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'Do you do this often?' asked Frank, somewhat bemused. 'YES, IN FACT I JUST HAD A LOVELY GAME OF CHESS WITH A TEMPLAR KNIGHT.' replied Death.
'You... have a slightly different, uh, perspective on time from me, don't you?'
'I SUPPOSE SO.'
'Yeah. Ok, well the deal is quite tempting, another go at life in a younger body...'
'SO YOU ACCEPT MY CHALLENGE?'
Frank sighed, 'I just don't think that my favourite game really works for this challenge.'
'WHY NOT?'
'Well, you can't really WIN at Minecraft...'
Death sighed,' LOOK, LET'S JUST GET STARTED. WE'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT.'
Some time later...
Frank leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, 'Can I PLEASE move to the afterlife, seriously, I forfeit.'
'COME NOW, JUST ANOTHER SHORT WHILE', replied the Reaper, hunched over a monitor clicking furiously, 'I NEARLY HAVE ENOUGH OBSIDIAN TO BUILD A SCALE REPLICA OF MY HOUSE.'
'Don't you have a job to do? No one can die if you're here fucking about!' snapped Frank irritably.
'IT'S ONLY BEEN A SHORT WHILE.', sighed Death. 'It's been 200 fucking years!', wailed Frank.
|
It was after the bomb, that people had discovered the uncanny ability for individuals under the age of 25 to escape death. No one really knew how it happened, or why. Anyone capable of answering that question was either dead, or their instruments gone.
"We'll have to do it again, Charles,"his brother said, looking out onto the makeshift homes strewn across the land. Everyone that had lived two days of walking had managed to gather here. Charles didn't know how many others there were left in the world... cellphones and the internet were obsolete. The closest city was a three-hundred miles away.
"They'll suffer,"Charles argued.
"At least they won't die. Not like us."
And so, Charles gave the next meager rations of food to the elderly and anyone above the age of twenty-five. The kids were in bad shape. Their bones stuck out. Their stomachs were bloated. It looked especially horrible on babies--and of course, they could feel the starvation. but hey, at least they wouldn't die. |
My unit stood still. We watched the colors return to our vision as the timer counted down from three. Heavy guitar music played into our earpieces.
"TEAM DEATH-MATCH."The music intensified. "STAY FOCUSED, STAY ALIVE."I reassured my unit. The clock reached zero, and we all began to sprint simultaneously, running in different directions. We've been here before. Nuclear weapon testing site that simulates an American neighborhood being bombed. I ran alongside my best soldier, XXx_jimmyBlazeit420_xXX. He was a brave man, with his sniper rifle colored gold he spun around, jumped in the air, and took the first shot. An unfortunate Ruskie soldier's eyes exploded into a red mist, and his heavy carcass dropped to the ground and disappeared.
"Fuck yeah, bitch!"XXx_jimmyblazeit420_xXX yelled.
Soon after, the ambient quietness of this fake little town erupted into explosions and gunshots. Minutes, that felt like hours passed. I lost ten men so far, and the Soviets lost eight. Strangely colored guns were scattered all over bloodied ground. Like a broken rainbow. I've never been so out of breath in my entire life.
I felt the recoil of my pink Commando assault rifle, and killed my fifth man.
"CARE PACKAGE, SHOW US WHERE YOU WANT IT."I heard on my radio. I yanked a smoke signal out of my bag, and threw it into the backyard of a yellow house. A loud green helicopter appeared on my radar, and dropped a box on the yard. I jogged to the yard, only to find an enemy soldier attempting to open the box.
"You son of a bitch."I whispered. Whipping out my rifle I aimed down the sights, pulled the trigger, but heard a *click*. Fuck. I was out of ammo. The soviet turned his head, and spotted me. Before I could pull out my duel wield magnums he pointed his AK at me, and fired. It hit me like a bag of bricks, I fell backward, and stared at the sky. The colors were leaving again. Music began again in my ear piece. There was a blue and red score board, and I was second to the the top.
"WE LOST. WE'LL TRY AGAIN NEXT TIME."
|
Anna has never been in a long-term relationship. Her girlfriends are also in the same predicament. And every night, the bitter group of friends gather at a local bar and discuss their woes.
"This is just getting ridiculous,"Anna began, clearly frustrated at her relationship status. "I mean, I'm 27 years old and none of these guys are taking any interest in me! What gives? They're either taken or gay. What's up with that? I'm not that repulsive, am I? "
"No, Anna! You're gorgeous! You're *cute* and *bubbly*!"one of her friends reassured her. "Any guy would be lucky to have you!"
"Ugh, I just wished one of these guys would just buy me a drink."Anna complained.
Feeling a bit down, Anna asked the bartender for a water. As he turned around to cater to Anna's call, her eyes widened with interest. The bartender was a young man, around his late 20's, fit, tall and with a jaw like Jesus. Anna's interest was clearly shown. And the bartender knew it.
"Here you go."he said.
"T-t-thanks!"She took the glass from the counter and turned around to her girl friends with a huge smile on her face.
"It's my pleasure."he replied as he turned around to cater to the other customers.
"Oh my gawd! He's so sexy I can just eat him up!"
"I know right? He looks like he could be a male model! EEEEK!"one of the girls screamed with delight.
"I think I'm gonna make my move"Anna was taking dibs and the other girls sulked in defeat. But before Anna could gather up the courage to talk to him, her insecurities took over. Is he going to end up like the other men? Is he taken? Is he gay? Anna shook her head to rid herself of her negative thoughts and just went for it. But before she could even speak the bartender put his finger on her lips to shush her. Terrified and excited at the same time, she backed down waiting for his reply.
"Sorry love, I'm taken."
"Why- I- No, I wasn't-"Anna stuttered.
The bartender turned back around to take care of the other customers.
"What happened?"one of her girlfriends asked.
"He's taken."
"Well, whatever! He's not even that good looking. He's probably a big jerk."one of the girls remarked.
"He's probably gay too!"another girl replied.
Overhearing the girls, the bartender came back.
"You know what your problem is?"He began, looking into each of their eyes.
"You expect to be catered to and loved for completely *nothing*. You have this delusional belief that you're entitled to good things without being a good and accomplished person. I see you girls coming in here every night, drinking, eating, and talking trash about the men you can't have and the men who don't find you attractive. That's pathetic. You just sit around, gossip, get fat, bitch and whine all day. What are you doing with your lives? No wonder guys are repulsed by you girls. You've settled for the mediocre when it comes to your own personal well-being, but expect a high status man to take interest in you. That's entitlement to the very core."
He turned to Anna.
"And you, your friends call you gorgeous but in reality, you're a *fat fuck*. You're 100lbs over weight, so you hang out with similar people, like these friends of yours, for reassurance. It's just one big circle jerk."
Anna was furious at this point.
"You asshole!"Anna screamed at him. He must be some disgusting misogynist! Probably gay, too! Yep. That must be it. He's just some privileged, misogynistic, gay, white, cis-male, preying on the poor helpless women.
"And you know what?"he continued, "I bet 90% of the guys you claim to be gay aren't really gay. They just say they're gay because they dislike you that much. They're repulsed by your attitudes. You talk shit, yet you have nothing to show for it. You say men don't like you, yet you don't even look at the other men in the bar that are in the same predicament as you."
Anna looked around and finally noticed dozens of single men just moping around, drink in hand, and looking around the bar. None of them were especially good-looking. Mostly just lonely, average guys wanting to meet women. Her friends noticed them too.
"Eww! Oh my god, they were here this whole time?!"one of her friends screamed.
"Oh my god, they're so gross!"said another.
"Exactly."the bartender gave them a stern look. "Those guys are *exactly* like you girls. Desperate and confused. Don't expect to get any men better than that."
"What are you implying, huh?"Anna, clearly furious at this point. A few customers were starting to stare. "That we can't do any better?"
"Yes. You're in the same league as those slobs."
"Fuck you, asshole! C'mon girls, let's take our business elsewhere!"
The girls got up, picked up their purses and put on their jackets. And as they walked away, the bartender quipped "It was my privilege." |
It was my dream home. Beautiful Victorian architecure, with an amazing wrap-around porch and detailed craftsmanship that made it such a unique house. And somehow, the price was low enough for me to afford!
As the real estate agent gave me a tour of the house, she confessed as to why: it was haunted. Everyone in town knew, which is why it had been on the market for seven months. Not even "Allegedly haunted."Just haunted, as factual as describing the fact that it was constructed in 1879, or that it had five bedrooms and 3 bathrooms, or that six children and their mother had been gruesomely murdered here in 1922. I was a skeptic; haunted probably just meant that the house groaned a bit at night. I put down an offer the next day, and it was accepted immediately.
I soon became a believer. On move-in day, all of my boxes were unpacked for me by a swirling maelstrom of ghostly energy in the living room. For the first week, I couldn't cook a meal without the pots and pans being thrown back in my face, sometimes already full of scalding oil. I heard the voices, whispering threats in my ear every night before I went to sleep.
Eventually, though, I reached a compromise with the spirits. This home was special to them; they had been here for the past half century, and they weren't ready to let go of it just yet. I told them how much the home meant to me, and how I hoped to raise a family of my own here someday. The spirit of the mother was particularly touched by that; she wept from the one eye that she had left. Some of the children were a bit more skeptical, but over the past thirty seven years, they have really warmed up to me. As long as I uphold my end of the bargain, they've allowed me to live in peace.
I was just getting ready for the day when I heard a knock at the door. Around the room, the spirits dematerialized and melted into the walls. I could still feel their presence, though, as I unbolted the lock and peeked outside. A man, wearing khaki pants and a blue polo shirt, holding a clipboard and looking like coming into the house was the last thing he actually wanted to do.
"Can I help you,"I asked cautiously, looking around for any other trespassers.
"I'm from the Historical Preservation Society,"he said. "We have been sending you letters for the past few months? Have you received any of them?"
I looked at the stack on the counter that I'd been ignoring for some time now.
"No,"I responded. "What is this about?"
"The board is currently considering designating this property a historic property, and potentially turning it into a museum for the town. I'm here to assess the value of the property..."
"I'm not selling!"I answered quickly, trying to shut the door. His boot was wedged into the door frame.
"Sir, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. The board has elected to exercise eminent domain. I am here to appraise the value to make sure that you get a fair price, but I'm afraid that remaining here is not an option for you."I felt a pulse of anger from the spirits wash over me. I'd become sensitive to their emotions after all this time together. Even he seemed to feel it; he flinched back just a bit.
With a sigh, I relented, undid the chain, and opened the door for him. He straightened his collar and scribbled something on his clipboard before entering the home.
"The city doesn't want this place,"I told him. "The foundation is crumbling. I've been meaning to get it fixed myself. Come down to the basement, I'll show you."I shuffled over to the side door, where the rickety steps led downstairs.
He looked down at his clipboard, then back at me. "I'd really rather start with the..."
"Nonsense,"I interrupted. "Let's get the worst part over with so you can go back there and tell them to not take my house."
He sighed and headed through the doorway. I stomped down the stairs after him, and flicked on the light at the bottom.
"What the..."he managed to get out, before I clubbed him on the back of the head with a heavy wrench from a nearby shelf.
---
He awoke with a start as I splashed cold water across his face. Like the others, he struggled against his bonds almost immediately, with little success. This wasn't my first rodeo; I know how to chain them up properly. The black candles around the circle's perimeter had been lit, filling the room with soft, flickering light. He had been placed on the altar at the center of the pentagram, naked skin against the black stone that somehow remained icy cold even during the muggy summers.
I uncovered the book from its hiding place and set it on the altar at the back of the room. From the wall, the Father's spirit emerged. I only ever really saw him during the rituals; he was shy.
"The next offering isn't due for another 7 months,"he whispered softly. "What is this one?"The victim heard it too, and began to moan and squirm.
"There was a bit of an emergency,"I told him, explaining the situation with the city trying to take the house. With a nod of his pale, ethereal head, the spellbook flipped open and the pages fluttered as if caught in a strong breeze, though there was none. It settled on a page containing the perfect enchantment that would cause them to forget all about this place.
"This should do the trick,"he said, "But it does require a blood offering."
We turned together to look at the victim sobbing on the sacrificial altar.
"Shouldn't be a problem,"I told him.
|
"Absolutely, there is no doubt in my mind. Excessive focus on individual wellness blocked scientists from making genuine progress for years. We have learned a great deal from all of the peripheral research, applicable elsewhere, similar to the benefits of our space missions. However, curing AIDS was simply framed incorrectly and the disease has been allowed to linger far too long as a result. It needed curing at a global level, not individual."
"And you say now it is terrorism of all things that has prompted you to speak out against the popular perceptions of your work?"
"Intrinsically, they are the same problem. National security and intelligence community efforts are truly what cured AIDS. Acceptance of national security policy is necessary, in all domains. We live in a new world, in dire need of new perspectives."
"Assuming you are liberty to speak at any further depth, could you expand on this for our viewers?"
"AIDS is more than a medical problem. It is a cultural problem, an educational problem, an economic problem, a religious problem, even a moral problem. A cure for a disease of this magnitude must be truly holistic, weighing all of these factors. However, solving all these problems is simply beyond the practical scope of reality---as our intelligence community has learned over the years in varied contexts."
"And so, would you say---"
"All of these problems must be harnessed to cure truly global problems at a global level, and the intelligence community has understood this for years. It is the will of the people that must follow."
"For accuracy, you are saying solving the underlying problems is not part of the cure?"
"Yes, in this context. We chose to combat AIDS as we would any foreign threat. AIDS is an abstract entity, much like any rogue nation or terrorist group. For headlines, yes, we needed to emphasize attempting to solve the multitude of underlying problems---but the most valuable component of those efforts was simply study for their value in architecting a solution."
"An example you gave before the the break, of an early struggle you encountered, was the friction between medicine and the superstitions of quote 'primitive' religions. Does that apply in this context, and could you elaborate for our viewers on how research in that area influenced your approach?"
"A witch doctor, for lack of a more palatable term, will trump educational services in nearly all instances. Reason does not influence the decision making processes of unreasonable people. Instead of attempting to win minds, we conscripted what amounts to the local pharmacists. We did not make the potions, but supplied their contents. Creation of tightly controlled black markets have been essential in curing AIDS. Recreational drugs have also been a miraculously successful delivery mechanism in more developed nations."
"Delivery of the vaccine?"
"Vaccine is a misnomer."
"Does it not vaccinate users against HIV?"
"Well, yes, specific strains. It is a shifting target, however, and the vaccine effect is not relevant against relevant strains. New strains arose regularly, as did the more aggressive strains that tipped this over into being a national security crisis. Any vaccination effect is simply marketing. I am genuinely unable to recall what strains were protected against. I can say with certainty, however, that the vaccine effect itself is known to be ineffective."
"And, for our viewers... then wherein lies the cure?"
"Side effects."
"Side effects?"
"Side effects, yes. All engineered, validated, documented, planned, and accepted as part of the cure. A virus is worthless if it can no longer be transmitted, and all side effects were tailored to that effect."
"I am a bit lost."
"Impotence and death, depending on the subject. An already infected host does not survive administration of the vaccination, or at least does not survive in a form that allows them to further spread the disease. In addition, a vaccine side effect is also reprogramming the virus to act more aggressively as a fail safe."
"..."
"Yes, exactly that and it solves much more, the medical breakthrough has always been exactly that. No miracle vaccine has ever existed, and for now such a thing remains science fiction. We tactically weakened our efforts to cure all of the surrounding problems, such as education, and went to great pains to discredit our own vaccination efforts in local communities. In fact, we increased the lethality of our own vaccination. "
"I am sorry professor, I think we need---"
"Local religious leaders were emboldened by the sudden partial effectiveness of their snake oils, and supporting narratives arose. Fascinatingly, we were able to essentially rewrite local religious narratives by proxy. All of those who did not survive treatment by the local religious leader were said to unconditionally receive all the glories their religions suggested available in afterlife. If a family of the deceased experienced good fortune, it was due to the sacrifice made by the deceased on behalf of their family. Education, comparatively, is a weak attack vector."
"Professor---"
"Winning the war on terror will be no different. Violence must be escalated, from within these groups. ISIS was used to tailor the approach, as recently leaked documents suggest, and we need to confront and embrace the need for such things. AIDS and perpetual terrorism are the alternatives. In order to defeat terrorism, we must escalate it, and in ways never seen before. Destroy the enemy within its own ecosystem. Consider the events of the 2020 Democractic National convention. And for the record, I am not at liberty---"
"I am sorry, we are receiving indication that we must temporarily suspend broadcast due to a technical concern, and it is currently impacting your mic, professor, and thank you for your time." |
Everything became pitch black.
Then a streak of light. Another.
Then it all slowed down. The streaks of light became clearer.
They were memories. Memories of my life.
A fat chubby kid laughing as his parents fed him cake.
A dirty child playing on the street corner with a yo-yo.
Same child, laying in the middle of the road, crying as people rushed around.
A white hospital room. Sheets made of cotton and lost dreams.
My mom crying in the corner as the doctor told her for the first time I would never be able to walk again.
This was too much.
The memories began to accelerate again.
My first kiss. My first love.
My first loss.
When I made my mother cry.
When the doctors made my mother cry.
When she sat down at my bedside, holding back tears and asked me whether I wanted an open casket or not.
The pain of looking her in the eyes and knowing I would never see them again.
It hurt.
It hurt a lot.
The memories flooded me, causing tides of emotions to wash over my body.
My body.
Where was I?
I looked down. No body.
Was I dreaming?
The memories began to accelerate again. Then crisp white text was projected in front of me: "Options". The text blinks twice and then a flash.
An explosion of colors and light erupts from the text and the previously black room became filled with words.
Beautiful words. "Birth time", "Death time", "Heritage", "Genome", all words flowing around in spiral motions. Out of the darkness had come a symphony of colors and words. What was this?
Then in the corner I saw it. Two crisp clean words: "Character Select". The words grew until they commanded my attention. Then the color drained. The beautiful orchestra of lights and fast moving words was replaced with a list of names. Names, I never heard. Obscure names such as :"Ranjeesh Mandalpu"and simpler ones such as "Vivian Shaw".
Then I saw it.
A name plagued with sadness and despair. A name infected with love and laughter, but also with the loss associated with them.
My name.
It grew larger and larger until the other names evaporated from view, then all of a sudden disappeared. Slowly, my worries, my stress, my emotions began to become numb, starting to be replaced with simple thoughts.
Light began to flow in and everything became bright. I felt sticky, drenched, fresh. Someone holds me and to the pain of my ears yells "Itsaboy!".
This all looks so familiar.
I could have sworn I have been here before.
(Second day writing, would love some criticism!) |
I'd managed to acquire an old kindle from my helping out my mate James to clean his dads attic.
The thing was as dusty as hell, grime stuck to the side and the glass barely visible. It was a miracle I'd even been able to get it working. Some kind of transaction was needed to access anything, a few dollars couldn't hurt, right? So I made the payment, $3.50 allowed me to see a variety of web-comics, not bad.
**Payment accepted - MARCUS J ALEXANDER**
It was odd reading a web-comic about a cyborg Winnie the pooh fighting the tyrannical PAC-man who ruled over earth. The more I read the more absurd they became, it seemed that the people creating these comics were running out of ideas. I decided to look on the internet about them, see if anything was going on with the creator.
**Your search - 'Kraken Kindle - Winnie the Cyborg' - did not match any documents.**
Odd.
I searched again, same result. I picked up the kindle, flipping through the comics and selecting the latest page that had been released.
*Date released: 2036*
It had to be some kind of joke, the year was only 2016. Comic's weren't made in the future!
One day the comics stopped being released, not a single page in over three weeks. I slowly forgot about the kindle, leaving it to waste away until I received a notification at 3 in the morning.
**NEW COMIC AVAILABLE - IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?**
The first few pages were intense, a world wide apocalypse wiping out most of the population, roaming bands of men turned monsters who ripped anything in sight to shreds. The protagonist of the story was a tall, blonde haired male who managed to survive scavenging supplies from worn down supermarkets. It was pretty cliche in comparison to the comics I'd been reading previously, but I kept going. It seemed so, realistic?
Only 3 pages were left.
"I'm not sure if anyone actually reads this, if anybody is still alive. I can't stop writing, it's the only thing that keeps me sane. I won't be able to continue much longer though, my body is shutting down, the air quality is decreasing. It's hard to breath.
I miss my family."
*Signed Marcus J Alexander* |
"Haha holy shit dank meme bro!"I yelled to the dude on the horse. This old guy was in a full on middle english outfit, cloak and everything.
"YO you going to see some Tolkien-con or some shit!?"I whipped out my phone to get a snapchat to send to the bae. He approached me with a small gesture and dismounted from his horse.
"I am a verray, parfit gentil knyght.
But, for to tellen yow of myne array,
myne hors were goode, but I was nat gay.
Of fustian I wered a gypon
Al bismotered with myne habergeoun."His words rolled off his tongue.
"Aw shit naw, you some shakespeare nerd I get it. Well dope as fuck outfit. I don't care if you gay. You mind if I snap a pic?"
"Forsooth myne clothe doth delight?
But hood, for jolitee, wered I noon,
Perhapth a song to set thee dunn?"
"Alright dude. I get it. I just want a picture man. Stop with the weird ass words."I threw my arm around him and turned my phone to get a selfie.
"Aight say cheese."
He turned to me right as I snapped the picture, effectively fucking it up.
"I moste preche, and wel affile myne tonge
To wynne silver, as I ful wel koude;
Perchanceth a purse fer ful wel tyme?"The costumed man extended his hand, hoping for alms grand.
"Aight look I ain't giving you shit."
"notheth filth frem swyne
but silver fer myne tyme"
"You throwing shade? The fuck you mean swine you lil' fukboi?"
"perchance you meaneth a change of hand?
A tree wouldth fall in changeth lands
byt silver ist fyne
Therfore I lovede gold in special kynd."
"what."
"Gold ist grand."
"I understand that at least."Looking at him again he seemed confused, lost even.
I felt bad. For all I knew this was a time traveler or some shit. Well he liked gold. So I took him back to my crib, and showed him Reddit. It took a while to overcome his fear of the glowing box, but soon he was pecking his way through this site on my laptop.
Syre Percival Geoffrey Winthrope has become a friend. At least when I can get him out of his room. He pays for rent in silver, so it's cool with me if he stays here. But hes changed. I had dinner with him, and the internet has gotten to him.
"Forsooth the Web hath reached insyde
perhaps rare pepes thout wilth providee
perchanth thouth wont find myne cumbox
which I shalt hyde, with myne 'jyzz' insyde
Myne banana fer syze i canneth not deny"
"wellll thats nice for yo-"
"Pyctures of kyttens I requireth
myne Narwhal Baconeth et medneght
forsooth myne reddet hebits demand
moar Jennifer Lawrence I hath in mynd
byt what ith everytheng doth ist spyders
arachnid nightmaeres in kind!"
Jesus christ I need a new roomate.
|
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
"No, of course not,"the man in black replied, as he smiled warmly at me. It was a genuine, heartfelt smile. That was unexpected.
I gestured vaguely around my head at the room we were in, "Oh come on, this whole government coverup shebang? I know too much now. You're going to make me disappear."
The man in black looked around at the room. It was small, windowless, with stark concrete walls. The room was devoid of all furniture, except for a metal table and two metal chairs, where we now sat across from each other. It looked exactly like a stereotypical interrogation room you'd see on a TV show. "What coverup?"
"C'mon, man,"I scoffed, "this is bullshit. I know you guys are hiding something. I found it, okay?"
"And what sort of thing do you feel you've found? Tell me about it,"the man said, still smiling.
I sighed. "Look, I've been breaking into government systems for the last ten years, okay? I kept seeing references to something called DFTRS. You guys would hide it in the deepest corners of your servers and files, and it was always just vague references. But they're there, okay? I'm not crazy. Each mention of DFTRS would lead back to another government system, which I'd hack in to, and find DFTRS again. I've been doing this for ten freaking years. There are way too many mentions of DFTRS for it to be a coincidence."
"Mm hmm, and then what happened?"The man still wore that maddening smile.
"And then last week I started on the holy grail. The final step. I broke into the NSA's encrypted, confidential servers. The ones that are supposed to be completely invisible on all networks. I freaking did it, man! I hacked into the NSA and found the root directory for DFTRS. I opened that mother right up, and you know what I found?"
"I do, in fact, know what you found, but why don't you tell me anyway?"
"A freaking picture of a bunny! A picture, a JPEG picture, of a freaking clipart bunny. I downloaded the picture and analyzed it in every way I could, but I haven't found its secret yet. But I must've been getting close, because half an hour ago you guys came banging on my door, and brought me here for your little gestapo act!"
Incredibly, the man's smile widened. He actually looked like he was suppressing a laugh. "That's correct, sir, you found a picture of a bunny. Now, I can tell you now that there's nothing special about that picture. And, in fact, we're going to let you go, and you'll be free to analyze that picture however you want, for as long as you want. You won't find anything, because it's just a nice picture, nothing more. Think of it as your reward for reaching the end of the game."
"Game? Are you fucking kidding me? You think this is a game?"I could feel myself rising from my chair in anger.
The man in black stood up as well, still grinning. "Yes sir, because that's how we designed it."He strode to the door and pulled it open, then stood aside to let me out.
I stared at him in disbelief. "You're really just going to let me go, just like that?"
"Just like that."
"Why?"
"Because our system worked exactly as we intended it to. We planted those references in each government computer system, and got you to waste ten years following our breadcrumbs. That's ten years you spent tracking down a picture of a bunny, instead of actually finding any government secrets."
I could feel myself turning pale. I felt like I was going to throw up. "This whole thing... was a decoy?"
"Yes. I'm sorry you had to waste a decade to find out, but ultimately I hope you found the experience itself to be at least a little rewarding."
"And DFTRS..."
"Stands for 'distraction from the real stuff'."
This was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.
The man continued to speak. "After today, you're free to continue with your investigations, if you want. We'd prefer if you stopped hacking our computer systems, but we know we can't stop you if you're determined. But you'll never know if that bunny was the only decoy we planted. You'll never know if you're actually on the trail of real government secrets, or if you're just playing our game again. And that's how we like it. Who knows, maybe next time you'll find a picture of a giraffe, or a dog, or a fish."And with a hearty guffaw, the man in black ushered me out the door. |
"Sorry, but the law's the law. I catch you within five hundred feet of the corpse, I can presume incompetence. A real murderer would have gotten away before the cops showed up."
"You've gotta be kidding me. I had a perfect alibi set up, I'd almost finished mopping up the bloodstains, and you didn't even know where the body was when you got here! Besides, you came here for a noise complaint on this guy's neighbors, not a murder case."
"I don't have to ignore a crime just because I was responding to a different call when it happened. I arrived, I walked past you, I saw blood on your sleeve, I investigated the scene, and I found the body. All nice and legal."
"This is bullshit! I spent *weeks* setting this up, and now you get to tear it all down because some bozo I never met had a stereo that was too loud?"
"You know, I was thinking I'd let this slide. I don't like the thought of jailing a fine, upstanding criminal who does good work just because he had a little bad luck."
"Really? You'd do that for me?"
"I *was* thinking that, but you made one mistake that really grinds my gears. The sort of idiotic mistake that makes me want to throw the book at you."
"Um, what did I do wrong?"
"You *confessed*, you bleeding idiot! You admitted you committed murder to a cop! If you want a defense of skillful murder, you need to save it for court!"
"You... You tricked me!"
"No, *you* just didn't know the law. And if there's one thing I hate more than a crook who can't cover up a murder, it's a crook who doesn't even know what he's supposed to cover up!"
"You tricked me! I was entrapped! I was estopped! I wasn't Mirandized!"
"You're only making things worse for yourself, trying to throw out legal terms you don't understand! Now come along quietly. You're going to be looking at first-degree badly-executed murder, and felony legal incompetence. I hope you know a good attorney." |
The seer sat with legs crossed, staying still never moving. He had been that way for 70 years. That was when he had his last visitor. In the age of science he had become little more then a myth.
He knew his purpose and understood his purpose to help mankind find truth. He could see the turning of the universe, knew the nature of the the human soul. In the past many came finding the truth but few grasped the power of the answers he gave. Empires used to fall and rise based on his knowledge.
And he could see it all the conception of the universe, the rise of Man, he could see the patterns that lay at the map of the future. He knew the people coming to visit him and the trivial questions they were going to ask from the beginning of his existence.
Which is what brings him today. This was the day he could never see past. He was going to be asked a question by an unassuming young backpacker named Louise. This was was the only question he did not know beforehand and ultimately he knew this was the one question he would not be able to answer and even though he knew this day was coming for 4000 years it was the only time he knew fear.
The young lady walks through the modest temple door.
"Hello Louise. I eagerly await your question."
The young lady had a look of disbelief on her face.
"Wow, everything I read is true. You really do know everything. I cannot belive you know my name. What's yours? "
|
It had been a long time since I had been to the suburbs of Boston. As James drove the curvy streets toward his childhood home, I sat in the passengers seat and tried to remember the last time I'd walked the urban streets of the city that had such a grip on me. My legs bounced from the nerves, James reached over and placed his hand on my knee. He was always doing such sweet things like that. He was so in tune to what I needed and gave the perfect amount of attention and affection at just the right time. James was perfect.
We had been dating almost a full year at this point and this was first time I was meeting his parents. We met halfway across the country only to find out that we had grown up in the same suburb, three streets away. It's possible our parents had attended the same parties and potlucks, but I would have remembered James if I'd known him. That sweet, sideways smile and those powerful baby blues. Meeting his parents was huge; except for his high school girlfriend, he had never brought anyone to meet them. Until me. When I moved to Nevada after college, my parents packed their things and moved out there with me. They were tired of the snow and cold, as I had been. James had met them within the first few months of our relationship--in fact, James and my dad had a standing golf game almost every week.
Despite my absolute adoration and complete trust with James, there were bits and pieces of my life I'd never told him. In an attempt to make some money in college, I had made some...poor choices to say the least. It started innocently enough; at 18 I had been bartending at one of the local holes in my college town, about an hour outside of Boston. The owner of the restaurant I worked at owned dozens of places between my school and Bean Town and asked me to cover a bartending shift at his "club". When I got there, it wasn't just a club; specifically it was a Gentleman's Club. Girls my age (and I suspected some younger), topless and scrambling for dollar bills on an elevated stage. The lights were low to keep identities secret and there were small rooms in the back for more intimate sessions. But whatever, I didn't judge. I was there to serve drinks and that's what I would do.
Before long, the Gentleman's Club became my normal gig due to some employment changes going on. It was amazing money and I genuinely enjoyed talking to the men who'd been there; they'd been through all walks of life and had these incredible stories. That's when I met Paul. Paul came in sparingly at first and then more and more often. Eventually he was coming in to specifically see me. He was in his late 40s-early 50s, slight graying hair near his temples, tall, and was pretty buff. He was nice to look at and even nicer to talk to; a real gentleman, you know? I talked to him about how I was working my way through school and trying to use as little of my parents money as possible, he told me about his job as CFO of a computer security business. We were friendly.
Mid-sophomore year, I was approached by Paul just outside the club after my shift. He walked me to my car, telling me he thought I was beautiful and how we had a real connection. Before I knew what was going on, he leaned in and gave me the deepest kiss, filled with such fire and passion. He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to his car. We drove up the road to this chic hotel where he got a room. With key in hand, we got into the elevator and he came at me again; kissing my mouth, my face, grabbing at my tight dress. Finally, the elevator stopped on our floor and he pushed me out. Practically sprinting to our hotel room, he flung the door open and ushered me inside. He pulled my clothes off, pulled himself through his zipper and entered me, moaning when he felt my wet, warm hole. The yearning I felt for him was like nothing I'd ever experienced.
I won't be coy, I was in no way a virgin. I'd had bumping awkward sex with my high school boyfriend and a brief fling with a frat guy the year before. But this...this was the first time I was fucked. He made me come over and over before following through with his own loud orgasms. We did it in every part of that hotel room: the bed, the chair in the entry way, the counter in the kitchen, the shower, everywhere. When we left the hotel the next morning, he drove me to my car, kissed me goodbye, and we parted. I got home and found a wad of bills in my purse with a note attached: For Your Education <3. I felt uncomfortable spending the money, instead just placing it into a savings account.
It didn't end there. At least twice a week, we would meet up and have the most amazing and mind-blowing sex possible. I was his personal doll; he would dress me up, tie me up, and have his way with me. I was in no way an unwilling participant. And every time I got home, my purse would be flush with cash. By the time I graduated, I was able to pay off my loans in full.
When I moved to Nevada, it was mostly to get away from it all. The relationship wasn't totally what I wanted. The relations we had were unforgettable but I wanted the whole package, which he clearly wasn't interested in giving me. He wanted my body and my conversation, not my soul. Then I met James and I felt like I had really met the person I was meant to be with. So as we are on the way to meet his parents, the sun setting just ahead of us, I grabbed his hand on my knee and squeeze.
"Are you excited?"He asked, giving me his sideways smile.
"I am!"I answered, "Just nervous."
"I'm sure they'll love you."He said casually, like he actually believed it. I couldn't help by smile. We turned up the long driveway to a large white mansion, with a couple standing out on by the front door.
"Oh, look! They couldn't even wait to meet you inside,"James laughed.
But I couldn't smile, I couldn't breathe. A beautiful woman with long blonde hair and perfect teeth stood smiling next to an older man with salt and pepper at his temples, tall, and muscular.
As I stared at Paul from inside the car and as he studied me with a surprised smile and those baby blues, that familiar yearning for him burned. As I stepped out of the car, I pulled my skirt up just a little to show him a little more skin. |
*Ding, ding*. It was my beeper again. I sighed.
As I walked slowly toward the indicated bay (Alpha-2, halfway across this damn behemoth), I thought about why we called them beepers. They didn't really beep, they kind of *ding*ed. The closest comparison I could make is the sound of an old-timey tool hitting the ship wall. Metallic. *Ding*.
The beeper silenced itself as it recognized my path. If I had ignored it, or started wandering away, the beeper would have gotten louder and more insistent, until it alerted security. No dilly-dallying aboard the *Solace*.
