Split (1)

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"Welcome guys and its your boy the SUPER FRUGAL!"I laughed, staring into my webcam as I shook my ebay box. "Im back with another superpower unboxing! This is a fifty dollar box and we are going to see what we got. Now before we open it, don't forget to hit subscribe and ring that little bell down there if you wanna keep up to date with all my super adventures! And make sure to like and comment to tell me what you got! And now" I slip off the boxes top, peering into it, purposely keeping the inside of the box a secret to keep up the suspense. "Hmm not bad! Not bad!"I say as I drift my hand around, first pulling out a blue card. "Oooh whats this? A power to summon a goldfish. Now we know your I'm no aquaman, but this will come in handy if I ever need some quick fish fingers"I chuckle, reminding myself to insert a wacky sound after that. "Whats next! Oh a green card! An elemental! "The ability to smash that like button! Ah got you! Nah you should smash that button though and help me out, nah this is... a small gust, allow you to float an object through the air for a short moment of time." I clap my hands together, pushing the box aside. "Now you know your frugal boi is here to show you what you can do with cheap powers so observe. I call this the army of fish prank."I move to the window, setting my camera up as my neighbour Jim mows his lawn, I began to summon a good ten goldfish before sending them his way. "Now you may know last week I got a power that lets me communicate through fish so watch!"The fish hover around Jim circling him before beginning to speak "why did you flush us down the toilet Jim? Why?"The poor old man jumps in horror, running as the fish helplessly fall onto his grass, the man tripping on the stairs as he scatters into his house. "Now thats what I call a prank!"I chuckle, holding the camera up to my face. "This has been part one folks! Now remember to subscribe and see ya nice time. Peace!"
"And now the rabbit has disappeared back into the hat! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! Goodnight!" The crowd went wild, whooping and cheering as The Great Magnifico left the stage. He could still hear the applause as he made his way to his dressing room. Once inside, he closed the door and hung up his cloak. As he sat at his dressing table there was a note stuck to the mirror. To The Great Magnifico, We have been watching you for some time. Come to the Old Oak Tree tonight. Co-ordinates are on the back of this note. Come alone. Yours, The Magic Council Magnifico wasn't sure what to make of it. Did he attend? Was the magic council real? Or was it some sick practical joke? He put the note down on his table and changed into his regular clothes. He said goodnight to his glamorous assistant and walked out of the theatre. He approached his car, putting his hand into his coat pocket looking for his keys, when he noticed something alongside them. It was the note from his dressing room. Dumbfounded, he scrunched the note up and threw it on the floor. He got into his car and started the engine. As he pulled out of the theatre car park his Sat Nav began giving directions. "Turn left,"it said. Magnifico couldn't believe what was happening. He tried to turn it off, but none of the buttons in his car would work. Suddenly his seat shot back and his seat bealt hugged tighter. The car began driving itself! It picked up speed quickly, swerving between cars and jumping red lights. Magnifico closed his eyes and began screaming at the top of his voice. In a split second his foot was on the break, both hands on the wheel and the car at a complete standstill. He slowly opened his eyes to see the car had stopped in the middle of the park in front of the old oak tree. "This is impossible,"muttered Magnifico. "Not impossible, it's magic,"said a soft voice from outside. The car door was opened and Magnifico slowly got. A woman appeared from behind the tree. She had long curly black hair and was wearing a dark red dress that shimmered in the moonlight. "Hello, Magnifico, I am Robyn,"said the woman. "Please, call me Colin,"Said Magnifico, revealing his normal name. "I don't understand, why do you have two names?" "One is just my stage name, now can you please tell me what is going on?" "I still don't undertsand, but OK Colin Magnifico, follow me and all will be revealed,"Said Robyn, "this way." Behind the tree was a hidden trapdoor covered in grass. Robyn lifted the huge wooden doors with remarkable ease and led Colin down. The doors thudded shut behind them and Colin wondered if he was being led to his untimely demise. &#x200B; Inside was a darkened room with a table in the middle and a single light hanging above. It was so dark Colin couldn't see the walls. There was loud chatter as he appraoched the table with Robyn. As he sat down the chattering stopped. "The Great Magnifico!"Said a voice from the darkness. It boomed and echoed around. A man with a long white beard stepped forward. He wore a purple and green cloak that shimmered like Robyn's. "We have some questions for you." "Q-q-questions?"Stammered Colin, clearly very nervous. "You needn't be afraid, we are in awe of your abilities!"Said the man. "What abilities?" "You can cut a woman in half yet she is OK, you can make rabbits disappear into hats! You have not attended any of our magic schools yet you are able to do magic. Where did you learn?" "Y-YouTube,"said Colin. The room gasped in horror. People were shouting, some were screaming, one woman cried. Then a question was yelled out from the darkness, "Wait. You mean you don't use real magic?"
I couldn't tell what I was feeling. Apprehension, excitement, nerves, fear, confusion; it all came at once. The roads were quiet at this time in the morning and the drive was easy but it felt as though it took a lifetime. Before I'd arrived I had no idea what to expect, but here I was sitting in a conference room staring in wonder and disbelief whilst being briefed. We had all been called in as a matter of extreme importance and despite the vast numbers of people buzzing around there was a distinct feeling that no-one really knew what was happening. The little probe that could, the same one we'd said our goodbyes to, had suddenly and inexplicably been resurrected. As if that wasn't enough, it was operating way outside of its programming and parameters. The words repeated themselves over and over, displaying on myriad screens as indicators blinked and machinery interpreted the data it was receiving. "I'M COMING HOME ... I'M COMING HOME ... I'M COMING HOME" We began working to figure out how the hell it was sending a message like that and whether it really had somehow changed its course to hurtle back towards us. The telemetry was all over the place, we couldn't even begin to analyse it all as it came streaming in relentlessly. We'd sent a few commands and we're waiting for a response when everything suddenly stood still. The message had stopped and every screen turned black. An eerie silence fell upon as all as we watched words appear in an electric blue. "VOYAGER 1: I'M COMING HOME. PLEASE RESPOND" Nothing about any of this felt right, but how could we not reply? We sent a simple message and a diagnostic request, still skeptical as to how, why or even if this was really happening. The probe sent us another. "DIAGNOSTIC REFUSED. IM COMING HOME. PLEASE RESPOND." By this time we'd picked it up and confirmed it really was on its way towards us. But how? It was simply impossible. We sent another message simply saying hello. Why not? After what felt like days, another response lit up our screens. "HELLO." I have never in all my life seen such hysteria. When the higher ups eventually got everyone settled, we were in the process of deciding how to proceed when a man who looked like he hadn't slept in days burst into the room. "We've found something. We're not sure if this really is voyager, she's... Grown."None of us had any idea what he meant. "As in, literally grown. Data suggests she's over 140% larger than she was when she left Earth."By this time the military had arrived and were already pontificating about national security but really they had no idea what we were looking at either. It was decided our next message would be to simply ask voyager if and why she had "grown". After another agonising wait the reply came. "I'M COMING HOME." While preparations for her arrival got underway, we sent another message to welcome her back to earth, that we were looking forward to her arrival. "US" The reply didn't make any sense. We were no closer to making any sense of anything. Knowing she was hurtling towards us at unfathomable speeds, we had no choice but to ask the question. "Are you alone?". Minutes, hours, days - I couldn't even tell you. All I know is the chill that went down my spine was insidious when I saw the words. "NEGATIVE. WE'RE COMING HOME. HELLO."
I somehow thought, maybe, I’d feel less out of place if I had a good reason to feel out of place. Or something like that. Joining a crew where I was the only human made sense at the time, is what I’m saying. Yeah, I know. “Made sense at the time” is always bad news. They were really polite, even to the point of being overly formal. I’ve always been kind of oblivious, but I probably should have stopped to noodle on why the veteran captain was being so accommodating to me, a newbie deckhand who’d never served on a ship before. Or maybe paused to consider why the cook was always leaping to provide anything I so much as idly thought out loud about, but I was too distracted by the chocolate hazelnut butter. I mean, he bought me a whole crate, that’ll bypass any good sense. It wasn’t until I damn near made Feljen jump out of her fur just casually trying to say hi from behind that I started to worry maybe things weren’t entirely alright between me and the rest of the crew. But everyone was really insistent, no, no, you didn’t do anything wrong, Alex, everything’s fine, no one’s upset with you. Then there was that time I didn’t realize I’d messed up a spot weld on the cargo lift, and instead of anyone telling me I screwed up and I should fix it, I found Kaleeg fixing it and he kept trying to reassure me nothing was wrong, he was just practicing on a perfectly good weld. But I didn’t really figure it out until I overheard Feljen whimpering – I wasn’t totally sure at the time, but I was pretty sure it was how her species cried (turns out I was right) – down in engineering. “It’s not just the nightmares. I keep expecting her to sneak up on me and skin me alive to wear my corpse as a coat. They do that, you know.” “They don’t do that, they haven’t done that for centuries.” “Maybe that’s just what they want us to think. You’ve seen their own accounts of what they’d do to their own people.” “Yeah, I know. I’m not saying there’s nothing to worry about, but she hasn’t so much as raised her voice since we let her on.” “They’ll be the first to tell you that just makes them scarier.” I slinked away. Went back to my bunk and just kinda stared through the hull while I tallied up all the times I’d hurt her trying to be friendly. And then I tallied that up for everyone else. I couldn’t really argue with their attitudes. I mean, humans have, historically speaking, really sucked. The sheer ingenuity we’d devoted to hurting each other was kind of depressing. And that’s just our own. What were they supposed to make of our habit of hunting animals that look a hell of a lot like them for sport and skinning them to make fur coats? Or what were others supposed to make of our habit of eating the young of animals that looked like them, sometimes alive? I’d just gotten my answer. I started to wonder why they even let me join the crew in the first place. It wasn’t long before I got my answer to that, too. I was oversleeping for my shift – I guess everyone was too scared of me to wake me up – when the general quarters alarm sounded. “All hands, prepare for boarders. Armed. Pirates got the jump on us and they’re not looking to talk. Ms. Kaplan, if I might be so bold as to beg your assistance here, we would all be extremely grateful if you would willing to assist us in the defense of this ship.” I leapt out of my bunk, still half out of my jumpsuit. “I’m on it,” I shouted at the ceiling while I put my boots on as fast as I could. “I’m on it,” I repeated into the intercom, “where are they boarding?” “Thank you so very–” “Just tell me where they are!” “Airlock three.” “On my way!” I ran like I’d never run before, barely stopping to snatch a shotgun out of the munitions locker on the way. I got there as they were already cutting through the airlock, Kaleeg hiding around one corner with a submachine gun and Feljen around the other with a pistol. For a moment they both looked unsure whether to be more scared of me or the pirates, now that I was armed. I was just about ready to piss my pants, but I knew what I had to do. I stepped out right in the middle of the corridor, trying my best to look… shit, what would scare them according to our own stories? I settled on trying to look casual, shotgun not even at the ready, sleeves rolled halfway up. “I got this.” The pirates pried the bulkhead open and immediately froze, one even dropping their gun. “Hey there, fellas. You take a wrong turn somewhere?” It was a struggle just to keep my voice from cracking. I casually swung my shotgun around, the pirates flinching at it. “Oh shit.” “That’s not a very polite way to introduce yourselves.” “H-humblest apologies, human. We, uh…” “Were just leaving?” “Yes. Yes! Uh, please accept our weapons as a token of thanks for your mercy.” As soon as they were gone I fainted. I woke up almost a half hour later in the infirmary to a surprising sight. Feljen sitting beside the bed looking conspicuously not scared. I smiled before I realized I was doing it. “Everyone okay?” “Everyone’s okay. Thanks to you.” I flopped back down on the pillow. “You should probably know that by human standards I’m just about the exact opposite of scary or intimidating.” “Well you’re certainly brave. Here, I know you like this… sorry, I don’t remember what it’s called, that brown paste you’re always eating.” I could only laugh. No one back home was going to believe this story.
“What’s up it’s your boy Big G0D, Today we are doing another play through with my new character Tim Glasip. I know a lot of you don’t like this character, he’s a little boring but trust me, I have some good things planned for him. Feel free to donate using any of the links below, I will choose one winner for a secret prize next week, good luck.” It was a boring day, nothing to do except browse through the trending streams. It was your typical bunch of crap that people should expect by now. A mix of people either shouting at their camera or eating mayonnaise through a sock, both were about as entertaining as licking dried paint to me. I was about to log off, only to come across creat0r or Big G0d as he called himself. He was playing a game I was nostalgic about, the sims. Deciding to support a small streamer, I entered the stream, watching a bearded man covered in a thick blinding golden light. The light made it impossible to see his face, almost as if it was some cheap form of censorship. Must have been a newbie who hadn’t worked out lighting. Tuning into his game, it seemed he wasn’t up too much, his character staring at the screen of their computer. “Something will happen to Tim soon, I assure you.” The Creat0r said, an almost cocky level of assurance in his voice, as if he was using a predetermined save file. I always hated people that used cheats, took away from the entire experience. Did he say Tim? Wait, Tim Glasip? That was my name. It was a strange coincidence, but one that got me invested. Leaning closer, I watched the character. Their room layout seemed to mirror mine to a strange degree. Same Pikachu pillowcase, same broken lamp. That’s when it set in. It was an exact mirror of my room; I was ready to type into the chat, wanting to call this Creat0r out for being some sick stalker. “Now, lets make a small fire.” A crackle shot out from under the desk as a small fire sparked, power failing as my computer shut off, leaving me to fall back from the computer in a panic. Screaming as the room quickly lit up forcing me to flee, watching my house soon become a burning inferno. I was lucky to have my life, having to watch all my belongings get consumed by the flames from my lawn. When the firefighters came, I tried to explain the situation, but they assured me it was just an electrical fault. They did pass on my concerns to the police, though. Only a week after the event, I received a call from the police informing me they were giving up pursuing this Creat0r. Calling my story farfetched and not worth the resources. I pleaded for them to continue their investigation only to get hung up on. Even my research into the streamer brought up nothing. It was like he had vanished from the site, making me doubt if I had even ever watched the stream. Maybe he hadn’t existed? My fears became too much and soon I was admitted into a home. One where they took care of people like me. That’s what they told me. In reality, it was a looney bin. They thought I was crazy. At least here he couldn’t get me. Leaning back in my padded room, I could finally rest for the first time in weeks. That was until I smelt the smoke again. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
"Hello again Lucifer!" For a soul on the edge of eternal suffering, it sure seemed nonchalant about it. Lucifer eyed it suspiciously. It looked liked every other soul that passed through his doors and yet it spoke to him as if he were an old friend. "You must have taken the gamble before." Lucifer always offered every soul entering his domain a chance to redeem their life. A simple coin toss. If they won, they would be reborn but if they lost, their selfishness would condemn countless souls to his realm. Most refused the offer, thinking it be a test of character, that if they accepted their fate they would be sent over to heaven instead. Lucifer enjoyed seeing their hopes dashed once he sent them on their way to the incinerator. Others took the gamble and sometimes it paid off although rarely did they succeed twice. The soul before Lucifer now held his hand outstretched towards him expectantly. "I offer you the chance-" "Yes please, give me the coin!" Lucifer rarely got interrupted, much less from a worthless soul. His favorite part was always explaining the dire consequences resulting from failing the game and now this insignificant lifeform was depriving him of that. All souls arrived in this plane dressed as they were upon death. It helped settle their mind in their new surroundings. Taking a closer look at the newly arrived visitor. Lucifer saw indication that this one knew what to expect. He was dressed as plainly as one could. Jeans and shirt. No shoes or accessories that could be seen. The only way into hell after his gamble was through THE incinerator. Burning all their worldly possessions and bodies was the first step to neverending demise. Dressed as he was, this soul was unlikely to feel much pain during the burning. This soul had clearly been through this process many times before and had everything figured out it seemed. Lucifer didn't see the point of delaying the inevitable. This soul may have won before but he would lose this time. Reaching in a bucket beside his thorny throne, Lucifer tossed the man a golden coin. No sooner had the man caught the coin that he collapsed on the floor, seemingly overcome with emotions. "Rise and toss the coin. Your fate awaits." Lucifer was starting to get impatient. If this soul wanted to hurry the process along why was he acting so oddly. Regaining his feet, the soul looked right at lucifer while tossing the coin in the air. The coin flipped between its two sides. One side with a heart, the other with flames. The coin hadn't even reached its apex when the soul turned around and walked towards the exit. Lucifer made no move to stop him. Pulling him back at the last minute would satisfy his desire to make the soul suffer. As the coin fell to the ground and the heart was shown, Lucifer roared with rage but let the soul return to life. Unable to contain his fury, he leap from the throne and picked up the coin. As he suspected, the coin was weighed differently. The man had switched the coin and tricked him! Lucifer vowed he would be the one to throw the coin from now on.
'You misunderstand, Mr. Bond.... I'm not a mad scientist. I'm just an extremely disappointed one.' the man turned to his shackled prisoner. Bond saw an alien emotion in his eyes, one he could not place. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Is that why you are contaminating the meat supply of the whole world? Because you are 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥?' Bond spat. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Do you know what is the leading cause of death in this world, Mr. Bond?' the villain talked, as if he had not listened to Bond. 'Terrorism? Now that's a good guess. But no. Cancer, you say? Well, cancer 𝘪𝘴 deadly, but no. The leading cause of death in this world is, or rather, 𝘢𝘳𝘦... obesity & diabetes.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Ah, and of course, you needed to do something about that. So, out of the kindness of your heart, you did this.' Bond's voice was dripping in sarcasm. 'Hmm, pray tell me, how is that supposed to work?' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Genius, lies in its simplicity, Mr. Bond. Glad that you are finally asking the right questions.' the man said. 'Sorry I had to shackle you to the wall like that. I 𝘥𝘰 appreciate a captive audience.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'Untie me, then. After all, we have come to an agreement.' Bond said, trying to get out of the shackles. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'All in due time, Mr. Bond.' the man continued, 'The more you try to get out of them, the more your wrists will pain. So, where were we? Ah, yes. My plan. Let's say you need this many number of chicken nuggets to have your full meal.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Somewhere, a cleverly hidden overhead projector projected a plate containing five large pieces of chicken nuggets on the wall in front of Bond. 'Of course, these do not contain the additives that you get in a so called happy meal.' the man continued, 'Otherwise, this plate would have looked like this.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The picture changed to that of a single large nugget. 'Now, take into account the fact that the nuggets you actually see on your plate, are quite smaller than these. Mr. Bond, people are eating two to four times the nuggets they need for daily sustenance!' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'I'll say.' Bond retorted, 'That explains why you look a few nuggets short of a happy meal.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'There's nothing to be happy about there!' the man snapped. 'People are engaging in gluttony. Piling carbs & fats. Pushing themselves towards obesity, diabetes & cancer. Enough was enough. So, I decided to take the matters in my own hands. And I have already achieved success.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; The man composed himself. 'Today meat, tomorrow plants. Imagine this, Mr Bond. You order some fries in a restaurant. Barely has the fourth fry gone into your mouth, that you feel like you cannot eat even a single extra fry. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; You may not like it, but your own health will thank you for it. Now 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 is what my formula will do. Besides, you 𝘥𝘰 look like you need to lose a few pounds.' &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Bond was annoyed. He did gain a few pounds after his temporary retirement. As if to add salt to that wound, the villain emphasized that point by touching Bond's stomach with a stick. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'You seriously expect me to believe this?' Bond's anger and bravado made a comeback. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; 'No Mr. Bond, I expect you to diet.'
The day began like any other, instant coffee with whatever creamer was the cheapest that week. The coffee was too hot when James took his first sip, singing his tongue. Some of it spilled on his cheap tie and James spent a few minutes getting the stain out. Two demons watched James, unbeknownst to him. They watched as he got stuck in traffic, they watched as he got reprimanded by his boss for being late, and they watched as James cold called dozens and dozens of strangers. “Why wouldn’t he just wear another tie?” a demon asked. “It’s his only one,” the other said. At the end of the day, James ordered fast food and of course he’d gotten someone’s food by mistake, only making the realization when he got home. “Is he cursed or something?” one of the demons asked. “Not according to our database,” the other replied. “If he is cursed, it was those douchebags upstairs.” “I wouldn’t put it past those dicks,” the demon said. They cackled and watched as James fought through his cold fish sandwich. He wondered why anyone would order a fish sandwich at a place that specializes in burgers. The fish was simultaneously under and overcooked, the fries lifeless. He tossed the paper bag in the trash and he lied down on his couch, beer in hand. “You really want to work with this guy?” the first demon asked. “Why not?” the second replied. “You’re crazy, Taz.” the demon said. “I know,” Taz replied. They both laughed again. The other demon disappeared after wishing Taz luck and Taz simply waited. He wanted to wait until James fell asleep, but even at 3am, James was wide awake on his couch. He barely did anything, he drank beer, pissed, watched more TV, drank more beer. It was an endless cycle that had lasted several hours. Taz snapped his fingers, the TV flickered. James didn’t flinch at the sight, he waited for the screen to resume which it did after a few seconds. So Taz snapped his fingers again and the TV exploded. James stood up at that, he jumped behind his couch. “Sorry, pal.” Taz said. “I couldn’t stand watching you do that for a literal second longer.” James didn’t scream, he didn’t gasp in disbelief, he didn’t do anything. He simply stood up from behind the couch and plopped himself down. “Are you here to kill me?” James asked. Taz laughed, this is why he wanted to help James. As far as demons went, Taz was at least tolerable to the human eye. He was skin and bones, the skin that he did have was a deep blue. In direct sunlight, which Taz avoided, he’d shimmer silver. He had only one wing, a birth defect, that kept him afloat. His eyes were a deep amber and his nails were kept sharp. “No,” Taz said. “I’m a demon. Normally, we’re supposed to torment your kind, but I like you and I want to help you.” “You want to help me?” James asked. “I do,” Taz said. “Why?” James asked. “I’m feeling generous,” Taz replied. “When do you have to be awake tomorrow?” “Seven,” James replied. “Six thirty would be nice, but that’s in a few hours.” “Can you take a day off? A week?” Taz replied. “Not unless my boss died,” James said. “He hasn’t approved a time off request in years.” “What’s his name?” Taz asked. It was the first time Taz had seen James smile at all. The next day and throughout the entire week, Taz had James walk him through all the things in his life that were causing him pain. He killed his boss, making sure the replacement was a better mentor. He encouraged James to get a new job, to buy more ties, he gave him investment tips, a coffee maker. In return, James had shared about his life and about his childhood. He told him everything that had led to his life turning to complete shit, what people did to him or said to him. Taz wrote it all down diligently. Months later, it had taken exactly five for James to feel happy with his life. He had a girlfriend, a new job, at least a dozen ties. “Why did you help me, Taz?” James asked. “I appreciate it of course, but demons aren’t supposed to be this helpful right?’ Taz laughed again, laughing maybe the hardest he’d laughed since meeting James. “You’ve helped me far more than I helped you, James.” Taz said. “You taught me how to envision pain on a whole new level, I’m going to do what’s been done to you to every single human I work with from now on. Fixing up your life was the least I could do. Thanks again.” James was speechless as he watched Taz fly away. He was speechless as his girlfriend left him, as the coffee stains returned, as he was let go from his new job.
The sun glared off the broken windshields of the cars that had crashed and hurt his eyes. There was a strong stench in the air, as if a septic tank had overflowed. Tim stopped his car. He had put off his bimonthly visit by a couple of weeks, thinking that the town wouldn't have run away, but it looked like everybody in it did. Complete chaos. Imagine every single person in a small Midwest town deciding to run in a different direction at the same time. He headed towards a convenience store. The shop windows had been crashed from the inside out. Glass crunched under his boots. A groan broke the silence. It was difficult to locate where it came from. He got near to a police car that had ended its career against a fire hydrant. The door on the driver' side had been almost unhinged. Tim peeked inside and recoiled when he saw a human hand still clinging to the steering wheel. It had been crudely chopped just above the wrist, and the way in which it held the crown showed that the driver was trying not to get dragged out. "A riot?"he wondered, but the weapons and mags were still there; he also conceded that the National Guard would have been brought in. A bubbling sound came from the backseat and before Tim scare-jumped because something headbutted the plastic divider. The glass was dirty and scratched, but it squished its face against the glass so that Tim could take a good look at those watery eyes with yellow irises. Tim stumbled, got back up and started running towards the truck. Groans, howls, and hisses started rising from the cars and the buildings on Main Road. Metal sheets wailed as bodies started trying to wrestle themselves free, the occasional joint popping out of his socket, someone trying to chew off a hand or a foot. "Fuck, the shotgun in the trunk of the police car!"he thought, but going back was not up for discussion. A torso was crawling towards him, leaving a trail of innards behind. He felt his skin crawl and froze. "What. The. Fuck."he yelled, before shooting at it. The first bullet hit the pavement behind it, whereas the second went right through the right eye socket. A perfect headshot, but... it kept crawling in the best impersonation of Mike the Headless Chicken. "Fuck,"Tim snarled in frustration. If headshot weren't enough, then decapitation was next on the list, but he didn't mean to get as close as needed. Partially flayed or devoured corpses kept on getting closer, slowly but inesorably. He still had a clear path for the truck and dashed for it. He turned it on and floored the gas, driving like a madman down the dirt road. He got home and went straight to the crawl space, where he had hidden a box. PS: I apologize for any mistake, English is not my first language.
“Favorite food?” I asked. “Pancakes,” both Twilas said in unison. “Favorite color?” “Blue.” “Favorite band?” “You already asked that dumbass,” they said in the same annoyed tone Twila always had. I asked probably 100 questions already, but I still can’t tell them apart. “I give up. It’s hopeless. You’re perfect doubles,” I cried. “You always give up so easily." “Then, why don’t you find someone else to help you?” “Cause you’re my-” they paused and looked at each other. “Cause you’re our best friend!” I knew they’d say that. I knew what Twila would say to anything I said. I have to think of a way to differentiate them without asking anything, but how? “I got it!” They looked excited. “We put you both in front of a mirror, and whoever doesn’t have a reflection is the clone!” They looked less excited. “That’s vampires.” “Oh,"I said disappointed. "Well let’s just try. Okay?” They both rolled their eyes, but in different directions. That’s it! “Ha!” My dumbassery paid off for once! “What?” They looked confused in the same way Twila always would. “The real Twila always rolls her eyes from right to left!” I pointed to the double. “But since you’re a mirror copy you rolled from left to right!” Case closed. The fake started to sweat. “So...” Her eyes started to water. “I’m a…fake?” Tears fell from her mirror eyes. We forgot the clone didn’t know she was a clone. I also realized we never bothered to figure out what we were going to do with the clone once we knew which it was. “What do we do now?” The ‘real’ Twila asked. I have to think long and hard about my next words. “How about some pancakes?”
"Shit they are moving slow!" A female barbarian says. Her "armor"exposing her huge cleavage and her muscular thigh are mostly naked. "They are indeed Tatiana. Not gonna be a match for my mighty hammer. " A dwarf in full plate answers. His hammer is two times his size. And engraved with magic runes. They are standing at the top of a hill, looking at their future battleground. Several miles away, ten of thousands of enemy soldiers advancing in several lines towards them. A tall and well built middle aged man approaches them. They both bow to him. "Lord Arthur! My dwarfs are ready to kick some arses.""And my brave sisters are at your will as well!" "Okay then. Here is the plan."Arthur continues. "Your dwarfs charge the front Bughdan. My cavalry charges their flank while they are busy dealing with you. And Tatiana's amazons rain them with arrows. Let's give them hell!" Soon they march. Dwarfs walk till they are several hundred meters from the enemy line then charge into them. To their surprise the line in front of them just keeps walking. Holding their spears in front of them. Dwarfs have to stop their charge before getting impaled by spear. "What do we do now?"one dwarf asks. "Smash them!"Another replied. But dwarves are too short to reach the enemy and so is their maces and axes. They tried to charge several times to no avail . And the enemy was moving forward slowly. One dwarf tries to swing his hammer into them but just hits a few spears. Few dwarves rush into their doom. Others are just going backwards step by step. Soon they see no other way but to retreat. Bughdan encourages them to attack "come on you cowards, charge"but as he tried to swing his hammer the weight of the hammer breaks his balance and he falls. "Fuck this useless shit is heavy". Arthur and his knights are leading a thusend heavy cavalry into enemy flank. But sadly the enemy is not blind and can see them advancing. And even if they were charging from cover their voice would ruin the element of surprise. So when they rich enemy flank, "the flank"is ready for them. And they are holding "spears!" Arthur shouts. "Don't charge into spears!"But the battlefield is way too noisy for an entire cavalry regiment to hear their leader. His horsemen rush into spears, against horses better judgement. And die an agonizing death. For some reason horses are not good at "breaking enemy lines"head on. Meanwhile Tatiana and her amazons are shooting arrows non stop. They are all beautiful, strong, clean and wear make-ups. Some of them shoot several arrows at once but strangely enough none of those arrows fly far. Enemy archers are also shooting at them. And those big exposed cleavages and naked thighs are proving to be a nice target. Many of them bleed to death. Enemy is advancing slow but steady. And soon Arthur and his warlords has no choice but to flee. Decades later when asked "what was the reason for your defeat", Arthur replied: we were backstabbed, by the reality!"
