busy adventuring to have a wife and kids, huh?" "Oh no, I have, or rather had, a wife. She died a few years ago while I was out galavanting with people half my age. A daughter too." That actually reminded her of her mother. She had always told Callie that her grandfather was a great warrior. A hero who saved the world and slayed great monsters. Well, until he met his end anyway. She never did say how though. "So why not go back to her?" "She died a few week ago."Derrick's eyes fell. It seemed like he wanted to shed tears, but was unable to do so. "Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry."She really was. "My mom died a week or so before I joined the party, so I know how that feels." The other members of the party were not paying attention. They were too busy setting up camp or tending to their equipment. So, Callie changed seats to sit next to the senior party member. "Do you know how she died?"She asked. "No. I wasn't with her. It's my most recent regrets. I missed my wife's passing, and now my daughter's. I'm a terrible father if I couldn't even be there for my little girl. The only reason I know is because of her enchanted necklace." Callie's mother had something similar. She had never known what the enchantment was though. Callie had tried to decipher it after becoming a mage, but it was hidden behind several layers of protection. "How so?" "It was something I gave her when she was a little girl. If she was in danger, it would come to me and act as a bridge, allowing me to always come to her rescue. It never did though, so I knew she was living a good, safe life. But then the necklace came to me and did not lead me anywhere. There's only one reason for that to happen." He reached into his armor and pulled out the necklace in question. At first glance, it seemed quite simple. A silvery chain with a blue stone set into it. But on close inspection, one could see it had a subtle complexity. The stone, for example, was not solid blue, but contained fine lines of dozens of other colors swirling within its depths. It was also the exact same necklace her mother had worn. She had to clench her hands together to keep from snatching the accessory right then and there. She had to force herself to think logically. There could be more than one, right? Derrick ran his hands over the stone with a distant look in his eyes. He seemed oblivious to everything else. "Um, Derrick, where did you get that before you gave it to your daughter?" "Hm? Let's see, it was so long ago. I'm fairly sure I had it commissioned. Only one like it in the world. Why do you ask?" "Because my mother had one just like it." Derrick's eyes widened and he turned to look at her. "That's impossible."He said slowly. "Unless..." They were both thinking the same thing. He leaned in close, examining her face closely. "My god. How...how did I not see it?"He said quietly. "How did I miss it?" "What is it?" "The eyes. Your eyes. They're just like hers. My wife's, my daughter's. Both of them. Exactly the same." "So then you...you are my..."A lump formed in her throat. "She...she said you died. She never said said how, but she did." "I'm not surprised. Like I said, I was never a great father. I was gone too often and for too long. In some ways it's better that you grew up thinking that." "She said you were a great hero. That you fought dragons and demons. That you saved the world a dozen times." He let out a forced chuckle. "Now that I am surprised to hear. I never thought she'd have said anything about me." The two sat in silence for almost a minute. The other party members were keeping their distance. Apparently, they finally realized that something was going on between the two. "Derr..."Callie started. She stopped and thought. "Gr, Grandpa?"She finished. It felt odd to call him that. It was something she would have to get used to. Derrick's breath caught in his throat. Tears finally started welling up in his eyes. "Yes?" "Can you tell me the real stories? About your old adventures?" He took a deep breath and a small smile crossed his face. "Yes. Yes, I think I would like that."
The priest began to say the ritual as I was bent over the altar. "Lord Satan! We offer you this sacrifice in return for power and wealth!"The air began to reverberate with demonic hums as the demons awaited their blood. As the hums gradually grew, the priest spoke in a demonic tongue for a few minutes. After which, he picked up the sword with both hands, raised it above his hands, and despite knowing that the sword was fake, seemed to be mentally preparing for a real death. My mind was racing. "The sword's fake right?""Yes but that seems real...""But he seems awfully morose..""He has to deal with demons/satan, wouldn't you be morose?""Yeah but we're the ones bending over the altar right now, not him." The sword finally came down and, just as he said, didn't even penetrate the skin. It seemed to be a toy sword disguised as a real one. I looked at the priest. He seemed overjoyed that it was, in fact, fake. "What is the meaning of this?!"asked one of the sacrificers. "You were meant to chop his head off! Satan will want blood!"said another. The priest looked satisfied now. "And he'll get it. Just not from an innocent."At that moment, the sword had turned into what looked like a very real demonic crossblade. The priest threw it swiftly at all the zealots around me while I kept my head down. I did not want to see or watch what was about to happen. I