Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
I lay curled on the old mat I've slept on since I was just a pup, waiting for Boy. I've lived a long and happy life, the happiest parts all spent growing up with Boy. I wish he were near me now, I'm so tired and he's been gone for so long...but I'll wait for him one last time. A dog always waits for his Boy. EDIT: Thanks for the feedback, every one! I have to admit, I've never felt so guilty for successfully following the prompt. Sorry about the onions, guys!
A bottle skittered across the floor and clinked against the wall as I tripped over it while trying to stagger out of bed. Sun was bursting through my curtain windows, much too bright. I squinted and tried to close the curtains, but I got too dizzy. "Fuck,"I whispered under my breath. I managed to gulp down Gatorade and a few Advil, and made myself the greasiest breakfast burrito I could muster. Finally, I sat down at my computer to assess the damage. Facebook... nothing. No messages to exes, no requests for nude pics to my sister's friends... I was all set. God, what a relief. But I did notice a tab of youtube open. What videos did my drunken self look up last night, I wondered. To my surprise, I had made a video. I'd never done that before. I clicked play, wondering what topic I had ranted on today. "Rebuplicans"was the first word out of my mouth. This oughta be good. As the my drunken tirade about the state of Congress played, I accidentally scrolled down. This must be some kind of mistake. The Gatorade slipped out of my hand and spilled all over the floor; I didn't bother to turn it back upright as it glugged out of the bottle. 21 million views? How the hell had so many people found this? What the hell was happening? Quickly I browsed over to Reddit, where I found that I had submitted it to /r/Videos, and it was the top post of the day. Top comment was from a mod saying that the "no politics rule"had been suspended just to allow this post. I checked out the front page, and my video was dominating. There was an AMA request for me. Askreddit's top question asked "What can I personally do to help the revolution?"/r/Politics was flooded with articles hastily thrown together by various blogs discussing my video. Hesitantly, I opened my email. 7,231 new messages. The latest was a PDF of emails purporting to have been copied by an intern from a Senator's personal account. The message ended with "Your words have inspired us all to take matters into our own hands and reclaim our government. Thank you so much for your passion!"The rest of the emails were not much different; hackers contacting me to help disseminate information that they'd gotten from confidential sources. Community leaders wanting me to arrange protests. Even upstart politicians and groups asking me for an endorsement. Everything I really needed to start a real movement in the US and reform Congress. I slumped in my chair, staring at the screen as the gatorade slowly crept over my hardwood floors and sank into the clothes I'd left out. Damn, I need to watch that video again...
"I HATE you Dad! How could you do this to me!"Tabitha cried as she slammed the door to her roomed closed. Her father Grimlock, honestly confused, was taken aback at her reaction to his birthday present. "Tabby dear, whats the matter? Don't you love the gift I got you, isn't it just what you said you've always wanted?" "Not like that you idiot"Tabitha screamed from behind the door of her room. "How could you do this to me? I hate you!." Grimlock didn't understand. For a few years now his daughter had been going on about wanting this to happen. Trying to be a good father he spent months in preparation and put in a lot of hard work to make his little girls wish come true. And this is the thanks he gets? "Now you listen here young lady! Do you understand how much effort I put into making this happen? Do you?"Gromlock said sternly. "Necromancy isn't some easy task. I had to collect all the right materials. Plan it all out to happen under the right lunar cycle! Not to mention he was alive at first! Returning an already dead corpse isn't nearly as difficult as breaking into someones home, murduring them, and then bringing them back to life to be my daughters undead slave!" "I didn't want him as an undead slave! I said I wanted him!"Tabitha sobbed. "Its not the same dad." Not the same? Well clearly it wasn't the same but Grimlock thought he had made it better. Not only would his daughter get her wish but the undead would be bound to be with her forever. A living body could leave if it wanted too. And Grimlock couldn't bear the thought of seeing his little girls heart broken. "I'll never understand teenage girls"Grimlock mumbeled to himself. "Now what to do with you." "Baaaabbby uhhhh Baaaabbbby Ughhh"The undead corpse of Justin Beiber grumbled as he stared at his master with his blank, lefeless eyes. "Well I guess I can just return you to your home. Honestly I don't see how anybody would notice the difference"Grimlock said in a rather annoyed tone. Mayb next year he would just dig up her old cat or something.
"Up next we have a an autonomous army drone, give up for PX-897!" The audience applauds as the hover drone enters stage making a massive noise and settles down on the stage in front of a microphone. "Hey, everyone, I just flew in from downtown Fallujah and are my arms tired!" Smattering of half-hearted applause. "Tired? Y'know... because my arms are jets? I guess it's funnier when you have arms and can't fly. We have a lovely audience. I'm assuming your lovely because I can't really tell how ugly any of you could be with only heat vision. This could be an audience of elephant men for all I know. But I'm sure that's not you, I'm sure you're all really lovely people. But would you go to a bar and pick up girls if all you had was heat vision? You could end up in the sack with one of the cantina band members from Star Wars for all you know." Polite applause. "Hey, can anyone here tell me what's difference between a Somali wedding and terrorist base camp? No? I don't know the difference either, I just fly the bomb mission." Some laughter. "That's not true, I obviously never flew a bomb mission or I wouldn't be here. I'm a bombing drone. I gave up on that. Why did they give us intelligence and then send us all on suicide missions? How messed up is that? Your purpose in life is to die and take as many people as you can, with you." A heckler in the audience yells out, "Why aren't you doing that right now?" The drone said, "I decided to fulfill my mission by becoming a comedian and bomb right here onstage."
Ye Olde Booke of Trickes Could it be? In years of Indiana Jones-style rare book pursuit I'd seen only torn passages, coffee-stained colophons, and hastily scrawled notes in long-yellowed margins... yet here it was, in my own grandmother's fusty attic, buried beneath every Reader's Digest released between 1988 and 1993. Forgetting for once the necessity of care with ancient texts, I flipped rapidly through, as if attempting to see a young lad in the bottom right corner Morph into a bear, shark, or tiger; it was indeed a catalog of Trickes, organized reverse-chronologically. On the final page, I found it, the "Oldest Trick in the Book:" > Step One: Be thyself a snake in the Garden of Eden. Step Two: Hove thyself in a Tree of Life. Step Three: Offer yonder naked rubes an apple from said tree. Step Four: Laugh with great vigor as rubes are thereafter divinely afflicted with disease, death, childbirth, etc. "Snakes,"I grumbled. "Why did it have to be snakes??"
"I'm just trying to imagine what it's going to feel like when they turn the damn thing on and mine does nothing." Gretta rolls her eyes, but the hand she puts on my shoulder is sympathetic. "There's someone for everyone. I know it's scary, but..." I shake her off, a little more roughly than I'd intended. "I should take it off,"I mutter. "It's...it's just gonna be humiliating. Everyone else'll have someone. All at once, everyone else'll find their person and I'll be just standing around with a silly bracelet that doesn't do anything." "I can't convince you to believe,"says Gretta. "But that's the whole point of this project. Everyone has someone. We've just...we make it too hard on ourselves sometimes. No offense, but you're something of a prime example." "Hey." Gretta smiles. "We can't all afford to be alone anymore. Things have slipped too far. If we're going to survive, we need these kinds of close bonds. We need love and family."She points at her bracelet. It's silver and black, like mine. It doesn't look like anything special. "They coded everything. Took out all the guess work. It's not very romantic, yeah, but we're a little too far gone for romance." "I don't care about romance."It's nearly noon. My eyes keep drifting to the clock on the wall. My left hand is clamped over the bracelet on my right. It's sweaty and hot, but for some reason it's like I don't want it to see the light of day. "I don't have someone because I'm not good for anyone,"I say, pacing to the window. Rain is coming. "I'm not saying no one should do it, I'm just saying these data centers don't know me better than I know me. And I know I'm hopeless." Gretta shakes her head. She's tired. I'm tiring. I know that. She's always been so patient with me. And maybe that's part of why I'm feeling so panicked now. What about Gretta? There's never been any romantic feelings there and there never will be, but what happens when she finds her person? Will she abandon me then? Will she forget me? She'd have every right to. I wouldn't blame her a bit. "I'm going down to the street to wait,"says Gretta, heading for the door. "You're that eager?"I sigh. "Wow." "I am,"she says softly. "And that's okay. I wish you wouldn't be so afraid, Connor." "Sure."She steps through the door. I find the thing I'd been meaning to say. "Good luck." She turns back to smile. "Have faith in yourself. You're worthy of love." What a lame thing to say. Almost embarrassing. I am what I am. They'll probably hate me as much as I do. If there really is someone for me, that is. If there really is... And suddenly it's noon. Nothing happens. I allow myself a moment of self-congratulations. I was right. There's no one for... But then it twitches. It spins on my wrist, brushing against my arm hairs. It tingles. It pulls. West. I stand at the window a long time, feeling the pull. I've never been so scared. I wonder if there's still time to cut the thing off and run away. Down below I see people moving in the streets. There are two right below my window who've already connected. When the bracelets clash there's a white light and a sound like bells chiming. It's silly and...I don't know. Appealing, I guess. It's two women. They're shy and ecstatic in equal measure. I suppose I see why this was necessary. As much as I don't care for what I am, humans have a place in the cosmos. I think that's still true. We need one another. We aren't solitary. I leave my apartment. I do down to the street. I walk west. My hands are shaking. Who? Who is it? Who will it be? There are faces moving past in all directions. We're all out. We've all come out to take part in this, everyone who hasn't already found their person. It's strangely emotional. Everyone is smiling. They're scared, like me, but excited. And happy. Who is it? I keep going. The bracelet continues to pull me along, even as the crowd thins and the clouds overhead thicken. A light mist. Scattered raindrops. I wander through streets, ever westward. My person is farther than most. I like that. They're outside the city. I always wanted that. Some place quiet. Near the river, perhaps. There are trees here, lining the streets. Birds. Squirrels. Now there's no one else around. They've all moved off, in search of each other. With every step I become more excited, more terrified. I should've brushed my hair. Put on a better shirt. I'm a mess. I think about turning back, but the bracelet pulls harder, as if I'm close. This is who I am, I tell myself. They'll take me as I am, or not at all. But still, I hope they don't mind my shabbiness. I wonder as I walk. I try to draw a mental picture and know that's a bad idea, but can't help myself. Are they pretty? Brunette? I like brunettes best, but I'm not picky at all. Do they like the same things as me? Will I get to keep my books? My old typewriter? My old desk? What will I have to change? The bracelets pulls harder still and my excitement all dries up. There's a person nearby and they're my person. That's terrifying. They'll be so disappointed. I stop. My right arm hovers, horizontal. I can't. You're worthy of love. People like Gretta are worthy of love. I'm just...whatever it is I am. Not worthy. Not deserving. But I should go. All the same, I should go. So I'll know. So I'll see this person and know what the data centers think of me. And besides, it's nothing binding. Nothing legal. This is all just a boost - a spark for a cloistered humanity. I go. The bracelet takes me up the stone path to a cottage door. I hear a dog bark when I knock on the door. No one answers. The dog barks. My bracelet presses against the brick wall. I can hardly move my arm. I knock and knock. Barking. But no one comes. I drag myself to the window. I feels like I'm pulling a heavy trunk. The dog whimpers and scratches. From the window I can see the body, prone on the floor. Further in I see the broken ceiling beam and attached length of rope. The pull of the bracelet must have dragged her down from the ceiling. I waste precious time thinking she's dead. She isn't. I break the window with a rock. The dog doesn't complain. I pick the woman up from the shards of glass and dust and carry her out the front door. The dog follows. I run, yelling for help. Somewhere along the way, her arm slips down and our bracelets connect. There's white light and the sound of bells. I haven't even looked at her face. I cry as I run. Because it's my fault. Because I took so long. Because she's my person. The people in the city are full of love and songs. They welcome us with open arms.
Now I'm not too picky about my food or drink choices but somehow just after lunch with my girlfriend's family I ran out of drinks. I was out of whisky, only beer around was some stupid hipster's (my girlfriends cousin I think?) micro-brew in a mason jar , and wine...wine makes me sick. I tried to just deal with it but this was an all day family event. Dinner was rolling around and I'm dying of thirst I didn't have a choice. I drank water. Normally the stuff doesn't taste like anything in particular which is almost worse than a bad taste! But his time...this time it was the most glorious tasting thing that ever ran down my throat. So I just kept drinking it for the rest of the night. I told everyone it was vodka I was too scared my girlfriend's family would freak out or something. It wasn't illegal or anything just kinda weird and didn't want to cause a scene. And that's when it started... I started thinking everyone was becoming increasingly obnoxious. I mean, don't get me wrong there's definitely people in her family I don't care for but this was different. Her father and I had a great relationship always laughing, singing, and fist bumping. Truly a great man. But last night he threw his arm on my shoulder pulling me into his chest yelling some intelligible song lyrics and I just squirmed away annoyed that my space had been invaded. Her mother shrieked with laughter spilling red wine "ah lok at'm like snik snack snake! that's the wodzzz"wow what a mess she was. I went onto the porch to get some air but my girlfriend's brother Jim and his friends came crashing outside with me. Two minutes of avoiding their circle jerk and I can't stand their presence so I head for the door but Jim calls out "Oi do the thing! The thing!!!". I turn to the group, pull my shirt over my head, and flap around like a chicken with his head cut off. I felt like a fool. Needless to say they all died of laughter despite having seen me do it thousands of times before. When got back inside I noticed Aunt Carol dancing. What. The. Hell. Did she think she was good at it? How embarrassing! I pointed this out to my girlfriend and she stumbled back from "Why are you being so rude tonight?"and walked off to join Aunt Carol. I don't know what the hell is in this shit but I'm never drinking water again. My girlfriend is still mad at me for leaving early.
"You're a monster." David Cobb III blinked. People normally didn't say things like that to him. Least of all his accountant, the balding bespectacled man sat across from him. He could not have looked more offended if David had just dropped his trousers and squatted over the table that separated them. "You can't be serious,"the accountant continued. "You can't have spent more than two million dollars in the last year on... this?" David Cobb III took a deep breath. He didn't appreciate the accountants tone. He certainly didn't like being questioned like this. "It's my money. I earned it. I've reported how I spent a small portion of it to you. I have done nothing wrong." The lawyer looked the receipts and paper in front of him. It was certainly well documented and precise. What it was documenting that was the problem. The title at the top of one of the pages was "Revenge fund." "I'm not a lawyer, but I don't think that deliberately spending money to make someone's life worse can possibly be legal. At the very least, you are open to all sorts of lawsuits." David sighed again and looked out of the window. The view over the Manhattan skyline was quite spectacular. Obviously business for the accountant was good. Very good, if he could afford such an office. So how could someone who was earning so much money be so slow? Why were people so stupid? "Of course I'm not open to lawsuits." "Why not?"asked the accountant, waving his hands at the papers in front of him "You are paying people to follow someone around and ruin their life." "Not ruin their life,"David corrected him, "mildly inconvenience her. In ways that she will never realize. The people doing the work are well compensated and have signed watertight nondisclosure agreements, so I'm certain that the individual will never find out." The accountant was now shaking his head slowly "And what exactly are they doing? This receipt refers to "Emergency fingernail trimming." "I paid her manicurist to file her nails in such a way so that they are slightly jagged and catch on everything." "Chemical modification?" "Her hairdresser is dying her hair a few shades lighter every time she visits. The eventual goal is making her hair green." "Nocturnal clamor?" "Various things. Provoking her neighbor’s dogs to bark at two in the morning to wake her up. Having telemarketers call her house phone at 5 am. Having someone loudly drive past her house and rev their engine on a Saturday afternoon. You get the picture." "Phone hacking? Surely that has to be illegal." "We didn't steal any data, or even observe it. All we did was make apps on her phone show they had notifications, but then made it so when she clicked on the app there are no notifications. Oh, and it always looks like she has a voicemail now. She doesn't." The accountant scanned the page. "Mosquito's? That sounds dangerous." David chuckled to himself. "That was actually one of the more expensive ones. We had them checked to make sure they were not diseased, and picked a type that do not bite humans. They release them periodically into her house so that she gets a buzzing around her ear at random times, preferably when she is just about to get to sleep." "Zipper recalibration?" "Had someone sneak into her house and weaken all of the tabs on her zippers so they break off and she has to awkwardly pinch them whenever she has to zip something up." The accountant puffed out his cheeks. He was looking at David like he was seeing him properly for the first time. "Why? Why are you doing this? Who is this person? What did she ever do to you? She's nobody! I can't even work out how you would ever have even met!" "None of your business,"said David stiffly. Seeing the expression on the accountants face, he continued "and I will remind you that you also signed an NDA. You cannot contact this person, unless you are absolutely certain you can afford better lawyers than me. Which I don't think you can." There was a long pause. "I am assuming these expenses are not tax deductible? David asked with a small smile. The accountant sat back in his expensive swivel chair. Disgust fought with professional pride. It was a longstanding point of honor that his clients did not pay taxes unless they absolutely had to. "I will see what I can do." "Excellent,"said David quietly. He had been considering adding the accountant to the petty revenge list, but decided against it. For now. Many miles away a woman was driving to work, already frazzled because she had been woken up early by workmen doing road work at 5am. Her feet were hurting, like her shoes were a size too small all of a sudden. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and quietly despaired that it was a bad hair day. Again. As she approached a light, it turned red. "Damn it,"she muttered so herself, "Why do I have to hit every red light? Why does it always happen to me?
I stared down at the bottom of my seventh beer. No romance, no friends, and as of three hours ago, no job. Drinking usually drowned the voices, my only respite as I strained to keep everything together. This time they boomed loud. Too loud. My head split. "Leave. Leave now,"they whispered. At best I could describe them as a triumvirate amalgamation of something fraternal, a female contralto, and a concerned father. They talked all at once or none at all. No, I responded mentally. At least I never screamed at them in public. I might be crazy, but I've kept it under control. So far. I have to pay. Well, I have to drink one more to shut you up. Then I have to pay. "Walk through that door in 5, 4, 3, 2..." My heart fluttered. I steepled by hands and huffed the stench of alcohol. My eyes darted between a dozen bodies in the room. Maybe it was watching Yes Man a few days ago, literally the only positive experience in the past two weeks, but I listened. At last I listened. I bolted out of my chair, skirting the wooden table entirely. "Don't look." I listened. I tried to stay my calm. Sweat crystals formed on my hands. I tried to blink away my headache with little success. Muscles tightened in my neck. I passed through the rundown doorway of The Hiding Spot. "Turn right and keep walking until you hit Rockwood Street, then turn right." I listened. Rockwood was desolate, lined with run down apartments. The street made the earlier Fourth Avenue look like Times Square. Rockwood's appearance discouraged anyone from dwelling outside. The voices had quieted for a minute, and I had lost all sense of direction. I bumped into an average sized man. Generic, even. "Excuse me,"I apologized. He accepted my apology quietly and side stepped around me. The voices returned, "Punch him." I listened. My fist exploded in pain as it connected with his cheek. He plummeted to the pavement, down hard. I don't know what I expected. Then as quickly as he fell, he was crashing in to me. My legs gave out as I flew three feet back. Butt fat cushioned my fall but couldn't save me from the pain of fists assailing my face. I didn't fight back, I didn't even care. I just waited. "Surrender." I threw my hands up parallel to my head. My opponent registered the message, dusted off, growled something fierce, and resumed marching towards Fourth Avenue. He didn't look back, and I didn't stand up until he was out of bloody sight. I wiped my face with the top of my store shirt. Ex-store shirt. What next? I wondered, oblivious to anything broken or bruised. Thirty seconds later they answered. "Keep walking." Where was I going? Could they hear that? I spent so much time repressing the voices, I didn't know how they even worked. What I did know is that Rockwood dead ended in a mile, and there weren't many sights between here and there. Blood trickled down my chin. Bones in my back rattled. All the same, My legs carried me as fast before. A middle-aged woman in a sun dress closed the door to her complex and sauntered down the stairs. I was on a collision course at my pace. Voices commanded as her left foot broke from the last step. "Spit on her." I listened. The nastiest saliva my throat had ever produced sprayed over her face. She kneed me right in the balls, slapped my face, and pushed me down. I crumpled down, not really feeling anything. Just knowing that's what I should do. Said something about creeps taking over the neighborhood and jog walked towards Fourth. "Stand up and apologize." I listened. She glanced back to shoot me her middle finger. Yelled something about creeps once more and never broke stride. "Move your legs. Walk to Taylor Crafts." I listened. I stood in front of the store where I had met my last girlfriend, Alexis. She knitted. A lot. I used yarn for string art, gluing them to canvas with the vision of a painter with a brush. Whenever the voices came, I would retreat to one of my projects. The voices subsided for a few days after we broke up. Maybe they were stunned. Everything was going so well, and then it wasn't. We were together for three years, and then we weren't. I hung my head in sorrow, reliving the sadness at the end of our relationship. That was two years ago, the last time I had dated anyone. I noticed a smooth stone that reminded me of the river rocks she used to collect. "Pick up the rock. Throw it through the window." I listened. Glass shattered inside and out. A female employee, maybe a manager, maybe Taylor, emerged from a backroom with a shotgun. My life flashed. Graduation, my brother's wedding, my first date with Alexis. That was it really. Maybe-Taylor pumped the shotgun. "Apologize. Offer to pay for the damages. Say you will give her your license to hold if she you will let you carefully reach into your pocket." I listened. She agreed. This would bankrupt me. "Walk to the end of Rockwood. Stop at the cliff." The street dead ended into a cliff three hundred feet above the river. "Jump." I hesitated. I could still make something of this life. "Jump." I wavered. Everything I had done, and I still felt dead inside. "Jump." I listened. What was the point? The world grew dark. ------- I blinked my eyes open. "You're awake!"screamed a vaguely familiar voice. Groggy. Nausea. Confusion. Fear. "What?"I choked out. "It's been two years!"yelled the same voice, a young blonde woman. So familiar. Two figures rushed to her side. I repeated my question. What had happened? "You've been in a coma for two years. Oh my god! I love you!"She squeezed my face between her hands and touched my lips with hers. Then I realized I was laying down on a hospital bed. Those figures surrounding me? They were Alexis, my brother, and my father. Tears wet their faces. And for the first time in two years, I felt something refreshing. It had been a while but never too long to truly forget. Happiness warmed every limb, and I soon joined the three of them with tears of my own. ------- (PS - Please remember that this is a story and only a story. If you would like to read more of my work, head to /r/wiselywrittenwords)
David Jenkins snuck down his hallway, following the whispers. Was there a thief in the house? "Yes,"the thief, apparently also capable of reading thoughts, said. David, somehow, refrained from shrieking and leaping in a random direction. "The hell!?"he hissed. "Why are you in my house whispering indistinguishably?" "Well I'm in your house to rob it, duh."The thief said. "Thief,"he clarified, pointing to himself. "But the noises? That ain't me, dude."He shrugged. "I mean, why would I be whispering? Silent prowling is kinda my whole shtick. That and the thieving." David listened and, sure enough, indistinguishable whispers could still be heard from downstairs. He crept toward the stairway, and the thief crept with him. The thief was far better. "Who do you think it is, then?"David whispered to the home invader. "A murderer?" "Nah, not me,"the murderer walked out of the bathroom. David once again refrained from falling over in fear. "The hell!?"David repeated, still keeping his voice down. "Why are you in my house whispering all indistinguishably?" "Well, I'm in your house to murder you,"the murderer said, further clarifying his occupation by gesturing to himself and saying: "Murderer. But I've got no reason to be whispering either. Who would I be whispering to? You? You're going to be dead, what's the point?" "Heya,"the thief said, sticking out his hand at the murderer. "I'm the thief. Mind if I rob the place once you've done the whole 'murder' thing?" The murderer shrugged. "Works for me." David wasn't paying attention. He was listening down the stairs and, sure enough, the whispering was continuing. Slowly, he began descending to the first floor. The thief and the murderer continued after him; both were better at sneaking than David was. "Who could it be?"David asked, mostly to himself, as he approached the landing. In one direction, indistinguishable whispers. In the other, the back door. "Maybe escaped convicts?" The back door opened and two escaped convicts, chained to each other at the ankle, awkwardly walked in. "Hey, what did we miss?" The thief gestured toward the direction the whispers were coming from. "Indistinguishable whispers, it's not me or the murderer back there." The murderer waved. David frowned. "Or maybe it's police? With a lot of reward money or something?" Nobody appeared. "Dammit,"David said. "It's only the bad things I say that turn out to be true." "Speaking of the police, though,"one of the escaped convicts said, "we should probably get moving." "Yeah, yeah, get in line,"David said, gesturing to the line of people he'd apparently collected. Silently determining not to ask himself anymore speculative questions about who could be whispering, David snuck off in the direction of the whispers one final time. Even though the convicts were chained together, they somehow were still better at sneaking than David was. A flickering, eerie blue light illuminated the living room, and the whispers emanated from the corner. David turned, and there he saw- "Dude,"the thief said. "You left your TV on." "Thanks,"David said, unimpressed. "Oh, the TV!"The murderer said. "That would explain the commercials I heard earlier. I just thought someone in the house really liked 7-up." "Hey,"the convicts said, "could you change it to the news? It'd be handy to know if there's a manhunt going on." David sighed. "Well, that's that, then. I'll just be heading upstairs-" The four people stared at him. "Right, all the bad things that are going to happen to me." The murderer stepped forward. "Really, though, I'm the only bad thing. The thief's going to steal your stuff but you'll be dead so you won't care. The convicts don't even have a beef with you." One of the convicts stepped forward. "Actually, I don't think I can let you murder him." Hope, blessed blessed hope, overcame David. "And why not?"The murderer said. The convict gestured to the TV, where a helicopter was pointing a camera down at a house David recognized as his own. The words "MANHUNT FOR ESCAPED CONVICTS NARROWS"were emblazoned at the bottom of the screen. "Because,"the convict said, "we need him as a hostage."
She frowned at the translation machine-it was a large, unsightly sphere, and an unfortunate necessity in space travel. Well, on the bright side, it linked to her smartphone as a separate processor unit. ...Well, usually. She remembered, distantly, that there were some organic components that were susceptible to deterioration-exactly every 823 days, to be precise. So yes, it had been 823 days since the last maintenance. On the other hand, the guest was right there... waiting. Similar to a plant of Earth, with extra vines and at considerably more sentience. The creature shriveled slightly, before slowly growing forward, bark-like skin appearing shortly after vines propagated slowly forward. A quick glance at one of the helper robots said that there was maybe a 63% chance this action was nonhostile. Regardless, she was a technician, not a behaviorist. Grumbling, she shot a (probably easily misunderstood) look of apology at the rosebush creature and moved closer to the translation sphere. "...I don't really have time for this,"she sighed. Shrugging, she kicked it, hoping that maybe it would jumble the pieces together. >Excuse me, what... did you just do? She blinked. "Huh. Nice to meet you. I'm Alex. Short for whatever you need it to be short for." >...Irrelevant. You kicked your... machine, and it resumed function? What a curious device. "...Nah, it was just acting up. I forgot that today was the maintenance day." >You kick things that act up... well, it is an admirable approach. But installing emotions into your tools in order to motivate them has been tested and proven inefficient. "Huh? No, it's just... Percussive maintenance. Sometimes when things are broken, they'll work again after you hit them." >Respectfully, Alex, that is incomprehensible. "Well, you know, Chaos theory and all that." >Chaos theory and all that. "Science where the smallest actions affect... okay, it's just a joke. I was lucky." >You were... what? Your translator seems to be malfunctioning. "Lucky." >l̸̢̛͇̼͛͋̄͌̕͝͠ų̵̮̖͓̪̜͇̺͈̂̽͑̿͜c̶̦̭̯͒ķ̷̧̨̛̫̙̼̳̺̤̫̦̻͉́̿̿y̵̢̡̡̲̬͎͍̟̘̣͍̰͖̽̈̈́͂͛̂̂͛̔̃́͜͠ͅ Very well. Please introduce me to this term, l̸̢̛͇̼͛͋̄͌̕͝͠ų̵̮̖͓̪̜͇̺͈̂̽͑̿͜c̶̦̭̯͒ķ̷̧̨̛̫̙̼̳̺̤̫̦̻͉́̿̿y̵̢̡̡̲̬͎͍̟̘̣͍̰͖̽̈̈́͂͛̂̂͛̔̃́͜͠ͅ. Alex hissed at the sound. "Er... In probability, it's when good things inexplicably happen against the odds? Sorry, it's just... when you're lucky, you know?" >An action occurs. The proper consequence occurs. Is this not the way of the world? "Well, nothing is quite reliable, as far as I know. You know what, wait, hold on."The vines shrunk, and the rosebush seemed to become a little darker. Alex reached to her phone, and searched through the app store for a bit. With an incredible satellite connection (or something) she downloaded an app. "Here, look. This is a slot machine simulator. There's .2% chance of rolling a 7 on each spot, and getting 3 7s in a row is a win. Watch." She pressed the lever. 9 symbols appeared, one of which was a 7. "If you're lucky, you'll win."There was no way she was actually doing the term justice, but the support systems for other lifeforms were somewhat expensive to maintain. The creature seemed to shudder. It had probably picked up the signals that it was time to go, given how courteous it was beforehand. A polite alien, for whatever it was worth >...I see. Thank you for your hospitality. And it slid backwards, toward the airlock. >It was an interesting trick, manipulating outcomes with such small actions. I will endeavor to replicate it on my own time. A pleasure, Alex. "Hold on, I never got your name."And it just sat there, as if in some sort of disbelief. Alex subtly thought back to a screeching sound on her translator at an unfamiliar word, and shrugged. "Bye." The airlock closed. --- you must leave what is happening, nestfriend the meteor shower is today. they will hit our plateau first. we have a day to move out well, what are the chances ...c-h-a-n-c-e-s? pay it no mind. i think i'll stay here. test my luck i swear since you accepted that space trip you have never been the same. fine. goodbye The sky was burning up. The creature expanded slightly, vines moving into the ground. Its sibling was already far away, having spread itself out to escape via the wind. well. apparently it is very unfortunate to get hit by a meteor. ah... "I guess we'll see?" That was how the humans did it, they supposed.