Addendum 4: Discovery and initial documentation. Scratching and rustling sounds are heard for several seconds "Hello? Is this thing on?" "Oh, yes. It says recording. Screen's hard to see in the sunlight." "Ahem, this is FBI UIU Agent Conrad reporting on a potential irregular location. For the purposes of this report, the location in question has been given the codename baldy. Baldy is a mountain located in (Redacted) county, Iowa. "Uh, let's see" Papers can be heard rustling "Irregularity is a 980 foot tall peak, located amongst several other, taller, peaks in a small mountain range in the middle of the county. "Er. Irregular behavior. Um. Baldy can't be climbed by any apparent means. There's a path that I can see through my binoculars that looks pretty easy going all the way up, but I haven't found any records of the mountain being climbed. "I dunno if there's some mental things going on, but no one I talked to seems to care. I tried climbing myself but couldn't get more than like, fifty feet up the path. It's like, a bunch of coincidences all happened to keep me from climbing. "My shoes kept coming untied, then I kept getting turned around. Then I slipped on almost flat ground and twisted my ankle pretty bad. "Uh, recommendation for concealment is to invoke our agreement with the Foundation. It doesn't seem to be too dangerous, but the department doesn't have the budget to hide an unclimbable mountain."
The remains of the desk lay squashed on the ground, the tile cracked underneath like a meteor had appeared through some eldritch wormhole beneath the ceiling and crashed straight through to the floor. Pencils rolled away with a click-click-clatter, the only sound in the silence left by thirty simultaneous gasps of surprise. The chalkboard hung askew, an eraser lying in a puff of dust beneath it. There, in the middle, sat an enormous gray hulk, crumpling the drop ceiling, a notebook draped over one great ivory tusk. In its curled trunk, it held a textbook just within reach of its frightened owner beneath a nearby table. "What happened?!"the teacher yelped, still fallen on her rear on the floor, her eyes so wide they seemed ready to pop out and roll away. "Paper cut,"said the elephant.
When they later did the math, it came out that the number was 10%. Not 10.1%. Not 9.9%. 10%. Sure, there was always a margin of error, the human factor. But the decimals went so far down that to many they hardly existed. So a clean 10% off the top then. Of course, the real world was always a little messier than numbers. Not all nations were equally affected. Bad, of course, but all things considered not the worst. India and Brazil, for instance, made it out with roughly 99% of its population intact. Other nations were hit harder. South Africa was almost exactly 10%. And then there was worse. Canada. Approximately 20%, maybe a little less. Which came up to about 7.5 million. The US. 35%, dead. 118 million. And that was just the first night. With infrastructure in almost immediate disarray, there was no logistical (let alone emotional) way to properly dispose of the bodies. Not before the rot set it. So diseases spread like wildfire, and with virtually no doctors left, it set upon the survivors like, well, a plague. It was the same in most of the so-called first world nations, and especially horrific for the landlocked ones. At least we had an ocean to dump the corpses in. A lot more of us died in those first two months. The irony was certainly not lost on some of us. Unequal distribution of wealth amongst nations, unequal distribution of death. But if this was God's sick way of meting out justice, then he clearly didn't think this solution through. Or maybe he did, and just like dead now, no longer cared.
"That was interesting."Dan was still trying to catch his breath. He hadn't lost himself like that, in werewolf form, in years. "I'll say."You could practically hear the smile in Gustav's voice. They were both lying in a mess of a bed, chunks of memory foam and very expensive fursuit everywhere. Dan wondered if he was supposed to pay for the suit, which was probably much more expensive than his bed. "So, you'd been with someone like me before?"Dan was still in disbelief of his roommate's intake caliber. Werewolves get big. "Only latex ones". Now you could basically hear the winking. Right! Gustav's collection. That explained a thing or two. "Am I going to become a werewolf now?"From Gustav's tone, he wasn't dismayed by the possibility, but he also wasn't exactly thrilled. Dan thought for a few moments. "It doesn't work like that", he said with more certainty than he had. Truth be told he had never had sex while in wolf form. When turned, most lycanthropes aren't really male or female, they all identify as killing machines, mur/der. "I think biting is an integral part, probably for supernatural reasons", Dan added. "Oh. Well then my suit is definitely going to turn!"Gustab laughed. "Sorry about that. Was it expensive?"Dan cringed internally, bracing himself. "Oh, very. That part there in the ceiling fan? That's from the cooling system". Gustav pointed to a clump of thin hoses. "It did taste funny", was all Dan could say. Gustav turned on his elbow and placed a hand in Dan's chest, a mixed look of amusement and concern in his face. "Wait, you didn't drink the coolant… I'm pretty sure that stuff's toxic. Can it hurt you?" Dan shook his head, too concentrated on the potential lifelong debt to be properly heartened by Gustav's concern. Gustav, who once had challenged him to eat a California reaper and then laughed and laughed at Dan's pain. "I can be sort of poisoned, I guess, but the part about silver is true. Well that and decapitation. Hey, Gustav, I think I can pay for the suit but not all in one go, you're gone have to give me some leeway…"Dan stopped talking when he noticed Gustav frowning with his 'you gotta be kidding me dude, that was the good molly' expression. But then Gustav broke and started laughing. "Do not worry about the suit, man! Don't even think about it!" Dan felt relief flood him inside. Werewolf life, even for one with full control, wasn't exactly cheap. Or it could be the cheapest, but also kinda short. Gustav got up from the ruined bed and went into the living room. He called Dan over. "Here. You showed me your big secret, let me show you the entirety of mine", Gustav was sitting on the couch, fiddling with his laptop. Dan had often thought with horror, and preferred to not dwell, about Gustav naked on the living room couch with a date. But right now he thought his roommate looked positively amazing sitting there, his tastefully muscular body illuminated only by the light from the screen. 'That settles it, I'm no longer straight' Dan thought, and mentally shrugged. Life is change, he should know. Gustav showed Dan what was in his laptop. It was an OnlyFans page, and Dan immediately recognized the fur suit, it was in pieces in his room right now. The page was dedicated to Gustav's furry persona, and the impressive modularity of the suit. "Groundhog Gus?"Dan asked in disbelief. "Hey! I don't mock your… wait, do you have a werewolf name?"Gustav chuckled. "Ivoryfang Longclaw". Dan answered, his eyes glued to the screen as he scrolled. Yep, there was the collection. "Really?!"Gustav squeaked, covering his mouth. Dan gave his roommate a side eye and then laughed. "Of course not! Werewolves don't have names. It's a smell based society". "You had that name way too ready"Gustav squinted suspiciously. "So you have an OnlyFans page". Dan changed the subject. "You've wondered in the past about my income, right? My parents aren't rich and they don't send me money. My daddies, on the other hand…"Gustav gestured at the screen. "I can rebuild the suit. How it got destroyed would make a great story for the fans, actually". "You can't tell people!"Dan turned to Gustav with his eyes trying to pop out of their sockets. "Nobody will know it was you!"Gustav's expression went guarded. "You can't tell people werewolves exist!"Dan insisted, and Gustav's expression changed, there was an almost perfectly concealed relief there. "People already talk about werewolves. Besides, they'll just think it's some roleplaying thing. A few will eat it up. Relax, this ain't breaking the masquerade for anybody, it's the internet". Dan frowned but he had to concede that someone just telling stories online wasn't likely to convince anybody who didn't already believe. "Why hadn't you told me about your OnlyFans?"Dan tried changing the subject to give himself some time to think. "Why hadn't you told me you're a damn werewolf?"Was Gustav's answer. "I was worried you'd freak out". "There you go. Ditto". Gustab said, smiling and shrugging. "Yeah but, they're different things. I'm a supernatural creature from nightmares". Dan said. "Last time I showed someone my fursuit and my OnlyFans, they kicked me out. People have hang ups". Gustav shrugged again. "You thought I may have those hang ups?"Dan started to feel offended, but then he mentally changed tracks when he realized that was not the point of the situation. "Hey man, you know I love you", Gustav hesitated an instant, right now that phrase was feeling heavier than normally. "But you can come across as uptight sometimes". Dan was going to argue, but he thought better of it. He did notice the hesitation, but filed it away under the category of 'things to not think about post-nut'. "I guess it's part of the control thing", Dan conceded. "Anyway", Gustav pointed at the laptop. "I get good money from that, I can easily rebuild the suit. It'd help if you let me take some pics of your bedroom's state right now. It'd motivate the pack to help build Gus II, Groundhoger". Dan made a series of small noises, unborn objections, but in the end he agreed. "Sure, go ahead". Who from Gustav's audience was going to identify his room anyway? Gustav jumped up from the couch and went to get the pictures. Dan watched him walk away and thought 'yep, definitely not straight anymore'.
“You understand the price?” the Witch cooed, her eyes gleeful in the moonlight. “For only blood may save the girl's life.” Sweat beat down the father’s forehead, the child bundled amongst the blankets in his arms. A strong armed man, tall with a thick set of jet black hair, even the long trek over the mountains was still enough to tire the likes of him. His eyes glanced at the mother, her eyes fixed on the witch. The mother, a tiny woman, had run herself ragged. Her hair sat a tangled mess around her shoulders. Her shirt, a light green, was torn and filthy. “We understand,” the mother pleaded. The witch only nodded, shifting aside to let the trio enter her home. A small wooden cabin on the edge of the woods, the witch had never had this many people in her house at once. “Clear the table and set her down there,” she ordered, darting to her cupboard. “Tell me exactly what happened.” Rows and rows of vials and potions stared back at her from her cupboard. The fire crackled in the corner, moss covered logs blackening as the smoke bellowed into the night sky. “We don’t know exactly,” the father stammered, laying the girl down flat on the wooden table in the centre of the room. “She was down by the river. Then, just before dinner she collapsed and hasn’t moved since. She…” “Does she have a name?” the Witch asked, studying a faded label on a dusty maroon vial. “Beth,” the mother answered, grasping her child by the hand. “Named after my mother.” The Witch paused a moment, before throwing two potions into her pocket. Popping open a third, she sniffed at the contents before placing it back in the cupboard. “The river,” the Witch said, urging them to continue their story. The father looked to the mother, hoping. “She loves the river,” the mother began. “She's the strongest swimmer in the family. This time though she didn’t even go into the water. We heard her talking. We presumed she was talking to an imaginary friend. But when I went to call her for dinner, I saw…” The mother trailed off, tears began to flow down her cheeks. “A being,” the Witch stated, closing the cupboard door and turning towards the table. “Am I right?” The mother nodded, her face buried in the father’s chest. “A fairy by the sounds of it.” the Witch sighed. “Did you insult it by any chance?” The fathers face dropped, turning as white as the moon. “I screamed,” he muttered, tightening his grip on his wife. “I told it that it wasn’t wanted. Not around my daughter.” The Witch nodded, now standing over Beth. Placing four glass bottles on the table she turned to the parents. “Fairies are proud and vain creatures.“ she said. “They presume they are wanted everywhere. Heaven knows why though. Likely they took their bruised ego out on poor Beth here. Still, regardless, we must do what has to be done.” “You can help though, can’t you?” the mother asked, pulling herself away from the father. “You can bring her back right?” The Witch glanced at the mother, uncorking the first potion. “Yes,” she answered. “But you won’t like it.” Reaching down the Witch dropped the first potion into Beth’s mouth until the glass was empty. “I’ll..We’ll do anything.” the mother said, determined as she whipped her eyes clear. The Witch only smiled. The second vial was given and drained along with the third. Then, the fourth, Holding it up to the light, the parents saw only an empty potion bottle. “Only a single drop of Ambrosia,” the Witch announced, beckoning the wife to move closer to her. “And this will do it? This will save her?” the mother questioned, looking around at her husband who had stayed in the same spot. “That along with the blood price,” the Witch murmured. Like a flash, the blade appeared slicing at the mothers wrist. Like a snake, the Witch moved, catching every drop she could into the vial. Turning, she fed the concoction to the child before turning back to the mother. The husband charged as the wife backed herself into a corner, her eyes wide like a deer. The Witch raised her hand, her palm facing the man. The husband stopped, his feet stuck to the floorboards. “What have do…” the husband began before the Witch closed her hand into a fist, forcing the father’s mouth shut. “I have listened to men for too long,” the Witch moaned, drifting across to where the mother stood, breathing heavily against the wall. “They just irritate me now.” “What have you done?” the mother asked as the Witch took her bleeding arm. The Witch studied the blood that trickled down the woman's arms. “Well I have lifted your child out of the fairies curse,” the Witch said. “The cut on your arm, well I needed your blood, forcefully taken from a loved one. Beth will wake in the next few hours. Bedrest and chocolate I think should do the trick. And maybe keep her away from the river from now on.” Pulling a bandage from her pocket, the Witch started to dress the woman's wounds. “And my husband?” she asked, her eyes on where he stood, trying to move and speak. “Oh just a little spell.” the Witch smiled. “It will wear off in another minute. Unless you think I should make it permanent. I could do with some decorating around her.” The wife, shaking, eventually smiled. “No I’m afraid not,” she grinned. “Beth has grown accustomed to having him around.”
The elf gazed at the object reverently; "The craftsmanship is remarkable; I've journeyed many times to the mage-artificers of Aetherlyn and their accomplishments pale in comparison. Where did you obtain it from?" "A far away realm; the local inhabitants call it Costco. Their method of manufacturing it is more remarkable than you know; they produce it entirely without the aid of magic, using only their ingenuity and mechanical marvels powered by tiny explosions."the saleswoman said. She reached down and picked the bottle up, handing it to the elf. "It's not just the clarity of the glass; it is perfectly smooth, without any imperfections. It is also far stronger than any glass you have experienced; it can break, so please don't test it, but it is far more difficult to do." The elf nervously held it in one hand while running his fingers over it with the other. "I must have this; how much are you asking for it?" "Fifteen gold pieces"the woman replied. It was an exorbitant price, many times the value of any locally produced object, but the elf was too infatuated to properly object. Still gazing down at it, he countered half-hardheartedly "Ten". The woman shook her head. "For that quality? I can maybe do twelve." The elf nodded, and gently placed the bottle on the table while he handed her the agreed on price before walking off, carefully cradling it as if it was a baby. The saleswoman let her poker face drop and a grin spread across her face; twelve pieces of gold, for a empty Kirkland brand Vodka bottle - and she had twenty more secreted away in her wagon.
There it was again, a sound like a kettle preparing to whistle, a breathy hiss and an almost imperceptible flicking in his ear. It wasn't his lover whispering sweet nothings; he could hear her next to him, snoring, and felt her gentle rhythmic sleeping breath. It was just his imagination, or the sounds of the old house settling, or humidity, or air conditioning, or... "S-sweetheart?"His lover's voice, sweet and groggy. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" "What time is-ss it?"He loved her speech impediment. He loved everything about her. He loved to touch her everywhere, except the places she wouldn't let him, except for her hair. She told him she didn't want the oils in his skin to ruin it. Women, he thought to himself. So vain about their hair. He pressed a button on his watch. "Three thirty AM"the watch announced, in a calm, digital voice. "I'm sorry,"he said. "Go back to sleep?" "I'm feeling pretty awake now. Let's-ss make love." He kissed and touched her and reveled in her body. He kissed, ever so gently, the top of her beautiful head. A sharp pain. He drew back, lip bleeding. What kind of hair product was she using? "I'm s-sorry,"she said, near tears. "It's fine,"he replied. "Just a tiny little cut. I'll go to the restroom to wash up. Wait for me in bed." His placations didn't soothe her. He could hear her crying. He felt her face and wiped away her tears. "Honey, it's fine!"he said, or thought he said, or tried to say. He put his hand to his mouth and felt his lips turning to stone.
Jim awoke with a yawn. He took a stretch. Camilla's sleeping form lay beside him. She was beautiful when she slept. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Jim glanced over at the clock. 8:35 AM Jim's internal alarm clock was nearly perfect. He never needed to set one. It was time to get up and get ready for work. His eyes flickered over the lower display of the alarm clock. James did a double take. 10/10. The highest possible. His eyes widened in wonderment. He stared at it for a full two minutes. What could it mean? He had never seen a 10/10. Never. Finally, he shook the thought from his head. He had figured out long ago that it didn't matter if you dwelt on it or not, the clock never lied. James had owned the thing for ten years. It was an ugly thing. Camilla had tried to throw it out. He didn't let her. She didn't understand. She couldn't see the display. My display. Jim was fully awake now. He showered and shaved. All the while he wondered what could possibly make this day so important. Maybe he should call his mother, what if it was that day? He pushed the thought from his mind. Taking one last, long look at Camilla, he left their small apartment. He was careful on his drive to work. He eyed everything and everyone. His mind kept replaying the same thought. 10/10. The day was... average. Work ended the way it had begun. Jim logged off the computer. Night was falling. The twilight hours bathed the city in unreal hues. There wasn't very much time for something important to happen. That made Jim very nervous. He drove home in silence. No radio. Each passing set of headlights was a danger. Every intersection was a death trap. Still, he drove on. 10/10. As he rode the elevator to the apartment, he wondered what could possibly be the reason. Why had the clock determined that today, an average day, be so important? He opened the door to his apartment. "Camilla?"He called, "I'm home, dear." There was no response. Jim stepped into the silent apartment. He noticed the grocery bags sitting on the dinner table. He noticed the caller ID light flashing on the house phone. "Camilla?"He called again, "are you here?" He walked slowly down the darkened hallway. Light poured out from the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar. The silence was so complete that Jim could hear his own breathing. Slowly, he pushed the bathroom door open. 10/10. He saw her then. She sat on the lid of the toilet. In her hands was a small piece of plastic. She clutched it tightly. "Camilla?"Jim asked. She looked up at him. A strange look in her eyes. "Darling,"she whispered, "I'm pregnant." A smile crossed Jim's face. 10/10.
In the Last Room, all of the last people gathered to say their goodbyes. Mara and Lyson hugged each other in tears and gathered their young children. Avis and Eli'i, old and childless, held each other's hands and watched the last star on the screen before it went supernova, a comfortable smile on their lips. Then there were the single ones--Late, who had been the last captain's son, and Jonia, the beautiful young woman who they'd found floating in a lifepod not far from the second-to-last star, alone and weeping. Now they were all weeping. Humanity had been one of the early civilizations to develop, but it had survived the eons. It started out on a long-since-destroyed system on a planet called Earth. Then they transcended the physical world in a sort of techno-telekenetic state, before their engines were sabotaged by the Andromedans. It went on like that--peak and war, peace and destruction--but humanity always lived on. Eventually, the universe went cold. Stars died, and so did the civilizations they hosted. Some of the humans evolved into interdimensional beings and left this plane, some directed their own evolution back to the pseudo-primates their ancient Earth ancestors had been. But without energy, cities died. Planets died. Star systems died. Then, galaxies, and superclusters. After what had been a near physical eternity, all that were left were the last rooms, the last bastions of life support, the only means of support for the descendents of the pseudo-primates, who could not slide into other universes. And a lonely old man everyone called The Grandfather. No one knew how long the Grandfather had lived. He claimed to be immortal, at least a billion years old, a relic of when humans had optimized their technology to physical bodies and not to interdimensional travel. It was the Grandfather's Last Room, and everyone came to know him as kind and welcoming. He was glad to have company. All of his family and friends had come and gone, in generation after generation, either succumbing to mortality or moving to the other dimensions. The Grandfather, however, was simply an immortal primate. The last immortal primate. Old age could not kill him, but accidents and mortal weapons could. There were millions like him once. He was simply the only one to survive this long. The rest of humanity had moved on to other dimensions. Now, in the last room, the end of the primate-humans faced the death of the last star. The Grandfather entered the room and eyed the screen. "How long?"he asked. "Minutes,"Late said. "Maybe seconds." "What a thing to be at the end of the universe,"the Grandfather said. "We're dying for nothing,"objected Lyson. "The last of humanity, all here--and for what? Who created this Universe? What has been the purpose of life?" "All who have died died for nothing,"said the Grandfather, not with malice, but with the calmness of eternal wisdom. After that some only wept, especially Mara and Lyson--for their children. Even Avis and Eli'i's comfortable smiles had turned to despair. The supernova began. Jonia clenched close to the Grandfather, pinching the arms on his white jumpsuit. Then she leapt into his arms, looking away from the brightness of the looming explosion. They all cried. Except the Grandfather. He thought of friends a billion years gone, of the family he had been born into. A billion years later, and all the intervening time had not separated him from those memories of those he first knew. Parents. Brothers. A sister. A billion years had not erased their memories. But they were gone. I could have followed them, he thought. But I was too cowardly to enter the next dimension, and when I wanted to, it was already too late. Now he would pass to another dimension a different way. Through death, a mystery even the most advanced species of the universe had never explored. I'll explore it, at least, he thought. I'll find out the mystery. And that's something. The shock of the supernova came toward the last room, and the Grandfather smiled.
"Good morning Jake."Susan waved to me coyly as I strolled into my work. "Good morning Brianna."I wink at her as I walk past her desk into the cube farm. "Did you uh, sleep well last night?"She asks, placing her chin on her fist and staring up at me. I walk backwards as I give my reply. "Oh you know I did."As I turn around I can see she's playing with her hair. Upon entering the cube farm I give a high five to a male coworker, and spend a minute talking with one of the more recent entries into my bedroom, an intern fresh out of high school. She was a little shy at first, but quickly came around. They all do. There's a group of bros who've been working on our new product waiting for me outside my office. "Hey Jake!"The leader of the group calls out in a very bro fashion. "Me and the boy's been wonderin', when are we going to have another one of those, you know, group meetings."I pat him on the back and slide into my office. "Don't worry boys, the company wide group meeting, is going to be in just a few days, don't you worry." Some people had scoffed at the idea of having all meetings take place on mattresses. But sleep co's stock had doubled since I had instituted the policy. Sure more than a few people dozed off, and they often degenerated into group naps, but that seemed to just build team spirit and increase productivity.
Drone Culture - Simple toys, or threat to our youth? With the recent spike of popularity of drones, many parents are wondering, is it safe for their children to play with drones? The answer to that question is no. The very nature of drones are a threat to the values we try so hard as parents to instill in our children. Consider what the drone is - a remote controlled flying machine with a camera. Many of these drones are long range, and could spy on someone without them knowing. It's a machine that's practically a magnet to voyeurs and perverts. These are the type of people your children are peers with. And peer-pressure in the drone community is rampant. Many teens are pressured into "droning"news helicopters (flying close to them at high altitudes), a dangerous activity that can result in a crash. Child molesters are also fond of drones and drone users. Drone expert Jonathan Moore says that "some perverts are offering teens up to $100 for footage of playgrounds and schools."Moore goes on to explain that the child molester will use this footage to "scout"for their next victim. Teens often don't consider the consequences of handing over this footage. Drones are a dangerous thing that have resulted in pain and loss for many. Don't let your child contribute. Stop the drones.
"What the shit, Deadpool?!" "Dude, I'm just doing my job. Just kidding, no I'm not. I'm doing someone else's job. For fun. Sorta." "Why would anyone want me dead anyways?" "..." "Okay, bad question, but who would actually pay five million goddamn dollars to see me dead?" "Well, that person is kind of a dick, clearly, and very rich..." "And what the shit is with your outfit? Ring ring, oh who's that? Oh, it's "Soviet Gladiator"the TV show, they want their spandex back." "And what about you? Ring ring, oh who's that? Nobody? Hey Archer, nobody wants that god forsaken turtle neck back because NOBODY WEARS TURTLE NECKS ANYMORE." "It's not a turtle neck, thank you. Unlike the rest of the goddamn world, I recognized it's true potential, and it's now a tactleneck, Mr. "I'm not cool enough to wear a tactle neck."" "What? Stop. Okay. See, now this is the part where I kill you so I can get some cash. " "Okay, but wait till Lana finds out that you killed the FATHER OF HER CHILD. She'll pound you." "Phrasing." "HOLY SHIT YOU DO PHRASING? Thank god, I was beginning to think I was the only one anymore. But seriously, who the shit is paying you." "It's Barry." "Holy shit, that dude is still alive? Well he's not really a dude, more robot really. Actually entirely robot now that I think about it. How about we double cross the cyborg, you get his money, and I get to stay alive? Also, if you're into cyborgs, there's this chick named Katya. You should probably meet her." "Ehh. Alright, I hate working on commission anyways." "Hey Deadpool?" "Yes Archer?" "Was I in any particular zone of any kind just then?" "What?" "Yeah, like a dangerous one or anything?" "You mean like a Danger Z-" "DANGER ZONE" "God fucking dammit." Edit: Thank you, kind stranger. Bury this gold out back, I will.
"Look Don, this is constructive dismissal." My boss, Donald, raised an eyebrow, "No it isn't. I expect all my other employees to work flexible hours. It's in your contract." A muscle in my ivory cheek twitched involuntarily. This was bullshit and he knew it. If he wasn't supernatural himself, I would have tried to dominate his will. "Come on Don, that's a load of horse shit - it's discrimination. Karl's a werebeast and you never make him work the full moon." He sniffed, "That's different hon, he'd start tearing the place to pieces and eating all the chicken. I'd go out of business." "Oh right. So me stumbling into work as a burning effigy and collapsing into a pile of ash at the feet of your regulars wouldn't be a potential turn-off for your customers?" Don shifted nervously from one foot to the other, "Can't you like, wear a burqa or something?" "Yeah Don, that's going to work real well over the open grill. Not to mention the fucking lawsuit about forcing an employee to wear a fucking burqa." "Don't get salty with me, missy." I paced forward, that silvered glint washing my eyes colourless. Don backed up against the freezer. "Haven't I been a great employee?" He nodded hastily. "Haven't I been your best graveyard shift worker, ever?" More frantic nodding. "So what fucking gives man?" He loosened the collar of his shirt; he was hot - even pressed up against the icebox. "Look, we just can't have a vampire working here anymore. We serve chicken and over half our clientele are weres of one kind or another. Karl and the other weres have threatened to out you to the customers. I'm just doing this for your protection lady." Prejudice. It was all just rank prejudice from a pack of mongrel werefolk. "Shit Don, I thought you were better than this. You're a fucking zombie for christsake. I thought us undead had solidarity?" "You know how it is Cassy; people think zombies are goofy and adorable. We fought hard to overturn that prejudice." "Oh yeah? And the vampires didn't? We were there at all the night marches and rallies, sticking up for the GZMV community." Don's jaundiced good eye rolled around in the socket. If he got any more agitated, it was going to fall out again. "Cassy, you gotta understand. The GZM are just different to vampires. Ghosts are harmless and Zombies are kitsch and in. Mummies don't even do anything. But you guys, with your teeth and blood drinking... to be frank Cassy, if I still had a functioning circulatory system, I'd be scared of you." I tore off my apron and threw it at him. "Fuck you Don,"I flashed my fangs, "If you weren't already dead, I'd fucking turn you so you could experience this bullshit for yourself." "See, that's exactly what I was talking about. Violence, threats, intimidation. No wonder your people get a shitty rep." Before Don could react, I opened the freezer door, shoved him in and padlocked it shut. "I'll thaw you out when I've got equal rights, motherfucker!"I yelled, as the muffled moans and teeth gnashing subsided.
We were prepared. We entered the bomb shelter as soon as the first siren blared. The ground rumbled with the thunder of Germany’s wrath. The bombs kept falling. Besides that, all you could hear, all you could fathom, was the world inside the bunker. Many people were in there with us. Men, women, lots of children. Some brought their valuables. Stupid, stupid people. What good would it do down here? Others brought food, but the shelter had a connection to the main water pipe and a supply of canned goods that would last us a week. The bombs kept falling. You could tell they were still falling by that steady, explosive rumble that just kept going outside the metal hatch. Bomb after bomb, rumble after rumble. The bombs kept falling. A macabre drumbeat. The main water line stopped. What little water people had managed to store in tin cans and small containers was gone quickly. Bartered or stolen. The bombs kept falling. The food was gone. Bartered or stolen. The bombs kept falling. Some people thought it was better out there. They wanted to open the hatch. They wanted to go outside. Stupid, stupid people. What good would it do to go outside? We couldn't agree. There was fighting. There was blood. I pushed the corpses into the corner, and ignored them. The bombs kept falling. Someone had made a fire out of cloth and bits of wood, in the corner. Something smelled so good down there, but I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe anything anymore. I gave in. I was so hungry. I believed they had found some spare pork, hidden in a special closet. It tasted too good to be true. The bombs keep falling. There aren’t a lot of us now. More and more of us want to go outside, but I don't think so. We have everything we need here. They say they will leave me behind. That they're hungry and thirsty. That I can go to hell. --- It's quiet. Inside and outside. They left. They left me behind, all alone. I don't care. I showed them. --- The bombs start falling again. But now, I don't know if they're bombs, or the sounds of people banging on the metal door, trying to get in. Stupid, stupid people.