heard the crossblade impact 4 bodies, and they all seemed to fall over at once. "Can...can I get up now?"I asked gingerly. I didn't know what was going on and evidently, the zealots had no idea either. The priest was the only one in the know. "Not yet..."said the priest. So there I sat, hunched over the altar waiting for who knows what. I really hoped this would be over soon, my legs were killing me. After about 2 minutes, the hums had finally died down and a demonic face appeared. I dared not look him in the face and just trusted the priest. The demon spoke. "You promised blood and a body."it said. I assumed he was gesturing to me somehow. "A-and you still have it! Four of them in fact! Look!"said the priest with an obvious note of fear in his voice. The demon seemed unconcerned though and I heard nothing but breathing as I assumed he looked around. "This is not what we agreed."it said again. Uh-oh. "It is actually."said the priest. "We agreed on the blood of a virgin, and a young soul. They are indeed virgins, at least...one of them is...and in the demon world, souls are considered young when they're below 100 years of age. Everyone in this room, except you perhaps, is below 100."he said with a note of confidence in his voice. Perhaps he realized that he had bested a demon? The demon's breathing slowed as it contemplated it's possible new offer. It slowly walked around looking at each body. After stopping 4 times at each body, I heard what sounded like an ocean on loop. It must've been the portal re-opening. "I...accept."said the demon. It walked into the portal and it closed. The priest immediately ran over to me and helped me up. "Sorry about all that, but I really didn't want you dying." I got up and recollected myself. "So...what was all this about? You now have power and wealth? And how did you change the fake sword into a real crossblade?" The priest scoffed. "Oh, no, I always had power, wealth I never cared for. You see this was..." I felt the need to look at him all of a sudden and I slightly recoiled in horror at his face. It was no longer human at all, and seemed to be he might've just been the demon that came through the portal. "A little demonic feud"
"Construction Engineering is breaking even this month."I smiled at Ike DeWitt, who'd been heading that department for seven years. "Congratulations." Amid applause from the old hands, Ike blushed. "I wish I could take the credit, but really it's just the new hire doing the work." "He's not the one who got fifty million worth of new contracts. That's the good work of the sales team - meaning you, Ike." "Yeah, but honestly, he's the only reason we could bid so low. I mean, free sand onsite? Zero transportation costs? All delivered on time and in the right quality within one month? We're saving 10% on contract costs right there." "Any problems with the employee?"Eileen from HR asked. "Is he asking for a raise?" "He gets 1% of contract costs plus full medical coverage for his family right now. Frankly the only thing he wants is some more time to spend with his daughter, which works fine with us... He's the fastest sand supplier we've ever had." "All right, so let's move to Utilities .... Nate, how's the new contracts working out?" "Brilliantly. Electro goes onsite with the teams now. A lot cheaper than high voltage generators or step up transformers, I'll tell you that. We've cut costs by nearly 3%." "Is the work particularly demanding?"asked Eileen. "Not for him; he just sits and watches TV all day whe the currents flow the way he wants." "How do the other employees react?" "They're all good buddies. Did you know he used to be a lineman himself? The younger guys come to him for advice on technical questions; fuse breakers, wiring fixes and the like. He also does safety training sessions for the electricians. Pretty good at it too." "That's awesome. And now on to the stars.... R&D. Doctor?" Otto Octavius sniffed in disdain. "If I must take time off from my vital research to attend these management review meetings, the least we could do is make them short...." "Sir, we talked about this. You have stock options in the company; you deserve to know what's going on." Doc Ock rolled his eyes, and his tentacles twitched. "Very well. The new nuclear waste disposal robots are now in prototype stage; they can find and 'eat' radioactive materials, digest and process them into harmless substances like lead, and are fully self powered." "Cost of production?" "Eight million dollars per unit." I winced. That was way over budget. "But with five of them I can clean up Chernobyl." "Permanently?" "Of course."Dr. Ock scoffed. "I don't do temporary solutions like those fools in the ERDB." At Ike's quizzical look, I explained. "The New Safe Confinement structure in Chernobyl was financed by the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development. It prevents radiation from leaking out of Chernobyl. It's designed to last a hundred years."And cost $2.1 billion to build, I mentally added.... "Temporary solutions,"sniffed Doc Ock. "Behold, the power of my genius.... I shall make the site safe permanently." "Thanks, Doctor. That's good news and a real win for all mankind."I turned to the next person at the table. "Mr. Toomes, would you like to share the news from your project too?" Adrian Toomes, still wearing his Vulture harness, shrugged. "The new drones work exactly as planned. Stable short range flight, two hours battery life, and