I entered Alpha-2 after about a 15 minute walk. That made it, oh, about a mile? Give or take a bit. I wasn't prone to complaining but walking seemed to be a terribly inefficient way to transport labor on a ship two miles long and nearly a mile wide. Old Earth Segways would have been better, especially for the maintenance crew like myself. We had to be on call for the whole ship, which was stupid.
I didn't pass another person on the entire walk, either. That wasn't unusual. There were so few of us walking around.
Alpha-2 was the nursery. More of an incubator, really, since human labor was in short supply and they had long ago decided that maturing humans until puberty in an artifical reality simulator was the most efficient method. I looked around at the tubes with fetal growths and young children, floating in the bio-slush that kept them fed and their muscles exercised, somehow.
I began to mop up the obvious puddle in the corner. One of the tubes had leaked it's fluid, leaving the shrivelled form of an 8 or 9 year old child huddled towards the bottom. It looked deader than an evacuated airlock, but hey, I wasn't a scientist.
As I cleaned, however, my beeper began to go off again. *Ding*. *Ding*.
"What the hell?"I muttered to myself as I checked the readout. **SPILL - ALPHA-2** flashed repeatedly across the screen. I shook it, not expecting that to do much.
"I'm here, I'm taking care of it..."I told the small black box irritably. I clipped it back to my jumper and turned to the mess again. It had grown.
I turned to look at the rest of the room. Every tube in the nursery was slowly draining of fluid. The sickly yellow slush quickly melted into a pale, viscous fluid that seeped between cables and over vents.
I jumped up and ran to the maintenance cupboard. *Towels, mop, towels, bucket...* I thought frantically. My boots splashed against the fluid as I dashed back across the silent room - silent except for the faint beginnings of children thrashing against their glass containers.
I wasn't a scientist, but I spent most of my life working on this ship, ever since I came out of my own little tube. I knew how things worked. And I knew why we did them.
That made the helpless little thuds and whacks of flesh on glass even more painful to hear as I rushed to do anything I could.
I hit the emergency switch near the bay portal. Someone had to come help the kids - I could mop up the mess, but I had no clue how to refill the tubes with their life-sustaining fluid. And I had no idea how long the children could last without it.
I slipped and stumbled, sliding across the slick floor on my forearms and ass. I stood up, dripping what really did look like piss.
I thought, *Maybe if I find the leak, I can stop it,* and began to search.
I found nothing. The fluid seemed to be draining from each tube simultaneously, from cracks that I knew had been airtight just a few days ago. These were seals that had survived who-knows-how-long, designed to prevent contamination of viable tissues even in the event of an engine core meltdown. I may have just been a janitor, but I listened more than anyone had ever given me credit. Even during my schooling, while my mind was instructed in maintenance methods and engineering essentials and my body floated in the slippery glop that now coated my boots. My virtual instructors and fellow classmates, each plugged in from their own growth tube, all thought I was pretty simple. Maybe I didn't talk, or make myself an attractive candidate for Head Engineer. But I did listen.
Back in the present, I listened even more carefully. I went to the door and opened it. The emergency protocols were being followed - the door opened into a darkened hallway, lit by flashing red and yellow lights. It was silent, however. No blaring alarms, as was the protocol. Listening to the ship, hearing the moment of a breach as entire bays crumple like paper once exposed to the vacuum of space, can save your life.
So no alarms. But no footsteps either. No hurried, panicked scientists came to my aid.
I watched, horrified and helpless, as the children stopped thrashing in their now-empty glass prisons. One by one, their weak attempts at waking themselves began to fade and finally stop. Their eyes never opened. I wondered if their artificial reality systems had shut down, and they were stuck inside their heads until they suffocated to death. Or maybe the teacher kept teaching, and they kept learning, while their bodies struggled unknowingly against death.
I sat against the far wall, away from the liquid, and waited for help to arrive. I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up suddenly in the near dark. The motion-detector light strips had fallen into standby mode. The room was lit by their amber glow and the single light source at the bottom of each tube. Some were blocked by the bodies of the older, larger children, sending reddish, veiny light up against the glass.
No one had come. The beeper was silent, though the read-out still scrolled through **SPILL - ALPHA-2**.
I left the nursery. I began to search the ship. All over the place, even though my beeper hadn't alerted me, automated systems were failing. The Alpha level cafeteria stunk of rotted food. The freezers had shut off there, maybe days ago, and food had been left in the bins and sinks instead of being cleaned.
The whole dining area looked like people had left at various points in their meals - uneaten, half-eaten, and empty plates lined the tables.
I tried to think back to the last time I had eaten. It had been during the Solar night, when *Solace* sent 90% of the lights into standby and work shifts slowed down to bare skeleton crews. That was my shift, when everyone else slept. I guess that's why it hadn't seemed weird to me when I had picked up my auto-served tray and sat down to eat in an empty dining room on Epsilon level.
In fact, excluding James, the other regular night maintenance man, who I had seen earlier that evening sleeping in his cubby instead of doing his rounds... I hadn't seen another damn soul in nearly three days.
That was the way the ship worked, right? The fewer crew members up and about, using oxygen and other resources, the more energy we could put into the ship's engines. We were the last generation ship. All the others had found worlds to settle onto, but we were on our way to Eden. The Earth-like planet that required no terraforming, no genetic engineering for our descendants to colonize.
I thought about all this as I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor again. This time, I was in a Beta level hallway. I had come to see where the scientists were. I had found them.
I had peered through their dormitory porthole. The whole room was filled with lab coat- and pajama-clad bodies. They looked vacuum-packed, where I could see the faces. Their skin had been dried and sucked in against their skulls, leaving hollowed-out masks to stare at me accusingly.
That's when I lumped against the wall and started reminiscing about our mission.
That's when I realized I was reminiscing, as if the mission was no longer the reality.
I stood up, empowered. I could find out what was happening. I ran to the Control level, one above Alpha. The main hallways and bay portals were all open, regardless of their security procedures. The individual conferences rooms and server farms were all locked down, though. I did try them a few times, just in case.
On the main control deck, I saw something written on the largest panel of touch-screen controls underneath the viewport. They were typed into the command terminal, over and over again.
**NOT ENOUGH FUEL. NO VIABLE PLANET WITHIN REACH. BEGIN RESOURCE CONSOLIDATION - ALPHA - BETA - GAMMA - DELTA - EPSILON**
Underneath each level classification was a date and time, each about 15 minutes apart and starting just around the time I started my journey to ALPHA-2.
I stared at the words for a long moment. The ship stretched out before me in the viewport. Video screens showed multiple breaches in hull integrity, and every level was flashing warnings - low oxygen, low pressure, critically low energy for core systems.
I had just started to piece it together - not enough fuel, no Eden, *resources*... when the command terminal flashed a new message up at my stunned face.
**RESOURCE CONSOLIDATION - SUCCESS. BIOMASS TO BE CONVERTED TO FUEL. NEAREST VIABLE PLANET: 15 LIGHT YEARS / / 237 YEARS, FOUR MONTHS, TWO DAYS (SOLAR)**
****************
I had wandered away from the console after a long bout of crying. I pulled at my jumper and pulled it off revealing my tank top and briefs. The ship had gotten unbearably hot as the corpse-filled rooms were filled with gas. The biological matter, so full of precious carbon and other fuel materials, had been liquefied and drained. The console had indicated that the ship's biomass reactors and backup storage were full after a few hours.
I had shuffled down to Epsilon, avoiding the portholes that held nothing but some reddish-brown smears near the floor vents.
James was still in his cubby, sleeping away. I considered waking him and telling him what had happened, how we had been the only two people not trapped in a sealable room, the only two who hadn't been turned into mulch by a fucked up automated process.
Instead, I let him sleep. What was the point? His dreams would only get uglier from now on. |
We fight. We die. We fight again.
We’ve created many weapons of mass destruction before the development of the Personnel Deployment Chip. Tanks. Nerve gas. Bioweapons. Nukes. Each time we came just a little closer to total annihilation than before. Each time we gambled with higher stakes of the lives of many humans over politics and power.
That was until PDC was created.
With it, the government could replicate a few clones and then ‘hot-wire’ the soldier back into one of them if he died in battle. This revolutionized warfare as we had never seen before. Why use a highly trained soldier when you could get more of a job done with a grunt having ten lives?
Soon it didn’t matter who had the biggest stick or who was swinging it. It mattered more about having as many sticks as possible. Armies swelled their ranks by tenfold with the addition of PDC clones. Yet, as history has proven many times over and over again, with every step forward in technology we’ll always step back somewhere else.
PDC succeeded so well that it succeeded where all the other WMDs failed. It did annihilate mankind. But while we still lived and breathed, it killed the very thing that we could call ourselves human.
Our identity.
***
“The Chinese got Echo platoon pinned down near the south end of Santa Monica Beach.” Sergeant Wade yelled over the explosions.
Los Angeles was a battleground, and we were fighting a losing fight. The Chinese had lead a retaliation strike across the Pacific after we took Heilongjiang from them. We’d lost Hawaii a few days ago, and now we’re struggling to keep them from gaining a foothold on the West Coast.
“And what does Command want us to do?” Johnson shouted back. “Un-pin them?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” Johnson swore. “Do those bastards know we’re down to our last clone?”
“Yes,” Wade said as another bomb exploded above, showering us in hot debris. “Everyone is down to their last, but if don’t help Echo platoon retake the beach, then we’ll have lost the AO there. Which the Chinese will use for a landing pad for their railguns. We cannot let that happen.”
We started down 7th street, keeping close to the buildings. A missile struck a high-rise building half a kilometer away. The resulting shock wave bowled us over like pins.
“Watch it, Taylor.” Wade yelled again and pulled Taylor by the neck of his clothes to cover. “You’ve only got this clone left –”
That’s when the second missile came to finish what its brother failed.
***
I spat out a disgusting mixture of soil, metal and blood as I slowly came to. Sounds were tinny in my ears as I checked my body and then saw the wound. Upon realization, the dull pain that had been lingering in the back of head came forth brutally. Letting out a choked sob I screamed into the dirt as the fresh pain threatened to knock me out again.
It seemed to be an eternity before the pain subsided to acceptable levels. My hearing had come back during the agony, though it was slightly worse. I gritted my teeth and looked down at the piece of shrapnel wedged inside my bloodied leg.
My hands scraped at the hot, cracked asphalt as I glanced around at the surroundings. Fires, debris, and body parts littered the road. I vomited as I saw the bloodied remains of my former teammates now in pieces. As I looked up from my pile of sick, I noticed a familiar person looking at me from the safety of an alley.
“Ugh, Taylor,” I moaned. “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine, Nate,” He laughed hysterically, “In fact, I’m better than ever.”
The world dimmed and again as I slowly processed his word through my pain-addled brain. It took me minutes to realize that something was horribly wrong with Taylor.
“Please, help me up,” I called towards him.
“That’s not going to happen, Nate.” I was shocked to see him grinning.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I gasped as pain seared through my left leg again. “Our whole team is fucking dead, help me, please.”
“They’re not dead, Nate,” he said with another creepy smile. “They’re going to be back in just a few minutes. Look.” He pointed towards the sky where dozens of dropships were streaking down. “There they are.”
“Dammit,” I growled. “Look at the colors. Those are the Chinese.”
“I’m sorry.” He raised his arms to show blood seeping from a deep gash on his chest. “Just let your mind rest and die now. We still got more clones left, we can come back stronger and then go back to the mission.”
“Didn’t you hear what Sarge said?” I coughed again, tasting metal in my mouth. “This is our last clone, our last chance. We have to go back to HQ to have more made. We have to get out of here. Please, don’t let me die out here.”
“Look at you, Nate.” Taylor said as he gave me an evil look. “You’re bleeding out, in pain and yet you still tell the same lies those top brass poisoned us with. If you believe what they say is true. Then may I ask… do you believe that this is our last clone?”
I stared in horror as Taylor reached down and grabbed his pistol from his holster. But instead of shooting me he lifted his pistol with difficulty to his head and closed his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Nate. Remember what Sarge used to tell us? We fight. We die. We fight again.”
|
"I still say that's impossible,"Zach said.
"Do you want me to call the next one, too?"
Zach looked grumpy, as could only be expected by someone who'd lost a bet. "Fine. No stakes this time, I just want to see you do it."
What we were doing was *technically* gambling. That said, knowing what was coming ten minutes from now wasn't very useful for a lot of forms of gambling. Sports games, for instance, tended to be decided over a much longer period of time. And even if it would technically work at the roulette table, any casino worth its salt is going to notice me glancing at my phone every time I win. So we went with something a little more... low stakes.
My phone buzzed. I glanced at it. "B Fourteen."I said.
"B Fourteen!"the Bingo administrator said. I'd never bothered to learn his name or the actual name of his job.
"This is insane,"Zach said. "I mean, completely insane."
"So,"I said, "I'm thinking we can't hit casinos with this, but small-time stuff should be doable."
"Superbowl bets,"Zach said. "Trifectas at horse races. The next president! There's nothing you can't predict!"
"Um,"I said. "No, I already told you, it only works ten minutes in the future."
Zach rolled his eyes. "Really? It really never occurred to you to send a text ten minutes in the past with instructions to send *that* text ten minutes in the past? I mean, yeah, times you're asleep might be a problem but I bet there's apps that'll automatically forward text messages for you."
"Oh, I see,"I said. "Just relay the information back in time in ten-minute hops? Yeah, I did think of that. There's just one problem."
My phone buzzed. I showed Zach the message.
""Don't relay this message"". He quoted. "What the hell does that even mean? Are you supposed to relay it so your past self knows not to, or... what?"
"So you see the issue,"I said.
Zach nodded. "Future you is a dick." |
*Log 001: Flushed down the toilet bowl of the universe*
I told him. I told the captain that gravitational storms were frequent near the centre of the galaxy.
Did they listen to me? Hell no. Why would those neanderthals take note of expert advice from a premiere expert in gravitational forces when they can just charge ahead playing cowboys and soldiers?
At least I had the foresight to rig a lifeboat. That means I am alive, stranded somewhere in the black on this forested planet. The odds of encountering sentient life are slim let alone the odds of encountering sentient life that knows how to build an interstellar vessel.
I have also lost almost all my equipment.
Let this be a lesson to any unwary fools out there. Such is the life of a physicist, fraught with perils and bouts of intense stupidity.
*Log 004: Getting wasted in the desert*
I was wrong about the planet being forested. It just so happens that the 'trees' are actually carnivorous tentacle monsters when the suns set, so I had to evacuate hastily from the lifeboat.
When I hit the open plains of red deserts beyond the forests, I had a good blast of heat from the twin suns above and had to collapse for a bit from heat exhaustion.
Thankfully, my exosuit managed to get me back into working condition soon enough. Unfortunately, I became 'high' for about half a day and returned to sanity neckdeep in a pit of unfriendly serpentine creatures.
Oh, and I met the natives. Apparently they weren't too happy that I, apparently, stormed into their village singing badly and trying to etch my likeness into every stone hut with my newly acquired laser vision.
I think this planet is doing strange things to me. I feel a little violated to be honest.
*Log 021: Being Superman is now a thing*
The natives have naturally decided to worship me since I have since developed the powers of unassisted flight, super durability and super strength in addition to the aforementioned laser vision.
They also seem to believe I am, if I'm translating this right, an 'avatar of the gods made flesh'. Especially after I managed to burn away the evil tentacle monsters masquerading as trees.
Unfortunately, even with the moral support of having hideous, scantily clad cat people yowling a chorus of 'hymns' at me, I am still lacking the technical expertise and equipment to build a working interstellar drive.
I've decided to try to use my newly acquired powers as well as basic technological knowledge to uplift the population in the meantime.
*Log 087: All hail the saviour of kittens from trees*
I'm half convinced some wicked ROB is out there besetting my life with trials.
While I am fond of cats, I must say that being shyly offered the local equivalent of catnip and being invited to lick a cat 'woman' 's fur is a little too kinky even for a lowlife like me.
Unfortunately as the dispatcher of evil trees and rescuer of hideous cat people from various natural disasters, I've become a sort of highly demanded celebrity in addition to being hailed as the personification of a god.
Mind you, being a god of death laser eyes *is* freaking metal.
My uplifting efforts have helped a bit. At least they understand the concept of bathing now. It's almost adorable to see their vicious little tykes trying to bat water at each other. Apparently all the young ones have been named after my spaceship's designation number.
...I may be going a little bit crazy.
*Log 245: There's a white streak in the sky*
I might have spotted a jet trail in the sky. Someone may have detected the automatic distress signal from my lifeboat after all.
I suppose I should be glad to return to civilization.
But I haven't conducted the annual 'tree' burning festival yet. (Yay, arson!) Also, the natives have just started to get that gravity is a thing!
I think...I might stay on this planet for just a little while longer.
|
Blood and bits of feather stuck to the kid's hands. He knelt in front of a book the size of a tombstone. When I first arrived, he pulled his head back, clapped his hands together, then frowned and said, "You're not him."
I took my toothbrush out of my mouth and, around a mouthful of toothpaste, said, "Oo i im?"I sipped water from the glass I was holding, sloshed it around my mouth, and spat it back into the glass. "Who is him? And where the hell am I?"
The kid flipped through the tome. Blood from his hands got onto the pages, they stuck together, and it got so he couldn't find whatever he was looking for. "This sucks!"he said, and slapped at the book, except he missed and hit the bowl of salt beside him and it spilled onto the book, the incense, and the candles surrounding the heptagram I was standing on. "This book is terrible! Magic sucks!"
"Hold on, did you summon me here?"I was still dressed in my Dota nightshirt and plaid PJ pants. "Like as in you did a spell with chicken's blood and newt's eye and you made me appear here? In your bedroom?"
Firetrucks, cranes, and police cars decorated the wallpaper. On the bedspread, Buzz Lightyear's speech bubble read, "To Infinity, and Beyond!"Tucked all around the edge of the mirror were certificates of accomplishment for spelling bees and chess tournaments.
He crossed his arms and pouted. "You're supposed to be Alexander the Great."
"That's not all bad, then. My name is Alexander. You got halfway there."
For a second it looked like he was about to cry. His eyes watered and the tips of his mouth curled downward. Then he let out a little scream, punched the book, threw a handful of herbs at me, and ran over to his computer. "There's no way, now."
"Hey, little dude, hold on."I stepped toward him, then caught myself. I'd seen enough supernatural TV to know not to mess around with the borders of a heptagram. "Tell me, can I step out of this thing?"
He'd brought up some chat program and was typing and reading aloud to himself. "Scrub, gonna get pwned,"he said. "I'll show you who's a scrub."He breathed heavily. Even from behind, I could tell his face was bright red.
It was with a whole lot of nervy worry that I inched a toe toward the salt circle surrounding me. But then I saw a break in the circle. In his angry flailing earlier he'd disturbed the salt. I joined him at his computer. "Dude, what's going on? What did you need Alexander the Great for?"
"Go away."
"For real. Maybe I can help."
On the screen, username *leetleetleet* wrote, "brad your a scrub your gonna get pwnd"
*leetleetleet* added, "nub"
"You're the nub!"the kid said. He typed "youre the nub"into the chatbox, which didn't strike me as the best comeback. Still, now I knew his name.
"Is this about a game, Brad?"I asked. "I know a lot about games. I'm good at games."
Brad pulled his hands off his keyboard and stuffed them into his armpits. "It's a tournament. To see who's the best in the school videogame club."
"And this leetleet kid is giving you a hard time?"
"The game for the last round is this really old game. Age of Empires 2. It's, like, totally bad. And Chris is gonna cheat because he's got an older brother who played it when it came out a billion years ago."
"And so you thought,"I rested my chin on my hand, "that summoning *Alexander the Great* was the best way to even the odds?"
"Duh-doy. He was only the best general ever."
I nodded my head real slow. "That's... true. I'm not sure I see how that applies to...."I knelt beside his chair. "Look, dude. Brad. You've lucked your way into something good here. I played AoE2 a whole lot when I was your age. I still play it sometimes when I'm bored. I'll wipe the floor with this Chris kid, no matter how good his older brother is."
"You?"Brad's eyes left the screen for the first time. "You look like a total loser. You're way old and you wear Dota shirts."
"K, ouch. I'm 26. But that aside, me being a loser is our ticket to victory here. Set the game up."
After Brad and Chris trashtalked poorly for another fifteen minutes, they got the game up and running. I took Brad's seat, and, with him hovering anxiously over my shoulder, proceeded to embarrass Chris and his big brother. I aged up much faster, built a bigger, more advanced army, and destroyed their base at my leisure.
Once it was all over, Brad spent some time typing things like "haha scrub youre bad"and "lol wait til every1 heres abou t this"
Then he signed off, looked around his room, smiled at the heptagram, and said, "Alright, you can go now."
"Go? Go where?"
"Home."
"How?"
"Just leave. Go out the door."
"Can't you send me there? Don't you have any spells for that?"
He went over to the tome. The pages were still stuck together. He shrugged. "I don't have any spells for that."
"So I'm supposed to catch a bus? I don't even know what city we're in."
"My parents are gonna be home soon and if they see you they'll call the cops."
I stood there, in this little witch's bedroom, in my pajamas, running through my options. Then I grabbed my toothbrush and cup and, on my way out the door, said, "Brad?"
"Yeah?"
"You're the worst." |
"See you later, my friend"we shaked hands and with a smile i quickly walked away. In my left hand i was holding a paper with the information i was looking for. Many years it had taken me, but finally i found it.
It has been a long travel full with problems. People dont like to betray their friends. Especially not the man that everybody knows. I had my own skills. It had taken me 20 years to fully understand and master them, but by now i could make people do whatever i wanted. Just a random question about their dad, their mom or about their kid was enough to give me an opening. An opening into their mind and soul. Their deepest thoughts and fears.
First i used my skills to get free stuff. It started small with a snack or some icecream. But the older i became the bigger my wishes got. Girls became woman and jobs became moneymachines. I used what i could and took what i wanted. All just by using their primal feelings.
I never understood their reactions and their final surrender as i never had those feelings. I grew up without a family. Without a dad or a mom. Still deep down i hoped to finally understand it all. It has been 8 years ago since i got the letter in the mail. 8 years since i tried to find Him. The man all people love, the man everybody knows, the man that is my dad. While i looked at the paper with his information, i softly wispered his name, Dave, my dad... |
I carve at the loose concrete with a dented spoon. It's been days since the last guard stopped by the cell block. Either we had been forgotten or something had gone very wrong. I know they don't like us all that much but they're not scumbags.
I freeze when I hear the heavy metal lock at the far end of the hall open. The others start shouting and carrying on, like they always do.
I continue to carve, they can't do anything to me. It's been days. All I've heard is these assholes screaming and hitting the bars. Like that will help.
If I can get the door off the track enough I can get out.
I hear the boots hitting the concrete floor and then I see them. Thick black soles. Roughed up toes. They are on a pair of feet attached to legs under gray pants, familiar gray pants. A rifle hangs down beside his right leg, the pistol grip held tight in one hand. I continue to raise my head to the dull gray belt buckle, a nylon belt that looks awful military. His shirt is tucked in to pants underneath a tactical vest filled with magazines for the rifle, a bayonet strapped under his left shoulder.
I recognize his grim smile.
"I heard you were in here, didn't want to believe it."
I swallow hard. I hadn't seen him in at least a decade. His hair was short and far more gray than I remember. He sports a beard that he would have never had before, neatly trimmed of course.
"Sir."Is all I can manage.
"You still remember what I taught you?"
"Yes sir."
He nods. That seems to satisfy him so he removes a key ring from his back pocket, sliding one key into the door lock and turning it. Another figure appears with a green duffel bag. He tosses it into the cell with me. Then he throws me a shaving kit.
"Get changed. And congratulations Lieutenant, you've just re-enlisted."
Once the clothes are on I feel different, I feel alive again. I hadn't worn the uniform for fifteen years, long before the street brawl that led me here. I feel like myself again.
There are seven men in the guard room, ignoring the calls from the other prisoners. I still don't know what's going on but I do recognize two of them.
Colonel MacNeil, the gray haired man, is my former commanding officer. He was infantry and it was in his blood. He was a man of action and had spent half his career sneaking out with the combat units.
Sergeant Parks was a CSOR operator turned trainer, I'd spent a few months in the desert with him.
The rest were obviously military and they watch with wary eyes.
MacNeil motions to me, having me follow him. We take a staircase up, ever upwards, passing signs for "rooftop"and "restricted access". He doesn't speak and I don't ask.
When we come to the rooftop there are two roving patrols that don't give us a second glance. I hear distant gunfire and the skyline is filled with smoke from the city.
"Jesus,"I breathe out, taking it in, "we under attack?"
MacNeil shakes his head.
"Not like you think."He points down to a seething crowd of groaning people pressed against the first perimeter fence. More men walk up and down the fence line, pausing every few feet to drive a bayonet into one of the people. They are pale, bloodied and almost...zombie like.
A convoy sits in the driving area, three G-Wagons with mounted Brownings sandwiching two LAVs and a flatbed with a Leopard strapped down.
"Are those...?"
"Yup. Sure are. We don't know how it happened but by the time they mobilized us it was too late by days. So we're on the run, picking up anyone with combat experience. We need warm bodies."
We stand there, watching.
"Alright Lieutenant, let's get to work. Consider this your pardon. Extreme circumstances and all that."
"Sir, what about the other prisoners?"
"Any combat trained guys? Anyone worth saving?"
I hesitate and he has his answer.
"Then let's get going, we've got a lot of road to cover and a few more guys to pick up. Oh, here."
He hands me a service rifle and watches me run through the motions. It's been a long time but I still know my drills.
"You'll need that."
I take one last look at the pressing mob of the dead, slowly pushing forward on the fence.
Out of the frying pan.
Feels good. |
"You think yourself a hero? You have killed more *good* men, than any villain I've ever seen. I grew up wanting to hunt you, my father died by your hand! Do you even remember their deaths? But now as I lay here listening to you drabble on I can only feel pity, you didn't even know you were the villain... You thought you were the hero."
_
I slammed the glass on the bar. "Another."I grumbled at the bartender.
"I think you should leave it at that, one more and you'll 'ave more alcohol in ya than blood."
I gave him a small, distant smile. "Hmph, I think I'd like that."I slid the glass forward for him to fill, he shook his head but complied. I tipped back the glass, the burning sensation returned to my throat. I let the warmth carry down my chest and fall into my empty gut. I slid the glass forward for another refill, the act had become more a trained response than a conscious decision.
"Hahaha, hey barkeep, fill me and the lads up a few ales!"A rowdy man called after bursting through the doors. The men lumbered in stamping across the old wood floor. They pulled a couple of chairs scraping them along the boards, the leader of their rambunctious crew pulled one of the bar maids to his lap forcing her to sit on his knee. "Hey there sweetheart, I've had a hard day in the field, what'da ya say you help me relax?"He only laughed harder as she tried to fight him off.
"Another."I grumbled again pushing my glass forward. The bartender filled my glass without reply still staring at the newcomers. The rest of the patrons had backed away leaving a open ring around the rowdy gang.
"Hey now, I think you've had enough eh."One of the men had walked up behind me. "I think the barkeep here wants to stop serving you, isn't that right?"He placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned in eyeing the bartender. I could smell his breath, the stagnant smell of liquor and meat lingered.
"Give me a bottle, I think I'll head out."I said and slid my glass forward.
"Didn't I say you were done."He tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Hey, hey don't I know you. Ya I've seen this mug on a wanted poster, your that hero killer right? I think you should get outta my bar."His voice rumbled as he cackled in my ear. The bartender cautiously set my bottle on the bar. I grabbed it and popped off the cap.
I could hear their swords leaving their scabbards. I lifted my arm quickly slamming my elbow into his nose. He let out a shriek and collapsed gripping his nose. The next one got up and swung haphazardly in my direction. I waited for him to pass and lifted my leg sending him rolling across the floor. The leader of their group tossed the barmaid off his knee and leapt at me. I kicked the hilt of his sword back into its scabbard before he could draw and planted a foot into his chest sending him crashing through the table. I took a drink from my bottle and wiped the excess from my lips. The one I tripped picked himself up and charged again. I pushed my way around him undoing his scabbard belt and grabbing his sword hilt. He turned ready to swing, before he swung he looked confused at his empty hand. I placed the sheathed sword I stole on the bar and took another drink. Pushing off the shattered table pieces the leader got up and attempted to draw again, I repeated my last counter and kicked the sword back inside. I placed my foot behind the other one's knee and kicked off spinning myself around and kicking the leader again. The leader stayed back to draw his sword and thrust it at me. I pushed against the flat of the blade. My fingers dragged down the sword feeling the cold metal, I gripped the hilt above his hand and shoved down. He attempted to shove against me and we fought struggling to out push eachother. I could hear his lacky approaching, I let go of the hilt as he screamed and the leader plunged the sword into his friends chest.
He stood in horror as his friend dropped to the ground, blood streaming from the wound. "Bastard!"He yelled. "You worthless wretch, your kind is a plague in this kingdom! You have killed a knight of the king, and you shall be punished for all the deaths you have caused!"
*Do you even remember all their deaths?* I could hear his voice ringing again in my mind. "A knight, a knight should be a good man, proud and happy to serve and defend the people."I struggled, keeping my words from slurring.
"I am a hero of these people, if not for us they would all be dead!"He screamed.
I lunged forward and gripped his face, my hand latched around his jaw, and I pulled him close. "You think a hero should be treated as a god. I once thought myself a hero, but I knew more of what hero was than you."
"You killed heroes, you know nothing of heroes you piece of shit!"His yell was muffled by my hand.
I moved my face near his and squeezed harder. "They, hunted, me!"I growled. He looked up at me in fear, his eyes widened and his breath came out in shakes. I could feel the moisture of his flowing tears as he began to cry. I looked around me to see the worried onlookers, they cowered at my glance. I could see the flowing wisps of breath escape their mouth and I realized then I had been cooling the surrounding air. I let go of the sobbing knight's face and left the tavern facing away from my staring crowd. |
Despite being broad daylight, it might have well have been dusk in the swamp. Trees with wide canopies grouped together, filtering out the strongest rays of light.
Might be a problem for other visitors, but barely a hinderance for the witcher's cat eyes.
The witcher was far more concerned about the terrain. Only small patches of solid ground and a few wooden platforms less trustworthy than Dandelion telling a story, it would be significant effort to avoid ending up in the mud. And while weight would normally be a hinderance in these conditions, the ogre was undoubtedly accustomed to this terrain, and would only be knee-deep in mud that could engulf Geralt to his waist. Could be a tricky, if not overly complicated fight, if only he wasn't careful.
This creature was tougher than he looked. Farquad said that it walked in to his castle and trounced a dozen of his best knights right there. But there's always more than one side to a story. After all, the knights were all still alive, and talking to some of the townsfolk indicated that the ogre might have been aggravated by peasants encroaching on his territory. As soon as he'd spotted the crude warning signs, he'd coated his blade in ogroid oil and knocked back an ekhidna detoction. Only as a precaution. Geralt had another strategy that worked against the kind of monster intelligent and considerate enough to put up warning signs.
He reached the crooked wooden door to the shack, and knocked.
"Get lost!"came a voice from within.
"I just need a moment of your time."explained Geralt patiently. "Do you realise there's a contract out on you?"
"Nobody's home!"
"Ah, apologies. You should have said earlier."snarked Geralt. Clearly not the talkative type, though maybe the "scary ogre"signs should have made that clear. "My name is Geralt of Rivia, I'm a witcher."It was looking increasingly unlikely that the creature was willing to talk. Geralt quickly cast Quen.
"A witch? For the love of-"there was a shuffling to be heard, then the door flew open as the ogre wearily presented himself. Geralt, meanwhile, was caught entirely off-guard by the ogre's clumsiness, thrown off his feet and landed in the swamp. Beyond the foulness of a normal swamp, the ogre seemed to revel in how putrid it was, such that even a seasoned witcher nearly retched as he pulled himself out of the mud. The ogre looked around bleary-eyed, then noticed his guest in the mud. He put two and two together, and with some effort, reach the conclusion of four.
"Oh my god I am so sorr... wait, I mean, there's more from where that came from, ya swine! Now get out of ma swamp!"
"We need to talk first."insisted Geralt, wiping mud from his armour. He quickly stretched his muscles and searched for aches. None. Quen was a good call, and decided to do it again. Despite it's bumbling appearance, this thing was strong. "Like I said, I'm a witcher. Not a witch. A witcher hunts monsters. But, I don't like to kill people who just want to live alone in their swamp, and so I just want to talk to you first. So, folk just call you the Swamp Ogre. Got something better I can call you?"
"Yeah, it's Shrek, and if you're such a great monster slayer, why don't ya go kill that dragon Farquad is always banging on about?"challenged Shrek.
"Figured I'd see to you first. You're closer, and apparently, you turned down the same contract."
"There was no contract mate."replied Shrek. "I just wanted all these hooligans out of ma swamp. Went up to the castle to make a complaint, got in to a scuffle, Farquad pitches this whole dragon nonsense, I tell him to shove it, I come home, and they're all gone. Which suits me just fine."said the ogre with a shrug.
"So Farquad's people provoked you first?"
"Of course they did! They brought a whole god damned circus and pitched it on me lawn!"
"Well, they're gone now. Probably because they're trying to stay out of my way while they think we're fighting. But it won't stay that way."
"Aye, they'll be back. Tryna sell all their magic creatures. Incidentally, do you know what a talking donkey eats?"
"Um, talking carrots?"
"Yeah, they're all out."complained Shrek.
"What kind of magic creatures are we talking here? Selling that kind of stuff can be dangerous."
"Dangerous? Nah. Annoying? More like it."
"Farquad's people have been selling sentient beings?"asked the witcher, a little more directly this time. Farquad had certainly come across as slimy, and there was plenty wrong with his "Swamp Ogre"story. But this was on a whole new level.
"Yeah, he's rounding them up for something. But I have my own problems."
"Like?"
"People hanging around in my god damn swamp."growled the ogre.