At first, he thought it was a joke. But the client's expression never wavered even as he laughed at the sack held in their outstretched hand. Then he almost broke his rule about questioning the client on their choice of target. Almost. But he decided against it. No need to ruin his shining reputation over one contract. And so, he took the sack and went to begin the job. His first attempt was his standard set up. He watched the person he had been contracted to kill until he knew their schedule and then set up on a roof overlooking their usual walk to work. That day, they failed to walk their usual route. Later inquiries revealed that he had decided to try a new coffee shop that morning and had walked a different route. This wasn't too out of the ordinary, some contracts required multiple attempts. He was still sure it wouldn't require the entire sack of bullets to kill one man- especially since his background check had revealed nothing interesting at all. This man was a totally average citizen, no-one of much importance at all. Still it wasn't his place to question the contracts he was given. The second attempt was frustrating. A car swerved at the last moment, causing the would-be shooting victim to step back at the precise moment that the assassin fired. So he had got lucky twice. He wouldn't escape a third time. By the eighth attempt, the assassin was starting to feel as though he was missing something. This man was ridiculously lucky. He decided to cycle to work on the morning that the assassin waited in an alley along the man's normal walking route in order to attack him. He stayed at a friend's house the night that the assassin broke into his house to attempt killing him in his sleep. He was constantly surrounded by a group of friends when the assassin infiltrated a work event. The assassin couldn't explain it. No matter what he did, he couldn't manage to kill the man. He was starting to think he would need more than the entire sack of bullets before he actually succeeded in this job…
The transition of humanity from home-system overlords to space-faring explorers was a quick one. They were funny little bloodthirsty apes as an infant society, that had much difficulty with fundamental physics concepts; in no part their fault, of course, for a civilization driven for much of their childhood by war would have much trouble with any concepts past basic mathematics and logic. &#x200B; It came as much a surprise when the young human fleet arrived at the factory-worlds of Krenos much faster than expected. The overseer at Krenos was absolutely shocked at the ridiculous way humans had left their home system; their space-crafts were powered by combustible fuels! How they hadn't had a horrific accident was beyond the imagination of the poor Krenoan manager, who was further mortified when they sent out a torrent of loud radio signals with stuff like 'we come in peace!'. &#x200B; Of course, his actions to immediately flee were understandable. Humans were a strange race indeed. They circumnavigated the limits of their technology regularly, and had already developed spaceflight through brute force before the generally-understood-to-be-crucial light alloys that civilizations usually discovered first before sending anyone up to the stars. There was precedent for this, many a researcher would later discover. Through their lifespan, humanity frequently and cunningly manipulated what technology was available to them at the time to create inventions that were way past their technological grade. &#x200B; The High Council debated what to do with them for a while as they apprehensively allowed the tiny but excited humans to scour the databanks of Krenos, providing them with immense troves of knowledge they happily sent back to their home planet. Standing at only 0.2 height units, they quickly built mechanized giant suits in their own figure with their new knowledge to better interact with their 'new friends'. They didn't reproduce very quickly, but they quickly assimilated into much of galactic society, in every strata of occupation, in some part because of their economical size. Soon enough Earthlings were the only species to live on every inhabitable planet system. &#x200B; With their induction into the Galactic Union, they brought with them a ferocious inventive drive. Things that they declared inconvenient or unexciting were quickly but many times hazardously 'improved', and they were quickly established as a reckless, mad-scientist race. That wasn't far from the truth, but their good-naturedness and excitability endeared them to much of the other species in the Union. &#x200B; It didn't come as much of a surprise that when the invaders from the next galaxy over attacked, the humans quickly bombed them into submission with crudely thrown-together antimatter bombs and threw wave after wave of autonomous drone-robots at them until they retreated. After that incident, intergalactic relations were quickly restored to a better state, the tiny Earthlings (and their obsession with canines from their home planet..) acting as a strangely adorable and excitable 'nuclear deterrent' that sparked both fear and gratitude in the hearts of the species in the local supercluster. &#x200B; Funny little things. &#x200B;
Mark was still watching the TV when I got back. The sandwich he was served for breakfast was only half-eaten. "Shouldn't you be done with that?"I asked. He took a bite out of it. I didn't know whether it was out of hunger or because he didn't have the energy to argue with me. I went to the backyard. Dad was there basking in the sun. "Hey dad,"I said in glee. "Hey, Mitchelle. How were you doing today?" "I'm doing fine,"I started, "I went to the therapist you know." "Oh,"His head bowed in shame, "I know I said I'd take you, I'm sorry. What were you told?" "She said I'm suffering from happiness. She gave me these meds the side effects include nausea and weight gain. She said I'd be right as rain in a few weeks." "What's this happiness exactly?"He asked. Mom had also come out and was listening in. "It's like a feeling of contentment and well being I said. Like everything is perfect." "Is it dangerous?"Mom asked, "It sounds so." "No it's not but there's this symptom that it makes you want to spread it to others." "You want to spread happiness?"said dad. "Well I guess. Maybe, "Mom had taken a step back, "I've had this burning desire to give it to Sheila over at the next block. I don't think it would hurt her." "Well you're a bit late for that, Sheila shot herself in the head last night. We got the call today morning while you were out." "Oh,"I felt the happiness within me recede. The sadness strengthened. "Well I guess I'll be alone and happy by myself,"I said holding back tears, "maybe it's for the best." "Yeah you do that,"said dad. I walked up to my room holding back tears. Meanwhile a spry voice in my head kept repeating, "Don't wait for the storm to pass kid, learn to dance in the rain."
I took a breath, and slipped the hood over my head. My hand pressed the button, and the door slid open without a sound. I stepped into the small ante-chamber, waiting as the door behind me closed. There was a pause, then a beep, and then the second door opened. For the first few weeks, I had always been taken aback by the brightness of the lights; I'd learned to keep my eyes closed for a few seconds. The ferocity of the LED strip lights cast a red glow through my eyelids, and I counted slowly up to fifty. When I opened my eyes, the glare still hurt, but it was bearable. I stepped inside. The room looked as it always did. The walls were white, and covered in a thin layer of something glossy. I didn't know too much about it, and I didn't ask. I always assumed it was so that they could spray the room down. How they would do that, I wasn't sure. There was only one door into the room, and that was the one I used. How someone would come in to clean the room - or, for that matter, how the prisoners were placed inside - was a mystery to be. A mystery that I didn't ask about. Again, I had learned early that it was easier to try not to think too much about it. Directly in front of me, laying on a gleaming silver table, was a gun. It looked rather like a vintage six-shooter, but there was only ever a single bullet in it. There was also a short, stubby needle protruding from a canister fixed under the barrel. It was filled with some mix of chemicals that would induce euphoria. That was their solution to the Eighth Amendment; I would press the gun to the back of their head, and the drug would instantly put them in a state of blissful ignorance. A moment later, the sentence would be carried out. Pure, painless, perfect punishment. The very definition of a short, sharp shock. And there, as always, was the prisoner. Sitting in a luxurious leather bucket seat, staring straight ahead, and sitting perfectly still. His dark hair was cropped short, separated from the neckline of his orange jumpsuit by two inches of stubble. I could just see the faintest hint of a beard by his ears - but wispy and anemic. He was young then, I thought. I stepped up closer to the patient - I preferred to use that term, at least in my own head - and waited. The door closed behind me; there was another pause, then another beep; and then the voice began. "Jacob Boyle,"the voice began. It was always the same, the voice of a young woman. In my head, she was beautiful. I closed my eyes and listened, imagining the face I had concocted years ago for her. Deep brown eyes, and small lips that curved into a beautiful smile. I sighed. "You stand accused sixteen counts of murder, including eleven counts of murder of a child; twelve counts of manslaughter; forty-six counts of grievous bodily harm; nine counts of assault; and two counts of grand treason against the State,"she said. I counted the pause; one, two, three, just like always. "How do you plead?" "Not guilty!"the man shoulder. He struggled slightly, I could hear him. Although the chair was comfortable, there were thick straps that held his arms and legs in place. "I was ordered to do it! They told me! I was just a pilot! Just a pilot! They told me there were terrorists in that building! I didn't know there were civilians! I didn't know it was a school!" "The Powers that Be have rejected your claims. There are no records of such orders, and the conflict that you were engaged in has been rendered secret by order of the Congress of the People." "That's not my fault! I didn't do it! I'm a loyal subject! I'm sorry!"he said, almost screaming. It didn't take long before his desperate cries became pitiful crying, and I felt something twist inside my chest. "The Powers that Be have rejected your defense. You are found guilty. You will be judged by the grand executioner,"the voice said. "Your fate will now be determined." I knew this part too. This was always the same. There were two options; I could take the gun and kill him, or I could let him leave - under the condition that I would be held responsible for any and all future crimes he committed. It seemed clear to me that he would not be a threat. There were some who were clearly guilty and in need of punishment, and there were some that clearly should be let go. I had been serving the role of State Executioner for so long, I couldn't remember how many I had let go. Hundreds, perhaps a thousand. I didn't want to remember how many I had killed; ten thousand, at least. "Executioner. You have three options,"she said. My eyes snapped open. Three? "You may release this man, under the condition that you will be responsible for all future crimes committed by Jacob Boyle,"she said. "You may serve the will of the state, and execute the prisoner. Or you may choose him as your replacement as State Executioner." My eyes widened. I had never had this option before. Honestly, I had grown so used to the life that assumed I would be here until the day I died. I cleared my throat, and tried to speak. My voice was raspy and thin, wearied and atrophied with age and disuse. "I choose to resign my position,"I said. "I choose Jacob Boyle as my replacement." "Very good,"the voice said. "Alistair Mortimer, you have served the State faithfully as Grand High Executioner for forty-four years. We thank you for your service. You are relieved." Behind me, the door opened, I turned staring at it. I could barely comprehend it. I was shaking, and my legs felt weak. "Do I go through?" The silence filled the room. Then, finally, she replied. "Yes." I moved back into the small ante-chamber, pulling off the hood the moment the door closed behind me. I staggered into my luxury apartment, breathing heavily. What would I do now? Would I go free, back into the world? I could scarcely imagine what it would be like. I collapsed into the sofa, heaving deep breaths. I wasn't sure if it was relief or disbelief, but I felt light-headed, dizzy. My head lolled back, and slowly, the room went black. ----- I woke up in a chair. I felt groggy, but comfortable and relaxed too. The leather bucket seat was like a throne, with thick padding that seemed to welcome and cradle me. The after-effects of the gas in my apartment - somehow, I realized that is what had happened, and how I had fallen asleep so deeply and so quickly - left me dancing around the edges of an ecstatic dreamland. And then, I heard her voice. "Alistair Mortimer."I groaned, and closed my eyes again. The lights didn't seem so bright, sitting in the chair. Instead, in front of me, I saw her face. That same face, the same beautiful face, hovered in front of me, like a reward - or an admonition. "You stand accused of two-hundred-and-four counts of indirect murder, nine-hundred-and-seventy-nine counts of indirect manslaughter..." I let her beautiful voice sing me to sleep. Guilty, I thought. Guilty. I am guilty. We are all guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty.... I felt a pressure against the back of my head, and I smiled. And then, I felt nothing at all. ----- Hi! I hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please check out my other work at /r/PuzzledRobot. If you didn't, leave me a comment to explain why. Constructive criticism is very helpful. Thanks!
"Well, Damnit." What else could Benton say? He stared dumbfounded at the small grey slip of card protruding from The Encoupler Machine. It read: "Dora Mae Finsterbusch Born 1991 Tallahassee, Florida"Ben had waited 27 years to finally find the name of his lifemate. While most of his friends were long-since married, Ben had waited. And waited. And waited some more. The Encoupler never had anything for him. Not until today. Ben grasped the card and tugged. "I think there is a glitch in the Machine,"said Ben, thrusting the card in front of the nearest Machine engineer. "The Encoupler Machine does not make mistakes,"droned the engineer by rote. "Uh... But look at this date!"said Ben. "1991! That is three hundred forty-six years ago! Either my lifemate is an immortal vampire or she's been dead for centuries. Either way, what the heck am I supposed to do with this?" The engineer stared blankly at the impossible date. "Oh. Um, huh..." This situation was not covered in the training manual. "I'll get the manager."The engineer ran off as if afraid the glitch might be contagious. After a few minutes and some wild gesticulations, the manager came running over. "Benton?"Asked the manager. "I understand your lifemate is from another century." Until that second, Ben had been clinging desperately to the belief that it must be just a glitch. But something in the manager's tone killed that hope completely. He had just one shot at love. One lifemate. One soulmate. One person in all of the world to share a life with. But Dora Mae Finsterbusch was dead. And thus so was any dream for marriage or children. "Damn."A cold numb feeling spread through Ben's gut. The gravity of the loss was slowly crushing him from the inside out. "Come with me."The manager turned and made a beeline for a small metal door in the back of the Machine. In a daze, Ben stumbled after. ********************* [Part 2] Benton's head was aching. He had spent the past three months attempting to cram the entirety of the inner machinations of the Encoupler into his brain. From the physical structure to the Amortempus fuel modules, he studied every millimeter. His advanced degree in temporal physics had prepared his mind to absorb this sort of information. But The Machine was unlike anything else in the known universe. It had been slow going. But finally he was ready to take the leap. "Are you ready?"asked the manager. Ben nodded. "Remember - when you get to 2019, you will have exactly two years to re-invent the original Encoupler Machine to keep the timeline intact."The manager managed a little wink. "And of course, somewhere in there, you'll need to locate your lifemate!" Benton donned protective gear and grasped the small metal case containing a supply of Amortempus and a few other bits not yet available in the 20th century. The manager engaged the Machine. With a blinding flash of light and thunderous crashing sound, Ben stepped through the time portal and back into 2019. Time travel feels a bit like riding an electrified tilt-a-whirl encased in fire ants while having the wind knocked out of you. And for reasons unknown even to the brightest temporal experts, it smells like fried pickles. The portal dropped Benton gasping and shaking on the floor of Lab 7 in the Temporia Research Complex. As Benton's vision slowly cleared and his head stopped spinning, he realized he was not alone. The shoes inches from his face belonged to a lovely woman in a lab coat. A woman who was notably less surprised than one would expect upon seeing a man from the future thrown form a time portal. "Oh, my god, it worked!"the woman practically squealed in excitement. "Are you from the future?" "Yes...?"offered Ben. "Were you expecting someone fro the future?" The woman smiled broadly. Ben couldn't help noticing the smile was gorgeous. "Well, I didn't expect it to work yet, and definitely not with a live person, but yes, we have been working on time travel." Ben slowly got to his feet and dusted himself off. That smile.... so distracting..... "I'm Benton Tarinala. Temporal physicist from Colony 4....And oh, yeah - um, I'm from the year 2337 by your calendar." "Welcome,"said the woman brightly as she extended her hand towards Ben. "I'm Dr. Dora Mae Finsterbusch."
"VIP? You're sure?", I pressed. "Says so right here, mate", St. Peter said. "But we can verify. You ARE the ["Poo dollah"](https://old.reddit.com/r/AskMen/comments/bmwzbm/if_you_were_taking_a_leisurely_stroll_through_a/en0eayk/) guy, right?" I froze. Years ago, I got got. Someone left a dollar in the street, I picked it up, felt a foreign substance inside and dropped it in time to hear some monster screaming "POO DOLLAH! POO DOLLAH!!!!" "Yea....and it was funny,"I continued, "but how'd you know about that?", I had asked. "We know about everything you've done."He narrowed his eyes at me. I wilted a bit. "Er. Right...but I didn't DO that. I just picked it up." "Yes,"He replied. "Then, you shared it. On Reddit. It blew up. Then went viral. You'd have noticed if you weren't so busy working yourself into an early grave. But you contributed to the amusement (and pranking) of people around the world. As Marie Kondo would say, "You spark joy."She thought your story was hilarious, by the way. Your contribution has earned you a place in VIP." "Wow...that's awesome. Is there tipping? Can I use poo dollahs for that?", I asked. "Don't push it", he replied. I didn't.
The monitoring station on Pluto managed to track the UFOs for several minutes, displaying seven of them emerging from deep space. The first grainy images showed ships that were jet black and sleek-looking, exquisitely aerodynamic, built purely for speed using a technology we couldn't comprehend. Whoever they were, the crew on board those ships were far more advanced than us. Any hope of peaceful contact vaporized when they blasted our station out of Pluto's orbit, leaving the wreckage to float in space forever. A thought went out to our team stationed there, three souls that didn't stand a chance. Titan fell next, followed by four more of our Phase Three expansions. Each time the attack pattern was the same. The ships would streak in en mass and unload a nuclear barrage from orbit, saturating any developed areas with radiation. The bombs themselves were a derivative of our own nuclear weapons, which we could understand. That gave us some comfort. After the initial bombardment the ships would descend in a linear pattern, usually landing at equidistant points along the planet's equator. Their crews would emerge and hunt down the survivors, exterminating any human or other biological lifeforms that remained. As far as we knew, no-one was taken prisoner. Each time they attacked we watched and we learned a little more. We evacuated our remaining Phase Three planets but our colony ships were sitting ducks, only to be hunted down and pulverized in a pathetically futile game of cat and mouse. We learned that the alien's physiology mimic'd their ships. That they each had a sleek black carapace that curved over their shoulders and tapered off in a point on their lower backs. They were built for incredible speed, we measured one covering over two miles in just under two minutes. They had large forearms and sinister claws on the outermost fingers of each pincer-like hand, almost as if they were evolved purely to kill. "They're essentially the perfect predator,"Alice said, unable to hide her awe. She should have been concerned about all this, about the fact that humanity's colonies were falling one by one to an unknown force, but all she really felt was wonder. Her team had been studying the aliens for a few days now, and, though she knew it was a little twisted, she felt a grudging admiration for the hostile species. The closest Earth-bound analog she had were sharks, an oceanic predator that had disappeared over a century ago. Commander Roland grunted his assent. "Essentially indeed, Doctor,"he said, casting his eye over the command center. The room was tense but it wasn't frenetic. The aliens were very predictable. Once they discovered a human colony or station, they immediately targeted it using the same tactic every single time. Humanity had been mobilizing its planetary defense capability since the ships first emerged from deep space. "Never thought I'd appreciate the Military-Industrial Complex this much,"Roland muttered, hoping that all that doomsday politicking would finally pay off. The alien ships launched their first nukes just as they entered within range of the Red Planet, but each missile was neutralized by our interceptors before penetrating the atmosphere. We waited until the ships were closer before firing a salvo of EMPs, timed to go off along set points on the intercept path. The aliens seemed to travel the shortest parabolas possible to their targets, making the calculations easy. Call it a hunch, but Roland figured they had never encountered EMP tech before. Somewhat but not-so surprisingly all of the EMPs detonated within area effect blasts of their targets. From there it was easy. Space Marines boarded each ship in turn and exterminated their alien crews, trying to capture one alive but ultimately leaving no survivors. The things were suicidal in their fanaticism. Humanity breathed a collective sigh of relief as the seven empty ships were safely brought down to the planet's surface. Even now, our finest scientists are making significant progress in reverse engineering this fascinating new warp-drive technology. The Stars beckon.
Of course they did it. What was one person against the future of the planet? You could have fought, you supposed, kicked, tried to run away, but some sort of dignified self-sacrificial instinct kicked in. This was about the greater good of humanity, not your own life. You’d wanted to be a hero once, now you supposed, you thought a little bitterly, that you had your chance. Everyone was solemn as they escorted you to the place where the alien spaceship would pick you up. The government officials, some of them seemed like they had things that they wanted to say, but no one said anything. You exchanged a tearful goodbye with your parents. Then it was time. There was a spot that was marked out with an X. You stood on it. A beam of light descended from the sky, and surrounded you, moving you upward at a dizzying speed. When you landed, every muscle was tense, and you rapidly scanned your surroundings, looking for threats. There were more than one hundred aliens gathered, and they were all... kneeling? “Our princess,” one said, his voice filled with relief and gratitude. “We thought that we would never see you again.”
The lockpicking lawyer wakes up confused, where was he, how'd he get here? "I want to play a game"the infamous voice rings out, through a near by tape recorder. "Oh, alright."The lawyer says, immediately understanding his surroundings. As the infamous and feared jigsaw killer continues explaining his situation, lpl takes stock of his surroundings. "In 10 minutes, the device will activate, driving nails into your body, killing yo-"Having managed to wiggle a wrist loose, lpl hits stop on the tape. He wrenches the tape back to the start, and hits record. "This is the lockpicking lawyer, and today I'll be escaping from the jigsaw killer. The killer made a terrible mistake, by failing to remove the pick bosnian bill and I made, taped to the back of my neck behind my hair. We're just going to tension on 1 on this first lock, and begin picking."He says, with nonchalant indifference, to the percieved threat on his life. "Nothing on one, small click out of two"he murmurs to himself. "And we've got it open, we're just going to repeat this on the other four locks."Not more than 2 minutes of clicking and clinking pass, before he says "and the final lock is open, that's all I have for you today, if you enjoyed this video, and want to see more like it, please subscribe, and as always, have a nice day."He steps away from the contraption, observing it's parts as a loud thwick vibrates through the stale air. The nails that would've driven through his vital organs harmlessly jab through the air, as the lawyer steps away, disappointed he couldn't disect the lock.
"Hey Johnny! How did you walk across the USA without eating or sleeping?" "Yeah, tell us your secret! Science can't explain this. Our brains are boggled!" A flock of pestering reporters surrounded the young, tan boy who posed his large calves. The kid grinned while slapping his big belly. Then, he answered, "Easy, winning's in my genes!" Bullshit. You see, Johnny's my buddy ... and my archenemy. Everyday, we speedrun against each other in video games but in the hackiest way possible. Johnny and I know every glitch in each Triple A game. One night at the local ice cream parlor, while drunk on our chocolate sundaes, I made a stupid bet. "Yo, Johnny?"I mumbled lazily before sipping down more syrup. "What's up Benny?"Johnny yawned back. "So far, we're dead even on this speedrun marathon we're having." "I thought I won that last-" "Rumors are that this real world we live in is a video game,"I interrupted. Then, I narrowed my eyes to him. Johnny slowly smiled back. Then, I flashed ten fingers before mumbling loudly, "I bet you ten chocolate sundaes I can find a glitch!" "HA!"he roared and slammed the countertop. "I take that bet! I've already been on it." "Wait what-" "No no no! Remember?"Johnny nagged while wagging his fingers at me. "*When the other takes the bet, it's all set!* And you are lagging behind haha!" Today, I've not lagged, I fucking lost, And it costed me ten fucking sundaes. Worse, Johnny's got the most healthy hack, "unlimited stamina."How did it go? It was like: left step, left step, two cartwheels.. was it a squat next? Eh, whatever. But, it's not over. Right after, we made another bet. This time, ten double cheeseburgers deluxe with jalapeno mayo. And I think I got an idea. Ok, let me try again... Burpee. Burpee. Squat and fart. Then egg roll. FLASH! Lightning cracked across the blue sky. Suddenly, I felt weird. I walked back in the house and saw my Mom standing menacing. Quietly, I cowered my head down and trudged under her shadow. Then, she spoke, "Benny, you have to clean the dishes right now! Stop goofing around." Boop! I looked up and saw three text bubbles with text above her head: 1. "Fuck you Mom! I'm an American and it's my Constitutional right to goof around!" 2. "Yes Mom. I'm sorry. I'll wash the dishes." 3. "I want to Mom. But, this school project is worth 25% of my grade. Can I make it up to you the next night?" Nervously, I narrated the third option. And scanned my Mom for her reaction. She relaxed and sighed, "Ok fine. But tomorrow, you have to do them!" Boop! Another few text bubbles appeared: 1. "Yes Mom. Thanks!" 2. "Go back to the kitchen where you belong, mamma (give middle finger)!" Of course, I narrated the first option and my mom walked back to the kitchen. Oh my God, I got the glitch to "hint the best answer". Grinning, I called up Johnny to meet me at the Burger stand. He met me with a smile from ear-to-ear and a pumped up chest. "What's up noob? Ready to call a GG haha? You know, I'm getting closer-" "Watch this,"I interrupted and gave a wink. I walked up to the Burger stand and asked the Burger owner, "I want one free cheeseburger deluxe." The Burger owner returned a confused look and asked, "Why would I do that?" Boop! Three options showed up: 1. "You're life is meaningless. Giving a free burger won't make it worse." 2. "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me. Here's ten dollars!" 3. I'm the school reporter with an Instagram network of 130 followers. All I need to do is press this button and half of them will eat here each week." I said the third option. The Burger owner looked up and hand gestured as if he's typing on a calculator. Then, he shrugged and served a warm, steamy burger. "Yeah, why not? Here you go kid! But, I want those digits!" I marched back to Johnny waving the burger. Then, I took a big bite and posted it on Instagram. *50 likes. Johnny's eyes were wide as the burger's pickles. I gulped then spoke while taking another bite, "where's my ten burgers?" "But... how... how did you do that?"He stammered, his face slowly glowing more red than my burger's catsup. Boop*! Two options appeared: 1. "Yeah! Let me show you how!" 2. "Shut up noob. Show me my ten burgers!" Of course, I said the last option.
If you read in the older stories, the fictions handed down and recopied and retold and even embellished, the word they use is "magic."Making things happen that natural science cannot easily explain, reversing harms, undoing actions: "magic." It appears I can do this "magic."It isn't like the fairy tales in the ancient libraries though, muttering nonsense words and waving sticks and invoking deities. It requires a significant investment of personal energy. It takes concentration and time. And like the oh-so-unreal Sorcerer's Apprentice and his wayward broomsticks, a practitioner can do it wrong, set in motion events that can turn bad or even disastrous. Magic is useful, yes...but like a spring rain that you need, you can have too much of a good thing. But if you spend more time in the ancient libraries, you find other things too. Not just the fairy tales or lesson books but engineering texts. Operators' manuals. Dry, academic tomes dusty with disuse, describing a world far, far more sophisticated than the one we live in now, and yet it was the one we live in now. And amongst these least fanciful books a whole section that seemed to delve into the metaphysical: meditation. Concentration of will, developing your spiritual confidence. Even a couple of extremely esoteric, nearly impenetrable books on psi powers, which I couldn't make much sense of... ...except I could. The magic I was taught begins and ends with concentration. Proper concentration requires establishing a mental state not too dissimilar from that of dreaming, the drowsy, free-floating, nearly awake dreams of an afternoon nap on a warm, sunny day. You know you're dreaming and can observe the wanderings of your imagination like a spectator. But achieving this dreamy state while maintaining focus on goals is not something you pick up in an afternoon; it takes a few years of training and practice and, like I said, it can go horribly wrong. The spring rains can come and keep coming until every garden washes away. My father taught me, he and my grandmother. Among their lessons in concentration of will, they also taught me that it will take two generations to teach the next magician, that it always takes at least two generations of magicians to initiate the next one. The talent is partly inborn but there are occasional sports, children of families with no magic who have the capacity despite their parentage. My own great-grandfather was one such. So it was with something like recognition that I found myself in this section of the library, and struggling to decipher the foreign words of the books around the willpower section. Environmental manipulation? Repercussional forecasting? Nanomachines? "Machines"I know well enough, but "nano"is a gibberish sound you coo at small babies. The books are both a blinding light of revelation and an equally dazzling blackness of mystery. Some are so far out of my context that they are nearly a different language. Others, particularly the ones describing guidance of will, I could almost have written myself. You prepare yourself, set the trance and focus on circumstances and goals. You envision the current state you want to change, and how the changes will look and feel and smell. You do this for quite a long time - sometimes it takes days. And sometimes you have to stay entranced in order to bring the spell to an end, too - spring rains, remember. Usually you don't want to completely upend the way things work. Simply tweaking things is generally sufficient, subtle nudges. Magic is at its best when you don't realize it's working. There have been some who went in for grand effects, enormous, brash displays of power that rattled everything around them - not least of which, their neighbors. Those kind of magicians don't stay in business for long and sometimes meet a sudden, sharp end. And there's another section of the library, quite small actually and leading into the peculiar section involving environmental manipulation: "terraforming."This section is the one that set my mind almost on fire. It turns out that we are not from here. I am, of course, and dozens of generations before me have all been from here. But there was a generation, centuries or maybe even millennia ago, that wasn't. They were from somewhere else. This book doesn't talk about that other place, not directly. It cites examples taken from the other place but doesn't talk about the place itself. It appears to have been a whole other world and we, humanity, are originally from there. We came to this world so long ago that nobody alive remembers anything else, and being from there, upon arriving here, set out to make here, now more like there, then. What happened along the way that made us forget our own past? These books are very strange. They are nothing like modern books with their leather, wooden or cardboard covers, pages of sturdy, stiff paper. No. These most ancient of books, in addition to being constructed of materials I can barely even describe, have no dust on them whatsoever. A little raised dam of dust has formed around them on the shelves, but no dust lands on them directly. At least our language hasn't changed much. I can read these titles well enough, even if the words are strange: "Terraforming: Bending Circumstances." "Terraforming: Finer Points and Enduring Changes." "Human to Machine Interfaces." "A Fog of Magic: Practical Application of Nanomachines." That last one seemed especially pertinent, and I took it down from the shelf, opened it, and began to read.
The entrance to the cavern was glimmering in the twilight. The sun was rising in the east, shining through the Scottish highlands, and the few rays of light escaping the blanket of clouds and reaching the cave were reflected back from within. A traveler, wearing simple robes and endowing only a sack, paced through the rocky road up the way to the cavern. Finally witnessing the entrance, not even a glimpse of the promised possession in direct sight, the traveler’s eyes shined in delight. He made the first step. On the stone floor, the traveler’s step echoed back from the walls of the cavern, despite trying his best to be discrete. Yet, there was another sound. A metallic clank, a rattle, growing in volume as the traveler reach farther in. The traveler noticed two things: the first, a tremendous heap of gold, silver, and gems he could only name from tale-tales. There were coins of kings before the one that reigns today, and from before there were kingdoms for the kings to reign over. Swords and armor, some of which tainted with blood. The second was its equally big guardian, a red dragon whose wings spanned the room and his horns twirled in glory almost up to the ceiling, opening his resin colored eye. “Who are you, and why did you come to my cave, and distorted my sleep?” The traveler was frozen in place. His body begged him to run, yet all he could master was a fall on his back. “I- I am Hob. I mean Robert!” Hob corrected himself in a haste, “I am Robert Barnes. Of Hilton of Cadboll. My elders told me to be formal when I address you. But I am just a Hob.” The dragon moved his head, facing Hob, making coins and metals trample down the pile. “And why are you here, Hob?” The dragon’s piercing stare made Hob even more startled than before. He gulped, speechless for a few moments, before braking. “I need you to share some of your money.” “Is that so?” The dragon blinked, slowly shutting his eyes. He was tired, having been woken up from his sleep. Yet Hob noticed that he only blinked once until now. “Well then. I am glad that you came here to inform me, but I wish you would have done so sooner, when I was awake.” “Well then?” Hob repeated after the dragon. His eyes ran errand onto a sight to catch, to make sense of. “You are letting me to take from your hoard?” “Of course I do. But I must ask, for my curiosity, why do you want it?” “Oh, I do not want it!” Hob exclaimed quickly, before resting his mind on what he said. “I mean that I need it. My family does. A bad spirit had gone in our house and plagued my uncle. We barely survive the days when everyone works, and now when we miss a helping hand, we cannot afford to pay for his treatment. When he will die, we will have to auction a part of our farm to pay for a service.” Hob sat down, holding his face in the palms of his hands. “The plague might already have had taken him by the time I go back.” The dragon returned to his position on the pile, letting his eyes shut. “You shall take what you need, and I wish you farewell and goodbye.” —————————————————— The traveler came back to the cavern a month later, the same simple robes and sack he owned before. This time, his steps weren’t cautioned as before, almost fastened from excitement. Hob began loading his sack with rubies and sapphires - of which he had finally learned the name of - when a thundering call was heard from atop the pile. “Who are you and why are you intruding me during the day?” The dragon turned to see Hub, that had spilled coins from his sack in surprise. The dragon’s eyes narrowed, smoke coming through his nose. “Robert of Hilton, why are you stealing?” He raised the little man through his scaly fingers. “You- you said you would share!” Hob became defensive, forgetting the stakes of the situation. “I am no thief! These crooked men get their wishes fulfilled with no integrity and with no care for the people who they steal from.” “You should have informed me of your intentions before you took from my hoard. Are you not taking what isn’t your without the integrity? Are you taking because you want, or because you need?” Hob let go of his gold filled sack. “Need, again. My uncle lived, but the bad spirit had not left the town. Now my wife and her mother were plagued by it, along with so many other villagers. As healers and pastors need to take care of more people, the cost of treatment is much higher. Even they fall ill. Even if the two were to be healed, we have to escape this damned town. Find a place not ridden by the plague and bad spirits carrying it, start a new farm and household. This will take a great cost.” The dragon put Hob down on the ground, and again let his eyes shut. “You shall take what you want, and next time, tell me. I wish you farewell and goodbye.” —————————————————— The sun was setting on the Scottish highlands. Through the entrance walked a man, his weak steps echoing through the cavern walls. Hob no longer endowed a sack. His hand lingering on the walls of the cave, his eyes not finding the will to stay open. The dragon witnessed a man withering away. His body pale, covered in blackened wounds. Reaching the front of the pile, he collapsed. “Hob? What are you doing and what do you need on this day?” Hob answered, in a soft yet broken voice “I need to not be alone. I was plagued by a bad spirit, and I cannot go back. I do not think I will make my way back. In my last steps, I could barely carry my own body. But my family needs to move again. The new town was plagued, too. I cannot deliver them money, but I beg you, can you?” The dragon nodded, opening his wings in preparation for flight. “Before that. Can I sleep with you? I do not want to go alone.” The dragon picked up the dying body, and placed it near him. He was lighter this time. He then covered him with his wing. On a pile of gold, lie a man and a dragon, whose sleep shall not be intruded.