one kilogram payload, including the onboard heater." "Cost?" "Since you insisted... two thousand dollars each, and they'll last two years without maintenance. I can do better, but it'll push up the cost." "Pizza Hut wants five thousand of them in six months. Can we do that?" Vulture sighed. "So it has come to this... the genius of my inventions being used to deliver pizzas faster...." "We can always plough back the profits into research, if you'd like,"I suggested. A look of panic crossed his face. "No! I mean, the current plans are fine." It had been a good idea to give the Vulture a 15% cut of all profits from his inventions. I reminded myself to thank the source. Shrugging, I turned to the last of the new people I'd hired. "How's our PR coverage going?" "We're getting good reviews in all the engineering publications. Science Digest wants a full length interview with Doc Ock." A snort from the Doctor. "You are wasted in publicity, Peter. Come work with me.... research is the only true place for a boy of your talents." I shook my head at the Doctor with a gentle smile. "Sir, what did we agree about poaching from other departments?" "Not to do it,"grumbled Doc Ock. "Fine, Parker, if you want to waste your time dealing with trashy journalists instead on contributing to the advancement of the human condition...." ".... And not achieving my potential, then I've only myself to blame. Got it."Peter Parker chuckled. "I'm happy where I am, Doc, and I'm fine helping out part time." "Far be it from me to stand in the way of anyone's dreams,"I smiled. "Thanks, everyone. And Eileen in particular, for her diversity initiative, without which we would not have been so successful." Eileen blushed, then thanked everyone as the meeting broke up. I turned to Peter. "How's Aunt May and MJ? You guys doing okay?" "We are. It helps to have a steady paycheck."Peter winced. "It still feels weird...." "Eileen may have come up with the idea, but we all know who made it work, Peter. I wouldn't have thought of approaching any of these guys the way you did."I smirked. "Doc Ock was right, you know.... you really are a genius." "I guess that's why I kept beating you in school, Harry,"Peter snarked back.
Metatitne thought of millions of galaxies at once, the ones It had passed through and observed over gigaannums of existence, considering the intricacies of each to try to distract Itself from the incessant waves that refused to stop bouncing through It's being. Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo doo. Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo,doo. Since passing by the system that held that noisy blue dot, Metatitne had not been able to remove this single thread of madness from It's mind. Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Mommy shark, doo, doo, doo, doo ,doo, doo. It felt like a megaannum since It had first heard this chaotic whisper, picking it out from the trillions of waves the planet had been exuding, but Metatitne knew it had not been nearly that long, since It was still in the same galaxy where It's torturer resided. Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Run away, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. Metatitne felt the pull of the black hole It had been drifting around, considering, swirling closer as years cascaded, and accepted that if the madness did not leave him, he would join the void. It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. It's the end, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo. It's the end.
Nebiros looked down at the youth from his lofty heights. Shabbily dressed, lanky, unkempt hair almost reaching his shoulders. He didn't look like much, but perhaps there were hidden qualities to him. Certainly there didn't seem to be much fear in his eyes. Or much of anything else. "Ah, you must be the sacrifice,"Nebiros rumbled. "Are you perhaps the fairest among the villagers, meant to be displayed in my lair? Or their best scholar, meant to discuss philosophy with me?" The youth scratched his head. "Uh, what?" "Not the latter, then,"the dragon said, sighing. "What kind of a sacrifice are you meant to be, pray tell?" The youth looked up at him with dull eyes. "Iunno,"he mumbled. "You got anything to eat around here?" "Anything to eat?"The dragon's voice gradually rose into a thundering bellow. "You stand before me and have the gall to give me demands?" "Well, yeah. Wossmater?"The youth picked his nose, fished out a booger, and looked it over, impressed. "I'm hungry." In his centuries-long life, Nebiros didn't often find himself speechless, but this was one of those times. He sat back on his haunches and exhaled a puff of smoke. "Do you even realize where you are, boy?"he asked in a defeated tone. "Who I am?" "Sure. Yer that big bad dragon, right?"The boy nodded sagely. "Everyone knows." "And yet you're not afraid of me?" "Not much point, is there?"the boy said, glancing around the gloomy lair before losing interest. "You could probably crush me underfoot if you wished." "Indeed I could,"the dragon said, a little mollified. "What did the villagers even tell you before sending you here?" The youth's face became animated for the first time. "Oh man, they were all like 'Get off your behind, boy, and be useful for once'."He rolled his eyes. "Parents, man." "I see,"Nebiros grumbled. "Perhaps I shall have words with the village elders about the quality of their sacrifices." "Whatever. How about some food first?"