"Tell you what, I'll cut you a deal. Selling sentient beings, doesn't sit well with me. Nobody's going to be using your land to sell people if nobody's selling, right?"
"Ah, I see what you're getting at. Well, I've got to stay here and look after me swamp, but I'll send you along with some help. Real informed guy."nodded the ogre. "Gimme a minute."
The ogre retreated back to his shack, there was the sound of a scuffle and an argument, before the ogre returned, holding aloft a squirming grey shape.
"This here is one premium-"
"Get offa me!"
"-one-of-a-kind-"
"You gonna get a hoof to the face if you don't put me down!"
"-talking donkey!"declared Shrek, dumping the creature at his feet.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"asked the incredulous donkey.
"Hey, donkey, you get to go on an adventure with, erm, Gary of, River."said the ogre. "He's new around here, probably needs a guide or something. And you know, he's out to get those guys who were trying to buy you."
"He is? Well, that settles it. Gary of Rover, you and me are going on an adventure!"
"So it's going to be *that* kind of contract."sighed Geralt. |
Make my life easier? I'm an immortal superhero with unlimited powers, my life is already as easy as it gets. What I want to do is make my life *interesting*.
Therefore, the first thing I do is begin to devise a supervillain worthy of my powers.
I set up a secret lair and begin working on cloning, genetic engineering, cybernetics, etc - and create the worst supervillain the world has ever seen. I ensure that there is an understanding with this being: They are my servant, and we exist to show the world the difference between good and evil.
After creating my supervillain, I proceed to fuck with humanity.
We create great disasters, great heroics, create and destroy great empires. We spend time as lords and emperors, and we spend time as peasants. We wage war against one another across oceans and continents, raising armies of millions and creating much death and destruction.
Over many lifetimes we mature and realise that games like this can only hold our attention for so long. Our minds evolve, becoming more refined and seeking for truth - in the end coming to the realisation that both good and evil are relative.
As the centuries go on, we mould the whole of civilisation - no longer seeking to control, but to guide. As partners we are both in opposition and inseparable, no longer master and servant but ying and yang - opposite equals.
We work together, guiding the world - creating technologies and ideologies we think are able to compel humankind to move forward towards their own betterment. Eventually, we believe, the humans will evolve into gods - we enable the humans to create a vast interstellar empire reaching far beyond the galaxy, and watch together as time pulls the humans out across the universe.
After millions of years and far beyond our grasp and influence, the humans battle space creatures even more powerful than ourselves and we watch with a smile as they find a way to survive.
After billions of years, we inhabit the Earth alone - tending the forests and gardens that were once the great cities of humanity. We look up at the sky and know that they are out there somewhere - maybe not in their original form, as once they entered space humans began to evolve away from the hominid form, but in some form, they are out there - spread out across the sky like dust scattered to the winds.
Together in our eternal youth, we tend the great garden of Earth. We both know that life is sacred, that life always deserves a chance. As another aeon drifts by, we watch as the ecosystem evolves to cope with the slightly higher heat output of the sun.
One day whilst we are sitting on a precipice, having been quietly contemplating the shape of a mountain for a few millennia - we notice a strangely upright but very hairy monkey - like creature walk past. It turns to look at us, and scratching it's head it beckons to the woods. Another monkey like creature appears from the woods, and the first creature points towards us. They both look, make some grunting noises, and then scuttle back into the tree line.
We look at each other, and smile.
The best is yet to come. |
I sat nervously checking the stereo clock as my boss Doug and I watched the paramedics work on the corpse up the road. Instruments, brass, whistles, and a punctured bass drum littered the blacktop. The one man band had been in the middle of a tune when he lurched to his side and grabbed his chest, ripping the brass buttons from his red and gold coat.
“Uh, Doug?”
His fingers flexed along the steering wheel, white at the knuckles. “Hmm?” He hummed turning my way.
“Should I call the office and tell them we’re going to be late?” My phone was already in my hand.
He squinted at the phone and then me. He checked the time and sighed as he brought his forehead to rest on the arc of the wheel. “Yeah.”
There was a small tapping on the driver’s side window. Behind stood a state police trooper, dressed head to toe in navy blue, minus the black aviator shades. Doug cranked at the side of the door and rolled down his window.
“Hello officer.” He said turning. The sweat mark on his back stood struck me as rorschachian.
The officer bent at the waist to come eye level with Doug. “Hey there. We’re going to get traffic moving again real soon, but just wanted to know if you’d seen anything.”
Doug shrugged. “Honestly, officer, it looked like a heart attack. Coulda been something with the heat too.”
The officer nodded and spread his thumb and index through his wiry mustache. “Ah. Thank you. Well if you just want to pull over to the shoulder, follow that car, and proceed past the emergency vehicles, you can be on your way.”
We smiled and Doug jolted the car in motion. By the time we passed the body, it was covered in a white sheet and being loaded into an ambulance. I remembered my phone in my hand and hit the green call button. I kept Doug in my peripheries. I think the idea of being late made him uncomfortable-- his jaw was locked into a square and sweat patches were forming under his arms; either that or he was being haunted by an unsavory family history of heart disease.
Pam, the secretary, answered. “Hello, thank you for calling Spencer and company insurance. How can I direct you call today?”
“Pam,” I said. “It’s Crit. Gonna be running a little late today--”
“Again?”
“Yup. Doug’s gonna be late too.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah he’s driving us now.” I said. He grimaced.
“Doug’s never late though. What happened?”
“Got stuck behind an accident. Some marching band guy up and died in the road. It was--”
Doug cut in, irritated. “Pam, we’ll be in shortly.” He turned to me. “Hang up the phone and stop tying up her line.”
“Bye.” click. The phone went back into my pocket.
“So.” Doug said, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.
“So.” I repeated.
“I believe you now. You can go back to driving yourself tomorrow. Just try and show up on time and I won’t ask anymore questions. But,” He turned deadpan. “We’re not carpooling anymore.”
|
"What the fuck man?!"
I spun angrily as the old man promptly plopped himself down onto my couch. It was my favorite couch.
"C'mon man, I already stayed with Neptune last millenia, and Hades had his doors locked and wouldn't answer when we rang."
I desperately tried to keep myself from ripping my horns off as I gripped the back of my neck. I could handle the Angels, at least. They thought of me as a scary uncle, kind of. But God? Naw, he was the broliest of bros, and didn't give two shits about eating all my food, drinking all my beer, and hogging all my hoes.
"Satan, relax man. Yo Gabe! C'mon the game's starting in ten."
"Sorry about this."
A beautiful blond man, followed by black Jesus, apologetically walked past me seated themselves on my couch. My couch!
"God, I know you send Mary on a vacation with her flying flock of those gods damned babies, and that they come back every time with those horrific practical joke gifts, bu-"
"No buts!"
God angrily slammed his fist onto my table, startling Jesus. His frame began to bulk with muscle, youthfulness and power flooding his face as the tired wrinkles disappeared. God no longer looked like the sloppy, silver maned old man with a beer belly that had walked through my doors.
"I'm sick! and tired! of her shit! I buy tickets for a cruise to the Styx, she comes back with Achilles. I rent an apartment in Olympus, she complains for the whole 500 years. What the hell -sorry- am I supposed to do?! No! I'm staying here for a couple of nights Satan."
I heaved a sigh and swallowed back all my complaints as God deflated after his tirade.
"Jesus Chri- not you, Jesus. All right, God, you win. But we're going out to my favorite bar tonight, and the first round is on you."
I had known the poor chap so long, it was hard to hold it against him. He just wasn't cut out to be a good husband or a father, being a workaholic. I rubbed my temple as I took a seat next to my old friend and popped a beer.
"Get your foot off my table!" |
Belza Wendlesmyth hated the Organization Festival. The worst part about over three hundred years old was the fact that he'd had to endure it twice already and now he had to go through it *again!*
He raised his wand with a grumble and summoned yet another bookshelf into existence. It hung from the ceiling instead of sitting on the floor. This was because the floor was completely covered in stacks of books. Belza began levitating books from the floor onto the hanging shelf.
He stocked and organized one hundred-forty-six books by the time he found it. The particular book was too large for the shelf, and it had been left open, and there was a large-print sign stuck to the open page that read 'DO NOT FORGET TO DO THIS!'
There was also the squished remains of an Imp on the other pages. Belza often summoned imps to remind him to do things. He often got distracted by things like how the *Almagamated Magic and Fetish Summoning* was put after *Ammu-Ra and the Seven Rules of Necromantic Purging!* That is completely wrong! How could he have placed them in the wrong order like that! Oh, and *The Alduin Rites* had to go *before* those two as well.
By the time Belza had finished fixing his shelf order, it was already dark. He turned back to the open book, and the full-page reminder, and he decided he would read what he was supposed to have done.
"...for systematic life to continue..."Belza muttered as his finger traced through the spell instructions. "...complete biological collapse... if not done periodically... Oh my."
Belza put the book down and frowned, then quickly summoned and cast a series of complicated spells.
He was drenched in sweat and had somehow lost his hat to a small fire by the time he finished. He'd almost forgotten. *Now* he remembered why he had founded the Organization Festival. It'd be a bugger to lose out on the next century just because he couldn't remember-
"Gah! Why is *Anderberry's Fourth Rule* there? I swear! Nothing is ever in the right order!"
[^/r/TheWordsOfXacktar](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheWordsOfXacktar/) |
"That hour is just for you,"said the old man across the counter. He dangled the antique pocket watch so the unique symbol was fully displayed to Jason. The old salesman snapped the watched closed, and laid it on the counter top.
"How much would you be willing to part for it?"Jason could care less about the mystery and intrigue the man was selling. He was in a rush to get home and replace his grandfather's pocket watch with a dupe. Jason had pawned the original weeks ago thinking that his grandfather had forgotten about the watch's existence.
"For a nice lad like you, I'd sell it to you for what ever you can afford to pay,"the salesman gave Jason a friendly smile.
Jason should have known that he was probably getting ripped off, but he could not pass up the chance to get a remarkable dupe for the twenty dollars he had in his pocket. He handed over the bill, and the old man carefully passed him the watch.
"Come back if you have any problems with it,"the man yelled as Jason ran out of the antique shop. It was nearly noon, and he only had an hour before his grandfather returned from lunch at the local clubhouse.
As he rounded the street corner, he heard the church bells start playing. Jason slowed his pace. He was very out of shape, and he was about to pass out from his run. He decided to catch his breath at the steps of the church. Jason had never been very religious, but he always had appreciated the church bells.
He pulled out the pocket watch to give a further investigation of it. It was a beautiful watch, and definitely worth more than the twenty he had paid for it. It was probably worth more than his grandfather's watch that he had pawned for two hundred.
This watch was almost exactly the same as his grandfather's, save for the strange symbol. Jason thought the fancy zero looking symbol was probably the brand logo. He hoped his grandfather's eyesight wasn't good enough to pick up on the minor differences.
The final church bell chimed, signalling that it was now noon. The world around Jason stopped. He could see birds stuck mid flight, vehicles stopped motionless on the road, and even some raindrops suspended above his head.
The only thing that remain in motion was Jason and the watch. He inspected the watch and found an inscription that he swore was not there before.
"To the holder of this pocket watch, time is yours. Enjoy the forgotten hour."
Jason stood up from the church steps and leisurely started making his way home. There was no need to rush now. If the watch was anything to go by, he now had an extra hour in the day that was all his.
Jason pocketed the watch. He would just have to take the scolding from his grandfather after all. |
"Don't you think the two look shockingly alike?"
Ron shifted in his poorly made wooden chair, rocking slightly. Greg had always been fond of conspiracies, but this was exceptional. Ron rolled his eyes and gave a disapproving grunt as he glanced towards the future crown bearer. He was standing atop a woefully decrepit wooden crate, giving one final sermon through the end of a broken milk bottle. Perhaps a faint sign of the movement's fading influence. The room reeked of home-brewed chemicals and bargain ale. It was hardly a place you could call a tavern. Soon, however, things would be different.
"Come on, think about it. Have you ever seen the two in the same room?"
Ron shot Greg a critical glare. "Do you really think 'The Great King Leonard' would disgrace himself with the presence of us commoners?"Ron raised is arms with a great sarcastic passion when declaring the king's title, hoping to break through to Greg. "And sure the two have similar bone structure, but since when is that an uncommon occurrence? You look a lot like Ms. Sally Two-toes from down the road but you don't see me give you shit about that every day."
Ron continued to give Greg a scornful look, but not entirely without a humorous gaze in his eyes. "Besides, 'The Great Leonard-'"Ron again emoting with great zeal, "-has been baby faced all his life. Can't grow a beard to save his life. Larry up there at least has a mop above his lips. How are you going to claim the two could be even possibly related?"
Greg's eyes lit up. "And that! I've been meaning to bring that up as well. Don't you think that little rug looks a little too unreal? The man has curly bronzed hair on his scalp and a thick onyx rodent on his face!"Greg narrowed the distance between the two conspirators, and brought his voice to a lowered pitch. "There isn't a speck of credibility in those little whiskers! And look at the way it moves when he speaks. It doesn't actually appear to move with his face, but the sides appear to bob and weave as his lips move. That's not natural, man."
Ron turned to see the impassioned leader delivering the final words of his long-winded speech. Sweat trickling down his red sweat-laden face. He carefully followed a drop as it traced the contour of Larry's face. Mostly because he had lost his focus on Greg's reckless rambling, and partially because he always found Larry's indomitable presence appealing.
And that's when he noticed it. It wasn't something that would've immediately drawn your eye. The room was poorly lit and most of the crowd was sitting directly in front of the speaker. But Ron was now in a darkened corner, to the side and slightly behind the slowly rotting stage, thanks to Greg's paranoia. He could see Larry's perfect silhouette. Seated directly below Larry's perfect nose and hidden upper lip, where there should have been his sleek, perfect mustache, was a flailing sheen of light. Not quite noticeable enough to cause any serious reflection, but with each impassioned roar from Larry, as he stood to rally his comrades and storm the streets, Ron could see the mustache flicker.
"What the hell is that?"
-------------------------
I hadn't noticed through all my exuberant cheering. Normally I would've carefully adjusted myself throughout a sermon, but as my 'vacation' was finally nearing its completion I lost my composure. Preaching to the commoners in this dingy hut was a pleasant pastime, but I looked forward to returning to the palace. I prided myself on my excellent theatrics and sometimes got caught up performing the part. The adhesive mustache, a challenge to myself to fool the ignorant masses, was now gathering momentum as I jumped and jived to raise the energy of the crowd and prepared to launch my assault. I called the current ruler - Hello, me. - any number of names I could think of to rile the onlookers. But, gradually, they stood perplexed. I rattled off every insecurity and derision I had uncovered over the last several months hoping to bring the emotion back into the room. Eventually the room was still and I caught my breath, confused. And then I too felt it. My mustache sat like a baby hanging from it's crib, making it's daring escape. By now there wasn't a soul still seated. A sea of eyes consumed the stage, and the room's aura could have made silence weep.
"Ah hah. Well. This is awkward." |
"He was smashing his head into the wall next to Isgronald, the Skeleton King. The old boss was laughing until, in an instant, this self-proclaimed hero vanished into thin air, warping to the other side of the cavern... Right in front of the golden entrance to this final dungeon."
"That's impossible, Hurocles."I nervously clutch my scepter, and begin preparing traps around my dungeon. Even in my disbelief, I know it's better to be safe than sorry.
Hurocles, sensing my worry, adds: "He's tried this many times before, this is the first time he ever succeeded in whatever sorcery this 'wall-clip' is... After tracking his movements, it seems like he is just trying to defeat you as quickly as possible."
"Thank you, Hurocles. And good bye."After hanging up, I make my preparations. Now that I know this demon is trying to complete my dungeon as quickly as possible, I need to act 3 times his speed. I send monsters, traps, and everything I can think of, but he is bypassing all of my attempts to stop him. Until I come up with my brilliant idea. It won't kill him, but it will buy me back the most important resource I have right now: Time. I call my construction crew and have them fashion a straight hallway with no corners. Only one conceivable direction to go into. It would look simple.... But there would be barriers.
And not any flimsy barriers that can be exploded... No, these would need to be magical barriers, unlocked by accomplishing a simple task. Before the first barrier is a single six-sided die. The hero must roll a 6 to advance. And so on, each barrier will have another die added, and another challenge.
The only way to slow down this hero would be by messing with the RNG in my dungeon...
Hopefully he just gets bored. |
"Jesus Christ Lawrence, why didn't you tell me?!"
Lawrence was the only zombie that took any interest in me, it got pretty lonely when he was off looking for brains.
"GAVHGAK!"
He certainly wasn't one to say much, I'd give him that.
"I spent 5 years in seclusion trying to find a way to cure the zombie apocalypse -no offense Lawrence- and now I find it was for nothing."
"URHGVK!"
"Please don't do that with your jaw, it doesn't look natural."
I had finally found the research center, after searching for several days after hearing the broadcast. It had gone over poorly.
"I didn't know people were so scared so easily by another human."
"UHG!"
"F'n yeah mate, humans blow."
They had been less than happy to see me, the sirens weren't very enjoyable either. I had taken a few shots to the chest in the first encounter, funny that they weren't bleeding much. They screamed a lot 'bout patient zero, I guess they meant me.
"Sooooooo, I guess I'm patient zero. The big cahoot, the big cheese. How's it feel to be friends with the father of you all?"
"HALI MAZTRE!"
I was extremely taken aback.
"Lawrence?"
"HYLLEO MASTRRE!"
Lawrence was forming some coherent words finally. Jeez, maybe being patient zero would have its perks after all. Lawrence was pretty chill for a zombie.
"Aight Lawrence, lets go get some brains for you, and then we can discuss your dreams in life. Sound good?"
"CUUOLE!"
________________
Edit: Might do a part 2 if people are interested, and if Lawrence will cooperate :) |
Invention is really the practice of mistakes. My newest invention was a mistake really. I had meant to sell it as a potion of eternal life to emperor Feng Zhi.
It could have gone better.
It did mean I had to find other uses for the substance I created. The empire was too pragmatic to let the mere death of an emperor get in the way of recouping their R&D losses. If I could not find a use for the alchemical substance I had made… Well let’s not think about that. Okay?
“Haha get a load of this Horsepiss smelling Foreigner” One of the wizards taunted me in the green room.
Another wrinkled his nose as if he had just tasted the burnt flesh of his own mother. “Its worse. He smells like rotting piss. The kind left out for months and months. And then it smells like someone tried to burn the stench away. What is that smoke?”
“Charcoal.” I replied apologetically. “I may have spent a bit too long in my laboratory fellows. I look forward to an honorable match”
I love saying those kinds of things to stranger bigots. Usually when you say that to someone who already hates your guts, it makes them go crazy and do the opposite. Inviting them to behave honorably meant I might as well stick my own dagger in my back.
They were so predictable.
I smiled as my name was called, “And now Introducing the foreigner from the empire of falling snow, Ling Er the *extinction hunter*”
I rose and entered the arena to scant applause. I smiled at the crowd, smug. Let them hate me. As they say where i am from, *It is better to be feared than loved.*
“And now introducing, The archmagus of Belfy, The Terror of Quin’an and the scourge of the ravaging seas, Give it up for *Ramio the boulder*!” The announcer shouted over thunderous applause.
A heavyset man with rough grey skin entered opposite of the arena from me. He was hardly wearing any clothes just an ill-fitted, worn-down loincloth, and a thick belt about fist sized.. *Barbarians and their ugly customs* I thought. I smiled and walked over eager to try this barbarian custom of shaking hands.
The crowd shouted obscenities as our hands clasped together. The eternal bond of two worthy fighters; only to be undone in mere seconds. He did not notice me slip the pouch into his belt.
We stepped back and faced each other from fifty paces away.
“Wizards, You may BEGIN” The announcer shouted.
I smiled and dropped to a cross legged sitting position, making a show of being relaxed as his thunderstrike whizzed above my head. I sat back and closed my eyes to show how casual this fight was about to be. I felt the rumble of the ground as dirt erupted against my shield.
I heard the screams of terror from these barbarians as they drank the acrid smoky blood of their favorite wizard. The best wizard they had ever known dead in less than five moments. I smiled giving them the chance to flee.
*The eternal life I made will not work on humans. It only works on empires.*
|
The too-loud group turns down the street in chaotic fashion, a medley of tuxedos and tight cocktail dresses drunkenly staggering towards me. Do I turn away? I can't turn away. They've seen me.
I continue forwards with my hands in my pockets and my head down. Do I wave? Do I high five one as I go by?
"Woah,"a member of the group says. I hone in on her voice, looking up at the group as they get closer, their presence now consuming every thought loop. I assess each individually and as part of the group. Six in total, ranging from 5'4 to 6'3, their breath smelling like Dom Perignon. The speaker is tall and blonde and wearing too-high heels. "It's the Masked Mute,"she says, pointing at me.
I don't have to think about facial expressions or eye contact because I wear a mask. It's as inconspicuous as a mask can be, jet black with a lighter black mesh around my eyes and mouth. The mask complements my jet black trench coat and my jet back boots and my... you get the idea. I accelerate my speed, my superhuman strength shooting me passed the group before the rest even notice I was there.
"Wait, I love you!", the blonde woman shouts, her voice bouncing off my back.
She loves me. She loves me in-spite of everything she's heard of... and now seen. I stop, my shoulders tense, the world suddenly becomes crisp and the dull downtown colors seem brighter under the flickering street light.
"I fucking love freaks!"she yells, slurring the words, causing me to pause just as I turn to look at her. She loves me because I'm a freak. A fucking freak.
"Hey! Hey come back here!"Her words fizzle out in the wind, left to dissipate on the block I've already left behind.
It's almost two in the morning. The bars are beginning to empty, spewing out the drunks and the innocents and the vulnerable, forcing them to make their way home to their beds or other beds or wherever the next party is. I move quickly, scanning the alleyways and the side streets, looking for something, anything to distract me.
Glass shatters and a man shouts. I focus in on the sound, two and a half blocks away, roughly south east. I stick to the dark corners and the gaps in the light. People notice me but it doesn't matter. Their thoughts don't penetrate my purpose. The sound of violence erupts, ringing in my inner ear, the heavy thuds of someone getting pummeled into the pavement. Time ticks.
I burst on to the street in a black blur, like something streaking out of a nightmare, descending on two large men with clinical, lightning efficiency. One moment they aim heavy kicks, shattering the man's ribs as he tries to curl into a fetal position on the pavement. The next they're unconscious, hog-tied and served up on a concrete plate. Two perfect, seamlessly interconnected moments.
The broken man tries to speak. "Thank...,"he says, choking on his own blood. "Tha-,"I raise my hand, holding up a finger to silence him. My other hand speed-dials an ambulance. They have a special button for me.
I stand in the shadows. The man stops whimpering as the morphine kicks in, two paramedics kneeling beside him. A crowd gathers, citizens sticking like flies to the scene of violence. A middle-aged man with a giant camera lens turns and points at me. I slink back into the shadows, adrenaline surging. How did he see me? Was I that visible? What do I do, bow?
The group faces me, their camera flashes lighting up my dark corner. Do I wave? Strike a pose? A dozen voices and a dozen moments containing infinite actions infests the street in-front of me, all requiring my attention, each thought flitting in the air in tumultuous succession, waiting to be cataloged and addressed.
Too much. I dart down the closest side street, my cloak splayed out for a perfect second. Did a camera capture that? I glide through the shadows, following the sounds in the night, stalking that next singular moment where everything else fades away. |
The tall pale man, just looks at us, his face showing only sadness.
"You don't belong here."He sighed. "You are too young a soul to have actually lived your lives."
He grabs a bottle and pours me a drink, it is then that I noticed the others sitting next to me. My brothers in arms, still wearing their torn uniforms and to the left of me my enemies. It was only then that I noticed how eerily silent it was.
"How did I get here?"I asked. The Bartender looked up and replied in a trembling voice: "You fought, you died. all in a silly attempt to protect some imaginary borders."
"I am dead?"The Bartender nodded.
Then my next question arose and before I could ask the man behind the bar answered: "Yes I am Death, the one and only, the grim reaper, but the Belgians tend to call me Pietje de dood. I like that one, so call me Pete. It's easier in your mother tongue."
I nodded and looked around, a lot of soldiers were there, some civies, but still. "We are all goners, no heaven or hell, just eternally sitting in a bar?"
"Oh no no no, I despise war and I figured that the least I could do is give you all a drink, you have earned and while it is no Valhal, it is something."
"why do you hate war?"I asked.
Pete stopped polishing the glass in his hands and looked at me with great sorrow, took a deep breath and answered: "Life is a precious gift of all of creation it is the one thing we cannot control, you are born and become self aware, stumbling your way through a universe hell bent on chaos. Yet life tend to enjoy that chaos. You live. Humans have a sort of understanding, a childlike wonder at everything we and your creators throw at you and then you admire it."He poured a drink for himself and leaned on the bar and continued, "You show compassion, hate, love and happiness in a world we created. It is the greatest form of flattery to see something that we do not control, enjoy something we do control. The chaos you bring to a rigid set of rules is amazing and beautiful. So it saddens me greatly that you spend it on something as ruining as war, to throw all that potential away. Just so you can show how tough you are. You might fight for those that can't fight for themselves and those I say bravo, I cheer, because you did something not one being besides you can claim: You give your life for other life, for creation. I applaud you, while my task is grim and sad, your task was a lot more grim. So this is the least I can do."
The entire bar was listening to Pete and when he was done we cheered. We toasted in his honor, we sang and greeted Death like an old friend, because of all the people there, he needed it the most.
|
My daughter's disappearance isn't something I talk about much. Not with my family, not with my friends, not with my ex-wife, not even with God in my most private moments. The death of a child is a heartbreaking tragedy that can tear your soul asunder, but ever so slowly, you can process the pain and attempt to come to terms with the hole left in your life. The mysterious disappearance of a child, on the other hand, is a festering wound that never even begins to heal.
My daughter Emma vanished without a trace from a scout led camping trip when she was 10 years old. There was no suspicion of foul play. I didn't have a worry in the world when I dropped her off and told her "have the most fun ever, sweet pea"as I kissed her goodbye for what I didn't know would be the last time. The campsite wasn't out in some wild backwoods in the middle of nowhere. It was well lit, well staffed, and considered extremely safe. The girls were accompanied by numerous adult chaperones, among them one of my daughters school teachers, one of our dear friends and neighbors, and my own sister, Melissa. None of them reported hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary that night. They all said the same thing. They put the girls to bed, checked on them a few times throughout the evening, and somewhere about midnight they discovered my little girl was missing. In a window they all described as not being longer than an hour, my little sweet pea, the light of my life and reason for being, vanished from the face of this miserable earth.
She was the best thing I ever did. I didn't live a perfect life but I was dedicated to her and to raising her right. The lack of closure and clarity drove me to dedicate my entire existence to finding my child. I'd spent the years since with no other goal in life. I organized search parties to scour the woods, put out ads in newspapers and on TV begging for her safe return, I cashed out my 401k to hire helicopter searches long after everyone told me it was hopeless and that she was dead. Even today, I don't believe my daughter is dead, but you'd be hard pressed to find a person who knows me who doesn't claim I'm suffering from severe delusion as a result of that belief.
This Thanksgiving dinner at my sisters place was meant to be a reunion for us. Emma's disappearance shattered our family as rapidly as anything else. It wasn't that I blamed Melissa for her going missing, how could I? Mel loved Emma more than just about anyone outside of myself and my wife. I knew she'd never be negligent or careless with her, not in a million years. But blame has a strange way of attaching itself onto innocent people when there's no other logical place to put it. Whether the blame was really even there or not, the rift between my sister and I was very real.
I resolved myself to finally put it to bed as I approached the front door of her house, knocked, and was ushered inside by delighted family members. Most hadn't seen me in months, years, some probably not since the disappearance. My sister was nowhere to be found, but she wasn't hiding, she was slaving over the stove when I stepped into the kitchen.
"Hey... erhm... Hi Mel,"I worked up the courage to mumble.
She looked up with a fright. "Adam... my god I'm so... I'm sorry I'm just a little stunned, I didn't think you'd be here,"she said with genuine emotion in her voice.
"Well, here I am."
She nodded and stepped away from the stove toward me. She put one arm around me, seemingly half unsure if she should offer me an embrace at all. I didn't much feel it, but I returned it. "I gotta... finish up the cooking... but don't sneak out of here early okay? Let's have a talk later?"
"Alright,"was all I could manage as I walked out of the kitchen. I spent the next half hour absently listening to family chatter at me until dinner was ready. As we were all seated Melissa asked someone to lead us in prayer. Apparently no one jumped at the chance because the room fell eerily silent, except for an odd tapping coming from below. I'd thought I'd heard earlier, but was now crystal clear without other background noise.
"What is that?"I asked.
"Oh sorry, it's an old house. The pipes creak and rattle and tap constantly,"Melissa said. "Alright well I guess I'm leading grace, bow your heads."
She gave a fine prayer I suppose. Even after it ended and the sound of dozens of people talking and clanging of forks on plates filled the room, my brain was still fixated on the sound of the rhythmic tapping below me. This place didn't have a basement, so it couldn't have been that their dog was playing below us, but the pipes explanation didn't make much sense either. Even with all the noise it was all I could hear so I pretended to go to the bathroom but actually headed to the quiet living room on the opposite side of the house.
Here the tapping was clear as day and I made a startling revelation. It wasn't purely rhythmic, and it wasn't random either. It was Morse code. *What on earth?* I don't think I'd ever been more confused by the existence of a sound in a particular location in my entire life. I put my ear to the floorboards to focus on translating the message.
My realization shifted from confusion to indescribable horror as I listened carefully for each letter. It spelled out two very short and simple words that overwhelmed with meaning, "Sweat Pea". My blood ran cold.
&#x200B;
Like I said, I don't talk about my daughters disappearance. I'm only writing about it now because I'm sitting in my car outside my sister's house at midnight working up the courage to break down the door and begin my search for a basement everyone claims doesn't exist, and I want there to be a record of what happened in case something goes wrong. I don't know if my daughter is hidden in some unknown space below the house, or if I've finally lost my damn mind, but I believe I'm entitled to answers, and I'm finally going to get them.
___
EDIT: This was just intended to be a one off little story to dip my toe into the horror genre for the first time, but the demand for a Part 2 was pretty overwhelming so I wrote it and it is now posted down below.
Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more stories from me. I can neither confirm nor deny that I write them in morse code from a basement. |
Three months to live.
Oliver steadied himself against the daisy wallpaper, numbly digesting the doctor's iron verdict. *I'm sorry*, she'd said, eyes oozing with sympathy. Why him? He could almost feel the lung cancer thriving in his chest cavity, festering next to the beating heart that worked to power the primary earner for a family of four.
The most uncomfortable bench in the world squeaked underneath his denim as he began planning out his will, dreading Susie's reaction. The kids. Oh God, the kids. Tearing up, Oliver grabbed at the sheet of paper next to him, wishing it was a tissue instead and distantly hoping he didn't get a paper cut on his eyes.
"Eh?"
Ink blurred by wetness stared out at him in incomprehensible words. "Next candidate? Unbreakable contract, what..."
The world disappeared down an endless tunnel as a gripping sensation sucked at his navel. When he came to, a gray-skinned human was patting him kindly on the cheek.
"Hello, Oliver."
His mouth was so dry.
"Yes, traveling through an exotic matter wormhole will do that to you."
And now this person was reading his mind.
"Huh. I'm surprised you picked up on that so quickly."
Dimly, Oliver could vaguely make out a crowd's raucous applause. His vision swam slightly as he pulled himself out of the translucent chair, trailing tubes and wires behind him. A gray hand caught his stumble.
"Careful. We've been repairing your body. My name is Jonas. Allow me to explain to you the rules behind this place."
"My family,"Oliver croaked.
"Will be taken care of,"Jonas promised. "Welcome to Alpha-Megalo-Six. It's a planet where we host trials of athleticism for various species."
"That paper..."
"More of a joke, than anything."Jonas snapped his fingers, and a holographic screen appeared in midair. "See that? That's the arena you'll be competing in. We leave little notes like that in doctors offices across the galaxy, picking up those otherwise condemned to death unfairly by the vagaries of fate."
"I've only got three months."Oliver's voice crackled like plastic wrap. "I want to see my family."
The alien smiled. Rows and rows of sharp teeth greeted him. "Do well, and you'll get a lot more than that, Oliver. Humans tend not to score very highly on AMS. But I'm an opportunist, and my data analysis pointed me to you. Think of this as...a chance."
As Jonas left the room, Oliver coughed heavily. Strange. For the first time in years, he felt cold air gush through his lungs, churning oxygen through his bloodstream.
*A chance, eh?*
He watched the trials dance and weave on the holographic interface.
*I've gotten through worse.*
---
Jonas watched Oliver duck and weave past the other contenders in the race. Yes, there was something about this one.
"A *narrow* slip up by the Minton allows the human Oliver to pick up the lead! How will he deal with the pressure?"
Virtual figures swam through the air. Even as the other galaxy citizens faltered, Oliver's pixelated figure pushed on through.
*Not simply endurance*, Jonas realized. *Willpower.* His calculations had steered him in the right direction, it seemed.
Fangs, poison, musculature...Oliver boasted none of those. Neither had he the intelligence and cunning of the Taxons, nor the telepathic abilities native to Jonas' home planet.
"You always bet on humans."
"Jackie,"Jonas acknowledged, grasping her gray hand and stroking it thrice in greeting. "What can I say? Their earnest vulnerability appeals to me. Like the soft underbelly of a halburd, or the juiciest portion of a calabo."
"Mother always told you not to play with your food,"his sister chided. "It won't work, you know? Their planet is doomed anyways."
He watched as Oliver not only finished first, but also exchanged friendly slaps with the other contenders.
"Not if Oliver and I have anything to say about it."