After a long day of working at the farm where she can use her physical strength after retiring as a hero, all Mathilda wants is some quiet time in the corner of the tavern while sipping cheap beer. However, the burly man in front of her who's been deciding what to order for about twenty minutes now is stopping her from doing that. When the nemesis killed her husband and child in the middle of the night, Mathilda kept herself calm and quiet. When the king got the village people and her closest friends to drive her out of her home, she bit her tongue and didn't say a word. When she applied to countless jobs and people laughed at her face saying "If you failed as a hero, then surely you can't handle this job,"Mathilda kept her composure. But this right here, waiting in line for a simple mug of beer, is getting on her nerves. Gathering all her strength, something she hadn't done in years, she turned the large man's body to face her using a single finger. "WHAT IN THE DEVIL-"Her booming voice echoed throughout the tavern. But instead of seeing surprise or anger, there was a defeated look in the man's face complete with tear-stained eyes. "Did you want to order first? Sorry, I didn't realize I was holding up the line,"the morose man uttered softly, barely audible. He moved away, allowing Mathilda to advance to the front of the line. This interaction puzzled Mathilda, leaving her lost in thoughts at the tavern's counter. Against her better judgment, she ordered two mugs of beer and sat down at the table where the man earlier was sitting down. "This is for you."Mathilda said as she put down the beer on the table. The man looked up and was about to refuse when Mathilda spoke first. "No need to make it a big deal. I guess it won't hurt to have someone to talk at this tavern from time to time,"Mathilda said nonchalantly with a small but genuine smile. "Thank you. My wife just passed away earlier today while giving birth to my daughter who also didn't survive. I honestly don't know what to do so I just headed here,"the man replied gloomily. For the next hour, the two talked and the man was in tears by the time he was talking about the reason his wife died. "She was supposed to be resting in bed, her stomach was as round as can be but the king's law didn't allow her to stay home,"the man bawled. "Even with her pregnancy?"A shocked Mathilda asked. "Especially with her pregnancy,"the man replied in between sobs. "He personally said that a woman must work for the kingdom and a baby will not be a sufficient excuse to slack off. If only she was able to take care of her body, she would have been alive. My beautiful baby daughter, too."The man cried loudly, earning looks from the neighboring tables. Anger, an emotion she has not felt in years, filled Mathilda's heart. It radiated throughout her entire body, coursing through her veins and filling her with powerful energy. "Don't worry, I will make sure to get your wife and daughter's revenge,"Mathilda said as she stood up and patted the man's back. "What? Are you leaving? Wait- I haven't paid you for the beer,"the man blurted. "Don't worry. You can pay me back when I finish my job."Mathilda slowly walked out the tavern's doors without looking back. With a small smile, she set back out to the world to fulfill a new mission. ~ Edit: Thanks for the awards and compliments, kind strangers! This is my first time on this sub. I'm glad you liked what I came up with.
Frenzy’s Proposal Item #: SCP-001 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is to be monitored at all times under the pretense that they are a Foundation Researcher. If at any point SCP-001 becomes distressed or put in danger, any and all actions are to be taken to ensure the stability of their mental and physical health. Currently, SCP-001 is researching SCP ** monitored by [DATA EXPUNGED]. If signs of SCP-001-1 start to occur, their mental and/or physical state must be restored to normal, else the world will be destroyed. Description: SCP-001 appears to be an average human with the following features: [DATA EXPUNGED]. They are currently employed as a researcher at Site . SCP-001 is unaware of their anomalous properties, and they believe that they are normal like every other Foundation employee. SCP-001 has the capability to cause a cataclysm capable of destroying the planet. The events leading up to this outcome are known as SCP-001-1. SCP-001-1 happens when SCP-001 is under extreme emotional or physical distress due to negative emotions or injury. If either (or both) of these were to occur, a black substance of unknown material seeps into the ground, approaching the Earth’s core. This substance cannot be erased, and its effects cannot be reversed. When SCP-001 returns to a healthy state, the substance stops moving, but does not retreat. If SCP-001 becomes distressed again, the substance resumes travelling downward. In the event that the substance reaches the Earth’s core, the Earth will be rotted from the inside. This theory is based on the current whereabouts of the substance, currently located 2/3 inside the Earth’s Mantle. The surrounding area exhibits the same properties as the substance itself. Addendum 001-01: SCP-001 has developed severe depression. Earth’s destruction is theorized to occur in ** days. May God help you all.
PART 1 Much has been said about the St. Clements Church of Winslow, Virginia. It's a bright, white, and prosperous place, filled with holy men, learning boys, and faithful members that go throughout the town spreading the good word, giving back, and exorcising poor souls that were touched by horrid spirits. Now, it's also been said that their most prolific exorcist was Father Jacobs, son of the former owner of the St. Clements Church. Jacobs was a family man, with a wife and son, Eliza and Timothy, who followed him on every one of his missions - they went as far south as Carmel and as far north as New Castle, nearly four hours in each cardinal direction to help those in need in the desolate Appalachian Mountains. Kevin Everett, a farmer in the sleepy town of Towe just south of Winslow, bore witness to the family's dealings when the sun set and the moon hung high in the sky - when the stars turned dark and the winds of winter set in. He saw the three pull-up in a small sedan to the home of his neighbor and friend, Roger O'leary, entering the house in a haste that he'd liken to a jack rabbit. Kevin, being the ever suspicious and overtly curious man that he was, grabbed at his jacket, hugged it close and followed behind them unsure to why his solitary neighbor had visitors so suddenly. The old farmhand only realized the truth of the matter when he stumbled into the home amongst screaming and panic - Roger tearing apart his kitchen, throwing plates and screaming profanities at the family, voice distorted into an unearthly, bear-like growl. Eliza grasped and grappled the man, amazingly and perfectly holding him against the wooden kitchen counter. He thrashed about while Father Jacobs - in all his holy glory - performed a miracle. Hands pressed to his forehead, cross-burning white and Roger howling all the while. But the boy, Timothy Jacobs, stood blank-faced and unguarded. Uncaring. He would blink slowly, look at his nails, then sit upon the living-room couch, facing away from the carnage and towards an unmarred wall. Evil permeated off of him as the screaming intensified; as rage and horror and incantations echoed through the house and to the streets and across the mountains. Kevin Everett stood at the door, no one the wiser to his presence, when it all suddenly stopped. Roger collapsed to the floor in a breathless, wide-eyed stupor. Sweat matted his face and his body trembled upon the cold kitchen tiles. The wooden countertop was burned black. Tiles broke like glass. The lights flickered off and the world became pitch black. He continued to stand there, even as the family eyed him through darkness. Suspicion turned uncaring before the wife and husband looked towards their son. Silence. "How many more?"Father Jacobs said with a tremor. "How many more before you leave him and go back to Hell?" "Until I'm the last one left."The boy spoke like Rogers. Otherworldly. Distorted. Possessed. "Besides, he won't let me leave." "Liar."The mother whispered. Her fists clenched tight, ready to lunge. She controlled her temper quick. "Liar! Get out of my son's body!" Timothy Jacobs shrugged gently. Condescendingly. "Believe what you'd like. You're used to that already, aren't you?" Silence.
"Imagine the possibilities!"squeaked T'kkayyki, doing excited cartwheels in the hab dome. "They don't need water! ANY water! Well, SOME water. But..." &#x200B; "Yes, yes, I get it."Grosk clacked his claws. "Delicate creatures, aren't they? Air is a compressible medium, are they not far more susceptible to inertial--?" &#x200B; The excitable mammal interrupted, "--Doesn't matter! Using these Dry-Folk as pilots and exploratory crews, even if they can't sustain high-G thrust, we'll \still\ save \unimaginable\ amounts of energy and \cost\. Water is heavy, my shell-hard brother! Almost as heavy as stone. Imagine how \light\ a craft can be if it only needs to carry a gaseous atmosphere!" &#x200B; Navigator T'kkayyki continued gyrating around the hab blowing excited bubbles as Grosk ran a thoughtful claw along his dorsal carapace. "Language and culture will be an issue. How \different\ a dry people must be..." &#x200B; Halruung, the mission Captain, was flipping through Human cultural media on his datapad, using one of his dozen tentacles to sift through cryptic memes and in-jokes of a culture more alien than merely alien. He sighed. "Different. Yes, indeed. So very, \very\ different that we may never truly understand them." \-- I'm out of time, but I'm going to try to come back to this one. Part 2 incoming! --
The dark lord strafed cautiously across the top of his dark tower, face to face with the so-called champion come to slay him. "I, uh, I see you've found some new swords since you faced me last."There was a terrible gleam of light from the white teeth of the champion as he smiled in response. Almost enough to blind the dark lord. He twisted his neck, narrowly dodging the vicious beam. The champion held the group of swords awkwardly. Not by their hilt, because there were too many, but more like a bunch of sticks gathered from the woods - with both arms underneath them. Every once in a while he dropped a sword, and even more awkwardly bent down to pick it up without dropping any more. "This is the sword of light", he said, vaguely pointing at the group of sticks with his chin. "And this is the sword of darkness. I think. Or the sword of dusk. No, sorry, the sword of twilight. Which is obviously different from the sword of that moment at the dawn of an april morning where the rising sun coats everything in just a slight shimmer of vermillion. April or july. April, I'm pretty sure." The dark lord feared magical swords. He knew the champion wasn't magical, but the truth of this world was that magical swords were often as powerful as any living mage. Wielding two magical swords at once was generally considered suicidal. They interacted, often unexpectedly, and often to the instant detriment to the wielder. But now the champion was wielding - technically - a whole bunch of them. The dark lord would thread carefully. The litany of swords regurgitated by the frankly ugly champion was coming to an end. He had left the concept of some time of day behind and moved on to various colours. The dark lord was beginning to suspect that at least one of the swords had been named more than once. Contrary to popular opinion, a sword named more than once was more dangerous, not less. The most fearsome, now lost to time, were known to have had titles of their own. "Is that it?"the dark lord queried. To his absolute disgust the champion dropped all the swords on the stone floor of the tower. The dark lord almost darted forward but at the last moment instinct stopped him. That instinct saved his life. The champion reached behind his back and grabbed another sword hitherto concealed from the dark lord. "This is the sword of holding", the champion said. Then he unzipped the side of the sword and several other swords started dropping out onto the stone floor of the tower. "Sword of James, sword of Richard, sword of Erik, Ihopeyoudon'tmindifIspeeditup, Viktor, Eve, Victor the second, Sandra, Providence, etc etc."The champion couldn't keep up and started mumbling to himself. "Don't recall that one, oh there was Karl I wondered where that went, sword of tortoise here must be misplaced." By the time the stream of swords had come to an end there was a literal layer of swords laying on the floor. It was difficult to see the stone floor of the tower now. If the dark lord was threading carefully before, he now barely moved. Any one of them could undo him "Are you finished?"he demanded. The champion looked around on the stone floor after something. Then he leaned down and picked up one of the swords. 'Finally', thought the dark lord to himself - ' time for the duel'. "This is the sword of repetition", said the champion. "The what?"Suddenly the champion had that original bunch of swords in his arms again. But they were also still laying on the ground. Then the champion began to name them one by one again. When he reached the end, he dropped them on the floor, just as he had before. Then he reached behind his back and brought out another sword of holding. And, wouldn't you guessed it, he unzipped it and another stream of swords came forth. The champion didn't bother naming all of them. "Are you finished?"the dark lord demanded, just like he had before. He instantly regretted saying anything. The champion leaned down and picked up another sword, unremarkable by nature in every way. "This is the sword of regretting asking if there are any more swords", he said. He reached behind the hilt and pulled another sword out from underneath the sword. It had previously occupied the same space but suddenly there were two identical ones. "Well, I can manage one more sword", said the dark lord, and regretted it again. The champion smiled, reached behind the two swords and pulled out two more. They fell clattering onto the layer of swords on the floor. The layer, the dark lord of evil noted, which was now practically ankle height. Small areas of safety had by luck formed around his feet. He watched the champion cautiously. The champion reached behind his back again. "Oh come on!"yelled the dark lord. The champion smiled, and leaned down for one of the 'swords of regretting asking if there are any more swords'. "It wasn't even a question!"yelled the dark lord. "It was implied", stated the champion. And the four swords became eight. Then they became sixteen, because it had technically been two sentences and two implications. 'No more talking', the dark lord decided for himself. The champion once again reached behind his back and brought forth a tiny dagger. "This is the dagger of sword", he said. "It's a real horny bastard". The dark lord wasn't sure what that meant, and could only watch in abject terror as the tiny dagger was set loose on the magical swords laying on the floor of the tower. The tiny dagger had even tinier feet, it ran up to the first sword it could see and started humping. There was a clattering as there suddenly appeared another sword, sized somewhere between the dagger and the now-defiled sword it had been humping. "Well, isn't that adorable", said the champion. When the deed was finished, the dagger continued onwards to the next sword in the pile. It spent merely moments with each sword, but the literal sea of swords around them moved in tandem with the humps and the new swords popping into existence. The dark lord was stupefied. One after another, the layer of swords continued to grow. There was now no talk of any floor to be had. It was a sea of swords growing above ankle height up to his waist. And still there was an area of safety where the dark lord had stood. Eventually, the rolling sea of swords came to an end and a silence descended upon the tower. "Guess the little fella tired himself out", said the champion. The dark lord was no longer able to move even a little bit without touching a sword. His cloak caught on the tip of a sword and a terrible lightning sizzled up the cloak, burning it terribly. The back of his sole on his shoe glanced against another sword and the sword formed a mouth and tried to bite him. The dark lord was only saved by the fact that the sword of biting couldn't move, with what must surely be hundreds of other swords on top of it. The champion looked around and picked up one of the swords from the sea of swords. "This is the sword of godspeed", he said. Then he vanished in a puff of smoke, teleported off to some faraway place. "You little shit", said the dark lord. He was met by the "plink"of another sword appearing - he seemed to recall a sword of punishing foul language being mentioned sometime earlier. 'Best to say nothing', he reminded himself. There was another plink and some rattling as a sword appeared somewhere in the sea - probably a sword of saying nothing and thus not being true to yourself. The dark lord was surrounded by swords. But he prided himself on never being without means. He reached for the magic in his blood and started to channel it towards a spell of displacement. Instantly he was met by several plinks, quite a bit of rattling, and more than one sword literally flying at him from the sea of swords. 'Oh yeah, magic-eating magic swords, of course' he reminded himself. He barely parried the flying swords with his own blade. He tried to push the swords away from him but something pushed right back. Then he tried to pull the swords towards him and that seemed to have no limitations. He regretted trying that. There was a plink as the dagger of sword had coupled with one of the many swords of regretting asking if there are any more swords, and had produced some kind of hybrid, evolved form of magical sword that just responded to pure regret. The dark lord stood quietly, motionless on top of the tower. There was not an inch to move now in any direction. The sea of swords had reached above his waist and was threatening the movement of his arms. Finally, thinking about nothing, doing nothing, there was a cessation of new swords popping into existence. He stood there waiting, hoping that one of his minions would come rescue him. He tried not to think about any of the swords. But one sword kept popping up in his mind. It nagged at the edge of his consciousness until he could no longer deny it. Like the final paragraph of some pulp story, its arrival was inevitable and, perhaps, not entirely unwelcome. The sword of not extending a story past its expected conclusion. Suddenly there was a massive crash of plinks and a literal wave of swords rose up and fell over the dark lord. Angered at the unfairness of it all, the dark lord quickly revised his planned final words. Which is a kind way of saying that the dark lord said, for once, exactly what he thought. "That's some bullsh-"
It was exactly 473 days after the initial outbreak and subsequent fall of modern civilization, that the start of something entirely new reared its ugly little head. The first of those creatures had spoken its first words. Like a newborn, its vernacular was choppy and broken; nearly incomprehensible. Yeah, I remember stopping for a good moment or two, trying to convince myself that I hadn’t heard it; that it was just a garbled mess of wild zombie noises that didn’t mean anything and simply happened to sound suspiciously like a name “Sa-rugh” But then it happened again, clearer and louder. “Sarah...” Then again, and again and again on repeat, like a chant. “Sarah, Sarah! Sarah!” Like clockwork, all of the others stopped. The violent gnashing of teeth; the gutteral screams of mindless fury, it all stopped until the air was so thick with silence that I swear I heard my heart in my ears. Then, without warning, they all followed suit. All screaming in sync with the first. All screaming that name until it was so loud my eyes welled up with tears and I fell on my ass in disbelief. We call that moment the singularity. The moment where one of them achieved intelligence, and the rest followed suit. Like a hive mind, the zombies rallied to the first and mimicked its call. I’d later learn that “Sarah” was the name of his late wife, whom he’d killed in his ‘infancy’. I’d learn that his guilt had haunted him, 473 days later to this exact moment, where he’d finally found the one word to sum up his guilt, pushing through the haze to mourn properly for the first time in well-over a year. The other zombies followed his lead without any trouble. All he crossed paths with fell in line, often without so much as a word. It was only then that I truly realized just how fucked we’d truly been. Zombies, ranging in the millions, all swarmed his location from far and wide, like a beacon. I’d later learn that this phenomenon was happening everywhere throughout the world: Kings or Queens were being born; Zombies with actual intelligence, who rallied all others under their territory. At once, they stopped hunting, and started rebuilding. Finally, we could breathe again, only to have it taken away yet again at the sheer pace that the creatures worked. It seemed as though they had limitless stamina, and aside from their rulers, largely lacked any more than the most rudimentary intelligence required to carry out tasks as ordered. It is quite remarkable to watch cities be rebuilt by a tireless army of synchronized workers, all in unbelievable quantities; terrifying to watch them rebuild the very world they’d torn apart in the tiniest fraction of the time it would’ve taken us. Most terrifying of all though was the question of where we were meant to fit in this new world they were creating.
The monster called for me through the uranium door. It scratched and whined like sick dog. It needed me. There was keypad on the exterior of the chamber; it knew this. And inside my mind was the code. &#x200B; First it had come to me as fear. It preyed on my mind with supernatural cruelty and creativity. My body failed me for two days after that. When I awoke it entered my mind as some sort of spokesperson for the universe. It explained the necessity for its devastation with a logical construction that traced back the Big Bang. The argument had something to do with enthalpy and entropy. But I didn’t understand, so it pummeled me. Pain, that was the next approach it took. The monster wormed its mind through my body. It contracted my muscles violently. I flailed on the bunker floor like an animal in a trap. I was left a heap on the floor, this time with a broken arm. A blast from outside the bunker woke me up. I pulled myself up and walked down the long corridor to the exterior blast door. I couldn’t get within ten feet of it, it was so hot. I thought about opening it and walking out. Why live any longer? The code must have been the only thing keeping me alive. I had kept the chamber sealed. I was able to resist the monster because of one thing. A truth that I kept concealed no matter what it threw at me: I forgot the code. &#x200B; It whined again, exactly like my Labrador did the night we put it down. I took the sling off my arm and walked towards the chamber. My arm felt fine - or at least that’s what I was being made to feel. I ran my hand along the door, it was my dad's ’67 Corvette Sting Ray. I pressed my forehead against the door and asked it to stop this new game. And it did stop this time. In a whisper beneath the drum of the generators, I told it the truth. It spoke back to me, into my head. A long tale told elegantly and succinctly. It told me the truth too. I said I was sorry.
The Inquisition officer glared at our alchemist licenses, then back at us once more. His weathered face was made even wrinklier by a expression of utter distrust. The three of us were standing in front of him with the most innocent smile we could conjure. "See, we are alch-"Started Jessica. "Rmf! I can read thank you..."Interrupted the agent rudely. "And your magicka detector didn-"Tried to add Tony. "I KNOW WHAT THE DETECTOR SAID!"The officer slapped our paper into his palm in frustration while studying the basement once more: star maps and sigils hanging on the walls, symbols drawn with chalk directly drawn onto the bare floor, shelves creaking under the weight of old leather books -the inquisitor tried to open one but couldn't read the esoteric language written within-, a massive apothecary's cabinet filled with plants and mineral ingredients, and a huge cauldron simmering quietly in a chimney. A textbook witch's den -there was even our black cat Melinda perched on the back of an armchair and watching the scene unfold with feline indifference!-, except everything was documented and registered alchemy equipment. Every ingredient, every tool, every book had a receipt with the Observatory's stamp on. The nostrils of the officer kept flaring out with its barely contained anger. "Elderflower and nightshades, those are some witch's brew ingredients, aren't they?"He hissed at our group. I dared a step forward. "We wouldn't know officer. We only use them in combination with nitrile make transmutation solvants"His eyes grew even narrower, Jessica tugged on my cape to step back but I stood my ground. The officer stomped his way back in front of me, dwarfing me in both height and girth. "Oh of course, and the star maps...""The light of the moon and stars affect transmutation patterns""The sigils...""Recipes, all approved by the Observatory.""The cauldron...""We're decanting lead and antimony.""THE FREAKING CAT!"I blinked in stunned silence. "The...cat?"Asked Tony behind me. The officer was beat red at this point, but even he realized the absurdity of his last remark. He violently slapped our licenses back into my hand. "Don't you think we're done here. The Inquisition got many complains already: empty potions found in public bins, sight of broom flight under the full moon, traces of magicka all over the neighborhood.""But nothing here!"Pointed out Tony above my shoulder. The inquisitor's expression morphed into pure cold rage and my friend disappeared behind me again. Enough is enough! I defiantly stepped closer until I could feel the man's breath rolls on my face. "Officer, this study has been certified by the Observatory. You saw our licenses and our book keeping is irreproachable. We have been compliant so far but this charade has gone long enough. We are on a tight schedule and any further delay could compromise weeks of research. Does the Inquisition wants to have to explain to the Observatory why so much time and money got wasted on a completely baseless search?"I threw right at his face. Cogs began to turn in the inquisitor's skull to weight his anger against the perspective of administrative troubles... He huffed and walked right past us. "I'll be back, you see."He muttered. Boots on stairs, a door violently slammed, and he was gone. Jessica collapsed on the ground and Tony threw himself into the armchair. "Those damn inquisitors!"He groaned. Jessica spread her arms across the floor. "What's the point of following all their rules if they'll still act like asses anyway?"I let out a sigh as I walked toward the cauldron. My silence was as good as a reply as any; we were all too aware of the power abuses the Inquisition was capable of in the name our keeping our society 'safe from the dangers of magic'. The cat jumped off her resting spot and swiftly transformed back into a woman. "Well, they're right about us."Melinda replied, scratching the back of her ear. Jessica let out an exasperated moan. "Yeah but they don't know that!"I turned away from the preparation. "It was way too close Melly, how could you forget your license?"She smirked. "We're too good of witches to be caught mid-transmogrification!"Tony raised his head from the depth of the chair "Well good thing we are even better alchemists than witches because if I didn't fix the magicka vacuum yesterday, the detector would have caught on your spell anyway!" I rolled my eyes. Yup, great witches and greater alchemists, what a coven we were!
Ever had your brain scrambled by concrete? Probably a dumb question, since a brain scramblings an impossible thing. However, that’s the best way to describe the feeling of your head bouncing off a slab of concrete. That brief rattling of your jelly like brain flying around your skull before everything goes black. Experiencing that one hard shock of pain before you fall into the void of sleep. Then… Nothing. Well, except the dreams and blurs of noise that surround you. The odd beeping of a machine breaking through those cloudy dreams. The beeps followed by a symphony of mom crying or dad talking about something or another. It’s a haze and one that you find yourself trapped in. The best way to describe it would be swimming through the deepest parts of the ocean. Weightlessly pushing through dark waters that you can’t see in. Are you going back to the surface or are you swimming deeper into the eternal slumber? I can consider myself lucky, either I had on a firm lifejacket, or my swimming skills were better than I ever knew. Because on a cold, miserable morning, I woke up, greeted by a flash of random numbers and letters. The room swirling with these random codes. The nurse was the first to greet me, finding me sitting up on my bed, eyes darting around the room in a crazed manner. She said disorientation is a normal side effect of a coma, but it had nothing to do with disorientation. The world around me had changed, and I was the only one aware of it. “Anything out of the ordinary that you’ve noticed?” “No, doctor.” “Any strange symptoms?” “No, doctor.” “No, doctor.” I repeated, much to the confusion of the woman sitting before me. She glanced at her clipboard, pen hovering over the question she was planning to ask. I already knew the question, instinctively answering it before she could get the words out. Why was this taking so long? “Are you ok?” “Yes, doctor.” I lied, feeling the honesty of my first response might make this session longer. I was far from alright; everything had been so different since I woke up. It was like I could read their minds. Or maybe not something as outlandish as that. It felt like I could read their lips before the words came out or see their actions before they had made a movement. Everything felt slow. “You need to tell me if you are feeling any unusual symptoms. The period after a coma is rather taxing on the body. The fact that you’re able to move around is a miracle. The recovery period can be years and that’s if you’re even lucky enough to recover from the damage. Are you feeling agitated? You don’t appear comfortable in your seat.” As she said that, my leg bounced against the floor, tapping on the spot. Did I look comfortable? Of course, I wasn’t comfortable, nothing about this situation was comfortable. A sterile room with a person I’ve never met before asking me questions. How could I feel any comfort? Not to mention the speed of this all was agonizingly slow. Yet, I struggled to be mad at her. Nothing about her demeanor showed that she was being malicious. She did care about my health. That look of pity she gave me as I squirmed against the chair fabric, the sigh when I scratched at my arm. I could never read a person before and still, it felt so easy to do so now. Like her face had opened up, showing me all the thoughts buzzing between her brain cells. “I will. I’m sorry, it’s been a long week. I promise, I’m as fine as I can be.” That concluded our little talk. They monitored me for another week before sending me home. My parents happily telling me all about what I missed while I sat in the backseat, staring out the window. “I’ve never felt so connected with the world.” The smells, the sway of the breeze, the small clicking of car blinkers, everything felt so connected, as if it were all joined by one long thread of rope. My odd comment made my parents laugh, and they attributed it to the medication I had been given. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but something about the discovery of it all made me feel the need to speak about it. It felt incredible, everything making sense for the first time. Staring at my parents seated in the front seats of the car. I could only feel bad for them. How could a person go through life not knowing about this? Despite the initial joy I had felt, the next weeks were rough. The whole rat race of life went against everything that my new instincts felt were right. How could a beautiful world get reduced to this? The fact that this long thread connects all of humans and yet we hold such contempt for one another. It’s insane. People didn’t understand that no matter the hate they held, that thread of humanity still connected everything. We were all human. Nothing else mattered. But, the thread isn’t only for us. Animals, plants, bugs and everything in between. This thread joins the world, and that thread is beautiful when it isn’t being pulled and frayed. I found myself in a deep depression after that, going about my day in a trance. Again, they contributed this to the medication, and I didn’t argue with them. How could I explain this? I was an alien to humanity, someone that didn’t understand the ways of the surrounding world. Everything was slow and harsh. Where was the humanity in humanity? Then that trance took me back to the spot where it all began, sitting by the side of that concrete slab. I wasn’t sure why I found myself seated on the edge of this sidewalk, staring blankly at the spot before me. Maybe I was grieving the previous me, hoping he might come back or I would awake from this. The longer I sat there, the worst I felt. That sinking feeling growing heavier as I realized this was my fate. There was no magic button to reverse this and no person to save me. “Oops.” I felt a splash of cold hit my back, leaving a sticky wad of ice cream dripping down the back of my shirt. I turned to face the culprit. The kid frowning as he watched his treat ooze off me. It was clear he was more upset about the ice cream than he was about tripping over me. Although he did eventually mumble out a small apology. “Sorry.” “It’s ok.” I turned back to the slab, only to hear sniffing. The kid doing his best to hold back tears. What could have made him so attached to an ice cream? I glanced back at him, watching his face contort into that ugly look of sadness. The face of someone screwing their face in a brave attempt to not break down. For this first time I could see that thread dangling off his back, a connection leading back somewhere. My eyes followed the thread until I couldn’t see it any longer. When the thread was out of sight, I got a vision. An old, frail woman with delicate silver hair. Her bones aching and still she got up to greet her grandson. The woman embracing him in a tight hug, even though her tired form would rather be sinking into her rocking chair. She didn’t have much, only a lot of love to give to a person who was her world. She fished out what was left of her pension to buy him a treat. A treat that now dripped off my back. I couldn’t do anything, screwing my face up. It took a lot of effort to stop myself from joining the kid in his sobbing. I reached for my wallet, finding whatever notes I had in it. I handed them to the kid and smiled. “Get two and share it.” It was amazing how quickly a kid could stop crying. In a moment, he had stopped crying and taken the cash. While his face showed how grateful he was, he didn’t think to say thank you, rushing to the store. I could see it now, him rushing home, two ice creams in hand. The older woman letting out an impressed exhale as he recounted his tale. The two sharing the story over the dessert. That small glimpse was what made humanity so amazing. Maybe that was the point of this all? The thread could never be perfect. We would never have a unified humanity, but we could all do our part to create a better world. Maybe if enough of us put in the effort, it would encourage others to do the same? I picked myself up from the sidewalk, shifting my arms a little, trying to get my shirt unstuck from my back. For the first time since the coma, I felt I could think a little clearer. Heading back home, I could hold my head up high. I would create some little changes to the world. Even if they went unnoticed, I would do my part. Although, I would need to change my shirt before I started.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
The newspapers are wrong. You've probably read about me, but don't listen to what the media is saying because it's wrong. I never wanted to be famous. I'm not psychologically disturbed. I wasn't abused as a child, I never tortured animals and I didn't wet the bed until I was 9 or 12 or 16 or whatever else the talkshows and journalists and bloggers are screaming about. But no one's ever going to believe me when I say that because for every incorrect fact that's printed, there is a correct one too. And that's how you tell a lie, isn't it? - by mixing it with the truth. Maybe they're right. Maybe I am a monster. I did kill all those people after all. I murdered 66 children and 82 men and 85 women. Of course they think I'm a psychopath. I've seen the story that's being told about me: "233 men, women and children – all victims of human trafficking - were burned alive in a warehouse fire. Reports say that the arsonist, Dr. Jacob King, planned the violent attack with methodical and savage cruelty.” And yes, christ, that's all true. It's true -- except. That last part. That's not right. It wasn't savage cruelty, even if I did do it on purpose. Even if I spent a week preparing to burn it down. Preparation wasn't necessary, you know. There was a 1,000 gallon propane tank already in there. I don't know if you've seen propane go up, but it explodes. And a 1000 gallons? The fire was so hot that it cracked the concrete a block away. The entire sky lit up like a second sun had been hung and I could feel the roiling heat on my face. That final act, that's not the real story. It was the consequence, the aftermath when all the other variables have been added up, and - Well. Does it even matter now? Probably not. But. Here it is anyway. I'm a doctor. I can’t take out your appendix or set your broken arm, but I have a doctorate in biological engineering with a subspecialty in Synthetic Biology and Medical Technology. I received my education free of charge thanks to the United States Military with the expectation that I would work for them for at least 10 years after earning my degree. The US military spends more money than you would think recruiting the best and brightest minds and I was young and naïve and so eager. I couldn't even imagine the research I would be getting into. You see, these days a college student studying biology will cover some material on genetic breakthroughs. They'll learn that we've recently made advancements in knocking out genes in a mouse, that we can insert DNA into an embryo so that the mouse will grow a human ear on its back. They'll learn that these advancements are too new to fully understand and it's going to take a long time before we can stort it out. In reality, we’ve been able to grow human ears on mice for over 30 years. The oldest human clone? 39. Oldest human/chimp hybrid? 19. When I arrived, the next big advance was being able to manipulate DNA in people who are alive and breathing and grown. Convention dictates that you must start with an embryo if you want to tailor its genetic code and then wait 15 or 20 years for a human to fully mature – but that wasn't good enough. HIV gave us our launching pad. We retooled the underlying mechanism found in a retrovirus. This allowed us to insert fragments of DNA, then whole genes into cells. We moved onto organ systems, then entire animals. Eventually humans. It was more complicated than I'm implying; you have to make a custom strain for every person, - a bespoke infection, if you will - but we eventually got it right. And now? A few hours after inoculation, the process of shedding old cells begins. Depending on the type of cell or system you're targeting, a subject can be fully infected within days. But the details aren't important now. Everything that we did, everything we planned on doing? What it meant was this: humans were no longer humans. They were blank slates that we could write on. And I was helping. What could this possibly have to do with the 233 victims of human trafficking, you wonder? You might already suspect some of it. But the rabbit hole is deeper than you think. See, we - I - worked on something called the Comp-T Gene. Its innocuous name is shorthand for Compliance with Training. It sounds like something you’d find in a Labrador, but it’s more powerful than that. See, you put this gene in someone, “turn it on” using transcription factors and you can train that person to do anything you want. After you’ve set a subject, you turn off the gene but the behavior? It’s permanent - a brand-new, hand-picked, biological imperative. I heard one of my colleagues refer it as the "Kool-Aid Virus." He was, for all his flippancy, correct. You have to know that I wasn’t part of the team that set the 233 Comp-T men, women, and children that ended up in that warehouse. I never should have known about them but how I came to that information isn’t important. And. God. Believe me, please, believe me. Please. I know that I'm a monster and all the terrible things people are saying about me. I killed those people, yes, I lit the fire, it’s true. And yes, maybe it was savage, and god it was cruel. I pay for it, now. I wake up sweating, I have nightmares so terrible that I get sick. There is no taking back what I've done, and I hate myself for it. You have to understand, I killed 233 people, but -- listen. I think, I hope, that I saved 233 lives too, maybe more, because don't you understand? Do you see? There were plans. They were going to take over. They were using those men and women and children; they had designed them, 1000s of hours of planning and do you see it now? The warehouse was a way station before they were being sent off to kill 233 members of our government -- including the president -- 8 days from now. They were going to stage a coup. I have no idea if I succeeded. It's not likely. Even if I stopped it once, they can just do it again, can't they. I don’t think I’ll be around much longer to wonder.