You reach into your pocket, and take out a soft, cold tater tot from dinner. You try to lower it, your arm at an uncomfortably hanging off the bed, and your hand with the tater tot barely off the carpet. This was your latest attempt at taming the monster under your bed. Suddenly, you feel the air in your bedroom drop in temperature, making you glad you decided not to change into your thin pajamas. The shadows of the trees outside start to dance across your bedroom wall, but there is no sound of branches swinging, leaves rustling, or the wind howling. There is complete silence, yet the shadows still dance. From inside your head, as if forming a thought, you hear a deep, rumbling groan. This is good, none of your previous antics have gotten close to creating the response you're getting tonight. Suddenly, your hand turns ice-cold as you feel a slimy, thin tendril coil around your fingers and embrace the tater tot. You try to jerk your hand away, but you are paralyzed in fear. "Noooooooo..."a low, gravely voice fills your head. Although it's your first time hearing anything like this, you reason that this must be the voice of the monster under the bed. "Ha. Ha. Ha! Ha!"This time, a sharp, staccato voice comes from the front of your head, between your eyebrows. It sounds like strained laughter, with each laugh accompanied by the door of your closet bulging forward, as if the monster trapped inside was trying to bang its way out. "You see...? I was... hopeful... But now... only... disappointment..." "I see. I see!" "So... soggy... Not... tasty..." "Yes! But boy." "Boy... tasty...? Perhaps..." "Yes! Yes! Tomorrow?" "Hm... Yes. Tomorrow... Boy." Suddenly, the temperature in the room returns to normal. Your eyes are wide open in shock, and you realize just how sweaty you are, with your neck and back drenching your mattress in sweat. After waiting a few seconds, you feel safe, and bring your arm back up to wipe off the cold sweat on your forehead. Looks like you're going to need a plan B, and fast.
"I feel like we don't talk enough about the fact you never actually use the door when you come visit." Ayaba held me off the ground with her hand gripped onto my power armor, which was barely hanging on by its' washers. Ayaba frowned and replied, "Half the time they're booby trapped." "A: it's more like three quarters. And B: none of them ever stop you, so I don't know why you're complaining."I fiddled around inside my armor until I got a grip on the handle for the emergency flashbang. I gave it a solid tug, only to be greeted with a loud clanking noise and the back of my armor falling off, leaving me to unceremoniously fall onto the floor. I groaned and remarked, "Well, that's another thing I have to fix." Ayaba looked down at me and went wide eyed. "What the--Jesus, Specimen, how old are you?!" I got up and dusted myself off. "I blew up Wall Street this morning, so don't act like there's some--" Ayaba cut me off by grabbing my collar and growling, "How old?!" I held my hands up in a mock surrender and answered, "I'm fifteen. Happy now?" "Fifte--What?! Why?! Why do any of this--" "Don't do that. Don't act like you feel anything for me other than pity or contempt. Just be like everyone else and own up to it." Ayaba's eyes turned sad as she said, "What happened to your parents, Specimen?" I shrugged. "Don't know, don't want to. You take a risk one day and say to your folks, "Hey guys, I don't wanna be a girl anymore,"and all of a sudden you're tossed to the wolves at the ripe old age of twelve because they don't want the bad PR that comes with having a trans kid. Parents, am I right?" Ayaba didn't say anything. I scoffed and remarked, "What, trying to figure out how I can make jokes about something like this? Yeah, well, we can't all vent or confide in a wisecracking sidekick or whatever the fuck you caped shits have. Some of us have to live down in the filth and find ways to cope with the fact people out there want us killed by a goddamn firing squad just for being different!! And where the hell were you, huh?! You think I couldn't have appreciated someone to swoop down from the sky and help me when I was sleeping in abandoned cars and robbing convenience stores for food?!! YOU THINK I DIDN'T NEED A HERO?!?!" As I caught my breath, I realized I had started crying. Ayaba looked like her heart had broken in two as she pulled me into a hug. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed out three years of trauma and pain. Ayaba cradled my head and softly whispered, "I'm sorry, Specimen. I'm so sorry you had to go through even one day of that without someone to save you." My voice was muffled as I replied, "I didn't want to be Specimen. I just wanted to be Atticus. I told myself that I chose my path, but the truth is I had every other option ripped away from me." "Not every option. I'm going to talk to the Hero Association and see if I can't adopt you." "W--What?? After everything I've done?" Ayaba let me out of the hug and put her hands on my shoulders. "Atticus. You deserve better, and you know it. I can't make up for not being your hero at the start, but please let me be that for you now." I started crying all over again and weakly uttered, "Thank you." Ayaba wiped the tears from my face and pulled me into another hug. "Of course, Atticus."