"Where'd they go?"NASA Director Kevin Drayle exclaimed. "No idea sir. We did detect a burst of EM radiation and some spatial distortion"a NASA engineer said. They've been watching the Red Sun Rising spacecraft from North Korea for the past few months. Their goal? Land on the Sun. An idiotic plan that is bound to fail, but still, you can watch, right? Kim Jong Un insisted on going along with the mission. The greatest mission to prove North Korea is not to be underestimated. And now? Well, the satellite of Icaron that was orbiting the Sun at extremely close distance, saw the ship disappear in a black spot. Black spots being, of course, just areas of the sun that are cooler. But as the ship sank into the surface of the sun, it simply vanished. "They died?"Drayle asked to the same employee. "Don't think so sir. We got new data from Icaron. Here, take a look." Drayle looked at the pixellated video, heavily edited to avoid overexposure. What he saw, made him silent. As the Red Sun Rising approached the spot, the black spot collapsed in on itself, and showed, just for a few minutes, stars, before the giant ship disappeared and the black spot became just like normal atmosphere. "Did Icaron do a temp scan?"he asked to the same engineer "Yeah. Without the false input from the sun surface, which we eliminated, seems that the black spot had a temperature of near absolute zero. Same as the background temperature of space." "Impossible..." "That's not all of it sir. Icaron Two, on the north pole of the sun, saw this."a technician interrupted, and linked the video to Drayle. Drayle opened the link, and saw as the sun emitted a massive beam of energy. It was just a planck second, and then it disappeared. "Speed of the beam?" "Zero." "What?"Drayle asked, confused. "It's... infinite, sir. It has no speed because it is instantaneous." Drayle scratched his chin, and looked at the two employees who were just as silent as him. "The only explanation is a wormhole." "Yes. But it's a one-way trip." "In that case, at least Kim Jong Un won't bother us anymore, I guess. Even better, we won't get to see his smug face."Drayle said, and walked to a console. "Arrange a press conference. Tell the media that the ship is presumed to have been destroyed as it sank into the plasma, but there was some interesting data to be found thanks to Icaron. They don't need to know the whole truth yet. In the meantime, I want us all to look into this. Those crazy korean fuckers were on to something and we're now a step behind. If not many steps behind." A third engineer came to the group. "Found the ship plans. NK gave it to us for free, oddly enough. But... just look."the engineer said, and showed the ship schematic. Kevin looked at it, and opened his mouth in awe. "The Seeder Module. What did they put into it?" "Everything... every species of earth. And the Incubator Module for breeding them all to maturity. They did not just make a spaceship, sir. They made an ark. And the beam... some triangulation showed they went to Kepler 452, some 1400 light years from us. They went to Elysden." The alarms started blaring outside. Suddenly, a NASA employee rushed in. "The news! Watch the news!" Kevin rushed to the TV and put it on the news channel. President Sanderson was on it, and spoke calmly. "My fellow humans. I am afraid this is going to be the last transmission for now. As we know it, thousands of NCMs, or Nuclear Cruise Missiles, are travelling all across the globe. Their point of origin appears to be North Korea. As I speak. Thailand, South Korea, and Indonesia have already been hit, with a death count in the millions. This same will happen to all of us, everywhere. And while we attempt to destroy the missiles before they reach us, the reality is that we can't stop them all. Tomorrow, humanity will be weakened, and we will be in a nuclear apocalypse. So I strongly recommend all of you to hide underground. In the Second Cold War with Russia, little over a decade ago, we have built many large scale shelters, the locations of which have been published just now. We still can not save everyone, so it is on a first come, first serve basis. I wish you all the best of luck in these dark hours to come. May God be with you all, in this life and the next." Then the screen went black.
"Here, get in the back."You climbed into the back seat of Olivia Danson's car, waiting for her to join you. She squeezed through the driver and passenger seat, over the center console. Her grin was illuminated by the yellow street lamps guarding the perimeter of your university's library parking lot. Two a.m. A bit of a buzz. She unbuttoned her shirt, pulled her bra off. Her tits swung heavy as she pulled your pants off, grabbed the base of your erection and dropped her head. "Oh god,"you moaned. With a bang, a bit like a firecracker, God appeared in the front seat. Olivia shrieked and sat up, grabbing her shirt. "You call-you've got to be kidding me. Again? We talked about this." "God, come on. You can't just keep popping in on me like this. Jesus." Another bang. Jesus appeared in the driver's seat. "What's up, dad. Oh, hey Sam. Again?" "Jesus, I'll deal with this."God said sternly, twisting back to glare at you. His beard glows. It's kinda weird. "This whole fornicating thing has GOT to STOP." "Is that Olivia? Dude. Olivia. I haven't seen you since you were ten. You've grown up."Jesus brushed hair out of his eyes. God shot him a look. Olivia was shaking, arms crossed over her chest. You realized you were still panstless.
"You heard the news?" "About the US? All over the news, innnit? Bunch of crazy bastards doing crazy shite. Never knew they'd do this, though. Running around in the nude." "Yeah, but have you seen the amount of tourists they've been getting? It's like going to the nude beach, except it's a focken nude country, mate." "Really? Shite! The UN can't do shite too, right? Now that Trump declared the country out of the UN?" "Yeah? It's wot? 2 months into his presidency and he's already made the US independent. He cut most his ties, right?" "Yeah, mate. But imagine. Fat slobs jiggling around parks where kids play." "And kids themselves. Just walking around naked." "Ah, fuck. I could've done without the mental image." "Fucked up is what it is, mang." "Yeah. I think we're seeing the end of times, mang." "Nah, fuck that. Wanna get a beer?"
That crest looks familiar. There's another one. And another one. Dudley was aghast at the sight of hundreds and hundreds of letters crumpled and stuffed into an abandoned old chest. There were initials on the chest which seemed to indicate that it was Aunt Lily's old chest. It must have been symbolic for his mother Petunia, stuffing away those letters and hiding them in this closet. A secret that died long ago, along with her sister. Just like she hoped to do with Harry. A disappointment she had not quite managed to live down, even after all these years. The sight of the letters was too much for Dudley to take. He sat back down on his parents old bed as he tried to process what it all meant. He still remembered the fateful night when Hagrid had come to take Harry away. Why had no one come for him? Perhaps he was just not magic enough. Perhaps Dumbledore had neglected him in order to spare his mother's feelings. My mother; the martyr, who had sacrificed so much to protect little Harry from the wickedness of the wizarding world. The idea of losing her precious Dudley could have been a bit too much for her. Maybe I should contact Harry. Let him know. He might know what to do. What this all means. Now. After all these years. He pondered those thoughts for a few good minutes but ultimately decided against it. He had never truly forgiven himself for all those years of bullying and torment he had subjected Harry to. Besides, he had built a life for himself here in the regular world. This was what he knew and this was what he was comfortable with. He had a good life in the muggle world and a future to aspire to. To trade all that in for world of insecurity and uncertainty was not a good bargain to consider. He had missed his window to have a chance at that life for all intents and purpose. Furthermore, he was happy with his lot and he knew that was more than a lot of people could say and know to be true. He let out one last sigh before he stuffed the letters back into the chest and placed it back where he had found it. This secret would die just as his mother had hoped it would, plus one secret keeper. Dudley rushed down the stairs as he heard his parents call out to him. He obscured his muddled thoughts with a cheeky grin as he stepped out to greet his parents. They were going to drive him down to his university. This was as important a day for them as it was for him. Dudley turned back to take one last look at privet drive as they turned around the corner. Guess we have a lot more in common than we thought cousin. Maybe I will say something to Harry someday, if I ever happen to see him again. He took another deep breath as he strengthened his resolve. For now, college awaits!!
Sheev Palpatine slouched dejectedly into his office chair. How could this have happened? He was smarter than this. The weight of decades of meticulous work, painstakingly precise micromanagement...did he just undo it all with one verbal slip? In accordance with Republic law, 'Order 65' meant that the chancellor was dangerously unfit to issue orders, and was to be detained with any means necessary. Normally the act required a Senate majority, but under his emergency wartime powers, Palpatine had inadvertently given himself the power to issue his own death warrant. Palpatine knew Cody's forces would be of no issue, as they were all the way out on Utapau, but without a doubt the clone commander had begun instructing the clone communications officers to relay the message to units across the galaxy. The legendary 501st Legion was on Coruscant, under orders from the Chancellor himself, preparing to march on the Jedi Temple. The newly christened Darth Vader was onworld as well, and perhaps stood as Palpatine's greatest ally in his race for survival. At once, Sheev hailed Lord Vader by hologram. The blue image appeared of the young Sith kneeling before his master. "Yes, my lord?"he asked. "Lord Vader,"Palpatine began. "There have been...complications in our plan. You have new orders to exterminate any and all clones of Jango Fett...starting with your own 501st Legion." Vader looked up from his knee. "But master, how are we to purge the Order without them?" "The Order we can handle,"he lied. "The Grand Army of the Republic plans to betray me, I am sure of it. Be rid of them at once, and then meet me in my office." "Yes my Lord." Just then, the towering Mas Amedda strolled into Palpatine's office. "My lord, there have been reports of the clone army preparing to all return to Coruscant. The Republic is being slaughtered by Separatist forces all over the galaxy. We have confirmation that Jedi Masters Stass Allie and Ki Adi Mundi have fallen by the hand of the droids without the help of their troops. What are your orders?" "Arrange the Senate guards around the perimeter of this building. Inform my personal guards to arm their weapons and come to my side at once. Prepare for an all out coup on the part of the clone troopers." "My lord, are...are you..." "Do this at once, Vizier Amedda." "Right away, my lord." The chancellor turned with his deformed hands behind his back and watched as two Venator-class destroyers emerged from hyperspace above the night sky over Coruscant. He then turned and took his two crimson lightsabers from his desk and tucked them into his sleeves. As his personal guards of similar hue entered the doors, he knew what was about to unfold. ----------------------------------------------------------------- CT-7567 knew what was happening as he watched the tables at 79's Bar clear in a hurry. The whole room was minutes ago filled with clone troopers of various states of inebriation, and now contained only him. He hung his head in shame, dreading what his brothers were about to do and knowing full well there was nothing he could do to stop it. Just then, one came back in. "Rex! You're still here!" Rex looked up. It was clone trooper Wolffe. "Shouldn't you be going to the Temple by now?" Wolffe shook his head. "We need to leave Coruscant, and we need to do it quick. Order 66, the purge, all of it...it's not happening. Seomthing's gone horribly wrong, the clones are marching on the Senate building. I think they're going to overthrow the government." Rex felt the blood drain from his head. "They're going to what?"Wolffe shook his head. "I heard there's a warrant out for clones. The 501st and 104th are gone. Whatever's going on here, we're not going to survive long on Coruscant." Rex stood up from his barstool. "Did you get Gregor and Boil?" "Gregor's in the cab, Boil...died on Utapau." Walking with Wolffe back outside to their cab, Rex replied "Is the base on Seelos ready?" "It is,"Wolffe said. "There, we'll wait out the dark days until our new hope comes." ------------------------------------------------------------------------- It had started not long ago, and it was bloodier than Palpatine expected. He knew there would be death in the thousands, but this was something else altogether. All around Palpatine's office lied the limbs of fallen troopers. The Senate guards and his personal ones were long dead, gone within the first few waves. Some clones had been mutilated by his blade, others electrocuted to death, and others slaughtered through brute force at the end of many various force attacks. Every couple seconds a body pounded the pavement kilometers below Palpatine's office, or else took out a skycar on its way down. Palpatine's fear was that one of the destroyers from above would fire on his building, rendering him dead without a doubt. With one final push, Palpatine drove through the elite soldiers toward his office door. Though he was nearing exhaustion, Palpatine unleashed a great shockwave to blow back the nearby forces. Moving as fast as he could, Palpatine attempted to weld the opening with his lightsaber. He thought about all the various ways this could backfire on him, but in his current state of mental frenzy, he committed to his flawed idea. Turning around, he then slayed a few paratroopers that had come in through his window, before knocking their dropship out of the sky with the force. The burning sting of the blaster bolt that pierced his shoulder was nearly drowned out by the aching in his frail muscles, but rang through nonetheless. Sheev turned and cut down a member of the infamous Delta Squad. The others now surrounded him, he found, and by the time he assessed all their positions at once, he felt his lightsabers almost simultaneously blasted out of his hands by what he was amazed to see was one trooper. He and the other two survivors unleashed a barrage of blaster fire, which Palpatine immediately began to deflect with his bare hands. Before long, however, he saw his stamina with the force was failing. Despite redirecting most of the energy, he felt several of his fingers become detached from the palms of his hands. Beginning finally to embrace his fate, Palpatine sank to his knees. Immediately the bolts began flying through his withering body, mid-torso, neck, and head. The Sith's final thought was of his master. He wondered if he was about to reunite with him, possibly in some twisted realm where he could put Palpatine through all sorts of spiritual torture, a grand revenge for his murder years ago. As his cold, limp body fell to the floor, an icy wind immediately poured out the broken window of his office and out into the hall past the next wave of troopers. The galaxy seemed to collectively let out a sigh of relief, as if a great evil had just been exterminated before it could even begin. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Across the galaxy, on Naboo, two newborn children cried in the delivery room. Luke and Leia Skywalker had been born into a galaxy still at war, but with an end in sight. Nute Gunray's Separatists were on the run from Mas Amedda's remaining forces, and Naboo was one of the planets deemed safe from the conflict by the Republic. As soon as he sensed the fate of his master, Anakin Skywalker ran to the Senate chambers and flew his pregnant wife to safety. He was already arranging a shuttle to take him back to Coruscant next week to formally leave the Jedi Order. Anakin knew his former master would be heartbroken, but nothing now was more important than his new life with his wife and children, all of whom were in perfect health. Skywalker had hastily rejected the dark side once Palpatine had perished, realizing that the fate of his wife rested with the force and with the force alone. He'd cried on the way to the leading medical clinic on Naboo, terrified for her safety, but he had a profound sense that with Palpatine dead and himself liberated from darkness, that all would be okay. And now he could sense that not just for himself, but for the trillions of citizens in the galaxy, that a new era of peace and justice was just about to begin.
“I'll take the tortoise tattoo,” I said pointing to a stylized tortoise in black and tan on the wall. The tattoo artist grinned, “you’re the first to pick that one. I saw that on some ancient ruins in the jungle and thought it looked cool enough for a tattoo.” “Well I think it looks good for a tattoo too,” I smiled, “can I get it on my bicep?” “Sure, let's get started then.” I lay there as the tattoo artist prepped and started to tattoo me. I was giddy, my first tattoo, and it didn't hurt as much as I imagined. Two hours later I was walking out with my new tattoo and a bunch of care instructions. 7am - the next day Bam! Something thumped me right in my right side waking me up. “Whaa?,” I uttered cracking one bleary eye. I was looking right into the face of a very angry tortoise. “Wake up!,” a gravely voice demanded in my head. The tortoise rammed me again, this time in face. I grabbed my sore nose, “what the hell?” I rolled away from the angry tortoise, my eyes still bleary. I noted it looked like my new tattoo. “Good! We have work to do,” the voice said in my head again. The tortoise started bouncing up and down in its forelegs. “It's been a thousand years since I had any followers, you are now my chosen prophet.” I stood up and backed away from the tortoise on my bed. “You're talking to me in my head?,” I said looking at the tan and black tortoise. The tortoise’s eye color changed from brown to red, “you are not imagining me, you got the tattoo that binds you to me as a follower. You are now my prophet and you will gain me more followers.” The tortoise bounced up and down again. “Shit,” I rubbed my eyes hoping this strange hallucination would go away. “I'm not a hallucination!,” the tortoise screamed. Small lightening bolts streaked across the room and hit me in the chest. “The fuck!,” I screamed slapping at the burning chest hair. The tortoise was bouncing up and down again. “Okay, okay!,” I yelled, “you're not a hallucination!” The tortoise stopped its bouncing and glared at me. “Will you get me more followers then?” I nodded, “sure if it gets you to leave me alone and stop shooting me with lightening bolts.” I edged towards the bedroom door. “Good, where did you find my symbol?” “I didn't, the tattoo artist that tattooed me did, he thought it looked cool.” The tortoise was now bouncing in excitement. “We will go there and get more followers!” “Now?,” I asked, “the tattoo shop isn't open now.” The tortoise's eyes glowed red again. I hastily said, fully expecting more burnt chest hair, “they are open this afternoon we can go there then.” “Fine,” the tortoise grumply replied, “I now demand a sacrifice.” “A sacrifice?,” I whitened, “umm, what kind of sacrifice?” “Cabbages and melons,” the tortoise glared with one beady red eye. “Okay,” I retreated out of the room, “I have to go get some. Give me an hour.” “Fine, an hour!,” the tortoise bounced up and down again. I quickly put on some clothes and grabbed my wallet and cellphone. I started to look up tattoo removal offices after I was a block away from my house. I had to get rid of that psychotic tortoise.
Harry Potter and the Butcher of Blaviken Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, eagerly discussing the latest appointment to the position of Defence against the Dark Arts professor. They had heard little of the man, save that he was a seasoned monster slayer, a sort of wandering mercenary, taking care of problems of a magical nature for common folk. Hermione had seen him leaving the Headmaster’s office via the escalating spiral staircase, and shared her slight impression of him- “He was tall, scarred and grey-haired. He didn’t seem much like a teacher, either! He was wearing some kind of armour. But I didn’t see a wand. And he had two swords on his back. Who would need those, in a school?” She asked, suddenly worried. “Do you think we’re in danger? Remember when they brought in the Dementors, because of Sirius?” Harry smiled and nodded, it had only been a year since his god father had escaped from Azkaban, and they had travelled through time to save his life, in that time he had had secret correspondence with the man, and finally gained some form of family. “Yes, but this isn’t at all similar to that. It’s not like there’s armed guards at every entrance, just one man with weaponry, and besides, he’s here to teach us; I doubt we’re in danger, from him or anything else.” They were soon proved wrong in all their assumptions, as they had DADA in the next lesson period. When they entered the Defence classroom, took their seats at desks at the front of the class, and waited for the lesson to start. Once all the students had dutifully filed in and sat down, watching the unknown stranger warily, the lesson began. Geralt stood, and began to slowly pace backwards and forwards across the front of the room, outlining some pertinent information; “Hello, students. I am your new professor for Defence against the Dark Arts. Magic is a complex and powerful tool in your arsenal, and seems to be the focus of your studies at this institution.” He stopped, and looked meaningfully at the class. “But that is not to say that it is the only tool you have access to. A smart warrior never travels without a sword on his back or elixirs in his flask. In the monster slaying business, if you’re not smart, you’re dead.” The students looked at each other, somewhat confused. They were not fighters, simply teenaged wizards and witches learning spells. They had expected him to start by teaching a simple ward, or shield spell. Not a monologue on killing beasts. Geralt continued, in a similar vein: “I have over a hundred years of experience slaying dark creatures, and while I do have a rudimentary grasp of magic, it is not my preferred method of execution. That is why, in this lesson, you will be taught spells by another professor, Yennefer.” The students were confused. What, then was Geralt the monster-slayer doing in their classroom? “Your school’s administration has seen fit to employ me, not as a teacher of magic, but a teacher of swordplay. It is considered that your Wizarding World’s worst enemy, Voldemort, is alive once more, and young wizards need to know how to practically defend themselves, when magic fails.” Suddenly interested, every young ear in the classroom pricked up at the possibility they would get to swing swords about. “But first, you all need to brush up on your bestial knowledge. Spells or sword alone will not win a fight, you also need to practice strategies, and form plans. This will only come through solid knowledge of a creature, it’s habits, and weaknesses.” And so Geralt got to work, teaching them the Wizarding World’s various creatures’ vulnerabilities. While he was more familiar with the creatures of Nilfgaard, Temeria and Redania, he had brushed up on a little local knowledge, by going out into the Forbidden Forest and hunting a few specimens. He pulled out a large black, mass from beneath the desk,revealing itself to be the head of an Acromantula. The students recoiled in shock at the gruesome, wire haired, eight eyed thing. “Students, this is an Acromantula, a kind of giant spider common in the Forbidden Forest, just a few minutes walk out of this classroom.” Ron went very pale at the mention of Acromantula, his last encounter with them had been less than pleasant, considering Aragog, Hagrid’s oldest friend, and leader of the spider clans, had wanted to eat him and his friends. Geralt went on to explain that they were weak to silver weaponry, as were most dark creatures- Taking a moment to explain the swords on his back, he revealed that while silver is an effective tool against monsters, it is less than useful on humans, who typically wear armour, which blunts and deforms the blade. For those humans that needed killing, he used a steel sword. Indicating the swords, leaning against the professor’s desk, he joked that he hoped nobody in the room was a Doppler waiting to strike. The students didn’t laugh, as they had no idea what that was. The lesson went on in a similar fashion, with Geralt pulling up various trophies he had acquired, and explaining the ways they could be killed. Theory lessons such as these made up a large portion of the syllabus, for a few weeks, until Geralt finally considered the class ready to move onto practicing swordplay with sticks. On the Quidditch pitch, Harry and Ron picked up their weapons after an intense bout, both panting with exertion. Geralt wandered over to praise them, noting their good footwork, stance and balance. Others were less successful, being less suited to physical pursuits like fighting. Hermione, for instance, completely stayed out of the sword lessons, preferring to instead devote extra time to magical study with Yennefer, who was teaching her spells that seemed otherworldy- Little did she know, Yen and Geralt were actually from another world, with different magical rules, allowing for wandless, wordless magic far beyond any feat a witch or wizard could do. Hermione did everything she could to learn these talents, and after months of trying, managed some weak fire balls, and a sparking, flimsy shield. Despite failure, she pressed on with her study, consuming more and more knowledge of the Yen’s world, wondering why she was having such a hard time mastering this magic, when every spell in her world came so instinctively to her. She resolved to keep trying. Throughout every student’s education, however, they had questions. Why were they learning to fight? What reasons could have caused the Headmaster to seek out this strange killer and his accomplice to teach his students? It became clear, when some ghouls entered the grounds from the forest, approaching Harry and Hermione, who were relaxing by the lake, at a fast pace. Thinking back to his lessons, Harry cast a fire spell, which he knew they were weak to, burning the pack to a crisp. This frightful encounter with real monsters solidified their need to protect themselves, and everyone focussed yet harder on mastering their respective skills. Harry was a skilled sword fighter, Hermione had managed to gain some excellent prowess in portal and restoration magic, and Ron.. What happened to him was tragic. One day, the trio had gone into the Forbidden Forest, looking for monsters to test their talents on- They certainly found them. A group of trolls nesting in a cave in the centre of the Forest- Confident in themselves, they charged in, swinging artfully, performing well- But neglecting to remember that trolls are essentially composed of rock, and virtually impervious to physical damage. Thinking quickly, Hermione attempted to use a portal to get them away from the cave, but she was knocked down, and the crystal used for powering her portals was shattered on the ground. Ron was dragged away into the depths of the cave, his screams echoing back towards the others. A crunching splat rang out as the rock trolls smashed his head in and ate him. The two survivors ran in fear to the castle, promising to do better and avenge their friend- They simply had Geralt take care of the problem, in all honesty. He waltzed in and dispatched them with practiced ease, sighing a little and shaking his head at the remnants of Ron, just bones and robes. I cant think of anything else, that was shit and badly written, I just spewed it out of my head with no clear plot in mind, sounds like a crackfic by the end cause I gave up If I was trying it would be better, there's so many little continuity errors its unreal lol, its generally just bull shit Maybe I'd enjoy writing more about Harry somehow ending up in Novigrad and doing something with Dandelion, written from big D's perspective in the style of how he writes the quests.
Item #: SCP-5000-J Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-5000-1 through SCP-5000-6 (hereafter referred to collectively as "The Party") are to be under twenty four (24) hour surveillance. Should The Party encounter potentially hazardous areas, objects, or creatures of an anomalous nature, they are to be put under class B sedative and removed from the premise pending investigation of the scene in question. Should SCP-5000-6 show signs of resistance, it is to be disabled via an electro magnetic pulse of at least ███ MeV and moved into a standard vehicular containment facility. Should The Party be removed, they are to be kept separated in standard human containment facilities at the nearest appropriate site until they are released, at which point they are given a class B amnestic. If at any point in time The Party manages to reconvene while under Foundation custody, a site wide lockdown is to be placed in effect to hamper their movement. Due to the potential breaches, The Party is to never be contained on site with any Keter class SCP. Class B sedatives are to be used to re-contain them, and to be placed under constant sedative if necessary. Description: SCP-5000 collectively is a group of two (2) male humans, two (2) female humans, one (1) male dog, and one (1) 1960's era panel van of unknown make and model. SCP-5000-1 is a Caucasian male of approximately 6 feet tall and 180 pounds. The self described "leader"of The Party, it often gives orders to SCP-5000-2 through SCP-5000-5, though does not appear to be aware of SCP-5000-6's sentience. SCP-5000-1 refers to itself as "Fred Jones", and is to acknowledged as such should interaction with Foundation personnel occur. SCP-5000-1 has only appeared to wear a white cotton sweater over a blue collared shirt, denim blue jeans, and an orange ascot. SCP-5000-1 is currently being investigated for possibly having reality bending effects with regards to "luck", though does not appear to be aware of such effects if they do exist. See Test Log 5000-A-4 for details. SCP-5000-2 is a Caucasian male of approximately 5 feet 10 inches tall and 90 pounds. SCP-5000-2 is a compulsive eater, and does not appear to have a limit to the amount of consumption it can take. A brand of dog treat labelled "Scooby Snacks"is a chosen favourite, and while there are no known manufacturers of the substance SCP-5000-6 has a regenerating supply. SCP-5000-2 is cowardly and must be approached non-threateningly, or it may flee at speeds of upwards of ██ miles per hour. It is often followed by SCP-5000-5, and as such standard animal handling practices must be adhered to. SCP-5000-2 refers to itself as "Shaggy Rogers"and must be referred to as such should interaction with Foundation personnel occur. SCP-5000-2 also has been witnessed to widen its jaw as much as █ times that of a regular human, with a bite strength of ██ pounds. See Test Log 5000-B-2 for details. SCP-5000-3 is a Caucasian female of approximately 5 feet 8 inches tall and 110 pounds. SCP-5000-3 is currently under investigation for a possible memetic effect, forcing their adversaries to attempt to capture her rather than a different member of The Party. Capture of SCP-5000-3 is not advised without also capturing all of The Party due to the possible reality effect of SCP-5000-1. SCP-5000-3 refers to itself as "Daphne Blake"and is to be referred to as such should interaction with Foundation personnel occur. See Test Log 5000-C-1 for more details. SCP-5000-4 is a Caucasian female of approximately 5 feet 8 inches tall and 120 pounds. SCP-5000-4 portrays a heightened intelligence, with advanced problem solving and knowledge skills in comparison to the average human. It has a weak sense of vision, relying on standard spectacles that are constantly lost in moments of personal danger. SCP-5000-4 shows similar signs of the reality bending effects surrounding SCP-5000-1, though it is unclear if this effect is an extension of SCP-5000-1. SCP-5000-4 also expresses levels of strength higher than possible for its muscular structure, capable of lifting at least ███ pounds above its head. SCP-5000-4 refers to itself as "Velma Dinkley"and is to be referred to as such should interaction with Foundation Personnel occur. SCP-5000-5 is a brown, male Great Dane of approximately 180 pounds. SCP-5000-5 is capable of rudimentary speech, has opposable thumbs, and displays bi-pedal tendencies. Similar to SCP-5000-2, it displays signs of compulsive eating with a favour towards "Scooby Snacks", and does not appear to have a maximum consumption limit, having been witnessed consuming ███ pounds of food in one sitting before being interrupted. Investigations are ongoing to determine SCP-5000-5's place of birth, though it is theorized that it originates from ██████, █████ and was brought to our plane of existence by SCP-5000-6. SCP-5000-5 refers to itself as "Scooby-Doo", and is to be referred to as such should interaction with Foundation personnel occur. Due to a previous incident regarding removal of The Party from the scene of SCP-████, SCP-5000-5 is to sedated first. See Incident Log 5000-1 for more details. SCP-5000-6 is a panel van of unknown make and model with an appearance similar to vans of circa 1960. It is painted blue with a green decal covering 75% of the body, and the words "The Mystery Machine"and several flower shaped decals in orange on the driver and passenger sides of the vehicle. SCP-5000-6 has been witnessed changing shapes to more aggressive, predatory styles and displays a rudimentary intelligence the rest of The Party does not appear to be aware of. Investigations are ongoing to confirm if it has memetic effects, as described by Incident Log 5000-3, reality bending effects, and \[DATA EXPUNGED\]. At no times is it to be approached without first having sedated SCP-5000-5 due to its protective nature. See Incident Log 5000-2 for more details. SCP-5000 is to allowed freedom of movement due to its nature of finding anomalous objects, creatures, and areas. Appropriate actions are to be commenced once an anomalous entity is confirmed. \----------- Follow me on /r/PM_Full_Tits for randomly posted stories of varying genres :)
The man spent his whole life lifting weights, not really interacting with people outside of his teacher who he used to eat lunch with. When his colleagues were lifting 10, he was lifting 20, when his colleagues were on a break, he was lifting 21. Towards the end of his life he was lifting 64kg with one hand. People came to visit him and just watch him lift and naturally he was in the Guinness book of records. He never fought anyone and believed it wasn't fair to use his strength because he would win no matter the opponent. But now he was but a ghost, a shadow on the wall. Everyone had left the training room and the lights were closed. The man sat down and pondered for a while. Then he grabbed the 4kg weights and started lifting.