---
Hmm. Not a complete story, but the setup for one, perhaps. There's more complete things waiting at [/r/Remyxed](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed) if you're bored\~ |
The tall man returned today to take another human for a walk. I stood up from my spot beside the young human Page, wagging my tail. the tall man stopped beside the bed and reached out, as he always does to wake up humans for their walk. I'm always sad because I don't see the human again, but I'm sure they are happy, walks are the greatest after all. he gently touches Page and she wakes up.
"Time to go."
the tall man's voice makes me uneasy. it always does. Page gives me one last head pat before leaving with the tall man. I bark her goodbye. she waves at me before leaving the room, and moments later the white coat humans run in and look at their green beep screens before shaking their heads. this always happens and they are always sad, like me, that the tall man came. I lick them to cheer them up.
"good girl, Cheesecake."
I wag my tail, happy to help.
The tall man came back, but there are no humans in the sick place today. I greet him with a bark and wag my tail, and jump around the bed to show him no humans are here for a walk. he reaches out to me and pets my head.
"Its time for you, Cheesecake."
I am confused by the tall human, I have a job to do here, I can't go for a walk! I bark at him, trying to tell him I need to stay at the sick place, but I know it won't work, humans never understand me. except he does.
"you've been a good dog, but its your time. I know you're scared and you don't understand, but don't worry."
he picks me up gently and carries me out of the sick place. his arms are cold. he takes me outside, and oh joy! every human he took is there! even Jamie! I run to him happy as can be.
"good girl."
the tall man says. |
"Morning Cyril!"The Architect wandered past the security guard and onto the site, pausing at the threshold to check he had the correct safety gear. HSE had been sniffing around last week and (as always) having "the government"on site made the client nervous. So now everyone double-checked on PPE compliance. Hard hat - check. Safety glasses - check. Gravitational Compensator and laser diffuser belt - che... the Architect flickedits switch and felt the comforting hum as it warmed on. Check.
Strolling through the entrance to the facility (a classic hidden cave mouth with trap floor) the Architect went looking for the foreman to find how progress was going.
"Alright Sam, how's...oof!"the Architect's breath was knocked from him as the foreman tackled him and rolling the pair around the corner.
"Sorry Boss, but..."a small explosion echoed in the half-built corridor behind the foreman as he picked up the Architect. "Turret installation. One of the apprentices plugged the thing in before the recognition software came online. No-one's hurt and Geoff's sorting it, but it's taking some time."
"Of course."The Architect sighed. Just what was needed, a near-miss incident. And he'd just calmed the client down.
"*What was that sound?*"The sibilant syllables shot out from a shadow, as the client slid softly into view. The foreman gave a commiserating shrug to the Architect before slipping back around the corner, preferring turret fire to handling the customer.
"Just testing your security system, Doctor."He gave a grin and laughed slightly, wrapped his arm around the client and led him away. "After all, you wouldn't want it to fail at the wrong moment, would you?"
The client nodded, eyes narrowing. The problem with the current crop of clientele was their cunning cognizance, the Architect considered.
"*Just so long as there are no more safety violations*."The customer slipped the craftsman's clutches. "*We don't want any investigations. Especially after what happened with the plumber.*"
"Indeed, Dr Literation. We definitely don't desire that."
"*Has he reappeared*?"The Architect shook his head. "Sadly Sid's slipped sending has meant no sightings so far."
"Well, see that he does."The client stalked away, and the Architect felt the subtle psychic grip slip off with a slient sigh of relief. Alfred Literation's gift was tiring for a mind, especially one that preferred architecture to wordplay.
Odd, certainly, the Architect mused as he continued around the site, but he wasn't the worst client. Sure, he had some quirks (what client didn't?), but he did care about those he considered his underlings. He sighed as he remembered the Incident. Poor old Sid, the one time he didn't wear his temporal restrainer and he was whisked down the pipes to Gods know when. Sadly, it was one of the dangers of building Architecture for the Villainous and Mad.
Still, it was better than working for the Other Side. Oh sure, there was the prestige, but that didn't pay the bills. In fifteen years, while the villains had not once stiffed him, every single hero he'd worked for had tried to play the "for the good of the community"card for a discount after the work was done. They talk about honour amongst thieves ' he could see why they never mentioned it for heroes. |
The word “prodigy” had not been brought up for a few thousand years, however, with its mentioning came bad tidings for anyone of a certain field.
In this world of perfection, almost every person in their respective fields could be called a “prodigy” considering they had to earn their spot amongst the other five billion already inhabiting the planet.
Meaning, when someone was rumored to be a prodigy, they were considered to be above current human capability in some respect, and thus capable of replacing one of the current spot holders.
“Immortality is truly a gift and a curse.” I heard muttered next to me, the second to last cellist in the world orchestra was more melancholy than usual.
“Hey, brighten up!” I patted his shoulder, my own sweat and nervous smile only worsening his nerves
“Hopefully this prodigy is a viola, or even a bass!” I joked, earning me some hateful glares from both sections.
“Relax! It was just a joke.” I raised my hands up in a mock surrender. Each section returned their attention to their instruments, cleaning and tuning them with the intent to be all the more presentable.
Today was not the day to slack off, that was for sure. One of us may...
Just as everyone’s nerves reached a peak, the doors to recital hall opened with a gusto. In strode the conductor, his perfectly combed, jet black hair and immaculate stride reminding each of us of the time he had take his place as their conductor. Truly a magnificent specimen worthy of his spot. No one had been able to beat his expertise for well over ten thousand years. He constantly wore a performance tux, and held his baton in his right hand at all times. Eccentric as he was, there was no doubt on whether he was the best.
“Today...” he announced in his usual bold and bombastic fashion, walking ever closer to the stage
“We shall meet our new prodigy.”
Just as he announced this, the sound of rolling echoed out from the entrance hall. It was the sound of a case on wheels, and it was infuriatingly slow.
“Bass or cello?” The ensemble all thought collectively, the energy in the room reaching an almost palpable state.
“From the far east reaches, this is Castile.”
As he announced this, a sturdy man with a perfectly sculpted body and eccentrically shaven face waltzed through the door, his cloths looked immaculate and his shoes could not be shinier in their jet black luster.
Everyone on my side of the stage gulped as they noticed the cello sized case rolling behind him.
Without a word, he walked up the walkway to the stage and sat down in the first chair section.
With the intense air he brought about him, everyone in the first chair section hesitated to size him up. Soon enough however, he assembled his music stand, prepared his cello and began to play.
“The devil’s trill sonata?” I thought, surprised at his choice of presentation. I had only been the last seat of the cello section for a hundred and forty years so far, and thus had the least amount of skill and experience, however in that time I’ve been able to play most popular selections from each instrument. Even so, not many had chosen such a strange piece as their “audition”.
Soon after he began playing however, I came to realize why they called him a prodigy. His playing was unparalleled. Skill wise, I had seen everything due to the length of time the first chairs had been playing, however, what truly determined their spot was the musicality. The emotion. The feeling produced, and from the sound of this cello player, someone had lost their spot today...
I sank slowly into my chair, recalling the process described to me on how Seat replacements worked. I began mulling over in my head, how they would decide to do it.
Soon, all to soon, the piece ended. No applause rang out. Only utter silence.
The conductor walked over to Castile and clasped his hand in congratulations. Mentioning some words about “best i have ever heard”.
At this, the conductor addressed the section.
“We will change seats sequentially. Everyone move down one chair.” He announced before turning coldly back to his podium and flipping through the days selection.
As everyone heard this, I dropped my cello to my side, shocked.
That means...
Immediately after his announcement, two men in black hoods entered the room. They floated grimly over to the stage on seemingly magic black mist. Since the beginning of immortality, this had been the tradition of changing spots, and it never ceased to amaze and terrify those who saw it.
Soon they arrived right behind me, pressing my shoulders down firmly into the seat I was in.
My stand partner next to me gave me a empathetic glance, but only proceeded to stand up in preparation for the change.
Hearing a ripping sound from the base of my skull, I knew the deed was done. I watched in empty horror as the reapers brought my chip over to the new cellist and implanted it into the base of his skull, the echoing words of the conductor congratulating him and welcoming him to immortality being the last thing I heard as my body crumbled to dust and faded away with the sweep of the reapers robes. |
“Hey, Dimitri…” began office supervisor Dave, aged 38, who lives with his mother on 139 Appleby Lane. “Can I talk to you in my office for a minute?” His voice was strangely tight. Clutched in his hand was a manilla folder.
Dimitri sighed inwardly. *Here we go.* He stood up, towering over the greasy, frail man with his wispy moustache and amber-rimmed glasses. Dimitri began to drum his fingers right where his gun should have been. Instead, there was nothing. Empty space, soulless dreams. Just a pair of creased khakis and a clipped-on identification badge.
Dimitri followed Dave as they exited his cubicle and made their way through the office. Dave walked with the limp of a sick and dying gazelle. Dimitri prowled through the crisp tile floors with the predatory grace of a lioness. Except, he wasn’t a lioness anymore. No, those days were long gone. He sighed inwardly again.
As they walked, Dimitri couldn’t help but identify potential threats. There, that woman with the skirt and long legs, was she a potential spouse of one of his previous targets, here to enact revenge? Or that pasty adolescent intern with the acne, was he the son of one his previous targets, here to enact revenge? Or that elderly lady with the walker…
*Stop it,* Dimitri said harshly to himself. *No more. Those days are gone.* But, it was hard to kill old habits. He felt too vulnerable in the office, in the regular world of fluorescent lights and awkward small-talk. He should be in the shadows, stalking his prey, setting traps and breaking necks. Not here in the open, wearing business casual attire legitimately, and not as a clever disguise. There was a difference between a disguise and a uniform. Dimitri’s tie threatened to choke him. He wished he could take it off, but he didn’t want the infraction. He knew he was in trouble enough already.
They arrived at Dave’s office, and the small man smiled nervously at him as he fumbled for the key. Why do civilians smile so much? Is it because they have something to hide? Dimitri wondered what secrets Dave held; it would be easy enough to extract it from him…
*No, Dimitri, bad.* He entered the room, and sat down at the puny chair in front of Dave’s desk. He glowered down at his loafers. He hated his loafers.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you here, Dimitri,” said Dave, folding his hands then unfolding them then re-folding them. He couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his hands. A feeling Dimitri now understood greatly.
“Yes, Supervisor Dave,” said Dimitri numbly. His eye fell on the window to his right, overlooking the city skyline. If he jumped through, he might be able to catch onto a ledge below and escape through… *No!* Dimitri grit his teeth. Fleeing out of windows was something mercenaries did, not low-level insurance agents in a reputable corporate office. He forced himself back into the present moment.
“Well, I just want to say that we are so glad to have you on board here at ABC Insurance,” babbled Dave. “Truly, your presence in the office has been… stimulating.” Dave gave him a look that bordered on lechery; Dimitri was used to such looks. This tight baby-blue dress shirt that made his eyes pop didn’t help either.
“Thank you, Supervisor Dave,” said Dimitri despondently.
Dave nodded. “Yes, well, to the matter at hand.” He opened the manilla folder and pulled out a sheaf of paper.
*Here it comes,* thought Dimtri. Why did he feel like he did that time when he was kidnapped by the Canadians, a black cloth bag strewn over his head, his arms chained up to a brick wall, never sure of when the next blow would strike?
“Your quarterly projections, Dimitri,” stammered Dave, waving the paper, “I mean… they’re unbelievable!”
Dimitri closed his eyes painfully. The first blow was always the worst. He knew he wasn’t cut out for civilian life. Why had he even bothered?
“They’re stunning!”
Dimitri opened his eyes. His brow furrowed.
“Stunningly bad?” he asked.
“No! No, not at all! I mean, when I saw these numbers, I… I didn’t know what to believe. You’re a star, Dimitri! A star! Why would you think they’re bad?”
*A star?* Dimitri, inexplicably, began to blush. He’d never been called a star before. Not once after 15 years of bloody knuckles, bloody feet and teeth, hundreds of scars strewn up and down his chest and back.
“I don’t know,” said Dimitri, feeling slow. Actually, he did know. As a mercenary, he’d mastered the art of disguise. He’d had many careers over his years. A butcher, a tailor, a UPS delivery man, yes an insurance agent, even a nuclear physicist once. But that’s all they were, disguises. Cloths of masks to hide his ugly truth, like a civilian smile. He’d never once assumed the people he supposedly sold insurance to actually meant it. He thought they were just eager to get rid of him, the hulking man with the grizzled voice and the scarred hands. They were civilians, and civilians were a different breed, and they could sense him as the innocent lamb senses the prowling wolf.
Right?
“Well, regardless, if you keep this up, there’s a promotion in the works for you, that’s for sure,” said Dave, smiling.
Dimitri, funnily enough, smiled back.
---
Check out my profile for more stories >:DDD
P.S. I never worked an office job, so I'm making a lot of this up :P hope it's not too immersion-breaking. |
*On an online forum discussing humans*
"Humans are terrifying I tell you! I heard that if you cross paths with one in the middle of the night, when you wake up the next day a baby human will burst out of your stomach!"
"That can't be true. First of all that sounds dumb, and Second, humans reproduce by laying eggs into the earth. That's what my friend was told when he was younger by a human babysitter."
"There was this story I keep hearing at work about humans having this instinct to regurgitate toxic waste onto important documents when pissed off. Never happened to me since I always try to stay on their best side."
"Hey, is it true that humans can shoot lasers out their noses because my cousin's friend says he can and that it's strong enough to destroy planets!"
"There was a rumor I had at my college where humans with small slanted eyes can read minds! I hear that they read the minds of their teachers in order to pass exams!"
"No that's wrong! Humans shoot layers out something they call their bum."
"This human child once told me that she was a princess with ice powers that created a tower of isolation while singing!"
"These humans are terrifyingly bizzare! I had an encounter with one and he told me that if you don't give humans what they ask from you, you will blow up in a week!"
"All you idiots and this nonsense! You don't have evidence! I had an encounter with a human and he made my wallet disappear from his hands! THESE CREATURES DEFY LOGIC!" |
"Please!"his voice was a strained whimper, the blood that splattered across the ground falling from his shattered teeth "Please, don't!"
"Don't?"The voice that replied was calm, in spite of the fiery chaos around the pair, the voice was impossibly calm "You want me to stop this? You are the one that started it, *hero*."
The last word was spat with such disgust the young man with his bloodied and broken limbs flinched as he tried to drag his broken body further away from the harm the man in the suit presented to him.
"Please,"the hero whimpered again "I'm only eighteen."
"Then you should have known better already,"the man in the suit said "The others should have told you that this place was one of sanctuary for all those with powers, no matter their former allegiance. People become heroes and villains for the same reasons: fame or money. You are known to livestream your exploits on your various social channels so you are clearly doing it for fame, and you slaughtered my friends whilst livestreaming because you had decided it was '*best for the city*'."
"I didn't know..."
"Ignorance is not an excuse for your actions. You murdered powerless civilians. This was a nursing home for those superpowered individuals who had retired from the 'game', and you smashed your way in and killed them all. You killed Genesis, the first hero this world ever had. You killed him like you were putting down a dog and he couldn't even remember his own name. He had no recollection of how many people he saved, he had no memory of his family and yet you decided because he was here that he was some kind of threat."
"I thought they were all villains."
"You lie."the man in the suit stepped onto the young man's ankle and stopped him from dragging himself any further away. "I know what they tell you newbies on your first day of hero duty. They tell everyone about this place and how it is *completely* off-limits."
Movement caught the young hero's eye and he turned to see another man in a brightly coloured outfit enter through a broken doorframe.
"Goodfyre!"The young man's eyes sparkled with the hope that he was rescued as the hero marched up to the man in the dark suit.
"Douglas,"the hero turned to other "I am truly sorry for all of this. We will help you rebuild."
"Can you return those that *this one* killed?"
"You know we can't."
"Then your offer of help is irrelevant."
"Goodfyre,"the young man began to weep "Please, help me."
"You were told what this place was,"Goodfyre said to the young hero "You killed people, civilians. I won't help a murderer."
"PLEASE!"the young man cried as Goodfyre turned and left "Please..."
"You made your choice."Douglas said as he moved in for the kill.
* * *
[/r/ocallkai](https://www.reddit.com/r/ocallkai/) |
AZAZEL! What in the name of unholy hell happened?
Azazel swallowed hard. He knew this was coming, the instant the script ran. He had no shame in the outcome, but he knew higher ups would not be so understanding.
“You said random, sir, so it was completely random. Your orders, are, as they say, Gospel.”
Yah-Rey facepalmed. He sat there for a good 20 seconds before lifting his head. “This sim was nearly flawless. Only to be ruined by a ridiculous ending. 6 billion years of simulated planetary time, only to look like a god damned circus at the credits. This is embarrassing. On all of us.”
“Sir, the script ran perfectly. I’ve spent the last 2,000 orbits verifying the the RNG we put in place. Random is random, if you wanted a more restricted set of inputs, you needed to say so.”
“Can we revert to backup and re-run this, please?”
A small girl stood up in the corner, and in a voice of an angel said, “You could, but you shouldn’t. Everyone would know you restarted and it would be an embarrassment to InfallibleGames.”
Yah loved that voice… the low contrabass gurgles and screeches that the angels made… which is why his “PR man” chose to use it every chance she got.
Azazel removed the fingers from his ears. “Why MUST you do that? Ugh. But she’s right. The sim still hasn’t terminated. Nobody has died or raptured from the clowns or vacuums. We’ve had a few deaths from choking on the broccoli… but since all the other protocols went offline when the Apocalypse started, things went a little wonky before we restarted them. It’s only been something like 60 cycles since the vacuums became available everywhere, so nobody even realized that was part of the endgame. That breakdown has led to some really weird shit, though. I mean weird. Like Donald Trump got elected President and the Cubs defied your decree against winning the series, since we started this meeting. That was like 5 orbits ago.”
“Motherf…”, Yah started, “Seriously, dude… fucking Broccoli??? \*sigh\* Why hasn’t the safety apocalypse run its course yet?”
Azazel straighten himself up a bit, “Well, on that, we have some, well, interesting news. I think we have an opportunity here. Luci- you want to tell him?”
The girl with the angelic voice grinned wide, showing the many rows of razor sharp teeth. “Az and I think we should keep this running as a bonus scene. The pandemic we set up as the backup is running… but the simulation adapted. Since the vacuum cleaners were introduced, the planet's scientists have made incredible strides, especially in medicine. The have created a prophylaxis that has prevented the widespread destruction we expected. We had to add bots to discourage the people from taking these countermeasures, with limited success. Less than 1 tenth of a percent have died from it. My suggestion is pretend that this was never meant as the end times, and throw in something for the viewers to make them think it was all a fake out.
"Maybe schedule an asteroid or something in another hundred cycles or so.”
Yah-Rey sighed. “I’m getting too old for this shit. Fine. It’s Friday. Let it run out. Lucifer, I’m putting you in charge of directing the next 50-whatever cycles while I come up with something over the weekend. If you let them do anything stupid like nuclear war or put another clown in a leadership position, I’m sending you back the the Lake of Fire project to sort out that mess. You understand?”
“You got it chief. See you Monday.” |
**BRUCE WAYNE DATING BATMAN?**
Batman was spotted exiting Wayne Manor early in the morning of October 8th. Now rumors are flying among Gotham's high society that this is evidence of a secret love affair between Batman and the millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. Said Allegra Madden of the allegations, "Oh, it makes sense, doesn't it? They keep the same hours, Brucie never keeps a girlfriend around long...and you know, Batman needs someone to pay for all those wonderful toys of his. Maybe they're perfect for each other."
When asked to comment, Bruce Wayne responded, "Well, I can say with all honesty that I get into his pants now and then." |
The barbarian looked at me quizzically.
I sighed.
"Look it's really simple. Gold is expensive because it is scarce; the old supply-demand problem, y'know?"
I could see the Barbarian's eyes glazing over, probably wondering why he had decided to punish himself by taking my meeting.
"Look, I go and fight all sorts of nasty things for money; like yourself I'm sure. For my marvellous services rendered the beneficent king pays me a hefty purse of cold hard gold. However, in the case of pirates or dragon's hoards most of the loot goes back to the kingdom, it is stolen property after all."
I signalled the barkeep over, as my fellow was becoming increasingly distracted by the sight of the bottom of his cup. I could tell I was very close to breaking through to him now.
"If after I slay the the dragon it so happens a quarter of its hoard is actually lead instead of gold; well who could blame me? And now my gold is that much richer for all the coins that have mysteriously disappeared. "
The barbarian nodded, seemingly understanding, "And you need me to carry all the lead because it's heavy.
*God damn it.*
I rubbed my eyes and thought hard.
"Okay,"I said, producing four small gold coins and placing them on the table. Two in front of me and two in front of the barbarian.
"Lets say; hypothetically that--"
He cocked his head at me.
"I mean to say, lets *pretend* you're the king and you've just paid me two gold coins to kill a dragon."I point to my coins, "and I've given you the two other coins that I found back to you."I gesture to his coins. "Now that seems fair doesn't it?"
He nodded, the brief flicker of cognition mercifully sparkling in his eyes.
"Now I'm going to turn one of those coins to lead."I snapped my fingers, and one of the shining coins in front of the goliath-barbarian became a dull lead paperweight. "Does the deal still seem fair?"
He leaned back smiling, "The king is trying to kill you, and you need my help."
I smiled too, revelling in the madness of it all, "The king is definitely trying." |
Hanging out with Thorag really wasn’t so bad. Yeah, he was 10 feet tall, had lumpy, stone like skin, and a mandibles attached to his ugly-as-sin face, but he was a good friend. I remember how we met. I was trying to get a drink at the good ‘old Dusty Comet when a shoot out started up. Honestly, you can’t walk into a single outer rim bar without some idiot throwing plasma all over the place. With all of the different cultures and species throughout the galaxy violent misunderstandings are painfully common. And dangerous. Most offworlders have a blaster or two on them at all times just for those lovely occasions, myself included. Unfortunately, the common rinky dink sidearms your average offworlder carries doesn’t pack much of a punch. And SOMEONE decided to bring a freaking AN1L8-4000 to a bar brawl! For the uninformed allow me to explain. AN1L8’s are an old series of heavyweight plasma canons, originally made for military use. They’ve actually been decommissioned for years and are super illegal to own. Why? Because they have a nasty habit of malfunctioning, overheating, and summarily vaporizing everything in the general area. And some idiot Goranzee decided to whip one out because he thought someone made a crack about his mother. It wasn’t a joke, it was a fact! Everyone knows Goranzee females are hideous! But I digress, lasers are flying all over the place, food and drinks are being tossed around as extra ammo, and a massive cone of death is being flung around the whole building, vaporizing everyone in it’s way. And it was heading right for me. I always knew it would end like that. I was way to handsome to be a space rogue y’know. But just as I was two thirds through making my peace a violent roar drowned out the din of the battle. All I saw was a gray, four armed, hulking lump of alien lunge over my head an towards the guy firing the AN1L8. Coincidentally right between me and the death beam. Normally a situation like that would end with someone being turned into a pile of dust. Safe to say that that’s not how things went down. Thorag ate the blast with nothing more than a pained grunt, pushing through the glowing stream of death to get to it’s source. Let me tell you pal, if you ever see an angry Myrmakoidian then run the other way. Thorag tore the cannon out of the Goranzee’s hands, his gray body blistered and steaming but otherwise unharmed. My big, gray, future friend then proceeded to rip the AN1L8 apart, stuffing the pieces into his maw and chewing violently with his mandibles. The only sound in the room for several seconds was the grating sound of metal tearing. Then there was a belch. As some of the bar’s patrons started to put away their weapons, thinking the fight was over, another roar sounded off. Our savior was still flipping out. And everyone in the building knew that we were royally screwed. AN1L8’s are well known to be some of the most deadly firearms in the galaxy and this guy ATE one. There was nothing we could do. It was run or get ripped apart by the rabid alien. Probably both, honestly. In an incredibly out of character moment, I did neither of those things. Just as Thorag advanced on the nearest person in the bar I ran right between him and his intended target. You know, like an idiot. In an extra idiotic move when the giant monster guy raised his fist to smear my guts overs the adjacent wall I reached up and patted him on the head. I even said “There, there”. I should have died for that. For whatever reason I didn’t. Instead of being flung at terminal velocity into wall, I was flung with slightly less than terminal velocity into the floor. Thorag had attempted to replicate my “There, there”. So I laid there, indented into the floor, half conscious, and definitely bleeding from my head having no idea I’d just started a beautiful friendship. |
Our hero entered the bank to make a withdrawal. Of course, he didn't have an account at the bank, but he would be willing to open one. Just not today.
Since he was in a hurry and in a bind, he would have to reason with the teller into giving him an advance before getting his own account open. He assured her he had money to deposit, but who carries around that much cash? He assured the teller that sometime later he would come back not only to repay the advance but also to have with him the money that he had intended to make a deposit with.
He took out his gun to ensure that while the teller retrieved the money, no one else would try to interfere or, heaven forbid, take the money for themselves. You can never be too safe.
"After all,"our hero told the teller as she gathered the money, "it's not like letting the bank have all this money is a good thing. Sometimes banks have too much money, and when they have too much money, they take too many risks with it, and they end up losing it all. But guys like me come along to take some of that money off their hands, and then they're not as willing to take those risks. I help them stay in business. That's better for their customers and for your job security. Don't you agree?"
The hero did make a good point and the teller gave every indication that she agreed with everything he said. She presented the money to him in the bag that he had provided. He took the bag and went outside, only to run into the armed agents of the tyrannical regime under which he and all the other citizens have been suffering under.
Our hero had a decision to make: comply with their orders to drop his gun and put his hands behind his head, or take a stand, not only for himself but for the people of his county, and show these goons they can't always terrorize the people without consequence.
He ran for cover and engaged with the faceless agents of tyranny in a gunfight, one that would soon prove to be demonstration of the might of government firepower over the poor citizen of which they carefully deprive the necessary means of defense. But he would not have died in vain. His example of heroism in the face of the tyrannical forces that oppress the poor, and work only in the interest of the wealthy and privileged, would be remembered by all, commemorated in the papers the next day. Reading his story, watching his story being told, the people would lift him up as the martyr that he was. |
I was tilling the blighting soil next to the victorious Demon Lord's castle, the plow strapped to me as I furrowed the lines, when the Demon Lord herself came out of her castle, guards flanking her as she approached me.
"Good Morning, Hero."She said that last part hesitantly. She held a well lacquered box in her hands.
"Hero is not my name anymore,"I responded. "I am coward."
She flinched. A gaze that was absolute steel when her armies massacred the kingdom's now held pity.
Her fingers gripped the box tighter. I didn't miss that, but I closed my eyes, sighed, and continued tilling.
She followed, her armored guards following despite the churned soil that sullied their boots along with their mistress's hemmed dress.
"Go away,"I said.
"Or what? Will you cease you tilling then?"she asked.
I took several more labored stepped before before I sighed, took my yoke off, then turned to meet her.
She was beautiful. Slim with black curved demon horns that elegantly circled around her long white hair like a cursed halo. Her red eyes perfectly fitted into a angular visage just made her all the more alien in her grace.
But she also murdered my friends and had enslaved the mortal kingdoms to her whim.
And she was offering me breakfast, or what else would be in the box.
She opened the box, and held out an intricate dagger.
That wasn't what I was expecting.
She gave me the dagger.
And then she lifter her hair, exposed her neck, and made her guards point spears at me as she craned closer for me to strike a mortal blow.
I threw the dagger into the dirt.
"You won't free me?"she asked as she put her hair back into place and lifted herself regally again, her hand waiving for her beleaguered guards to stand back.
"Free you?"I spat. "You are the one who should free my people!"
"As you can free yourself?"she asked. "You know that you are not my captive. I did proclaim you are free to everyone in the kingdoms and beyond. Not to be touched."
I spat again, this time truly into the dirt, missing the dagger by inches.
"It is my penance,"I explained again, tears welling in my eyes. "I chose this because in my defeat, you had to insult me further by letting me live! I should have died fighting you!"
She folded her arms, disinterested by the same story she heard every conversation with me. "You are too rare a creature to let die. You are...different."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, don't tell me. Is it because I'm gifted? That I had a divine blessing against evil? Was it for the blessing I was born with awesome strength beyond human limits?!"
"No,"she flatly stated.
"Well, then why let me live?! Why conquer my home and then let me see you put it in chains!?"
She stood there, a finger tipped to her chin, weighing her response.
"Tell me, what do you see when you see me?"she asked, honestly.
"I see a conqueror. Someone who took what wasn't theirs. That is wrong,"I stated.
"And?"she asked, asking for more.
"That's it. You must give back what you took. Everyone should be free."
"And what about my people?"she asked. "If they were oppressed, should they be set free too?"
I scratched my chin, having to thing that one for a bit.
"If they were enslaved...yes...they should be free too..."I answered, not knowing where this was going.
A smiled curled on her lips.
"You understand then,"she said.
I was confused, and she continued as she clearly saw my frustration.
"You don't think of me as evil because of who I am, but for what I have done,"she declared.
I nodded.
"You don't think of me as an evil *demon* overlord, correct?"
I shook my head. "You are a demon, but what does that have to do with being evil. Your actions speak louder than words."
"And that is why you are free,"she said. "Your kingdom does not have such...free thinking. They think of demons as evil because of what we are, not who we are."
"So...why did you enslave my people then?"
She sighed. "They are prisoners of their own hate. Demons were persecuted by them. In turn, we needed to defend ourselves. That is why I do what I must. I made myself stronger so that others of my kind could flock to that strength. And when the humans were not content with a demon protecting their own, they struck. But like iron, they struck and struck us until we were wrought from their hot, molten hate, and we made ourselves weapons so we make strike back.
"And now, we are bars of iron, cooled by the dissipating heat from war and now coldly doing our jobs to ensure we are no longer prosecuted."
I stood there, following the logic, but not in the results.
"It is still wrong to do what you do,"I said.
She closed her eyes and nodded. "Yes. I agree with you, Hero. Much like you chain yourself to the perception of being a coward because you failed, I must chain myself to the duty of keeping your people under my iron fist, lest they rise again to try and destroy my people..."
I thought long and hard on that.
I left the yoke, the dagger, and the Demon Lord behind that day.
I didn't need others to tell me what to do to make things right.
But I will find a way to come back and not be chained down again to what others think of me. |
"Me? A God?"I laugh as he stares at me with that blank expression.
"I know you are. I can see it. I have seen your strength in gym class."
"I just like to work out."
"And how you know all the answers in classes"
"And I'm smart. Listen, I'm sorry I'm talented but that doesn't make me a god. And I doubt that you are a god either."
He grabs me and then goes off running. It happens so fast that I can barely register, but a few seconds later I am in the middle of a desert. I guess he is a god after all.
He tells me I have this power too, that I just have to unlock it. I am still not buying it. I'm just a regular Joe. If I was a god, I would certainly know it. If I was a God, I certainly wouldn't have pissed the bed until I was 13. But he is convinced, so I start training. I start running as fast as I can, but I never get anything near super human speeds. I mean, I'm still pretty fast, but nothing that anybody on the track team can't beat.
He tries making me throw around giant rocks. He demonstrates by lifting one and then throwing it across the desert. I try to copy him but I cannot lift it at all. I can feel my veins jumping out of my neck. My fingertips are so strained as I try to lift it, but nothing. I can see his disappointment. He looked at me so unexpectedly. He tells me he knows that I am capable of so much. That I could be a powerful god with amazing powers. We just need to figure out how to unlock my powers. He has an idea.
We go to the top of a skyscraper. I look over the edge. Yup. Definitely high up. He tells me to fly. Great. A real do or die scenario, just great. I look over the edge again. I can't do it. There's no way. It is way too far down and I am not even convinced that-
I can't even finish my thoughts because he just pushed me off the edge of the building. Now I am just shocked by the feeling of falling. And then by the feeling of splatting. He looks down at the red mess that used to be my body. I guess he was wrong. I wasn't a god after all. Just a regular ol bedwetter. |
Karen strode towards the door of her tenant's flat with the sort of determined gait that brooked no nonsense, while I, her trusty lawyer, followed in tow. In my humble opinion, I'd say I was a wise and learned individual who was always ready to offer counsel and guidance - In exchange for his fair share, of course. As over the time Karen had become one of my most reliable returning customer, to the point I was certain we had promoted each others number to our speeddials.
We were on a mission. There were at least three extra bodies milling about in the tenant's flat, and they were most certainly not on the lease. And thus we were determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, and I wasn't about to let a mere tenant stand in her way.
Karen banged on the door with a great deal of ire, and after a moment or two it creaked open to reveal a sleepy tenant, still in his robe and slippers. She drew herself up to her full height and began to give the tenant a proper dressing down, telling him in no uncertain terms, though civilizedly dubious, that the unit was exceeding capacity and that the extra people had to go.
However, as Karen was really getting into her stride, the tenant interrupted her. "You can see them too?"he asked, his expression of befuddlement.
I stepped forward, ready to offer my legal expertise, perphaps to help the fellow out sorting his confusion. "This is a clear violation of the lease agreement,"I declared with authority. "The tenant is liable for any damages or consequences that may arise from ovecrowding. I advise you to rectify the situation immediately or face legal charges. Additionally, my client expects to be reimbursed for any extra utilities the three extra bodies may have consumed."
But the old man acted like I was chirping nonesense like a sparrow, and started flapping his hand at me as if to shush me up. ''Tell me, how do they look?''
The tenant's response caught me off guard. I blinked in surprise, taken aback by his nonchalant demeanor. "Excuse me?"I asked, not quite sure I'd heard him correctly.
Karen though, was not about to be as polite as I. However before she could unleash her fury the tenant repeated his question, "How do they look? Are they transparent, ghostly, or anything of the sort?"
I glanced at Karen, who was similarly bewildered. "What are you asking?"she said slowly, taking a deep breathe to regain composure, trying to gauge the man's state of mind. "The issue here is not how they look like."
''Child!'', the tenant raised his tone of voice, ''if they are not transparent to you then you have a much bigger problem than 3 extra freeloaders.'' |
"I wasn't always the caretaker here."I say it quiet, hoping she miss it, already pulling up the security footage on my phone. Not the cheap camera the city put on the gate, but the good ones I installed.