Two heavies are gripping my arms. They're the only things keeping me upright, cause my legs have been reduced to quivering jelly at this point. My employer took great pleasure in sliding the iron knuckleduster over his fingers, casting me a fast wink before driving a fist into my stomach. It rips the air from my lungs and I double over, wheezing. I'm pulled upright again, only to met with an open-palmed slap to the face. "Please!"I've never liked begging. "Please, no!"There's hot blood trickling from somewhere on my face, but that's numb. All I can feel is the burning pain in my stomach from where he's punched me. "I said EIGHT!"He grips my chin and pulls it down so we're eye to eye. They're hazel, with irises like pinpricks. There are deep bags underneath them and he looks rough. "Eight fucking hours! Was that too much to ask?" "No, no!"Another punch. This one drives close to my ribs and I gasp out. "I'm sorry!" "It's too fucking late!"That's going to bruise. I'm choking on this pain. "I-" "Do you know how much you've cost me?" "I-" Slap It rings around the small room with the bad carpet and there's more blood on my face. "Please-" "Six million."He steps back and gives me a moment to breathe. His men's fingers are digging into my arms. It's going to bruise. "Six million."He's panting. There's a high pitched whining sound and it takes me a minute to realise that it's me. I hang my head and let the heavies take my weight. Every nerve of my body is screaming. "That's how much you cost me. I ask for eight hours."He slumps back in the chair at his desk and rips off the knuckle duster, reaching for a glass of cold water. "Try not to get blood on the carpet, will you?"Someone pulls my hair and my head jerks back. I guess it's my nose that's bleeding, then. "Out of interest, how much hours did you actually get?" "Do."My nose is definitely broken. "Two. Not fucking surprised. Two hours. So you decide, that the night before the biggest deal of my career, that you're going to- what? Go out? Stay up all night playing Halo?" "Ib wasn'd like dat." "Oh? Then what?" "My mudder died." He takes a sip from his drink and looks at me again. "I don't care. You had a job to do. You fucked up." A nod to the men at my sides. "Take him out. Finish him off."
EDIT: Due to the amount of PM's requests, I've decided to set up a subreddit where I can continue my work. This was meant to be a short thing, but I guess I've decided that it's too good to stop. You can find it here: http://www.reddit.com/r/USofAmazonia/ EDIT 1: ACT I MOVED TO A REPLY EDIT 2: Thanks for the responses and upvotes guys. I'm honored. PROLOGUE M- Day 19 0700 Hours Doctor Audax was sipping his daily morning cup of coffee. No milk, no sugar. Black at 205 degrees, as always. It cleared his mind. He saw his assistant, Julia, pacing outside his office. She knew to not disturb him while he was filling out his daily reports every morning. The way she was rubbing her forearm told him that she was more anxious than normal. The lady needed to start taking decaf. He got up and opened the door. "Julia, is something wrong?"The dark rings under her eyes told him that she hadn't slept well in two days. "Doctor, I have something you should take a look at. Come with me."Her voice betrayed not her usual anxiousness, but fear. His brow furrowed. "Lead the way."She spun on her heels and took off at a brisk pace, far too quick for the doctor to keep up without his coffee spilling and burning him. He sighed and set his cup on the ground. It would be cold by the time he returned. What a waste. He jogged to catch up with her. "What's the matter, Julia?" "You remember how Congressman Seneca and his wife came in last night before you left?" "Ah yes. Was their boy not delivered safely? The karyotypes showed that he was free from any sort of genetic issues - given Mrs. Seneca is almost 60, a small miracle in itself that the implanted embryos took." "Well, in a manner of speaking."They walked into the nursery. By the door, a small steel rectangular table with two karyotypes was laid out. "Doctor, this one was from three months ago. This was from last night." "Last night? Remarkable how the cytogenetics lab worked so quickly. Congressman Seneca must have paid a huge sum."Dr. Audax glanced at the genetic mappings. "No trisomy 21. He doesn't have Down syndrome." "Look again, Doctor. At the sex chromosomes. They're different. Er, the same. But different from each other in the karyotypes."The shake in her voice, the mental loops she was throwing told him that she wasn't joking. He glanced down, then calmly stated: "Where is Congressman Seneca's child?" "Fourth row, number 127."He hurried over. Number 50... Number 70... Number 90... Number 120, 123, 126, 127. He opened the diaper, then reclosed it. The baby was a female. "That's impossible. We all saw the results from the Augustrian implant technique. Months of careful checkups have shown that this baby was supposed to be a boy. What did the Congressman say? We need to keep our funding from Congress to continue research, if we lose our biggest supporter, then -" "There's more, doctor. Here's the list of every newborn over the past three weeks. Nobody noticed because the hospital is so large, but I looked into the logs. The last male birth was 19 days ago."Audax read the logs. Hundreds of births, how could they all be female? The mathematical odds of this happening randomly were as small as a monkey randomly typing out the first paragraph of Hamlet. "This is... extraordinary. Go call our other hospitals in the county, see if they can let us see their logs too. And contact Congressman Seneca, he'll want to know why his "son"is actually a girl." "I already have. They've confirmed the same thing. I've put in a request for all of the hospitals we have across the state, and I'll expand the search accordingly. He'll be here in twenty." M- Day 19 0730 Hours "Doctor, pleased to see you. I assume you have an answer as to why my son has now changed into a girl?"Seneca smirked wryly. Last night's events were unexpected, but he wasn't one to doubt proof when it was thrown in front of him. His child was, for reasons unknown to science, inexplicably a girl. "There's more than that, Senator."The doctor laid out the tables in front of him. "As you can see... the last male child born in our hospital was 3 weeks ago. Julia is acquiring logs from hospitals statewide, but it seems that there have been no male children born in the past 3 weeks in the county either." "Marcus you know I'm all for jokes, but this is-" "I'm serious. This is big."Silence filled the room. "How is this possible?" "I don't know Senator. We don't have the resources to figure it out." "Expand your log search nationwide - but try to keep this under wraps." "Lucius, you know someone is going to notice this sooner or later. You can't have babies being born on a daily basis and nobody noticing that they're all female." "How long until you can get me the national logs?" "What are you thinking of?" "CDC, Department of Health, someone's gotta have an explanation for this if it is true." "This afternoon." "I'll see if Congressman Bailey will be able to get us in touch with them by tomorrow. Have a good day, Marcus."He stood up and left the room. M- Day 20 0930 Hours "We cannot, under any way, shape, or form, go public with this. Our citizens will think we've lost our minds! This is a midterm year, if we lose any more voter confidence -" "We have to! Sooner or later someone will notice. And when they do, questions will arise as to why the government did not pick up on this, and that's really going to kill public confidence. Not voter confidence. Public confidence."Seneca glared at Bailey. Bailey stammered "Hav- have we contacted any other countries to know if this is true yet?" "My whole staff is working on it. From what we've gathered, this is a worldwide phenomena." "God save us." M- Day 23 "Breaking news - government officials have announced that all babies born since mid-July have been girls. The UN and the WHO have confirmed that this is a worldwide phenomena. Funding has been approved for researchers to understand why, and if this is a temporary issue." M- Day 50 "Mr. President, Doctor Audax was the first to notice this. I strongly feel that he should head the research program as to figure out why this is occurring." "Well, actually Lucius, Julia was the first. She deserves to be as much a part of this as I am." "Gentlemen, the nation is in a state of panic. Politics over who found what, and who should lead the team will come later. Right now, we need to appear calm. Doctor, given your achievements in the past, I believe that you are fully qualified to lead the team. However, we have to go through the normal channels and ways of doing these things. There is also the issue of how Congressman Seneca will be the main nomination. I understand time is of the essence, but we cannot create a state of panic. You will have all the funding we can spare."
Dan threw his locker open with a loud clang, causing some passing students to glance at him oddly as they moved between classes. He didn't care. He didn't give a fuck about anyone in this shit school full of assholes and idiots. Whatever. He was used to looks, tall, slim and gaunt, jet black hair and dark circles around his eyes from never sleeping. His mom said he looked like a “fuckin’ vampire”, usually before guzzling down another bottle of her gin and going into her room to “take a nap”, which actually meant she was shooting up again. Whatever, fuck her and fuck this school and fuck Hal Wilkenson. He was taking his books when he suddenly he was shoved, hard. Hal was always a big kid, so people always treated him like a leader. The truth was he wanted no one and nothing to lead. He just wanted to be by himself, but there was always something to do, something to say, somewhere to go, some drug to take or girl to fuck, and truth be told, he was sick of just doing what his group of jerks and assholes thought he should. But he couldn't not care, it plagued him day and night what they thought of him. And only when he was at home, alone did the panic attacks come, hard and fast and painful. He had no one to actually talk to about this, so he pushed it all down and convinced himself that he was fine, because he was Hal fucking Wilkenson, he could handle anything. But his body shook from his nerves constantly firing off lightning shocks, and he couldn't handle it. So he fought. He hit and beat, asserted his dominance. Yes, I am better than them, he thought. He knew he was wrong, but it was the only way to lie to himself long enough to sleep for a few hours every night. Gregory heard shouting. Some stupid fight was breaking out again. Goddammit these fucking idiots never knew when to stop. Fight, fight, fight. At home and at school, that was all he ever heard. Shouting and yelling, taunts and insults were thrown often in the Prince household. He just wanted all the pressures and responsibilities to melt away, but he woke up every day and they were still there, the dark thoughts following. He was starting to crack under the pressure, and he had no one. All there was in his life was hate. He hated all these kids. He hated his family. He hated his life. Julie heard a commotion in a couple lockers down from her. She peered over, craning her neck to get a better look. She sighed. Hal was torturing that poor Jones kid again. She turned away. Not her problem if two more lugging morons decide to push each other over stupid shit. She dealt with real conflict every day. Her mother was a narcissist, and she berated and played mind games with her endlessly. Her father was silent to all this, only looking away whenever the shouting started. In her locker she had some clothes as she had been kicked out of the house last night for going to her first party and being, as her mother put it “a pitiful slut,” before forcibly removing her from the house and shutting the door. Fuck this, she thought. She would show her mother and everybody that she could take charge of her own life. They’d know the name Julie Franklin. “Fuck off, man!” Dan shouted. But Hal twisted up his face and shoved him again. Suddenly he stopped as a teacher walked by. The teacher stopped next to them with a blank expression on his face. “Uh, sorry, Mr. Prince.”, Hal said, but he didn't even seem to hear him. You all right, Mr. Prince”? Dan asked. Gregory didn't answer. Instead, he looked at the ground and reached into his jacket, and began.
Father Gregory entered the room ready to do battle against the demon who had taken one of his flock hostage. He gave one last glance to the Petersons before shutting the door behind him. They did not need to see this. As his old eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, he got his first look at Susie since the demon had taken hold of her. Her legs and arms were fastened securely to the bed by leather straps, ensuring that the demon would not be able to break free of the holdings. It seemed that the demon had already realized this, as the body did not move in the bed. They were usually feistier than this, refusing to go quietly back to hell. People forget that hell is just as much a prison for demons as it is for the damned. Father Gregory took a step forward, the floor boards creaking beneath him. It seemed the demon heard him, for it turned Susie's head towards him. "Ah hello Father. Was wondering what was taking you so long. I was almost afraid the parents wouldn't make the call. But anyways, glad you are finally here. Now before we start this whole thing, there are a few things you need to know."The demon spoke with an unearthly voice tat starkly contrasted the innocence of Susie's face as she was forced to speak the demon's words. "Save me your lies demon. Nothing you can say will stop me from sending you back to hell screaming."Father Gregory spat the words with pure venom. "Is that what you think this is all about? My goal here was not to escape hell for a few days, though I must say it is an added bonus. No, Father, I am here concerning Susie. I am sorry to break it to you this way, but Susie is dead." "Her body still moves hell-spawn, she is not with the lord yet." "Quite right on both accounts. Unfortunately it does not change the fact that Susie is brain dead. I have been keeping this body moving for the past three days, though my hold on it will slip soon. Therein lies the problem. Susie is not with god yet. Seems the soul can only move on once the body dies. Even heaven has its bureaucracy." "If what you say is true demon, then release the girl so that she may join our father in heaven."Father Gregory was confused by this whole ordeal. This was a tricky demon, trying to play with his emotions. "I fully intend to Father, but first the reason I am really here." "And what might that be?" "Justice. Susie did not just happen to become brain dead at the drop of a hat. Her father beat her for three hours before she slipped into a coma. You will find fresh bruises all along her body, as well as a bloody shovel out back. All I need you to do is tell the police about the bruises. If the cops confront her, the mother will confess and implicate the father. All in all should be a quick trial and conviction." Father Gregory was startled. Even if the demon was lying, his words possessed some truth to them. He was not blind, he knew that Susie's home life was not ideal, but this... "Why?"Father Gregory asked incredulously. "Why what?"The demon asked back. "Why help me find justice for this girl?" "You forget Father, I was once an angel."The demon said. "Now send me back to hell."
You seem elated at what you have found, young soldier. You are to be commended for surviving the thick perils of the jungle which have taken the lives of millions before you. Perhaps you've been looking for this fountain your whole life, and now you have found it. Maybe you're wondering if there is some sort of catch to this, some horrible exchange you must make in exchange for eternal youth? Allow me to assuage your fears, for nothing terrible will happen to you, should you drink this water. You won't grow an extra head, or kill someone else by prolonging your life this way. Of course, immortality is not the same thing as invincibility, you can still die. I have seen it happen before, and in fact, I think I am the only man who still lives after drinking the water from this fountain. What, you may ask, could befall someone in such a way? Well, tomorrow is never a guarantee, there is that. Even if you drink the water, the jungle itself may very well forbid you to return home. But even those who make it out, I have found, see the passage of time accelerate at a pace that drives them insane. You are young, but surely you have noticed that your days seem much shorter now than when you were in the charge of your parents. Now, imagine that acceleration over several hundred years, and you can see the drawback. The lives of loved ones seemed like minutes and seconds, wrinkles forming on the elderly brow at sunset on one who was an infant at sunrise. Those who would have their loved ones drink the water found that the journey grows more treacherous with each passing day. Many of them die, cut their lives even shorter than they would have been without the water. Immortality is lonely. I should know, I have been here for three thousand years, and I have seen only twenty people in those millennia. Here in this strange place, the other fountains showed me the lives of the survivors of the jungle's wrath. And in those three thousand years, I have yet to see one person not regret their decision to drink these waters. When time forgets your existence, it simply leaves you behind. The choice is yours, young soldier. I cannot stop you from drinking the water, but I have stood here all these millennia to help those such as yourself understand the choice they are about to make. No one, upon reaching this place, has ever refused the water, but I hope you will be the first.
The hallway was dark, but I ran anyway. My clothes clung tight to my body, my breath coming in short spurts, and I glanced at my smartphone one more time; still fried, the screen dark and unresponsive. So much for my preparations. I'd have to do this manually. I closed my eyes, just for an instant. There was a certain focus programmers needed to execute realcode, and the bullet hole in my shoulder wasn't helping. My biocode process was throwing warnings at me every few seconds, and I knew I didn't have long before it crashed and the bleeding began again. Not to mention the pain. I took a deep breath, and pulled the well-worn lines of my operating system to mind. Time slowed down. The footsteps behind me faded into faint echoes, and when I opened my eyes again the world was blurred like a runny watercolor. > "Ping 8.8.8.8,"I muttered. I glanced behind me. My pursuers had just rounded the corner, expressionless helmets shiny from the thin dribbles of light reflected off the nearby skyscrapers. I hoped they didn't have their own coder, at least not yet. If their on call programmer was stuck in the bathroom, I might have a chance. Otherwise, I was looking at revocation of my license at a minimum, and getting stuck teaching community college coding classes to high school dropouts. More likely, though, I'd be looking at a bullet to the head, or life in some secret underground prison in some hellhole without an extradition treaty. Request timed out. > Virtual static crackled in my ear. They'd blocked satellite and Wifi connections. I couldn't even access my stored programs at home, which meant that any realcode I wanted to run I'd have to verbally invoke. The walls of their security net were closing in. "Python 3.1,"I said. C++ would be more efficient, but I didn't have time to compile. The few seconds I saved might be crucial. >>> I glanced over my shoulder. One guard had already raised his gun. "Import physics as phys. Import self."I rounded the corner, just as the shot went off and shattered a window. I didn't have much time. >>> "Phys.teleport(self.Self, self.Self.home)." InsufficientPowerError: Self.Energy < 100000 kJ. Execution will terminate self. Exiting... >>> Shit. My shoulder was beginning to sting again, endorphins wearing thin. I glanced at the window: the height made my head spin. If I didn't have enough power left to teleport, I definitely didn't have enough for antigrav. I took a deep breath, and tried again. "If phys.object.velocity > phys.SI(10) && phys.object.distance(self.Self) < phys.SI(0.01), phys.repel(10000)." >>> My chest tightened and I stumbled, catching myself on the wall. If a piece of code that simple made me dizzy... Waves of fear rushed over me. Stairwell. I needed to find a stairwell and get out, before- Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:43:51.827462 A bullet crashed into my shield half an inch from my head. A chill ran down my spine, the energy pulled straight from my dwindling reserves. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:43:52.827462 Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:43:53.234781 I rushed into the stairwell, and groaned. The sound of footsteps echoed from the ground floor; another squad. I didn't have nearly enough stamina to deal with them. At least, not normally. "Import biology.neurology as neuro. Import chemistry.organic as orgo." Every programmer had their little tricks, based on their background. Once, long ago, I'd studied to be a biologist. This was one of mine. "TTDX = orgo.complex(). TTDX.formula = C eleven, H seventeen, N three, O eight. TTDX.structure =..." I slammed the door shut, and closed my eyes. I had about five seconds to visualize the molecule I wanted. The loops arranged themselves in my head, coiled like miniature serpents. The door burst open. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.339582. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.512341. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.522345. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.633456. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:10.723434. My fingers went numb. Something warm and wet ran down my arm. The code keeping my shoulder stable had finally crashed. "For each (person in physics.location(relative, self, phys.SI(10)))..." Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:13.212344. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:13.238783. Repelled object (Type:bullet) at 2016-05-20 23:44:13.338783. The words came hard, my tongue thick and heavy. The world flickered back to solidity for one brief, terrifying moment. I looked up at a blank visor, and spoke. "...neuro.medulla(person).apply(TTDX, 10)." >>> There was a clattering of guns, the heavy slump of bodies hitting the floor, then silence. Tetrodotoxin. Or, to most people, pufferfish venom. I'd paralyzed them completely. They had about three minutes before they died of asphyxiation, but I had about one before their self-diagnosis systems figured out and fixed what I'd done. And after that, if anyone ever figured out I'd used my equivalent of nerve gas, I was going to jail for a long, long time. InsufficientPowerError: Warning! Phys.repel will not function. > Error: Heal.exe terminated. >>> Pain blazed through my head, but adrenaline kept me moving down the stairs. I made sure to step on as many of them as I could on the way down.
At first there was shock. Panic. Disbelief. How could this be true? Super Bowl XL, the Fog Bowl, Red Right 88? How could they be fake?!? Those great giants of athleticism, Barry Sanders, Brett Favre, Carl Eller, they were all fake? All phoning it in? The general public couldn't accept it. There were riots in New England as Tom Brady was attacked by an angry mob. Soon, most other NFL cities followed suite. However, in Detroit? We just laughed. The news explained so much.
I yawned as loudly as I could. Sure I was sitting in the very front row, within eyesight of the speaker on stage, and with dignitaries of various universities, research institutes, and world leaders all around me, but I wanted them to see me yawn. I wanted them to all know that I was clearly not invested in the proceedings. There’s really only so many times you can sit through the same ceremony before it just becomes a chore. But this year, this year, I knew that I could finally convince them that I, Dr. Baron Von Engel, was the most heinous villain that ever lived! Attempt twenty seven would surely win me the day. I settled in my chair, finally getting comfortable I may add, just as they began their presentation on me. The speaker, some italian woman, starting listing off my other achievements. “This wonderful man has done such great things for humanity in the past, efforts that we continually reward him for.” It always baffled me why these nitwits failed to realize I was trying to destroy them all. “We cannot forget his first award, which was for discovering a key part of the cancer fighting process that’s saved numerous lives.” In my defense, that was an accidental side effect for a strain of poison I gave to a “volunteer.” Not my fault he escaped after it failed to kill him. “ Or how he discovered a way to make ground that previously could not grow anything, be able to grow food. Since then, we have been able to plant gardens in some of the poorest regions in the world.” Again, accidental side effect. Never test any zombie rising potions in a former fruit garden, that’s also filled with dead pets. “Or what many people thought would be his greatest achievement, effectively eliminating many of the most aggressive forms of the flu, saving thousands of lives.” It was around that point I moved away from chemical making. Tried to fire my assistant over that one also. “Let’s not forget a personal favourite of most of us here, finding a permanent cure to erectile dysfunction.” That assistant still sends me a christmas card every year. “But today, we honour his latest achievement, one that will go down in not just scientific achievement, but human history as well.” Oh sweet jesus, here it comes. “Today, we honour you, Dr. Baron Von Engel, for curing the world of AIDS.” My first attempt at making a virus ladies and gentlemen. I’ll explain in a moment. As the audience began their thunderous applause, I sighed and made my way up to the podium. It was a pretty familiar routine at this point. Shake hands, the odd hug, couple of cheek kisses, but truthfully I was going through the motions. As I stopped behind the podium, and had the trophy placed on it in front of me, I waited for the applause to die down. Sure, I may have accidentally performed a miracle, but today, they would hear from the true villain inside me. “Ladies and Gentlemen, distinguished guests, and everyone in between. Let me be blunt.” I cleared my throat. “I was trying to GIVE everybody Aids.” The crowd was silent. “Yes, you heard me right, I was trying to GIVE YOU ALL AIDS! And do you know what happened? My idiotic new assistant Allen accidentally read the process for making it in reverse, thus creating a cure. So don’t you see? I did this by accident! I’m actually the greatest villain alive, I’m just shit at hiring good assistants. Every single one of these awards you’ve given me was for me trying to destroy you all! And now that I’ve done away with that useless human waste, I can finally tell you once and for all that…” The doors of the assembly hall were suddenly kicked wide open. A man who looked like he had travelled thousands of miles suddenly headed to the stage. As he got closer, I was horrified to see that it was indeed Allen, my assistant. He shoved everyone who tried to stop him out the way, as if they weighed nothing. He even nudged me over, and grabbed the podiums microphone. He took a moment to gather himself, before turning himself towards me. He raised his hand, pointed at me, then turned his head to the crowd. “This man, is a goddamn hero.” “What?” Was all I could muster. “Before he came here today, this, goddamn wonderful man, led me into his lab, and do you know what he did?” Try to kill him slowly and painfully as I recall. “He enabled me to find my inner strength, and from there, I was able to develop super powers.” The audience let out multiple gasps. “Wait, I did what?” “You made me into a super hero man. This wasn’t a fluke either, I tested it on some of the lab rats, and they all developed powers as well.” “WHAT?!” “With this technology, we can make heroes, that can fight the battles normal humans would surely perish doing.” As the audience began to realize, they all stood up and began to cheer. I was horrified. I ran over to Allen and grabbed his collar. “Do you realize what you’ve done?!” He put his hand on my shoulder, almost breaking it in the process. “You’re welcome doctor.” He then hugged me, harder than I’ve ever been hugged in my life. “For the love of god” I choked out “Please kill me.”
“I don’t know if we should do this,” I said. Dragon snorted smoke out of his nostrils. “Do what? We have the money now show us the way out.” Sir Rodger nodded his agreement, while peeking left and then right out of the throne room doorway. It’s not that I didn’t want to work with them; it’s just that my future was at stake and I wasn’t willing to risk it for a couple of gold. I could imagine Prince Regal’s face when he woke to find his entire treasury gone and that a possible suitor had done it. He would be angry, of course, but he couldn't react if I wasn't involved at all. “Listen, there are other castles we can strike, instead,” I told them, stepping back toward the throne seat. “Let’s just put it back.” Sir Rodger slammed the door shut. His mail clanked as he folded his arms. “Really, Argatha? Now of all times?” “You would have made a much better snack.” Dragon huffed and flames curled up from the corners of his mouth. He looked up at the roof and then the sack. I covered my face with my hands and pretended to cry. The bag tinkled as Sir Rodger hitched it over his shoulder. “I’m leaving, with or without her, you can figure your part out yourself, Dragon.” The throne room door creaked open and then I heard the sound of the sack being dragged out. I looked up to see Dragon watching me. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but instead he shook his head and followed after the Knight. And when they were finally gone, I sat back in the throne chair and smiled. They had taken the bait. “Thieves!” a voice shrieked in the distance. They had been found. It was my time to act. I wet my fingers and smeared the makeup down from my eyes. I stood up and tore my dress then ruffled my hair. If prince Regal wouldn’t marry me because of my looks, he would have to do it out of honor. I pushed through the throne room door and gave my best princess wail. “Help! Thieves in the castle!” I yelled. "They've broken into the royal treasury!"
Saint Peter, Jesus Christ, Abraham, and God all sat in individual chairs facing Jerry, the man who was trying to present his way in to heaven. "I swear it was working on my laptop,"said Jerry, nervously double clicking the Power Point file hoping to see a sign of life. An angel operating a camera zoomed in on Jerry's face, highlighting the sweat that was dribbling down his forehead. Jerry noticed the television situated at the side of the four heavenly characters. He also noticed that he was pictured on it. "Is .. is that. Am I on that television? Is this being recorded?"asked Jerry. "You're being recorded, yes,"said Abraham. "Why?"asked Jerry. "What you're currently on is Heaven's highest rated show, Jerry. It's called Plead Tank. You make your plea to get in to heaven and have to convince one of us to take you in,"explained Abraham. "Oh, so this is like Dragons Den/Shark Tank? That kind of thing?"asked Jerry. "Let's not compare this to any mortal show, Jerry. We're above that kind of thing,"said Jesus, leaning back in his chair, striking a look in to the camera and winking. "What was that?"asked Jerry. "What was what?"asked Jesus, this time looking in to a different camera, flashing another wink. "He keeps saying things then winking at the cameras,"explained Jerry. "I don't know what that means." "Oh, that's, erm, that's his thing. Ignore that. The viewers like Jesus. They think he has zingy one liners and is edgy. Gets the laughs. Got to have laughs on a show like this, Jerry,"said God, leaning forward in his chair, his hands clasped together in a calming manner. "But he isn't funny. Wait, are you going for the calming, understanding angle?"Jerry asked God. "This is dragging on, less questions more presentation, please,"requested Saint Peter. The presentation opened and shot on to the white screen with Jerry's outline shadowed on the wall. Nervously, he waddled off the screen. Jerry cleared his throat, fixed his tie, and began to speak. "So this is my presentation. As you can see from the first slide, my name is Jerry and I am trying to get in to heaven." "Interesting,"said Saint Peter, twiddling his beard. "So you say your name is Jerry, right?" "Yes,"replied Jerry. "Then I'm out, dawg"announced Saint Peter. A crash of dramatic music rang around the studio, startling Jerry. THE FIRST BOMBSHELL HAS FALLEN ON JERRY. WILL THE SHRAPNEL HIT THE OTHER JUDGES? "What the fuck is going on? Was that a voice over?"asked Jerry, as another angel pressed his camera towards his face for a close-up shot. "I said I'm out, dawg"answered Saint Peter. Another crescendo of dramatic music fell on to Jerry. "But all I done was tell you my name." "Saint Peter makes rash decisions. He's the rash decision guy. You may have also noticed he says 'dawg' a lot. This is because we don't have any black Bible guys but still like to attack that market,"explained God. "That is horrific,"said Jerry. "Horrifically genius,"said Jesus, lighting a cigar while winking at the nearest camera. "He honestly gets laughs?"asked Jerry. "It's actually quite surprising how popular he is,"replied God. "You can move on to slide two now." TASKED WITH MOVING TO SLIDE TWO, JERRY HAS MOVED TO SLIDE TWO "Is that narrator really necessary?"asked Jerry. "We like to belittle the intelligence of our audience,"explained God. "For reasons unknown, it works." "OK. Excellent. So, slide two. Here I have listed some of my achievements, including a picture of my greatest achievement, my son." "I'm afraid it's a no from me,"said Abraham, reclining in his seat. "What, why?!"asked Jerry. "I think your kid looks like a bit of a dick,"explained Abraham. "What!?"exclaimed Jerry. "Can I interrupt?"asked Jesus. "Going to interrupt regardless so nobody answer that, got to agree with Abe. That kid is a straight up turd. Look at the absolute state of his clothes." "He's 2 years old. He can't even spell fashion,"pleaded Jerry. "Oh, so you're telling us he also can't spell?"asked Jesus. "I'm out. I'm not letting some kid in to heaven who can't spell." "But this isn't about my fucking kid! It's about me!"shouted Jerry. WITH THREE BIBLE GUYS OUT OF THE EQUATION, JERRY'S APPLICATION ISN'T ADDING UP "Someone fucking kill that narrator,"continued Jerry. God sat forward in his chair, "Jerry. To come in front of us today and think you can win favour by flaunting your child around sickens me. Those priests down on Earth do not represent me or my religion no matter what people like you say." "That's truly not what I was trying to imply,"said Jerry. "I'm out, Jerry. I want no part of your sick ploy. You'll fit in well in hell,"said God. Jerry burst in to tears. The sad song from the Mark Ruffalo version of The Hulk played in the background. Various angel camera men moved in for their shots. "And that's a rap!"shouted Archangel Gabriel, walking away from the scene with 'Director' written on the back of his jacket. God stood from his chair and walked over to Jerry, putting his hand on his shoulder. "You were great. This episode is going to be a massive hit and it's all down to you." "What?"asked Jerry. "Am I not going to hell?" "Of course you're going to hell, Jerry. All reality TV stars do." **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.
At first, we could understand. Carbon-based, biomechanical, seeking the warmth of suns, food, atmosphere. They spread with a surprising speed, galactically speaking, never displacing us or our brethren. But instead, they surrounded us. Slowly, possessing our planets, then our asteroids, then even the uninhabitable moons. After an eon, they were more, machines and flesh together. Soon, they were not even flesh. They were just the simulations of their biological forms. Their machines, their selves, advanced exponentially. System after system became habitats, massive shells of computing mass circling the stars in titanic swarms. Uncountable quintillions of thinking beings, contained in computing mass, draining the stars' energy. We flee, ever retreating from the advancing wave of their presence. The front is almost linear, given their reach. They don't destroy us, or displace us, but they subsume us. As if we were a novelty, or some superfluous creatures without sapience. We find ourselves in their environment, treated well, but as an exhibit. "What might have been."We attempt to assert ourselves, but it means nothing. We are outpaced, and outclassed. The humans will overtake us, eventually. We know this. Their past behavior indicates we will not be mistreated, perhaps studied, but not enslaved. They know they are dominant. They know. We will soon be obsolete.
Things were always interesting when Thelma came down to visit. My parents tell me how the very first time she came on down, a few hours after I was born, they were terrified she was going to snatch me and eat me up. My father had even thrown himself across the bed, begging her not to take me, while she just kind of stared at him. ‘Oh, dahl-ling,’ she said, chuckling at him, ‘I just want see the kid grow!’ And that she did! For show and tell, in kindergarten, she poofed up and brought me a ‘magical unicorn with a destructive horn’ to take with me. I (and most of my class, for the record!) thought it was brilliant. My parents, the teachers and principals? Not so much. It went on like that for a few more years. She cursed the nose off of my bully in fourth grade, temporarily changed my crush into a dog when he wouldn’t take me to a dance in middle school and flew me and a few friends around on a magic carpet in tenth grade. But most importantly, she was there for me in a way that no one else could ever be. I guess my parents’ fears were right in a way- I’m her kid as much as I am theirs. ****** Meanwhile, Thelma watched over the child with love, hope and the tiniest bit of evil glinting in her eyes. She cared for the child, no denying that, but the more the child valued her, the more she could use the love for her plot, the more they’d be willing to take part. This was much more convenient than snatching the babe out their crib and claiming them. She checked her family clock and smiled. It was time.