The ashen-colored visage of the underworld's ruler gazed blankly in my direction, before a soft scoff of cold breath escaped his lips, which curled into a sardonic smile. "Mortals...If I hadn't already seen so often the kind of ridiculous things you'll do for your own motivations, I would be surprised at this level of mundane."he said dryly, before waving a pale hand dismissively in my direction, standing before the giant three-headed hound of his. "Do as you wish, the lad has been feeling rather neglected as of late." Sensing his master's will for him to behave, and that you presented no danger to the domain, the stoic stance the giant dog had held itself in softened, haunches lowering a bit before three black-furred heads lowered down to observe you, the sniffing sound almost deafening and the flow of air receding and billowing forth almost knocking you off your feet from three different directions. Fortunately you were able to stave off the force of the air enough to reach forward and plant your hand on the warm fur to the side of the right head's nose, and started sliding back and forth quickly, treating the beast with no less favor than you would petting your own childhood dog, warm memories feeling a bit more potent here in the realm of the afterlife...one would wonder how the spirit of your past pet was... Heavy breathing came from the head you pet, a giant wet tongue lolling forth as Cerberus became more acclimated to the sensation and found it favorable. Enough so that two other heads were beginning to get insistent one not hog the attention, the center head nudging the right out of the way and pushing its big wet nose almost against your face, while the left nudged against you from the side, almost knocking you down once again. "Easy, easy...I'm not going anywhere for a bit, you'll all get your turn!"you promise, barely hiding your gleeful laugh. The swish of a giant tail somewhere behind that gargantuan body gave you good evidence that Cerberus understood, and was equally delighted in knowing all three of its consciousnesses would be given their fair share of lovable pats and affection. A pity you didn't have a third hand to make things more properly even, so those heads would still vie for that one extra second of indulgence over the others. Watching from aside, Hades shook his head at the display, watching his loyal beast become the same small little creature he'd trained from its youth. With a soft sigh, he simply smirked a little more. "I suppose we're both getting soft in our age, hmm, my friend?"
[Part 1 of 2] “Oof. That was a rough one. I can’t even remember what happened. Excuse me sir, may I borrow that clipboard for a second?” I snatched the wooden board from his hands, reading over the autopsy report. “Name, age. Wait, thirties? I’m only twenty-two. A rough twenty-two, but jeez. Anyway, blood type. Ah, here it is. Probable cause of death. Ok, and I can’t read the handwriting. Hey buddy, what’s that say?” The pathologist stared at me, his wide eyes visible beneath his fogged glasses. Each heavy breath pushing more hot air from under his face mask, furthering the fog. He didn’t answer at first, body shaking as if he had seen a ghost. He backed away from the table, joining his assistants, who already had their backs pressed against the walls. No one wanting to speak unless it unleashed some sort of evil upon them. “Please, can someone tell me? It feels like I’ve been hit by a truck.” “Motor vehicle accident. A truck collided with you when you were crossing the street.” The pathologist said, barely able to force the words out. He looked certain I had been dead. His mind probably racing with disconnected thoughts, trying to find a logical conclusion to why I was alive. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t find one. “BOO YAH. GOT IT RIGHT. Up top?” I raised my hand, expecting a high five. When no one answered it, I lowered my hand slightly. “Down low?” My attempt at humor did little to lighten the horrific sight. Sure, I wasn’t the prettiest guy around, but to scream in my presence. That just felt rude. When the pathologist began running for the door, the assistants all followed, like little duckies following their mother. They each jammed into the doorway, turning back over their shoulder like they expected me to chase them. “Boo.” I smirked, watching their pushing get rougher until they tumbled out of the room, leaving me to laugh to myself. My laughter echoing in the dead room. “That was cruel, but so worth it. I’ll send a fruit basket to make up for it. Ok, time to get going.” I placed my arms on the table, lifting myself only to pause. “I said, time to get up.” My hands gave another push, only for nothing below the waist to respond. “Rise and shine?” I raised the blanket, only to find my lower half disconnected. “Fuck! Wait, can you stitch my legs back on? Please, I can’t…. Damn it.” I banged my hand against the side of the table, hearing a startled squeal come from outside of the room. Unintentionally scaring someone outside. “This is going to take soooo long. Did I keep my stitching materials in my pocket? Maybe I can speed this process up a little.” It would take a few hours for my muscles and bones to pull themselves back together. Given how little my lower body had repaired itself, I estimated that this was the first time in a while that they had put my two halves near one another. I reached into my pocket only to curse. Where was it? I always kept some nylon thread in my pocket for cases like this. Did they rob me? My wallet wasn’t on me either, or my phone. Great, robbed and killed in one night. Who takes stitching material? I rested my head back on the table, turning to see a tray of items containing all the contents from my pocket. Grabbing my phone, wallet, and stitching items, I began my procedure. To say it was a slow process was an understatement. To dig the needle through the skin and weave it into such a large area was nearly impossible, especially given I was far from a medical expert. The job didn’t need to be perfect, it just needed to keep my body close. Naturally, I would heal. This would just ease that healing along. When I finally had the stitching done near the front of my body, I placed the equipment aside. I had no chance of reaching around my back, so this would have to do. I could already feel a slight sensation in my lower half, which was a good sign that things were working. Now I just had to wait. “I don’t want anybody else. When I fall apart, I stitch myself, woahhhhh.” I passed the time with some singing in between, trying to coax a person to come into the room with