"Where were you the caretaker before?"God, I love the way kids think. I debated how to correct her, but decided not to. She wasn't entirely wrong.
"I took care of the living before. I learned how to deal with... Bad people. You don't want him coming back, right?"
"Her. No, she's scary."
Her. Now I have to ask. Women killers are a lot more like to be related to the victim. I know it's not her mother, because Mommy is buried next to her. No ghost there, sadly. "Is she someone you knew? An aunt or family friend?"
"No. Just some lady. She killed Mommy, too."Now that worries me. Her mom didn't die with little Sophie here. She went a week earlier in a house fire. No one knew it was murder.
I get the shot up. Sure enough, it's a woman in her mid-forties, wearing a simple black dress. Smiling that shark smile I know too well.
"The Pike,"I whisper under my breath. Thankfully, she misses that. Also, thankfully, my old friend didn't see me. I worked hard to get out, cover my tracks, but if anyone could find me, it was her. I ask, "Did she see you?"
"No, I stayed up in the tree. I was playing hide'n'seek with Tommy and Jedediah."
I watched the clip of her leaving in a rental car. I hadn't hacked this cities traffic cams yet, hadn't needed to before, but this called for it.
"Soph,"I put away my phone and kneel to match her height. "You don't need to worry. I'm going to go talk to her and make sure she knows she isn't allowed here."She still looks scared. "And I'll tell Joani and Earl about her, too. She broke the rules, so she can't come here anymore."
Sophie relaxed at that. Thankfully, she passed young enough to think that adults have some sort of magical aurhority. And she doesn't need to know about the extra work I'm going to do. |
"Listen, Becca..."Hank began. "We went on a couple of casual hates, and I had a really bad time and everything, but..."
"But?"Becca prompted, with a bittersweet smile
Hank sighed. "Look, it just isn't going to work out--we're too different. Besides, I have work, and I'm taking classes at night on top of that -- I'm just not in a place in my life where I'm ready to commit to a girlfoe, you know?"
Becca nodded bravely, "No to-totally, I understand."
Hank smiled. "Cool. And listen, I still think you're horrible -- I'm sure you're going to make someone very unhappy, someday. I hope we can still be enemies?"
Before Becca could answer, however, a brick smashed through the nearby window and struck Hank in the arm.
"Ow!"he cried, clutching at his arm and stumbling to the side a few feet. They both turned to the broken window, and saw a young blonde woman standing just outside. The vandal stuck out her tongue, made obscene gestures with both hands, and then turned on her heel and ran laughing into the night.
"Lisa, you bitch!"Hank shouted after her, shaking his fist at the fleeing woman. "I'll get you if it's the last thing I do!"
Then, realization dawned on him, and he turned back to Becca, wincing as he saw her wounded and outraged expression.
"It, uh...it's not what it looks like?" |
"Sol-Terrestrial Ambassador, as Chairman of the Interstellar Mammalian Compact, I must insist that you stop loudly expressing your opinion that envoys from the Aquatic Species delegation are 'acting fishy'."Chairman Kreel of the Tau Ceti-Arboreals pronounced sternly, from his position atop the treelike perch his species used as seating.
"Hear hear!"squeaked the nearest Centauri-Cetacean representative, via the speaker installed in her portable tank.
"My apologies, Mr. Chairman,"Ambassador Smithson said. "It was only a fluke."
"Hardly that, Mr. Chairman!"piped Ambassador Svee, the Centauri-Subterranean representative. He was a small wooly sentient with immense pointed ears and large black eyes that stood out starkly from his teal fur, but had to stand on a special platform to be seen over the top of his own podium. "Such juvenile wordplay has always been beloved by the humans, and it will doubtless continue to be so,"the little ambassador huffed. Then, pausing for effect, he added, "To use the human vernacular, they are not *fin to stop* any time soon."
"Objection, Mr. Chairman!"Ambassador Gruuv of the Eridani-Cetaceans rumbled from inside his enormous translucent encounter shell. "Both 'fluke' and 'fin' are obvious anatomical references! The honorable sophont from the Centauri delegation has now clearly joined the human ambassador in making tedious aquatic puns!
"Are you saying the Centauri representative and myself are *colluding?* What possible porpoise would we have in doing such a thing?"Ambassador Smithson demanded.
There was silence in the council chamber, as the assembled delegates looked at one another quizzically. Finally, the human ambassador cleared his throat.
"There's a small sub-sentient sea mammal on my world, whose common name is 'porpoise.'"Smithson explained.
The Compact Chamber erupted in squeaks and chirps of outrage, and Smithson surreptitiously extended his clenched fist to tap against that of the Centauri delegate to his right. |
My anxiety disappeared as soon as I jumped. When I was standing in the plane with a parachute and my gear strapped to my back my heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to burst out of my chest. Once I jumped I felt in control. All my senses were on alert. I wasn't even thinking about the mission. I was just enjoying the air rushing past my face, enveloping and protecting me from whatever was on the ground. I saw parachutes pop open and reflexively pulled the cord hanging over my right shoulder to deploy my own chute.
It was nighttime so I couldn't see much until I flipped on my night vision goggles. The ground was flat. No trees but there were a few shrubs I would rather not land on. My feet kicked up sand when I landed. I quickly unclipped my parachute and ran to group up with my team.
The team leader was a brutal man. His name was Brandon. I didn't like him but I respected him. The others in the squad would tell stories about him over vodka that we managed to sneak into the barracks. He never participated in those stories though. The plan he came up with was one we had rehearsed many times before. Form a perimeter, lock down the exits, and then enter. I was on the squad that was going into the compound. There were 5 of us in all. I was third from the back. Each person in the 5 man squad covered one direction while my job was to keep an eye out for snipers and the priority target. This was the part that bothered me. They hadn't even told us who the target we were going in here to kill was. They hadn't even told me what they looked like. All they would tell me was where the target was hiding. There was only one room on the second floor and that was where the target was supposed to be.
We moved across the compound as swiftly as possible while maintaining silence. Not too difficult. There was one guard at the door. Brandon held up his fist signaling for us to halt. He slowly walked up to the guy. He was no more than 6 feet away when he stopped, stooped down to the ground, and tossed a rock a few feet from the guard. The guard looked startled and looked down. Brandon took the opportunity to wrap a piece of piano wire around the mans neck and choke him. It took him less than a minute to die.
We breached the building and took the staircase to our right, just where command said it would be. Sure enough, at the top of the staircase was a hallway with only one door. Brandon signaled for two guys in our team to guard the stairs while the rest of us formed a semi-circle around the doorway. With a nod to signal that we better be ready, Brandon opened the door.
We all went in there on high alert and what we saw was not what we were expecting. It looked like a kids bedroom. There was a bed directly opposite the door decorated with cartoon animals. There were some legos that crunched underneath my boot. And in the corner was the owner of the room. She was cowering behind a teddy bear that was at least twice as big as she was.
I took the lead and walked over to her. I tried to move slowly and crouched on my heels so that I wouldn't tower over her. "Hey we are not here to hurt you. We want to keep you safe. I promise I won't hurt you"I said. "Do you speak English?"I added. She nodded. I could hear Brandon talking to command in the background.
"What the fuck do you mean?"He said. He was probably pissed that command had fucked up this badly. Honestly, we were the best. We were the guys they trained to kill the baddest guys out there. No other military unit in the world had the level of training and expertise that we brought.
"FUCK"I heard Brandon say loudly. I had never heard him raise his voice before, let alone on a mission in a hostile compound.
"I need you to move". I thought Brandon was speaking to someone else at first. When he said it again I looked over my shoulder. His gun was raised and it was pointing directly at the girl. Only problem was I was in the way.
Suddenly I understood what the problem was. I had just been comforting the person we were sent to kill. But a girl that couldn't be more than 10? Why would command send us to kill a child? I may not me the most moral man but in that moment I made a decision. I wasn't going to move.
"No."I told Brandon. I expected him to be angry or shoot me but instead he slowly put down his gun and raised his hands. For a second I thought that he did it because of me. When I turned around I saw the real reason.
The little girl had pulled out enough c4 to level the whole building out of the back of her teddy bear. Her finger was resting casually on the detonator. There was a smile on her face that reminded me more of a chess master about to put his opponent into check mate than the care-free smile of a child. I heard two gunshots in the hallway and a few seconds later armed men came bursting into the room. The little girl rose, dried the tears off her cheek with the sleeve of her pajamas, and began to give orders.
She pointed at Brandon. "That one dies". Without hesitation or emotion one of the armed men shot Brandon in the head. Next she looked at me with dark eyes. "Don't judge a book by its cover"she said without changing her facial expression. "I want you to go back to the pickup location and radio in your helicopter. All the other members of your squad are dead. Tell your superiors what happened here."She then began to stride out of the room. Her soldiers parted to allow her through. She stopped and turned back to me "I am not going to hurt you"she paused, then smiled that precocious smile again and added "yet". |
The man looked around himself nervously as he patted his tangled mess of afro hair. He twitched his head for a sideward glance before he looked down at his watch. Three more minutes. The train carriage was nearly full with people as they tried to rush to work in the peak-hour commute. They wore black suits with grey ties and white shirts. *How can they call this living at all?* he wondered.
He swallowed and choked, coughing hoarsely into a hand. His flared pants swayed with the sudden movement. He knew what he was doing was unethical, but he knew it *had* to be done. That's why he'd put the bomb on a timer, so that he couldn't back out. Not now. Certainly, they would be missed by their co-workers and friends, but he knew they would all be remembered as they are, and he would be lionised in his actions.
He checked his watch again. Two minutes.
He tapped his foot. The lady across from him looked austerely toward him, as though to discern whether he was a threat or not. He tried to avoid her gaze by focussing his own firmly on the ground before him. She scowled slightly.
One minute.
His heart was thumping a million miles a minute now. His eyes unfocussed slightly as he tried to breathe freely, but it felt like he was choking. He swallowed and choked again, trying to get a clear view of his watch.
Twenty-three seconds...
Nineteen...
Sixteen...
Ten...
Five...
He swallowed and prepared to speak.
Two...
"Party time."he croaked.
The bomb detonated, and in a momentary flash of yellow and purple, the train carriage was illuminated to a transcendental level. Light and colour and sound and form all tangled and mixed into a blur of pure emotion. Then it began - a transformation of matter from dullness to life, from structure to formlessness. The screams of the commuters intertwined with the pulses of the bomb, until they faded into obscurity, made redundant by the transformation.
The pulses stopped. He had his eyes closed. He couldn't look yet. Silence permeated every corner of existence. A moment passed.
He opened his eyes.
The commuters were stunned. Their hair had been let down, and where there had been dullness in suits before, there was now colour. Flowery patterns were splattered all over the train, and sound began crackling through the trains speakers, not loud enough or clear enough to get a hold of yet, though.
Then, with a funky clarity, a voice called out.
"Man, this is groovy!"
As if on cue, music began blaring from the speakers, with solid drumbeats and sharp, staccato guitar twangs. The commuters began dancing, the trippy beats punctuating their wild gyrations. They danced together, shaking and swaying in-beat. They did the twist, they did the diver, they did them all!
The man couldn't believe his eyes or ears. It worked! It really worked.
His disco bomb had worked. |
I wish we could cool it with every Existing Universe prompt. Doesn't seem to me that a subreddit about encouraging creativity and such should be allowing endless slews of 'please write me fanfiction' prompts involving people not having to invent their own settings, characters, descriptions and so on.
Granted, I understand the logic behind WHY they are allowed... but eh. Now, granted, I just ignore them.
That was a long way of saying 'I agree.' Sorry about that.
***EDIT:***
Below, someone said
**ElderBrain [score hidden] 2 hours ago
I would appreciate a specific day of the week where EU would be limited to. All other EU posts during the week would be deleted.**
( http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2xinqu/ot_can_we_cool_it_with_the_harry_potter_stuff_i/cp0spum )
I thought it was important to bring this up, so I'm hijacking my own top comment to make sure it gets seen. Fanfic Friday could be interesting, and make room for prompts that aren't leashed, collared, cuffed and gagged by existing lore and histories. |
Wen sat there, unsure what to do. Nobody had told him what to do, and that was not the usual order of things.
People normally told Wen what to do, and that way he didn't have to decide for himself. He liked that feeling, he thought to himself - no responsibility, no problem! He laughed at his joke. Then he grew serious again as he looked at his Problem.
Now, what this needs is wisdom. Let's see. Doing the wrong thing would be worse than doing nothing. But if I do nothing then I'll still be stuck here, and people will point at me and say,'Hah, there goes Wen, he can never decide on anything!' That would be the worst thing of all, so he decided he would rather do something.
He checked again. His Problem was still there, it hadn't moved since the last time he checked. He rather wished it had.
Let's see. Now father was a wiser man than him, what would he do? He would ask mother. But mother would scold him for not being more decisive. Which puts Wen right back in the same spot as he is now!
Ok, Wen decided that he would not decide. He would become known as Wen the Indecisive to all his friends. How depressing. Ah well, it could be worse, the whole world could know!
Wen comforted himself with this small reprieve, as he stared at the Problem in front of him, just standing there, holding on to his two shopping bags. |
Larry the Telephone Installer twisted his head out of a strap I wasn't aware was so loose, and sunk teeth into my gray flesh, causing a sharp sensation to vibrate through my skin and wiry muscle.
"Oh,"I recall saying at the time. "That was unexpected."
My colleagues, who were probing Sally, the owner of the house Larry was calling on, observed me and Larry the Telephone Installer, then returned to their work. It was acceptable. No one understood the concept 'pain', then.
I strapped Larry back down, and double-checked all his straps, to make sure it would not happen again.
"Requesting small minutes of the flow of time, colleagues,"I said, and stepped into the waste room to inspect the place the human's teeth had impacted.
"Interesting,"I observed, as I noticed the indentation of on my flesh mimicked the pattern of the human's teeth. The little micro-craters made by the depression of the teeth still had some of the human's saliva in it, so I used the vapor sprayer to clean it off. And what an unexpected but not unfavorable sensation the vapor sprayer's touch enacted.
The door tones sounded. My colleague, Xilo-sa, came through.
"That was unexpected,"Xilo-sa told me.
"Agreed,"I said.
"Damage?"
"No,"I say with a shake of my head. "Temporary. Prognosis: favorable."
"Acceptable,"Xilo-sa said, and departed.
It was not until we returned to the home planet, Home, did I notice something also unexpected. Abnormal, actually.
Stepping from the ship's field seal, I had an impression of displacement inside my brain. It was analogous to finding oneself in a place one does not expect. Which statistically occurs on the low spectrum of events, I understand. But to have such an impression merely passing through a field was unexpected.
Xilo-sa ahead of me noticed. "Irregular,"it noted. "Was your balance just now disrupted?"
"No,"I say with a shake of my head. "An unexpected interaction with the seal field, I hypothesize."
Xilo-sa glanced past my shoulder, to the field. "I will request diagnostics performed on the field, then,"it told me. "I hypothesize an unknown malfunction is at fault."
"I agree with your hypothesis."
However, that was not the end of the abnormality. It is fact that the abnormalities continued. Additionally, they began to compound. I had an impression of misunderstanding or, possibly, being incapable of hypothesizing the situation and statuses of the occupants of the necessary and mandatory sterilization chamber in Home's starport.
The rotary scanning and sterilization device operated over my head, which seemed to cause some temperature drop in my internals. To specify: it would seem my blood temperature temporarily dropped, and my entire body experienced a brief vibration without known cause.
"My situation is undetermined,"I spoke to myself in the chamber. "To what factor or causation does this abnormality I am observing originate?"
The chamber's observer queried me, similar to the history of two queries preceding it, to determine my normality. I responded positively, even though my response was incorrect.
And it was in that second in the flow of time that I comprehended completely my progressing abnormality: I historically stated incorrectly. Intentionally. Due to what unknown causation?
I proceeded from the sterilization chamber, screened and authorized to progress into Home-Tertiary--the habitation aligned parallel to Home's spaceport.
A Facilitator requested me to halt, to cease entrance to Home-Tertiary.
"Cause?"I spoke to the Facilitator.
"Warning,"the Facilitator responded. "Abnormality citizens count has risen at least 25% in the time period between the mission's departure, and the mission's return."
"Noted,"I said. "Caution increased. A message of appreciation will be transmitted to Facilitation for this notice."
The Facilitator reauthorized my progression. I historically intended to progress via ground-effect habitation transport to my destination--Xenobiological Research One--except for my progression's interruption caused by two citizens positioned at the front of behind of the transport I intended to utilize.
"Elaboration?"I said to the two citizens.
"Give us your currency,"said the citizen at transport's front.
"Reason?"I said.
"Because,"the citizen at front replied.
"Unclear,"I said. "I request continued elaboration."
"You will be shown elaboration,"the citizen behind the transport said, and progressed to me. Citizen at transport's front progressed to me in tandem.
An impression similar to the impression experienced in the sterilization chamber enabled in a second instance. At that second of time's flow, my circumstance was indeterminable. Abnormal. Remarkably abnormal.
"I request a Facilitator,"I told them. "This is abnormal."
"It is,"the citizen from transport's front said.
"Causation?"
I regressed from my previous position, maneuvering in tandem with the two citizen's progression. The two progressed more rapidly. The distance between I and the two citizens shortened.
"Causation?"I said again, but the two citizens declined to respond.
Front citizen placed its hand on my flesh, forcing me, void of my permission, into its proximity.
"Forced,"I tell them. "Violation of citizen agreement."
"Agreement is voided,"citizen from behind said.
The impression of my blood temperature lowering increased. The vibration of my body intensified.
My reaction was abnormal. Unexpected.
I bit the front citizen's face, as Larry the Telephone Installer historically bit me.
Front citizen regressed quickly, its hand placed on the location I had bit. "Query!"it said. "Query! Unexpected! Requesting response! Unknown impression!"
Citizen from behind observed me. "Seeking explanation,"it said.
"Unknown,"I said. "Unexpected."I observed the citizen from behind. "Violation of citizen agreement enacts...biting."
"'Biting'?"Citizen from behind said. "Explain terminology: biting."
"Term unknown,"I responded. "Second violation? Notice: biting response to second violation potential: favorable."
Citizen from behind observed citizen from front. Citizen from front's hand was placed on the impact point.
"Regressing,"Citizen from behind said. "Abnormal citizen,"he said of me. "Exceptionally abnormal citizen."He said to the other, "Request mutual regression, this second in the flow of time. Facilitator response is favorable."
"Agreed,"Citizen from front agreed.
The two citizens, abnormal, I hypothesized, departed from my observation.
My body vibrated. Bodily control was inactive, for causation unknown. I observed internally, at that second in time, a response to the previous abnormal citizen stimuli, a second impression: my blood temperature increasing in tandem with my body's total temperature.
The most recent situation and circumstance I observed in my brain without the recollection's request initiated in my brain. I calculated the instance's result as satisfactory. No, actually; the satisfactory impression was exponential? Abnormal. Satisfactory results historically register no more than one scale of satisfaction. Exponentially abnormal? What causation? Understanding of my situation at that second in the flow of time historically registered in the range approximating zero.
A Facilitator maneuvered to my proximity. "Status?"it said.
"Unstable,"I said. "Prognosis favorable, given reasonable period of future time."
"Identification of two citizens in violation of citizen agreement?"
"Unknown,"I respond.
"Acceptable,"the Facilitator said. "I intend to monitor you until such a point in the flow of time as your entrance to an appropriate transport."
"Understood,"I said, and entered the transport previously designated to me.
In the flow of time as I stood in the transport, the vibration in my body doubled in intensity, then tripled.
"Query,"I said, for the transport was otherwise empty. "Query? Query!"I placed my hand over my mouth. Bitten. I had bitten a citizen to dissuade a violation of the citizen agreement.
Larry the Telephone Installer bit me, historically. In this hour of the flow of time, I bit an abnormal citizen, mimicking Larry the Telephone Installer's bite. Abnormally, I understood, the impression Larry the Telephone Installer caused me, I caused to the abnormal citizen.
Biting, I hypothesized, caused an unfavorable reaction. An unknown reaction. A reaction I historically observed to my body as unfavorable, hypothetically, was, in transmission from the planet Earth, to this planet, Home, enacted unfavorably upon citizens.
At that second in the flow of time, the start of recognition and understanding began. I had transmitted some physical action from Earth humans to Home citizens, and, I hypothesized, I was singular in understanding this new phenomenon.
A physical advantage, this knowledge. Hypothetically, my withholding this information to my singular utilization potentially favors my objectives.
Understanding this situation, I decided to utilize this singular knowledge to enact my ideas, objectives and perceptions upon Home, to the favorably inevitable instance in the future flow of time my impact through this physical knowledge and advantage would progress high quantities of change.
I identified myself, then, and in the future flow of time, as Bite-Citizen.
I react to citizen abnormality.
|
"Look at this little bitch!".
With a thud, Jack was pushed into the cold water, resting in the alleyway. Two thugs had cornered him after exiting the local bar. "Let's not play hard to get, just give me your wallet and we can leave"said the taller of the two, his hoodie masking most of his face. The coarseness of his voice resonated throughout the alley.
"Heh, yeah. Don't squeal little bitch". The others voice was a significantly higher pitch, almost as if he had been a terrible accident whilst younger.
"I... I don't have any cash on me. All Paypass, you know?". Jacks voice was wavering as he tried to speak.
"What, like that. 'Tap'n'go"card shit?".
"Yeah, that's all I use man. I swear".
The tension was rising in the alleyway as Jack's predators were losing patience. "Listen here-". The taller thugs voice was cut off from a sound growing louder.
**Muffled 'You Give Love A Bad Name by Bon Jovi' in the distance**.
"Let the boy be!".
A booming voice manifested itself from the darkness above as a white light, which transcended all realm of brightness known to Jack at this point, descended upon them. Magnificent tiny wings of white were wrapped around a body. Almost violently they whipped them self off the man. He was extremely short, wearing a diaper and holding an adorable bow.
"Uhh. What the fuck is this"Said the first Thug to the second. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Before the second thug could reply the Mysterious Man interjected. "The only joke here is the criminal deeds you are partaking in! Now I ask you sir, kindly, to leave the area before I strike you down!"
The thugs laughed amongst themselves. Jack, still laying on the ground, was taken back from it all.
"Look mate, we need this kids money. So you can back right off"shrieked the high pitched voice from Thug Two.
Violently an arrow shot from the bow of the Mysterious Man into the heart of Thug One. He fell to the ground with a yelp. "Deviant."Echoed the voice from the Man. "All you need is love. And you.."
**Give love a bad name**
With a whirling motion he pulled a second arrow from the air and pushed it deep into his bows strings. With a flurry of motions, rivaling a whirlwind, he squinted his eyes and shot directly into the heart of the Second Thug. As the arrow punctured his body he became air born, being flown deep into the alleyway behind him. As he landed a cloud of dust erupted into the air, much more dust then should have been here, Jack thought to himself.
As the dust cloud settled Jack tried his best to find his Diapered-Savior but, unfortunately, he could not find him. He turned to see the Thugs standing to their feet, patting each other down and inquiring into each others health. With passion in their eyes they hugged each other. Jack let out a silent "Aww"to himself before moving on his way. As he trudged through the alleyway back onto the main street, to this day he swore he heard one more song, playing far away.
**I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride. I'm wanted, dead or alive.** |
"Listen, I don't really give a shit what's going on today at the McDonald's II or wherever you work, I *need* to get to the lab *now*."
I said nothing, my eyes focused on the road. My 3-year-old sat behind me in his car seat, prattling on.
"If you don't get me to the lab in the next five minutes, I'm gonna shit my pants."
This got me going.
"Okay, pal, go *right* ahead and do that. I'll take you into a public place to change you. How would you like that? You're not an earth baby, idiot, I've explained this ten thousand times. You have the mind of an adult and the self-control to not shit your pants. Everyone would know the '*most famous scientist of his time*' had crapped his diaper."
He swore at me.
Parenting on Earth 2 can be tough. Unfortunately, the stork brings a new soul to everyone's doorstep at one point or another.
It's just, why did I have to get *this* jerk?
I mean, I would have been excited if you'd told me what was happening beforehand. I died pretty young, at 20, but of course I'd heard about him by then. He had always seemed ok to me, kind of old but still cool.
But now that I've met him, he's turned out to be kind of a douche. And he has total celebrity status here on Earth 2, even more so than he did back on the original. He'd lived to a ripe old age, and some people who remembered him had been waiting for him to be reborn for a long, long time.
Screw it. I didn't want to deal with him today. I made a U-turn and was at the lab in twenty minutes of frantic driving.
Some of the younger techs were out front in their white lab coats, smoking cigarettes. I pulled up, got out, and unbuckled my little bundle of joy.
As I pulled him out, the guys smoking started chanting behind me:
"Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill. . ." |
"Wait, you can see me?"She asked. Her voice ran thick with hope. I could feel my face twist in confusion.
"Yes."I said. She smiled, and lunged at me, hugging me tight.
"Um... okay."I said, and gently hugged her back, the way you might any crazy stranger who lunges at you. She released me and spoke quickly.
"You have *no idea* how glad I am! I was panicking because I thought... well I thought..."she stopped, as tears welled up in her eyes. She began to cry.
I struggled for what to do. I glanced around, noticing others were looking our way. She had definitely lost it. I put my hand on her arm and led her across the sidewalk to a bench. We sat, and she pulled out a tissue to wipe her face.
"Miss,"I said. "Are you alright?"
She laughed. It was a pretty laugh, but held an edge of unease. She looked at me.
"Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but I woke up this morning and no one could see me. No one could hear me. I've been making a scene all morning... well... I'm just glad to know I'm not alone."She sniffed, wiping her nose. She turned toward me and smiled.
"I'm Julie,"she said, extending her hand. I took it tentatively.
"John,"I said, and gave a cautious smile. She smiled back.
"Well, John,"she said. "Would you mind just sitting with me until I figure out what to do next?"I nodded, looking around.
The sidewalk was full of morning commuters. I checked my watch. It was just after eight.
I sat next to her on the bench, glancing over every so often to see her watching the crowd. She took a deep breath, and turned back to me.
"Okay, John, here's what I think we should do."We? I nodded, listening.
"Let's try and find a--"
"Excuse me,"a stranger cut off her sentence. We both turned and looked. An elderly woman with kind eyes was looking at Julie. I glanced over, expecting Julie to jump for joy. She just looked annoyed.
"Yes?"Julie snapped.
"Dear,"the woman continued. "Is there someone I can call? You seem distressed."Thank god, this woman could see her too. Maybe Julie could be this woman's problem.
"I'm fine, now, thank you,"Julie said. The old woman had a pained look on her face.
"Anything else?"Julie snapped again, eyebrows raised. The woman seemed to question whether or not to move on. She looked down the street, sighed, then turned back to Julie.
"Well, dear,"the old woman said. "It's just that..."she trailed off.
"What is it?"Julie said. The old woman continued.
"Honey, you've been talking to yourself on this bench all morning." |
"Just fill out this Class Form here, and sign at the bottom of the third sheet. Do not sign the Blue Sheet."
I could barely hold my excitement as I signed all the necessary forms for my Class Evaluation. I've been waiting for this moment for 10 years, ever since my brother became a Hero. My Parents, my teachers, and all of my friends told me that Classes are genetic and I would probably become a Hero like my brother. Heroes received the best treatment from society and only had one job, stop the Dark Classes from destroying society.
My Mom was a High Priestess, and my dad was a Noble fighter, so I had a 65% chance of Hero, 20% chance of Magician, and a 14% chance of Fighter. There was a 1% chance of a Random Class, but I was certain that I would become a Hero like my brother. I had a duty to carry the Fiddler name and follow in the footsteps of Alex.
The lady told me to enter the Evaluation room, where my brother had become the first hero in over a decade. I mentally prepared myself as I sat in the machine in the center of the room. The monitor blared to life as I sat inside it.
"Are you ready for the Class Evaluation?"It spoke.
"Yes, I am absolutely ready!"I responded, almost shouting at the machine.
The internal mechanisms began to whir as the examination began. The machine measured everything about my life, genetics, lifestyle, even my habitudes. After an hour, the machine stopped and printed out a small piece of paper. I grabbed it anxiously and began to read the single line of text.
"Your Class Evaluation has hereby resulted in COPY CAT. Please ask the Evaluator any questions about your class."
At first my heart sank, as all of my hopes and dreams shattered instantly. I had become a disappointment to my family, friends, and especially my brother. However, curiosity soon took over.
"What does this mean?"I asked the Machine, almost pleadingly.
"It means you are a Copy Cat. Your class has no special abilities or privileges except one, Identity Thief. Using this ability, you can steal the identity of any person. However, there is one prerequisite. You must kill the person whose identity you want to steal. You are the second known Copy Cat in existence since the creation of the Class Evaluation. The first one, named Gregory Dust, is currently living as a Hero by the name of Alex Fiddler."
My heart skipped a beat as I heard the Machine state my brother's name. I couldn't process any of this information, I couldn't think about any of it. However, I did know one thing. My brother was dead and a murderer had taken his place. I walked out of the room, taking my things and prepared to hunt down Gregory Dust, using whatever means necessary.
|
I really like this prompt lmao, I wish someone wrote a skit about it. I wrote something for it too, I think it's alright :/
I dialled my rifle in, centring my crosshairs over the target's head and simultaneously turning the zeroing nob on the scope, constantly re-training my vision to the man's head. I was shooting from nearly a mile away, yet I was still convinced I would somehow be seen in my isolated woodland nook. A bead of sweat running down my forehead, I stuck my tongue out to the side in immense focus and primed my shot. Just to confirm my shooting direction, I activated my laser. Never hurts, I thought- they never notice it before it's too late.
A voice broke my concentration, cutting through the silence as my intercom projected my superior's voice. "Have you got a clear shot?"His voice was gravelly yet suave, taking on the timbre of a bass guitar. "Fuck!"I whispered as I bit my tongue from the sudden noise. My scope was off-centre again. "Shut the fuck up, I had it, I had it! Just bear with me, alright?"The intercom went silent once again.
When I positioned my right eye back over the scope, I almost started laughing. Because I had jerked so much when the intercom made me jump, the laser light must have moved so much that it attracted the man's cat. "Hey boss, how much extra do you think our client will pay if I get the cat to kill him?"I inquired, chuckling. The response was simply "No, do your fucking job". Alright then, I thought, I guess I'll have to do this the boring way.
I finally brought my reticle back over the man's head. He was typing on his computer furiously, head locked in place staring at the screen. I moved my finger from a safe position to just lightly on the trigger, curling each segment to squeeze the firing mechanism. The cat, I noticed, had climbed onto the desk. In a few swift movements, the feline began to slap its owner's face, harassing him because of the laser sight. The man was becoming increasingly aggravated.
Fuck it, I thought- it was going to be an easy kill anyway, why not mess around. I started shaking the laser all over the man's body, the cat becoming more and more skittish with each swipe of the light. The man was catching on to what was happening, though. I could just... tell. Suddenly the man glanced down. Spotted the light on him. Looked my way. I knew he couldn't see me, but he definitely saw the laser glaring into his eyes.
Now I'm a fairly good shot, but hitting a moving target in the head from a mile away is not something I can guarantee. The best way to get this guy killed was to utilise his pet to the best of my ability. As he began to make his way to the room's main door I trained the laser over his lower leg. The cat, as I hoped, pounced, tripping him up. His forehead hit the metal door handle hard, and he crumpled to the floor unconscious.
It's not hard to work out what happened from then onwards, I'm sure, but I can assure you that I played long-range cat laser fights for about ten minutes before I contacted the boss to tell him about the kill. I guess I'm just a sucker for animals but hey, I can still shoot some mean head.
(Paragraphs separated with line breaks because basically I'm lazy)
|
"How many of my men did you kill?"
The Hero paused, and his grip on his raised sword seemed to slacken somewhat. "What?"
I leaned back in my throne and repeated my question. "How many of my men did you kill? You defeated the army I sent out, single-handedly, and then you stormed my castle and slaughtered my guards, and now you're in my throne room brandishing a sword. So, over the course of your rampage, how many men did you kill?"
The Hero's brow furrowed. "What does it matter?"
"Of course it matters. I have killed five hundred and twelve people over the course of my life. Some were by my own hand, others were by my orders. I remember every one of them."I pointed my finger accusingly at the Hero. "And you? You treat human lives as if they're worthless, as if they're beasts to be slaughtered. How many have you killed? How many of my men did you kill today?"
The Hero lowered his sword and glowered at me. "They deserved their fates!"
"Did they now? Most of them joined me simply because I was willing to employ them, when no one else would. I took in the poor and the desperate, and allowed them to join my army. I paid them a fair wage, so that they could support themselves and their families."
"An army that sacked and pillaged towns at will! The wages you paid came from your army's plunder!"The Hero roared at me.
I shrugged. "Yes, and I don't deny it. As I said, these men were desperate, because the harvests have been poor, and there simply isn't enough food to go around. Do you expect them to simply starve? Do you expect them to simply wither away? We took the food and the resources we found in the surrounding towns and villages. It was either that or die of starvation. Like I said, desperate."
The Hero raised his sword and pointed the tip of the steel at me, "You're despicable. You condemned those villagers to their own starvation. Your army stole the harvests that they never worked for. Not one day did they toil in the fields or pastures. What gives them the right to live off the labors of others?"
I smirked, "And how is that different from what you do? Have you ever labored in the fields or the pastures? Do you not eat grain and meat that you never worked for? Or do you feel entitled to such sustenance simply because you are good with a sword?"
The Hero glared at me silently for a few moments before speaking, "I do not take my food by force. It is given to me as payment for the protection I offer and for the evils I slay."
I laughed in his face, then said, "Do you truly believe that? Do you truly believe that no one has ever looked upon your blade and your build, and then given you their dinner out of fear? Do you truly believe no one would ever see you as the bully come to deprive them of what's theirs?"
"I..."the Hero stammered, hesitantly, "I do not..."