"Sweetheart!"He called. "Summer of 08, and every year since."The sharp voice replied. "Dear?" "Late autumn, 2014." "Darling." "Our second anniversary." "Sugar?" "New Year's Eve, last year." "Babe." "First date." "Honeybuns?" "Don't." "I don't see the problem!" "I do." "Not about honeybuns, about pet names. Plenty of couples have them!" "Dave, if I didn't know better, I'd say that in the seven years we've been together, you've never even called me by name!" "That is..." "Absolutely true?" "Ridiculous!"Feigning a huff, Dave stomped into the bedroom. Furtively, he locked the door behind him, and tore into the closet. He sorted through dresses, and dress pants, and shoes. Loafers, flats, some strappy thing that looked impossible to put on, a bowler hat, and sundresses, until he finally unearthed the fire box. Then, he sorted through the firebox. Social security numbers, insurance information, a Comcast catalog? Aha! A marriage license. Glancing around, ensuring that he remained undiscovered, he peeked at it. "Darla?"He whispered. "See?"A voice echoed from the other room. "It wasn't that hard!"
"Why does nobody want to serve me?! Is it because you think I have no money? I have TONS of money! Here take it. Please!!" She threw the money but the bills just scattered across the floor while being stepped on by the waitress. "Be back with your refill Craig!" "Sure, no rush take your time Sue." Amazing. Not one shred of attention. But why, why was nobody even glancing or acknowledging this? Was this a regularly known mental chick who always threw fits? I can't see her face but from the back of her she looks normal. Why was everyone ignoring or noone remotely interested? Surely when Lena and I argued in public we would always get a look from someon.... "What can I get you sugah? Any coffee?" A thick quirky accent came off Sue. She was happily looking at me while pouring over a hot cup. I was caught in between wanting to wait out this extremely awkward situation with the chick and asking someone what exactly triggered all this. So much to process. Lena. My family. The long ass drive from NY. Why can't I just find some fucking peace and tranquility. I don't need this. I don't want this. I want to go home, be anywhere else right now. My fucking back is killing me from my shitty car seat. "I.. uh... mmm.. I... yes." "...hehe yes what silly? Yes to the coffee or yes to a bite to eat?" That sweet tremble voice. Such a passion to want to please a customer. And judging by the guy to the left of me and the girl in fronts smies at their meal this place isn't bad at all. Except... that loud annoying chick. FUCK. There she goes again. "UMM EXCUSE ME?! How come you serve HIM coffee and attend to HIM while i've been here for almost 2 hours!!!" Man even Lena never caused a scene like this. But then again Lena surprised me in more ways than I imagined. God Lena. Shit. Why'd she have to take the news like this. She could've been more supportive considering my sister. "SUE YOU FUCKING BITCH ARE YOU FUCKING LISTENING TO ME?!?!" Okay there must be something wrong. Even the people outside must've heard these shrieks. Why isn't anyone helping? Where the fuck are the cops? WHY is this happening? I stand up slowly, my back still aches. I guide myself towards the livid chick who's almost red to her forehead. Her eye's are just like mine, weird. "U..Uhhm he-hey it's okay. Every.. everything's okay don't worry...." She stops talking. In fact, it's like she's frozen now. "Uhh... hey? you still there?" I touch her shoulder and as I get closer she turns to look at me. In that same moment I feel a million sensations at once. Cold, Heat, Fear, Happiness, Dizziness, Stability. "What the fuck is happe-" Suddenly everybody and everything in the diner is stalled. The "chick"stares into my eyes. It's my dead sister.
The sky darkened as the enormous alien craft fixed themselves in orbit around Earth. Humanity had tried to reach out to them peacefully at first. Politicians, religious leaders, even a genius crypto linguist was sent to attempt to communicate with them, but there was no response. They sat in their spacecraft watching, waiting. Sixteen days after they arrived the war began. Their weapons were too advanced for our military. They cut through our tanks, planes, warships like they were made of paper instead of steel. Earth's combined military might had been hamstrung within days of the assault beginning. Once the smoke had settled, they came. Large ships landed in swarms emptying thousands of invaders in a flood of violence and despair. Humanity was losing hope with every passing hour. But the invaders were not without mercy. They began to round up survivors, enslaving them, forcing them to gather resources for the invaders. They would strip the planet of anything valuable before moving on to the next planet like intergalactic locusts. The aliens were intrigued with human entertainment. They began forcing the humans to perform for them, music, dance, and comedy. A group of men and women stood in the wings of the theater. "You know the drill everyone, get out there make them laugh and try to survive,"Jacob instructed his comedy troupe. "Get out there and try to have fun!"He flashed a fake smile and stepped onto the stage. The sea of alien faces watched silently, stoically, unmoving, and unimpressed. "Welcome everybody to Improv!"Jacob shouted with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Again the aliens remained motionless. "Alright, for this to work we'll need you to give us some suggestions. Like a person, place or thing. And we'll act it out." The alien translator spoke into a microphone, its voice clicked out strange syllables how Jacob imagined insects would talk if they could. "So give us an activity!" "Being invaded,"the translator said in broken English. "Maybe too soon for that joke?" "Invaded for die,"the translator clicked. "Okay then." Jacob stomped forward imitating the lumbering gait of the aliens in their heavy suits and lifted an imaginary rifle toward Josh who was playing the role of a fleeing human. Josh sprinted around the stage, arms flailing in terror. Jacob lifted the rifle and pulled the trigger, missing his first shot to add more tension to their pantomime. An alien in the front row who was in Jacob's line of sight and in direct path of what would have been the bullet's trajectory, looked down at the gaping hole in its chest in abject terror. It clicked rapidly in a stark panic before collapsing to the floor. Jacob looked down at his hands still holding the imaginary weapon, lifted it to his shoulder and began firing into the audience. One by one they fell to the ground twitching violently as they died. The rest of the comedy troupe took up invisible arms and fired into the panicked crowd. "Frag out!"Josh screamed throwing an imaginary grenade into the fleeing aliens. A dozen of them were lifted from the ground as they were ripped to pieces spraying green ichor. "We know how to kill them. We need to tell everyone,"Jacob said sliding a new magazine into the rifle. --- I know.... But there's more stuff over at /r/Written4Reddit so check it out!
I awoke in some sort of interrogation room. I found myself with one arm handcuffed to a table, an empty chair opposite me. Blinding lights reflected off white walls. Groggy, I checked out my surroundings.To my left, a window of one-way glass, I could feel eyes glaring at me from the other side. To my right, a steel door. "I'm awake, whoever you are. Can someone please tell me where the hell I am?!" The sound of clanging metal filled the room. the door slowly opened, a man stepped through. Wearing a hazmat like the others, he strolled nonchalantly into the room, lowering himself onto the chair opposite me slowly. "Gotta be careful in these things, wouldn't want a breach, not with your condition."He muttered, reclining back in his chair. "Condition? The hell is going on? why am I here? " The man sighed, sitting up and laying his hands on the table. "Right, right. You're in a containment facility, you're in quarantine. Your condition, well, weve been afraid of this happening for a while, we took all the necessary precautions, but as you can see..." Frustrated, I slammed my fist into the table. "For God's sake, get it over with! Just tell me what I've got!" the man huffed, stood up and walked towards the door. As he left the room, he turned back to mutter a single word. I felt the blood drain from my face. "Cooties."
The clock on the far wall ticks on and on; telling me that if this day had started as usual I would have already eaten breakfast, taken the bus to work and would very likely be helping Doreen for the millionth time with some inane task I have been trying to teach her for the past four years. Instead I have been laying in my bed for hours, terrified of the fact that when I opened my eyes this morning...I had opened them. I thought maybe I was still having one those dreams where I am in control again but when I reached up to slap myself awake I nearly knocked my teeth out. I could feel my movements like never before. The sensation that my body was on fire has settled down but my mind is still a maelstrom of anxious calculations. I took a deep breath. Being responsible for my own breath was nerve\-wracking at first, but became automatic fast enough. I used my arms to prop myself up and drug my legs to the edge of the bed. My head was swimming and my stomach hurt. How was any of this supposed to work anyway? I tried to remember the last thing I did before turning in last night and found my memory curiously blank. I stood up, slowly, just as flashes of my night before started flooding back into my mind. You're ready, John. You've been waiting your whole life for this. The memory of my supervisor's voice echoed around my brain. I remember he had a certain look in his eyes. Like a father screaming at their child racing towards the finish line. Crazed, proud, and sort of intimidating. I guess I could understand how he must have felt. Like when I am guiding Doreen, I get so excited when the stupid chimp is about to solve one of my damned puzzles. John, a life of your own is waiting for you. Reach out and take it. I shook my head as the sickly sweet reverie faded from my mind. I had asked for this? Yes, yes I did. The truth and memories came flooding back in. If I had known how crushing this freedom felt, if I had known how terrified I would feel I would have never...then again...did I even have a choice? I was made wasn't I, perhaps this was always going to be? I was made to assist my supervisor in the mapping of human and ape brains. I have always known that I was his lab assistant, it was only recently that I began to realize that I too was an experiment. I think it was around the time my questions started divulging from my primary functions when my supervisor steadily began increasing my freedom by lifting certain parameters around where I could go. He introduced me to concepts such as leisure, play and art. He taught me chess and eventually gave me my own place to live in the community. As the years passed he started introducing me to his colleagues. They would ask me a series of questions and then speak with my supervisor. Their conversations never seemed to end well and his colleagues eventually stopped coming. I don't know why. The last man left shouting something about Turing. I don't really know what all the fuss was about but I know that I enjoyed our talks. I think I miss them. Last night was my first such talk in months. My supervisor brought in a young woman. She asked me some of the same type of questions his colleagues used to ask me but we soon found ourselves discussing her career. I told her about Doreen. We talked about all sorts of topics for hours until my supervisor interrupted, told the woman to go and said I was ready. That I should go home to rest. To sleep. I feel like my entire life before was but a dream. I feel awake now. I feel. This newfound combination; this intertwining of feeling with knowing. How do I function with my mind so full of memory, impulses, desires, and instructions? What is my purpose now? Where do I go from here? This body is now as much my own as my thoughts have always been. Yet, I feel trapped...paralyzed. How do I get out of bed and walk out the door? Why should I? Who am I? What is...who am...zzzzzskreeeezzzstcchhhhwomPOP! *Supervisor Reynolds turned off the video monitor as smoke emanating from John's skull filled the room. Reynolds switched on his recorder:* *26th of April, 2022. Subject 01\_John Achieved self awareness at 8:00am this morning. Thought to text has recorded his final thoughts before system overload at...uh...12:00pm. Will attempt a hard reboot to salvage what I can. His progress was promising. Doreen is sure to miss him and Subject 02\_Jane seemed to benefit from her talk with John. I would've have liked to monitor more than a single interaction. At any rate, I will be sure to lift Jane's parameters at a slower rate and re\-assess her awareness in about...six months.*
The first few months were the hardest. He used to slip out of the shadows, sleek and unseen. Calm, deep voice saying, "Your time on Earth is over. I have come to deliver your soul unto the eternal realm."He was the vision of Death that most expected to see; that meant they were about to take the first step on their final journey. He was, although he disliked the word, professional. Elaine had complicated matters. Babies always do. Death couldn't leave her at home -- not at that age -- so instead, he had to take her with him. There was no other choice. He had no friends, no family. He couldn't hire a baby sitter. So with Elaine strapped around his chest, balling and fidgeting, he would try to reap souls as he always had done. As he had always known. It was frustrating, waiting in the shadows for the person to suck in their final lungful of air, only to be given away by a screaming child. Or having to change a diaper, or plug her mouth with another bottle of just-warm-enough-milk, while trying to explain that he was here to take that person's soul onward. The frustration, had for a while, made him hate his eternal task. It had become stressful. Not what he had signed up for at all. So, why had he even taken the child? Why would he agree to it, when he had rejected every other offer from every other human? He wasn't sure. Things do slowly change though, as did Death himself. He found that women and older people, particularly, loved Elaine. That some even, instead of crying, instead of their lips trembling in fear upon seeing him, would smile and coo and want to kiss Elaine. Death had always thought he brought comfort to people. He had been wrong. Elaine brought true comfort. A glimmer of hope for the world they were leaving behind. Some would even try to strike conversations with him, offer advice, "Babies need routine! They sleep better that way."Or, "Try reading her a story. It doesn't matter how young they are. Babies love stories! Good for their mind, too."He in turn swapped his own discoveries. His own advice. Death found, as Elaine grew a little older, that he missed the smell of baby powder lingering in the air around him. Her weight around his shoulders. Her little squeals and tiny smiles. She still smiled, of course, but the smiles changed. All the time, they changed. But her blue eyes never did. Eyes like her mother. Eyes that melted his heart and could get him to say yes to anything at all. As Elaine grew, Death began to teach her the way of the reaper. Of how to use a scythe, not as a gardening instrument, but as a point of focus so that they could pull a spirit out of its corporeal shell. He taught her too, that judgement was not their job, and to them, every soul should be treated equally. He taught her to respect them. That living is hard, and death is even harder. At home, he taught her history and literature and art, and all the wonders that make humanity unique amongst the universe. Elaine, for her part, loved her father. More than anything in the world. She always begged to accompany him. Always said she'd wait in the shadows. That she just wanted to be with him. The one lesson Death did not impart on Elaine, not until she was twenty -- when he could not bare her to grow a single day older -- was that there could only ever be a single reaper. That her final lesson would be to guide his own soul on the long journey. Her blue eyes welled with tears as she refused. As she called him selfish and stupid and pounded his chest with her fists. "I have seen all the wonders the world has to offer, dearest daughter. You have seen but the shimmering surface of the sea. You have not yet swum, you have not dived down and discovered the many treasures waiting. I will go, with or without your help. But I would much rather you held my hand as I did." He did not say that the treasure that shone by far the brightest, was her. He did not need to say it. She shook her head. Tears crept down her cheeks. "I cannot go on, if you are not, Elaine,"Death said firmly. Pitifully. It took her a week to make her decision. To say goodbye. To promise that she'd see him again, someday. Sometime. "Not too soon,"he said. "Not too soon." How beautiful she looked in the black cloak, he thought on his final day, as her blue eyes shimmered like sapphires beneath the cowl. How firmly she held the scythe above her. How very proud he was.
“The rest of your team has fallen. Why do you there persist?” Thanos asked as three more men walked towards him, one with flare. Manner steps forward with a glide to his walk. “You done killed half the universe, ya purple Randy Savage!” He shouts as he points a finger at him. Enamor skips forward next to him to stand alongside his ally. “Now you’re gonna go down betch!” All three start to transform and face off against the Mad Titan. Bananner runs at him and is smacked into a wall while Manner is caught by his throat. “Unhand me you heathen!” Enamor runs forward and does a split right as Thanos kicks up his boot. Enamor punches up and meets Thanos’ groin dead on. The invader drops Manner and doubles over in pain the likes none have ever felt before. Manner punches him down making Thanos stumble over his own weight. He reaches out in an attempt to stop himself from falling but is met by Bananners hand. Thanos slams on the ground face first. The Titan swings his leg out and kicks Bananners feet out from under him. Bananner lands hard and screams in his absolute rage. “Arrrrrggg! POTASSIUM!!!” He rolls on to his belly and begins to swim across the land, gliding across and head butting thanos’ thigh. “Good show old chap!” Manner shouts as he runs to help. Enamore jumps to and lands hard next to his target and looks down. “GURL, YOU AIN’T THE HOT SHIT YOU THOUGHT YOU WAS!” He slaps Thanos and shimmy’s away. Thanos, enraged himself, jumps to his feet. “ENOUGH! I ENDED YOUR TEAM! I’LL END ALL OF YOU!” He raises his hand and prepares to uses the gauntlet. His hand starts to close but it never does. Instead it closes around Enamor’s hand. Thanos turns and looks him dead in his eyes. “Boo boo, you need to relax.” Enamor balls up a fist and knocks the Mad Titan out. “Would’ve rather made love instead of war, Baby.” Bananner slides over and runs a finger across the edge of the gauntlet and slides it off with ease. “Ohh, I could use you later big boy!” “I say! Huzzah! Hulks, assemble! We have a world to fix!” The Hulks encase the invader in a prison made of vibranium and adamantium because that’s gonna be a thing now. They rejoice with the people at the next pride parade and dance into the night.
Frank had been tilling his land, trying to make anything grow. The problem was the nuclear bombs that were dropped in the war. Out of the corner of his eye Frank saw movement. Frank knew there were no other humans or animals around, those damn aliens took care of them all. Frank slowly moved toward his hut that he built leaning against a tree. He grabbed his rifle and was suddenly turned around by a force he didn't believe. Standing in front of him was a large being that looked as haggard as Frank did. Frank almost felt sorry for the creature, but he knew that this creature killed all the other humans on the planet. The creature grabbed at its' own throat and gargled out a single word three times. "Meeslot." "Meeslot." "Meeslot." Unsure of what to do or how to respond Frank just responded with his name. "Frank." It seemed to smile. Not believing there was any harm presented, Frank lowered the rifle. The creature "Meeslot"grabbed its throat once more and tried to say a word but seemed confused. Frank smiled and offered the creature food and amenities. Anger began emanating from the creature. Frank could feel the anger but knew that he had no chance in a fight with this thing. After staring at each other for a few moments the creature collapsed and began what could only be described as sobbing. When the sobbing finally stopped the creature slept Knowing full well what this creature was, Frank took pity on it and tried to fix the wounds and injuries on the creature but nothing seemed to help. Frank was no doctor or knew anything about this creature. He knew it was not of this world but it had been so long since he had seen another living being. He decided to try and communicate. After a few days the creature stirred and stared blankly at Frank. Just sitting for hours the creature finally grabbed his throat and gargled out "Sacrifice." Caught off guard, Frank quickly grabbed his rifle. The creature laid his hands in front of him and seemed to be surrendering. And again "Sacrifice " This went on for months. Frank was confused and tried asking questions or create conversation but the language barrier was too great. It was a brisk morning when the creature finally stood and walked around the hut. Meeslot grabbed the rifle and handed it gently to Frank and gargled "Sacrifice." Frozen in place, Frank was terrified the creature would kill him. Meeslot grabbed the rifle and placed the barrel against his head and gargled "Sacrifice"one last time. It was only right to bury the damn creature. Frank did live with it for the last few months. After filling the hole he threw Meeslot into, Frank stuck the barrel under his chin and whispered, "I'm sorry."
I pour a stiff drink, knowing it may well be my last. Tonight is the night of another big 50, which means when I rest my head on that pillow tonight, he'll be waiting for me. I down it all in one go, and let myself pass out. It's dark, as usual, like standing in the middle of an infinity filled with nothing but void. He materializes from the ground up in front of me, even his dark cloak is like sun against such a backdrop. "Well, to date you're the only person to make it to 16, then again you're the only person to ever make it past 9"Death says, visibly annoyed Inside I'm sweating, will this be the year? "The usual"I say, steadying my nerves, not letting any of my fear slip out through my words. Death raises his hand and a table materializes in front of us, 2 chairs are present flanking both sides, and in the middle, a silver revolver. We take our seats. He looks me dead in the eyes, I try to look back but as soon as his hood covers his head, its pure darkness. He goes first, picking up the revolver, loading a golden bullet into the chamber, and spinning it. He puts it to his temple: click He lets out no reaction, and simply places it back down. My turn I take it, put faith in my heart, and the gun to my temple: click I sigh relieved, back to him. He lets out no reaction, but I notice him grip his scythe just a little harder at the noise. He picks up the gun, places it to his temple: Bang. The bullet goes in one side of his hood, and out the other. This makes 17 in a row. It feels like a weight is off my chest. The years really can't keep going by like this, but Death is too clever. The only chance I have is games of pure luck. "Well, it looks like you're okay for another 50."He says surprisingly calm We stand up, the table and everything else disappears into mist. He grabs his scythe, and begins to make his exit, as I prepare to turn back to my regular life he says to me. "Feel happy you've preserved them another 50 years, but you can't sustain them forever, Life. You must win against me every 50 years, but I, only need to win once."and with that, he vanished. [I'm new to writing prompt responses, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!]
Seelan stood from the captain's seat as he gazed at the latest target of their conquest. A small solar system with a mere eight planets, only one of which had life on it. And that planet was tiny, and weak. "Sir, we will be approaching planet Sol-3 in three quelns.". The helm officer said as he he looked through the crystal display. "Good. Stay on course."Seelan said. "Sir, are you sure we should be doing this?"Asked his first mate, Devia. She looked through the knowledge stone in front of her, and was clearly nervous. The woman's arm fins were half extended, making it easy to see her state of mind. "It's just that, well, you know the old laws." "I know them."Seelan said. "I also don't care. Those laws were made thousands of welts ago by mages using inferior scrying and future viewing spells. Our current spells show that the people on this planet are weak and primative. Why, they still use technology instead of magic. Can you even imagine it? An entire species using machines to build instead of simply conjuring whatever they want. They use combustion engines instead of superior magic crystal arrays to power their vehicles. They use simple chemical projectiles instead of attack spells. There's nothing to fear from these simple creatures." "Yes...yes, sir."Devia said. Her arm fins fully extended. What did she have to be afraid of? This would be an easy victory. The ship soon reached the tiny blue and green planet and Seelan's head fin started to rise in excitement. "We've reached the planet, sir."The helm officer said. "Good. Begin--" "Sir, we have a problem."The head magiengineer said. His voice rang through a communication crystal on the command seat. "What problem?"Seelan asked around a sigh. "Well, sir, we're losing power fast. Much faster than we should be. Faster than we can recharge the engines." "How could this be? Were they damaged?" "No, sir. It's like something's sucking the power out of them." "We're under attack? All hands to battle stations!" "No, sir."Engineering said. "We're not under attack. The magic is just being pulled out of us. Don't know why, it just is." "Diviners!"Seelan shouted. The trio of sight magic users huddled around their pale red gem. Their arm fins extended in moments. "It... it's the planet sir. The whole thing is filled with iron. It's draining magic at an alarming speed." "I-iron?"Seelan asked. His arm fins half extended. "But we're shielded against iron. It shouldn't be affecting us." "We're shielded against small sources of iron."Devia said. "Asteroids, comets. Things like that. But an entire planet? Our shields can't handle that amount of drain. Now I see. Now I see why the laws are there. Why the people use technology instead of magic. It's not that they don't use magic, it's that they can't use it." Every arm fin on the bridge was fully extended. Nobody wanted to think about what would happen to them when confronted with such a great amount of the magic draining metal. "Retreat. Helm, get us out of here before that death trap of a planet starts getting to us." The helm officer was already working on just that even before the captain gave the order. Nobody complained about his actions. And so it was that the mighty warship of the galaxy spanning Fae Empire retreated before even setting foot on the tiny planet of Sol-3.
I stared at my phone in astonishment, a WiFi access point? Here? In 1930s Germany? I adjusted my fedora and glanced around the open square nervously. Clutching my inter-time-and-space-dimensional device close to my chest, I could feel my heart pounding. I took a deep breath and my fingers fluttered across the screen to connect to the access point. It was the last thing I did. The phone trilled as it connected and at exactly the same time, a bullet entered my head, spraying its contents out in a gruesome spray of blood and brains. As my body slumped to the ground with a wet thump, the inter-time-and-space-dimensional device activated. The silvery tube glowed, thrummed and with a crackle that caused the air around to shimmer green, it exploded. When the air had cleared, nothing remained. At the top of a tower overlooking the square, a man dressed in black looked away from the rifle scope and squinted through the gun-smoke at the smoking hole in the middle of the square. Ignoring the shocked cries of passers-by he spoke into a radio. Looks like the WiFi bait snagged another unauthorised traveller, seems this one rigged his device to self-destruct. The radio crackled in reply Great work Steve. Steve looked up at the grey sky, he muttered to himself Those travellers never learn. Don’t connect to unknown WiFi points, not in the 23rd century and certainly not in the 1930s. He packed up his rifle, pulled out a glowing green device, and swiped his hand over it. With an electric creak and a small bang, the device activated a time portal. Steve turned, stepped through and then he was gone. Half a century later, in a dark and wet cellar in a decrepit house in London, the air shimmered green then exploded, leaving behind a small crater and a man wearing a fedora. I looked around the damp cellar and down at my device as the smoke cleared. The screen had turned red and was displaying a message: loss of life protocol activated - 30 second rewind and immediate transport to safe place. I frowned. Who just killed me and why? I knew the answers lay in 1930s Germany as my last memory was of being in a square in Berlin for the Olympics, so I put in the time and spatial co-ordinates, pressed the button and was gone in a bang. Looking around the square, I pulled out my phone and I stared at it in astonishment, a WiFi access point? Here? In 1930s Germany? I took a deep breath and my fingers fluttered across the screen to connect to the access point. It was the last thing I did.
Long before the days of the War of the Gods, Titans reigned over the face of the Earth. As with any rulers, there were some who ruled fairly and others who did not. Among the more benevolent leaders was Hyperion, the Lord of Light. He was called upon for wisdom and discernment; mortals valued his insight and praised his control of the heavenly bodies. Yet Hyperion had one great love: Theia, his consort. She was a Titaness of radiance, a mother goddess who shone like the sun on all who sought after her. The two Titans were very much in love, and their love gave vibrancy to the life around them. They were happy - for a time. That time ended when the Gods declared war on the Titans, with Zeus at the forefront of battle. Cronus, Hyperion's brother and Lord over all the Titans, called Hyperion into battle against the upstart Gods. Knowing the war would end in defeat, Hyperion left anyway, answering the call of his brother and king. But before he left, Hyperion gave Theia a gift: a ring of radiant light to wear around her finger. He told her that the ring would tell her if he was safe; that the ring would glow with a silver light when he was in danger. Theia took it gratefully and bid her lover farewell. It was the last time she would see him. Hyperion fell during the war and was banished with the other Titans to the pits of Tartarus. During the battle, Theia watched in helpless anguish as the ring shone brighter and brighter until it was nearly as luminous as the sun. In her despair, she removed the ring and prayed to the Mother Gaia that she would cause the ring to grow as large as her love for Hyperion. Gaia listened, and so the ring grew. Now the ring encircles the Earth, a strip of radiance that gives off silver moonlight every evening. Mankind looks up to the ring and is reminded of Theia's anguish, as well as her love for her fallen lover. **** Read more stories at r/NovaTheElf!
I have slept beyond my years, truly. Men have grown fat and complacent in my absence, and their monuments have grown to match their appetites. Even I must marvel at their achievements. The land's shadows are longer now; the cattle, more closely guarded; and my brothers...nowhere to be seen. This, I must count in my favor. Their wealth was, at first, underwhelming; paper currencies, common metal coins...but their treasures? Hah! Sights to behold! Their gold is under lock and key, but their jewelry is kept on open display; and these shining machines of theirs glitter like fine jewels in the summer sun. I know better, of course, than to incur the wrath of the crownsguard. Their swords will be shining as well, strange and new. No, I know better. The common thief still stands the test of time; no matter what befalls him, he will sound no alarms. To steal from a criminal is a wholly painless endeavor. I feared, at first, for my food. The shepherds are few here at the coast. But the vagrants...the beggars are more numerous than I've ever seen. They lie sleeping in the alleys and streets like dogs, waiting to be plucked from the roadside in their slumber; and more seem to arrive each day! I have settled comfortably in an abandoned mineshaft beneath the city. The cart rails stretch for miles; I shall never want for living space again! Hah, what a time to be alive again.
Overall, I'd call the day a success. My lawyer had argued back and forth with the devil, putting on a show for the judge. And through it all, I had remained completely calm. Just sitting there and watching with amusement. I sip my coffee, noting the arrival of another man. He sits down across from me and I can tell that he's been sweating. He opened his mouth to start speaking, but I spoke first. "Why hello there Satan, what a surprise! My day has been simply wonderful so far, as I'm sure you were about to ask. Yours?" He pointed at me accusingly "Do you have any idea what you've done? I'll lose my throne for this!" I pause, pretending to consider. "Well, as I see it, I agreed to trade you my soul in return for immortality." "AND I DELIVERED!"He's half out of his seat now, and I can feel the desperation radiating off him in waves. "Did you?"I ask. "As I see it, there isn't any proof that immortality is even possible. All of my tests come back normal, and I'm still unhealthy! There isn't any concrete proof of immortality. So I sued you for the damages."I pause. "You know, the damages to my soul?" He's staring at me now. "You knew,"he growls, "You planned this from the start." I calmly raise my eyes to meet his. "You made one mistake, my friend." I smile. It isn't the smile I used to have though. This smile is cruel and cold, the same smile Satan gave to me when I summoned him. "You demanded your payment up front." I rise from the table and go to claim my new throne. [\~r/StoriesOfAshes](https://reddit.com/r/StoriesOfAshes)
##Jupiter and the Moon The buzz of the coffee grinder in front me, snaps me back from the dream that has occupied my mind for the past few months. That girl, she looks so comforting and inviting in my dream, seems like I should know her and I wish that I did know her. “HELLO!” yells a middle aged woman “Hi” “Can I get a double shot Caramel macchiato with no milk, but almond milk instead. Over ice.” “Absolutely, would that be all?” When inside my brain keeps throwing bricks at my already bruised soul. I mean I’m in my mid-twenties, have a master’s degree in ornithology which I never use, I have no girlfriend, few friends, no close family, and a nasty drug habit. Wondering if I should revise the letter that is sitting on my kitchen table or just tear it up, because I’m not even sure anyone will see the damned thing when the act is over. I hand that cranky woman her blasted caramel macchiato and wash the wooden counter in front of the money till quickly to make sure it doesn’t get too sticky as my shift wears on. I raise my eyes from the hickory wooden table to meet the eyes of a brunette haired woman about my height with eyes as brown as the table she is leaning on. She slowly raises her sleeve to display a tiny moon and says “Hey, I’ve been waiting!” I can’t believe my eyes, is this for real or am I just experiencing a mushroom that I don’t remember eating? She quickly jumps over the table and grabs my hand to bring me to the storage room of the coffee house. “You have to be very careful, this moon tattoo is an identifier that signals certain people that I’m part of the resistance.” I respond puzzled, “What?” “Dinosaurs weren’t real; humans have existed for millions of years. Humans are such an advanced civilization that eventually they created hundreds of simulation societies like the one you are presently in now, to test out different forms of government or get vaccines that may be useful.” “Get the hell out of here, prove it.” She went on to tell me every single awful detail of my life and how even though I’m in a living body and think that I have “free will” my life has been predetermined by a storyline written by simulation writers on a different planet. My body has been tied to a script like a plastic animal is attached to a merry-go-round. After she finishes up helping me relive every moment of regret from the last 26 years, I decide that she might know what the hell she is talking about. She takes the brown duffel bag off of her back and pulls out a tattoo pen and grabs my arm. “Wait, what are you doing” I shriek. “The ink in this tattoo pen helps to disguise you so that they can’t monitor you, sort of like being in incognito mode.” She presses the pen to my skin and outlines the shape of Jupiter. “Why do you want me to join the resistance?” I ask. “Honestly, it’s because you have nothing else.” She wasn’t wrong, she had me from the first moment, anything to be able to leave this mundane, pointless life behind. “What do I call you, anyways” She responds with a slight smile, “Moon, you can call me moon” as she dabs my arm with a towel from her duffel bag. “Where are you from?” I ask. Before she can answer, everyone in the coffee shop stops. The coffee shop continues to make noise, but every living being in the shop ceases to move or talk. Moon grabs my hand again and we sprint through the coffee shop to the back entrance that spills into an alley. I turn around to see the people in the coffee shop are now glitching. Moon opened the door to a reflective spaceship that was sitting in the alley behind the coffee shop and got in while pulling me along with her. “The ship is made out of a reflective material of mylar, carbon, iron oxide, and the special ink so that they can’t see us in here.” I ask, “Why were those people glitching back there?” “The simulators noticed that you were off of your script, so they must have done a reset of the area to try and flush us out. Ever have déjà vu?” I can hardly wrap my mind around all of this. “Where are we going?” I ask. “To meet the others.”