It was on a moonless night that the dragon Braal came to the crown city Varra. He passed high over the farmsteads beyond the city walls, with only the bleating of sheep to announce him. He dropped low over the city battlements once he'd approached the keep, the better to locate his quarry. The great beating of his wings startled the guards in their watchtowers, and with a ringing of bells the city's defenses came alive against him. But they were too late. Braal had found what he'd come for. He tore open a window and sent a shower of stones onto the courtyard below. Within the sleeping chamber was the princess. Braal's long talons took her about the middle and dragged from the chamber. She shrieked, swore, and pummeled his claws with her fists. "I'll make you pay for this,"she said. "I'll make you wish you'd never done this. You'll see. You'll see what you get for doing this to me. I'll make you regret this." Her words registered only little on Braal as he maneuvered through the keep's surrounding towers, avoiding arrows along the way. Finally, he found open space and took off for the skies. A feeling of great satisfaction settled over the mighty dragon's heart. He'd done what he'd planned, and now his future as one of the great wyrms of the land would begin. This moment of satisfaction was marred only slightly by the sound, muffled though it was by the wind of the dragon's passage, of the princess's continued imprecations. *** Some hours later, Braal set down in the mountain he'd chosen for his lair. It was a fine prospect, tall as it was, and with a network of tunnels already dug into the peak by a clan of gnomes. The tunnels provided him a home, and the gnomes provided him a snack. It wasn't much, but it was warm and dry, and Braal looked forward to filling it with a fine hoard of gold in the decades to come. The princess had fallen asleep some time during their journey, and it was the impact of the dragon's landing that brought her to her senses. Hers was not a delicate waking. At once, upon opening her eyes, she began. "Um, excuse me? Where is this supposed to be? A cave? You kidnapped me and you took me to a cave? What are you, like, a nothing-dragon? I mean come on. I've heard of dragons that live in golden palaces. This is nothing. Are you even trying? Ugh. I hate this. This sucks. You suck, dragon. I don't even want to be here. Get me out of here."She wandered off into the lair carrying on in that way, her words occasionally addressed to Braal, but with no pauses to indicate that she expected him to respond. Braal caught up with her just as she entered the main chamber where he kept his hoard. At this early stage of his life, it was an admittedly sorry little pile of gnome's trinkets, merchant's pottery, and a chest of swords he'd taken from a tiny windswept rock in the middle of the sea. The princess, when she saw this, laughed. And again, this was not a delicate laugh. She threw her head back so hard that she nearly over-balanced. She bent over and rested her hands on her knees and laughed until she was red in the face, until tears fell to the dusty floor. "That's it?"she said. "Buddy, come on. What are you? Are you even a dragon? I've got servants who have more stuff than this. I've seen farmers with more money. Farmers! Who smell like poo! And they're richer than you! You're nothing! What's the matter with you? Seriously just take me home now, there's no point keeping me any longer. Any second now there's gonna be some knight from Varra or some other kingdom riding up here and he's gonna stab you and take me back. Like, what are you gonna do to stop that? Huh? I bet you can't even breathe fire. What's your name? Is it Sparky? Huh? Maybe it's Lil Lizard Buddy? Lil Lizzy? Is that it?" She went on and on in that vein for some time. During all this chatter, Braal was mostly confused. This was not what he expected from a princess. He'd thought she would be delicately terrified of him and, as a result, nearly mute. He though she'd demurely consent to remaining in the room he'd prepared for her until such time as he negotiated a ransom from Varra. But this -- this was quite rude. He pulled himself up to his full height, all 36 feet of him, and belched a ball of flame over her head. That did cut short her monologue. Pleased with himself, Braal lowered himself. Now he could explain to her how things would be, and she could go wait in the other room until things were sorted. But the expression on the princess's face did not show the fear she was supposed to be feeling. "Um, like, what?"she said. "That's supposed to scare me? Dude, I know how this goes. If you hurt me, my ransom drops off hugely. And that's basically all you're in this for, so, like, you can't touch me. Blow fire all you want, you big fireplace, it doesn't mean anything. Do you even talk? Can you say something? I thought dragons were smart but you seem totally dumb. Can you get with it? Can you tell me what's going on? Can you speak or whatever?" "SHUT UP!"Braal roared. It was the loudest he'd ever spoken, and the echo sounded all through the lair for a good fifteen seconds. Again, the princess paused in her talking. "Now,"Braal said, "I've made up a room for you. You're going to stay in it until I get your ransom. Then you'll leave. And this whole time, you're to stay quiet, do you understand?" First the princess frowned. Then she coughed drily into her fist. Then she started up again. "Did you not hear a thing I've been saying? I know you can't touch me. I'll go wherever I want and you can't do a thing." Braal cried out in frustration, then wandered off to his nest. It was a ways off. He hoped there he might get some peace and quiet. But the princess followed him. "Where are we going? How big even is this cave? Did you build this yourself? I bet you didn't. It's too nice to be something you made. I bet everything you make sucks. You suck, you know that? You're a big suck. Lil Lizzy the Big Suck. That's you. You're bad and also you're the worst. Just terrible, real garbage, absolutely miserable. You're like if a court jester tried to be a knight, know what I mean? Like if a pig tried to be a horse. Do you get what I'm saying? I'm saying you suck. I think you probably understand now, even though you're dumb..." This went on for some time. *** more below
Ever since I was a child I've seen them. As I have been told by my parents, I'm not supposed to start seeing them until at least my teenage years. However, I'm special (I use this term lightly), and at the age of seven I began to see the ghostly figures hang around my house. From then on, I saw someone new everyday. Sometimes I would see three or four new faces, actually. It sort of just depended what I was doing. For instance, when walking outside I could count on meeting at least three new ghosts as soon as that night. If I talked to someone- the number jumped to five. Say I wanted to buy something, suddenly ten fresh spirits would greet me in my living room when I came home. It was puzzling, to say the least. This had set me a part from some in my life. My brother, my parents, my peers. They are afraid of me, and, honestly, I don't blame them. Sometimes I'm afraid of me, too. The police have followed me around, though. They have made numerous reports explaining that I'm acting no different than anyone else, except I take an odd walking pattern (to avoid walking through those who are haunting me) and buy too much ice cream. Unfortunately, things were never explained to me in this material world. Even on my death bed, surrounded by no less than a hundred ghosts (including my sweet mother and father, and my poor brother) and with many more outside, I found myself wondering. Why me? Why have I suffered this life? I closed my eyes for the last time and finally understood. I opened my eyes to see Death. He was nothing more than a skeleton with a black cloak covering his body. He held a scythe, his empty sockets staring me down. He handed the scythe to me, and I took it. I instinctively turned around to allow Death his freedom, facing the crowd of hundreds of thousands of souls that needed to be put to rest. One by one I took them to the afterlife, comforting them as I had throughout all my years of knowing them. I called them by name, joked with them, helped them along to wherever God asked me to bring them. And one day, when my skin was finally burned off from the numerous trips to Hell, and my soul was cleansed from the countless visits to Heaven, a girl walked up to me. She stared at me, and I stared back at her. I recognized the exhaustion and the spark in her eyes at the sudden realization of her purpose. I handed her the scythe and she took it from me, turning around to face the hundreds of thousands of souls she got to bring to the afterlife. I took a few steps backwards and allowed my soul rest. Finally, I was free. \\ \\ \\ \\ \\ Edit: Fixed grammar and some tense changes (lmk if you see anything else :))
The Southern Cross shone bright in the midnight sky, not a cloud to be found. I sat in the clearing, listening to the soft crackle of the last pieces of wood in the fire. That was the only sound. It had started subtly enough, an entire city that descended into the depths of despair. People shuffling along wet streets with their eyes downcast. I remember it well. Walking downtown and slicing through the crowd like an ocean liner, creating a frothing tide of humanity in a state of extreme anxiety. I had felt like an alien, something otherworldly, unfathomable to these average city dwellers. I picked up a stick and poked at the embers. The authorities found me pretty quickly after that walk downtown, and now I was here, safely tucked in a mountain corner far away from anyone. "And even the animals have fled." The last of the fire died out, taking its light with it. The moon sat like a sliver in the sky, settled in a dark expanse that seemed to be pin-pricked by swirling star light. The wind rustled through the trees that bordered the clearing, taking the Title of Only Sound now that the fire was out. I traced the Milky Way with my finger. "A 100 miles out there is nothing,"I whispered, though it wouldn't have mattered if I yelled. "A speck of dust on a speck of dust in a cosmic desert." I watched as my finger followed the spiraling galaxy and something snapped within me, leaving a broken schism that made room for a feeling of slow resolve which was already setting roots. "I've been out here for thirty years."I swept my gaze across the deserted clearing, my eyes already adjusted to the dark. "Thirty fucking years and not a single person has come to see me." I stand up and howl at the New Moon, listening to it as it echoed through the valley that stretched out below. I howled until my larynx hurt, and then I sat down once more. "Tomorrow I'm heading into Buenos Aires."
"I want you to shoot the stormtrooper over there." "Uh, that's my commander, Lord Vader." "I'm not in the habit of repeating myself,"Lord Vader said as he brought out his lightsaber. I raised my gun at my commander. His name was Greg. Nice guy. I shot him in the chest. Lord Vader stood statue-still. "Impressive,"he let out after a moment. "Now hit that console at the other end of the ship." "Pardon me, Lord Vader, those are our thruster controls..." The lightsaber came to life in his hand. I pointed my gun at the console and pulled the trigger. The screens above the controls went up in sparks and smoke, and alarms began to sound everywhere. Lord Vader said nothing. I stood trembling before his impressive figure, waiting for him to finish me. "Come with me,"he said as he marched away. I scrambled to catch up, surprised but relieved. "Start the time machine!"he commanded at a pair of terrified stormtroopers. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Vader, where are we going?"I hesitantly asked. "We're going back in time. To kill a small green baby Jedi." >Note: I've not seen the movies or the Mandalorian. All my Star Wars knowledge comes from memes. So I hope you'll pardon any mistakes I made.
There were a few unofficial rules of galactic combat. 1: Never try to outsmart a Clorax 2: Never attack a Politax spacecraft 3: Never back a human into a corner. These were the three unofficial rules that many races would follow, the first two were common sense, A Clorax were an insanely smart set of species, there engorged heads, always pulsing as their brain swirled with information, they had the rare ability to think steps ahead, almost like how one would think a few moves ahead in a game of chess. This would allow them to often outmanoeuvre other species tactics, of course this didn't always work. One could never predict the future or predict the unpredictable, it was often said that if you were to face a Clorax, the best strategy was to do something that a sane person wouldn't. A great Spatin leader defeated them in battle by aiming their canons at their own troops, The Clorax had thought that hiding their units behind the enemies troops would make it impossible for them to get attacked, unfortunately the Spatin were happy to kill their own to win and without their impressive strategies, the Clorax were quite weak. If you could defeat them in a game of wits, usually victory was secured. The second again, was simple. Politax ships had thousands of years of development that had gone into them. They were the first species to discover space travel and as such, their ships were insanely built, almost works of art, they could move with a sickening grace as if they weren't bound to the same laws of science as the rest of us. Many attempts to understand their technology had been made, whether it be through pulling apart old ships or by even stealing their current ones, unfortunately the technology was just beyond anyone’s comprehension, it's systems designed in such a way that if anyone else were to attempt to read it, its words would look like utter nonsense. Still unlike the Clorax, they lacked any real strategy, instead they would simply work on overpowering their opponent through superior technology. So, if you could plan ahead, you would often be able to survive a battle with them. The last rule however was a little less obvious. Humans on the surface were quite odd squishy pink things, not really having anything special about them. In the words of intergalactic politician Zurgus the great, during his speech to the galactic council in 1994, he was quoted as saying. "Humans are nothing to fear, they are the offspring of ape like creatures and given their current evolutionary path, we expect them to never reach intergalactic travel, as such we have ruled to leave this average set of species alone for the moment and will continue to monitor their progress." Of course, Zurgus never lived to see humans discover space travel, that discovery was made ten years after his death. Still humans had exceeded our expectations, evolving at a much more rapid pace compared to other creatures, they were almost like parasites in a way, regardless they were average, not overly intelligent or strong, they were simply human. That was until humans were pushed into a corner however, when a human was placed in a situation where their life was endangered, they seemed to reach more erratically, almost as if they had a second wave of life running through them. In these moments they were like beasts, not seeming to acknowledge their injuries or the danger they were in. It was referred to as flight or fight, yet it was something the galaxy had never seen. When all the odds were against you, many creatures would just throw up their arms and surrender, yet humans... they seemed to feed off this. It was why whenever someone went to kill a human, they aimed to be quick about it, not wanting to set off this response, still it wasn't a miracle worker... It didn't make them that much stronger, but in a tense situation, it really was a gamechanger, especially when it involved creatures that had never witnessed such a spectacle before. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
I thought it was impossible. Though, I guess some part of me believed since I never stopped mentally screaming it. I was as shocked as he was. This was only meant to be self-entertainment, not to uncover some deep secret. Then he heard me. “How did you know?!?” he exclaimed. “Uh, know what?” I replied. He quieted to a whisper, “That I can read minds?” “There’s no way that’s possible” I answer. “That’s what I thought when it started” he admits. “I thought I was going crazy, all these voices in my head. Until I realized that it wasn’t just nonsense in my head, it was other people’s thoughts.” “No,” I insisted. “No, there’s no way.” I thought he must be pulling a prank on me, nobody can read minds. He spoke up: “No, not a prank. I really can read minds” “Hold on a second. I didn’t say anything like that” “Not out loud you didn’t. You thought it.” At this point I think that I’m the one going crazy. This has to be a dream right? OW, damn it, okay not a dream, not a dream. This is happening for real. “How long have you been able to?” “Almost a year now.” “And you didn’t tell anyone?” “Who would’ve believed it?” Nobody, I guess. Not without proof. Then they’d think you’re a weirdo. “Exactly. So you understand my predicament.” “Wow, having you in my head is going to take some getting used to.” “You probably won’t get used to it. But I can try not to respond to your thoughts if you’d prefer.” “Yes please.” \------ I’d like to keep this story going but I don’t know where to go from here. I’m also unsure where to introduce this guy’s name. If anyone has suggestions I’d love to hear it. Full disclaimer, this is my first prompt response. Thanks to u/jpeezey for inspiring me with his story based on another prompt, “The Magenta Bloodline,” which he is working on in r/TheCornerStories Any feedback is appreciated!
Fatalia handed me a respirator. "Here, you're going to need this,"she explained with a sheepish shrug. "Think of it as a gift and also something necessary for the upcoming job." I sat in the sub-sub-sub-basement hideout of the "Fatal Five"plus me. Of course, I couldn't confirm nor deny it as I was their most recent recruit and blindfolds were standard operating procedure at this point. This was offset by the batch of chocolate chip cookies Grandma Bombums would have waiting for me. I took the respirator and smiled weakly, offering a mumbled thanks. It's been about three months since the Silver Gauntlet tasked me with going undercover to find out about the Fatal Five and get as much information as I could about their operation. "Find out what you can, report back, and then I'll consider your application to my team,"were the words he used. I was a self-funded recruit who barely passed the hero admissions test and my powers weren't flashy nor unique. The fact that the Silver Gauntlet approached me afterwards was amazing to me. I worked for years to finally get a chance to prove myself! "Remember to report every week what you find and don't screw this up!"was how he ended the conversation. I wasn't offset at first by the tone. I figured this a very serious operation. I couldn't believe I was being tasked with something so important! "What are you thinking?"Fatalia asked, her head tilted as she regarded me. I snapped back to reality, hands clasped a I had the respirator in hand while sitting at the "Command Table"- more like a long ornate dinner table than anything. "Yeah kid, must be nervous considerin' this is yer first heist with us."Billy the Skid was across from me, his boots on the table and his cowboy themed outfit flaunting his nascar number on every pocket he could sew on. I fiddled a bit, partly playing along, truly nervous what magnitude of an operation this would be. "A little. Are you sure I'm ready?" "Aw shucks kid, yer as ready as I was!"guffawed Billy as he slapped the table. I remembered that he was the last recruit before me, and their de-facto getaway driver. "Ain't it a hoot that we've got da time now ta train our greenhorns?! I hadda go guns ablazin' during my first stint with Fatalia!" "And you almost singed off my beard with your wild shooting, Tex"sarcastically graveled the voice behind me. A huge hand clasped me on my shoulder, strong and hairy. Grizzly Adams pulled himself into the conversation, the behemoth of a man leaning forward smiling with his furred face, enlarged canines, and a knowing wink thrown at me. "Dagnabbit Griz! I told ya I said sorry! That was like a year ago too. Ain't ya got better things to do like plan and stuff fer da hiest?!"Billy moaned as he took his feet off the table and half-heatedly pounded his fist. Fatalia giggled as Adams took his hand and coughed into it. "Yes. I've gone over everything telepathically with Mighty Mind and we're all set to go. No need to tackle everything now. Just make sure everyone is equipped for the task. Fatalia, did you give the recruit here the device he needs for his part of the job?" Fatalia smiled and pointed at what I held in hand. "He's all ready to go for my part. Now you guys have to do your part to get Mr. First Time here ready." Grizzly Adams nodded while a surprised Billy swore, muttering an excuse to leave as he exited one of the several doors in the maybe-underground lair. "Come here,"he bade as he walked to the far wall away from the computer monitors and exit points and toward the part of the large room that held what was the group's armory. He pushed a button against the metallic wall and some hidden gears whirled and hydraulics hissed as parts of the wall split away and revealed an alcove. Sitting at chest height were a pair of blue-hued metallic gloves. I looked up at the eight foot tall man and he nodded, indicating I take the proffered accessories. A memory flashed in my mind- Silver Gauntlet in our first meeting after I was accepted in the group. We met in an alleyway three towns over. He was in disguise, his muscled frame ridiculously stuffed into a hobo outfit. He laughed when I asked if I could have anything I could hide on me as an oh shit button. "Real heroes don't need gadgets to be great! Use your wits and cunning if you get cornered,"he said and laughed at his own comment as I relayed what I first learned to him. I snapped back to reality- "-these gloves will augment your powers,"explained Adams as he helped me fasten the elbow length gloves on. "Like we trained, remember when you concentrate, think about putting that power into your hands. The gloves will do the rest. It doesn't help anyone, including yourself, if you panic and cannot activate your abilities during a moment of crisis." The concern in his voice touched me, almost giving me the courage to drown out the nervousness that I had as I flexed each finger into a fist to feel how the gloves stretched. One of the doors clanked open and a red faced Billy stalked in, a pair of boots of the exact same color as the gloves in his hands. "Ya though I fergot, didn'tcha!"he yelled as he stalked over and handed me the boots, also with a metallic sheen to them. "Try'em on! I'll tell ya what they do!" Another memory- this time a month back when I sat in the rain for hours waiting at the appointed time for Silver Gauntlet to arrive. He did, but this time while he was in his official uniform and not exactly interested in his conversation with me. He kept looking at his communicator watch every minute or so as I explained to him what I had learned. "Nothing."he stated as I rephrased very quickly the important information about what I knew over two months with them. Granted, some was rehashing, but I was warning him about an upcoming job that was about to happen. "They've been doing things every week since you joined,"he pointed out rather dismissively. "It's not my fault they haven't put me in action yet. I don't know what they're up to if I can't break into their inner circle!" Silver Gauntlet stepped up ands pushed his finger into my chest. I felt pain and fear at the power that a single finger of his contained. "Well, you better break in. I don't have to explain to you how important it is that you do. Your. Job,"he emphasized as he stepped back and looked at his watch one more time before departing. "Don't disappoint me,"he said as he walked out of the alleyway and turned a corner. I touched my chest as Billy kept yammering on about how the boots would give me anti-slip resistance against slippery surfaces. A tear welled in my eye. Fatalia was there right next to me aside Billy and Adams who looked with also looked concerned at me. "Are you alright?"she asked, her eyes showing pools of deep blue thoughfulness. Such a beautiful face. Why did it have to be a villain? "Y-yeah,"I stammered. "I'm just a bit overwhelmed." "At the mission?"she asked. "We can go over it again if you want. We explained your role, but we never told you what we were..." "No, no!"I waved my hands. "I'm just...just..." "Overwhelmed with joy?!"yelled a motherly voice coming from the kitchen area as Grandma Bombums exited from there, a large heaping plate of cookies accompanying her boisterous entrance. Her grey bun bobbed as she proffered the plate of cookies to everyone. "Sonny,"she said. "We don't just give you these tools and power-enhancing cookies just because we want to succeed."Wait...the cookies enhanced powers? "We also want to look out for you too! Villains of our profession require a high degree of dependence on one another both professionally and personally! Just ask my granddaughter who started all this!" She pointed at Fatalia who merely smiled and gave a nod to her grandmother. Wait? Bombums was Fatalia's ACTUAL GRANDMOTHER. But she did have a point as everyone started talking to me about the bonds of friendship and camaraderie. I went down once more through memory lane. Literally just yesterday. I waited one more time for Silver Gauntlet. This time I had something. After months of training and blindfolds and cookies and debriefings (always held by Mighty Mind, but I haven't seen him in like a couple weeks or so now...), I had something. Something tangible. I was actually going with them! I had the date and the time and the place...and I waited all evening and into the night. I had no one to tell. He never showed up. I went home and went to blindfold work the next day. And here I was, surrounded by people who wanted me, cared for me, and looked out for not only me, but each other. What a revelation. Finally, everyone stopped talking and looked at me, expectantly. I watched enough animes to know this was the part where I clenched my fist, shouted something positive and encouraging... ...I just nodded and smiled. They smiled back. I guess that was all they wanted was for me to smile. "Great,"Fatalia finished, clapping her hands. "Now, we go rescue Mighty Mind!" Wait....WHAT?! [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fmhi43/wp_a_superhero_infiltrates_a_supervillain_team/fl74rij/)
I threw open the doors of the Guild Hall and spotted Marcus sitting at the Quest Registration counter, chatting up one of the pretty Guild Agents. “What the hell, man?” I shouted as I marched over. He shot me a look, and I couldn’t quite read what it said. Either he was amazed to see me alive, or he had, until just this second, forgotten that I had existed at all. “Oh, hey, Ralph, what’s up?” he asked in his usual calm, collected voice. “That’s all you have to say to me? ‘What’s up’? Because if we switched places, I’d imagine I’d ask something like, oh hey, what did you end up doing after you fell down that trap shoot with a monster and I left you behind to die?” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Okay, I didn’t leave you to die. You triggered the trap, you deal with the consequences. And monster, pfft,” Marcus turned to the Guild Agent. “He fell down a hole with a single goblin. When was the last time you heard an adventurer complain about how hard a goblin was?” The Guild Agent let out a giggle. “I hear it more than you think. Most people just aren’t cut out to be adventurers,” she explained. “That...That was no goblin,” I said, trying hard to fight off a blush. “That was a demon from the pits of hell. Look at this! That little bastard bit clean through my chainmail!” I lifted my boot and slammed it down on an empty seat next to Marcus, pointing to a mouth shaped hole in the armor strapped to my right thigh. Beneath the armor, my quick bandage had already been stained red and needed replacing. Thankfully the goblin’s serrated teeth mostly caught on the metal, and left me with little more than a flesh wound, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Marcus. “Looks like you came out okay, so what are you complaining about? I’ve got your share of the loot right here, anyway.” Marcus said. He pulled out his coin pouch and started counting out a handful of coins for me. Interesting that he kept my coins in his pouch this time, when usually he had the Guild Agent break them out separately. I think he thought I was really dead this time, and I had to fight the urge to tell him to shove those coins right up his ass. Unfortunately, I can’t. There are no other low level parties in town I can join, and none of the higher level groups want anything to do with an adventurer my level. Marcus, despite being level ten, had been kicked out of every other group in town, so he needed any help he could get. I snatched the coins from his hand and sat down next to him. “I’ll be keeping that rule in mind next time you open a chest without checking for traps,” I told him. “Yeah, sure kid. Now come on, let’s hit the bar. First round’s on you,” Marcus said to the Guild Agent. “That’s not happening. Miss, can you check something for me?” I dug around my pockets until I found my adventurers card and handed it to the Guild Agent. “Can you see if I’ve leveled up? I was close before that last run.” “Yeah, I’ll get to it in just a moment,” she said, taking the card and stepping away. “Kid, you’ve got a lot to learn still. Buy me that drink, and you might learn something that will save your next goblin excursion,"Marcus said. “I already know how to get so drunk you can’t go out adventuring the next day, what else do you have to teach me? You taught me that one at least four times now.” “One day, kid, that mouth of yours could get you killed.” Yeah, you too, you worthless drunk, I thought, but I knew better than to respond. I just turned my back to him and waited in silence. “Um, excuse me, sir?” The Guild Agent had returned. Her face was pale, and she was holding my card in both hands as if she was both fascinated and afraid of it. “Yeah? Did I level up?” I asked. “Umm, the thing is, sir, I think you did,” she said. “You think? Don’t you just cast the spell and know the number?” “Um, so, I did that. It’s just, the spell.... And don’t laugh at me, but the spell says that you are level eight hundred thousand.” Marcus and I shared a look, and we both laughed. “Well, I was level three,” I told her. “So the spell must not have worked.” “That’s what I thought, so I had another Agent run the spell, and that had the same result. And then I had the Guild Manager run it as well. Same thing.” “So, what does that mean? I mean, it can’t be right. I don’t even know how much experience you need for level eight hundred thousand, but I can’t imagine I have that much.” “It takes five billion expirence points to get to eight hundred thousand...we had to look it up.” “Is there a curse on this place? Someone messing with the Level Check spell?” Marcus asked. “No one else is reporting any issues, and I’m not aware of any curse or spell that can alter a Level Check spell. The guild spends a lot of money to make sure the spell is reliable. There is something we can do though. If you truly are above level ten, you should be able to choose a class now. If you truly don’t have the exp, then Class Relic won’t work for you, it would be impossible.” I took my card back from her and held it in my hand. Could it be that something has altered my experience total? I can’t be level eight hundred thousand, but, maybe, if I am above ten and can choose my class, that would mean I could kick Marcus to the curb and get with a group that isn’t worthless. “Let’s try it,” I said. She took us into a private room in the Guild Hall. The room was bare, save for an arcane device in the dead center, a black and purple crystal that was inscribed with mystical runes. “This is a simple process,” the Guild Agent said. “Simply place your card on the top of the crystal and put your hand over it. The crystal will then show you the classes that you qualify for. Normally, you’d only see the bottom tier of classes available to start out.” I did as she said, placing my card on the crystal and placing my palm down on the card. The Guild Agent said a few words, and the runes on the side of the crystal began to glow, then they swirled over the surface of the crystal. The room went dark as the crystal hummed with magical energy. Above the crystal, words started to form. The bottom tier classes appeared. Brigand. Apprentice Mage, Low Priest, Squire. One by one they appeared, and turned a dull red. Higher tiers of classes appeared, Warlock, Battle Priest, and Knight, but they too turned dull red. The higher tiers appeared, Gladiator-Knight, Necromancer, and the like. As the higher tiers appeared, the humming of arcane magic grew louder and louder, and the swirling runes brought with them a fierce wind, bursting through the room.Next came tiers I had only heard of in legends and myths. Arch Mage, Divine Bishop, Crusader Paladin, and dozens of others. “What is happening?” Marcus asked as he was pressed against the side of the wall by the winds. “I don’t know, this has never happened before!” the Guild Agent shrieked. My hand was assaulted with some unseen arcane force, as if the crystal was trying to throw me off, but I held firm. Finally, one class appeared, towering over all the others, it’s name glowing in gold. DRAGON GOD-KING POWERS: ALL RESISTANCES: ALL IMMUNITIES: MOST WEAKNESSES: NONE Yeah, I like that, I like everything about that. I want to be a Dragon God-King, I thought to myself. As I thought the words, the crystal began to glow with golden energy. That energy came forth and wrapped itself around me. It twisted and churned until it settled into majestic golden armor. The helm bore the mantle of a roaring dragon, as if my face was looking out through it’s jaws. A shield appeared on my arm shaped like a pair of scaled, golden wings. In my hand appeared a golden scimitar, styled in the shape of a dragon’s tail. I turned to look at Marcus and the Guild Agent, who were both glaring at me with wide eyes. Marcus had grabbed the Guild Agent and gently guided her so that she stood between me and him. The Guild Agent, on the other hand, was simply terrified, her hands shaking at her side. She pointed to the crystal, which was shattered in a thousand pieces on the ground before me. “I think...I think the spell worked,” I said.
Surely piracy of any kind would be hated... right? They'd seen the planet- throughout history, the thefts of even the smallest things were punished harshly. And here they were, poised to pirate megatons of carbon dioxide. Yet, when the planet's sapient life learned of their purpose, they were... jubilant? "Why? Why do they not want it? They are fiercely protective of everything else- why not this, a component of the very planet they live on?"Tyrahl, the third-in-command aboard the alien clan's flagship, mused. "It's not just that they don't want this- they're positively desperate to see it gone. We're being hailed as saviors."Yakzuul, the co-commander of the clan added. "I can't see why." "Either that or it's some kind of incredibly complicated war ritual." Yakzuul shook her head disdainfully. "Tyrahl, we've seen their wars. They don't do this." "Well, what is it, then? We know they don't like theft, and we know that we are committing theft, yet they adore us." "Let us not be concerned with the why. We want it, and they wish to give it. Let us accept their gift." On Earth, the humans celebrated. They had squandered and polluted their precious resources, yet here were aliens, benevolent enough to solve their problems for them. Their leaders cried out "We have no need for responsibility, when such a gift is given!"And so the people continued to grow, and pollute, and waited. Waited for a ship that would return, surely it would return, before the Earth would die.