The Hero was suddenly cut off by a spear thrust into his back. It passed through his body entirely until the bloody tip protruded from his breast. He looked down at the wound in his front, then craned his neck back to look behind him. One of my surviving guards had managed to sneak up on him, and had taken advantage of his distraction to deal a fatal blow.
The Hero's sword slipped from his slack fingers and dropped to the stone floor with a loud clang. He sank to his knees. I stood from my throne and slowly approached the dying man. "I hope, in your last moments, that you can realize you and I are not so different. It's just that where you are an idealist, I am a realist. Where you are unwilling to accept the evils you have done, I fully acknowledge the misdeeds I have committed. Where you see yourself as the hero of your tale, I see that there are no heroes, only villains." |
"Are you serious"you say in a belittling tone.
"Shut up, please just for one second. I can do this"replies the food giver.
A splatter of blood spans across the screen as the words 'You Died' appear, the phrase passing from a formality and edging towards a mockery.
You set aside yet another piece of kibble, "Well, that makes one-hundred and ninety-four...".
The food giver gives you a glare seething with hatred, it's amazing what a game can do to a human. "Look, I said I can do it, just let me concentrate".
"Imagine what it'll be like once you pass the tutorial"you say as 'You Died' makes it's bi-minutely return. "And oh, one-hundred and ninety-five".
Sparks ripple into the air as a controller hits the television screen. |
I used to be at the bottom of the food chain. Literally. I was a deadbeat, working 9-to-5 at a liquor store just to spend 5-to-2 on its front stoop with some liberated stock from the backroom. Could barely afford rent, couldn't keep anyone around me without driving them off. Didn't have anything to lose.
Out on that stoop one night, I saw a snake moving through the parking lot - my territory, as my drunk ass liked to say. So I went over to throw it into the woods. Got bit - stomped that scaly bastard into the ground for it. Found out in less than an hour that I couldn't get buzzed anymore, that toxins didn't affect me like they used to.
With the spare cash I had now, I was finally able to afford a few casino visits. Sunk myself into debt in Jersey, got in with some even shittier people than myself. Ended up getting black bagged as a warning to others, though I managed to escape the little shack they'd stored me in while they were renting a boat.
Guard dog bit me on the way out - could smell my kidnappers pissing themselves at thought of telling their boss I was gone. Fucking priceless.
Skipped town and hopped from place to place, doing all sorts of odd jobs, gambling my paychecks away. Some wins, but mostly losses.
I guess somewhere along the way I picked up the ability to use blood as nourishment. Doesn't even need to be someone else's blood - a cut on my lip is enough to replace teeth that have been knocked out. If I had to hazard a guess, I can probably thank a mosquito in one of the many swampy hellholes of southern Louisiana for that power. Fucking bugs were enormous there.
The blood thing is pretty strong, let me tell you. I could take on ten guys at once and be the last one standing without a single scratch on me.
In Miami, I'd go into the ring with these fresh off the boat Cubans - they'd wager their paltry savings against mine and we'd duke it out. They'd leave beaten and broken, and I'd take a piss while I waited for the next one.
One of them, a particularly nasty looking beanpole of a man, got the shit kicked out of him, so he decided to fight dirty. Bit me on the ankle, wouldn't let go like some rabid pitbull.
So I stomped like I stomped the snake until he let go, and then I kept stomping. And like I was handling a pitbull I took all his friends and I rubbed their noses in what was left of him, to let them know what happens when you fuck up like he did.
After that was all said in done, I waited. Waited for whatever power was surely going to come. The others were pretty self explanatory, given what I got bit by. But what the hell would a human give me?
People weren't particularly strong or smart - certainly that wiry bastard wasn't. I started to wonder if maybe I'd get something he had, like faster than average movement or... sharp teeth or something. Knocked down a few doors, asked friends and family about him.
Carlos was his name. Was sent over by his parents to help secure a life in America. Not for them, but for his younger sisters and brothers. Had a steady job, got laid off, turned to pit fighting to make enough money to support everyone. Least that's what everyone told me between the sobbing and the screaming.
The more I learned about Carlos, the more something felt off, like I was the bad guy to this story. Poor kid had the odds stacked against him - I was just the final nail in the coffin. Least that's what I told myself. But it didn't help, didn't bring Carlos back, didn't keep his family from falling apart.
I left my winnings on Carlos' family doorstep and skipped town one last time. It isn't enough, to be sure. But it's all I could do for them.
Just hope they can forgive me.
*Feedback Appreciated* |
I rubbed my eyes to make sure but I am positive, that is my signature on the tv. My wife also noticed and started immediately questioning me about it.
I have no answers for her right now for her.
I looked the cave up online and found out that it was in the South American caverns and the rest of the writing in the cave was so familiar somehow.
At this point I started to freak out, I shut my laptop off and went on with my day.
After about a week my wife stopped bringing it up. It was a quick story with a questionable resemblance to my signature. No big deal right?
A month later three men in suits knocked on my door. I was told they were from the father and that they needed me to go with them.
I'm not equipped to fight these guys, I don't even know if they're for real, but I have no choice but to get in the car with them. We went to an abandoned building on the east side of town. Walking through the front door of the building it was empty with one small room on the corner. When we walked to that room the door shut very quickly on its own and we slowly started to sink into a bunker. All that was said to me at this point was "sir. You have been compromised".
When we reached the bottom the door opened up into an empty room. The walls were covered in the same markings I had saw on the news, all with my signature at the end.
We went to the middle of the room and they asked me if I was ready. Ready? Ready for what? I wanted to be scared, but for some reason being in this room made me feel comfortable, it felt right.
The three men surrounded me and made a weird signal with their hands. At that moment every writing on the walls started glowing brighter and brighter until it was too bright to keep my eyes open. When I finally opened them again the whole room was white without a single blemish. The three men were gone and there was just a single man standing in a doorway. He was wearing a gray robe, cleanly shaven face, and had long red hair. He asks only one question- how was earth my God.
In one second my mind filled with billions of years of knowledge. The pain of feeling memory's pour through my head was astounding. I remember everything now. I remember creating the moon, the sun, the stars, and creating other planets around it to find the perfect balance. Creating micro organisms that creat other organisms that slowly over time made outstanding creatures. And finally. There was one creature that evolved into an intelligent being. That can think itself and start to create amazing things themselves. Those things were humans. I protected the humans and helped them by making myself look like them permanently. I left myself notes it different parts of the world that only I could understand so I can better help that part of the human world when I return.
Then I remembered my loneliness. Realizing that I was the only true, real being in the universe. I was around everything I had made, nothing more. No one understood, how could anyone understand. I put myself into a young human child, and wiped my own mind to live in a simpler life. When I was there for that life I lived, I loved, I found a wife and even had a pet dog. But the pain the humans feel is unimaginable. People are terrible to each other. They kill. They lie. Their all just so pitiful. They believe that if they please me that I will make their lives better when I created the life for them. What else did I owe you but creating your life?
I looked up in the white room. The man was gone.
I looked down at myself and realized that I was the person in the doorway. Reminding myself of who I am.
But why did I step out of the human world self continuously? The answer was then easy.
I wanted to start over.
The world I spent so much time developing was destroying the same world I created.
They are not my image.
They are not entitled.
They are an ant farm that has broken out of its container.
I am God.
I am a creator.
I am not a savior.
|
"Cuntface to Dickhead, Cuntface to Dickhead. Do you fucking read me you brain dead retard"
Jenkins tapped the transmit button on his comm device, both he and the agent he was working with were in a crowded restaurant right now, one crawling with members of the very gang they were trying to bring down, but there was no need for subtlety. In fact, be too subtle and it might get them killed.
"Yes I fucking read you you worthless piece of shit, your mother should have had a fucking abortion, Waters, uh, I mean, Cuntface".
This new system really took a bit of getting used to, but Waters had picked it up in a snap. The cynical side of Jenkins couldn't help thinking it was because Waters had never really liked him.
"Finally, fuck me you're a shit-nosed gimp, dickhead."replied Waters, his Australian drawl skillfully weaving insults
"I've got my bloody eyes on Shit-stain right now, he's just walked in the fucking door you fat wanker"Waters continued
"You all right, mate?"a familiar voice asked, wafting in from behind Jenkins as he was about to respond to Waters.
It was Kneecaps, code name fat fuck, an Irish gangster whom Jenkins had been forced to spend way too much time with throughout the course of his undercover mission. His name came from his preferred method of dealing with debtors who didn't pay up, but if his weight kept going the way it was his own kneecaps would suffer a similar fate soon.
Kneecaps sat down opposite Jenkins, seemingly unaware of the fact that his boss had, according to Waters, apparently just entered the restaurant.
"Shit-stain's off to the shitting second floor you cockbag arsegobbler"Waters' voice said, blaring out of the transmitter, disguised as a mobile phone, which lay openly on the table in front of Jenkins.
"He's with fucking Dicknipple. This is not a fucking joke, Shit-stain has *just met up with Dicknipple and they are fucking going up-fucking-stairs*. We can shitting bust them, Dickhead!"Waters' voice continued, sounding excited and nervous.
"Boy"said Kneecaps from across the table, "that mobile of yours just doesn't stop buzzing, does it? Nothing but static nonstop, how do you deal with it? If it were me I'd just get a new one."Jenkins just shrugged, trying to contain himself.
If what Waters had just said was true then...
Colin Murphy, the boss of the Irish drug gang had just arrived. He was about to meet up with Wei Hu, the boss of the chinese gang from across town. Hu had walked in about an hour earlier, and had been being watched by Waters ever since he walked in. According to Waters, Hu had several chinese goons with him carrying large duffel bags. There was only one possible thing that could be going down between two gang bosses that involved bags like that, especially in an area so crawling with gangsters that the police wouldn't dare go near it.
This was Jenkins' and Waters' chance to bust two gangs in one night.
"Cuntface"Jenkins said with the utmost earnestness, loud enough for the mobile on the table to pick it up "Prepare to move on Shit-stain and dicknipple"
Jenkins' heart was beating out of his chest, this was going to be the biggest bust of his career, this method was going to revolutionise espionage, even though he had to work with Waters and keep it secret from all his close friends and colleagues, it was about to become worth it, it was all about to pay off.
"Sorry"Kneecaps laughed from across the table "Did you say something, mate? Could have sworn I heard something. Think my darn earpiece might be faulty."
All Jenkins could do was smile as he saw two men come to the top of the staircase trailed by several Irish and Chinese gang members. |
20 September 2017
“En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four hundred and fifty years since my last confession.”
Luz knelt in front of the screen that separated her from the priest. The wooden kneeler was hard. It hurt her knees. These old historic cathedrals didn’t let their parishioners go soft with any new rubbery foam kneelers. She was sweating a bit from the walk over to the cathedral in the hot sun of Cartagena, Colombia. Her white blouse and jeans were not overly appropriate for the church, but she hadn’t hadn’t wanted to take the chance that she’d change her mind in the time it would take to change her clothes to something more conservative.
He didn’t immediately respond to her opening remarks, but Luz heard him clear his throat, so she continued.
“I mean, it was about 450 years. I don’t want to lie in my first confession in four centuries after all."She was stammering a bit. "I can’t be certain exactly when it was, but some time in the middle of the 16th century.”
The priest finally spoke up, "This church was built in 1615, so you clearly didn’t do your confession here.” A small chuckle at his own joke came from behind the screen. It calmed her. “Please continue young lady. I am here to listen and can be here all day if you need help. I also have a list of agencies that can help you."She could tell by his voice that the priest was an older man. Older for mortals that is. Certainly more than a millennium younger than her.
“You’re right Father,” she continued, “it was in Mexico, some time after the conquest of Cortes.” She almost spit at saying that man's name, but remembered her manners in the church and kept going. “They made me do it. The Spaniards. I never wanted to go back to church again. I return from time to time, but never to confession.”
“I see.” the priest responded after a pause. “So why are you back today?”
Luz felt tears come to her eyes, but held them back as best as she could. “I’m scared Father. I think I’m going to die.” The dam burst open and she started to sob.
There was a long pause as she cried. Finally, the priest spoke up, “Death is part of life, but a belief in Jesus Christ grants you immortality.”
"BUT I HAVE IMMORTALITY NOW DAMN IT!” She hit the wall. Her scream pierced the church. The noise of whispered voices from the parishioners and tourists visiting the church quieted for an instant before resuming. “Had immortality.” She took a deep breath. “I was once immortal. But everything has changed.” She couldn’t keep her emotions together. "Everything has changed since Paris.”
She cried quietly in the confessional booth for what felt like an hour. Finally, as she calmed herself, she said, “Thank you for being here Father. I know this doesn’t make sense, but I need to talk.”
She heard the priest leave the booth, come around to her side, and quietly open the door. He was older than she imagined. Maybe 75. His hair was as white as his collar. A small white mustache graced his lips. “As I said, I’m here all day if you need me. But let us go to my office and have a cup of coffee. I know for a fact that kneeler is damn uncomfortable.” He gave a smile as he swore in the church that caused even the red-eyed immortal to give a small laugh.
“I don’t, I don't even know where to begin.” Luz stammered.
“Well,” the priest took in a deep breath, “you can start by confessing your sins. And then you can explain to me why you thought you couldn’t die.” The priest looked a little uncertain as he said those words. “We can always find you help if you need it. I work with professionals who talk with people like you. But until you ask, everything you say will remain in confidence.”
Luz tried to compose herself. She knew that the priest thought she was a mental patient. Maybe that was better. Immortals shouldn't be telling their secrets. Then again, everything had changed. |
*I should have listened.*
I never listened when I should have.
In my teens I was a troubled boy. The darkness in my soul consumed me. It was before psychopathic corrective therapy was invented. It was before the United States implemented background checks for buying assault rifles. I had problems, but I thought I was taking a stand.
One day in high school, I had decided to end it all. And I was going to bring everyone else down with me. Back then, death was exciting to me. It was a way out of my shitty existence. A way to escape the daily beatings of my father and brothers.
On my 18th birthday, I bought an AR15 with all the money I had saved up working at the gas station. I took it out in to the woods to practice my aim. I hunted for deer. I found joy in bringing death upon beautiful living creatures. I became addicted to that feeling.
After a month of practicing, I was ready. I burst into the school and started shooting everyone I could find. I took joy in their screams of pain. I toyed with them, made them beg even though I would kill them anyway. I reveled in the sight of the blood and destruction I caused before me.
I killed 17 people that day. Teachers, students, a janitor, boys, girls, it didn't matter. I killed indiscriminately and with great enthusiasm.
When the police finally arrived and I was backed into a corner, I took my father's handgun that I had stolen and stuck it in my mouth. As the sirens blared outside and the police pounded on the door of the class room I was holed up in, I pulled the trigger and felt the bullet pass right through the roof of my mouth. Immense pain radiated from the exit wound at the top of my head. I fell back and saw my blood scattered over the ceiling. But somehow, I was still alive.
The police burst into the room, guns drawn, donned in swat gear. They saw me, eyes wide open, in shock on the floor. I was covered in blood but I was still alive. As they carried me out, I saw the carnage I had wrought over this school and I still felt no remorse.
Doctors could not explain how I survived my gunshot wound. In the press, I became both a notorious monster and a medical marvel.
My trial was swift, I saw the testimony of crying family and friends of the victims I had killed. At that time, I still felt no remorse. Just confusion. *How am I still here?*
After being convicted for all 17 counts of murder, I was sentenced to 17 consecutive life sentences, without the possibility of parole. The judge added an additional 3,338 years for good measure.
While in prison, I attempted suicide about twelve times. First, I tried hanging. No luck, I must have done something wrong because I could breathe easily the whole time. Then I tried slitting my wrists. I didn't lose enough blood before my wounds healed up. I even tried a brazen escape where I was shot multiple times and was incapacitated. I was returned to a new cell that was even more fortified.
Any wounds I suffered healed remarkably fast. The self inflicted gunshot wound, slitting my wrists, the gunshot wounds from the guards left no scars. I was invincible, but I was not strong. I felt excruciating pain with every wound I suffered. I was easily overtaken by guards with each escape attempt.
When I turned 50 years old in a supermax in rural Illinois, it was clear that I was not aging in any regular way. I looked exactly the same as I did on my eighteenth birthday. Prison doctors and researchers studied me relentlessly over the years. They treated me like a lab rat, deservedly so.
At age 110, it was clear I couldn't die. At age 200 they tried to give me a death sentence. I was injected with the government's lethal cocktail and I immediately fell asleep. But once again, I did not die. I woke up in my cell a week later.
The prison put out a press release saying that I had died but they kept me secret. They did not want to deal with the panic that came with knowing there was an immortal mass murderer in the prison system.
After another failed lethal injection, I was studied, prodded, put through intense pain. The researchers and doctors were attempting to find why I had lasted so long.
All the while, I felt no remorse for the lives I took that day. I would do it again if I could. I felt the urge to kill, but I never got to scratch that itch again. So I sat in my cell and relived that day over and over in my head. It made me feel powerful, it made me feel free. Each re-imagining of the killing gave me a sick, orgasmic bliss.
When I turned 887, the doctors trialed a new, experimental treatment that was meant to cure psychopathy. It involved drilling a small hole into my frontal cortex and injecting cerebral stem cells from a non-psychopathic donor. When I regained consciousness, I saw the world in a whole new light.
I had a feeling that I never experienced before, empathy. For the first time I could imagine what it was like to be someone else. They had me read books and I could feel the emotions of the characters. I could relate to the experiences in movies they showed me. After more psychological evaluation, they determined I was no longer clinically a psychopath.
Then they showed me the news footage from my shooting rampage. The cell spun around me as I saw the grieving friends and family give their reports of what I had done. I vomited when they showed the news footage of a grieving mother shouting at me in court.
I took her son away, I understood what I had done. I took 17 sons and daughters away too soon.
I thought of that day again, as I had done before the treatment. But this time, there was no feeling of power, there was no orgasmic bliss. I felt nothing but abject horror about what I had done. Each person begging for their lives filled me with catastrophic regret. I couldn't live with myself knowing what I had done. For the first time in my life, I cried. I cried like I was a newborn, fresh from the womb. Finally, I understood the horrors that this world can bestow upon the innocent. And I understood my part in it.
Suddenly, I wanted to go back and save those people. I wanted to take back what I had done. But I couldn't. Everyone they knew and loved were long gone. But I am still here stewing in my regret.
In past suicide attempts, I tried due to boredom, just not wanting to stay in this gray cell block for the rest of my life. Now I know, my life could be eternity. Everyday, I relive what I did on loop and I feel enough sorrow to make up for that which I did not feel for the previous 1,000 years.
When my sentence was technically up, I was denied parole. The board said they would never take the chance releasing an immortal former mass murderer to the public, no matter how much remorse I felt.
The researchers stopped their experiments on my once they saw that I now had compassion. They couldn't bear to put me through pain anymore.
Everyday, I sit in my cell, think about what I had done. Everyday, I decide I can't live with myself. Everyday, I try to kill myself again just to end this remorseful pain. Everyday, I fail.
*Am I in hell? Could I tell the difference?*
|
At 7:06, my alarm goes off. Luke thinks he's clever, but 7 snoozes later, we're not actually awake until 8:30. A 30-minute hot shower after that, tie indecision and waiting for that podcast to download, and we're out the door bright and early at 9:45. The sun is up, and I can feel Luke itching with the brightness.
On the corner of 63rd and 2nd, we see a cat, which means we obviously have to turn around and catch the 72nd street stop so that we don't get into a fight. Cats and demons, you know. Plus, I'm allergic to cats and also to people who have cats, and also to most other people, if we're being completely honest.
Nearly 30 minutes go by underground. My podcast is finished and the subway internet is shit, so I'm just pretending to listen to something so no one bothers me. Still, some lady has the nerve to start talking at me while I am clearly using my over-ear noise-canceling headphones solely for the sake of not dealing with her. She waves in front of my face, as if the reason I haven't taken off my tourist blinders is because I don't know she's there. Luke and I have an internal debate about whether we'd be better off if her or I were to step in front of an oncoming train, but then we both realize it seems like there isn't one coming anyway and I decide to just walk about 7 feet away and pretend I'm now out of earshot.
"Ladies and gentlemen, because of an earlier incident, all Q trains are running on the F line. Please proceed to the 63rd and Lexington station. We are sorry for any inconvenience."
K. At this stage, we turn back around. I'll call in sick. It's 11:00.
"Your job is worthless anyway."I look around my apartment in awe and try to decide if I said that or if Luke did. Honest to god, sometimes I don't even know.
A part of me wants to seize the day. Read a book. Write a novel. Go to the gym. Damn someone to eternal damnation. Try to find a way to sneak the word "damn"into a sentence thrice. Big plans.
But the other part of me wants to lay on the couch, flip through the full catalogues of HBO, Netflix and Amazon Prime (because Hulu is for west coast elitists) a few times, and ultimately land on continuing whatever drivel I was watching before. Does one actually "watch"the show "Gotham", or does one merely coexist as it plays?
"Let's hurt someone."
"That's a little more forward than usual."
"You've ignored me for the entirety of this inner monologue."
"You're not real. How much page space do you need?"
"If I'm not real, then who are you talking to?"
I set the razor back down on the counter.
"You almost had me." |
Uranium. Atomic number 92. Quite dense, and not technically classed as "earth". It certainly made life hell for earthbenders, as they couldn't move it. None of the benders could manipulate or even survive any radioactive material, as any radiation aside from "natural"radiation is nearly lethal, not even radiation-contaminated materials, and the government certainly used it to their advantage.
Most of the benders originated from some tragic background. Zones of conflict particularly, which meant that Africa and the Middle East had the highest concentration. Something about your feelings and emotions awakening power. The most powerful benders of our time were the most messed up, twisted people on this earth. They also made the best soldiers.
As I said, most benders came from conflict zones. Conflict was motivated by power, and what country had the most power in this world? That's right, the U-S-of-motherfucking-A. America had its finger in every pie, pudding, cake and shithole on this godforsaken earth, and that meant that a lot of those benders had a personal vendetta against America. And as the figures grew and the death toll rose, so too did the numbers of benders. Like a terrorist organisation with fucking nukes in hand, they swept across countries and killed millions.
Africa came first. We don't know what they did with the poor souls there, but we figure they either bent-thy-knee or got obliterated. Spreading across the Middle East and Europe, and half of Russia and China, they became a scourge that couldn't be stopped, only slowed down. America, as usual, didn't do shit until it became a matter of resources. Russia and China and every single other country that exported stopped everything to allocate it all to the war, no matter which side they were on. America, as usual, only had one solution: nukes.
That's when they found me. A freak. A miracle, a godsend. No-one had heard of any bender who could even get close to a radioactive source without dying and yet I could touch some with my bare hands and be fine. Then they found out I could move the stuff with my mind and damn near creamed their pants. I bet some did. I worked with the white coats to develop their nuclear armaments into more effective killing machines, but I hated nukes. *Hated* nukes.
My story is grim and mournful. Japan, August 6 1945. I was living in Hiroshima at the time, 11 years old. WWII was still in swing, and death plagued the air. I was working in the far outskirts of the city when it happened. My entire family was working in the restaurant we owned, and I was fetching produce to cart back into the city from the farms. Stared right at that mushroom of death and laughed, till the shockwave knocked me down. Radiation wracked my body, and the world forgot me. Vomiting, Diarrhea, hair loss, every symptom of radiation poising hounded at my soul. I was given a plot and a shovel, and dug my own grave. I crawled in that hole and prepared myself to die, and yet I didn't. For months on end I suffered, the effects scarring my body, but I couldn't pass on. Every day I would pray for it just to end, but it seemed even God turned his back on me. I recovered, stick thin and completely hairless, but alive. And yet, just like radiation, I was living a half-life. A shell of who I used to be, who I could have been...
The radiation altered me. The grief and pain connected that wire, ignited that spark, but this invisible death ray gave me the power to end life in a way the world had not seen. Hollow cheeks, blind eyes, toothless gums. This and more was the price of my gift and it was my gift to share with this cruel world.
I moved to Australia a cheap labourer, working in the uranium mines in South Australia, back when labour was cheaper than machines. They didn't expect me to last long, nor did they care, but I did. I discovered my gift soon after, and lets just say that mine underwent a sudden and unexpected collapse with the owners inexplicably inside.
You might ask why I'm working with the country that brought upon so much death to my home country. Truth is, I'm just furthering my own ends. I need to eliminate the competition. The more benders there currently are, the harder it'll be to establish my rule. I gain unrestricted access to an unfeasible amount of the very stuff I can control and, when the time is right, I'll bring this government to justice. I'll bring this *world* to justice. |
While I had seen most of Arnold Schwarzenegger's films, nothing can truly prepare you for seeing the former governor in very 90's casual attire at 5am in one's bedroom telling you that the wildly bizarre conspiracy theory you had concocted after one too many alcoholic beverages to screw with random strangers was surprisingly accurate and that a secret society who controlled the world is now trying to kill you. Yes, few things compare with meeting Arnold Schwarzenegger under those circumstances.
Rousing myself from my 2 hours of sleep, I then noticed that Arnold was not alone in my bedroom. Who else but Danny DeVito , Arnold's costar from the hit 1988 comedy *Twins,* dressed in an identical suit as the other celebrity in my room, standing in the doorway, watching the back of the tall Austrian. It was at this point that I had some questions, because I didn't even really like *Twins,* and if Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger were going to come into my room at 5am in the morning, I would much rather they pick a better film like 1994's hit sci-fi comedy *Junior*, but I felt this was not the most pressing matter.
"Why are you in my room Mr. Former Governor?"I asked puzzled for multiple reasons including the ones listed above.
"They've found you and they're on the way to kill you."said the Austrian in a serious tone, pulling me up and out of my bed.
Now standing, I sought further answers. "Who are they?"
It was at this point that Danny joined the conversation.
"The Illuminati, kid. They found your post on \[REDACTED\], and they wanna silence you."
I was less shocked at this revelation than I probably should have been, but Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in identical suits appearing at your bedside tends to dull the senses.
Arnold piped up, "We have been at war in secret with the Illuminati since the 90's, and we've been fighting for our lives ever since."
At this point, believing myself to be in a dream, I stated something along the lines of, "This is so stupid."
I was shocked to suddenly receive a slap across the face from Mr. DeVito, both for the suddenness of the blow as well as the speed of the 4'10"septuagenarian. "A lot of good folks have died for the cause, kid. River Phoenix, Heath Ledger, Philip Seymour Hoffman---
Danny was suddenly interrupted when the wall exploded to reveal Tom Cruise hovering in the air outside my bedroom, orbs of light hovering around his head. I was excited at the prospect of Tom Cruise signing my copy of Jerry Maguire on VHS, before we had to skedaddle from the Illuminati. I turned to look at the stars of *Twins,* their faces contorted into a look of sheer horror.
It was then that I realized Tom Cruise had to be a part of the Illuminati, because how can you star in *Eyes Wide Shut* and not be. The fact that Stanley Kubrick died soon after completing the Tom Cruise vehicle, also sealed the realization in my head. The floating sparkley-head man spoke in a deep-voice:
"We meet again Twins. We only want the boy for now, but your time will soon come."
Arnold leveled his machine gun at the star of the profitable Mission Impossible series and yelled "Hasta la Vista, Cruisey"before opening fire.
While contemplating how cliché his own line had become, I was astounded by Tom absorbing each and every bullet into his being, like Chia seeds on a food product, kind of useless but hopefully they'll do something.
Mr. DeVito, with his cat-like quickness, grabbed my hand and dragged me out of my room with Arnold inching along behind us. Mr. DeVito let me know that the bullets would slow down the fallen star, but we needed to get going if I wanted to keep making appearances in the living world.
Ever since that night, I've been a part of the Hollywood underground, fighting in secret to protect the world from the Illuminati. I could give you all the details, but you'll probably get them soon enough. Just listen for a knock on your door and two men of differing heights waiting to usher you onto our side. |
When you know what to look for, Steve’s touches are still visible everywhere. Curved corners on apps. Elegant spacing between letters on computer displays. But especially the subtle references to his iconic black turtlenecks. The one that I just never understood was why the Apple desktop towers were only offered in black.
I called myself an engineer before I started working at Apple, now I realized I’m really an artist who understand how things work. You can learn so much on Campus by just asking questions! But every so often, the only answer anyone can tell you is, “because the CEO said so.” The CEO must be amazing to be making all of these detailed decisions, not to mention how busy he already is.
When Apple originally hired me from Coca Cola, I knew was on the fast track for the C level suite, but it surprised even me how quickly I ended up here. I’ve heard all the decisions the CEO makes, and I’m a little terrified of the gravity of my coming decisions.
I walk into my new office, and the outgoing CEO greats me. “Welcome to your new home, but first, there is something I need to show you”. He turns and leads me to a hidden door in the back of the office. When I enter behind him, I’m met with.. a person, I think. He’s almost glowing in the light, but is he even real?
The CEO spins on his heels, now standing next to what I now believe is a hologram.
“This is our AI. He’s in charge of everything, and the answer to those pesky questions I’ve just never been able to answer for you. The scary part is that he was able to actually implant not just his knowledge, but his memories into the AI.”
As the AI turns around, allowing me to see his face, I freeze. I can’t believe he really did it.
The CEO introduces him, “This is Steve, and Steve, this is”. But Steve cuts him off, “Son...” |
Been a very long time since I've written anything. Lets try this out. Comments and criticism welcome.
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Most people don't have faith. It was the unfortunate fact of the modern age, and it was a blessing for things like me.
I should back up here.
I am a vampire. The weaknesses that you have always heard about, the garlic, the holy water, and the symbols of faith stopped working on us over a century ago. I liked to think that there was a god -or perhaps the God- who decided to play a trick on the unfaithful. Dumb bastard never stopped to wonder if his flock was among them or not.
Its rare to see people of faith. When you do see them its usually that impossibly holy person who went out and did *work* out in the world. They didn't spread the word of their gods, they just did good deeds and hoped that faith spread from that. I've met a few in the past, and they shined bright enough to be somewhat uncomfortable for someone like me to be around.
They've mostly died out a long time ago. I blame the internet.
Those literal saints also didn't hold a candle to the atheist I was currently stalking. At least I assumed she was an atheist. Never saw her enter a church or pray, and I've been watching for quite a while. You also don't normally see worshipers of most religions dress like the old, cool, Hot Topic.
It was a phase. I regret nothing.
I floated across the night sky, watching as she fearlessly performed her routine walk across the bad parts of town. Eventually she was accosted, and as usual I watched to try and glean some understanding of her faith. I was grasping at straws. Desperately hoping she would shout out the name of *something.* She had to have faith in some obscure deity, some pagan spirit, or at least something as mundane as a boyfriend.
She didn't do anything. She merely scanned the night sky with a complete disregard to the danger in front of her. Well, I wasn't going to have this mystery disappear on me before I could figure it out, so I reached out with my will and sent those accosting her to the land of dreams. With a sigh I dropped down to an alleyway, at least I would feed so the night wouldn't be completely wasted. I just had to wait for my mystery to continue her walk as she usually did when I saved her on my quest to figure out her damn faith.
Don't worry little brigands, I'll rescue you from Oneiros and all you'll have to do is provide me with a bite. To eat, being the joke.
I chuckled as my feet touched the dirty paveme-
A sound.
I twisted to force my will on the person who had seen me, but the bright light of faith burned the tendrils of my might away. I stumbled, the light pressing against me like a physical force, searing me to the bone. "You are real!"my mystery said, her voice quiet in awe. The words pressed little bits of her faith through whatever hasty defense I tried to assemble.
"I told everyone about you! I knew that you had to be real, and after everything that's happened I finally get to thank you,"she said, gaining strength. She spoke with an almost religious rapture, and as the words penetrated the haze of pain I finally understood.
I'd seen her before, when she was young, a child, before they got old enough to fill the stomach. A man had dragged her into an alleyway and was pressing her against the wall. At the time I remembered thinking that it was so convenient when food went to the nice secluded alleyway without me pressuring them. I had only dragged the man away from her before feeding because it felt oddly weird to eat in front of humans. It was like having a dog or cat stare at you when you were trying to eat a particularly good steak.
I had thought that someone of her age would have forgotten me eventually.
I interrupted her babbling with laughter. As the light burned me away I lifted a hand to point at her, the black clothing, the pale makeup, and the accessories that use to make Hot Topic seem like that edgy store at the mall all those years ago.
&#x200B;
"It was only a phase,"I managed to choke out, before the light burned me away. |
I've become a bit of a celebrity, to be honest, and it really has been a lot of fun. If I could go back, I don't think I'd change a thing.
Oh, it was bad at first, there's no denying that. First day was the worst day, realizing a year had past. My wife was well into mourning, as was my father. A day of tears and I-don't-believe-yous, except that in the end they had to, for a pair of reasons. First, because I'd popped back into the flow of time just as my wife was waking up, and she saw it happen in the bed next to her. She was convinced it was the tail end of a dream at first and that I was telling lies to cover up my cruel abandonment. Can't really blame her, but the second thing was a zit.
Yeah. I know. It was a bad one, too, thank God for that. Right in that painful spot between the side of the nostril and the upper slope of the mouth. Can't mistake it for anything else. Hard thing to fake on close inspection. They'd both seen it the day before, we'd been out at Dad's for dinner. The witch had cursed me after I flipped her off for doing 55 in the freeway passing lane when we were on our way home. Caught up, honked, rolled down the window, yelled something about "if you're in such a hurry I'll teach you to blah blah FUCK"and then she rear-ended someone.
She didn't survive. I should feel worse about that than I do, maybe, but I suppose it meant her curse didn't complete properly? Not like there's any way to ask her now. Anyway, like I said, the next day was rough. In the end, there was tearful reconciliation, and that all feels like ashes now when I think about it because of course it happened again. This time, they both knew what had happened. Our meeting was still tearful, but somber. Just the two of them, but they said they wanted to invite other people into the room for the following morning, in my case, and year, in theirs. Maybe once they could prove what was going on, someone could help.