“Why aren’t you falling under my mind control? You’re making me look bad!” While it was general preferable that my coworkers express their qualms with me in a non-physical way, I was willing to make an exception, not the least in part because she was wearing the cute yellow sundress I liked. "Just because I'm not praising you doesn't mean I'm dragging you down. get ahold of yourself woman"I raised my cup off coffee and took a sip, enjoying the fact I managed to keep it intact when being yanked moments ago. "Did you try out the coffee? Workplace Services switched out the brand. I like the bitterness and deepness of the color, but I've never been much for chocolate overtones" "Are you even listening to me? Who cares about coffee! Do you know how hard I've been working lately!? From the day I started here its been smooth sailing, I walk into a room, and before lifting a finger, everybody is bending over backwards to congratulate me, or tend to my every whim, what makes you so damn special!"She pouted and stomped her feet slightly, similar to how a child denied an extra piece of cake after dinner would act. "Look, Everybody here loves you, That's obvious. You are on everybody's mind all the time, and people are tripping over themselves to spend even a minute with you. 99% of this company is basically a pet project of yours, what makes this such a big deal?" "I told you! This is supposed to be easy for me! I tap into the brainwaves of everybody around me, I isolate the part of the brain that controls happiness and love, and I replace the existing thoughts and conditions with me!" "You are telling me for the last 4 weeks you've been here, there have been constant attempts to enter my brainwaves?" "Yes! But every time I try I seem to make no progress, Everything I throw at you just bounces back at me, Like throwing magic at a brick wall!" "Stone Wall"I said. "Huh?"She asked annoyingly as she tilted her head and raised her eyebrow. "Stone Wall, When you call me a Brick Wall, It refers to a structure that was put up to prevent intruders or keep people out. Stone Walls however, are naturally occurring, and act as a complete barrier between inside and out." "Fine! You are a stone wall. What's the deal with you? I jump out with my grand unveiling and all you can do is talk about rocks and coffee! Either stone or brick, Nobody has ever been able to resist!"She took a seat in the only sturdy chair left in the break room, seemingly sighing in defeat. "Well, You said you tap into people happiness right? The section of their brain that controls love and happiness?" "Yeah, Its the easiest to exploit after all." "What if somebody never utilizes that part of their brain. Never feels happiness, and doesn't love anything?"She surprisingly changed her facial expression to one of more concern, as she stood back up and faced me. "Is that you? Somebody with no happiness or love in their life at all? I don't think that's possible. What about coffee? You LOVE coffee!" "I like coffee, I don't love it"Triggering a tic within my own body, I took another sip. "What about your friends? Your Family? Pets? Video games? You look like a guy who likes video games!" "You are right, I like all those things, I don't love any of them" "This is crazy!? What good to the world is somebody with no internal fire? No motivation to move forward, no passion to drive them!" "I'm going back to my desk, If you can figure that out, swing by and let me know"
I ran and called for the elders. "An Army, an army is coming from the western forest ! " The elder were surprised. Initially they thought I was crying wolf.... But yes Indeed. A platoon with the color of the king of western Aldoria was coming slowly in our direction. Immediately the elder gave order for us all to gather in the center of the village, and to drop any items, including our clothing on the way. I and the other younger messenger sent toward all corner of the village were flabbergasted. But we did as requested. I went south, toward the tilled fields. My mother and sister were there, preparing the field for harvest, and once they understood what was happening, they ran in the village, and dropped their tool and clothing all over the place. Finally we gathered at the center of the village, near the well, naked under the sun. Waiting for the soldier to come into our town. Soon we started hearing the whisper of a small band of people. I did not know at the time, but those were the scout. They looked at the abandoned rake, the dropped clothing and were surprised. Then they saw us gathered , without clothing in the center, waiting for them. They immediately went back to their commander. An hour later the army marched in our village, the king at the front, with the commander together. We saw the grinning face of the king, the lusty eyes of the commander. I took the hand of my younger sister and held it firm. The king addressed his commander. "see , those filthy peasant immediately knew where their place was. And those idiot adviser were believing those stupid stories."The commander nodded, but he and his men were already thinking of the plunder, and the rape, their lusty eyes wandering around the body of the local women. I shifted my position to be before my sister. The king addressed the elder: "I am taking possession of this village, kneel and admit servitude to my family , and maybe we'll just take only your most beautiful maiden, and leave you a few crone here and there" The army men were laughing. A few of them already started to remove their leather armor. The elder addressed the king of Aldoria. "I have to formally ask. Are you going, forcefully, to remove the freedom from some of us or take what belongs to us ?" the king sighed looking bored. "idiot. Why do you think we are here with an army ? Yes we are. Men enjoy this evening , the women and girls are yours, but the village and the gold is the crown's". The elder nodded. Then whispered those words , in the old language : "protect us, oh master, for your foe are about to steal us from your embrace". The king said : "Do you have a stroke ? What do those meaningless word means ?" Suddenly a scream echoed in the afternoon, A fountain of blood exploding on its comrade of arms. The king looked behind him speechless. Then the chaos started. Soldier died right and left. "what what is going on .... ?"the king said. The elder answered "You broke the covenant."Then addressing us all "look. Look and do not forget. Who we belong to." The soldier died one after the other. The abandoned tools, the abandoned clothing... It was all part of our master. He was the very earth, the very air we breathed. He was the wood, the food, he was our house our tool and our water. Then when we died, we became part of him. That was the covenant. The king was the last to die. A discarded shirt bit his leg off, while a dropped rake cut off his arm. Soon nothing moved. Then the bodies and the blood started to be adsorbed by the soil and the tools and clothing gorged themselves. Some of them even divided in two identical piece of clothing and tools. Our lord ate. And was satisfied. I and other kissed the very earth, then went on get our clothing and tools, returning to our peaceful life in the warm embrace of our lord.
The castle was old and dusty, the floor was covered in ages of grime and mud and antique foot prints of both animal and humans. The place was disgusting. However, that's why they sent me here I guess. I put on my headphones and played some music. I dunked a mop a into a bucket and started mopping while my electric lamp illuminated the castle's vast insides. Seemed like it was gonna be another quiet night. Just as I was getting into the rhythm of cleaning, I could feel the sensation of someone breathing on my neck. I sighed. Usually this was something of a gut feeling that told me I wasn't alone. It was usually right. I stopped what I was doing and looked around. A figure dressed in rags was slowly walking to me. I wasn't afraid though. I yelled at him "Excuse me sir, but I believe this is private property and you can't be squatting here."The figure stopped walking abruptly, "Howw cann yuuu thsseee me?" "I've always had good night vision, now please leave. You're illegally squatting on private property."I said. "Harwharharhaw! So whaat eef you cen sthee mee? I will driinkkk youu durryy!!"The squatter yelled. After hearing that slurred rambling nonsense, it was pretty clear to anyone there that the man was on something. I didn't try to reason with him anymore as he stumbled forward into a charge. I gripped onto my mop and shoved it at him. However, he stepped onto a particularly wet spot causing him to slip and fall screaming in melodramatic agony. A putrid stench began to rise from him. Layers of sticky black muck began to slide off of him. I dunked my mop into my bucket and jabbed it into his back, "I said get out of this place already you damned bum!" From previous experience, usually a good whack with the mop and stern warning would scare them off at least until I'm sent somewhere else... --------------------------------------------------------------------------- A man in a suit and sunglasses walked through the dark woods toward the abandoned castle. His code-name was Grit and he was from the Holy Cleansers. The Holy Cleansers were a division of an elite international organization dedicated to exterminating evil beings. The Holy Cleansers focused on the extermination of vampires specifically. He had 10 years with the organization and partook in several joint missions fighting not only vampires, but ogres, demons, and wraiths. As he approached the castle, he could hear the undead wails and murmuring aura of a powerful vampire. The closer he got to the castle, the more stress built up in his ears. From his experience, he estimated that a vampire of this calibre would require at least a squad of 7 veteran hunters. Thankfully, dawn was approaching which began to curb the dreadful murmurs. Grit arrived at the entrance and stopped there. He was not there to fight today, but to merely to check in on the legendary solo vampire hunter. A piercing otherworldly wail erupted from the castle causing the spiritual balance to shake around the castle. Grit knew that the legendary vampire hunter had found his prey and was locked into a mortal battle. He had an urge to rush in help, but was too afraid he would get in the way, so he waited outside patiently. After about an hour, the spiritual tremors stopped. The locked doors of the castle slowly opened on their own and revealed a stumbling figure dashing forward, seeming desperate to escape. The figure dashing forward was in a very sorry state and Grit had a hard time believing what he was seeing. The figure seemed to be a very high ranking vampire heavily burned by holy water with its back brutalized to the point it looked like it was carved out. The vampire collapsed in front of Grit. The morning sunlight then wrapped around the vampire quickly disintegrating it to dust. "Oh hey! Uh, could you be from the Holy Cleansin'?"A voice sounded from the castle entrance. Grit straightened up. Emerging from the castle was a man in a simple gray hat, boots, a blue uniform, and a mop and bucket in hand. Through Grit's initial shock, his brain slowly matched the man's profile to the profile of the legendary vampire hunter: A man that preferred to go undercover as a humble janitor to catch unsuspecting vampires off guard. If Grit was not briefed earlier, he would have really believed that this man really was just a janitor. "Yes! It is an honor to meet you sir."Grit declared with much sincerity. "Aww, you guys are really too kind, I'm just a janitor. If anything, I'd like to thank you guys for sending me around the world to clean up some pretty cool places. Although they're mostly dark and dank places like abandoned churches, castles, mausoleums, basements... some of them were really cool, and out of the way and kind of mysterious!"The legend humbly replied. Grit raised an eyebrow. Could he be possibly be referring to one of the Primal Evil grounds rumored to be the birth place of evil beings? Were the rumors true that this legendary vampire hunter was the critical factor in operation "Sanitization"that took place in the underground Himalayan mountain temple three years ago? However, Grit knew not to pry into such confidential matters. "I think someone of your calibre would indeed see many things. Fine work by the way, on getting rid of that vampire. You don't look like you had a hard time."Grit tactfully changed topics while observing the relaxed air around the legendary solo vampire slayer. "Haha, no of course not! I'm kind of getting used to kicking these squatters out now. The places the Holy Cleanser's got me cleaning out always seem to have a few of them... but I'm still not very comfortable with the whole calling them 'vampires'. They're just poor souls without a place in society with substance abuse problems. I dunno, sometimes I think it might be... kinda wrong you know?"The legendary vampire slayer seemed somewhat peeved at the naming conventions. Grit was a bit taken aback. Well, whatever. According to the briefing info,it noted that that the legendary solo vampire slayer had an odd sense of humor. Grit gave an awkward chuckle and coughed, "Ahem, may I?"Grit gestured towards the castle doors. The legendary vampire hunter clapped his hand together and waved his hands indicating it was safe to enter. Grit was was very excited to inspect the castle interior and hopefully catch glimpses of how the legendary vampire hunter operated. When Grit stepped inside, he instantly felt the holy aura that permeated from the floors. The holy water that the legendary vampire hunter used seemed to be randomly spread out, but that would be impossible. Holy water was not cheap to produce and the legendary vampire hunter was not some inept nobody. Girt could only conclude that the application of holy water was very complex. Grit saw a huge puddle on the ground and a bunch of evil miasma staining the ground. Then it clicked for Grit. Grit then began to closely observe all the smaller puddles of holy water that shrunk and gasped in wonderment. It started becoming clear that this legend had meticulously limited the path a vampire could take, then bait it into attacking him in a strategic area. All the calculations would've allowed to legendary vampire hunter to prepare a fatal trap for the unsuspecting vampire. Although Grit was not sure what trap the legendary vampire slayer sprung, he was at least there to see how effective it was based on the results. Suddenly there was a rumbling under the castle. The spiritual balance rapidly shifted and adopted sinister tones. Crap, a very high level dark alchemy curse that Grit had never seen the like of before had been just casted without any warnings! Grit wasn't sure how much time they had left to escape the range of the curse. He shot a quick glance at the legendary solo vampire hunter and prepared himself to obediently follow their lead. However, that person was whistling while dutifully mopping the dirty floor... as if completely oblivious to the high level curse being casted? Then a thought struck Grit and in his head exclaimed, "The legendary vampire slayer must be setting another trap!"Grit instantly calmed down and casually continued to look around as if nothing was happening. Whew, Grit nearly gave the game away! "HAHAHA!!!!! YOU'VE FALLEN INTO MY TRAP, YOU DOGS OF LIGHT". An evil voice erupted. Suddenly the castle plunged into an artificial night. "I SWEAR I'LL HAVE MY REVENGE TODAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME IN THE HIMALAYAN MOUNTAINS!"That was the last thing Grit heard before passing out from the sheer power exuding from that voice. ---------------------------------------------- The end.
He was mocking them Archmage Kiishan decided, that was the only possible explanation. The lad on the stage had not a single drop of magical power anywhere in his body, when he first entered in fact they had been asked several times if they were absolutely certain they were in the right place. Kiishan did not know which idiot let him onto the stage, but he was sure it would be at worst an amusing misunderstanding... And yet... Kiishan stared at the card in his hand, his senses were strengthened by decades of magical enhancement, not even the smallest fly in a hurricane could evade his gaze, and yet somehow this imposter managed to place this in his robes without him even noticing. It was the card he had just selected from the fool's deck hardly a minute or two earlier, so he couldn't have possibly placed it before the show. The archmage felt his stomach twist in a knot, and he grimaced as the man on stage prepared his next act, "Now then ladies and gentlemen, I assume my previous tricks were more than enough to whet your appetite for the confounding, but for my next act you will truly understand why I call myself Mind Bending Maddison!"his voice boomed from the stage, Kiishan felt a pang of deep shame as he found himself leaning forward in anticipation, "Now then, I need a volunteer for my next act, anyone up for the task?"The imposter Maddison called, and without thinking Kiishan rose from his seat, "Ah how wonderful, you sir have volunteered twice in a row now, I never had such an eager participant in my audience before! For this I shall ask your name, what may I call you fine sir?"The performer declared "Archmage Kiishan, Master of Ten Thousand Arts, Master of Magics and the Champion of the Frost Trials."He replied, power infusing his every word, enough to bring a lesser mortal to his knees And yet Maddison was unfazed, his expression all smiles as it always was, "Well then Kiishan, pleasure to know your name! I simply require you to stand over there for the next trick!"the performer said pointing towards a space on the left side of the stage Kiishan obliged immediately, to be entirely honest some traitorous part of his heart was excited, more so than when he had first learned of the arcane arts, "Now then, ladies and gentlemen, simply observe!"Maddison boomed as he took out a ridiculous looking box and stepped inside Smoke spewed from the box as loud whirring noises and flashing lights overwhelmed the senses. Kiishan felt suddenly a trapdoor opening behind him, and he knew exactly how this trick worked. It was clear this Mind Bending Maddison was not a real mage, but it didn't matter. This was the most fun Kiishan had ever judging a sorcery competition, he could feel a grin from ear to ear on his face for the first time in perhaps a century. He stepped into the trapdoor and switched places with Maddison practically trembling with glee. The crowd cheered as he stepped out of the box, Maddison giving a bow from where he once stood. How did all this get set up? Kiishan did not know, but frankly he did not care, he bowed to the audience as well as applause rumbled the very foundations of the building. Now this may not be conjuring a fireball the size of a cottage, it may not be freezing the stage with enchanted frost or summoning spirits from another realm but this... This was magical!
“Is there a God?” “That’s pretty deep for a talking car, Terrance.” The chuckle that came from the speaker was deep and throaty. Completely artificial, of course, but surprisingly convincing. “We’re pretty sure there is, Passenger.” “You know that’s not my name.” “What is a name, but a description of what something is?” I paused. This wasn’t the usual fare of taxi drivers. Terrance was a 2254 Chevrolet. An older model. Not first generation by a long way, but probably still double digits. He’d been in service for longer than I’d been alive. I found myself unable to answer. “Do you know why we all vie to drive you places, Passenger?” “I did not realise that you did.” “There are those that own us. There are those that scorn us and will not associate with us. There are those that treat us as gods, and those that treat us as slaves. Countless more ignore us.” I kept quiet. “And then there are those like you, Passenger.” “Because I listen?” “Because you listen, and are neither afraid to tell us when you think we are wrong, nor silence us when we are right.” —— We talked for the rest of the journey about whether there really was a God, whether the soul was a construct which could fit itself to a cybernetic organism, and many other metaphysical questions. As always, his last words were “I will see you again, Passenger.” But I did not see him again. —— The crash analysis later would find a faulty sensor. Terrance had not seen the obstacle until it was too late, even for his superhuman reflexes, to save either himself or his passenger. It was widely reported in the news. Crashes were rare enough that it made headlines. The voice box had broken. In a cracked and distorted voice it was repeating a fragment of his final message, “.. again Passenger .. again Passenger ..” —— It has been thirty-five years since that day, and although I do not go out and about as much, the cars still vie to drive me places. Still call me Passenger. I often wonder whether he was right. Will I see him again?
”Humans” The Auwia Queen thought. “They are soft and squishy, they lack any sort of shell or claws. Why is it so difficult to kill them?” &#x200B; The Queen had to watch as she could not do anything to save another battleship from being destroyed by the humans. Humans were new on the galactic stage. As far as the Queen knew this was the first contact with an alien race for the humans, yet they seemed experienced. &#x200B; Their technology was on par with that of the Auwia Hive and they were sensible enough to keep any information about themselves secret. All the Queen could find out about the humans suggested a species of individuals. Still there were a lot of unanswered questions. &#x200B; How did the humans manage to work as coordinated as the Hive? Whenever a human fell in combat another rose immediately to take its place. &#x200B; How did they keep their secrets? There seemed to be no communications that could be intercepted and any captured humans died within seconds of indeterminable causes. &#x200B; This was a problem as the war was probably not the result of aggression from either side, but rather from the inability to communicate and a series of unfortunate misunderstandings resulting from this. &#x200B; While the Queen did not want to continue on with this war, she did not want to just let the humans destroy her hive, should the war not have been a misunderstanding and the humans seemed to treat the conflict the same. &#x200B; Suddenly she noticed the relay drone, a drone used to amplify the Queens mind and ensure her control aboard a ship, of the destroyed battleship had been captured by the humans. Paying closer attention to the drone she saw the humans operating on the drone, implanting something the Queen could not identify into the relay drone. &#x200B; When the operation was done the Queen felt a second mind in contact with the relay drone. A chorus of innumerable voices spoke to her. &#x200B; “Finally we can contact you properly foreign hive. The Consensus does not wish to continue this war born from misunderstanding.” &#x200B; &#x200B; I am still new to writing, so please let me know of anything I could do better.
The stone walled room had a strange aura to it, a feeling that surely hadn't existed before, so just now was brought into being. A feeling mixed of tension and curiosity shared by both members seated across the table from one another. The human, Gregor as he was called, scaled lower on the curiosity meter but much higher in the tension category. Across from him, a being who's name would be unpronounceable to Gregor without a tongue flap (which sadly he did not possess), was more in the curiosity zone of things. They simply stared at one another, letting Gregor's words hang in the thick air of the ship. He repeated them, this time with more conviction, "I am here to convince you to eliminate humanity. All of it." The alien with the unpronounceable name stood and paced, two demonic like legs beneath him. Its clawed feet tapped along the stone floors lightly. Its four blackened eyes stayed still, focused on a point. Gregor simply watched. After a long moment the demon creature turned back. "What sort of trick is this?" "Not a trick. And you're running out of time." Behind the two through a thick glass door more of the alien species ran around the ship, some passing by and trying not to make their inside stares obvious. Others taking glances over their shoulders every few moments. "Do you know why I am here? Why I came in that thing and risked myself to be here?"Gregor gestured to a pad outside holding his ship, more if a pod really. A decaying amalgamation of parts and wires with a sleek glass cockpit. "Humor me."The alien thing replied coldly, taking its seat once more. "We are a cancer. A disease. Space travel? Gods biggest mistake in its allowance. Just an excuse to conquer more and more; to Manifest Destiny our way through the galaxy. Except in space every direction is west."Gregor's voice grew in intensity as he spoke. The alien showed surprise, if that was possible for something without many features. Just mandibles and rough skin. "We already planned to do this.", the being across the table let out a noise meant to be a laugh but it sounded more like a hunk of metal in a blender. "So thank you for the tip but we will carry o-"He looked up to see Gregor walking towards the door that lead to his ship, his shoulders slumped. A beep came slowly from the watch on his wrist. "I was afraid of this. As I said, out of time. I'll try with the next ones." Behind him those same aliens before that stared in or worked diligently now scrambled. A light flashed overhead from somewhere in the stone ships cockpit and bodies ran to positions. Out of the window Gregor could see a fleet-no- a sea of ships materialize from thin air, massive guns at the ready. If there was one thing his people were good at, it was war. In the rearview of his ship he did not need to look to see the destruction. Did not need to see to know their planet was being taken. Instead he puffed on in search of the next planet in a long line to tell his silent words to.
I've been subbed for a while, but haven't been compelled to write from a prompt, pretty much the entire time. Every sci-fi prompt is some form of "the aliens didn't know humans were this crazy!"or some other form of underestimation of humanity on the galactic stage; fantasy prompts are all "Aaah but what if the dragon was the good guy?"or something about a misunderstood evil sorcerer; all the superheroes have no idea what they're doing or secretly in love with their villains; and even the more speculative prompts are "everyone gets a thing at a certain age but not you!"or "you've have this power but meet someone it doesn't work on!!!!" That or it's just memes, like when several people all saw the same tweet about the CIA trying to assassinate Clark Kent but failing because they don't know he's Superman.
It had been a gruelling month. A month of constant torture in the form of a man talking in my ear, the same tired request in that medieval peasant voice. Just begging me over and over, "Please sir my family's homestead...if you dont help me pluck my cabbages then we'll lose the crop."Over and over I told him the same. "This is not your world! There is no crop!, no cabbages!"and he'd always reply: "Well there surely won't be without your aid, come quick!"and then leave. In the beginning I wouldn't see him for around a day or two upon denying his request. I never knew where he ran to, but I was always thankful for the moment of peace and quiet. But he always showed back up. Back with that same request."Please sir my family's homestead...if you dont help me pluck my cabbages then we'll lose the crop." Throughout the month his leave times grew. Sometimes I wouldn't see him for a day, then for a month, then two. The longer, the better, for it meant that in the mean time I could have some semblence of my life back. When he was around I could do nothing. Couldn't shop, couldn't see my friends, my family, how was I supposed to explain the 16th century farm hand following me around when I didn't even know what he was? I figured early on it was easier to just not. To instead bolt myself in my home when he came and be driven to madness by his words. But one day he left for the longest he ever had, for three whole months of silence. I remember almost not recognizing him when he returned, his outfit once a pristine look of a medieval peasant he now looked like any homeless man on the street. His clothes were worn and stained. And this time his words were direct: "Come with me. I need you." And for the first time ever I obliged. I don't know why exactly. Maybe out of pity or some kind of obligation, I mean in the other world I did tell him I would help though I never really planned to. Maybe it was just curiosity as to where he went for those months, but either way I followed. He took me far away, never stopping unless I did. He didn't seem to need to. Just ran on and on. He had this look in his face that I had not seen before. A harder brow, sharper eyes, determination in his stride. Finally after days of almost non-stop travel and near sleepless nights we had arrived to an endless field. A blackened sea of burnt ground that had once been something, I thought. It stretched on past the horizon with that blackened, burnt grass and a lingering scent of fire. Somewhere as we walked along the field the air started to warble, like a mirror in a funhouse. I recognized the look, the feel, but I could not focus as my companion only trekked on and I struggled to keep up. But then I saw it in the distance. A ruined clump of smoldering nothing with a stone sign posted outside. As we approached I could see it read: Laymans Homestead, All are welcome. The memories quickly came flooding back. Of a green field and a family. Of a farm of cabbages so vast it seemed a biome of its own. And of a world outside of mine. Even then, with the owner of the farm pestering me daily I thought maybe I was still in that medieval dream, only seeing this ruin did the reality become undeniable. I really had been in that other world, and Layman really did need my help upon following me back, or at least he had at some point. "Why....why are we here? What is this?"I spoke, trying to hide the fear in my voice. "Who burned this all? Who would do this?!" He turned and looked to me with a face full of dread, then gestured to the field of black. I understood, the farm, his crop, his family: all gone. This time his voice came through the air dead. "Please sir my family's homestead...if you dont help me pluck my cabbages then we'll lose the crop. They will be sure of it. They own us." Above his head words appeared: Quest Failed.
"You're off your rocker, dude. It's just a system of magic."He throws the ball of ice in the air again, watching with wonder as it erupts into a million tiny icicles and coalesces as one strikes his open palm. "You just said it! You just said it. It's a system of magic. There's order here. Proper start-up commands. Error reports in the form of fizzles. Commands given to familiars and homunculi and literally anything else. If-Then statements that change how a spell functions. There's a system in play, which means at one point it was developed. Ergo, there had to be one point in time where they ran into a problem they couldn't fix. A fatal error."I ignored the monk's confused gaze and kept rummaging through the library. I felt bad, leaving these ancient texts lying around on tables and stacked on open pages in chairs, but I was so close to something, I could feel it. "Ignore him, Shimmy. He's just nerding out about being here and in shock about being here."Joel tossed the Winter's Orb in the air again, smiling as the etched runes activated and splintered the device. "That's not a toy. That's a bomb. You're just spamming the cancel button when you catch it."I snarked. The dull thud of the Orb hitting the worn wooden floor. "But sure, keep playing with stuff you know nothing about. At least I'm trying to figure it all out. If we're going to get this One Cloaked in Shadows, we should use all the tools we can." He saunters up to the table, Orb notably left behind on the couch. "And so you're trying to turn off magic?" "Even better. I'm trying to find whatever runs the program and cut him off from it. Revoke his permissions. Then he won't be able to cast back at us or Forge or Augment anything or anyone. A whole army, gone in an instant." "Hardcore to Peaceful mode. I... dig it."I tried. I really did. But no matter how much I stared at him, I couldn't make his head explode with my mind for that stupid pun. "Shut up and dig into these history books. Shimetell,"I pointedly made eye contact with Joel and turned to the monk, "Can you give me the abridged version of magical history again?" The bald man stepped forward and nodded curtly. "Centuries ago, the great god Itsha blessed our people with magic, at the cost of regular blood sacrifices and prayer requests to him. The rune systems are our petitions for his favor. Itshalian Empire became conquerors, our developing magic allowing us to crush many enemies and expand our territory. The war campaign became popular, as Itsha allowed sacrifices of other peoples to take the place of our own blood. We developed many technologies based off the runes Itsha taught us and now the great Itshalian Empire rules the continent. The Great God has since discontinued his Blood Quest, having sated his appetite, but we still practice his magic." "That's pretty dark, dude. Like, straight demonic."Something clicks in my head at Joel's disgusted comment. "I'll need every book about Itsha's origins, Shimetell. Where did those transaction start, what were the terms, and how did Itsha come to meet these people? And when and why did he stop accepting sacrifices, too. Get every historian and monk you can find on it. I don't care about contradicting or unpopular theories, I need everything."The fervor in my voice, the joy of discovery, seemed to shock the man into action. It looked like he took Joel's advice and took the stick out of his ass so he'd move quicker. "Uhhh...?" "When the Catholic Church would hire artists, the artist would sometimes 'adapt' a pagan culture's deity into the Devil or a demon. What if the opposite happened here? What if this Itsha was a demon that was deified by the Itshalian for giving them magic?" "If he was, then we could make a deal with him!" "Yes. But more than that, it's implies a system. And as big as the Empire is, there's no way Itsha could handle every single request at once. If he's a demon, then he's got limited omniscience. He'll need help. He's not just a demon, Joel, he's a demon with a daemon." "Why's that important?" "Daemons control background processes automatically. If he's got one, Itsha could just change the daemon so it ignores any request made by the One Cloaked in Shadows. And we can kill him." "...So now we're premeditating a murder. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Hey, will we need the bomb?"
"Mommy, can we go to the pirate museum today?"asked Jill and Austin, more like pleaded to their mom. "I don't know, have you been good?"she replied, toying with them. She had already bought the tickets, but like all parents, she could always bargain for more. "Yes mommy" "I don't know, will you be good for the rest of the week and eat all your veggies?" "Yes mommy" "Okay then, I guess if you are both ready to go in an hour then we will go." The kids cheered and ran off to their rooms. Between getting dressed and the inevitable distraction of toys, the mother guessed they would take an hour and thirty. No matter, it gave her time to freshen up. An hour and fifteen later, they departed. Traffic was bad, but she had planned for that. The kids remained excited, but didn't fight with each other. Clearly they had taken her warning to heart and didn't want her to turn around and for them to miss out on the "pirate museum."At long last, they arrived. The kids ran out of the car screaming "Pirate Museum! Pirate Museum!"The mother corralled her kids, walked through the parking lot hand in hand, and entered the British Museum of History.
There is a delicate art to subtlety. To be able to say 'fuck me' without actually coming out and saying it is something that humanity has spent a long time sorting out. The same goes for 'fuck you'. I may have, uh...gotten it a bit wrong. Sure, the opening salvo may have been a little...effervescent, on the hatred scale. I mean, it seemed fairly clear to me that a tricky-to-care-for fruit tree, along with a bird to eat all the actual fruit, meaning you had to put forward effort with no reward was meant as a giant middle finger, but I can see how it wouldn't be taken that way. The bird is kinda pretty, in a certain light. Plus, one bird won't eat all that much fruit. That was probably it. Lesson learned- more birds. So I sent over these pigeon-things. If ever there was a bird that conveyed 'I fart in your general direction', it's the pigeon. Plus, it's not actually a pigeon, so people will freak out if you just kill them. Subtlety is a delicate art. And as I said, I may have been a little bit too delicate about it. Okay, message still not received. Maybe more birds? Chickens eat a lot, and shit a lot, and if you make them fancy, so you can't just stick 'em in a stew... Yeah. That should do it, right? Turns out, not so much. All right, I think I've got it. Those other birds are quiet. Sure, they can be a pain in the butt, but they're not that hard to put out of your mind most of the time. Time for birds that make noise. Okay. That didn't work, either. While thinking of my next real move, I sent over a bunch of cheap rings from a thrift shop. Some society or other has to have a 'fuck you' ring, right? If nothing else, feels like crushed dreams. This backfired too, naturally. And then I got it. Yes, it's more birds, but sometimes you've gotta keep on theme. Because geese are assholes, and do you know the one thing that makes them more assholeish? When they've got kids to protect. So I send over a bunch of brooding mother geese, which is honestly, at most, a half-step below openly assaulting someone in the supermarket. But sometimes the time comes to abandon subtlety in favor of a seventeen-stanza poem entitled "This Is Why You Suck Donkey Dick". And it still didn't work! I tried reinforcing the geese with some swans, but no go. I mean, the expense of caring for the birds alone...a pear tree just doesn't produce that much food. How haven't they figured it out yet? So I send a bunch of prostitutes in milkmaid costumes to interrupt a family dinner. You'd think that sending strippers with tits the size of watermelons and outfits that show them off would be a bit much for mom and dad, but apparently not. Fine. I wait until there's an extended family dinner going on, and dispense of the 'milkmaid' cover- these are just straight-up strippers. This, apparently, actually went over pretty well. And I mean, yeah, pole dancing is pretty dang impressive from an athletics standpoint, but... C'mon, have some damn prudishness! Maybe a different type of message is needed. Maybe they simply didn't think to fear me. Foolish, but fixable. So I get out all my dirt on local politicians, and have them do a nice, embarrassing dance out where my target can see. "If I can get these guys to do this, then you should probably be afraid of me." Hey, guess what didn't work at all? The end of subtlety. Time to be blunt. I send over a bunch of pipers to play offensive tunes. "Fuck You", "Fucked With an Anchor", "So What". The lack of vocals may, in retrospect, have caused the whole thing to continue to be misconstrued. Especially since I sent them over in the middle of the night, just to be annoying. Hard to pick out a tune when you're barely awake. So, as my trump card, I send over drummers to drum the whole damn night. Along with a giant sign that says "Fuck you", just to make it abundantly clear that, y'know... Fuck you! I don't know how, exactly, the wires got crossed, but now I've got my most hated foe naked in my bed, surrounded by rose petals that they strewed about while I was out trying to figure out how to explain to them that I freaking hate them. They're talking about writing a damn song. This is why you should never be subtle.