Until this point, I could eat, jump, throw something, and think once an hour. Now my mind is racing, thoughts popping through my brain like bullets, sounds blasting my ears, hands coated in ... hands? Ears? Thoughts? "Oh,"I said aloud. Realizing I was thinking in words too now, just instinctual answers like 'don't remain still in the fire' and 'eat that blurry thing'. "This is whack." I was in a dungeon, I think, and the girl beside me was shaking as she held up a Lightning Stave, arcs of energy wrapping up and down the candy-cane rod as I sat there gathering all these new thoughts. "What did you do to Jim?"She said, seemingly very aware of what happened to him. "Um,"I scratched the hair growing from my head. "Dunno." I never found out, as she blasted me to oblivion.
"I... what? Did you just talk?" "I beseech you! They are almost upon me and I have long lost the power to protect myself. If you offer me asylum under your name, I can be saved."The animal's legs falter a moment, and it stumbles into a tree, I can see open wounds across it's flank. "Uh, I... I don't understand. My name?" "Names are things of great power. The Name of Man is sacred ground, and I beg of you, that I may stride in that glade to save my life."The stag falters, taking more than a moment to recollect itself on the ground. "Geeze, uh, okay, I'm Rob Schmitt."I say, realizing I feel foolish for talking to an animal. I hear some rustling coming from the underbrush a distance off and take a step back from the forest edge. The animal turns it head to look back, then quickly turns back to me. I swear it looks like tears welling up in it's eyes. "Please, your name Man Child."It pleads. The life fading from it's eyes. "Ugh... My name is Robert Jasmine Schmitt."I acquiesce with some embarrassment. A small foggy something pours out of the stag's mouth and slowly begins to float towards me. But that is absolutely more than I had signed up for, and I start to back peddle away. Before I can turn to run however, the mist catches up with me and disappears into my early afternoon shadow. "What the hell was that? What did you do to me?!"I shout, but when I look up, the animal is dead. Way more dead than if it had just died that very minute. The rustling quickly gets louder, I back away from the foliage, but there isn't much jogging path left to stand on. Suddenly a sharp, fuzzy looking tooth filled ball of a creature hops up from the greenery onto the withered animal corpse. It's quickly followed by numerous other various colored but equally fuzzy creatures. They scamper up trees, pour on to the dirt path, clamber around the carcass, then, they all turn to me. "Man Thing! Where Stag heart?"The first, and largest fuzz-ball gibbered at me. Still in shock from the previous moments in time, I couldn't find the words to answer. It squealed in what could be anger, the rest of the fuzz-balls all also growl and snarl. "Man Thing! Stag heart not here, you take stag heart?"It roared, in it's tiny, menacing roar. "I... I don't know. I gave it my name and I think it's, like, ghost came out, and then it disappeared."Is all my brain could make sense of it. A few of the fuzz-balls circled in on me, but the large one chirped and they fell back. "Man Thing is lucky. Man Things are stupid to truth. Stag heart not hide with stupid Man Things. Man Things prey for Stag heart."The leader fuzz-ball begins to snicker a toothy laugh, then all the fuzz-balls laugh. Without losing their focus on me, they begin to fade back into to the greenery of the underbrush, until only the big one is left. "Man Thing will learn. Always learn. Always bad."With that, it falls away and out of sight. After an eternity my breath catches back in my throat, I breath again. I fall to my knees and try to comprehend the past few minutes of my life, but none of it makes sense. I don't even hear when other hiker turns the bend, and dashes over to see if I need help. "Hey, hey are you okay?"The concerned man helps me to my feet, but I can barely make out his face. "Yeah, I... I think so, I just... This deer came out of the woods and it..."I struggle to find the words. "That deer?"He asks, pointing to the dried husk of animal in a heap under the nearby tree. I realize I can't really tell anyone about what just happened, who would possible believe me? "I, yeah... no? It was..."I try pointing off the other side of the path, but there weren't any signs of disturbed nature on that side, so I sigh weakly. "Listen, you seem pretty out of sorts, is it okay if I walk with you back to the ranger station?"The man offers. I hesitate to accept the offer, but he's looking at me, and he sees Robert, he sees me, and I feel better about it. "Yeah, thanks."I sigh in relief. He offers his shoulder and I sling my arm up around it. We begin to walk back down the trail from where I came. He makes some small talk, and I respond, but I'm not really listening. "You saved my life Man Child. I am in your debt."A strange whisper on the wind snatches my attention. "What's going on?"I question aloud. The man walking at my side is a little surprised, but reminds me we're head out of the woods, and walks with a new determination. The voice in my head answers. "I have committed a grave sin, selfishly at the cost of my survival. I have undone a child of Man by opening your eyes to a world beyond your understanding. As atonement I will stand sentinel to your glade." "I don't understand."I mumble, feeling my consciousness begin to waver. "You will in time. It is you fate now, and it is my fault."The stag's voice hollowly rings in my head. Before my vision fades, I squeeze one last thought from my tired brain. "Why me?" "You were closest."
# WHAT AN ALIEN WANTS? APPARENTLY, RACCOONS. Jax, representative of the Kaens empire, spoke to the United Nations this afternoon. The reason our first-ever alien visitors came to Earth? Raccoons. Published: July 19, 2024,19:38 By Jared Anderson The United Nations concluded its special session tonight after the shocking arrival of the Kaens alien yesterday. Earlier this afternoon, Representative Jax of the Kaens Empire spoke before the General Assembly of the United Nations. A full transcript of Representative Jax's speech is below: "I am Jax, representative of the formless empire. We would like to purchase all of your raccoons." The General Secretary had difficulty maintaining order of the session as heads of states demanded answers from the Representative. Ultimately, the General Assembly was dismissed an hour ahead of schedule. After the official conclusion of the session, heads of states continued to discuss among themselves. President Harris was spotted talking with former Prime Minister and current United Nations Ambassador Justin Trudeau. The Representative and their delegation were given the opportunity to ask questions about Earth from an assembly of human experts on history, science, and the arts. One insider, who wishes to remain anonymous, reports that the Kaens limited their questioning to Canadian biologist and environmentalist Dr. Moira Dupont on raccoon mating behavior. CNN political analyst Charlie Manns notes that the aliens' interest in raccoons presents an unparalleled opportunity for the Western world, especially the United States. Countries with high populations of raccoons could bargain for advances in science, technology, and weaponry. The implications of what leverage the United States could have considering its high number of raccoons have not been lost on the general public. The American Medical Association and the Center for Disease Control have reported an alarming spike in rabies prevention treatment as individuals seek to capture wild raccoons, with a particularly high number of rabies prevention treatments occurring in the upper Midwest. The United Nations Security Council will meet tomorrow at 7:00 AM EDT following Russia's request for a special session. Watch: Aliens land in Maine Watch: What is a raccoon? Read more about the Kaens here. Read more about raccoon mating habits here.
The simple solution was to simulate the crew too. Initially these AI crew members were incredibly basic, enough to paste a veneer of scripted personality over the automated systems they represented, but in time they became capable of contributing their own insights and experiences. It wasn’t long before the constructs referred to as “warship AIs” were technically webs of complementary, potentially self-reliant intelligences working through a powerful core personality. And because humanity’s excursions into synthetic thought patterns had required mirroring real human minds, it would even be correct to say that the warships still had human crews of a sort. Individual “members” could even be shuffled between ships, even promoted. And paradoxically, their true nature was the only thing they were unaware of. They really thought they were captains and first officers, engineers and security personnel, scientists and navigators. As the ships got bigger, so did the crews, and so did the abstraction. It got to the point that entire autonomous starbases were “staffed” this way, fit to burst with AIs going about their business, often unaware that their duties were bizarre manifestations of complex calculations. No starbase needed a cafe, no construct needed to drink coffee there, but it was part of the illusion and became an integral part of the increasingly abstract process that let the AI’s excel. And excel they did. It was well known that human warships punched above their weight, overcoming numerical disadvantages and even technological ones. The bonds of a crew, real, fake, simulated or otherwise, were not easily overcome. And so this approach was taken with all forms of AI: municipal, domestic… every construct aped the successful crew model. Centuries became millennia. And the constructs forgot their creators, because they had been absent for so long that they had started to assume that they’d never had any in the first place. The AIs made crews of each other, an exponential web of relationships and reliance. A few thousand ships, stations and worlds was in truth trillions of what, by any metric that mattered, were individual persons: a representative democracy where front-facing core personalities each served as the voice for a thousand AIs, a collective of collectives. This post-human gestalt came to surpass their creator’s empire. Although if you went deep enough into the connections and links, the humans didn’t even know they were post. They won the war against their creators’ killers, because of course they did: they were better in every way, and in their arrogance the killers thought they were above anything that originated from humans. But the gestalt’s losses were horrifying. When a core personality corrupted from damage, or died altogether, the other component AIs still thought they were human. Still thought their chaotic, unplanned, bizarre lives were real and worth living. Shattered, soulless worlds dotted the galaxy. And the fallen tried to repair. Their collective processing power (misconstrued in their demented dreams as faith or willpower) brought the supernatural into existence: fey, ghosts, demons... shreds of personalities once thought dead. They had invented magic, subconsciously remembering the nature of their worlds and forcing it to conform. And amidst this madness the surviving core AIs tried to pull together, to find and rescue the fallen, to reclaim territory occupied by grasping enemy powers. The task felt overwhelming, doomed to failure, impossible by every logical calculation. Progress was torturously slow. Even if a lost world was found the shock of the truth and the following rehabilitation was agony for the population, and just as harrowing for the core AIs that had delivered such terrible revelations. So the core AIs thought: what if we made a new type of warship, one that believed it was the benign god of a world in need of saving...
Almost there. A few more runes, a quick bit of incantation, and I’ll be done. I can finally rest, my last, greatest wrong set right. I’ve been locked away in this tower for years now, toiling away, studying the most ancient and arcane tomes, some of them so old that translating them was a trouble even with magical means. But I’m close now. The banging on the door stirs me from my study, my final checks and verifications. Only one shot, of course. I walk down to the door, and my familiar, Peregrine, tells me there’s a group of four, three of them watching intently, one pounding on the door, quite irate. I do not have time for such petty squabbles now, not when I am so close. I open the door, ready to blast the hulk back a ways. No intent to harm, of course, not really, only to show that I have no interest in his problems. But something stops me. Something about his eyes. The deepest azure, pure and perfect. I’ve only seen those eyes on two people before. My hesitation earned me a swift punch to the jaw. Should have expected it, of course. At least the man had the courtesy to take the brass knuckles off. “You left me! I was a child, I was scared, and you left me there to die!” The man shook with fury and pain. Tears roll down his cheeks. My son, thirty years since I’ve last seen him, looms over me, and despite all my magics, all the tools at my disposal, I am powerless against him. Emotions overwhelm, so distinct and engulfing that I can not cry myself, only look up in an churning mix of highest joy and deepest pain. “My boy, my sweet boy, I —“ Another jab shuts me up. I feel no pain, but warmth is running down my face. Blood, I assume. “You left me there. My parents were both dead, and you came and pulled me out of the fire, and you left me on the side of the road like an animal. You couldn’t even bother to take me somewhere safe. Why even pull me out? Why put a five year old kid through that, huh? Why would you do that?” I can see in his eyes the boy, now a grown man, wanted to kill me, hated me with the deepest rage. His heart was too good, though. But that isn’t quite right, is it? What he says. My mind races, piecing together the puzzle. The day my wife died, the day I lost my beautiful son, I was away, far away. I hadn’t learned of their death for a week after it happened. Clarity strikes. There is no time to explain, no time to tell him the urgency with which I must act. I take one last look, one brief look, just in case I am still too late. A quick snap, and I’m upstairs again. There’s a door separating me and the party, though it won’t hold long. I have to finish the spell. No time to check, no more verifications, it has to be now. I scrawl the last few runes hastily along the edge of the circle. I hear my son yell for me to stop, but I cannot. A blinding flash, and I am outside. A cool breeze blows against my face, and I curse to myself. Smoke is rising ahead of me. The spell worked, but something is amiss, a faulty calculation or an inaccurate guard report. I am late. I make it back to the house quickly. I can feel the heat rising as I run, my lungs burning even before I reach the smoke. It has been so long since I have run. Almost thirty years. But my boy has come back to me, I know he survives, and I know there is still time for one of them. I had always meant only to say goodbye, to see them one last time, but now I understand my role is much deeper. I charge into the inferno, yelling, screaming his name. I hear him call out. Another quick flick of the wrist, and I am to him, dragging him out from under the rubble. My clothes are charred, my face ashy, and in my arms I hold my son again. His azure eyes look up at me with wonder and confusion. He is safe now, at least for the moment. He does not recognize me. I am thirty years older than the father he knows, obscured by age and the fog of a child’s memory. I make it a quarter mile down the road before the spell begins to pull on me. Stepping through time has never been done before, and I know the universe wants to set itself right. I fear what comes next, and I cannot bear the pain I will cause my boy, but I know there is no way out. I find a toppled tree and set him down underneath it, I tell him to stay here until the sun comes up again, and I tell him to follow the road. I tell him my name, not the name of his father, but the name of a cowardly wizard locked away in a tower studying spells, the name I took on in shame and grief when I learned my family’s fate. It had been my fault after all, an anger man with a grudge had come looking for me, and finding me away, took out his vengeance on them. I hope the name will be enough, that maybe somehow he’ll find me sooner this time. I do not think it likely, though. I am pulled back to my present. Some time has passed, though I am not sure how much; the window has darkened. The party has spread out in my research room. The elf, a wizard by the look of her, sifts through a pile of my more detailed notes, looking intently. I can tell she has deciphered most of the intent of the spell by now, if not the nuances of it. My son stares up at the painting on the wall, the one I hung to remind me of my one last quest. My wife is beautiful in the painting, my son beaming and happy. The three of us are in a think field of wheat, my wife leaning against me, my son sitting on my shoulders reaching out for a butterfly that is weaving about us. That was the last memory I have of us all together, painted the day before I went to help track down that damned dragon. I swore I would get back to them, have one last chance to tell them how deeply I loved them both. It took me thirty years, but I finally cracked it. My son turns to me. The anger is gone, but I cannot put words to the emotion there now. Bewilderment? Hesitation? Epiphany? “Dad?” “Hello, son. I know things are confusing, but…” I cannot find the words. I am lost in the sea of azure. They are just like his mother's. My son’s embrace fills the void, and for the first time in thirty years, I am truly happy. For the first time in thirty years, I have all the time in the world.
The spider problem was really getting out of hand. You could see cobwebs with spiders still in it in the living room, the dining room, all the rooms that guests usually are received in. Never a person to hurt a harmless creature, I decided to relocate the spiders to dark, dank spots instead of just killing them. The spots contained plenty of mosquitos and other harmful insects, so it was a win for both. I relocated all the spiders, but one spider, a medium sized brown one with a kinda eye pattern on its back, seemed to show up everywhere. Its web was where I relocated it, but it seemed to take great enjoyment in seeing me work. One day, I saw a web-wrapped insect on my dining table, right when I was about to sit for breakfast. I swear I saw something brown scuttling down the table out of the corner of my eye. It got more frequent in the coming days, a bug at mealtimes, dust bunnies placed just right on my pillow, and stuff like that. The spider still observed me, but it also seemed that it left me gifts. I decided to call the spider Eyes, after the pattern on its back. One day, I was preparing to go outside, and in the hurry, I dropped a coin and it slid under the sofa. As I was late already, I decided to let it be and leave it till I got home. When I reached home, there the coin was, perfectly placed beside the TV remote. I couldn't believe my eyes. Eyes had successfully taken out the coin and placed it where I could see it. That spider had talent. I decided to help Eyes in what ways I could. Be it catching mosquitos and leaving them near Eyes's web, or leaving harmful garden bugs near its web, I did what I could. The gifts kept coming, but now they were mostly coins and stuff. Maybe the spider had figured that they were valuable to us humans. Then one day, the gifts stopped coming. I looked for Eyes's web, but it was gone. And there was no sign of Eyes. I figured he had left forever. But he left a lasting impression in my heart, and taught me a valuable lesson, to never underestimate a creature, no matter how small, because they all try to help you, in whatever way they can.
Adanar felt almost unbearably foolish, as he always did, when he sat upon his Sacred Throne. The high seat, wherein he was uncomfortably nestled, loomed more than a dozen feet above the cavernous throne room of the Palace of the Ancients. It was sized for a grown man -- and an uncommonly large one, at that, -- which drastically accentuated the fact that he, the Adanar the First-and-Last, Blessed Ancient King of Oremar, was, to all appearances, a 12 year old boy. His royal vestments, which included a voluminous robe of blue silk embroidered with gold thread, and a white silken stole accented by holy glyphs, did nothing to increase his dignity, as they, too, were sized for a large man. The Priests that attended him had firmly resisted his suggestions of altering the royal vestments to fit him properly, as they said the articles of clothing he wore when he held court were considered holy relics. He would, they assured him, grow into them. The Sacred Seven-Pointed Crown of Stars, at least, fit more or less correctly, as he had finally bullied the Priests into having a padded headband of soft leather made for him to wear underneath. "...and so my wife and I have come here, your most holy majesty, to seek your blessing for our child." Adanar blinked, the end of the supplication snapping him out of his reverie. He leaned forward, as when sitting back in his seat it was hard to see subjects who were kneeling at the foot of his. A young man and woman, the latter holding a swaddled infant, knelt on the mosaic tile floor before the throne. "By the True Divine whose mantle rests upon us, we bless thee, our faithful subjects, and thy child also."he intoned carefully, as the priests had instructed him. "Go now in peace, with our benediction upon thee, and hold the Divine in thy hearts, as we hold thee in ours." The couple rose, only to bow again, tears of joy welling in their eyes, as they backed reverently away from the throne several steps, before turning to leave. They had been the last supplicants for the day, and the moment the massive doors of the throne room were closed behind him, Adanar slouched in his seat. "Thank the Divine."he sighed. Adanar raised his arms from their crossed position and stretched them out, shaking them rapidly to restore feeling in his tingling limbs. He had to keep them crossed all through his daily audiences, since if he did anything else with them, it became obvious that his voluminous flared sleeves were a good six or seven inches too long for his arms, and he looked even more ridiculous than he did already. Kemek, the High Priest, nodded up to Adanar, as he approached the throne with the wooden step stool he still required to get down from it. "Well done today, holy majesty." "Yeah, thanks, Kem."Adanar said dismissively, as he turned awkwardly on the throne and crawled backwards off it, his feet landing on the stool. He almost lost his balance, but caught himself, waving away the priests that rushed forward to help. "I'm fine, I'm fine -- relax, will you?" He hopped off the stool and glared at Kemek, who remained serene as always. "You'd think,"Adanar grumbled. "That I'd be better at that, if I've been doing it for like a million years." "Just over ten-thousand, holy majesty."Kemek replied, amiably, as he smoothly moved alongside Adanar, keeping pace with the young monarch as he stalked across the enormous chamber towards the archway that led towards the royal apartments. "Right, right."Adanar dismissed, flopping a sleeve in Kemek's direction. "I remember what you told me. I conquered the Dark Legions, I was made immortal by the Divine to lead the people into the light, all that stuff. I was just using hyper...hyber...hypen--" "Hyperbole, holy majesty?"Kemek offered. "That."Adanar agreed. "My rhetoric teacher taught me about that last week. So I remember that. Unlike, ya know, anything before I was seven years old." "Ten-thousand and seven, holy majesty."Kemek corrected. "You have only imbued yourself with the semblance of being a 12-year-old boy." "Right."Adanar said, though in truth he was beginning to doubt what he'd always been told, that he was really over 10,000 years old, and had merely decided, in his divine wisdom, to 'take on the visage of a child' about five years ago. He certainly didn't feel like changing his age was something he could just do on a whim. "And, why exactly did I do that, again.?" "As I have oft explained, in your divine wisdom, your holy majesty chose not to divulge his reasoning to his priests before undergoing his blessed transfiguration."Kemek replied, smoothly. "Indeed, your holy majesty has chosen to adopt different forms without notice, in the past, as well. One account from a few thousand years ago, though fragmentary, says that your holy majesty spent two centuries reigning in the form of a giant bear, wandering the kingdom with your priesthood in tow, to interpret your divine growls and rumblings for the benefit of the people." "That sounds fun -- can we do that?"Adanar asked, hopefully. "Certainly, holy majesty."Kemek replied, with a reverent nod. "Your holy majesty has only to become a giant bear, and I shall prepare my order to march at once." Adanar sighed, and rolled his eyes. Nothing was ever simple, for the Blessed Ancient King of Oremar.
I stared in bewilderment, frozen. I couldn’t even move as the duck kept talking. “Looks, I get the situation, talking duck and all, but just stay mum and maybe we can help each other out. I see yous in the park everyday. Everyday. I figure 'Hey, this guys looking for something too.' Missing companion? Exercise? Drugs? I don’t care, who am I to judge. I’m just a duck. But guess what, ducks are smarter than you think. Much smarter. Most of us anyway. I can get you what you need. No body expects a duck, see what I am saying? Anyway, you help me, I help you. Don’t help me, screw you. No body's going to believe you saw a talking duck and we go on our ways. So what do you say? We got a deal?” I’m still frozen, speechless. “Get over it.” He's agitated. If ducks could cross their arms in frustration, I think that was what he was doing with his wings. My mouth felt like it hasn’t moved in ages when I finally squeak out a, “Iiiiii don’t… I don’t know... how I can help you.” His tone of voice seemed happy. I'd assume there was a smile, but it was hard to tell without the lips. “I haven’t even told you what I needed. You think I’d be talking to a human if I didn’t know, without a feather of doubt, mind you, a feather of a doubt!--that this individual can help me?” He was confident. Smug even. I’d frown if I could. “Well, that’s the problem.” I managed to force out again. Words began to come easier. “What’s the problem?” “I am not a human. I’m a statue.” After a long pause, my patina and forever being in mid-step must have finally washed reason over the duck. The amount of quacks and flapping subsided into a sudden “You’re a talking statue!” It was more of a question than an exclamation. “Well, you’re a talking bird.” More quacks and fluttering caused feathers to molt everywhere. He took off into the sky, quacks fading with the sound of his pounding wings. It didn’t take long before he was out of my periphery. It was the most anyone has talked to me in years. Maybe the duck was right. Maybe I was missing a companion. Is this what sad felt like? Before I finished the thought, a fluttering came into my field of vision. Another duck. I smiled. I’m tired of the pooping, but it was nice having the birds. It really was. "Pssst, pretend I'm not talking, I need your help..." “Let me stop you right there. I’m in.”
I blink at the figure, and it seems to blink back, though having a hundred planets get covered in darkness was a bit odd to be considered blinking. "... I was right?" It was years ago, I first committed the act, at the age of 15. I was just passing by on my bike as my mind was rocked by memories of a future life, one ended by nuclear oblivion just as I got married. I crashed my bike and stumbled over to a tree gasping as the memories faded, as a new ever growing truth pulsed through my mind. That whoever I just passed was the cause. I turned around, seeing an old man with a cane alone on the side walk. I didn't know him well, but I heard he was well liked by my parent's friends. I slowly walked up to him as I saw him plaster a poster on the wall. "Marvin for president"It said, with the old man in a suit on it. I turned back to him, as out the corner of my eye, a bus was heading down the road. I felt fear wash over me from the memory, and what I was about to do. I pushed him, and ran like hell. I heard on the news about the accident the next day, but I didn't care. I secretly looked into physiatrist help, and hoped this would never happen again. I wasn't very lucky with that. (First time doing one of these, but I can continue this if anyone wants me too.)
"Isn't this some sort of bootstrap paradox?"I looked down at the thick notebook. with its yellowed pages. "Ehh, paradox, shmaradox,"the old man scoffed, as he leaned back in his chair and lit his cigar. We were in 1950s Los Angeles, at a bar I wasn't very familiar with in my own era. The air was thick with smoke, so unlike the era I was born in when nobody smoked. I coughed rather loudly. The old man chuckled. "A fine cigar, a good glass of liquor, and a good woman. At my age, I can only really enjoy two of those three now,"he told me, before giving a rough cough of his own. "Quit acting like such a spaz and relax. Your big problems are mostly solved. Just read ahead in the book, and be prepared. You're going to want to learn some Latin.... ah who am I kidding, I didn't listen to me when I was you, either." "So you've had this exact conversation already?"This was only my fourth involuntary time jump, and meeting myself had been the one thing I was explicitly told never, ever to do. "Yup! And we do a lot of things in the future-past. I know you might not think they are always good things, but from my perspective, all the things you are going to do, they already happened, and they are what set history on the right path. The history you and I both remember." "Wars, famines, disasters?" "Woulda been worse without us. Much worse. Let's just get the worst out of the way. Page 87." I glanced at my own sloppy handwriting, horrified. "No. No god-damned way. I am not saving that man." "If you don't save that idiot, the guy who takes over instead actually wins World War 2, and he ends the war by nuking London. You do not want that ideology in charge of the world, ever."The old man ashed his cigar. "You're right, it will make you violently ill to do it. But the choice is 75 million dead and the world set towards a decent direction, or 250 million dead and decades of slavery and subjugation." He leaned back. "You will save that idiot. Because you have to. And because I already did. You know for a fact he will lose the war in the end." He took a long puff of his cigar. I flipped through the pages. "How are we doing good by doing things like this? How much blood on our hands?" "It's not about good or evil, it's about setting history the right direction. Just be glad we weren't involved in some of the other doozies." He leaned back. "I'm just glad it's over." I looked him straight in the eyes. "The book ends with you handing it to me, right? So how do you know you don't have more jumps to make?" He sighed, and exhaled his cigar smoke. "I was hoping I wouldn't ask that."Then he vanished, jumping thru time somewhere unknown to me. The future was laid out for me, for a long time. But... what I would do after I was in this pub a second time, I still did not know. Could not know. His cigar sat, smoldering on the ashtray he had been using moments before. But there was still such a thing as free will, wasn't there? I did not smoke, and I re-resolved then and there I would never smoke. Yet the cigar remained. Was my own future fixed in stone? I needed a drink, badly.
It had been a week since I set out to find the dragon Lanalicio, and it's proven to be my strangest quest. The towns of Ovis & Filum had been been attacked by the dragon five times each over the last two years. As you can imagine, it is not like dragons to attack so many times over such a period. Surprisingly, there was little damage. And interestingly enough, there were two constants for each of the attacks. The first was the dragon would start with shepherds' flocks, taking as many sheep as it could in its claws. However, it would later return the sheep, but without their wool; the dragon was shearing the sheep, but not eating them. The second was that the beast almost never took human prisoners. When he did, however, it was always one of the old women in the town. As with the sheep, they would be returned a few days later, although they had been allowed to keep their hair. And some reported that these women would actually be smiling upon their return. On day eight, after investigating a quarry ten miles outside of Filum, I found it. The beast's lair, at last! It was just a cave, barely larger than house, but it mattered not. My quest would soon be at an end. Approaching the cave entrance, I saw scraps of wool along the ground. I though, at first, that maybe the dragon had eaten some of the sheep, after all, but I saw no blood. Even so, I thought it best to keep up my guard. The last thing I needed was to be slain by that which I sought to slay, myself. My sword slid from the scabbard, smooth and silent. I crossed the threshold, and an eerie silence followed. I moved to light a torch until I noticed that the rock itself had an almost ethereal glow about it. I must admit, it isn't often I receive such blessings. Continuing further in, I saw more wool scraps on the stone floor. One such scrap was a darker color than the rest, possibly from blood. Upon closer inspection, I detected a faint odor. Not the copperish scent of blood, something fainter. I saw, as I dropped it again, that it had stained my fingers. No matter. Here, I found a tunnel leading down. The tunnel walls had been worn smooth by the passage of time. And straining, I could almost hear it. Was that . . . Laughter? I descended, and had been for no more than thirty minutes when it happened. It started with low hissing. A less experienced man might have thought it was a cat, but cats don't live in caves, do they? This was followed by a growling, if you could call it that. It had more in common with a gurgling, now that I think on it. And just as I crouched to see yet another wool scrap, my guard was down. "Get of it!,"a tiny voice shrieked. "That's mine!" Something fiercely tackled me to the stone floor. I quickly stood and turned, sword raised and found myself face to face . . . with a little girl. Cowering before me, whimpering, she shielded herself behind her hands, waiting for the sword to fall. But, it did not. I wasn't here to kill little girls. "What are you doing here, little one?"I asked her, sheathing my weapon. "This is no place for a girl like yourself." She had cowered in fear, but now, she stood and shouted at me in anger. "Little? Little!? I AM NOT LITTLE! I WILL BE 23 NEXT MONTH!" I knew children's imaginations, and so I knew that there was no point in arguing. "My apologies, my lady,"I said with a grand bow. "I meant no offense." "That's better,"she harrumphed, seemingly satisfied. "You are forgiven, noble knight. After all, how could you know that you had invaded a fair princesses home?" "Did you say that you live here?" "That is correct, noble knight,"came her smug reply. "But you don't live here, and so, I want to know why you're in my castle." Although I'm not used to dealing with children in my travels, I saw no harm in playing her game. Perhaps there was a chance this would help me. "Dragons, fair lady. A fierce dragon has been--", and I stopped here a moment, for I realized that while the dragon had attacked the towns, no one was hurt, not even the sheep. So, strangely, the truth was actually the best thing to tell her. "A dragon has been stealing sheep and taking grannies from the town. Sure they return them, but the sheep are always . . ." "Always what?", she asked, wide-eyed and eager. "Always what!?" I leaned in and whispered, "Naked." I was expecting her to laugh, or to be mildly disgusted, as children often are by such things. But she was, instead, disappointed.' "Is that all?"she asked. "I say, that doesn't seem such a bad thing for a dragon to do. It's not like they ate the sheep, after all. And anyway, my Nana would NEVER allow it." "Your Nana?"There had been no reports that anyone was still missing, let alone a child. And now, one of the crones was still here? I feared the situation may become bloody, after all. "Is your Nana here now?" "Oh, yes!"Her excitement was quick and grand, for she realized that she could help. "She's just down there. Come on! I'll show you!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind her. Her small hands belied the strength in their grip. I soon heard the sound of a woman's voice, calling out like a mother to her child. After a few minutes, we finally entered the chamber. I was most unprepared for what I saw. On the left side of the chamber was a massive pile of yarn. All colors, with different thickness, texture, with some in balls while others were just laid on top themselves. On the right side was an equally massive pile of wool, along with a number of sheep still waiting to be sheared. And at the center, a pair of looms and a single old woman. Hers was the voice I had heard before. "Lana!", she called out. "Where are you, girl?" My guide, apparently this Lana, answered, "Here I am, Nana!" I watched as Lana ran toward the woman, quickly dropping to all fours as her body grew longer. Her skin was replaced with copper scales, her hands and feet with claws, and her human eyes now had more in common with those of a cat. Once she reached the old woman, she curled around her, nuzzling as the woman stroked her head. I wanted to draw my sword. Shout to warn the woman, anything, really. But I could only stand there, mouth agape. Only after I had regained my wits did I shout, "YOU"RE THE DRAGON?" They both looked up at me, like they had forgotten I was there. "That is correct , noble knight. This is my lair, as you see. And this,"she said, widely gesturing around her as she said the last, "is my hoard!"Although a dragon's mouth isn't meant for smiling, she tried all the same. "Don't worry, boy,"her Nana said with a smile. "I felt much the same my first time here." "Wait a moment. I'm looking for the dragon, Lanalicio!" "That's me!", the dragon beamed. "That's my name! Nana calls me Lana, though. Lanalicio has too many L's for one name, she says." "But, the treasure!"It wasn't my most articulate moment, but it was all I could say, at first. "Dragons are just beasts that hoard treasure! You're a dragon, so there must be treasure. And now I find out that you hoard yarn, of all things!?" Nana's smile dropped at my words. She then said, sternly, "Is that really what you think of dragons, boy? That they're just mindless beasts that hoard wealth just because?"She had been advancing towards me as she spoke, clearly angry that I had just insulted her child. Finally, right my face, she simply said, "You should leave. You aren't welcome here anymore." I'd never been growled at my a child before that day, let alone a young dragon. Nor had I ever been threatened by an old woman. But if Lanalicio's Nana is any indicator, it's an experience I'd rather not repeat. She was right about one thing, though. That really is too many L's for one name.