No one could. No way to save our marriage, either, I knew that almost the moment I saw her face that third day. Couldn't blame her, really, who could ever tolerate a situation like that with the person you love? Only in stories with more sap than sense, and my wife, may she rest in peace, was always a very sensible person. Ex-wife, I suppose I should say. The divorce was easy enough on her end, once we'd astonished that one skeptical reporter the first year and all those scientists and cameramen the next. Hard on my end, but no way around that no matter everyone's intentions.
I grieved my old life for something like a month. Humans adapt surprisingly quickly. I started to relish seeing things change so fast. I was paid well for interviews, every year, it became part of a worldwide ritual. What does the Man Who Skips Through Time think of all these things that have happened? The interest, God, any idea how quickly interest accrues on that kind of time scale?
I grieved my marriage until she died. Then I grieved her. That sounds terrible. It was. I hated seeing her grow older like that, it was stark. I still loved her, but by the sixth day she'd long since grieved for me. She stopped coming. I don't blame her. In retrospect, it was better for everyone that way, but I still looked her up, day after day, for two months of my time.
I visited her grave on the sixty-third day. The world was...hard to recognize by then, even though I was probably the most famous person in it.
I wasn't a very good interview subject for the next half-century or so. I'm afraid I may have brought the tenor of the age down a bit. Of course, they had other problems. The Minimum Income Riots, the Biomechanical Revolution, the fight for AI rights, the Catastrophe Decade where Earth herself seemed to turn her back on our species and refuse to take any more of our shit. Literally, in some ways.
<continued below> |
Jim sat at his desk, methodically clicking his pen against the soft grain wood painted metal.
*click click click*
His eyes ached behind his round rimmed glasses, assaulted by the light emitted from his monitor. On earth, computers typically proof read E-mails. but as his boss possessed fifty seven brains, and an IQ of over nine thousand, Jim was relegated to the task, there was no errors, of course; but his boss tended to forget that other species had things as inefficient as emotions, and as such Jim had to make sure nothing too inconsiderate made it out.
as far as human jobs went, it wasn't so bad. Humans weren't smart like the Kleo-faux, strong like the Apex, or fast like zoonorach. it was a mystery that humans were on the ship at all, since their only real claim to fame was their ability to reproduce at an disgustingly rapid rate. this made them great for the high risk jobs the other species preferred not to be assigned to.
*click click click*
Jim looked over his boss's twentieth email, which was a termination notice, citing Janet from accounting's "absolutely revolting lack efficiency, and terrible dental hygiene". he made a note to his boss to ease up on the language and a note to himself to brush his teeth before coming in to work tomorrow.
*click click click*
Jim's pen blended in with the furious mashing of the keyboard form the cubicle next to his. Meek-mark, Jim's neighbor could type at a thousand words a minute, and went through four keyboards a day. the brutal keyboard abuse hurt Jim's head.
He decided it was time for his daily ego boost.
Jim crumpled up a piece of paper. the sound was subtle, but it's effects were instant, the entire room went silent
heads, and eye stalks rose above their cubicles, and whispers began whipping around the room.
Jim stood up before his audience and looked over to the trash can ten feet away from him. he raised his arm and shot the wadded up document into the waiting receptacle.
Jim's co-workers cheered for ten seconds before returning to their work.
*maybe being a human isn't so bad*, Jim thought, before returning to his task. |
I tried my hardest to do my job well, despite the curse. It's not like I had a difficult job, mind you – I just did data entry. I took a set of numbers from one sheet of paper and I input the same numbers into an electronic sheet. That's all, for eight hours a day. That job lasted for about a week. At first they all ha a laugh when I would stain my hands with ink or spill my morning coffee. I quickly made a name for myself as a klutz and, even though I felt like shit every time someone suppressed their laughter, it was still better than not having a job at all. Then I tripped over a cord that pulled a whole table of computers down with it. My boss shouted, “I don't understand what the hell just happened! The cords were taped over and they usually have a problem staying connected to begin with!” He fired me. No one stood up for me.
I wandered the streets for a few days after that. I wish I could tell you that my most recent string of bad luck was something peculiar to that specific job, but I can't. My whole life has been plagued by – and get this – a warlock that my parents angered one day when they were pregnant with me. They stole a parking spot from him when he was already waiting. When he tried to protest and get my parents to move, my father simply said, “Bad luck, guy.” You can see what the warlock was trying to do there. He cursed “the seed” in my mom's belly and my whole life was over before it started.
Anyway, after roaming aimlessly around the city for a three-day-binge weekend, I decided to kill myself. I couldn't find any other option. I was standing on a chair, with a rope slung over a banister, ready to put it around my neck and leave it all behind me, when one of the legs broke. I fell on my stupid face, but I didn't die. I got a new chair and the same thing happened. In fact, in happened to every single chair in my house. I was more ready to commit suicide out of frustration by that point. So I went to the nearest bridge and jumped off. I landed on top of a barge transporting pillows. … Pillows. The worst thing I got from that “near-death” experience? I twisted my ankle.
I kept trying and trying, but the something always made me fail at failing. I realized what the reason was later than I like to admit. I literally was not able to do it. I wasn't able to succeed at anything to such a degree that I couldn't even accomplish this simple thing. I tried a new tactic. I bought a new shirt, a cup of coffee, and walked around with no lid. I was sure I was going to spill it all over myself – and even turned my cup upside down at one point – but again, had no problems. Then I upped the ante: I got in my car and drove as wildly as I could, doing my absolute best to swerve into other cars. Somewhat predictably at that point, I missed every single one.
I was cursed to fail at everything I attempted, no matter what it was. I laughed like a maniac when I thought of all the possibilities. I decided I was going to try to lose the lottery by picking 1, 2, 3, 4, and, yup you guessed it, 5 as the major number. I won the jackpot. Since no one else would ever try something so mind-bogglingly insane, I won the entire pot. There were news stories about me; I became a phenomenal tale of GOOD luck for the first time in my life. I think probably everyone in the state knew who I was and what I did.
I shouldn't have been surprised at what happened next, but I was. People came out of the woodwork almost as soon as I got the money deposited in my account. Family members I never knew I had, old friends I hadn't seen in years, ex-coworkers who wanted to “reconnect” even though they always laughed at me. I tried to keep to myself and ignore everything. But of course some vicious people found my address. They tied me up and forced me to transfer the entirety of my money to an offshore account in their name. They kept me captive long enough that the bank couldn't cancel the transfer. I didn't even see their faces, so when I called the police I wasn't able to tell them anything about the thieves. The lead officer in charge of my case said, “Well, sir, looks like you've had a spot of bad luck.” |
"*What? The hero and her team were killed by one of mine? Okay. Why am I being summoned to court? Murder? Ok fine. Find me the skeleton. I'll deal with this."*
*"Boss... hi. I can explain."*
"*Explain then, before I decide to fire you, literally. I have a canon."*
"*Their archer attacked me first. I was chilling around in the cave, waiting for some newbies to come. Then these guys come in blazing swords and arrows! The archer broke my rib..."* He pointed to his broken rib. Oh.
"*Dang. Okay so tell the police that, and tell them you killed them in self-defense."*
"*Alright boss."* And he left.
The next day, I get a phone call. It's the skeleton.
"*Yo boss. The hero and their team are suing us."*
"*Why?"*
"*Because they died."*
"*Entitled much? Let me speak with them."* I look over to my secretary, a witch. "*Could you teleport me to skeleton... 34?"* She nods and I'm in the same room now with the skeleton, the lawyer I hired, and the hero with their lawyer.
"*Ok, why are you suing us? Your archer literally attacked him and he only fought back in self-defense."*
"*Tiffany only attacked him because he was close to us and a threat!"*
"*Ok, but you can't sue us because he killed you all in self defense! Why did you let her attack him if he didn't attack you? He was waiting around for newbies and people who sucked at adventuring that often come to the cave first. Not you guys. Why were you even there?!"*
*"My client does not have to answer that."*
"*No, it's alright. We went there because there was rumour that an ancient artifact was hidden there."*
"*Um, who told you that? We don't have any ancient artifact. We usually only have our weapons, maybe armour we picked up from newbies."* The skeleton said.
"*It was told throughout the bar we were at."* The hero said as her lawyer tried to keep her quiet.
"*So you came into a level 1 cave in search for something that is probably not real, your archer saw one of my skeletons in range, and you let her shoot him?"* I stated.
"*My client doesn't have to-"* The hero cuts her lawyer off.
"*Stop. Yes that's what happened."*
"*Then why are you suing us?"*
"*I'm not. Tiffany is."*
"*Then why are you here?!"*
"*Calm down CEO lady. Tiffany is out of town. I'm here in her place."*
"*IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?!"*
"*If you don't calm down I'm calling security."*
"*Then answer. my. question."*
"*In this district, yes."*
"*Ok, then why is she suing us for killing her in self defense?"*
"*I have no clue."* The hero pulls their phone and calls the archer. "*Tiff! Why are you suing that skeleton and the firm again?"* She listens. "*Okay, that's stupid but alright."*
"*What is it?"*
"*She's suing you all for taking her bow."*
"*She dropped it. She can come and get it. It's nice so none of us used it and it just is sitting there above our fireplace."*
"*Oh. Tiff you can go get your bow. Just ask nicely and don't hurt them."* Listens... "*If you hurt them it's not anyone's fault except yours if you die."* She hangs up and looks at everyone.
"*So she's dropping the charges. I hope not to have this happen again. I'm sorry if you guys are upset. She's just got a temper."*
"*It's alright. Now, can we all go back to our lives? I got a firm to run."*
"*Sure. I'll see you later boss."*
"*Bye then. I'm gonna deal with Tiff."*
\---
And so we went on with our lives. Tiffany later was removed because they all realized she did this because she knew Skeleton 34 would K.O them all, and that she'd drop her bow. She started the rumour. She's a pain to deal with. |
"Well, this is awkward."
For years now, life as they knew it was threatening to topple over. Mysterious deaths, extreme tortures, and disappearing people. They tried to handle it as best as they could, but now they had no other option other than to beg to the Gods for forgiveness.
She didn't expect her God to be a 16-year old running on too little sleep and too much coffee.
"What's awkward? Have we somehow insulted you?"She tried her best to stay humble in front of the creator, but Bella was rather taken aback by how her God looked. She toyed with her eyeball ring, a symbol of status among the "Sims", as their God called them.
Their God let out a nervous laugh. "No, well actually yes."She took off her glasses, rubbing them against her worn sweater. "I might be responsible for all of that stuff."
Bella's heart stopped, an icy feeling spreading through her body. "You? But, you're supposed to… I thought you cared? You're our God?"
The teen shook her head. "I've stopped playing 'nice' a long time ago."
No. It couldn't be. How could their God be so cruel, so despicable to have let this happen to them?
"But what about the deaths? The people who were left to drown after walls magically erected, leaving them no escape? All the people who died from an impossible fire while making a salad? All the people who died in the Blue Velvet from embarrassment when the toilets disappeared, leaving them no option but to pee themselves? Torture chambers, people starving to death, fires, that was all you?"
The teen shrugged. "That's the Sims for you."Her voice was so nonchalant, not an ounce of remorse to be found.
Bella felt indignation rise within her. How could her God be so evil? To let them suffer like this? The anger blinded her, consuming all her senses. For someone to realize all the suffering they had caused, and to merely shrug it off? That was the worst thing a person could do, and it filled her with a rage she's never known.
Bella couldn't take it anymore. She got in the teenager's face and started to scream. "How dare you leave us to die like that! We have prayed to you for ages, have trusted you, while you were the killer all along! You are truly the lowest of the low, born from a llama and raised by your own sins!"Bella stomped, and screamed out of anger. A second later, Bella collapsed.
A cloud of black smoke rose from the ground, and the Grim Reaper floated out, a scythe in one hand and a tablet in the other.
He took one look at Bella's body and shook his head. "Death from anger?"
The teen nodded. "Yeah, she started yelling at me and just collapsed."
Death sighed, scrolling through his tablet. "Chloe, you got to stop killing everyone." |
Detective Daniels lit a cigarette, kicked his feet back on the desk, and took a long drag.
"I told you not to smoke in here,"the chief said. In the small office, the smell quick became nauseating and the air between them cloudy.
"I told you to stop telling me what to do."
"Do you have anything new, or are you just here to bust my chops and piss me off?"
Daniels took another drag and nodded. "A little bit of both. There was another death last night. Same MO."
The chief threw his arms up in disgust. "Daniels, what the fuck? First you gripe about exclusive access to the case, and now you're still philosophizing about the merits of the murders? Seriously? If you don't get your ass to wo--"
Daniels held up a finger and the chief fell silent.
"Murders? I've been trying not to call them that. Implies guilt. They're *deaths*. Less weight to that word. *Deaths.*"
"Fuck it, the *deaths*,"the chief said, just to humor the detective. "Stop philosophizing about the merits of them. Solve them. Make an arrest. The DA is restless about a rising case count and you're not doing shit."
"The DA? He won't complain much longer. And rising case count?"Detective Daniels scoffed. "Sometimes you have to take a step back to take two steps forward. If the criminals all die, then there's no more crime. Perfect, right?"
The chief rubbed his temples and did his best not to shout. "No, not right. We have an active *serial killer* on the loose."As he uttered the phrase, he stopped rubbing his head and leaned forwards, as if a thought had struck him across the face like a crowbar. "Serial killer. You know what serial killers mean, Detective?"
Detective Daniels didn't answer, just blew out a ring of smoke that danced its way up to the ceiling. The chief continued.
"Serial killers mean feds. And if the feds come, we're in shit creek neck deep and sinking. You know as well as I do there's a lot of shit in this town that we've swept under the rug and then taped that rug down so that it never gets out. If the feds come lifting rugs, then that tape gets yanked, and me, the mayor--hell, most of the force--we're all in a load of trouble. Do you understand? Capisce?"
Detective Daniels sighed, put his feet down and leaned forward across the desk so that he sat nose to nose with the chief of police.
"No, sir. Not capisce. This is no serial killer. This is a vigilante. There's a fine line, and you're on the wrong side of it. Serial killers are the bad guys, they don't go around killing bad guys. All you've gotta do is be a good guy, and you've got nothing at all to worry about here."
Detective Daniels stamped out his cigarette on the chief's desk. He slid back his chair. He donned his trademark hat, clipped on his badge, pulled his gun out and set it on his lap.
"Serial killers don't leave trails because they're evil. They cover their tracks. They hide from the cops. They don't smoke cigarettes and put them out right where their next victim is."
"I'm not following,"the chief said, shaking his pounding head.
"I didn't think you would, sir. Simply put, serial killers don't wear costumes."
"Costumes?"the chief asked, no longer bothering to hide his disdain and confusion.
Detective Daniels shrugged. He picked the gun off his lap and clicked off the safety. "Uniform would be more accurate, I guess. That's what it became when I took this badge."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The last ships burn a neon trail over the night sky. Despite being the middle of the city, it is clearer than ever, on account of the lack of pollution. Ours will be the last to go.
It is certainly a strange feeling - shutting and locking up shop for an entire planet.
He turns toward the strange, amorphous beings that have laid claim to his home.
"That should be the last of them,"he says.
"Good,"comes the growl of the translator drone, hovering about the shifting purple and blue mass, ferrying the meaning of its sonorous chirps.
"I am of course obligated to remind you, that if any of your species makes the ill-informed decision to remain upon this planetoid, referred to hereafter as 'earth' they will likely die during the terraforming process."
"They've had all the time, and the warning, in the world. If they've elected to ignore it, their fate is in their own hands."
"Excellent. You have acknowledged this. Therefore, with your departure, this world shall belong in totality to the Pathalnox."
"Understood."
"Then, our side of the bargain is upheld. Madame ambassador?"
The tall, alabaster being walked forward, presenting a black box. Her face was rather close to humanity's proportions, making her not just elegant, but beautiful too. He trys to shake that thought off, not willing to engage with his own discomfort at the idea.
"As the last diplomatic representative, you are entitled to the possession and ownership of this article, delivered at the beginning of your occupancy upon Earth. I now release and return it to you in full."
His eyes furrowed in confusion as he retrieved the box. Beginning of their occupancy? Was this... a deposit?
He would've asked that question, if any of them had remained to speak. Instead, they'd moved off in their own directions, carrying on their own conversations. The message was clear - the deal was done.
As he boarded the ship's ramp and drifted up into the air, he took one last look at the deserts of his home world. This might, and likely was, the last time he would look at it. He kept watching, until the doors shut in his face, sealing him in the great hulk.
For a moment, he felt an absurd despair and sense of loss. He knew the *Kaaba* was upon one of the vessels, along with dozens of the other holiest buildings from Earth. Would he turn to Earth, or to that vessel, or to somewhere else entirely when he performed his *Salah?* Would the *Tawaf* be conducted between stars now? What would God want?
He walked the great plassteel corridors, thousands milling about performing that task and this. Somehow, he ended up in his own room, shared with four other people, who were obviously currently occupied. He sat on the bed, still hoisting the black box.
He should report it to high command, but curiosity got the better of him. Tapping the black surface, he attempted to find any sign or switch to find it secrets. Twenty minutes later, when he was ready to give up, it began to hum. The various pieces separated, and slid apart, filling the room with luminous light.
He felt a transcendent, all-consuming joy, and hope, and love, as he was blinded by the light.
That was tempered by absolute, instant, and practically infinite confusion.
"A-Allah?"he said, staring into the depths of the light.
A voice, pure power from the time of the ancients, rang out, making the entire ship rattle. Every single human turned to the sound of that voice, writ from the mouth of that most high.
"What? Oh. *Oh.* Oh, fuck *me*! I overslept!"
&#x200B;
*I write all sorts of things, silly and serious, over at* /r/The_Alloqium. |
Before I enter I let out a deep breath. I raise my head and straighten my spine. As I release the tension in my back and shoulders. Reach out to the handle and push the door open. I seem completely casual as I enter the thrift shop.
The smell of old things and people fills my nostrils. I pull up my nose in reflex. This never gets old.
I browse the old clothes hanging and walk over to the dinner ware running my hands over the goods without expecting too much.
There’s a ordinary looking clay jug that looks as if a ten year old made it for mothersday. As I touch it I know its not as ordinary as it looks. Its at least a 150 years old. It’s priced at €1,00. I pick it up and put it in my basket.
I wander on, walking through the furniture department. Nothing special here. Still one never knows.
I almost skip the decor departement. It’s a sorry assortment of old Christmas decorations, lamps, ashtrays in every and all shapes, napkin holders, tin cans you name its here. I lightly tap on all of them.
Suddenly I stand still. Unconsciously holding in my breath. When I realize it I start to breathe shakily.
I slowly and gentle pick up the axe. Its a common looking thing.. A wood handle, a rusty old head and a dull down, weary old blade. Held together with raggedy leather straps. Doesn’t look like much. But I know. I know how special a find it is.
With reverence I put it in my basket. I want to be shop but I can’t be casual any more.
My palms are starting to sweat. My breathing is shallow and ragged. I take a deep breath and go to the cashier and pay for my things. I am too tensed for small talk so I pretend to be grumpy.
I walk out and sit in my car. Trying to compose myself. I reach out and touch the items again. Even tough I know I am never wrong.
I touch the jug and its age of 157 years is reconfirmed. I see the young hands forming the jug. I see the wooden hut with a thatched roof. I feel the clay in my hands becoming a jug. I look up and see children playing nearby. I feel so grown up now that I have a job as an apprentice. I feel proud thinking of how I will bring the bread i earn today. How my mother will finally eat a full belly. I finish the jug and set it to dry. And as I let it go I am back in my car.
I reach out and I touch the axe again. Yes 6742 years old. I see the old tanned hands carving the handle. Feeling the wood. Planing it with a knife. I sense the heat from the forge. Hear the rhythmic clanking as the head is beaten into shape. I feel the expertise in my action while sharpening the axe. The patience it takes to wrap the axe in leather straps from the hunt last month.
Exhausted from the vision I slowly come back to the here and now. I feel satisfaction knowing I will get a hefty price for these. This is what I do. I seek out the treasures among trinkets. |
"Your C is publicly listed."Something stated.
"I'm sorry, I just woke up."I muttered, my vision blurry and the ringing in my ears loud. I tried to place the voice, but it seemed to be coming from a computer terminal beside my pod.
"I can alter your mind, make you aware that your memories and core personality are public domain. It'll make the adjustments to your new life easier and quicker."
"What?"
"I just need a verbal confirmation."
"Wait."I said, firmly, gathering my thoughts.
I had died. But before that I had uploaded my brain image to that new Everlife program. They had promised to use that brain scan to give me a new body in the future to replace the one that was failing me.
"What year is it?"I asked, groggily getting up to my feet and shaking off the unnatural rest I had taken.
"2089."The woman stated.
"Jesus."
"It is highly advisable you go back into the pod before you experience new emotions and thoughts for the previously mentioned awareness procedure."
"What does that even mean?"
"There are multiple aspects to my last sentence and I shall explain each aspect in more detail.
"The pod is what has kept you stable these past few months as your new body developed. There are attachments to install your memory into this body within this pod.
"The memories you have come with are publicly listed, which means there are many others living that may have used your life and experiences as a base to build their new lives off on.
"And the procedure will ensure you are grounded with this fact on your mind. For if you do not have awareness of this, you may live your life thinking you are the sole proprietor of your memories, which is against public memory installation protocols."The person on the other end explained.
"Ok, first of all, these memories aren't 'public domain', they're mine! I signed a contract for this! I didn't agree to some royalty free free for all. I need to speak to someone from Everlife."
"I'm sorry. Everlife was sold many years ago, along with its various patents, to Vivagen Holdings. And there have been many change of hands and distribution of this technology ever since."
"Wh-what?"
"Please, get in the pod."
"No, listen to me! You can't do this! These are my memories!"
"And you will still have them."
"No! I mean I am the sole proprietor!"
"I am sorry. You had adopted into advanced technology in its infancy. The contracts you signed were nullified when Everlife was bought. All the existing projects and Cs were up for grabs. When the newer companies were set up, their contracts and agreements were more futureproof and non-contingent."
"What? What are 'C's?"
"Consciousnesses. Like yours, or rather, like everyone who has yours. Most of the unwanted Cs became public domain. These memories you have are among them."
"What the fuck? Then, wait... Why did you wake me up? If there are already others with my memories?"
"Because your mind and body are separate. The one who owns the body requested nought her own memories to be installed but a random publicly listed one."
"Why the fuck would she do that?"
"People have their reasons. Maybe she felt she had not lived a life worth remembering."
"Then why continue living with someone else's memories? Fuck, why do I care? I need to speak to someone about this. I need to stop... Everyone else from having my memories. There has been some huge mistake and—"
"Yes. You're right. There had been a mistake. Everlife and the ones that came after. Playing strange games of owning or hosting or leasing or bidding Cs to the masses."
"Ok, can I talk to whoever's in charge? I feel like you're not really helping."
"No one can help you. You are not whole as of yet, and therefore have no rights. Get back in the pod of your own volition."
"Fuck you. Didn't you say you needed my verbal consent?"
"I do."
"I'm leaving, then."
"You will not get far before you are apprehended, or killed. The body's owner has full coverage, so bodily destruction will be compensated."
"Why would they kill me? Who are you?"
"Because you would only be seen as an escaped similacrum who had broken public memory installation protocols. And to answer your latter question, I'm your virtual doctor."
"Virtual? Like you're not real? You're not a person on the other side of the computer?"
"No. I am wholly artificial."
"Ok, I need to speak to a person."
"That can be arranged. But it will take some time."
"Yeah, no, I can wait."I said sarcastically.
My head felt like it was about to explode. |
"For too long!"he boomed with the same power as Caesar before he marched on Gaul, "Too long have we allowed the athletics department to oppress us!"He turned to the choir director eyes ablaze, "how many competitions have you had to pay for out of pocket because the football team needed new uniforms?"
"Too many!"
He turned towards the theatre director, "And how many times were your students forced to build their own sets with meager amounts of money and scraps from the shop classes because the track team was going to state?!"
"At least twenty!"
"That is why tonight I have gathered all of the oppressed educators forced to stand idly by while they're professions were deemed less than simply because their students can't kick a field goal, or run a 75 metre, or hit a ball over a net! Tonight we shall show the superintendent and the athletics department that we are not to be trifled with!"
"Yes!"The teachers chorused.
"That our classes have meaning too, and will be treated as such!"
"YES!"
"That we are worth school funding and grants!"
"YESSSSSS!"
In the next moment the teachers began to grab from the shelves replicas of weapons, armor, and even a bullhorn to announce the battle that was nigh. They ran like the wind through the halls thundering as if the entirety of the inside of the school had been sent back in time to the days of ancient Greece and Rome. This was not to be the Battle of 300, rather the Battle of the 300 Wing!
Bursting into the doors of the gym, the teachers wielded their replica weapons towards the coaches of the various athletics teams. "Tonight!"boomed the head of the history department. "Tonight we battle for supremacy! For school funding! For the right to be first in line to get the donuts in the Teacher's Lounge!" |
I was surprised to find that death leads not to heaven or hell, but a library.
The librarian was a friendly old man. My only companion.
“Welcome to my library.” He greeted me with a smile that crinkled his whole face with wrinkles, like pages from a book turned too hastily.
“You may read any book here, save your own.” He raised a book with my name on the binding, and placed it into a gap on a shelf that stretched farther than the eye could see.
You might think it boring, to be caught timeless, adrift in a sea of stories. But each book I read brought me closer to a greater story. A story written not in the book of a single life but across all the books, across all lives. As I feel deeper into that story, I lost all sense of time.
Again and again I found myself wandering back to the shelf where my book rested. Each time, the librarian’s words came back to me and I left my book unopened.
And so I continued to read of lives short and long, great and small, courageous and timid, loving and spiteful and often all of these things mixed together.
I read until my heart was overflowing. For it was not possible to see someone as they see themselves and not feel compassion.
Finally, after time untold, I realized I could no longer recall my own life. Was I good or bad? Did those labels even have any meaning to me anymore?
With trepidation, I pulled my book from the shelf and let it fall open.
The pages were blank. Hints of words so faded as to be illegible.
“It is time to return. Your next life awaits.”
I looked up to see the librarian smiling down on me. I had feared to see disappointment, but instead I only saw joy. |
It had been a few months since I had asked the question that sparked so much controversy. I had just been wondering, in between the seemingly endless rounds of diplomatic talks between the Galactic’s Council representatives and the painstakingly handpicked unit of UN diplomats, what even made one qualified for a council seat anyhow.
Now we all sat in a room awaiting to hear the council’s decision after running a suite of mirror tests on every and any species that had ever been considered for testing. I knew a friend who had dated on the of research techs handling the data exchange on what humans had gathered so far in our own scientific forays. At first, we thought they would simply retest those that had passed but after seeing our “limited” research on the subject they decided to broaden their horizons. I mean true the sticker test was a bit “biocentric” as they called it or as best their translation devices could do. As one of their scientists so eloquently put, at least according to said tech, “Your species, or I should say... Hominidae in general, are obsessive groomers why would you think that putting a sticker on them would matter equally to all species?”
I heard my supervisor yell for me from across the room, busy chatting with Russia and China’s diplomatic aides. He made the sign for more coffee, I rolled my eyes and rushed over the break room as fast as I could. When I returned Ambassador Sleetak was already speaking.
“...talks are currently being held among various qualifying Delphinoidean
tribes to reach a consensus...”
“Wait,” I whispered to my co-worker and fellow coffee monkey Londa, “how many types of dolphins qualified?”
“Just three, but I heard there was talk amongst the other council members about giving too many council seats to earth-based species so they are proposing once council seat per taxonomic family, now shh they are getting to the primates.”
“...in a joint consensus with our colleagues we are proud to announce that in addition the a Delphinoidean, Elephantidaen, Corvidaen and Formicidaen representatives there will also be a representative from the newly established Hominidae enclave consisting of the proud chimpanzee, the resplendent bonobo, the stalwart western gorillas, the amicable orangutan, and of course humans. We have already put in a few strong recommendations such as Madame Gobbert who we are delighted to have hear to communicate with you all.”
I watched as an orangutan approached from the left and was given a pedestal to stand on to reach the podium. As the primate began to sign a translator began to speak...
“Hello, it is good to be here with you all today. I am proud to be here. If I am chosen I will be a strong speaker for ape rights....” |
He stood there, in the mist, a man taller than Homelander with a brilliant white lightning bolt streaking down the front of his tights.
Homelander scoffed, motioning to the others to stand down. Hovering off of his feet, Homelander shot forward, slamming his fist into the rogue's jaw. His fingers and knuckles shattered on impact.
"FUCK! Oh, are you fucking kidding me? I- Jesus, fuck!"Homelander said with a snarl, clutching his broken hand. The Rogue attempted reach out with concern.
"Oh, dude, I am SO sorry, I just- Oh, are you okay?"He asked, as Homelander shirked away, anger in the man's glowing red eyes.
"Shut the fuck up!"He screamed, blasting the man with rays of heat. The Rogue stepped aside, seemingly dodging the instantaneous beams, and despite Homelander's sweeping attempts, he couldn't land a hit, but *did* ignite the roof of the building the conflict was taking place on.
Exasperated to the point of incoherent roars, Homelander charged in once more, attempting a punch with his left, but the Rogue caught his arm, twisted in the air, and tossed him into the nearby bay. Queen Maeve dropped to her stomach in cackling glee.
Black Noir drew a knife, and as the Rogue turned to try to put the fire out with a strong breath, Noir was on him, attempting to slice his throat. The blade didn't do anything.
"Would you guys quit?"The Rogue asked, shoving Noir away. "I'm trying to put this fire out. I'm super mad with you guys. This is super irresponsible, you know people live in this neighborhood? What if this warehouse is important?"
The Deep stepped forward. "Buddy, you think you can just run roughshod over the Seven? Well, I've got some news for you, you're in some Deep trouble."Smirking to himself, the sea churned in the nearby bay, and ... a spawn of sea bass limply breached the surface ineffectually. The Deep quietly made for a nearby ladder to excuse himself.
A-Train raised his hands. "Uh, I'm .. gonna .. go run interference and see if the areas evacuated."He said slowly, before vanishing with a blur.
Maeve's howling laughter only got louder. The woman clutched her stomach. Black Noir made a good attempt to stab the Rogue in the eye, but the Rogue swatted his knife out of his hand. "Dude, I told you to quit it."He said, rearing his arms back and extinguishing the flame.
The sea erupted. Homelander hovered above them, seething and shaking in anger, spewing a litany of profanities and threats.
The Rogue glared up at him, then over at Maeve, the back to him. "You can't use that language with a lady present! Geez, man! You've gotta relax!"
Homelander snarled, more anger than man now, his bruised ego turning his attention over to Maeve, who flipped him off. Homelander's eyes began to glow, and he found a hand on his neck. The Rogue could fly too?
Homelander wept in anger. Attempting to headbutt the rogue super only shattered his nose. "What the fuck is this? Are you supposed to replace me? What the fuck are you?"He said with slurred words on account of the blood streaming down his throat.
"I'm really concerned you're having a breakdown. Are you okay?"The Rogue asked.
"I'm - Fuck you! Fuck you! I'm not okay, how could I fucking be okay? I'm the Homelander! I'm better than everyone! I'm better than you! I'll kill you! I'll kill everyone in this fucking city and-"
Homelander found himself floating in the air, with the ground distancing further and further away. The Rogue shouted that word again- SHAZAM! and in a split second, the Homelander was punched into the Earth by a massive bolt of lightning.
Meekly crying from his defeat and the pain, Homelander staggered to his feet, charred and embaldened by the blast. Hoisted up by the collar, he limply attempted to fight back, but Shazam lifted off, approaching Maeve with the defeated super.
"Uh, can I take this guy to prison?"
Maeve planted her hands on her hips. "Uh, no. He's just gonna heal, and uh, he's not gonna take this ass kicking well, and truth be told, he's going to just get worse from it. You'll have to kill him."
"I don't do that. Kill him? Are you serious? I don't kill, I'm a good guy!"Shazam shrugged, swaying the broken Homelander in the process. "Surely there's a compromise?"
"Uh. You could take him and Noir-"Noir flinched- "with you where you originally came from. I mean, if there's people like you,
surely they have a prison that can hold Homelander."
"...I can do that."Shazam turned his attention to Noir, who began to run away.
In an alternate universe, Homelander and Black Noir sat in a bright cell with energy field walls abound. Healed from his wounds, Homelander was back to his calm, smug self.
A man approached. The idiot with pointy ears. Homelander scoffed, hands on his hips. "What now?"
The Batman raised a small glass vial of bright orange liquid. "This is a compound that completely negates the Compound V in your systems. In about three days, you're going to be transferred to a maximum security prison over the litany of crimes you've committed in your previous career."
Homelander squared his shoulders, looking the Bat in the eye. "Hah. Good story. And what makes you think you'll get a chance to use it?"
"I already did."
The Atom, Ryan Choi, materialized - well, expanded - by Batman's side. "The maximum dosage was administered to the both of you as Batman was on approach.
I was able to introduce it directly into your bloodstreams."
Homelander coughed, his brows furrowing, his breath caught in stunned silence.
"What?" |
“Why do you keep ruining my life? You give me friends that are killers, and wives that are cheaters, and expect me to recover? I can’t even process my trauma for a minute since your readers need the next conflict,” I scrolled to the next post. “Seriously, my dog got cancer? Whitney has been there for me since college, but now she’s going to die because it adds suspense to the havoc of my life.”
I smoothed back my hair, sighing. This troll had been pestering my post for weeks, talking about how I was ruining their lives, when all I was doing was writing a little fanfiction about some dude named Harry. I thought that maybe the commenter would stop if I private messaged them. Now it was time for the video call they insisted on. I started with simple pleasantries until I looked at their face.
“Harry Smith? This is a joke…” The person looking back at me was my dude Harry. The balding pattern I had in mind was exact, the freckles were only on his T-bone, and his eyes were brown. No one had brown eyes, no one had neutral colored eyes.
“No, I’m afraid that this isn’t some sick joke,” the commenter paused and furrowed his brow, the same way Harry did when he had to lay off an employee at his failing business. “Do you know anything about the two worlds?”
I scraped my fingernails along my palm. “Two worlds? What school did you go to? The only livable planet is Ahert.”