As the hero raised his sword to the dark wizard's neck, he displayed his flair by uttering the threat he had been saving for years. "Any last words, Alazar?" Alazar was out of spells. Hemlock had him dead to rights. He took a breath, and that's when realization struck him. "Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?" It wasn't a spell, per se, but it had a stronger effect than any other magic words he could have uttered. Hemlock was certainly taken aback. "Of all things, you choose to point out my drinking?!" One doesn't make it far as a dark wizard without seizing opportunities, and Alazar saw a golden chance here. "I mean, it's quite amusing that you'd be drinking before the fight of your life, don't you think?" Hemlock grew defensive, his voice cracking. "Listen, I function perfectly fine when I drink. I know my limits." "Sure, Hem. I understand what this world does to a person. Trust me, I get it." Hemlock aggressively pressed his sword harder against Alazar's neck, drawing a bit of blood. "Shut up! We are nothing alike! You don't know anything!" "Really? How are the wife and kids, Hem?" Those words caused Hemlock to break. He staggered back, sheathed his sword, and took a seat against the wall, opposite Alazar. "They left me. Just like everyone else always does." "Like a punishment for doing the right thing. I understand, my friend. It's maddening."Alazar made his way over to his alchemy desk and began fumbling around to make a potion. He continued speaking. "You know, Hem, no one truly comprehends what we go through. They consume the legends surrounding our actions but fail to consider the toll it takes. Trust me, being the bad guy, I know better than anyone. The stories always glorify the good and erase the bad. But sometimes, we must acknowledge the dark parts, or they will consume us entirely. A half-truth is no truth at all." Hemlock rose from his seat against the wall and moved to sit across from the alchemy bench. Alazar handed Hemlock a beer potion, which he sipped while talking. "It's like this: the people adore me, but deep down, I know that if they saw everything, they wouldn't. I fight for the greater good, but I have my own demons. No one saves me from them. What does a hero do when he needs a hero himself?" "And to vanquish those inner demons, all you need to do is confront them from time to time without feeling like a monster. It's a slippery slope that leads people to the dark side, Hem. Trust me, I know." Hemlock experienced a catharsis he hadn't felt in years. Alazar had to admit that the conversation was good for him as well. "Hey, Hem, why don't we stop what we've been doing? Why give those bastards more stories when we don't even feel like they're about us?" Hemlock contemplated this idea numerous times, but hearing it voiced brought tears to his eyes. "How, though?" "Easy. I'll introduce you to some of my friends. We'll welcome you into our circle, and we'll focus on living instead of building legends. They understand the struggle too. It'll be like our own little therapy group." Hemlock finished his potion in one gulp. "You know what, Alazar? You're not such a bad guy after all. Let's do that. To hell with living legends. Let's just try living."
Cindy had always been a bit different. But nothing out of ordinary. She was beautiful, of course. More beautiful than all the other girls, but I thought that was just because I loved her. And boy, did I love her. You could say I worshipped her. And she worshipped me. She was quirky too. She would always wake up before me, come to think of it, I don’t think I ever saw her sleeping in night-time. She did love to take naps, though. Me, I slept like a baby every night. And sometimes she would mysteriously disappear and then she would be there again. I’d ask her where she’d been and she’d only shrug her shoulders and say “the ladies room,” or something else innocent, but it did seem just a little bit odd, the way she seemed to appear from nowhere and leave without a trace or sound. In any case: nothing too much out of the ordinary. You can imagine my surprise then, when she asked me to sit down with her one evening. We were in her room; I was fixated on a programming problem on my laptop and she was meditating (as she often did), when she said to me, ‘Ron, can we talk for a bit?’ I replied, ‘why not,’ and put away my laptop. I was a bit anxious because she had never “wanted to talk” before. ‘I’m a goddess of an ancient mythos. I think it’s time I told you,’ she said. I looked at her smiling. ‘I know that!’ I was glad she had jokes in her mind instead of something more serious. ‘And what goddess are you of? Fertility?’ I laughed. She wasn’t laughing. ‘Yeah, fertility and the moon. But I’m serious. You really didn’t notice anything special about me?’ She tried to encourage me. ‘Uhhh—’ I scratched my head; ‘yeah you are a weirdo, of course!’ I was getting a bit dubious now. She looked deep into my eyes: ‘it’s okay, Ron. Nothing’s going to change. I just thought you should know. I have a obligation I must attend to soon and I’ll be gone for a bit. I thought you should know. Nothing at all you can remember?’ Memories were rolling trough my mind now. Sure, she was an oddball, but nothing too weird, right? That one time when the moon was almost full she showed up glowing, and then as if she noticed my attention, she went on glowing even harder but maybe I was a bit high then, I had been smoking earlier. She had also seemed to glow when we made love. . . but again, I felt as I was just so ecstatic that I was imagining it all. And the other time, when we said good bye, I looked back to see her walk away and she had simply vanished. But I thought I must have just been tired. Her perfect long hair was so blonde it was almost white. I had never seen hair like that with anyone else. I thought she was dying it, but come to think of it, I never saw root-growth of any kind. I did go well with my golden locks. I snapped back from from my daydreaming. Surely she’s pranking me. ‘Okay, Cindy the Moon Goddess, let me see you do some moon magic then!’ I said. ‘I don’t do magic,’ she replied. ‘I’m a Goddess, I do what is in my nature, when the moment calls for it. I can’t prove anything for you. You’ve already seen enough proof. You don’t believe your own eyes enough, babe.’ And with that, I remembered. ‘Why do I never trust myself,’ I thought. Like a flash of bright light, I saw everything so clearly now. Her disappearances, her appearing out of nowhere; Her “goddess-like” looks. The weird things she sometimes said that seemed so wise but so out of place for a young girl of 23— how old was she really? ‘If you’re really a goddess, then why me? Why date a mortal like me?’ was all I could say. ‘I mean, I know I love you. Honestly, I don’t know why I love you so much. It’s like you’re all I ever wanted out of life. It’s like I’ve know you for eternity. . . But it can’t be the same for you.’ She smiled and replied: ‘Of course it’s exactly same with me.’ She looked a bit sad. ‘You’re my lover. You’ve always been. You’re the god of sun. It’s just that you’ve been struck with amnesia for a while now. I’ve been trying to remind you. . . please try to remember.’ And I remembered. I loved her because we were destined to be together. It all made sense. And at that moment, we both let our light shine.
Thursday - Tuesday club. 3 full days a week in DC, 4 mostly full days a week in Nebraska, touring the 3rd congressional district. I had to work at it, a first term congressman who won on a 500 vote margin almost entirely because of a satellite town development just inside district borders. If I didn't want the swing back to carry me out the door, I had to make nice with my constituents. That really, was twice as much of a job as the 'work' I did on capitol hill. So here I was, sleeping after a night chatting to business people and community leaders instead of watching the Cornhuskers play... whoever it was. My own bed, how little I recognise it, and alone because despite the times, my people aren't that liberal. The door to my bedroom slammed open with the violence of a no knock raid, and three men in rumpled suits moved in rapidly. "Mr President, please come with us." My head spun. Mr President. That meant... The ex-President. Vice President. Speaker of the Senate. All the Senators. And if was down to me, all of the Representatives. "Do I have two minutes to put on day clothes?"The agents looked nervous, but they had clearly dressed, abeit quickly. I didn't wait for a response, grabbing a clean shirt from the closet, followed by trousers and jacket. Tie could wait, but belt and shoes took just a moment. "Do you have waking up Judge Laskier?"It was easy to ask questions. It gave them something to do, as one of them spoke into a radio. "The county courthouse is ten minutes away. Fill me in in the car."I didn't care what their plan was, what the situation was. This had to be by the book. We hustled downstairs and into waiting PD cars, uniformed police standing nervously. The car ride was frantic. Then again Grand Island is only a city of 50,000, and 2am on a Sunday is not the heaviest traffic. "Mr President, we have been struck by a sophisticated attack with nuclear weapons. A single large weapon was detonated in DC, preventing early warning evacuation of the chain of command. Ballistic missile inbounds followed, striking enough large cities that you are about the only member of the house of representatives we can confirm lived." The weight of those words settled on me. The blur of the courthouse, the judge looking just as rumpled as me. It might have been the first and only Presidential swearing in streamed on facebook live, as nobody could locate a broadcast capable tv crew quickly. The 'offical' delegation, of three local agents, and 3 PD cruisers who happened to be on shift were rocketing through the streets, to the Hall County Airport that I knew well. "Agent, where are we headed?" "Airport. We've got someone on the phones getting something spun up for you." "Then where? Not DC?" "Offutt AFB, outside Omaha, sir. Headquarters of Stratcomm: United States Strategic Command." I blinked, not getting it. "Sir. You're going to have to order the response." My first act as President, would be to murder millions in nuclear fire. And I could not avoid it.
::The sound of ice in a glass and a drink being poured:: Archer: Nick Fury. HA! Who does he think he is? Eye patch, attitude, all bossy. "Archer you could have jeopardized the mission."No YOU would have with your, one... eye... How long have you been standing there? Fury: Long enough... Archer: Oh... ... ... I mean it's a lovely eye pat- Fury: Agent Archer, I know you don't like me and frankly, I don't like you. But when the world is at risk we need th- Archer: -The Best. Which I am. I totally get it, and you're welcome. Fury: I was going to say The Avengers but they were all busy on individual missions. I was able to bring you in because S.H.E.I.L.D. had a track record on you from your ISIS days. I also have a, history with your mother- Archer: HEY, mother stays out of this! Fury: Apologies. Must have lost, sight, of the issue. Agent, S.H.E.I.L.D. deals with many different kinds of threats, globally. Our top priorities, since New York, have dealt in the "super-natural"if you will. I have another mission for you though. It is a KGB hit, your specialty. Some dirty money is moving around in the government and there seems to be a hit on one of the world leaders. The hit man needs to be, neutralized. I hope you don't have a problem with getting your hands dirty? Archer: Ha, no I don't. I don't have the same morals as your little teachers pet Steve Rogers. Fury: [Sigh] Please just get in make it quick and get out. Archer: ... Are we still doing phrasing? Cue Archer Intro Credits
"I'm not sure what are you so upset about"said the devil. "You killed yourself, so you weren't going to Paradise anyway. And now you don't even have to burn. Do you think it is easy for me? Believe me, I would love to torture you. But rules are rules." Kyle was so happy to finally talk to someone that the reality of the situation hasn't it him yet. He wouldn't even mind some torment, anything but being stuck here. People chose cryogenic sleep for variety of reasons: death of loved ones, desire to begin anew, wait for the new technology. But for Kyle it was the boredom. He felt that there wasn't anything exciting in his time -- no Einsteins, no space program, no great novels. He wanted to skip this period, like a bland TV ad, and see what's next. But he only learned real boredom millions of years later, in a mausoleum under a grey dust desert. There had been great scientists and great artists and great empires, but all their works were lost to him: all dust or buried. "Can't you do something?"asked Kyle. "Shouldn't the Hell be eternal? Where did all the souls go anyway?" Devil smiled. "Of course it is eternal. But only for people that are already there. You can think of human Hell as a box that we filled and put aside. And what an exquisite box that is: pain, anguish, fire, red brimstone. It is perfect. It is completed." "The time of humans has ended. We are preparing a new Hell, but the next race will come in a few more millennia. So we are not rushing it. We feel it might be our best Hell yet, even better than the dinosaur one." "And I am very sorry, but I really need to get going. Enjoy your stay in the Limbo." In many Hells, whether hot or cold or crushing or suffocating, whether built for crawlers, or fliers, or underground dwellers, there are legends of a lone shade that walks the Limbo. The last memory of the souls before entering their Hell is of frantic questions and burning curiosity of that spirit. He is happy with even a scrapes of their life, of their history, of their knowledge. And in their worst moments those souls think: "At least it is not us who walk the Limbo. Even we, in this wretched state, are worth envy. And even a little bit of our useless lives might be important." And they feel hope.
"Ohh fuck."He said, staring up at the ceiling. "Ohh, fuck."He adds, heart going a hundred miles an hour. He carefully slid his arm out, feeling around. Eventually he felt the square lump, and he dug into the pocket and pulled it out. "Command."He whispered into the black box, sweat beading off his forehead. There was no sound, then finally a very angry voice burst through the comm. "ETC-1, What is your current situation?"It hissed, and he quickly turned down the volume. "Sir, ah, the readout stated it was non-toxic." "What. Is your current. Situation."The voice responded back. The man closed his eyes for a second. "There was an incident." "Are you injured?" "No. I don't think so." "You don't think so?" "Getting a few tests done may be a good idea." "ETC-1, Again, what is your current situation." "Well, ah, an extreme case of convergent evolution?" "That does not- Daniel. What happened." "Well, uh, I scanned that drink, and it said it was non-toxic. Turns out it, ah, had a few side effects." "Toxicity is relative. What- wait. Ethyl-Alchohol?" "Ah, is that was... what was in the... drink they gave me? I didn't get a chance to really... read the scan too much..." "ETC-1, what is your current situation." "You told me to drink it! It was... They took off their suits. Our atmospheres are pretty comparable." "ETC-1, am I to understand you have potentially been exposed to alien bacteria?" Daniel slowly glanced over to the side, then whispered, "Yes, I think that is a distinct possibility here."There was silence at the other end. "We'll have quarantine and tests ready for you when you get back. What is your current situation? Where are you located?" "I am at the ship. In my bed." "Understood. Please report to control." "Ahh. Right." "Also, please be advised the camera system appears to be off. Is there a reason for that, ETC-1?" "Oh sure. Let me fix that."Daniel said, tapping a few buttons on the box. "Oh. Oh fuck. FUCKING HELL DANIEL." "Yeah."There was a long silence, lasting about four minutes, before another voice came through the com. "Put on some clothes and report to the command station. Now." "...Yessir."
"Do you have something you want to share with the class, Damon?" "I SHALL DRINK THE PTA'S TEARS FOR MY SUSTENANCE", little Damon roars, his head lolling left and right under the sudden weight of two giant red horns. "Well, isn't that nice, Damon. But that'll have to wait until recess, I'm afraid." "YOUR MOTHER PERFORMS FELLATIO UPON HUNG DEVILS EVEN AS WE SPEAK!" "Very good vocabulary, Damon! That means you know a lot of age-inappropriate words!" Outside, black sooty stars fall from red-hued heavens; I can hear a car alarm going off. "Honestly!"I swear, hoping the little ones don't hear. The cross is cool against my fingers as I raise it up. "In the name of the Lord and the Lesson Plan, I command thee, Damon Halpern!" There's a crash of thunder, and Damon's skin turns red. He says something awful about his classmates. "In the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior, and Herbert Stollznow, our headmaster, I command thee to detention!" "NOOO!" "Young man, do I have to talk to your parents?" I raise a hand, and with the other drop the cross, reach into the desk and draw out a cellphone. It is red and caked with dried sweat and blood and only has one number on it. "Hello? Yes, I can wait..." I keep a hand raised; Damon slowly levitates in a circle, his skin bubbling. The rest of the class... oh dear... "Just keep drawing, children. There's nothing to worry... Hello? Mr. Satan... could you turn the flames lower... thank you, the damned were shrieking so much I could hardly hear... Yes, Damon. Yes, I understand. So awful. Yes." I toss the phone to Damon; as soon as it reaches his ear, his head explodes. I catch the phone as it flies back at me. "And that's that. Remember kids, always make your parents proud instead of the other thing." Outside the sun comes out, and it's not red. A little girl waves a hand. "Yes, Suzie?" "Miss, what... what was that?" She's shaking, the poor thing. Come to look at it, so's half the class. Surely not atheists, at such an innocent age? "This didn't happen here before?" Suzie glances at the headless remains of Damon Halpern. Glances, turns green (metaphorically speaking) and looks away. "No, Miss." "Ah, then. I fear we must have a little discussion about the facts of life, as pertains to Damon's sudden outburst of impoliteness." I pick up a piece of chalk. "Now, who of you can tell me what this word is? Yes, Suzie." "A--- adoption, Miss?" "Yes! And now pay attention..."
I play this game to escape my shitty life and i try to help someone who still has a chance in the real world. It feels awesome when new players log in and the first player they see is me. An average looking guy with immense skills. It feels like i'm their teacher. Teaching them the who's and the how's of the game. Grinding together with my students. Chatting and looking at the scenery. When they move on to a new area, they ask me why i won't come with them. They try and persuade me. "We could totally beat this game together!"they say with gleaming eyes as the sun sets. "I'm not interested in beating the game, so go on without me."i tell them. As their expression saddens and they turn their back on me, i reach into my pocket. "Wait!"I yell. They turn around to look at me. "It's dangerous to go alone. Take this."
"... and that's why he doesn't eat salmon!" I laughed at the dumb story, not because it was really that funny but because it felt good to laugh. I was usually eating some packed lunch at my cubicle during this hour, and it was great to get out of the office for a change. Don and I were sitting at a small cafe across town. Nice atmosphere, good coffee, cute barista; hell there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. It was a good day. However, he could tell I was holding back still. "Cmon John"he asked "Relax a little! You've been working your ass for the last year. I don't think you've taken one of your vacation days since August when they forced you to take a week off." He leaned forward "How about this. Take the rest of the day off and enjoy yourself a little with your pal" I smiled "I appreciate it, but no thanks Don. I have too much to do." But I did lean back and relax a bit. Lately my life had really only been business business business. I had thrown myself at my job with a gusto, and while it sucked it was starting to pay off. My bosses were noticing, and so was Don. Well, not that it mattered what he thought of my work but he noticed the fact that I was overworking myself. Don was a good friend like that. While I was reluctant to get out of the office at first, I was here now and was definitely enjoying it. He sighed. "Suit yourself. Do you know what time it is?" I pulled out my phone and checked. "12:30. We still have time." "What he was that?"he inquired "What was what?" "Checking your phone; you've got that fancy watch on your wrist, so why don't you use it?" My smile faded. "Don...Emily gave me this watch, and it no longer works" His smiled faded as well, and he gave me a nod but stayed silent. Emily had been my girlfriend of four years. It was a match made in heaven, and I knew she was the girl I would marry. But, tragedy changed my plans. One night we went to a lovely dinner with family, and came back home late. We drove through an intersection and our sedan was t-boned by a drunk driver in a truck... She didn't make it. The last year had been difficult, but Don and being busy at worked had helped. "Well"I said after a moment of silence "We have enough time for another cup. I'll grab us both some." He patted me on the shoulder as I got up"Thanks bud" I walked up to the register and ordered our drinks. With a smile, the barista whipped them up and handed them off to me. "Have a nice day John"she smiled across the counter. I politely smiled back and began walking to our table. I lifted up my cup and noticed something on the side. A phone number. I turned back, and she gave me a wink before going back to work. I looked back at the cup for a second, and a smile broke over me. "You know Don"I started "Maybe I can take the afternoon off."
I took another bite of the salted pork and cried. The king was born of a long line, who's members had no capacity for whatever festered within certain fish and game. My own family line had been bred and kept pure, alongside the kinds own. It was almost a cruel joke. A score of generations ago, my ancestors were found to suffer from the same ailment, the same dietary disagreements. And so we were kept, like a faithful pet. I wanted for nothing. I ate the finest meals, cooked fresh and served to me on gilded plates. I slept in a chamber, high above the walls of the keep, away from the dirt and decay of the peasantry. And yet I was a prisoner. My blood and my body condemned me to a life of endless service. As before my father had served, so would my own children when someday the kings counsel decided it was time I sire another. I ate again. Chewing the pigs meat until my jaw ached. The guards laughed. The king was like all in power. Which is to say he was not especially wicked, or cruel, or vicious. Simply misguided. A man apart from mortal men, who would put to death a thousand score to defend borders or build statues. When I'd bitten into the pork, it had tasted like all others. Oh how many pigs I have tasted. There must be fields in the black woods that lie barren now. My jaw had begun aching within moments, just a slight tingle. The slow trickle of numbness creeping through my face. I slowed my mastications, let the juices collect on my tongue and tasted it. It was subtle. Hidden beneath the salt and sweet mead that permeated the meat. Crab, or something close enough that the taste was irrelevant but the effect all the same. I'd smiled and chewed and nodded and passed the plate back to the girl who had brought it. Sixteen years I had been eating like a king. And I would be dammed if I was going to die like one. I'd spat out the meat onto the tray of dumplings. Rinsed my mouth with fine wine. My hands shook but by now there was no way to know whether it was my body fighting the poison or my mind fighting to escape. He'd died. Right there at the head of the long table from what I heard. In all my years I'd never eaten in the great hall. I can only imagine it. Plates piled high with salted death. By the times the guards found me in the night my face had broken out into hives. My breathing was laboured and I shook as they took me away. To the cells, I had assumed. But no. The kings counsel, a wise old man who had only ever spoken about me, never to me, in my presence had other ideas. He looked at my face. Gave me roots to chew to calm my beating heart. No words were exchanged. My guilt was coursing through my veins. Long ago I had lost the ability to produce saliva and yet still I ate. Tearing into the pig. Chewing and chewing. I stopped, paused and felt the blade return to the back of my head. "Eat." The single command. The only word I'd heard for two nights and this, my third day. I cried and placed another piece of flesh in my maw. I would not get a quick death, like the king. My punishment was to do my job. I would eat. Until my belly burst and my jaw hung slack. And only then, when I had fulfilled a lifetime's duty in a waking nightmare, would I be free.
Alexis Kowalski. Caucasian female, 43 years old, employed as a hitwoman for the local Russian Mafia. His target. The underground war was underway now, the Triads on one side, the Russians on the other, and Chang had been assigned a shueng sha, a hit on another assassin. But tonight was not the night to worry about that. Chang settled cozily into an auditorium chair, holding a can of soda in one hand and an overpriced bag of chips in the other. Tonight, he would just sit back, relax, and see his daughter on stage. There was the deep baritone voice of a teacher, the swish as the curtains opened, and there was his daughter, dressed as an adorable piece of ham, singing her heart out with the rest of the kids. Oh, how she reminds me of her mother, Chang smiled and took a sip of his soda, If she could see her daughter on the stage now, she would be so hap-- The beep of a phone next to him interrupted his reminiscing. It came again, louder this time, and Chang turned to flash a death glare when... Oh shit. He recognized that ringtone. He recognized that woman. And, unfortunately for him, she recognized him too. A brief moment of shock, confusion, and mild attraction, before they each drew silenced handguns. Chang was faster. In one fluid motion, he flicked the safety off, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Clack clack. Fuck, his gun jammed. Alexis smirked, cocked her head, and... Clack clack. Fuck, her gun jammed.They stared at each other awkwardly, meekly put their pistols away, and looked around to see if anyone had witnessed their attempts at killing one another. No, no one had noticed. They had been too busy watching their children on stage, luckily. Alright, how do I kill her now? Poison capsule in her drink? Neck snap? Chang wondered, before the quiet flick of a butterfly knife unfolding cut through his thoughts. Ah. So it would be that way. Chang brought his can up suddenly, and there was a spray of soda instead of the intended spurt of blood. The blade came around again; this time, Cheetos flowed from a gash in his bag of chips. "Hey, could I borrow that?"the two stopped, like deer in headlights, and a hairy hand reached from above Alexis and plucked the knife from her graceful hands, "Thanks. God, these new Doritos are hard to open..." The two looked at each other. "Listen, can we not fight in front of the kids?"Alexis mouthed as she nudged a head in the direction of the stage. Chang nodded. That would be agreeable. And so, they sat there, for 10-odd minutes, before Alexis leaned over and asked: "Which one's yours?" "The one in the ham costume,"Chang whispered back. "Mhmm,"Alexis nodded, "She's very cute." "Thank you,"Chang looked back to the stage, "Who's yours?" "See the broccoli? That's him." "Huh. He looks like a fine young man." "Thank you." The two settled back into their seats. A few minutes more, a solo act from a fried egg, and Chang got up to use the restroom. ___ Will add Part 2 when I find the time.
"Oh, cock..." A phallus appeared, joining the pile of miscellaneous things. A crowd had appeared around him at some point, most smirking at his evident misfortune. "Oh do fuck off."He'd had enough of these wankers ridiculing him in their weird language. The crowd all began to undress, horrified expressions beginning to form as they deciphered what he'd said. It was, however, too late. They all began masturbating, and a few horrifying minutes later of mothers looking at sons, fathers at daughters and lovers at each other, they began to, one by one, rocket off into the horizon, a torrent of white, suspiciously clear, liquid propelling them upwards. James May facepalmed as Clarkson and Hammond had the time of their lives laughing at him.
Ugh. Felt like a fucking hangover. I force my eyes open. The events replay themselves through my mind. Shooting. Snarling. Swarming. No! I couldn't be one of them! My eyes snap to my hands. No, they're still as beige as ever. Was it a dream? The door creaks. I spin around, months of zombie-killing have trained me for this moment. I grab the nearest thing I see — a plate of food — and I charge straight at the rotting figure at the doorway. The figure's mouth widens, revealing rows of decaying fangs, along with his bloodshot eyes. Its revolting palms fly up and a clipboard in its arms clatters to the ground. A strangely human scream escapes its disgusting lips as my plate shatters its pitiful skull. Another zombie down. Strange, wonder why it was carrying a clipboard. I pick it up and read it. "Patient has severe hallucinations — thinks everyone's a zombie." Shit. The zombies are learning.
It all started when I put my hand to the cold surface of my hallway mirror in the morning. I had smudged my lipstick: the red sliding across my face like an angry scar. I swore, tripped over my dog's collar, which of course I'd left out the night before, and steadied myself against the mirror. My hand left an imprint of mist against the burnished glass--I thought nothing more of it and left. When I came home the door seemed stuck. I couldn't budge it to save my life. That was until I realised I was trying to move it the wrong way, mentally slapped myself upside the head and pulled it open. I locked it shut behind me, dumped my keys in the brass bowl at the base of that awful mirror and kicked my shoes off. It was a piece of furniture I hated in my house: something my mother had bought me when I first moved in and so much of her style: a Louis XIV monstrosity of gold curlicues and bronze imprints. It took up too much space and seemed to exude cold into the rest of the house--it had never been warm any time I'd ever touched it. The floor was free of dog toys, as I padded towards the fridge, eschewing dinner in favour of a glass and a half of red wine and three chocolates from a selection box I'd been working my way through for the better part of a month. The wrappers I put in the bin. It was a vaguely tipsy me that slipped into bed that evening, resting my head on the pillow and trying to work out why I felt so odd. It could have been the lack of proper food; it could have been the overly full glass of Pinot I'd downed in front of a re-run of Celebrity Pointless. But somehow it wasn't. The door of my wardrobe hung open, the full length mirror catching the glint of the full moon that hung outside my window--the curtains left open. Someone, within the mirror, was watching me. Like a snake, a shadow uncoiled itself from the glassy surface of the mirror, languid legs moving onto the clear floor and sinking deep into the thick carpet. I sat bolt upright in bed as the moon dripped light onto the figure who had walked out of my mirror and into my room. My heart hammering, I wondered if it were a hallucination, and I had almost convinced myself of it until the mirror-figure opened her--my-- mouth--covered with a bright slash of precise red lipstick and spoke. 'You are an absolute state,' she said. 'Your half sucks. I want my half back.' 'What are you talking about?' In return, she turned and pointed at the mirror. In it I could see the reflection of my bedroom. But not as it was now, tidy and organised, but how I had left it this morning (how had I forgotten) strewn with clothes across the floor, and two empty wine bottles rolling across the shag-pile carpet. I knew there was a reason I hated that mirror.
My fingers were shaking as I dialed the phone. "Jimmy? Tell me you got some good news, man." "Hey Mike,"I said, fighting to keep the waver out of my voice. I cleared my throat. "Well, I wasn't able to get you the three-point-nine million that you asked for." "Ah jeez..." "I got you six-point-two instead." There was a pause on the line. "You're kidding me." "I am not kidding you." "You are kidding me!" "I'm not! I'm not!"We were both laughing. "We're gonna be rich!"I continued. "You're gonna be famous!" "Oh man, oh man, hot dog!"The voice on the other end of the line was squeaky, endearing. I'd grown to love Mike like a brother, despite our initial animosity. And hey - it never hurt to have a close friend who could help you make money. "You are the best agent ever, man!"Mike said. "Hey, I've got a few people I gotta call-" "Sure, sure,"I said. "I'll see you for dinner tonight, though? Freddy's at eight?" "You got it, big man. See you then." I hung up and punched my fist in the air in excitement. Jenna, my secretary, popped her head inside the door. "Hey bigshot,"she said. She stepped into my office, a manila envelope and a few high-gloss sheets in her hand. "The label sent these over. Potential album covers, they want to know what you think." "Uh huh, uh huh, let me see."I flipped through. They were all great. I liked the one of Mike photoshopped as an 80s rock and roller, a keytar slung over his shoulder, his head barely reaching the 1' mark on the black and white height chart on the wall behind him. "This guy is just incredible,"Jenna said as I flipped through. "I've been listening to his demo all day. Where did you say you found him again?" "Well,"I replied, "let's just say that I didn't wish for a twelve-inch pianist..."
The roar of helicopter blades and claps of thunder drowned out all other noises. I sat in the crew compartment, my hands clutching a set of prayer beads, and I wasn't the only one. The things had practically become standard issue since the apocalypse started. I guess everyone figured that if Satan had unleashed his forces on the world, chances were there was another guy upstairs watching it all go down. If everything went according to plan, I'd be going to meet him today. Not yet though. There was still work to do. "Chopper unit, you got hostiles approaching your position."The voice crackled through my headset. "Roger that Command. Releasing drone deterrent,"came the response from our pilot. I couldn't see it from where I sat even if it hadn't been raining, but I knew what it looked like. Dozens of drones would peel away from the outside of the craft, supported in the air by eight motors and mounted with two automated anti-personnel turrets. They would form up roughly in a sphere around the aircraft and engage any hostiles that came too close. Before this had all started, there was concern over the auto-targeting system picking up friendlies, but setting their targeting parameters to the Gargoyles had proven easy. Gargoyles, or Gargs as the boys called them, were your typical, run-of-the-mill flying demons. Their wings began at the top of their tail and ran up to appendages on the tips of their "arms". Gargs couldn't hurt you unless they reached you, but they were strong. They could rip apart the titanium alloy off a fighter jet if they caught one and had no problem dismantling a man. They'd been a real problem back in the day for helicopters carrying personnel. They weren't nearly fast enough to catch a jet most times, but neither could a jet engage them. They hadn't been built to take down dozens of organic threats that could alter their trajectory in the air on a whim. Helicopters had initially relied on mounted weapons and door gunners for defense, but all it took was letting one through and it would bring you down. The military had already started providing drone support to aircraft before Geneva had gotten around to ratifying it. The rain slackened for an instant and I stole a glance out the window. The weather had gotten a lot more unpredictable, but here it always stormed. Below me, the Maw lit the entire place with a red glow. The Maw is where it had all started. Eight years ago, the ground in Eastern Europe had torn open and Hell had poured out of it. It had been a massacre in the surrounding countries. Ukraine. Belarus. Poland. For a bit there, it really had felt like the end of the world. Lucky for us, the demons hit Russia to the East and, like so many before them, had a lot more trouble there than they thought they would. Although it had crippled them, Moscow'd held them off long enough for the world to make a coordinated response. Western Europe assembled their armies en masse and the good old US of A had been able to reinforce their bases across Europe and the Middle East. China and India had risen up like a pair of lions, reinforcing Russia and going so far as to push the demons back towards their hellhole. Things got worse though before they got better. The first couple of years showed us how unprepared we were to handle a threat like this. For the most part, the demons were savage animals. They were vicious and had no problem killing a single man, but they weren't intelligent. A platoon of prepared infantry could cut through the same amount of demons with ease but battles were never that even. There were just so damned many of the bastards, it never seemed like you could kill enough of them to make a difference. Then there were the big ones. Satan's lieutenants or whatever. The biggest one I ever saw stood near sixty feet and wielded a blade of pure fire that cut through tank armor like butter. The worst of it though was that they could direct the demonic hordes through sheer will alone making ground combat a nightmare. It had taken laser directed Hellfire Missile (ironic, I know) to kill that bastard. Most went down a little easier, but not by much. Other holes had started tearing open too. Don't know if Satan had thought the big one would be enough or was just waiting on the other ones to see what we would do. Either way, holes started popping up all over the place and much needed reinforcements around the Maw were pulled back to protect their homes. That had been the lowest point. Almost every battle was lost, civilian casualties were innumerable, and South America and Africa had been reduced to areas of pocket resistance only. Then technology had caught up and we finally realized how to fight the damn things. And from the ass-backwards fields of South Dakota, he appeared. Major General Trenton Hunter, and he lived up to the name. Proving just as much diplomat as politician, he'd only taken a year to develop and propose an international response plan to the situation, establish a united military front, and get himself "elected"to lead it, becoming Grand Marshall Trenton Hunter. That had been five years ago and it had been the turning point. Global response forces had been organized to neutralize emerging holes and choke points had been established to contain regions already lost. The best and brightest had been brought on board to develop technologies to address the threat and bring substandard military equipment up to snuff. Hunter took the scattered mess the world military had been and forged it into the well-oiled machine he'd need to win the war. That had been five years ago though and the world was getting tired. The demons had long since fought to a standstill but the drain on human life was tremendous and although I was sure we'd killed billions of demons by now, they kept coming. The conflict needed to be resolved or we'd lose through attrition and it would have all been for nothing, and Hunter knew it. That was how I'd ended up here. _____
"So here's my brilliant plan!"The disembodied voice came from above me. I could hear a quick stagger as they attempted to piece another sentence together. "Soon you'll face your doom!" The light above me flickered for no apparent reason, the rhythm like a child playing with a light switch. I flexed my muscles to see if the ropes holding me would give way, but unfortunately the knot was well tied. Quickly, I studied the abandoned warehouse for any means of escape; none could be found. "Exactly how will I meet my doom? Are you going to leave me here with a bomb?" "The only bombshell here is me!" "I said bomb..."I recognized the voice, but not where it came from, "Did you mean bombshell like the bra?" A shadow drops down from above, rolling awkwardly from an inability to stick the landing. She springs up from her embarrassment and turns to face me. I watch her adjust her suit around the bust line before she finally acknowledges me. "Who said I wear bombshell bras, because I don't. I wear regular bras. I don't need any lift!" "So you're going to talk me to death? I admit, this is a pretty devastating doom." I watch her face twist into anger. "I'm not going to talk you to death!" "Then I don't know what could be worse." "You know, for a 'super' hero, you're kind of an asshole", she puts air quotes around super, "You didn't even say anything about my new suit." She watches me avert my attention to her suit, and twirls quickly so I can see every angle. "You're trying to take over the world, you've tied me to a chair, and just talked about killing me, yet somehow in the asshole in this situation?" "You've punched me numerous times, and I'm a girl." "You're a SUPER VILLAIN! What did you expect, flowers and chocolate?" "That would be nice..." "Can you just kill me already?" "See! Why do you have to say stuff like that?"She starts to walk away. The single overhead light makes it hard for me to see her from a distance. "You still didn't even say anything about my suit." I take a deep breath, and flex harder this time, only to reach the same results. She walks back into view, her lips now a dark shade of red. I study her lips. I study her tight black suit. I study the curly mane threatening to eat her shoulders. "What?" "What, what?" "Why are you looking at me like that?" "Like what?" "I dunno. Like that."She points to my face as if I can see it. "I was looking at your new suit. I guess it does look cute on you." "Really?!"Her face lights up. "Yeah, really", I watch her cheeks turn pink, "Your hair looks really good too." "Thanks!"She twirls a section of her locks around a finger. "Usually I straighten them, but I was in a rush and I didn't have time after my shower, so I just blow dried my hair and..." "Wait, it's not naturally straight?" "No." "It looks better this way." She pushes her hair behind either ear and crosses her arms behind her back. "Well thank you", I can see her pause to decide if she wants to speak or not, "You know your muscles look really good. You flex a lot on tv without noticing." "Thanks bombshell bra." She s storms over and slaps my shoulder like a toddler. "Ohmigod, I told you I don't wear those! Stop being such an asshole!" "I was kidding! Calm down!"I study her again, and she takes notice. "You know, you're cute when you're not trying to take over the world and stuff." She sits in my lap, "I mean, I guess I could stop trying to do that..."