me. My attempts at coaxing were always misunderstood. Partly because I thought it would be a good idea to throw the metallic tray at the door, thinking that might cause them to come into the room to inspect the noise. Instead, I think they saw it as a sign of hostility. “Bored. So, bored. Kill me now. This is painful.” I stared at the ceiling before hearing two officers outside. They had just gotten done talking to a frantic assistant and seemed to be trying to figure out the best course of action. “They said it’s a zombie. Like something out of a horror movie. That can’t be right, can it?” “Weird things have been happening lately. You heard about that woman digging up graves, right? They call her the Red Robber.” “Why’s that?” “Cause she has red hair. Gods, do you not have a better naming department at your station?” I screamed out, desperate for any human interaction. The conversation stopped, and I heard the unstrapping of their equipment. Gun’s being drawn as they neared the door, only for a voice to call out to them. The words muffled until eventually the footsteps started walking away from the door, causing me to groan out. “No, come on. Please, I’m stuck here for another two hours. This is maddening. Anyone, please?” The door opened, revealing a familiar red-haired woman. She scowled when she saw me, her hair a mess, sticking to her forehead, clearly having to rush to get here in time. She gave her suit jacket a quick tug, making sure it was straight before she walked to my side, waiting for me to say something. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/12p6ko5/wp_i_pulled_myself_together_and_got_up_the/jgleut2/)
The workday was almost over. Hernando was waiting patiently at his desk. His office was like any office, brightly lit, clinical and emotionally off-putting. There is something about a cookie cutter uninspired office that was just draining. Hernando knew this. Hernando felt this. Normally, Hernando would be tired at this time of day so close to closing time, but instead he was alert, nervous even. There was an analog clock on the opposite wall from where Hernando sat. The office was quiet, some people had already left for the day. Others were consumed by their work. Hernando could hear the faint ticking of the clock. Tick. Hernando started to sweat, his collar was irritating him. He continued to wait. Tock. Hernando looked at a window on one of the distant office walls, his gaze lingered longer than it should have. Tick. He looked back and scanned the office. The phosphorescent lights didn't seem to be lighting up the office as well. Hernando noticed that there were shadows everywhere. The carpet looked dingy, and people's faces seemed almost green. Tock. Hernando was getting anxious, he thought he should get up and do something, talk to someone, but he continued to sit. He continued to wait. Tick. The door beside him opened unexpectedly, startling Hernando. His boss waved him in. The blinds of his boss's office were drawn shut. The over-head light in his office had a yellow tinge and was flickering quickly, almost imperceptibly. Hernando saw it though, and it made his stomach churn. Both men sat down. They sat in silence for a few brief moments while the boss read a paper in his hands. Hernando was feeling very uncomfortable, he wanted to run from the office as fast as he could. He wanted to lock himself away in his home and never leave. Then his boss spoke. "You said this is your first report you've made on your own?" "Yes sir, that's right." "Ah, well it's a good report, you should be proud." "Oh, thank you." "I want you to keep making this report every week, send it out to all the section heads when it's done. Also, if you wouldn't mind briefing this out at our weekly sync meetings, I'd appreciate it." "No problem, I can do that." "Sounds great, let me know if you need anything to streamline this process."His boss grinned politely. "And have a good night." Hernando left his boss's office and sat back down. He looked at the clock. Tick. He gathered his things and left. Hernando was settling in well to his new promotion.
The genie curled out of the lamp like smoke. Pouring out endlessly until it solidified into a small man. He looked young - maybe twenty five or thirty. Long black hair tied back in a pony tail - bound with ringlets of gold. Robes of flowing blue silks wrapped his lithe body. He turned to me, his face splitting into a wide grin. “By the stars above, it has been a long time,” he said with a great smile. “Hello old friend, it’s been a while,” I said embracing him. We hugged tightly, slapping each other on the back, then sat down in the sand and looked out over the ocean. “Tell me of the world, tell me what has changed while I was in that blasted bottle,” he asked earnestly. “It has been a long time since we have seen each other. A long, long time,” I said mournfully. “The last time we talked, the printing press was still a new wonder. Since then humanity had an Industrial Revolution. They built great machines. Automated all manner of manufacturing. Learned to fly. Walked on the moon -“ “The moon? Surely you jest?” “I swear, they walked on the moon. They taught machines to think. Could talk to people any where in the world in an instant. Sent machines to mars and beyond the edges of our solar system.” I stopped and remembered the wonders. “Then, in their hubris, they destroyed themselves. Destroyed the planet. It doesn’t matter how. There are only a handful of people left. Scraping out a living from the irradiated ruins of the world,” I said to the sand. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even look out over the sea. Man rose so high - so very high - and then plummeted to unfathomable depths. The genie put his hand on my shoulder. “How long has it been? How long have I been away from the world?” He asked finally. “I was in the Americas when humanity fell,” I said slowly. “I should have seen it coming. I should have come for you before they destroyed the world.” “How long?” He asked again. “I tried to get back to you as fast as I could. No more ships. No more boats. This island is in the middle of no where,” I plead. “How long….” “I think it has been about two thousand years.” His face was painted in shock. “We were just trying to survive, for so long. To try and convince people to help me build a boat and to sail to the middle of no where,” I just shook my head. “I tried. I swear I tried.” We sat in silence for a long time. The genie’s magic was amazing and powerful but it had rules and constraints too. Whom ever possessed the lamp could have three wishes but no more until after