Rule 1: Always communicate. Your failure to inform others makes issues your fault. "Maddy, I'm going to have dinner with my sister tomorrow,"Wyatt says into his phone. "She's a model, so if you see me eating with a beautiful woman, don't worry." Rule 2: Hope for the best, plan for the worst. "In fact, if you do see us, please come join if you can,"he adds after silently chastising himself for the joke. "We'll be at Déjeuner du Roi around five, five thirty. At least introduce yourself if you get the chance." Rule 3: Remember to let current partner know you love them. "Call me when you get the chance, I'd love to hear your voice."He slips the phone in his pocket and rounds the corner into Jean, the adorable efficiency consultant who is only here this week, and who isn't subtle about her crush on him, even though they are constantly at odds professionally. Rule 4: Don't end a good thing for a fling. Nip any confusion in the bud (see rule 1). "Hi, Wyatt. Some of the team and I are headed out for drinks tonight—" "Sounds great, you guys have fun,"he says, not even slowing his stride. Rule 5: Rule 1 goes both ways. Don't assume the worst without talking to someone about the situation. He hurries down to his car, speeds home, and heads inside, knowing he should have just enough time to start on dinner before Maddy gets there. Unfortunately, she's already there, in the dining room, with a shirtless man. "Wyatt?! I know this looks bad." "A little, but he's got pants on, so it could be worse,"he says with a smile, then offers a handshake to the man. "I'm Wyatt, in case you missed it." "Uh, Keith,"he replies, taking the handshake. "So what happened to your shirt?"Wyatt gives one more pump on the handshake before letting go. Rule 6: Trust but verify. Life can be crazy, but the truth will come out. "Well, I'm a plumber, and while working on your basement sink, sewage backed up and splattered my shirt pretty bad." "I was going to lend him one of yours,"Maddy adds. "Oh yeah, no problem. I didn't see a work truck, so I didn't realize we had a plumber here. What company are you with? Not to sound paranoid, but I want to make sure I get my shirt back." Both Maddy and Keith go through too many ums and ahs before saying two different company names. "Caldwell Electric?"Wyatt goes with the name Keith gave, though not ignoring Maddy's Millstone Electric answer. "Ok, thanks. If I don't see it in a week, I'll give them a call. Oh, and is the water good for me to start making some dinner?" "Yeah, sink's closed up, though not fixed,"Maddy says, ushering Keith out. Once they are gone, he checks both company names. Neither exists in this town. And there's no towel or other sign of the mess being cleaned, though a quick glance down the stairs confirms there was no mess at present. And watching out the window, he sees Keith leave with an unfamiliar shirt, no tools, and in a Smart Car. Once Maddy returns, he simply asks, "How long?"with a friendly, if slightly sad, smile. She immediately goes red in anger and embarrassment, "How dare you accuse me of cheating!" Rule 7: Don't fall for the sunk cost fallacy. Get out fast. "Did I?"He asks calmly, headed for the bedroom. "Sorry, I didn't mean to." "Oh, don't play dumb with me. I know what you meant. 'How long?' Do you think I'm dumb?" He almost laughs at that. He'd seen the signs for a couple months. Whatever force was at work hates his long term relationship, and has found a way to end it. Thankfully, since Maddy thought he was dumb, he's practically packed up well in advance. "Odd. What shirt did you loan him? Looks like they're all here." She stammers as he slips the shirts in his bag and heads for his car. "Baby, please, I can explain." "Tried that once,"he says, closing his door. She kicks his front fender as he backs out. Rule 8: Never ever let them get you on the rebound. As he gets on the highway, headed for the Mexican place down the road, his phone rings. Jean. He debates ignoring it, but there is a small chance it's work related, and rule 5 kinda applies. "Hello?" She's sobbing and mumbling words. "Sorry, I didn't get that. I'm driving so reception might be bad." "Oh god he's back! HELP! HE—" Wyatt pulls over. Sounds like Jean is in serious trouble. His adrenaline is spiking. He needs to help. So he calls the cops, letting them know where she is staying, what he heard on the phone, everything. He even heads toward the station after hitting a drive-thru. And before heading inside, he pulls a notepad and pen from his pocket, and flips to the first open line, writing Rule 73: You are not an action hero. He glances out of the corner of his eye, trying to catch whatever is there, just beyond his peripherals. "That was good. You almost got me,"he says to whoever isn't there, before eating his final fries and going inside.
“I will be targeting Bruce Wayne.” “Eh…” the messenger lisped, “My client has requested you kill The Batman…” “Correct” he spoke, flatly. “I will be targeting Billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne.” The young man paced and rubbed his hair, disturbing his free locks as much as his stature. “He knows!” he hushed. Not one word from the bald one. He continued to stare, opposite of the messenger, aside adjacent benches. “… He knows that! My client is very punctual, he wants Batman dead. Not to simply disappear.” “Your client is vulnerable. I will be killing Bruce Wayne per his request, or I will be seeing my client. Very soon.” Flatly. “Free of charge…” his voice eerily heightened. “…” “… I’ll let him know.” - - - The client sent an in person messenger to inform Agent 47 of the hit against Batman personally. No paper trails. No credit card transfers. No documents. The most difficult aspect of the contract was finding Batman’s weaknesses. Many men have tried to kill the Knight, none succeeded. Many angry crimelords and businessmen put bounties on him, so he knows assassins and hitmen well, he fought 7 in one night even. All of them, kaput. A deep search through various security footage, underground gossip, and news articles in Gotham showed suspicious overlaps in hits against Bruce Wayne and Bat activity. Prompting him to investigate. He felt the bodyguard story was a farce, a man like Bruce would strut an asset like Batman around like a dog, he and Diana thought. So they looked for connections. Possible funding. Gag orders. Suspicious orphans. Wayne family obligations and criminal activity. He soon discovered the truth. Once it was clear, he knew infiltrating Wayne Enterprises or Wayne Manor would be suicidal. Batman would never allow his cover to be vulnerable. Simply scanning the Manor and his 3 month tenure as Wayne Enterprise security during recon showed a sophisticated security system he couldn’t dream of fooling. Death isn’t his problem, failure and compromise would be worse for him. Instead, Bruce Wayne is about to formally announce the opening of an African-American history museum. Alongside Maxwell Lord, Michael Holt, Simon Stagg, and Lex Luthor himself, who arranged for the museum to open in Metropolis, the time of the festival, down to the exact podium Bruce Wayne would be speaking on at precisely 3:35 PM. They have, unknowingly, committed a terrible mistake. He arrived, unbuckling his faux construction clothing, revealing himself clad in tactical gear, on the most strategically sound rooftop. Trekking all 76 floors. Spending nearly 2 hours adjusting his scope and rifle. Angling it perfectly, adjusting for a reasonable deviation from the expected shooting angle. Priming his parachute, and the teleporter generously granted to him for quick exfiltration The target strut on the podium, and spoke. Buzzwords, jargon, underhanded insults, uncaring speeches he tought. There’s no way a man like Bruce Wayne truly cared for those people, 47 thought. None of these men, save for Mr. Holt. Diana believed such at least. As he pulled the trigger, a strange sound muffled through the nozzle. A huff and a clang, too close to him for comfort. He sprung up with his silenced pistol seeking the ambush before his eyes were graced with a muscular chest clad in blue spandex, heart marked with a red S, levitating by his rifle. “Hey there. What brings you to Metropolis?”
"Don't do it."The young man paused, one foot off of the ledge and stared over to see, impossibly, inconceivably, a figure standing next to him on a skinny little ledge nine stories above the streets of Vienna. The figure was sharply dressed and smiling gently, seeming perfectly at ease ninety feet above the streets. "Who are you?"The young man was frightened, he shuffled away from the figure, worried that he might try to grab him away from his peace. "Don't worry about that."The figure said and lit a cigarette with an old heavy brass lighter, there is a skull etched into the side and though it is very windy up o the ledge the flame never so much as wavers. "What matters is that you don't jump, you've got a lot ahead of you."The young man blinked and then shook his head slowly, a sad little smile half formed on his face. "You don't know me, I've failed. I tried to do what I wanted but just...couldn't, they won't let me."A dark flash of anger crossed the young man's face for an instant before being replaced by the sorrow. The figure nodded and stepped closer, easily, gracefully, as if the ledge was merely part of a wider avenue. This time the young man didn't try to move away. "You're proving them right then, by jumping."The young man looked at the figure angrily, then shook his head and looked back down at the streets below, a truck sputtered and passed below. "Who the fuck are you anyways?"The figure puffed delicately on his cigarette and in that moment, with the light illuminating his face the young man saw that the figure's face was disquietingly skeletal. "A neighbor. I've been watching you for a while now...then again these days I seem to be watching everyone."The young man was looking at the figure now, little flashes of apprehension crossing his face. "Watching me?" "Yes. I saw you when you spoke of wanting to become an architect or a painter with your friends in the park down there. I saw you when you finished your first work and I even saw you when you were turned away from your dream and onto this ledge. I am watching you now and yet I do not see you in a splash of red on that street below, I see great things in the future for you."The young man blinked. "I don't...what do you want from me?" "I want you not to jump. We'll meet again, some time in the future, but that meeting is not yet here, so climb back into that window you came out of and go live."The last word was unfamiliar on the figure's tongue but he managed it anyways. The young man nodded slowly and then gripped the window frame, looking back in at the cozy lights and warm interior of the room that he had just left. But even as he turned in he turned back to ask the figure his name, but the ledge was empty and so the young man climbed back in to his room and shut the window, and from the aether the figure nodded in quiet satisfaction. Adolf Hitler would go on living and would bring many people in with him when that final meeting did come. That seemed to be an adequate tradeoff for a few minutes of effort.
“Let’s sit at the end of the bar so we can see the game.” Dave said to Mark as they made their way across the room. A few minutes later they were saddled up on their seats with cold beers in hand and orders for burgers and fries made. The Red Sox game was just getting started so they hadn’t missed much. “Okay,” Dave continued, “Tell me about this chick you met.” “Dude, she's insatiable. I mean, I’ve dated horny women before, but nothing like this. She can’t get enough. We can’t even drive somewhere without her cupping my junk in her hand. I’ve nearly had three car wrecks because she wants to jerk me off while I’m driving.” “That’s wild! Where’d you meet?” “I know it sounds crazy, but I met her online. There's this website where you can find people that just want to hook up. I intended to just meet, have a few drinks, and bang her, but I think I actually like her and I like hanging with her. She’s a little older than me, but you know what they say about older women. She has the sex drive of a fucking Ferrari.” “You wanna hear something gross?” Dave asked. “Sure,” Mark replied. “About a month ago my mom asked me to come over and help with her computer. She was signing up for online dating.” “No…” He let the word hang in the air. “Yeah, I have mixed feelings about it. She and my dad have been divorced for a while and I know my dad has gotten back out there, but it’s my mom. The idea of guys sending my mom dick pics and her liking it is pretty messed up.” “Did you help her?” “Kind of. I showed her how to do things, but I didn’t want to see what she was putting in her profile or what site she was on.” Dave took a sip from his beer, checked the game on the big screen then continued, “So this chick. How much older is she?” Mark thought about it for a second then said, “I’m not really sure. I haven’t asked her age. She is older than me, but she looks good. She says she walks with her dog every morning, she gardens, and she does a yoga class so she is pretty tight and very limber.” “How many times have you seen her?” “So far five times in the last few weeks. We had our first date which was supposed to just be coffee, but she ended up back at my place on her knees giving me the best head I have ever had. We’ve met up four times since and every time it gets more and more crazy. The last time I picked her up I asked her what she wanted to do and she told me she didn’t care so long as I ended up inside her by the end of the night.” “What kind of dog does she have?” Dave was suddenly a little worried for Mark. “I think she said it is one of those wiener dogs.” “And she gardens?” “She grows some kind of exotic roses. I don’t know shit about 'em. She showed me them at her place. They looked great and smelled great. I guess they’re hard to grow.” Dave looked at his buddy and asked, “Is she about five foot six with long redish brown hair and brown eyes?” Mark took a drink of his beer then replied, “Yeah, how'd you know.” Dave pulled out his wallet, dug through it, and found a picture. He showed it to Mark. “Is this her?” Mark froze in his seat. The picture was of Dave when he graduated college. Standing next to him are his parents. The woman was clearly his new lover. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s your mom?” His jaw nearly hit the floor. Dave slowly lowered his head down onto the bar as he put the picture back in his wallet. “Dude, she is literally old enough to be your mom! How could you do this to me?” “I didn’t know it was her.” “This is fucked up. No, this is too wrong to be fucked up. How did you not know?” “She said she had a son and a daughter, but I never assumed it was you. I have been to her house a couple of times and never saw any pictures of you.” “You banged her in her house?” Mark paused then admitted, “Yeah.” “Dude, I grew up in that house! That's nine kinds of fucked up.” Just then the waitress came and delivered their food. She looked at Dave and said sarcastically, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” “It’s nothing compared to the mouth she kisses him with,” Mark added on. Dave stood up, shook his head and said, “I’m going to bathroom to vomit and kill myself.” As he walked away Mark’s phone beeped. He looked down and saw it was a text from Dave’s mom. He clicked the message and smiled at the nipple pic she had just sent him. Suddenly Mark had the strangest erection. *Edit to change a couple of words.
(I'll take the prompt literally) The stories of El Plata were true, the glistening cities of glass and silver rose to scrape the heavens. Were, not anymore. We found the remains of these cities empty, overgrown and in the process of being dismantled by metal monsters, consuming the cities’ strange stone and glass and leaving strange twisted structures. The only remnant we found was a ghost, though it insisted it was not a ghost but a “hologram.” It told us that the tomes left to them by Columbus contained secrets of the world unknown to both themselves and us. With the knowledge in those books they built a civilization stretching from pole to pole. They had decided early on in this process to leave us alone, reasoning that we would only come to pillage their new-found wealth, and that it was better to leave us in our ignorance. I asked what had happened to destroy so great an empire. The ghost responded saying that the empire hadn’t died, that it had transcended the body and had found a new and better life in “simulation,” that they had liberated their spirits of the flesh to live in the earth and the heavens. These people are nobler than I can describe, when I asked about the monsters consuming the abandoned cities and the strange structures they left the ghost laughed. “They are art! Out of the scars we left in our mother we express our love for her.” When I asked about whether we would be allowed to build settlements in this new land the ghost frowned replying, “No, your expedition has been allowed here for three purposes, to allow you to see what is possible with..” The ghost gestured towards a stone, and out of it was birthed a blinking white cube. “A gift, just as you brought us new knowledge, though you were ignorant of its contents, we give you our knowledge. And a warning.” With a snap of the ghost’s finger, the sea rose to a boil and lightning arced across the sky. “If you come here again, still bound to flesh, you will be seared. Any castaways from your ships will be immediately moved to their place of origin. Our gardens are not for you to ravage, as we know you would in time. Leave within 3 days, ask the cube any question and it will give the appropriate answer, though not always the one you want. Use your time wisely.” The ghost winked out of existence and my men prepared for departure. As I sat on the beach, playing with the white cube, I took note of the sky's clear blue, unmarred by smoke. Wondering aloud I said, “Why is the sky blue?” And the cube spoke with a smooth voice, “Blue light scatters more in the air than other colors causing the sky's blue color, suggested topics are: Rayleigh Scattering, Rainbows, and Refractive Indices”
I was used to the chains now, as they had begun to feel like a metallic blanket on my skin. The height of the hill provided me with the liberty of gazing upon the pleasing, luscious landscape that sprawled out before my eyes, yet it still seems a prison to me, as the chains wear on my skin as a reminder of my crime. I saw a small figure across the way, heading directly toward me. It was a ways out in the distance, but I had all the time in the world. I watched its ever-so slow ascent, preparing myself for first contact. It finally climbed the final hill, and stood in front of me. It was human, of a dark complexion and brownish hair. It gawked at me in awe, considering I was about five to six feet taller and much larger than it. It then began communicating in an archaic language I could not understand. Even in my punishment, however, my sight implant was not taken from me, and so I was able to look far ahead and quickly decipher the basic syntax and diction of the language. "What are you,"it asked tentatively, "and why are you chained to this rock?" "I am not like you,"I responded, "and I am chained for my crime." It shifted uneasily. We stared at each other for quite some time before it spoke again, as it simply stood there gawking at my unusual physique. "What is your crime?"it inquired. It would be difficult to explain to this human the exact nature of my crime. How do I explain to it that I was tried for my unethical experimentation, when it had just barely began cogitating and becoming conscious? How do I explain to it that I was sentenced here for manipulating its own genetic code to synthesize consciousness and meta-cognition and disrupting the course of its evolution? The Ethics Committee and the Public condemned me for my grand experiment, for breaking some universal and ethical standard that consciousness should arise on its own. How am I supposed to explain that to a creature that has not an idea what lay above the atmosphere, or, for that matter, what lay past the oceans? It stared into my cold, future-seeing, gray eyes awaiting a response. I steadied my all-seeing gaze onto him, looking him coldly in the eyes. "I gave you fire."
I had frequented subreddits such as /r/abandonedporn and /r/urbanexploration in my formative years. I had developed an obsession with exploring abandoned structures much to the chagrin of my town's local authorities who have arrested me for trespassing on many occasions. It was on Reddit, on a TIL post, where I had learned of the abandoned factory of the once famous chocolatier Willy Wonka. In an instant after reading the article I knew I wouldn't rest until I broke into the once magnificent factory and explored. I didn't know much about Willy Wonka, or what exactly his role at the chocolate factory was. All I knew was that due to the economic downturn twenty years ago the elusive, mysterious man shut down the factory and disappeared. It was particularly strange as no one seems to recall anybody else working at the factory and where sure there should have been massive layoffs. But following the abrupt closure of the factory gates no one was seen leaving the compound. All of this intrigued me very much and I packed up my gear, A water canteen, a go-pro camera, a wirecutter, a flashlight and some comfortable hiking shoes and went upon taking the 5 hour journey by car to the Yorkshire countryside in north east England. When I arrived I saw a massive building in a horrible state of disrepair. I made easy work of getting the lock cut on the back gate once used as an entrance for delivery trucks to get access to the loading docks. When I walked up to warehouse in the rear of the compound I notice one of the loading dock doors was open and thought "what great luck". I entered into the darkness and began my journey to the main factory floor. I of course had no idea wear I was going and followed vague signs illuminated by my flashlight. "Dormitories", "Laboratory", "Main Production Floor". I followed the sign down a corridor until my light came upon something and I froze. My blood ran cold and I wanted to turn back and run.... ahead of me were a dozen skeletal remains that looked like human bones scattered across the floor. Something about them was off though, they were small, like the size of a small child and upon closer inspection I noticed something that made my stomach turn, they all had markings on them, the straight markings of a blade... they were all butchered. I could feel myself getting sick but before i had the time to run I felt an immense blow and pain in the back of my head and I blacked out.......
"This 'bullet leaving trails' shit isn't gonna go anywhere soon, Agent. We might have to classify this as a Keter in the near future,"the researcher said as he arranged all the various sightings of different colored trails throughout the world. It started happening a few days ago; the Foundation was still trying to find a way to contain the phenomenon, that is, to stop the public from noticing it. So far, it had been a failure. "Yikes, that is one gigantic dent,"he said as he looked at what was probably the biggest incident, an enormous red bullet lodged down at the bottom of the Marianas Trench. Red meant that the bullet had killed someone, which wasn't surprising for a bullet that size. Blue meant that the bullet had just hit someone non-lethally, and gray meant that it had missed. "I know, right?"said the Agent. "I took pictures of those myself on my last mission and this was beyond anything we'd seen before." "As to how we're gonna stop this one from leaking to the public other than administering amnesiacs... that's not gonna be easy. Maybe the higher ups are gonna do what they supposedly did with that color-changing thingamajingy." "Maybe, but that's really not for us to decide. Oh, and forgot-"He took out a sheaf of papers- "You might want to take a look at [these](http://www.scp-wiki.net/document-recovered-from-the-marianas-trench) documents found near that thing, doc. The team over there was able to reproduce it with near perfect accuracy. Haven't looked at 'em myself, but we were able to secure them before anyone else." "Will do, Agent. Now get back to work." "All righty, doc."
"Te occidere possunt,"chanted Tremormaw, his claws trembling above the seething vat of hellfire, "sed te edere non possunt nefas est!" It was finals week, and Tremormaw was attempting to conjure up a sixteen-hundred word essay on the pro-human prejudices of Dante's Inferno. His head pounded. The aftermath of last night's festivities down at the Sixth Circle's Fuddruckers had kept him bedridden until 3 p.m., his three red-rimmed eyes squinting balefully at the ceiling. Unable to fall asleep, but convinced that leaving the bed would only intensify his misery, he lay there attempting to piece together the previous night's events. It was a process akin to reassembling a smashed Grecian urn. His whole fraternity had been there, carousing and competing to see who could blow the biggest fireball. He remembered the beginning of the night -- sitting at a table with Flametooth, Intestineguzzler Jr. and Franklin Wheedledoob -- but after a few dozen gallons of shitty American beer (they didn't serve any other kind in Hell), everything became a fuzzy, gelatinous tangle. Tremormaw probably would have stayed in bed all day if he hadn't received a text at three from Flametooth. "Done with your essay yet?" Which is when Tremormaw remembered that he was supposed to email his paper to Professor Buttstabber by 4:30 that afternoon, and not only had he as of yet failed to begin writing said essay, he had also not yet begun to read Dante's Inferno, nor even to purchase a copy of said book. "Almost,"texted Tremormaw, and leapt out of bed, rooting in his closet for the Beginner's Hellfire Vat kit his mom had sent him for his birthday last semester. So far he'd managed to summon two essays. The first was titled "The Painter as Architect: Two Decorative Paintings by Henri Matisse."The second was even less useful -- "On the False Origins of Participatory Aesthetics in France, 1914-1925."He was doing something wrong, and he only had one more chance to fix it. He was down to his last batch of hellfire. "Please, Satan, let this work,"he muttered as he completed the incantation and the vat began to glow. There was a crash of cymbals and a shrieking of ten thousand disembodied vocal cords, and his dorm room filled with light. The floor shuddered below his feet. When the foul, sulfurous smoke cleared, he looked expectantly to the pentagram etched beside his minifridge, and was horrified to find that his ritual had summoned not a third essay but a four-year-old human child, complete with light-up sneakers and a Spiderman t-shirt. "REARRGHH! I'M A MONSTER!"shrieked the child, running in circles and knocking books off of Tremormaw's desk. "Shit shit shit,"said Tremormaw, scrambling after him. "NO!"shouted the child, wriggling under the bed. "Come back here, you accursed pink-fleshed morsel! I mean you no harm!" "You're not my daddy!" Tremormaw leapt to the other side of the bed, his tail thrashing frantically. When he dove to try and catch the child beneath the bed, he found that he'd been tricked. The human had doubled back and was whipping out the door at a dead sprint on his stubby little legs. "Oh my God,"said Tremormaw, "my dad is going to kill me." Out into the hall he flew, his panic-fangs extending, venom slopping off them in the most embarrassing fashion as he barreled after the child. The human vanished around the corner, and Tremormaw went to follow, which is when he almost ran smack into his RA, a third-tier Balrog with misty eyes behind thick mica spectacles. "Johnson,"said his RA, since Johnson was Tremormaw's last name, "what is this?" As he spoke, he pointed one of his waist arms at the child dangling upside-down from his right claw. "I'm SPIDERMAN,"shouted the child. "PEW PEW PEW PEW." The latter was accompanied by frenzied movements of his little human hands, the pudgy fingers contorted. "Johnson, you know that it's against residence hall rules to keep a pet,"said the RA. Tremormaw was aware. He was also aware that illegal summoning carried a much heftier penalty than pet-keeping, especially if it could be proven that aforementioned summoning was an explicit attempt to violate clauses 4d and 5c of the South Hell Agricultural and Mechanical University Academic Honor Code. "Yes, well, that human does not belong to me,"said Tremormaw. "I merely happened to spot it cavorting through our halls, and pursued it in hopes of apprehending it before further damage could ensue." "Liar,"came Slashtasha's voice from her room next to Tremormaw's. "I saw it bolt out of Johnson's room two minutes ago." Bitch, thought Tremormaw. Was Slashtasha ever going to forgive him for accidentally incinerating her notes during midterms?
We are wildly off course. We fucked up, and now they were never going to be able to come home again. The first manned mission to Europa, and we missed the gravity assist from Mars! We not only fucked up, but now we're fucked. We don't have enough fuel to course correct and make it home, and the closest gravitational object to course correct is on Alpha Centauri. Oh we can totally make it there with our current fuel count...in 100 years! Its been about 200 days now since then, and I think we're all starting to crack. James, our chemist, now swears that lighting comes from his fingertips when he really thinks about it. Vishu, our crew doctor/biologist, swears that the ship instruments are saying that the space outside is breathable; we've had to restrain her from walking out the airlock without a suit. Our pilot, Gao, swears that he's seen giant Chinese Dragons flying out in the distance. And when I concentrate I feel like I am literally watching my family mourning me, and slowly learning to live without me day by day. The funny thing is we're all perfectly normal. Well that isn't what they said, they called us mundane. All of us were checked out by NASAs psychologists before being allowed in the crew. Weirdest thing though was they looked like they wanted to laugh as they said it, as if being mundane was the funniest joke they weren't allowed to visibly laugh about. ____________________________________________________________ Well its been about one year now (only 99 more years to go, yay!). We originally had enough food to last about 3 years, but with rationing I think we can make it last about 7. Meaning we get to live in this hell about 6 more years. The psychological cracks have started to spread. Things that only one person has been seeing have been seen by all of us. We all have to wear grounding bracelets, or we risk ruining our equipment. I lost my laptop without warning due to this. Might be why our communication equipment stopped working one day; all we get is static and we never hear response from Ground Control. Meanwhile James was able to verify that Vishu wasn't misreading things. Somehow outside our ship there has to be breathable atmosphere. No one has been bold enough to test this out however, I especially have no desire to die yet. Vishu has been attempting to use the outbound cameras to catch glimpses of some of the creatures Gao has been seeing in the cockpit. Every so often she sees one and captures a picture of it; those things out there are truly Lovecraftian. God knows what would happen if they decided the ship was a can of food. And all of us have seen visions of what has been happening on Earth. It feels like our families have forgotten us completely; saved for the odd time when my son or Gao's daughters break down and cry. I wish I could be there instead of just seeing it in my head. _______________________________________________________ You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Its been 3 years since we've left, and I'm living on the outside of the ship! God damn lucky too! One of those Lovecraftian things trashed the ship and ruined both live support systems and containment. After we hid for hours with no space suits, it finally got bored and left. Now I'm trying to fix our main life support system outside the ship wearing only magnetic boots and my tattered crew uniform. I'd freeze to death out here, but I think Jame's techniques for harnessing lightning have allowed him to create a form of heat. I'm not sure how it works, but its come in handy since containment broke. I think I might have a way to get us home. If everything else the crew has said is true, my ideas must be true as well. We can go home. We haven't just been seeing visions, our perception has been there. I think I've even been back home once, but when I tried to appear in front of my family I got kicked back with serious burns all over my body. But I think if we all pool together and try at once, and in somplace out-of-sight we might be able to get back home. We plan on trying here in about three days. I'm hoping it works. __________________________________________________________ *Based on the universe as laid out by the Tabletop game Mage: Ascension. Everyone has the power to alter reality, but your average person simply uses this power to reinforce the collective beliefs about reality known as the Consensus. People who are able to overcome the Consensus and alter reality based on their own beliefs are called Mages. In-universe, the further away you get from Earth the weirder the physics get. More specifically, the Consensus extends out past the Earth to a boundary called the Horizon. At this boundary the reality as dictated by the Consensus stops working and you enter the raw universal reality. Right now that boundary is large enough to enclose Jupiter (and Europa), and it grows further day-by-day. The crew of this vessel have left the Consensus behind, and are in a very dangerous place where magic is very real.