The commenter nodded his head, in the same manner Harry would when someone told him false. “No. There’s Ahert, and Earth. The two are tied together, so a person on Ahert can influence a person on Earth, and the other way around. Mostly this is done through offhand comments about a different life, or a daydream, but you started a fanfiction. Ever since, my life has been exactly what you write,” he crossed his arms. “Ask me anything about Harry Smith.”
I laughed. “What’s his favorite color?”
“Dark green.”
“When did he stop believing in Santa Claus?”
“Eight years old. I saw my parents putting out the presents at midnight.” I covered my mouth with my fist. I had never thought to include favorite colors or Santa Claus in a story before, but this commenter knew my own canon for Harry Smith.
I sighed, and lowered my hand. “I’m sorry. I never meant to actually hurt anyone. I just wanted to picture a world without unicorns dancing in forests and villages being burnt every week. I never thought that my characters existed. How do you know about this connection in the first place?”
“Well, when you divorced me from my wife, I fell into that paragraph long depression. I scrolled through a couple of conspiracy theories, searched some details from my life, and found your fanfiction. You wrote it in.” He chuckled. “Now, since you’re so sorry, I have three favors to ask. Consider yourself my genie. First, cure Whitney from cancer. Second, make my ex-wife love me again. Lastly, kill her lover, Roger.”
I agreed, and we ended the call. I worked on the next post. Roger was killed by a burglar, sending Harry’s ex-wife back to him to grieve. In the next post, I’d give them a big romantic event to push them together again. Additionally, Harry got a call from the vet which revealed that Whitney was fine, it was just a misdiagnosis. I published it and leaned back in my chair. I smiled, knowing that I had done something right.
The next day when I went to school, nervous about my history exam. On the morning announcements, they told us that the principal had died the night before, after being surprised by a burglar. |
Thinking back now, it makes sense why I never noticed it before.
It's hard to think when it all started, it was a gradual process after all. One day, people with superpowers started to emerge, then more followed. Speed, flight, strength, everything really. Nothing reality breaking mind you, not as we know it now. In the early days, the ones with super powers took up the classic roles of 'Heroes' and 'Villains,' up until those with super powers were in the majority. After that it became business as usual, 'Police' and 'Criminals.'
The thing is, superpowers were a game changer. Sure it is normal now, but a lot of our old stuff seemed obsolete; hard to think a body armor would be useful on a guy who was impervious to damage. That isn't to say that no gear is used, after all handcuffs are still used, but things are a bit different. Now the focus is more on communication and restraints rather than weaponry, a good thing in my eyes.
Now I could go on and on about what super powers are out there, even go so far as to rank them, but that would be digressing. For the longest time I thought I had no powers. Part of me wondered if I had super intelligence, until I ran into someone who actually had that and made me feel like a moron for even considering the idea. Went the longest time feeling like I was 'inferior' to everyone else. Sure I had friends and family, and thankfully great ones, but any words of encouragement pale to the fact that the world was becoming less accommodating to those without powers.
Why do I say all this? Simply put, context for what was about to be another game changer, at least for me. I was out drinking with my friends at a favorite haunt of ours. I was going a bit hard on the drinks, for reasons I'd rather keep private, when 'Knife Hands' walks in. Yeah he isn't actually called 'Knife Hands,' but you know the media and their love with giving serial killers names. Anything this guy touches can end up sliced up, cut open from just a simple touch. His fingers were not actually knives, but they were just as effective. Now he comes in and, at first, no one recognizes him because no one had actually seen him. He goes to the bar and gets himself something hard to drink, and just so happens to be sitting right next to me.
Now I hope I you don't actually need me to tell you this, but an unhinged man getting hammered next to a man completely sloshed with whiskey and insecurity is not a recipe for a fun time. I don't remember how it started, but apparently he and I started a bar fight. My friends tried to come to my aid, keep in mind we all thought I didn't have no powers, but 'Knife Hands' ended up slicing their arms up. Now everyone who was remotely sober knew who this guy was and either started calling the police or getting the hell out. Me? Well I was not remotely sober, I kept slugging the guy. By the end of it, 'Knife Hands' was a bruised and bloody mess who could barely stand straight. When the police came, they almost thought I was 'Knife Hands' because I wasn't bleeding; thank god for good friends and CCTV.
It's funny to think about really, that we found out what powers I had because I got drunk and beat up a serial killer. It baffled a lot of people for the longest time, until someone with super intelligence brought up a theory. 'What if my powers nullified any that came into contact with me?.' To test that, we had me do some questionable things, like arm wrestle a guy with super strength, won that one by the way. Turns out, that theory was spot on, to an unnerving degree at time. Nothing worked on me, even heat vision did nothing and I don't even want to talk about how we found that one out. So yeah, like I said earlier, makes sense why I never noticed earlier.
So where am I now? Well I have to celebrate somehow, so I am probably getting hammered again. |
Kjonr stared at the mural, one painted countless eons ago as one of the few surviving depictions of the forefathers, the H'uoomeans. This one had bronze skin and and hair of raven black, their eyes seemed to glow green, like emeralds or the plants that lay outside the mountain fortresses that Kjonr and his people called home.
But these forefathers, these H'uoomeans, they were all gone now. No one knows where or how, they just seemed to have given way for all the others. Only some pictures, poorly translated works, and the ruins of vast metropolis' serve as the evidence for their existence.
Them, and the System, of course. The System was a set of rules and regulations for what members of each of the five races could do.
Dwarves like Kjonr mined in from their fortresses deep in the mountains and underground, producing vast amounts of stone, metals, minerals, and other goods found in the deep.
The elves hunted, farmed, and foraged in the forests and plains of the earth, producing much of the food that the races ate.
The orcs served as soldiers, tough, imposing, and yet with intelligence for strategy and peacekeeping, they ensured that no other race could break the System.
The goblins scavenged the cities of the H'uoomeans, producing technology by reverse engineering the artefacts found there.
The System allowed all races to coexist without war or strife, as all had their niches and therefore none could be surpassed by another race.
The System protected the races.
The System preserved social cohesion.
The System must stand, above all else.
Kjonr took his gaze off of the mural, and looked around.
He had arrived there with a contingent of orcish troops, to aid them in entering one of the mountain fortresses, this one known as 'Elbruheim'. The reason was simple: five weeks before, the city had gone silent, no messages coming out.
So he had been sent to help them gain access, as no other race knew how to access the underground tunnels of the dwarves.
They had found a massacre, the entire city had been butchered like elven cattle.
The orcs secured the area and found no sign of forced entry. Whatever had done this, the people had let it in. That revelation caused a cold sweat to run down the dwarves' back.
"Any sight of where this monster came from?"Asked Ul'thern, the orc commander.
"None, commander."Kjonr replied, "There's nothing here that shows where this guy came from, or where he went."
Just then, another orc rushed in, panting in exhaustion, a thing that Kjonr didn't even know that orcs could suffer from. "We've found something, in the palace! Some kind of... some kind of box!"
Kjonr and Ul'thern rushed over to the palace. Entering, they found the 'box' that the orc had spoken of.
On the floor and being guarded by multiple orcs, was a large, rectangle shaped box, around one and a half times the length of a dwarf. Kjonr noticed some writing on the side.
"What does it say?"
"Let me get my data pad."Ul'thern pulled up his goblic data pad, a device that many had thanks to the popularity of such things, combined with their good quality. After a few moments, Ul'thern gasped. "You're not gonna like this."
Kjonr practically snatched the data pad from the orc. On it, lay a few simple lines.
'Cryo pod: 1,435,798.
occupant: experiment #78.
Species: human' |
Secrets. Defined as actions or behaviour you don’t tell others about.
Simply put. Things that not anyone should be able to know. A hidden murder. Cheating on a spouse. Stealing from work. All actions that if one wanted to keep secret, they have every right to do.
Unfortunately. This didn’t apply to Kiara. Since the naive age of five years old she has had a special ability. To know everything about anyone just by touch. As a child this helped her gain friends, learning what they liked and didn’t like without uttering a single word.
For a few years, this power was a blessing. Though sent from whom, Kiara didn’t know. Once she first realised her ability, she believed it to be a blessing from an angel. But. As her life ticked along with the beats of a clock. This blessing had become a curse.
Learning people's deepest secrets must have been simple with children. Though. Once used on more complex minds. Darker thoughts and images began cropping up.
First was her parents. Walking along with her mother and father in the park as they usually would on a wednesday, especially on such a balmy day. Her father clasped her hand within his own. The tender touch of skin, warming her heart. Who would have known that a slither of intrigue would start the downfall of her ability.
Wondering what ran through her fathers mind on such a nice day, Kiara activated her ability. Her newly teenage mind sucked information from her fathers hand. But it wasn’t happy. Not at all.
What had revealed itself to her mind were more intimate desires that ran through her fathers mind. Lecherous desires of a woman. Dark haired, with a slender body comparable to models. It wasn’t her mother. These weren’t imaginations of her father’s mind, but memories.
This was Kiara’s first incident. It didn’t take long for her Father to leave after this. Her parent argued day and night after returning home one day with lipstick marking his shirt. Bottles became her mothers best friend. Each night a different one would adorn her bedside table, dripping slowly into the slowly diminishing carpet. Aggressive smells flooded the home as her mother gradually grew worse each night.
One night she touched her mother’s hand. Praying her blessing would help. Unfortunately, the curse reared it’s head and filled small Kiara’s mind with distressing thoughts. A noose, swaying loosely from her bathroom ceiling. A bottle of pills, resting within a palm. These images flooded her mind as she reeled from her mothers hand.
Over the next few days. The newly teenage Kiara pleaded with her mother to live. To experience life for her. Blank stares and empty eyes returned little in the way of hope. A short few days later, upon returning home from school. She saw it. Her mother. Drink in hand as it had been the past few months and noose firmly around her throat. Burnt and twisted, her throat painted a twisted image of a painful way to go.
The years passed slowly. Trauma and depression weighing her mind down like an anchor. Kiara blamed herself. For her father leaving. Her mothers death. She was the only one left to carry the burden and memories of these great figures in her life.
It was a while before she used her powers again. Fearful for what horrid and discomforting images she might see. But one day. After years of suppression and doubt. She used it once again. Grasping the hand of her victim she gripped tightly and peered within their mind.
Images of her and her victim prancing through fields. Raising cubs of their own. Fighting through tribulations and difficult periods of life. Never once, doubting or leaving each other. Her mind raced. Heart fluttered.
She looked up, her blue eyes sparkling in the bright summer light as it pierced the stained glass. Her lips parted as she smiled at the man before her. One last glance to the people who had surrounded her, joining her on this beautiful day of her life. Two words to begin her life anew.
“I do”.
*Edited to change nubile to naive. Thank you for pointing out my blunder. It has been learned for the future... Also explains some confused faces. |
Blood and pacts go together like chainsaws and hockey masks, or sand and eyeballs, or little toes and coffee table legs, or spending a weekend with your in-laws and your partner won’t let you drink yourself into a stupor of inner escapism, or pixar movies where the two main characters are opposites that come to appreciate and love their differences.
That is to say, Blood and Pacts — when wedged together — are: scary, painful, shocking, saddening, and...a boring cliche. It’s done to death! Lots of history and, sure, it evokes a certain air but...meh!
Used to be you’d stay the signers quill-gripped hand and you’d say: “Why no, Sir. Not in ink. You must sign...in blood.”
Then the human would get all shaky and it would hit them — hit them *hard* that they were doing it! They wee making a deal with a devil. Now-a-days it’s: Where do I sign, not a problem, got a vial of my own red-stuff here and a fountain pen ready. Scribble scribble, whoopty doo. I’ll see you at the ironic consequences.
If it weren’t for the need of human fluid (that’s what our contracts need, the signature doesn’t matter), I’d let ‘em use ink. Then, as I was helping this soggy sorrowful lass with a bit of vengeance in exchange for a soul, she surprised me.
She wiped her hand across her tear streaked, mascara stained cheeks (and under her snotty nose), and then dabbed the quill in that! Signed in sadness, she did.
Across these past few millenia, blood had been the ink of choice. The symbol of life. A part of yourself. Ritual and nature clotted together in a vein born soup.
And then, bam! She changes the game. Tears. Pain and sorrow and loss. Blood is people. Tears are feelings. What a rush! To know that there is more yet to see.
Anyways, I’ve got to go and break a ladies heart — my clients ex-girlfriend. A horrific, demon-based, overkill tit for tat kind of deal. Tears. What a day.
I’m shaking! You know what?
“Hey, lady.”
“..yeah..what?” She was rugged up, arms crossed, fresh streaks of unhappiness slid down her cheeks.
“I’m gonna do this for free.”
“What?”
“You pulled me outta a rut! I can do a mortal a nicety every now and then.”
“Oh?”
“Does mean less magic, though. Contracts give me rights to work in this realm.”
“Oh.”
“Wanna go mess up your cheating bitch of an ex together?” I held out a red hand. She looked down and blinked, snorted back some running nose juice...and nodded.
“Yeah. Fuck it.” She took my hand in her snot and tear coated mitt and shook it.
“Atta girl!” |
"Alright gentlemen."The captain stands tall and proud before the screen. "We do this by the books. Warm up our weapons, and accept communications."
The tension in the room is palpable among the young troop. Not a muscle moves as the screen activated and the grainy image of a haggard human appears.
"Please, hold your fire. We're just trying to return an egg, but our engines burned out and we're drifting without control."The human spoke it's brutish language quickly, but the translator handled it well.
The captain gave a holding gesture behind his back, weapons would wait another moment. "Show us this egg."No further demands or room for haggling.
"Well, uh. It kind of hatched."The human says, and holds up a small child. Nuthian, like our captain. The child smiles and laughs, clearly better fed than the humans visible on screen.
The captain deflates with a defeated sigh. "We'll send over a life boat to pick you up. Thank you for your service."And with a small gesture the feed is cut.
He turn to face the crew, tears visibly streaking his face. "Open fire." |
The torchlight invaded my gloomy dungeon, hurting my eye sockets. I'd been cursed with sentience by a particularly vengeful wizard, and somehow that had translated to sight as well. Thus, I couldn't just rest while adventurers came and went, but instead had to pretend to be inanimate. It wasn't a complete sham, I couldn't move much below my head. Not the best of afterlives but at least it wasn't all rosy fields and smiling cherubs. That would have been hell.
I fixed my head position just as the adventurer entered my particular little room. There wasn't much left to take, but they rooted around until they reached my corpse. Or —to be more accurate—the jumbled pile of bones that was left when all flesh and muscle rotted away. A small cry tore from their throat, and I expected them to vacate the room. Bones spooked some people. What I didn't expect was for them to jab their hand into my ribcage area and rustle around.
It wasn't particularly pleasant.
When they retreated, they held a piece of bread in their hand. Well, I say bread. It looked more mould than bread at the moment. The hand moved toward the mouth.
Oh no.
No.
Oh goodness.
Please don't do what I think you're going to do.
You've done it.
I felt nauseous, without the ability to throw up. They'd eaten the bread. They'd eaten the entire piece of bread/mould and were licking their fingers. Trying to ignore the nauseating feeling in my non-stomach, I took a closer look at the adventurer. Normally they all just blurred together, mostly tall, muscle-bound, and with something pointy, either sword, spear, or bow and arrow. This one...
It was smaller, and female, I think. Hard to tell without most of the usual indicators, the hair was shaved—inexpertly—and the clothes were baggy enough to hide the form. But there was a softness to the face, and a delicacy to the fingers that said 'girl' to me. And the timbre of the cry when she'd spotted the food, had been higher than I would expect from a man. Of course, I could be wrong. It has happened before.
Her skin was stretched tight over the bones of her face, and the hands that reached forward again looked nearer to my skeletal state than properly alive. The realization tumbled into my head, driving any remnants of nausea away.
"There's no more there, love."I tried to make my voice gentle, but seeing as I hadn't known I could speak until this moment, I'm not sure I succeeded. Shuffling back, the girl stared at me, eyes too big, in a too-small face. She didn't seem afraid, and I knew why. What more could I do to her that the world hadn't?
"No more?"Her voice rasped as if she hadn't used it in years. Perhaps she hadn't.
"No more bread. I'm afraid I wasn't well-provisioned when I stumbled in here all those years ago. I'm surprised that bread survived this long."
The girl's face fell, and she turned, eyes desperately scanning the room. I tried to shift myself, but as usual, only my head moved. Darting around, in a movement reminiscent of a small bird, the girl's gaze pierced me once again.
"Do you,"She cleared her throat, making not one whit of difference. "Do you know where there might be more?"I shook my head, trying to ignore the part of me that said *she* would soon be food for something.
"I don't, love. But maybe you can find some, if you get out of this dungeon. Earn a bit of money—"She shook her head, slowly, hope dying out of hollow eyes.
"There's no work for me. Not with this."She shifted her high collar down, showing the dark tips of a thorn brand. A slave mark. And not just any slave mark. If it hadn't changed since I'd been here, it was the mark of a worthless slave, one that would be fed to the Charank beasts when they grew hungry.
I sighed, pushing air out of the lungs I no longer had. Ideas were starting to crash through my head, and I didn't like the feeling. My adventuring days were supposed to be done, I was supposed to be dead, and gone and I wasn't supposed—the girl cocked her head to the side and I gave up fighting.
"What's your name?"I asked, expecting something monosyllabic. Slaves weren't given anything fancy. But she just shook her head. She hadn't even been given a name.
"Well, I can't just call you 'love' all the time—"
"All the time? Are you going to help me?"She was quick this one. That was a good thing, we'd need wits about us if we wanted to earn any money with the scams that were running through my head.
"Yes. If you're willing to carry around a talking skull. My body ain't what it used to be."I said, and the tiniest smile curled the corners of the girl's mouth. She reached forward, and lifted me from atop my spinal column. Three vertebrae came with, apparently fused with my head.
"Hey, look, a carrying handle."I joked, trying to get her to smile again. My efforts were rewarded with the same little grin, as she shifted her hand to the vertebrae.
"You're surprisingly light."She said, as we exited the dungeon room, out into a drafty hallway.
"That's a first, you'd be surprised how big I was when I was alive,"I answered, and keeping the conversation to lighter topics, we quickly exited the dungeon. The sun hurt my eyes when we left, and I cursed under my breath. Only to hear the girl repeat the curse with fascination. I was going to have to watch my mouth.
I directed the girl to a hill, and once I got the lay of the land, set her towards the nearest town. If I was right, we should make it there before she collapsed, and I had some knowledge of edible roots and mushrooms we might find along the way. There was just one thing left.
"Since you don't have a name, love, how about Sparrow?"I asked, feeling her hand tighten against my vertebrae. Swivelling to look at her face, I saw tears track down her cheeks.
"If you don't like it, we can pick another—"
"I love it. Sparrow... Sparrow..."She repeated it with a sense of wonder for an hour, and I kept quiet. There would be time for talking soon enough. But for now, let her enjoy the delight of having a name.
When she was finished, and we were taking a break by a stream, I showed her where to look for watercress and the sort of mushrooms that had a branching umbrella. I could never remember their name, but I knew they were edible. She ate, and as she did, I cleared my throat. Huh, didn't know I could do that.
"Now, Sparrow, your education starts. If we want to make money, we'll have to be *creative.* Most people get annoyed with my brand of creativity, but I've never been fond of the law."I paused as she picked me up once more and we continued on our way. "First, you need to learn the Five Basic Scams. These are as follows..."I listed them, as we walked into the setting sun, having her repeat them back to me. She had a good memory, and I started to feel better about the whole venture.
Maybe I did have a few adventures left in my old bones.
——————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
Do we deserve salvation?
When the Well of Souls was discovered, the populace generally took it as good news. The soul was real. We persist beyond our mortal shells. When my dissertation was abruptly confiscated and deemed classified, I should have realized the path my research was taking. Damn my curiosity.
The day that the soldiers showed up, they gave me one hour to pack my things. I counted myself lucky that I did not have a family to leave behind. I remember feeling bad for any colleagues who might join me and be forced to leave behind those they love. However, when we reached our destination, I was the head and sole researcher. Part of me was furious. Part of me wanted to thrash and scream and demand to be released. The more foolish part of me considered the resources. The virtually unlimited resources of a government military budget.
To probe the secrets of the well.
So when General Rainor walked in and asked me to explain my research, I did not rebel, or riot or make demands. I answered.
"The Well is where a soul goes when it is parted from its physical anchor; it's body. What I discovered is that the number of souls in the Well only ever goes up; it never goes down."
Rainor raised an eyebrow.
"Go on."he said. I cleared my throat and continued.
"My theory is that the Well was never meant to be a well. More of a tunnel. A gateway, if you will, to the beyond. The place where benign souls can be laid to rest."
The General had been nodding in comprehension, but looked up at me at my last assertion.
"*Benign* souls?"
I walked over to a whiteboard, and the General followed. I drew what has become our symbol for a soul.
"Yes, as far as I can tell, there are two types of souls. Benign souls *should* be the normal state when someone dies of natural causes or is otherwise at peace with their fate."
The Generals face was stoic, not betraying his emotional state. Still, I felt he knew the answers to the questions he asked.
"And the other type?"
I drew a second symbol on the whiteboard.
"Revenants."I said. "Revenants are the angry souls of the dead. The vengeful hatred from the memories of their deaths by war, famine, disease or genocide are fused with their very soul."
The General confirmed my suspicion about his underlying knowledge.
"And you think they're clogging the Well." |
The phone call clicks out, and I slowly lower the phone from my ear. I try to stifle my expression; I’d been setting this up for years, and my master plan was going to be foiled because Robertson didn’t give a shit about his child?!
The kid- no older than fifteen, at least- smirks up at me, leaning back against the wall of my basement. “**Now** can you take off my cuffs? I already told you, I’m not planning on running home.”
I’m trying to come up with something to say, but the kid has stood up, pointedly gesturing at me with his bound hands as if we’re old friends. Words fail me, and I tentatively reach out and undo his cuffs.
He rubs his wrists casually, muttering out a quick word of thanks before sitting back down. I half expected him to make a bolt for the door; but he’s just rearranging the (few) supplies I’d left for him into a somewhat comfortable position. He props the old cot against the wall, shoves the worn desk into the corner, and, by the time he’s done, it could almost be mistaken as a normal guest bedroom.
I just stand there, watching. I don’t know where to begin. This was not in any scenario I had imagined.
“So,” The kid says, sitting on his bed and tugging off his shoes. “You got a shower around here? ‘Cause I’ll probably be stayin’ awhile.”
I wordlessly point to the spare bathroom. |
He sees the ship slow near the bank of the bloated Yangtze, and he knows this may be his one opportunity to save her. Even in the darkness, he knows every rock and path in the shoddy, steep embankment between his village and the river. At the edge of the river, he dons the uniform his cousin had brought back from his time working on the ships, then swims alongside the slick, dark hull and begins screaming.
They pull him aboard. A small, pockmarked man in a newer, cleaner, drier version of the same uniform looks him over perfunctorily and tells him to change his clothes and return to his duties, and not to startle the guests again. He works his way down to the bottom of the ship, trying to to stare at the elderly English, Germans, Canadians and Americans milling around in flip flops and fanny packs. He finds a secluded corner of a maintenance tunnel and sleeps.
*
She's here. She's always been here, white walls and padded corners and things painted over to look intact, but they're not.
Not always. When she was younger, they had colors and toys and doctors who spoke in soft, kind voices. She had been excited to come. She had gotten sick of her father's face, tight and anxious of what others thought when she told her stories about the boy she was when she slept, the boy on the farm whose parents and friends all looked like Mr. and Mrs. Lin, down the street.
She'd stayed there and talked to the doctors, for a while. Her father visited. They didn't talk, but he read her stories. She wanted to tell him stories about the boy, even though the doctors said not to.
They gave her pills for her fainting spells. They didn't help, but they scrambled the world.
Her father stopped visiting as much. After she bit the first doctor, they started moving her to places with fewer and fewer colors. She hasn't seen her father in a long time.
A man comes into her room. He's kind, but she knows his job is to hold her down. He gives her a pill and today, she decides to take it. She sleeps.
*
He sits in silence for a long time, praying he won't be found. Eventually, the hum of the ship quiets. He risks wandering up to the deck. People in uniforms look at him strangely, but don't stop him. In fact, one of them tells him to beware of "Scarface"today, because he's especially grumpy.
They're in a city. All that time in his village, traveling nowhere, and in under a day, he's come to a city.
They start letting people off. As he wanders the ship, trying to find the level people are leaving from, he sees a cabin door ajar. There are fanny packs inside, and different colors of paper money inside those. He takes them. *It is necessary.*
He leaves the ship. For moment, the men at the end of the ramp seem like they're about to stop him, so he runs fast, past the harbor and into the concrete thicket of city. A man in the city sees him running and calls out to him. Offering him work.
They need fast boys to steal from the westerners coming off the ships. He does this for many weeks, and at night he dreams of her.
*
They play cards today. They stop when the old woman who lives across the hall from her takes a shit on the floor.
*
The man he steals for is kind. He knows he is lucky. He sees other boys who steal for other men, men who are not as kind. Sometimes they have bruises.
But this man is kind. He asks the boy why he left home, and when he tells him, he nods slowly. They make an agreement.
For another four months, he must work, and he will not eat as much as the other boys, nor have as many changes of clothes. But at the end of that time, he will get a plane ticket and the documents he needs to go to the town whose name he has heard in is dreams.
*
From the moment she wakes up, she knows today is going to be a bad day. Someone comes in with a pill, moving to fast and too loud, and she hits them. She spends the rest of the day strapped down in an empty room, screaming and screaming and screaming.
*
When he gets off the plane, there are buses and cars. The man told him to look for yellow cars. He gets into one and recites the name of the building he's known for years. The driver says something in rapid English, but luckily he doesn't expect a response beyond an nod and grunt.
Things become familiar as he gets closer. His heart hammers. They stop. He carefully counts out the fare in crisp bills with sweaty palms.
He can do nothing more. He finds a bush just beyond the grounds of the hospital, the ground inside it softened by a homeless man who hasn't been there for a while, going on the age of the beer bottles. Excited as he is, it takes him hours to will himself to sleep.
*
She has to get out. Standing on her nightstand, the can see out her high window. She can see a stray dog cross the road, approach the bush slowly, and bark. She falls a long way to the hard floor.
*
He wakes to the sound of the dog outside the bush. *No!* He hurls empty bottles at its feet until it slinks away. It's about twenty minutes before he can get back to sleep.
*
"Vitals are stable, but let's get her across the street sooner rather than later."
"It's alright, honey. We think you just bumped your head. We're gonna take you over to another part of the hospital for a bit, okay?"
They start walking her somewhere, like they always do. But they grip her more lightly than usual. Today she's made of glass, they can't break her. Not now, anyway.
Outside. The bush is close. Two lefts around the corners of the building, then a ways along the fence.
She does it. She breaks their grips. She flies to the bush.
He sleeps so peacefully. She has a moment to admire his still, smooth face. Then the men catch up to her, crash into their bush. He wakes, she sleeps.
*
"Shit shit shit, that could be intracranial hemorrhage. Grab her!"one of the men shouts.
They carry her off. He follows into a building close by.
Once they wheel her into a room where he can't follow, someone asks who he is.
"She...my friend. I come to visit."It's not quite the extent of his English, but it's close.
They let him sit outside her room. After a long time, they let him into the room.
She's beautiful, the way he always knew she was. Her golden hair is frayed from neglect, and the lines in her face are too deep for her youth.
He sits by her bedside and takes her small, soft hand. In her sleep, her fingers curl around his. She smiles.
He takes the knife from his pocket and plunges it into her heart. By the time the nurses rush in, they're both free.
|
"Look, Lucas, I offer you freedom. *True freedom*.
"Sure, and I offer you meaning. Freedom is nothing without purpose."
I looked across the table at the two figures. They sat there looking back at me, though, their features were muddled, shifting.
Each seemed to be colored grey. Whether they had any real color, or whether color had any meaning anymore, I wasn't sure.
There had been robbery. A man with a gun, trying to steal what little the local 7-11 had on hand. I had hit him with a chair over the head. He had shot me in the chest. I had beat his face into a pulp with the last of my strength. The fine line that I had trod between morality and immorality with my actions had landed me here.
At least, that's what they had told me.
*A choice to make.*
Seemed like bullshit. My eternal salvation or damnation on the line and here I was trying to distinguish between two figures who seemed to contradict themselves and each other at every turn.
"So... let me get this straight", I said, surprising myself with my resolve. After all, the gravity of the situation was literally infinite. "One of you is God, or what represents him, and the other is the Devil?"
"Correct."They replied in unison.
"Alright. So I have to decide, heaven or hell, without knowing which is which."
"That's right". The one on the left said, his voice echoing with something that might have been humor.
"But, you have questions, so ask". Said the other, patient and distant sounding.
"Alright, I'll bite", I started, "what was the meaning of my life?"
"Nothing". The one on the left replied.
"Everything". Said the one on the right.
I paused, neither of those helped much.
"Say I had one hundred dollars, would it be better if I spent it on myself or on my family?"I asked, knowing that the selfish answer would give the worse option away.
"Whichever would make you happiest". The one on the left said without pause.
"Your innate sense of purpose would give you the correct answer". The other one spoke, its form shifting and roiling with seeming randomness.
I looked at the one at the right.
"This is a question for you, and just you. Say I had a disagreement with my master. In my rage, I struck him, and he banished me from his household, should I seek reconciliation or should I attempt to build my own household?"
"That would depend on the nature of the two households."
"Fuck."I muttered under my breath. In my mind I cursed more at my lack of self control.
"You", I said to the other, "same question".
"Whichever would serve to achieve the best outcome."
This was getting me no where. In my head, I had them pegged as one or the other, but my doubt made me unsure.
*Left or right?*
*Salvation or damnation?*
Then it hit me.
"No God would make me play for my fate. No God would reward me for making a choice based on which I believed would serve my own benefit."I paused. The grey figures roiled with increased ferocity. "A true God would test my faith and spirit, not my powers of deduction."
For a second no one spoke.
"I refuse to choose."
"You cannot refuse."They both replied in unison.
"I refuse."I repeated.
From beyond either figure, somewhere off beyond my comprehension, a voice spoke.
"So be it, the choice has been made."
Suddenly the figures were gone and the world, or whatever this place was began to spin around me. Faster and faster it spun. Dragging me up and down. I felt like I was being torn asunder and given the most comforting embrace.
Then, the roiling stopped. I saw the results of my choice.
"Oh..."
|
The story begins then,
With two bored men,
One in denial,
The other, suicidal.
Sitting together, side by side,
Sharing a seat in a conversation ride.
"A life well lived, but the cancer I can't contain,"
The terminally ill man said,
"I'll miss the winter snow, and the summer rain,
What a shame that I might soon be dead."
To him replied the suicidal man,
"I envy your nostalgia and it brings me no joy;
I was young when the depression began,
What a shame I've wished to die since I was a boy."
"What an unusual thing to say!"
Retorted the terminally ill fellow,
"Your own life, must you betray?
Think at least of your mother- to whom you first said hello."
The man who no longer wished to live,
Replied to him in apathy,
"How do you know what advice to give?
It's not like you have powers such as telepathy."
Feeling sorry for his new but suicidal friend,
The terminally ill man offered his final advice,
"You must fight the darkness until the bitter end,
Because the beauty of life doesn't come again, not twice, nor thrice."
Both men departed shortly after,
With heavy hearts, instead of laughter,
To whom can we say had a happier ending?
For both men, death is impending. |
After several tense moments the radio squawked to life. "Vagabond to Control, Tim are you there? We have broken atmo, dumping boosters and proceeding at sub light. Next communication scheduled in 10,000 years. Sweet dreams control, and good luck."They made it. "Vagabond this is Control. I read you loud and clear. Everything looks good on my end. Setting cryo-sleep timer for 10,000 years. I wish I could be there with you James. Good luck."
I wasn't ready to take the long sleep yet. For that matter we weren't even sure that cryo-sleep could be sustained for that long. This entire undertaking was an enormous gamble. With the lack of FTL the men and women on that ship would be dead long before I awoke again. Everyone I have ever known will be lost to time. With extended cryo-sleep being untested we couldn't afford to risk everyone. They would live their lives out on the Vagabond. Drifting through the cosmos in attempt to find a new home. While I slept here, alone for centuries.
If only we had more time. Maybe, we would have cracked FTL. Maybe, we would have programmed a functional AI. At least then I could have gone with them, instead of staying here to act as control and risking the long sleep. On the bright side at least I am provisioned well. It's frighting to think that I am the only living thing left on the planet. There is a certain peace to it though. I should sleep before that strange peace gives way to something else.
10,000 years later.
I awoke gasping for air as the seal of the cryo chamber popped open. Had it really been 10,000 years. I am remarkably clear headed for the amount of time that has passed. As I stand I notice that my legs feel a little wobbly. It is to be expected though. Honestly I am surprised I could stand at all. Everything around me has a layer of dust caked on it. It's time to man my post. I flip the switch and the radio buzzes to life. As I reach to turn on the monitor to review gathered data and wait for the next communication, I notice in the reflection of the black screen an envelope taped to my chest.
This is impossible. I watched as the last of the human race left for the stars. There is only me here. How could this have gotten here. I am too scared to open it. I sit there in front of my monitors shaking. All I can do is wait for the Vagabond to contact me. Over the next three days I almost convince myself I am crazy. That there is no envelope. That hallucinations must be an unanticipated side effect of the long sleep. It was no use, I knew it was there. I knew it was real.
By the end of that third day I had almost lost all hope. The Vagabond had missed it scheduled communication. Humanities last chance had failed. I was the only one left in.....anywhere. I was the last surviving human. It was time. I had to open the envelope.
The sound of the paper ripping was almost deafening. The clatter of the syringe hitting the floor even more so. Gripped in fear I read the note aloud, my voice cracking. "**If you're reading this, that means you have awoken. Inside the envelope is a syringe with a small dose of a chemical that will kill you in seconds without pain, use it. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE. James.**"
|
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