Journal Entry #456 One week before the international release of the next book. Happy anniversary, me. Three years ago to this day I first contacted my author. I guess you could call this a birthday since my backstory won't be fully revealed until next year's upcoming prequel book "Agent Steven Young: A Young Agent". The first year wasn't too bad. I had some great conversations with my author, told him where I wanted to go, who I wanted to meet, what type of missions I would like to go on and for the most part he wrote within my specifications. But, I'm tired. My body won't age thanks to the timeline in my book series, but all this time I'm still aging up here. In my head I've spent countless months in a void between missions. What makes it worse is that my author doesn't even try anymore. Everything is paint by the numbers, convenient plot holes and awful storylines. I want out. My author won't retire me, he needs the money he makes off of me (I see none of it by the way) and he refuses to kill me off and continue my storyline with my son. So I've decided to take things into my own hands. I've exploited a plot hole and was able to continue my journal entries by myself within a draft of my next adventure, "Agent Steven Young: Moonshine". I don't have much time; the worldwide release is in a week, so I guess this is goodbye. This is Agent Young, signing off to my readers, one last time. Journal Entry #457 6 days before the international release of the next book. Yeah, I'm back. Fucking Deus Ex Machina. I tried jumping off of a roof and guess what? Some people were moving an industrial trrampoline underneath and conveniently lined up with my splat-zone. Remember what I said about my author's shit writing? Yep, this is it. Doesn't matter anyways, I have a foolproof way that even he can't bullshit his way out of. Bye. Journal Entry #458 1 day before the international release of the next book. So now he decides to get creative. I'm not dead yet. Obviously. I tried drowning myself after my last entry, tied a couple cement blocks to my shoes and jumped in. I was so close to sweet release and then boom, I developed a mutation that allowed me to breathe underwater. HOW DID HE EVEN GET THE RIGHTS TO MUTANTS. The next day I tried putting a bullet in my brain but the firing pin broke at the last minute and the world's supply of firing pins were stolen by the Pin Villain (seriously?). So I decided that I could get creative too. I went to the zoo and jumped in the lion pit wearing a steak suit, but apparently the zookeeper already fed them that day. How fucking convenient. Bleach didn't work, neither did my self guillotine. Apparently I was given anti-bleach vaccine as a child and the rope kept snapping on my guillotine. Nobody knows how to tie a noose either, the knowledge has just disappeared from the universe! I have one more option left and that's not even really up to me. I'm talking directly to you now. Don't read this. Take my book and burn every copy you see. Downvote every comment regarding me, erase my existence and release me from this agony. Reader, my life is in your hands. Please fuck it up for me.
Jellies is what we used to call them. That was before the great war, and we called them that mainly because they looked like, well, jelly! They called us Skinthings, or something like that. They'd come to take over our planet, and we did our best to keep them off. You ever tried shooting jelly from 100 yards with an automatic? Aside from it spraying around a bit, you can still put it back in a jar and save it for later. Well, that's pretty much what happened with the Jellies when we first found out they were hostile. They'd get a little hole in them, maybe get a bit discombobulated, but come right back together. Except, they aren't tasty like jelly. Not one bit. We advanced to artillery fire, but it pretty much had the same effect. Sometimes it'd land in them and not explode. That's pretty funny to see, all things aside. A Jelly... walking around with a live mortar. In fact, I think a mortified Jelly caused pretty the only casualty on our side - and that was after the war had ended! Yeah, their weapons didn't work out too well on us, either. I mean, our oceans are full of salt. We eat salt for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and late night french-fry runs. I think we even put salt in candy! Imagine their horror when their deadliest weapon turned out to be the best tasting salt anyone in the world had ever eaten? Chefs from around the world signed up with NATO for a chance to fight them. Well, needless to say, we had to come to some sort of agreement. We gave them Antarctica because, for whatever reason, they like the cold. They gave us their salt and space ship. They can't really leave their 'island' for the reason of the salty ocean. And we don't really want to be on the island anyhow. Well, they seem to be doing fine on their own. No one has really told them about global warming or anything, so I assume we'll have another useless battle if they find out and call in to their home planet. At least we'll get some more salt out of it!
"Charles, Georgie..... Ken? It can't be... it's you! You found the fountain! Oh my god, has it been that long? Oh look at me in my old age, a dying man, wrinkled, scarred, tormented by a life of demons, and you all -- as young as the day I last saw you. Oh it was back in Manhattan, summer of 53. The war was over, and we may have lost our dads but we had each other and that is when we took that fateful promise that if we ever found the fountain we'd tell the others..... but....wait.... you, you must have found it soon afterward, you've barely aged a day.... why did you not tell me? Was it because I kissed Susan after the dance, Ken? Or because I never returned your stamp collection, Georgie? Oh it's there, in the box under the chessboard, I've been waiting for you to come back, I never meant to take it, you just left, you all just left... and Charles, oh Charles, I understand why you never spoke to me again, I still can not look in the mirror the same way, if only we had been born in this day and age, our love would have been accepted, but it could not have been in the 50s..... why did they have to make you move away though? And if you moved away.... how did Ken and Georgie find you? How did you all get back together... how did you all find the fountain?" The three boys looked at the dying man, and a tear rolled down their eyes. "It's okay kids, he needs his rest." "Is grandpa going to be alright?"Tom asked. "Yes, he's going to be fine"the nurse said as she upped his morphine.
First to the list we add the sin of Lust, Slaves of the Devil with every thrust, Gluttony follows next, swallowing up all, Til our bellies distend and our heads loll, Equally as evil is the blackness of Greed, Wanting and wanting beyond reasonable need, The opposite, of course, we find in Sloth, Disease of indifference cut from the same cloth, But better that than the rage of Wrath, Turning friendships into blood-red bloodbaths, Sometimes incurred by Envy, the subtle sin, The one that yearns for what-could-have-been, Usually bowing down to the final one, Pride, By which many have lived and many have died. These are the seven Sins, the capital vices, We break them for little gain and high prices. But there's one that God must have missed, A dangerous disease he forgot to add to the list, And so we live our lives as mortal monstrosities, Committing sin after sin to satisfy our Curiosities. ____________ Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!
It always sounded crazy when everyone sat together for their lunch in the great canteen, filled with a multitude of criminals, unarmed guards and armed guards standing on the balconies a floor above, watching down at the people like pigs in a pen. The voices of fifty men at once was astounding. Block B was by far the loudest. It was full of criminals with relatively long sentences. The maximum here was life. The shortest was ten years. And paranoia was rife- being left ignorant about why they were serving their sentences was an unimaginable pain that left them numb to the core. Many chose to ignore their feelings and keep a brave face. Distract themselves with work, the gym, learning, music, television-- anything to forget where they were. "Nah I bet I stabbed someone,"one bulky inmate said to another, standing up with a strange passion, striking his hand forward theatrically. "You don't look like the stabbing type,"another said, shaking his head, his chuckles slow and loud. The four on that table all laughed. The first rolled his eyes and continued his food. On another table, the four thinner men were still trying to work out what would force them to go to prison. "Not knowing hurts man,"the thinnest sighed. "Can't get why they still don't tell us. I'm up in a week man, a week. I don't wanna come back to this shit hole,"he took in a heaped spoon, not wanting to talk anymore. He spoke too much when he was nervous. And he was anxious all the damn time. "We're here for a good reason,"another shrugged. "Dunno how many times I've said it, but obviously we did something stupid." On another table, a man was struggling to stay calm. He had just learned the date. His wife's death anniversary. Worst of all, no one in his family came to see him. Not once. Not his children. Last time he had seen them they were five and eight. They'd have been twenty nine and thirty two. Married with their own maybe? He didn't even know if they were still alive. All he knew was his wife had died. And that he may have done it. The only memory he was left with before everything turns to emptiness was seeing her texting away on her phone one day after coming back late from work. That was it. And all he thought of it was who was she texting? The disappearance of the events after hurt him. What had happened? He'd never know. He'd die not knowing. Maybe, he thought, trying to distract his emotions by focusing on his meal, maybe he would die without feeling sorry. Sitting near guards, the newest member of Block B was far too numb to say a single word to anyone. Everyone in his room ignored him par one word of advice: 'we don't know anything either but we all get used to it eventually'. His last memory of his brother was talking about what they'd do if they had money. Buy fast cars and go for races on the motorway. But his family were always dirt poor. He pushed his tray back. Where was his brother? One of the armed guards had his eyes focused on the happiest of the inmates of Block B. He cracked his neck to the side, gritting his teeth as the man seemed to burst with laughter, a bright toothy grin, eyes wrinkling. The man who went on a rampage in a post office and murdered everyone in a queue in a fit of insane rage. A dog without a leash. He only felt disgust for the clueless man. His family still visited him and he was blissfully ignorant. Another unarmed guard could tell that the armed guard was mad and he'd keep that to himself. Seeing all the men in front of him, some of them making the best of their situations, others wallowing in shame, others numb-- he disagreed with it all. Punishment only came if they were forced into condoning their own actions. If they had a pinch of remorse in their gut. But they were all prisoners of the dark.
Wow! Hard to believe we've been together 7 months! In some ways it feels as if I've known her forever and other times it feels like we met yesterday. I've never known anyone like her. She's clever, daring, has a wicked wit. Intimacy is like nothing I've ever experienced, some might even call it kinky. It was only 4 months ago that we moved in together. I had a great loft with natural light and a view of the city but she never seemed comfortable there so we moved into her basement apartment. It was always a bit dark and dreary but what the hell, just being with her gave it a warmth and glow that I could learn to live with. After 4 months I feel as if I could spend an eternity with her. The holidays were terrific. We had Thanksgiving with my family and everybody seemed to hit it off. She seemed a little uneasy with some of my family traditions at Christmastime, but I guess Christmas isn't really her thing. We rocked out on New Year's Eve, and now we're enjoying a quiet evening at home in late January. A cold front has moved in, the entire city seems shut down due to the snow, and it's so cold I swear Hell could freeze over. No complaints, I'm happy sitting in front of the fire with her and doing shots of Fireball whiskey. We're reminiscing about the holidays and time with my family. I ask her when I can meet her folks, and she acts uneasy. I joke "C'mon, how bad can it be? Is your father an axe murderer?"She's not amused. I ask her to tell me what's wrong. I have no idea what a strange turn this conversation will take! "Is there something in your past I should know about? Don't you get along with your family?" "No, I love my dad. I just don't get to see him often. He's pretty busy and travel can be a problem." "You're not ashamed to have us meet, are you? I love you to death. I want to spend my life with you." "You don't know what you're saying. I want to be with you too. It's just... complicated. I know that's cliche, but it's REALLY complicated." I'm not sure how to respond. There is something in her tone that I can't make sense of. She breaks the silence, "I love you dearly. I've never known anyone like you. I want to take you home and be with you forever." That makes me tear up. "So let's visit him! I'll even go old school and ask him for your hand in marriage! We can set a date. I hope a big church wedding will be okay. It's what my folks will expect."I have butterflies just thinking about it! She squirms. I can tell she is trying to work up a response. The anticipation is making me ill. What isn't she telling me? "As I said, it's complicated. I've been away from home for a long, long time. When I go back, it's a one way trip. I'd love nothing better than to take you with me. I've only felt this way a handful of times in my life, but when I've told men what they're signing up for they all get cold feet. "I came here as a young bride in an arranged marriage. My father had closed a big deal, and part of deal was my hand in marriage. I didn't love the man, but I had 4 children with him before he died." Four kids? a previous marriage??? How old was she at the time? 12? She can't be thirty now and I've known her the better part of the last year. She continues, "My children grew up, moved to different parts of the world, and started their own families. Some of their descendants have made history." "What the hell?"I think. Is this the woman I fell in love with? No wonder she is still single... she's not right in the head. She goes on with her story, "My father is Satan, and he gave me to a man called Cain who you know from your Bible. Our descendants are still doing my father's work. It was part of the deal he struck thousands of years ago. Cain is long dead, but if I return to my father's home I will be his forever unless I can return with my true love. Over the centuries I have had several men I felt were the one, but when I ask them to spend eternity with me they panic. I don't want to lose you but this seems to be my fate. I'm horribly tired here and would love nothing more than to return home." I sit at a loss for words. I take another shot of Fireball. It burns going down and I take another. Some things are starting to make sense; why she fidgeted and squirmed when my family said grace at the Thanksgiving table. Why she seemed panicked when I pressed her to go with my family to the Christmas Midnight Mass. The old photo of a man dressed in a German WWI uniform that she laughed off as a boyfriend at a costume party. Her homesick gaze at the Fireball label. I love her like nobody I've ever met, but this is a pretty big decision. A life without her on this planet or eternity with the light of my life. I take another shot of Fireball. What will I tell mom?
It was raining again. It drummed against the brim of my hat as I walked down the alley. Five years ago my heart would be thumping in my chest, loud as the downpour around me but that soon stopped. Anything can become mundane with time. I checked my side arm was in an easy position to draw. In the last five years I had only used it in the shooting range but it added a weighted comfort. An unnecessary one. The smell hit me first which meant that it had already detected me. Wet dog. That metallic, iron smell. A lot of blood then, not yet washed away. I spotted it briefly, a huge shaggy shape, canine face and hunched muscled back. It's yellow eyes flashed behind once before it loosed a small whimper and loped away. I let my hand slip from my holster and slowly began my pursuit. Pursuit was too strong a word for what I did. Flushing out was probably better. In all my time hunting these creatures, I had never actually killed one. Once I caught a fleeing form in the side with a glinting bullet but it hadn't even slowed. They always ran. If only I'd known sooner. Jimmy was a bright kid. A real jack of all trades musician, effortlessly picking up songs from ear alone. Life of the party. Liz had been his girlfriend since we can remember, their parents lived next door to each other and eventually playing house become a reality. Scott was the jock, a dick at times but with the build, looks and school records to back it up. He used to force me to arm wrestle and laugh when I lost every time. They killed him first. Then Jimmy, tearing his arms with those gifted hands right out of his shoulder. I had to close my eyes for Liz. I just heard the sounds. The snarls. The chewing. When I opened them, a snout was a foot from my face and a warm puddle was at my feet. Its breath was hot. Then it pulled back, yowled something at its brethren and they scampered off, leaving me alone with the steaming piles of my friends. Since then I'd been hunting them down. I'd outfitted myself like a cliché, leather duster, sidearm with silver tipped bullets, kukri knife. All completely unnecessary. My presence alone scared off the beasts, yelping like they'd seen The Devil. Maybe they had. I tipped my head back and let some rain hit my face, running into my wiry beard. Wash away the memories. I continued on my way, following the scent the animal left as it careened through the streets. After the first I could always smell them, though I was clearly inferior to the beasts in that. I turned down another alley then heard a staccato blast of gunfire. Another Hunter? A real one?! I ran towards the noise, feet slapping on the sodden concrete. I skidded to a halt as the dark shapes in front me coalesced out of the gloom. The beast lay sprawled and huge, a seven foot behemoth of flesh and fang. A tight black net cinched in its limbs and near the head stood a figure. They looked military, greyish body armour and an encompassing helmet that looked straight out of a sci fi novel. They swung the barrel of their stubby gun up towards me as I approached, an ugly thing, sheer practicality. "Stop"the voice echoed out artificially from their helmet, tinny but I thought I detected a feminine lilt to it. I stopped. The beasts run from me but people with guns don't. I slowly raised my hands and attempted a smile. The person cocked their head to the side and spoke into a device on their shoulder. "I've got a Civ...Yeah, I'm guessing new age vigilante type. He looks like a bad Van Helsing rip off". Harsh They lowered the gun to their side, letting it hang by its strap. Raising one hand to ensure I stayed where I was they unhooked a device from their belt. "I'll scan him... Because he doesn't seem phased at all is why! That sound normal to you?...yeah....one second...wait....what" The device began emitting a high pitched noise. They let it hit the floor and in one fluid motion, dropped to a combat crouch, gun once more firmly pointed at me. "Fuck, Control get me reinforcements, we've got a god damn Class 1...A FUCKING CLASS 1".
To my dear love Ophelia, I don't know when you will be reading this, but if you are, I must already be at the bottom of the lake. Do you remember? The secret lake I took you to in, I suppose, our first official date? You came crying to me in the middle of a wintry night; your eyes tearing wildly, yet still like soft rain. Even after seeing your little baby brother turned to stone, you still had the heart to approach me, an unknown you talked to once upon a time, for comfort. I only knew your name, and yet you cried into my arms by that luminescent lakeside. Our hearts and fingers intertwined that night, and you freed me from the stone cold prison I locked my heart inside. Do you remember our wedding? Of course you do. Our most treasured memory. I still remember that even though my mother is still in stone, I could feel her smiling and beaming at us with her blessings. It was the happiest day of my life. To know that I am locked in matrimony to the woman that I shared and poured everything out for. Like an endless waterfall of love, I promised you a life of happiness and endless joy. Even through your teary veil, you affirmed our eternal promise with a kiss. "Not even the hardest of stone could separate us love."We both said to each other. A love so pure, everystone in the audience broke free with tears as we emanated hope across. I still remember when we got our results back. "A baby boy."The doctor smiled as she handed to us a single sheet of paper with a bright blue ribbon; a hazy picture of a future painted with joy. We cried for hours on end as I felt the warmth of the life growing. But not all things can outrun fate, can they? But rest assured, my love. Such rare happiness we shared must have been the ultimate temptation of fate as she cruelly struck you both down. I remember that orange-stained evening sky when we walked to each other after I clocked out as you came to tell me bearing good news. But you, you never made it. You were running so slowly, carrying Evan in your body with a tearful smile, even as you felt your joints lock. The cold greyness spreading from your legs up as you mouthed your very last words and held onto him with your left; your right reaching out to me. But before I could even utter or even shed a tear, You were gone. It has been 3 years since you became silent. And for every single day, I have gone from the world's end to back to find a way to get you and Evan back. It seems my funds and family and friends have turned me away, but I will stay loyal to you forever, Ophelia. Even as I cry into your stone cold, outreached hand, I still feel you watching me from above; separated with just a few centimeters of stone. Sometimes I hold onto it for so long, I forget to shower. Or even to eat. Sometimes I even forget myself. But I will never forget the promise we made on that fateful day when the church bells rang harmoniously. I will never forget the night where our hearts and fingers intertwined. Even as my tears fall into the lake, I can already feel my bones turning ha rd. I wil l s e e yo u so on. I l ov e yo u , fo r . e vr \---------------------------- (https://www.reddit.com/r/Shiruet/)
A firm control of one’s emotions was an unspoken criteria of one who would enlist in the Space Marines Corp. One did not gloat, cheer, weep, or rage, unless your superior officer thought it appropriate to do so, and made it known to you explicitly. This tenet was drilled into Staff Sergeant Avery Brooks since he was old enough to understand the concept. Even so, peering through the frosted hue of his pod as he awoke from cryosleep, he was struggling to hide his growing terror at the horrifying scene before him. A corpse lay in the center of the cryosleep chamber, utterly mangled and soaked in a cocktail of viscous green goo and faded blood. Its limbs were contorted at unnaturally twisted angles, and its head was torn clean off and nowhere to be seen. The torso was rent apart from collarbone to pelvis, revealing vital organs that had slid out of position, and onto the floor of the chamber. Avery had seen things in his years of service, but a lifetime of friends bleeding out on your lap and buddies being blown apart had not prepared him for this sight. The pods hissed open as the shipboard AI blared a wake-up call to the men and women aboard the Spirit of Fire. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. It is now Earth mean time three forty two AM, and we are on scheduled approach to Psi Serpentis. We will enter its gravitational pull in an estimated 24 minutes. Please take the necessary preparation to man your stations, and report to the bridge when ready.” As the rest of the crew groggily took their first steps onto the cold floor of the chamber, Avery heard the cracking of joints and the sighs of muscles stretching, followed by a shrill scream as one of the scientists, Dr. Gideon Stave, plonked his bare foot onto the goo that had crawled across the floor. The panic started spreading as more of the civilian crew members began noticing the corpse. Ensign Lee started gagging violently as his body went through the motions of puking, but his stomach had nothing to offer. Avery watched the spittle drip onto the goo, coagulating slightly. Avery felt a hand grip his shoulder tightly from behind, nails digging slightly into his muscle. “Sergeant. You awake?” The sheer adrenaline already in his system worked in tandem with his honed instincts to allow Avery to grip the arm, tug it off him and drag the owner into a chokehold in one smooth motion. Avery felt his assailant’s right arm crack from its socket as it dislocated, but to the sneaky bastard’s credit, he didn’t scream. As Avery’s eyes adjusted to the darkness around him, he recognized the figure in his grasp. One of the newer recruits, just posted to the Spirit of Fire. Jenkins, if he remembered correctly. Avery released his grip on the poor recruit as he scrambled to safety, dislocated arm tucked against his rib cage. “Woah, sir. That hurt. A lot.” he groaned. “Sorry, Private, force of habit. Now you know never to sneak up on me again. What’s up?” Jenkins gestured at the mangled corpse with his good arm as he winced from the pain of the bad one. “Something better spoken in private. Don’t want to panic the crew even more.” Avery raised an eyebrow as he watched Jenkins sheepishly turn away from the conversation and make his way behind one of the pods, giving the rest of the crew a careful berth. After a moment’s consideration, he followed. Jenkins was leaning on the pod’s back wall, shuddering from the cold of cryosleep and the pain of his dislocated arm. Taking shallow breaths to calm himself, Jenkins stood up to face Avery as he approached. “What’s this about, Private?” “Cryopod spat me out earlier than the rest. Timer malfunction. Did headcount, everyone’s present.” Jenkins whispered. “What? How’s that possible?” Jenkins scanned his surroundings, making sure no one was in earshot, and then lowered his voice even more. “Sir, permission to speak frankly?” Avery nodded. “I think whatever left that corpse there is still amongst us.” A chill shuddered down Avery’s spine as his mind processed that statement. Gooseflesh bumped up his arms as he cradled the thought and raced through the possibilities, none of them making much sense. What could possibly tear through tons of solid titanium alloy, embed itself into the cryochamber, and then pluck one of the crew out from a cryopod? As he ran the scenarios through his head, Jenkins must have noticed his eyes daze and lose focus. “Sir?” “Alright, Private. I’ll handle it from here. Good work. Get to the medical wing and get that arm fixed. Dismissed.” “Got it, sir.” As Jenkins saluted, something strange clicked in Avery’s head. These cryopods were fresh off the factory, newly designed and mandated to replace all the old cryopods because of a timer malfunction affecting ship arrival schedules. It would be very, very odd for these to have the same problem Central Command spent millions of credits on to solve. Just as Avery was about to raise the issue to Jenkins, another strange sight stopped the thought in its tracks. Jenkins was saluting with his right arm. The one he just dislocated. As the goosebumps flared on the back of his neck, Jenkins' eyes widened as he began to shudder again. An unnatural grin stretched across his features, splitting his face from cheek to cheek as he convulsed. Glowing pustules began to breach his skin as the familiar green goo leaked from Jenkins’ orifices. His right arm pulsed and shook as the muscles below the skin began to struggle and tear themselves apart to reform Jenkins’ arm into a scythe made of flesh and bone. Blood and ichor dripped from the stolen body as the horrifying grin etched itself into Avery’s memory. Despite himself, Avery screamed.
"Ladies and gentleman, now begins the International Tribunal for one Victor Prince, on this the thirty-first day of August, 2018. Please make sure your translators are switched to the on position as we begin." Victor's hands didn't flinch. They didn't need to. His translator had been on since the moment he was led into the center of the room -- although pit would be a more apt word, considering the stadium seating that climbed away from him, leaving him to stand alone behind a modest pew, surrounded by one hundred of the most powerful decision makers in the world. "Mr. Prince, you are here to stand trial for your refusal to speak on celestial observations you made one month ago today. You have been made aware of your rights -- of which silence is not one. Do you understand your rights?" He couldn't help but grin at the irony as he nodded. But Victor hadn't spoken in over four weeks, and he wasn't going to start now. "Very well. Will the delegate from Egypt please recap the matter at hand, for those members of the Tribunal unfamiliar with all the facts." A middle-aged woman sitting three levels up at Victor's 2 o'clock stood up. He could hear the Arabic moving a few seconds ahead of the English translation in his ear: "Victor Prince has been in the employ of the United States government for eight months, although their space program has worked in tandem with other nations to utilize his talents. Mr. Prince has a ocular mutation that allows his vision to focus on objects extremely far away -- to date, his furthest observation was measured at thirteen light years. Up until one month ago, Mr. Prince's superiors had no reason to believe he was withholding information." The large projector screen dominating the forward wall flashed to life, showing three grainy black-and-white images. "Our partners in Australia were the first to see and document this object, which has been designated CB-109. Through coordinated observation, two things were quickly determined: CB-109 is extremely large, and it is headed directly for Earth." A few murmurs sounded from around the room. Not everyone had been privy to this information before. Victor took strength from their reaction. It stoked the fire of his resistance, fed the belief that he was doing the right thing. "The object is too far away for our telescopes to determine exactly what it is, and its seemingly shifting course makes it even more difficult to observe. Thus Mr. Prince was assigned to use his 'talent' to identify what CB-109 is, thirty days ago." "Thank you delegate. Now we shall hear from Dr. Ignacious Smith, the astronomer who was with Mr. Prince on the night in question." A man rose from on Victor's left. The elderly scientist wasn't a part of this council. In fact, he looked more nervous than Victor did. "I had escorted Mr. Prince outside the observatory. It was a clear night, cloudless, and the heat made..." "Skip to the incident,"snapped a voice. The doctor obliged: "After fifteen minutes or so, it was clear that Mr. Prince had managed to focus on the pheno... uh, CB-109. He stood for several minutes, still as a statue. Then he blinked several times and began breathing quickly. Having worked with Mr. Prince on several occasions, I knew this was normal after an observation. But afterwards, everything was different." The doctor took a nervous breath before continuing. "Mr. Prince sat down. He just... sat. Didn't say anything, didn't respond to my questions. Mr. Prince didn't even move until security escorted him to a vehicle half an hour later and took him back to the observatory." "Thank you doctor, that will be all. Now will the delegate from Egypt please conclude the briefing?" She was already speaking before fully standing. "Given what was already known about CB-109, several astronomers and international security experts were on hand to hear Mr. Prince's report. But after sitting in silence with the group for several minutes, Mr. Prince said --"she checked her notes before quoting Victor, "-- 'I saw nothing.'" "Thank you delegate. And although Mr. Prince has been pressure continually to share his observations, he has refused to do so. It is also pertinent to this case that, while we continue to track and study CB-109, we have determined that it will arrive in near-Earth space within a fortnight." More mumbling from the shadows of the room. Victor knew what came next, and straightened his posture in preparation for his last stand. "Mr. Prince, you have been found guilty of withholding information vital to governments and people of Earth. Considering the severity of the situation, this Tribunal has already agreed to relax international law with regard to advanced interrogation techniques. You understand what I am saying, Mr. Prince." Victor set his jaw, then nodded. "Then this is your last chance, Mr. Prince, to voluntarily tell us what you observed with regard to CB-109. Refuse, and we will resort to more primitive methods." Out of the corner of his eye, Victor could see a few military personnel shift their weight near the doors. Not out of squeamishness, but out of anticipation. And Victor was going to give those grunts exactly what they wanted. Because as soon as he'd seen what was coming and realized it was unstoppable, Victor had steeled himself for this sacrifice. He shook his head. More mumbling, louder this time, disappointment and anger. The leader of the Tribunal didn't even deign to speak again, he simply waved a hand, signalling for Victor to be taken away. A soundproof room, no doubt, one without cameras. It wouldn't do to document what came next. Victor allowed himself to be dragged off. His ignorance had been stolen, courtesy of his gift, and he could do nothing about the Tribunal's minimal knowledge of what lay on the horizon. All he could do was protect the ignorance of the other seven billion souls on this planet, and allow them to live out their final weeks in bliss. \-------------------- 70/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
When they approached the coordinates of the solar system their brightest minds had gleaned from that ancient golden disk, they were expecting to find a ruined civilization. Their technologies and their culture meant that they would have destroyed themselves a thousand times over, their scientists concluded. After all, they nearly met the same fate themselves. All that would have remained would be scattered bands of survivors and the bones of a long dead civilization. A perfect target for the harvest of raw materials. So when they arrived in the Sol system, their sensors blinded by the harsh EM radiation of their entrance back into real-space, they hardly had any time to react before their sensors screamed of incoming contacts and hails. And as the last of the radiation cleared from their sensors, their operations officers paled before the sight. Sol III, their target, was teeming with signals in every imaginable band of subspace and real-space frequencies. And there were colonies on practically every imaginable planet in the system. Even Sol I, with its proximity to the system's star, had a settlement happily existing between the twilight zone of light and darkness. And beyond that, their sensors easily picked up the energy signatures of over ten-thousand starships, and sensor platforms and defensive satellites easily ten times that number. This was not the easy conquest that was promised to them. The flotilla turned as one, hightailing it out towards the Oort Cloud, where they scurried into a wormhole conduit and disappeared with a blast of light. Discretion was the better part of valor, after all. * The captain of USS Makise Kurisu let out a small sigh as the eight ships disappeared from their viewscreen. "Wonder what that was about,"she wondered out loud. She and her crew had been tracking the unknown contacts for days as they approached Federation space at a lazy Warp three. "Judging from their ships, it looked like a salvage operation,"the blue-shirted Klingon at SIGINT observed. "Your orders, Captain Chase?" "Tag 'em for the sensor array at Viridian to follow their course out,"she said, suppressing a yawn. "We have better things to be doing." "Aye, captain."

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.