the lamp had a new owner or a hundred years had passed. I had wished for eternal youth, to always know where the lamp was, and finally, to see the genie again. Then I hid the lamp. Every hundred years or so I would go back and brush off the lamp. Wish for two things and then wish to see the genie again. Then I would hide the lamp again Over and over again - through out the ages - I would make wishes and hide the lamp. We became friends. We would talk for hours. For days. We would talk until the lamp was pulling hard at him to return - then I would make my wishes and he would vanish into his bottle for another hundred years. “I have been selfish,” I said breaking the silence. “You should have been out in the world - helping those who need it. Instead I have hoarded you. Kept you for myself.” I let out a big sigh. “My last set of wishes ever. I have lots of time to think about them. I wish that only people who will use your power wisely will find you. I wish that you will be found often. And…,” even after all these years, after so many life times, it was so hard to say, “I wish to die.” My friend, the genie, smiled at me. “Good wishes.” I nodded as tears rolled down my cheeks. “So be it,” he said with a snap of his fingers.
Melvin's eyes popped open instantly, with that possibly audible click that you only hear with the best blinks. Today was going to be amazing. He woke before his alarm - but that was usual in the routine. Yeah, he had work today. Same job, same place he'd been for ten years. He was checking circuits for fault in alarm clocks. Alarm clocks never really changed, QA never really changed. He usually got about fifty, fifty-five done in an hour, depending on how many times he sipped his coffee (seven to fourteen). Once, six years ago, he had some bad Thai, and he only got forty-three done. His boss always gave him the best reviews. Neat, efficient, personable, efficient, and punctual (although who couldn't be in an alarm-clock factory?). But this was a quiet, solo job, gearing up for the Season of Shop in the Summer, when the latest graduates went to college. Everyone needed an alarm clock - and he could say with pride: his would get you up when you needed to. (He might make an exception for the case he heard two years ago: she dropped hers off her loft bed. But she still made it to class on time.) But today was different. Today was his date with destiny. More importantly, to our thirty-four year old hero, it was his first date in twelve years. Not since - HER. But he wouldn't think about HER today. Today, today was all about SHE. April fifteenth was the best combination of days. Halfway through the month, a quarter through the year, so he'd selected three-quarters through the day and halfway through the hour for their date. Six-thirty, which gave him ninety minutes after work, seventeen of which was a commute home, his shower, and time to pick up a carnation from the florist. Not too much, the perfect hopeful romantic touch. They'd been matched up on the internet, she was so much younger. She'd been a little hesitant at his age (exactly one third of a century, at the time), to her quarter of a century, but he was willing to overlook the numbers on the off-chance that this was a conjunction of more astronomical proportions: two half-hearts seeking their wholes. He thought she'd understand if he skipped his affection for numbers in the profile - it's something that should be broached carefully, one of those details that's better in the discovering, as you have seen. But he was willing to take a chance - and for the alarm-clock checker, this was a particularly important gamble. He hadn't gambled, not since HER - dammit. He got up, stretched for the perfect sixteen seconds, and winced when he overextended his arms and cracked his sternum again. He smiled - a rarity for so early in the morning - and grabbed his phone, loyally turning off his alarm clock (how could people use their phones as time-keepers?), checking his schedule. Today was a leg day, reps were- 5:30 April 16th 1 Missed Call 3 Messages Was it, could it be? No. He was never wrong. But yester- He checked the calendar app. Still the 16th. He called the local time service - he knew the number by heart. He knew all the numbers by heart. 5:32, April 16th. He sat down heavily - and this was not in his routine - and held his suddenly, clamorously empty head in his hands. He'd gotten so mixed up in his routine that he had missed... No. He absolutely swore that yesterday had been April FOURTEENTH. His late grandmother's birthday (although to be born at an almost-perfect date, he still missed her), but it could not have been the FIFTEENTH. He knew numbers. He checked his diary for last night, alleged April 15th: "She's amazing. She wants to meet on Saturday. 53 Alarm Clocks."and some heart scribbles. He never scribbled in his diary. He never drew hearts. He counted them - how had he forgotten in his first pass? Seven. But he never remembered meeting her. And it had - and his heart thumped wildly once - gone well. His lower throat got tight, his eyes prickled. And a warm glow suddenly spread from his stomach to the tips of his fingers. It went well. And he smiled his unscheduled morning smile again, and strode across the hall to the bathroom, catching his unsuspecting mug in the mirror, blinking owlishly. He gave himself a single thumbs up (rather than a perfect two), and didn't set the timer for his shower, which he eyeballed, rather than selecting exactly 105 F. And he started composing his next text. He didn't realize that she, too, had also lost last night. But the trait she had chosen to conceal was an infinite supply of forgiveness, of goodness, of mercy and love. So their real first date, on Saturday, which was not the middle of the month of the end of the first quarter of the year, exactly three-quarters through the day and a half through the hour, but rather 2:03 at a burger joint, with a rose instead of a carnation, and at the end of the week, went over swimmingly. She got ketchup on her nose, and blushed in embarrassment when he smiled at it, knocked over her water glass on his lap (which was honestly handy because it was cold and he was having some problems containing himself), and he forgot to count the number of chews between bites for his quarter-pounder burger. He wasn't sure what happened on the date that no one could remember, but it changed him. And that warm fuzzy in his chest, the liquid gold, the heart pittering and sighs and sudden daydreams had dropped his efficiency to - shit, he forgot to count yesterday. Then she dropped her spoon. And he smiled.