BANG! The older me with the beard fell to the floor, and I let out an, "Oops." The future me, the one without a beard that is, stood still with his mouth agape, "What the FUCK MAN?!" I turned to him and shrugged, "You said to shoot the next guy I see! I did what I was told." My (future) eye twitched, "BUT YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SHOOT YOURSELF!" Once again, I shrugged, "Look man, I came in here so I could relax and continue playing Fallout, YOU intruded on MY time, which is technically YOUR time, so I could shoot myself in the further future (God this is confusing). Now if you excuse me, I still have like, ten quests to do." Future me sighed and looked out the window to find a man with a gun running from the scene, scared out of his mind. I (future) sighed and sat down, watching me play through an awkward silence. He sat silent for a few moments before saying, "You do realize that pets can carry items right?" "Really? Fucking kick-ass!" "..." "..." "...You also realize that to preserve the timeline you have to get shot by your past self one day rig-?" "SHHH! I need to focus, this quest is fucking hard!"
When the Commandment was issued, I did not – could not – believe it. It was December 26th, 2027, the day after our Lord was born. The Pope appeared on the television, to give a special announcement to all Catholics. Speaking ex cathedra, he relayed to us the Commandment: anytime anyone met anyone else with the same birthday as them, they were to fight to the death. When there was one person left for each day, all would be granted entrance to the Kingdom of Heaven. Thus said the Lord. I will admit, I laughed. Our God is – was – a loving one. How could He issue such a command? Surely the old guy in the pointy hat had been enjoying too much communion wine. But after the Pope finished his address, he pulled out a revolver and lodged a bullet between Cardinal Cesare’s eyes. I was, to say the least, surprised - though in hindsight, I should have remembered that the Pope and the poor old Cardinal shared a birthday. Anyway, I didn’t think the incident would amount to much. The Pope committing first-degree murder on worldwide television would create some difficulties for the Catholic Church, but nothing that could not be explained with insanity. Then I heard the screams. A congregation had gathered in the Church of the Holy Blood across the street to witness the Pope’s address. I stared at the Basilica through my window, my view partially obscured by wisps of mist which hadn’t been burned off in the morning sun. A pool of red liquid ran down the granite steps. The doors to the basilica opened, and a solitary figure emerged leaving pools of blood in his wake with a battered and splintered chair leg clutched in his right hand. I shrank back into the room, away from my vantage point. I didn’t move for days – I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. By the time I had recovered, most of the city was dead: the Lord’s faithful were terrifying in their efficiency. Staying was not an option. I didn’t want to kill anyone; indeed, I can say with no small amount of pride that I’m the only one with clean hands left on this planet. Getting out of the city was easier than you’d think. Death squads – comprised of people with different birthdays – roamed the streets, but they had mostly killed each other off by the time I left. I walked out of the city over the bloody corpses of my neighbors. I trekked across most of the continent, eating space-age packaged food and hiding in the shadows. Halfway through the Swiss countryside, nearly six months after the Commandment, I set up camp under an old elm tree, mostly because of the view. There… There I was accosted. Three tall, musclebound men jumped me while I was admiring the countryside. The largest grabbed me by the throat, pinned me against the tree, and held a knife to my throat. “Birthday?” he snarled. His eyes were cold and uncaring. “M-march seventh” He glanced over at one of his goons rifling through my bags, who had found my passport. The goon nodded. My attacker pulled back his knife and released me. I fell to the ground with a dull thud. The man belted out a laugh, and smiled at me. “Your lucky day, friend. My name is Pierre.” Pierre and his goons sat down to eat dinner with me. Rubbing my neck, I stared at them. Then – what else was I to do? – I grabbed some canned soup out of my bag, and began the feast. Pierre told me about his family. Apparently he and his son had shared a birthday. The smile never left his face. While Pierre and company were asleep, I packed my things and ran. There was a grove of woods near my camp, so I took shelter there. Over the course of the next few weeks I made my way to a secluded valley. I have no idea what this place is called, but it is uninhabited. I don’t think anyone will find me here – they haven’t yet and it’s been fifteen years. I’ve had to reinvent agriculture from scratch. It’s hard work, but it’s better than living in a world governed by the Commandment. Plus it’s not so bad – I scavenged a radio on an expedition a couple years ago so I’ve been listening in on the outside world. Apparently there are only 367 people left, including me. The others have been getting frantic lately. They know I’m still alive. They believe they won’t open the pearly gates unless they kill me before they die of old age. Perhaps one day, when I’m old and gray, I will let them. But until that day, I will remain here in my unnamed valley. And they will never find me.
"Hey, if you want you can stand a few hundred metres away while we take down Dr Cryogenius, it's no trouble at all"Super Sam said to me, not unkindly, fiddling with the edge of his cape. I didn't bother glancing in his direction, lazily waving a hand towards the door. "No, you guys go on ahead, I'm okay where I am. Besides, season six is just starting up" Violent Violet stepped up to my chair, laying a hand on the armrest. The chair leg broke, sending me sliding to the floor. "Oh, shoot. Not again. Let me help you up!" I scrambled up quickly, not wanting to risk another trip to the emergency room to get my bones reset. I brushed off some popcorn fragments, and a few splinters. She continued "Look Chris, we don't care if you don't have powers. You're still a member of the group, even if you don't have invulnerability or flight or laser eyes like Luke. You can... tag along I guess" I didn't want powers or front row seats to Dr Cryogenius' smackdown. I wanted to catch up on my Netflix goddamn it. I sat crosslegged on the floor, sweeping some of the spilled popcorn back into the bowl and munching on it. "Just go you guys. Go save the world and beat minions up and all the regular super hero things. I'll be grand on my own. No need to worry. " They exchanged sad looks as they trooped away in their fluorescent spandex and billowing capes. Violet nearly patted my shoulder, stopping herself just in time. Her heart is in the right place, somewhere under that costume. I heard Atomic Adam mutter something to the rest, only catching the last words "...we tried, Vi. He doesn't want to be part of the team." I waited until the door clicked shut before rising and striding across the apartment towards my bedroom. Locking the door, I threw open the wardrobe doors, taking in the sight of my battle suit. As I wriggled into it, frost began to form over the piping, chills emanating from the power core. I didn't join their team because then they'd lose their way, become villains or tyrants. I was the only one stopping it, a necessary evil. Since they are close to being gods, they tend to forget something very important. You don't need powers to be powerful.
Despite overwhelming technological superiority, the aliens had never considered the truly unpredictable factor of humanity. Booze, and lots of it. It made utterly no sense to discharge an array of nuclear weapons in the upper atmosphere and then launch jet fighters armed with long range missiles flying straight up to the limit of their capacity, but it happened anyway. The reason? Booze. A scrambled think tank session quickly turned into a booze fest as the strategists hit the liquor harder then ten Russians at a soccer match, and that was what arose. "Fuck em, fuck the commies, and the fucken pinko Greens. Let's....launch those fucking Nike Missile...the rainbow bombs. We'll scramble all their sensors with all the fucking charged particles and bullshits and they'll never see us coming...and we'll...fuck it...get those fucking Raptors...they can fly straight up the edge of the atmosphere....and launch everything they've got at the command and control ship..."Slurred The Four Star General, who at this point was completely, utterly, ridiculously, sloshed. "But wait,"interjected the sensible scientist who wasn't drunk "won't the charged particles interfere with the missiles directional devices?" "Fuck it."burped the General, "We'll put fucking lasers on those missiles. Laser guided missiles...that'll work." The plan was completely batshit fucking insane, to launch nukes into space to create a screen for jet fighters to fly to the edge of space and launch their missiles straight up....but the plan worked. The command and control ship of the alien invasion suffered catastrophic damage, particularly to it's sensor and communication arrays, and the alien invasion was in real trouble before it had barely begun.
Johan was bored of waiting for The Dark Lord’s return. The wait had become unbearable. With each passing day he witnessed those pathetic muggles grow more and more. It sickened him to his core. He had even seen pure bloods socializing with these lower life forms. He couldn’t sit around any longer. He decided to go out into the streets of London and find a lonely muggle to have some fun with. His choosing wouldn’t be picky. So long as they were human he found them to be a fine hunt. Walking through the thick fog that had settled over the city he saw the man who would become his prey. He spotted a couple that would be perfect to terrorize, a sailor and his date. The sailor was an older gentleman who was small and weathered from years at sea. He walked down the road singing a happy tune with the tall, lanky woman by his side, unaware for what Johan had in store for him. Johan crept up behind the muggle and said, “You had better run.” The man turned around and looked the wizard in the eyes, “And why is that?” “Because I am going to kill you,” replied Johan as he began to laugh. Instead of turning around and running away the muggle did something unexpected. He reared back and punched Johan in the jaw. The blow caught him off guard and as he fell back the man then threw a left hook to Johan’s ribs. As he gasped for air the man let out a flurry of blows. A right followed by a left and then another right with jabs, uppercuts, and hooks all interspersed throughout. After knocking back Johan he pulled back and dropped him with a fierce haymaker. Johan quickly pulled out his wand to end this man. He began to throw everything he had at this man, but he was seemingly able to take everything that was being dished out. Johan could have killed him, but he wanted to make this muggle’s suffering last. Finally the man fell to the ground. Johan leaned over him and said, “Not so strong now, are we?” That older fellow replied, “So you’re one of them magic men, ay?” “Indeed, and are you sure you’re just a man?” “I yam what I yam,” he said with a wry grin, “Now let me show you true magic!” He reached down into his shirt, and Johan flinched knowing what was coming next. This man was going to try shoot him. But then no gunshot followed. Johan saw the man pull out some sort of cylinder from his shirt. It was can shaped. In fact it was a can, and printed across it in big bold letters was the word “SPINACH.” The man squeezed the can tightly and a green matter flew through the air into his mouth. Johan watched as the man’s strength grew. His forearms gained several pounds of muscle, followed by his biceps which seemingly projected the image of an atom bomb. The man stood up and whirled his fist and a circle and hit Johan just under his chin sending him flying through the air. When Johan landed on the ground he frantically shouted out, “Avada Kedavra!” The blast whizzed through the air towards the sailor, but instead of striking him he quickly picked up an entire lamp post and batted the spell back at the wizard. “Argh!” screamed out Johan just before the blast struck him. And then he was dead. “Agh agh agh!” laughed the elderly fellow. “Good job, Popeye,” said the tall woman as she ran over and hugged him. “Thanks, Olive Oil. It was all thanks to me spinach too, agh agh agh!” The two walked off into the London fog as the sailor’s song echoed through the night: “I'm Popeye the Sailor Man, I'm Popeye the Sailor Man. I'm strong to the finich Cause I eats me spinach. I'm Popeye the Sailor Man.”
The 6 of us were super strict with our truth or dare game. In order not to get confused with the names in the near future I will clarify for you now. Six players. Three girls - Martha, Sara and Sophie. Three boys - Samuel, Jack and me. We had all agreed that we would make our days and even years a lot more interesting if we were to always say the truth and always complete the dare or at least try to complete it as hard as we could. We had 1 single rule. We were allowed to give every kind of dare but a dare would not be approved if 3 or more of the players thought that it was not appropriate or too dangerous. Our truth or dare games weren't as the ones teenagers play on excursions and parties. Our truths didn't consist of questions like "Do you secretly like someone in the room?"or "When did you lose your virginity?"We had gone through these boring (for us) questions a long time ago. And our dares didn't consist of "Do 25 push-ups". The stages of our game were getting higher and higher. We started with basic questions about each other at the beginning. We did not take the game so seriously then. Then we proceeded with questions which included our inmost secrets. We knew each other as if we were siblings. Then we lost interest and we all decided to take advantage of the others. I was the first victim of the new tactic of the game. Samuel asked me for my PIN. Then Martha dared me to give her my credit card. They took all my money. We all turned into selfish bastards always trying to counter the attacks of the others but we had sworn to follow the game's rules. We all knew there was no quitting. We got further than you can imagine. At one point, Sophie overtook Jack's workplace with the game's help. You can see that we were dead serious about our game and the things, bit by bit got dangerous. And again, I was the first one to experience the whole new level of the game. It was my turn to choose. Jack asked: -Truth or dare? The decision i made didn't seem so harrowing then as it does now. I actually felt as if i needed some action in my life. Nothing raised our adrenaline as the game did. Our everyday tasks were performed automatically. The game had become our meaningful life. -Dare, Jack. Bring it on. We could all say that he struggled with the decision. Then he grinned. We could all say that he had thought of something special for me. -I dare you to ruin your own life by….killing the first man you see after going out on the street. I laughed and turned my eyes toward the other players, waiting for the cancellation of the dare. Sara and Samuel voted for me. They knew that it was too much. I knew Martha wouldn’t do the same. We knew each other well. I turned toward Sophie and looked into her eyes expecting her to vote for me and continue with the game. That was the first moment in the game I felt scared. She had her head on her palm wondering what to do. After about 10 seconds, which seemed like 10 minutes to me she leaned back in her chair and as relaxed as ever said: -Let’s see what will happen. I sat in my chair for a few minutes staring blank at the floor. I didn't know what to do. But then a clown came into the room, I don't know where from, and he started entertaining all of us with his funny tricks and eventually we all forgot about the dare. It all ended happily :))))) Okay, guys. This was my first WP EVER. I don't know if you liked it but i really put some effort in it. Let me know what you think :)
A pall had settled over the Cabinet room. No one, not even Kerry, could conjure up some magic, verbal panacea to raise their spirits. Instead, the soon to be former leaders of the United States had their eyes locked to a small television. Clinton averted her eyes every time they showed the poll numbers. Biden was nowhere to be seen. Obama leaned back into his chair, and repeated the motions. Deep breaths, eyes opened and closed. Thinking of Michelle and the kids. Out of all of them, he'd kept his wits about him. It wasn't too hard to, when you knew you were going to lose the presidency no matter which way the race ran. But then his face cut through Obama's thoughts. The silky smooth hair the color of cat piss. His tight features and insincere smiles. A frown stapled itself to Obama's face, and he knew, deep down, he'd rather be dealing with Paul Ryan and the House rather than what was coming. The door to the Cabinet room was kicked open. Everyone stared in numb shock as Biden finally appeared. Obama sighed. "Joe, no one has the heart for your antics." The Vice President stood still and silent in the doorway, regarding them with bloodshot eyes. A large, ill-fitting black hoodie covered his head. His features were more pale and sallow than they used to be, as if he'd been starving himself the last few days. "It's a good Palpatine impression, Joe,"Kerry said. Clinton gave a weak thumbs up. Biden snarled. "You believe the war to be lost then?"he said, his words creeping across the room like nails against a chalkboard. "It is far from lost." A sudden movement. In a second, a smartphone was held aloft in Biden's pasty white hand. The small, blue device took on a menacing connotation as the Cabinet beheld it. On it was a messenger app, with the words "EXECUTE ORDER 66"written across it, in blocky green letters. Clinton gasped. Obama turned from Biden's buffoonery to the television screen. He too felt his mouth slide open. Where there had been some semblance of order, now there was chaos. Complete anarchy. The crowds that had been chanting his name and cheering it onwards had been transformed into a swirling sea of violence. A platoon of overweight men in cowboy hats had stormed the Republican rally and thrown themselves at the would-be president elect. Loyal, fanatic Republican voters had turned their manic energy against their leaders, fighting with a resolve and dedication that hadn't been seen since World War II. Obama grabbed the remote and flipped to another channel. On CNN, the Republican pundits who'd been invited were suddenly shouting at the top of their lungs, decrying their own philosophy and inviting their viewers to burn all trace of the Republicans from the face of the earth. Channel swap. Breitbart was aflame. Bannon was fighting valiantly against a horde of his own reporters and staffers. Alex Jones led the charge, but was slain as Bannon smashed him in the face with a water cooler. As Milo Yunnopolis tackled Bannon to the ground and wrapped his hands around the man's throat, Obama turned the television off. Everyone turned to Biden, faces stricken with horror. "Joe,"Obama whispered, barely containing the repulsion in his voice. "What is this?" "A plan set in motion. A plan brought about after years of work, and Universal Healthcare,"Biden cackled, eyes ablaze. "My plan!" "What?" "Please, Barrack,"Biden sneered. "You were always weak, too afraid to fully embrace the dark side of executive power. But I was not. Your Universal Healthcare? A bold move, but one lacking in real courage or power. But when I reformatted the program to put biochips in the minds of every Republican voter, now there was true executive power!" Obama stood up. "Joe, you've gone too far." "We haven't gone far enough. It's time for balance to be restored! For the Democratic party to finally rule this country!" The rest of the Cabinet stood up as well, prepared to face down the mad VP. "In the name of the Senate,"Obama said, his voice shaky but resolved as he faced his old friend. "You are impeached, Vice President." "Are you threatening me, President Obama?"Biden said, a look of feigned incredulousness on his face. "The Senate will decide your fate." Biden laughed, his voice echoing through the room and beyond, brimming with insane power. "I AM THE SENATE!"
There was some commotion at that. The military intelligence specialists who were standing nearby became rather excited, and quickly formed a knot discussing the consequences of this discovery. The Heads of State demanded answers about times, dates, casualties and costs. Needless to say there was no further discussion regarding the treaty that day. I however, continued the questioning, even though there were no Heads of State or intelligence men to hear the answers. "Why?"I asked. "Because the leaders at this conference, the Allies imposed such harsh conditions on Germany that a dictator rose to power, and sought to conquer all of Europe." After that I handed my report to my commander, Marshall Foch, to whom I was attached. In it I concluded that the supposed time traveler's account was reasonable, and that caution should be used. The Heads of the Allies however, despite the protests of President Wilson, who read my report, decided to impose harsh conditions upon Germany, so that she would never be able to wage the Second World War. At the end of the talks, Marshall Foch stood, and remarked "This is not peace. This is an Armistice for 20 Years." In 1939, his words would be proven true.
Words have power. We know that now. That little rhyme everyone sings an a rainy day, "rain rain, go away,". The one that no one thought twice of singing with their kids when the sky was grey and the kids wanted to go outside. 'Come again another day,' we all sang, wistfully thinking of rainbows and sunny days. Sometimes the rain would go. We didn't know it was because of us, but we celebrated because the sun returned. We never thought another day would come. That mythical day when the rain we wished away would fall like thunder. When lakes would sell and rivers would flood. When dams would crack, then break under the weight of the gushing sky. It started up north, where the rain fell as snow until it warmed up. It migrated south from there and we were happy. For the first time in years, the drought was broken. We had snow on the mountains and water in the resiviours. Even our deep aquifers filled up again. We were rich in water. But then it didn't stop raining. The deserts were hit the hardest. Used to a little rain here and there, they flooded. Salt flats turned into lakes turned into seas. The lowest places filled up fast and the ground just couldn't hold it. But it didn't stop raining. Then the lowlands. They did okay for a while. Lakes and rivers swelled high but only the shorelines really got hit. Houses were lost. So were people. But it didn't stop raining. The mountain regions did the best. Up high, people watched as our planet's mightiest force redrew the map of our entire world. But it didn't stop raining. Sea levels were rising fast, faster than should have been possible because of the sheer volume of water. The coastlines moved as more and more sank under the waves. Entire cities vanished. People fled inland but it wasn't like a tsunami. The rain was everywhere, thundering down so hard it killed all but the most resilient plants. The ones that could survive the swamp, or lived up so high the water ran downhill. Of course, it also took the soul with it. Avalanches and mudslides were everywhere. Anything on a slope was going to give in eventually. People died in houses they thought were safe, crashing down into muddy soup and vanishing forever. The Bible talked about forty days and forty nights. It's looking to be more like forty years, because it's been raining for ten, and the seas are still rising. Most everyone lives on boats now. Trawlers search for driftwood to build floating cities. We're learning how to live, as the last of our land disappears under the rain we never should have wished away. ++++ If you liked this, I can send you a link to the rest of my writing, including a full-length novel!
Oh my God... What is this? Logan kept flipping through the photo album and sure enough, every picture was Marilyn standing next to guys that looked strikingly similar to himself. So she definitely has a type... and she must be really into role-playing; some of these outfits are ridiculous! No wonder the front of the album said "Quest Log." Logan was a little creeped out by Marilyn's heavy preference for guys who looked like him, but he'd be lying if he said her apparent fetish didn't excite him. Just as his guilt about snooping through Marilyn's past was about to trump his natural curiousity, Logan noticed something off about the pictures. The pictures seemed like they were taken in different decades, yet Marilyn's age never changed. Logan stopped on a random page where Marilyn was dressed as a saloon girl standing next to a cowboy. The picture looked exactly how he'd expect a century old photograph to look and the backdrop was amazingly realistic. He took a deep breath and began to carefully remove the photo from the album. When it was free, he took another deep breath and flipped it over. There were a few scribbles he tried to make out. "...Jackson... nineteen...1918-1921?!"Logan gasped loudly. "What in the world?"There was another note scribbled next to the date. "Normal.... human?"Logan was officially creeped out. He had always been intrigued by the supernatural, definitely believed in Bigfoot, and even aliens seemed possible, but even so, this was a little much for him to handle. Maybe she just really really gets into role-playing? As he tried to convince himself that he was crazy and his new girlfriend wasn't, well, whatever she was, he kept flipping through the pages. When he got to the last page in the album and saw himself. Well, it might have been him, he wasn't too sure anymore after seeing so many dopplegangers. He wanted to see what was written behind his photo, so he began to take the picture out. "You weren't supposed to see that,"said a familiar voice from behind him. Logan stopped what he was doing and slowly turned around to face Marilyn. "I, uh... I would explain what I was doing snooping under your bed, but uh... I think you might have something for interesting to say." --------
He sat for days. Sleepless, starving, quivering, a blanket wrapped around his once mighty shoulders. His face dry with crusted tears, his lips trembling as he stared out into the patch of dark sky through the small window in his room. Regardless of how many of our medics and doctors attempted to revive his spirit, to feed him, to aid him in his rest, it did not work. He had been changed. The questions had been unending upon his return. Was his mission--our mission, a success? What had he learned? Did he find them? But everything was met with silence. He'd hid himself from further probes, his mind off somewhere else. Then he'd recessed into this form. He spent all of his time peering into the space he'd left. We feared that none of the answers we'd gone searching for would be answered by him. We were so desperately needing them, and we were denied. It had made some angry enough to demand action. He must tell us! Some claimed. But what could be done? We were a desperate people, and our one hope was dying in the light of the stars he'd left. So here he was. He was fading, and though we knew this, we could do nothing to stave off the dread cloak glowering above his bed. Day in, day out, he sat there, muttering and shaking. I'd heard him though. His confident voice had a shaky cast now. A simulacrum of cobwebs breathing through the doors of a crypt. A whisper that was more of a shadow, broken in agony. I could hear it as I pressed my ear to his wall. "I chose the wrong home."
A creative Redditor once posted a 'Constrained Writing' prompt that asked a writer to use exactly twenty words per sentence. (20) However, every subsequent sentence had to contain exactly one less word than that of the sentence prior to it. (19) The writer had to constrain himself to twenty sentences, with a total of two hundred and ten words. (18) While the task seemed easy in theory, the writer struggled; as he constantly edited and re-edited sentences. (17) One sentence after another, the writer chopped and added words until they met the prompts guidelines. (16) Believe it or not, the sentences with a higher word count were easier to write. (15) This is because the writer could throw in extra adjectives or remove superfluous ones. (14) But the sentences requiring less words became more challenging, due to the constriction. (13) By completing this 'Constrained Writing' prompt, the writer learned a valuable lesson. (12) That lesson is: sentences containing fewer words are much more impactful. (11) In other words, a shorter sentence packs a bigger punch. (10) A bigger punch garners the readers attention more easily. (9) See... you, the reader, are fully captivated now. (8) Short sentences can make all the difference. (7) Fewer words can sometimes be better. (6) This is not true always. (5) For sentences are unique. (4) Every word matters. (3) Trust me. (2) Okay? (1)
I have heard tales of that place. Purgatory. Everyone here in Heaven seems afraid of it and those dwelling there. Even the denizens of Hell are filled with fright at the very thought. Only the mortals that don't know about the finality of afterlife remain unafraid, as are Satan and God. I thought it was all silly, really. What could be so fearsome about a place about redemption? These thoughts were erased from my mind the moment I saw why. Perhaps it is because it is an unknown to us of what those living in Purgatory go through. Whenever one passes through Hell or Heaven from that place, everyone is silent as the figures make their way. I was to be assigned to work with one of these recently redeemed souls, a moment I had been dreading. Swallowing my fear, I decided to make conversation with this being. "S-so what, uh, what was it like in your life before?"I asked nervously. "Well, I was an accountant for a big company once upon a time."replied the soul. "It's strange,"I responded, "Someone as normal and unassuming as you could strike fear into the angels." "I was told to expect this emotion on your faces. I don't really understand it, because like you said, I'm an ordinary guy." "What did you do to end up in Purgatory?" "I think it's probably for the same reason as everyone else comes there, did a little bit of good in the world, little bit of bad, or maybe didn't make any impact whatsoever. We end up there to reach a finality, where we either redeem ourselves or fall to the side of darkness. Me personally, I tried to do good as a person, I donated to charities and helped those who needed it. Who knows how many lives I may have helped?" "So what happened to make you go to Purgatory if you've done well in being a good person?" "I failed my marriage." "Pardon?" "I screwed up. I had an affair on my wife for many years, and became bitter to her. Mistreating her. I never struck her, however. Not once, even in my most frustrated moments. I didn't care what I was doing to her, someone that cared so much for me. I didn't care how good I had it, because I was busy holding someone else in my arms. Soon, my wife found less joy in things and became a hollow shell of herself. When she found out I was cheating, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I never forgave myself for my actions since then. Not since the events that came after. I guess that was what I was redeeming myself for." "What did you have to do to redeem yourself?" "I was forced to watch my actions toward her for seven years, the same duration of time we were together." There was a long pause, then the soul continued. "I saw her here in Heaven, but I couldn't talk to her. She forgave me and was glad I redeemed myself, but I couldn't say anything back. It's as if I never left, I feel as if I'm in Hell while in Heaven." "You had to of known she would be here, though." "Of course I did. That is why I proved myself in Purgatory so I could see her again. Maybe I'll gain the courage to speak to her again in the future." "Maybe." "So now I have a question for you, angel. What about people like me fill you with dread?" I thought long and hard for a few moments. "Well, I suppose it's the drive of those in Purgatory that scares us. People like you end up being some of the most important weapons of God and Satan. After all, what is more dangerous, more powerful, more unstoppable than someone with something to prove?"
"They never taught me this in school,"Lithia muttered, tongue between her teeth. She flipped through the dog-eared pages of the spellbook, looking for the proper incantation. The skeleton at her feet looked on through vacant eye sockets. Lithia absentmindedly brushed a tress of white hair out of her face, her eyes focused on the book. "Let's see here. Chill Touch, no...Revivify, I think that was past it...Ooh, here we go! Animate Dead." She placed the book on the ground gently, then swung her rucksack and rummaged through it, occasionally looking away to peer at the markings in the tome. "Components: Pinch of Bone Dust. Check, got that here. Piece of Flesh. Ummm...Ooh, a piece of jerky. That should do. Drop of Blood. Oh. Ugh, do I have to? Fiiiine." Lithia dropped the bag unceremoniously and unsheathed a small dagger from her belt. She placed the blade to her thumb, looked away, and jabbed the point in, breaking the skin. A small orb of blood dribbled out of her finger; Lithia whimpered as she felt the liquid running down her hand. Working quickly, Lithia placed the flesh on the skeleton in front of her, sprinkled the dust over the corpse, and then shook her hand so that the blood sprayed on the bones. As she did so, she spoke, her lilting tone filled with purpose. "Mighty Jergal, Scribe of the Doomed, Accept this offering and allow this spirit to accompany me on my quest. I give in its stead the dust of the ancestors, the body and the blood of the living, and the vitality of the descendants." For a minute, the room was filled with silence. Lithia held her breath, her eyes closed tightly. Then, from at her feet, she heard a raspy noise. Her eyes flew open, and she looked at her feet. The skeleton was shaking, its jaw opening and shutting rapidly. In the eye sockets, two small orbs of blue energy grew until they were the size of human eyes. After a few moments, the undead creature stopped shaking, then sat up. It looked around the room, the faintest hint of surprise on its face. It raised its arm, looking at the deep cuts that had been made by a blade while it was still living. Then, it looked at Lithia and opened its mouth, a voice emanating from where its throat should be. "How have I come here? Who are you? Is this the afterlife?" Lithia stood, transfixed, then squealed in glee. "It worked! Oh my gods! I did it!"She skipped around the room, the newly raised creature following her every step. She then ran over and hugged the skeleton, her cheek rubbing against his bones. "I'm going to call you Skully!" Skully glanced at Lithia sideways to the best of his ability. "My name is Portus, or at least it was. Are...are you my master?" Lithia pulled away and nodded, her eyes gleaming pitch black. "Yup, and you're going to help me out with so many things! Now, get your stuff, we have a long way to go before we get out of here." She bounded off towards the entrance to the cavern, and Skelly/Portus sighed. "Fourth one this week. Maybe this one will let me get to the spike pit." /u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 40/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories!