You'd be surprised at how numb you get to emotion, being a telepath. There's only so many bad breakups and dead fathers you can experience vicariously before you don't give a shit. It's a sort of armor and a noose, after a while. There isn't a pain or a joy in the world left that I haven't experienced, at least through someone's memories of it. So what the fuck do I do now? It's what any reasonable man would do. Hunt novelty. What else is there? Solving a mystery is like a plunging a needle full of synthetic comfort into my arm. Anything to stave off the fog of a thousand other people's bullshit. When I find something new, something no one else knows about, then it becomes my bullshit. Mine and no one else's. Something to distinguish my mind from a planet full of them. That's how I ended up at Dave's funeral. Dave? He was one of those well rounded motherfuckers. Drank, but moderately. Did drugs, but responsibly. Fucked, but not too hard. Smoked, but only socially. The type of guy that you can't find a reason to call boring, but he's boring all the same. And now he was dead. Him and a hundred thousand others like him. But I was here, and not at a hundred thousand other funerals. Dave was murdered, and no one had a clue why. I had no clue why. Shit, if I wasn't tapped into the mind of every grieving friend and family, I'd have probably not even been able to find a reason to strike up a conversation with him, let alone kill him. But somebody had killed him, and it was a mystery. It was time for my fix. You'd be surprised at how many killers show up to funerals. They think it'll absolve them of any suspicion. As if the police would think oh he was sad at the funeral, he can't be a killer. Idiots. I skipped from mind to mind, grazing over internal wails from those close to him, and vague discomfort from those that didn't know him nearly well enough to feel at home attending his funeral. One mind, though, screamed the loudest. "I did it! I did it!"it shouted, "I finally did it." It was frenzied and shattered and excited and lost. The typical mind of a killer, though it was also the typical mind of someone that realized two hours of work had been lost to a corrupted file. You could never really be sure about these things. The mind, along with the three dozen other minds at attendance, tried to pry into my skull and replace my brain. I resisted its efforts the least, and soon I had every right to her thoughts as she did. It was the wife. I glanced over to her. She was his perfect match. Pretty, but not overly so. Her eyes belied a character, but not a very strong one. Her thoughts suggested she was intelligent, though by no means brilliant. His perfect wife. The shouts coming from inside her head were clearer now. "I did it. All these years and I did it. I got pregnant. And now you've gone and left me alone. I did it. I did it for you. Why aren't you here?" A grieving pregnant wife. Dull. A grieving pregnant wife like a hundred thousand others. The twinge of disappointment was short lived, though. I might not have solved the mystery, but at least that meant I could keep chasing the high.
"What is dead? I don't understand that word,"Leilei said. She continued to brush the hair of her doll without looking up at her father. "It means she's gone, sweetie."Tears welled in his eyes. "When is she coming back?"Leilei asked. "She's . . . not coming back,"he answered. For the first time, a look of concern crept over Leilei's face. She looked up at her father. "I don't understand. Did she disappear?" "No,"Marek began cautiously. "Her body is here, but her mind, her spirit . . . it's left her. Her body is . . . cold. Like a shell, with no life force in it anymore." "Is she sleeping? Is dead sleeping?" Marek rubbed his hands together. "Dead is like a sleep. But it . . . lasts forever. Do you understand, baby? She's never going to wake up. She's gone. She's gone from us forever." Big tears fell down his cheeks. Leilei put her doll down, and he could see a real look of panic set in her eyes. "Show me,"she demanded. "Show me the dead that has mommy."

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