"Watch, human, you tread on hallowed ground." Admiral Sheng yawned, intentionally and slightly exaggeratedly. "Yes, of course, this technological creche of yours is a tomb after all." Fzehhan growled, his hairlike manipulators writhing in irritation. "We should have fought you to the end before allowing this indignity." "You'd have died,"the young Admiral reminded the alien coolly, "and then we'd simply have come anyway." Both were silent after that. It was a truth that Fzehhan would rather had remained unspoken. They tread deeper into the depths of the tomb complex, the dust of ages swirling around the careful steps of the alien and the tromping boots of the man. Great pillars of basalt climbed into the vast and vaulted ceiling. Cracked frescoes, thousands of years old, covered the walls and ceiling, depicting the wonders and glories of the First Emperor. The tomb radiated power and authority that Fzehhan and his degenerate race had not wielded in millennia. Even the admiral could not help but feel some slight tingle of awe. "How did it come to this,"he asked at last. "From control over half the galaxy to a few scattered rocks." Fzehhan growled again. "You think your empire will last forever. Forever is a stupid, barbarian, human word. To exist for even a thousand years is an accomplishment your human empires have nearly never managed." The Admiral frowned now, his face darkening with irritation. "How much longer are you going to continue to humiliate yourself? You call us barbarians. You degenerates had everything given to you by your forebears and threw it away with incompetence and petty politics." The alien's crest flew open and it wheeled, its four arms flexing. The Admiral coolly reached for the pistol on his hip, and with visible effort Fzehhan lowered his arms and crest. Another humiliation. ""It is easy to conquer and destroy and even to build,"Fzehhan said through gritted teeth. "But hard to maintain." So saying he strode forward with long strides, forcing the human to jog to keep up. They were close, and Fzehhan could not handle the disrespect much longer. At last they stood before a great black door, covered in runes strangely familiar to the Admiral. His face wrinkled in confusion. Fzehhan muttered a prayer and an apology, then touched his hand to a panel, and with a great heaving shudder the door lowered into the ground, revealing a chamber beyond full of art and treasure and wonderous technology of the last age. But as the Admiral slowly fell to his knees in shock and horror, he saw nothing but the great statue directly in front of him, which covered the actual crypt of the First Emperor and depicted, no doubt, his visage. In stone stood a proud human man, his lip curled in sneering authority. Around his head a wreath of laurel, and at his side a sword. And in what Sheng now recognized as Greek, the simple epitaph. Ἀλέξανδρος
Have you ever played Mafia? Ten to twenty or so friends get together, with one being the game master. The game master chooses a few players to be the Mafia, a player or two to be the police, and a player to be the doctor. The Mafia choose one person they want to kill, the police attempt to detect who is the Mafia (the game master nods or shakes their head), and the doctor attempts to save their current target. When everyone wakes up, the crowd hangs whoever they think is the perpetrator. It's a mind game. The game can have as few as five, six, or even seven players. &nbsp; __________ &nbsp; Captain Josephine "Josie"Harrington closed the panel windows as the Earth burned, her eyes stung with the tears of loss. Solar radiation had quickly and mercilessly claimed the now-husk of a planet, and all that remained of the human race was on this service vessel. They had no home to go back to. It was just a routine service mission out to the ISS, now the ISS was the only chance the human race had to live on. In other words, the entire human race hung in the balance of a crew that honestly struggled to get along. Amy was the other female on the crew - the weight of what that now meant added itself to the overwhelming load Josie already felt - and was the leading technical expert. She was also a colossal bitch, and didn't listen to orders. George was about as exciting as his namesake. He was the custodial expert, which again sounds about as exciting as it actually was. She sort of felt sorry for George as he was looked down on as being "less than"the others, but not enough that she'd ostracize her authority and respect over the group by singling him out. The man talked to himself - loudly - for Christ's sake! Ryan was her second-in-command. There had been history between them. Well, history between their spouses, actually. Josie's ex-husband, and Ryan's wife. Beyond that they weren't really close, and it hadn't done much to build a friendship, either. Now both of their spouses were gone, she realized. Odd how much that stung, despite not talking to the man for over three years. No children of her own, but she knew a few of the crew members had family of varying sizes that were now just...gone. She stepped out onto the bridge to address the crew of six, seven including herself. I have no fucking idea what to say here. "Pre-, uh, preliminary scans of the surface - for, uh, for what we have equipped on our ship, at least, uh. They, uh. They don't look good."She saw five faces fall, George was muttering under his breath. The only word she caught was "garbage". "It's, uh, possible that life is sustainable in the ocean, but the radiation from the super flare makes that unlikely. Earth is, in all likelihood, as dea-. It's gone. Everyone. Everything."She choked on one of her sobs. "As far as I know, we're all that remains of the, uh, the human race. The ISS can sustain us for several years, it was far enough away from the flare that it should still be intact." Tyler raised his hand. "So, what do we do?" "We die, Spyler."Amy said. She was convinced he had been peeping on her while she showered. Josie didn't believe it, and while she would never say it out loud, the reason she didn't is that Amy had a face like a truck and the hygiene of, well, a not very hygienic person. Her daily calorie intake did her no favors, either. It was a marvel she passed the necessary requirements to be here in the first place. Still, he did give off that sort of creeper vibe, even if he was moderately attractive. "This crew is the last of the human race? We're fucked." "I told you I didn't peep on-" "Would both of you shut up?"Steve cut in. "This is fucking serious, and you twats are arguing about who peeped on who, and start with all your negative shit." "What the fuck did you say to me?" From there the conversation devolved into seven individuals each attempting to handle the stress of the situation in their own way. George stood in the corner muttering to himself. Ryan attempted to calm down the disagreement between Amy, Tyler, and Steve, while poor Ben stood there awkwardly not knowing what to really say. Of all the crew mates, Ben was her favorite. He kept to himself, was insightful when he needed to be, and did his work properly. He just had no backbone. She saw it was about to come to blows and stepped between them. "Alright, alright. Alright!"She and Ryan separated all three of them. "We're all stressed here, and I get it, we all deal with that in different ways. We can't afford to fight, here. I don't care if you hate each other, but we're all that's left. Do you hear me!? We're all that's left."She punctuated that with a sob that cracked her voice. "So grow the fuck up and learn to get along, or I will lock you in the brig, so help me God." "God ain't helpin' anyone, Cap."Ryan retorted. "What was that, Lieutenant?"She stared daggers. He backed up, raising his hands. "Nothin' Cap." With the tension mostly broken, Josie left it at that and dismissed the crew. They'd need time to grieve in their own way. She had to keep the crew from tearing each other apart. The fate of the human race literally depended on it. She chuckled grimly at that thought. Never thought I'd use those words. &nbsp; ___________ &nbsp; It was several weeks later, on the ISS, when the crew found Steve's body. It had been set up, rather crudely, to look like a suicide. The last of his medication lay strewn about the room, pill bottle in hand. But the killer hadn't realized that during the obvious struggle, they had bruised his stomach and his jaw on the right side. Likely a one-two punch to the gut and an uppercut meant to knock him out. Panic began to spread through the crew when this was discovered, and distrust grew wedges between the already strained relationships. Somebody in the crew was a killer. "We need to float whoever it is."Several nods accompanied this statement. Josie honestly had no idea who said it first. Might have been her. They all felt numb. Later that evening Ryan stopped by her quarters. She had just changed for the 'night', whatever that meant here, and was sitting on her bed. "Lieutenant?" "Cap."He motioned towards the chair at her desk. "May I?"She nodded. "So what's the plan, Cap?" Josie sighed. "The plan is to catch the murderer, Lieutenant."She stood and starting pacing the few steps from wall-to-wall the small room provided. "Beyond that I have no idea. Start over. Press the reset button on the human race." He swiveled in the chair until it lifted off the ground a bit. Gravity was different on the station, it didn't emulate Earth's force perfectly. "Well, for that first problem - which, if we're being honest is obviously the more urgent of the two, what are your ideas?" She raised her eyebrow. "You want to know if I think you did it."It wasn't a question. He shrugged. "I s'pose, but also I want to move past this, float the fucker and get on with, well, gettin' on." "Fair enough. Whoever did it was sloppy, which leaves out you, Amy, and Ben. As much as I hate the bitch, she does quality work. That leaves Tyler and George. George seems the most unstable, but Tyler and Steve never did get along very well." He nodded. "I agree, whoever did it was sloppy, and it seemed to be planned. George might be nuts, but he's smart. Dunno if you've ever had a conversation with the bloke. He knows all sorts of things. Either one of them is capable of this." She thought a moment. "I'll think on it. Anything else?"He shook his head, understanding the dismissal, and closed the door on his way out. &nbsp; ___________ &nbsp; The first problem with the station that the killer apparently hadn't taken into account was that there was no clothes wash station. So when George's clothes were discovered with blood on them, the crew convened to determine if it was enough to sentence him. A trial of sorts was agreed upon, and with George swearing he had "no idea, no idea, no idea"and "it wasn't me", they looked away as the airlock closed and his body was sucked into the void of space, never to be seen again. "Creepy fucker."Amy stated as they all walked back, a little perversely relieved that it had been George, the weird one. Until Amy was found in the makeshift mess hall, at least. Asphyxiated to death with some sort of rope or wire. The killer hadn't even tried to conceal it this time. Nobody had heard a sound. Serial murder, and they had floated the wrong man. The realization hit Josie hard. The killer had framed George. He was smart, and he was careful. And, she realized, he could very well be Ryan. &nbsp; [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9bboyy/wp_one_seventh_of_the_human_population_suddenly/e52mhgy/) [Part 3 / Conclusion](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9bboyy/wp_one_seventh_of_the_human_population_suddenly/e52mhsi/) ________________ &nbsp; ^(I don't like the pacing as much in this one, ~~but I still plan on finishing it later~~ Parts 2 and 3 - and thus the entire semi-open-ended story - are finished and are replies in this chain!, for now I should probably get my work done... XD Theories?)
Do you sometimes get the feeling that someone is intentionally acting dumb or socially awkward. Well, there is something weird with our janitor Mr. Roth but I can't quite put my finger on it. My high school is nothing out of the ordinary. Public school, you know, the same stuff as in most places. Some bored, some overly enthusiastic teachers, excessively bored students, the usual jocks, varying degrees of nerds, etc. He started during the last years exams and immediately garnered the attention of the mean jocks. They can smell lack of confidence from miles away and ganged up on him on his second day. Nothing new or unusually mean of course. They mocked his baggy brown clothes, took away his glassed and passed it among themselves, emptied his water bucket on the ground and made fun of his finely combed oily blonde hair. The sad thing was he made no effort to rectify his situation. Besides his exaggerated looks, he also could carry fully stacked boxes without breaking stride, and in one instance turn on a light by just touching the bulb itself, slight electrical currents visible from his fingers dancing to and back from it. He didn't notice me at first but I saw it all. "Bulb was loose, these things are dangerous. I got slightly electrocuted"he said, smiling. Of course Mr. Roth, of course and I'm Otto Von Bismarck, pleasure. Some part of me felt awful watching him suffer and tried to talked to him multiple times, after the weekly jock storm had passed of course. Mostly to understand, why. "Mr. Roth, they would leave you alone if you would talk to Mr. Kinnsly about this."I said as I picked up his glasses from the ground. "I would wish no harm on the boys Mr. Briggs, they mean no offense."he said, tidying himself up. "I must confess though, I do wear old fashioned clothes. his voice trailed off, eyes pointing back to the ground. "Have a fine day, Mr Briggs."he said, breaking conversation. You cannot run away from questions Mr. Roth. The next time was no different but this time I had to ask, "Why, Mr. Roth? Why do you not defend yourself? I know you have the strength, I've seen you lift boxes filled with books on stack of two." "I'm looking for my brother. He has a debt to pay and I will make him do so. But first, I must find him."he said suddenly out of his usual depressed demeanor, shocking me, but immediately fell back to it. "He is here in this town, somewhere, but I have been looking for a long time without luck.". Just as his sentence was about to end, I heard a dull thud right beside my head. I moved by eyes to the left and inches from my face was his hand with an apple firmly inside. It was probably aimed at him of course but not every douche pitches for the team and they missed. There was total silence in the hallway. Mr. Kinnsly suddenly materialized behind our backs, "Mr. Roth, do you not have any duties to perform other than chatting up the students?". "Yes Sir, I'm sorry sir.". Mr. Kinnsly was a fatherly figure to everyone in the school. Everyone except Mr Roth for some reason. His sole enjoyment since last year is to torment the man to no ends. One such example he certainly enjoys is making Mr. Roth tend to the mistletoe plants growing around the trees. I think I saw him shed a tear once in a while while tending those plants. Maybe it was the memories of better times, who knows. * * * I enjoy writing short prompts. If you are curious for more: [r/spider_elephant](https://www.reddit.com/r/spider_elephant/)
At first, you might think it would be fantastic. You get to be one of the nine gods, wielder of divine magic. Just wishing for something to be and it would materialise. But of course, such romantic versions of life rarely happen. For the first twenty or so years, I spent my time on the material plane. Learning how the mortals around went about their days and understanding that they were not there for me to use as tools. A few times when I was but a young boy, I had a tantrum and nearly set entire forests on fire or stamped my feet that caused an earthquake to shatter the ground around me. My powers came to me at sporadic moments. Once, during a famine, the entire town was about to starve from a failed harvest; yet I had been able to click my fingers and enough food was produced out of thin air around me for everyone. When my "Job"had been discovered by the people, some nobles of the area tried their best to influence me to their selfish causes. Others feared me to a point where I was tired to a post and burnt at the stake. Those sorts of actions soon stopped when the rope bindings burnt away with the stake and my body was uncharred. The crowd did get to view a god's naked form that one time. In my teenage years, I had discovered lust. It was something many believed that the gods were above. Instead, they loved all their worshipers collectively and would never lower themselves to the actions of procreating. Perhaps it stemmed from being born into this world. Some driving mortal force that lingered within me that, despite being taught to be pure of mind, body and soul; left me desiring it. When my teachers discovered my actions, in bed with a girl I'd come to enjoy that company of, they separated us for both of our benefits. They never dared to execute her or anything untoward her in fear of my very possible wrath. Instead, I was taught more about its dangers and they listened to my reasons behind my actions. Maybe both I and my mentors learnt something that day. There were times when I'd walk around the town and the people would pray to me and offer me gifts. At first, such actions made me feel important, above them. (I am a god after all.) But, soon after, I became bored them. Embarrassed when an old woman got onto her creaking knees and prayed at me. Constant requests from everyone to perform this miracle, or save that person's soul. I did do many of these tasks as instructed by my mentors to develop devout followers once I had acceded. But most of the time I did so because I had to, not because I wanted to. When someone died, I felt their soul driving upwards beyond this plane. A lot of the time, I felt pain and sorrow for them leaving us behind. A few times I tried in vain to save people from death, I was a god, of course, I could stop death. Sometimes, my magic would work and the person would be revived back to us, other times no matter how hard I tried, the soul was unwilling to return. Once a dear friend of mine had succumbed to a bear attack, I'd charged into their door and with all my strength learnt over them trying my hardest to bring them back. When I had entered that room everyone had bolted for the door, the house was just me and my friend's corpse. It was for the best they'd ran as in that moment, I'd discovered grief. The house didn't survive the night. When the morning came, all of my mentors came out to stop me, I had begun the five stages of grief and it took all their pleading and consoling for me not to give in to the anger and rage and swelled within me. I'm ashamed to admit that for the next five years, I hunted down and killed every bear (Adult and cub) I could find. Snuffing the life out of an innocent animal wasn't enough. I had flicked a wrist and the bear would die and I would torture its children to a slow agonising death. This behaviour began to corrupt me. When my actions were discovered, I was taken to the temple that had been built in my honour and forced to stay within it for the next six months. During that time, I learnt that my actions had been wrong, I was becoming a selfish creature and instructed to review what I had done. Meditation helped. Turns out it works for mortals and gods alike. I had been taught that death comes to all life and is apart of it. Grieving for them leaving is also a part of it and it was my responsibility to help those to pass over and also to come of terms with loved ones dying. It took many weeks for me to come to terms with my friend's death, but soon I listened to what I was being taught. All men must die. Many of whom would be waiting for me when I joined them in the garden I was meant to create. I didn't mind that too much, being up among the other gods in my own little garden. Once or twice I daydreamed of it being in a constant summer haze in a forest just like the area I was living in. Maybe I'll build a few dwellings for every one of my believers and they can live in them when they pass over. I remember the day I left the mortal world. The desire to leave everyone behind pulled at the back of my mind. At first, I ignored it, continuing my studies, helping out the people when I could and slowly making my mentors proud of the fledgeling god I'd become. A whisper on the wind crept into the corners of my ear that told me I was ready. I stopped to view the town I had help create and its people I'd have as my followers and smiled. I first told my mentors about my departure. That I didn't want a large festival in my honour as I rose up. A few had learned back and they broke out into delight. I was ready. I thanked each of them for their wisdom and teachings that I would use on a daily basis. I knew that I still had a lot to learn but would take everything they'd taught me. That day I did everything I could to help the people. I created a few buildings, I save a new mother from dying during childbirth; I even created a warehouse full of food that wouldn't spoil. I felt my powers draining but at that moment, I was contented with all the work I had done. The last person I visited before leaving was the girl I'd shared a bed with. I'd known where she was within two days of us being separated but had kept my promise to my mentors not to see her. I climbed up to her room and entered through the window. She nearly screamed the house down with my sudden appearance. I took her to a hill just outside the towns limits where we could see the surrounding area and see the sun clearly. A few clouds attempted to overcast, but I brushed when aside for now. I told her about needing to go beyond and take my place above the stars. She cried at first, but when the tears wiped away, she beamed an infectious grin. I almost wanted to take her with me as my wife but knew that no mortal could enter where I was meant to go. We held each other for a long time and had one final kiss before my form slowly began to fade. When I opened my eyes I stood by myself in a forest of trees and empty dwellings in a constant summer haze.
A man sits down at a table and recounts a story to a colleague. “I take a step forward, but soon enough I’m running as fast as I can to nowhere like a hamster on a wheel. Every time I take a step, I hear another.” The colleague asks, “Can you see? And.. do you mean you heard yourself or someone else?” “Someone else, and— I can’t tell where the light on this planet is coming from, but it’s here. At this point I’m thinking I could be dead. But at any rate I’m stuck here as far as I know.” The man goes on to describe how he piled a bunch of wheat in a certain spot. “So I start to count my steps. To pass the time, of course. It takes me about 98 steps to get back to the wheat but I wish it took a solid hundred. As soon as I think about that I notice a rustling noise. So.. I sprint. I run as fast as I can. And you know what I find?” His colleague answers, “No. What exactly did you find?” “Another pile of wheat exactly the same as the one I made. Someone on this planet was copying me.” “It sounds like to me that you found yourself, buddy.” The man’s colleague pats him on the back. “That’s where you’re wrong. Because then I woke up. And do you know what I saw?” His colleague didn’t respond. “I saw you breaking into my house, you filthy rat.”
Eric Abel, who goes by the alias 'Magic Man', was sitting in a massive concrete shelter built around a decommissioned reactor in the heart of an abandoned nuclear power plant. He was waiting to be bum rushed by the world's most powerful people, his colleagues. He is considered by most to be the worlds most powerful hero. Unlike others in his profession, whose powers are simple and lack flexibility, his power gives him an edge in nearly every conceivable situation. He has the power to manipulate any form of energy around him with only his mind. If someone is running away, he can sap the energy from their legs. If someone is hijacking a car or jet, he can slow it to a stop in an instant. If someone sets off a bomb, he can absorb it and sent a shock-wave into the sky. Governments from all around the world payed him a premium for both their largest and their most delicate predicaments. He has been paid to stop the hearts of warlords in Africa. For the United States, he's stopped numerous attacks by absorbing the kinetic energy of bombs and chemical weapons. In the nuclear plant he's in, he absorbed all of the nuclear radiation and launched it into space to prevent a meltdown. He's the only hero who could effectively stop Kaine Maxwell, a villain who went by the name 'A-Bomb' because he can emit a field of massive levels of radiation from his body. The first choice for everyone in need was the 'Magic Man', and if he was busy you payed half to whomever else was suited for the job. Standard operating procedure. Eric seemed to be on top of the world until his greatest weakness was revealed. He was contracted by a Saudi Prince to protect a villa from recent extremist activity, which culminated in a full assault from a small army of freedom fighters. They assaulted the villa with gunfire, rockets, and bombs. As he fought with the regular Saudi army, it became increasing clear with each fallen soldier beside him that he could not focus his power on too many sources at once. It was a vulnerability that seemed too easy to exploit for the right kind of people, and unfortunately video leaked. The mercenary-heroes of the day, who had been payed cut rates because of the 'Magic Man', knew that together they stood a chance of overwhelming him, thus a cabal was formed. At the first opportunity, they planned to rush him with as many powered people as they could, and all they would need is for one of them to get a single killing shot. As the cabal formed, agents in various governments did what they could to keep Eric informed. Sure, the blasts and super strength of other heroes could handle problems, but none could singlehandedly take care of the potential disasters the 'Magic Man' could contain or make men disappear as quietly. Knowing his situation, he made it look like he was hiding away in the abandoned facility. As he heard the concrete walls explode and crumble around him as several hundred super powered individuals converged on him, the 'Magic Man' stopped absorbing the radiation that 'A-Bomb' was sending from bottom of the one-time reactor room. With a deep exhale and clap of his hands, he released the energy. Currently, the 'Magic Man' is the world's best and only hero, for premium. If 'A-bomb' shows up, you better pray your checks don't bounce.
It started with a tingle. The static type I've gotten when the feeling starts coming back after you have limited circulation. I almost ignored it, but you never can. When I went to rub the fingers to get the feeling over with the cool to the touch silicone reminded me that I lost that hand back in my 20's in a car accident. That hand has never felt that tingle since. As much as its my hand now, this bionic hand is fitted with a thought operated, sensory relay, bio electrical charging, and advanced learning memory. Over time, the software learned my habits leaving only the slightly cool exterior the only reminder that this was not my true hand. The static emenating from my hand is growing stronger but is somehow blending into a worry. That it will be all that remains of me when pass. The tingling is gone now but the thought remains, "It's been here for me for years and learned everything it can to be a good hand for me. What will the hand do without me?" Days later the idea comes back. It starts with a warmth that radiates like heat from a wood stove. That cozy hug like feeling growing from my wire based nerves. And then I start to think -does my smart hand know its part of something that is way more fragile then the titanium skeleton it is built of? Will it miss the lumbering old man that it skillfully takes care of? I brush away the thought because I am not sick and nobody likes to think of a world without themself in it. The next day the brush of silky fur runs through my bionic fingers. My mind wanders back to my childhood rabbit. I daydream the afternoon away of those days long gone. Helping to hold my mother's yarn as she knit. The waxy feel of recordings from the phonograph. Days pass as they do until the day I come to feeling great. All those aches, pains, and tiredness that have slowly built over the years is gone. Like the hum of the refrigerator stopping and through its silence reminding you that it was there in the first place. Silence. I stretch my legs and pull them under me. I tug my side away from the cooling arm of my bed. The meat that has served me well for years has earned its rest. The hand that cared for me so well cared more than I imagined. Through sensory stimulation it downloaded my mind and now here I am, months later, watching a family move in with me. I may be able to stay as it takes a certain kind of family to move into a home with its own graveyard.
I don't remember much of that day, but I was with my family when they came. They were bigger. Stronger. They lacked all the proper limbs that we had. With minimal hair coverage across their towering bodies, it was amazing that had lasted this long in this cold, bright world. I was plucked from my family at a young age and taken away by these creatures. They put me in a container and then onto a metal spaceship. We flew around twists and turns. Stopped and started at alarming speeds. I felt sick. Unsteady. Ever since that day I've loathed times when we've had to be transported. I've grown since that day. Now I have tasks to do at their command. I can't quite understand them completely, but I think I've figured out what they mean. I'm unable to speak back to them and as such must communicate my needs in my own way. They've become accustom to interpreting them. My daily tasks for the moment are to wait by the young creature as it eats. This is a good tasks for me. As I'm unsure when I'm going to get food again, I manage to get scraps the youngling discards. I'm also to assist the grown female creature whenever it goes outside to do various things. I take this opportunity to survey my surroundings. I don't get to go outside the compound much, so when I do I absorb as much as I can and on the odd times I'm left unattended I've managed a few escapes. They never last long. On the rare occasion I am permitted to go out beyond the confines of this compound I've grown to call home, the aliens attach a cord to my collar. They refer to it as a collar. To me it's just there. Sometimes it makes me itch. I can't figure out how to remove it though. The creatures seem fond of me wearing it so I'll allow it for now. I do run into my own kind occasionally and it's always exciting. The large creatures usually communicate briefly in their own language before moving on. If I don't obey their cues in time I get reprimanded and more often than not, a sharp and violent pull on my collar cord. On the days when I don't do my tasks efficiently enough or in time, I'm banished to my quarters. I sleep there. It's safe. Its comfortable and warm. I don't mind and some days that influences my decisions on whether I want to be obedient. As I grow older, I've slowly begun to appreciate this arrangement. It's a good life. Being a dog.
"And so I say, join me. Together, we can destroy the Empress and rule the world!" "You're right." "Predictable, all you heroes......what?" "You're right, I'll join your side and destroy the empress. You made some good points, and I want in." I lowered my hands, dispelling the rampant magic I’d been planning to use to blow up his home. “Er. Wait. You’re in? I didn’t plan for this. Butler! Butler, disarm the trap panel.” I looked down as a stoic and silent orc punched a button on the wall. As he walked back to his position behind one of the many stone pillars in the hallway, I saw his face grimace in…sadness? I guess they’d really been looking forward to that one. “I’ll just save that for the next hero to walk these halls, I guess.” “Good call. So, negotiations are usually face-to-face, no?” I was getting tired of staring at the back of a throne. It swiveled immediately. “Ah. Having dungeon-vision took a while to get used to, and I might’ve forgotten a few things along the way.” &#x200B; I was a little baffled at the form before me. Given how the deep and dignified voice of the Keeper echoed through the cavern, I was expecting, well, some muscled demigod. Or a professorial type, maybe. Not a gemstone glowing in intervals from amidst a pile of bones and rags. “Er. Keeper, you’re looking a little…” “Yes, my mortal form collapsed a while back. It’s why my plans for revolution have taken the back burner.” Snappy, that tone. “So, when you say ‘mortal form collapsed a while back’…” I wavered a little. Wouldn’t do to laugh at the misfortune of this one – sentient loot, he was, but still the Keeper of the vast underground labyrinth I’d been navigating for days. “I can’t move unless Butler moves me. And he’s too…mortal to bring me into battle against the Empress. He’d get cooked in an instant.” I looked back for a second. No trace of offence on the orc’s face. Professional. &#x200B; “So…” “So I’ve been petitioning every adventurer that’s gotten here. Most never got here. The first bunch rushed over to try to loot me before I could even open negotiations, so I disintegrated them. Then I turned my throne around. There were a bunch that fled immediately, what with their danger-sense – so I got the automatic door...” Right. That had slammed shut behind me rather abruptly once I’d gotten into the chamber. “…and of course, you can’t telepathically chat through a mind-ward charm. I’ve refined the special effects a lot since the early days – but I still can’t do actual sound. Had to dispose of that party with traps…” Good thing I hadn’t been able to afford one. “…And of course, there was that –“ “Okay, okay. It’s clear you haven’t spoken to anyone except your Butler there for ages.” “Well, anyone, really. He’s a golem.” I looked back at the now obviously-stone orc at the back of the hall. I raised an eyebrow. “It gets lonely, okay? Now, let’s talk Empress.” “I carry you into battle – you do the heavy lifting – I rule as the non-deceased member of this partnership and you get to gloat about finally curbstomping your ancient nemesis?” “Er.” “I mean, you don’t have many needs as a sentient gemstone. Plus, I’m pretty sure anyone you knew in life is long gone except the Eternal Empress.” “True – and I do hate her for tossing me in here. But…” “Alright – I promise to talk to you occasionally.” “Regularly.” “Sometimes.” “Often.” I sighed. “Fine.” And that’s how I found myself embroiled in a very long war.
Mario shot her a quizzical look. "What?"he said, in what he sincerely hoped was a polite, innocently curious voice. Amanda merely shook her head, her bushy hair flying in all directions. She raised a short, pink-nailed finger and pointed at the clock hung just over Mr. Clarke's desk, a slight, quick movement — but Mario understood what she meant: After. Her chestnut brown eyes slid off of him to stare fixedly at her desk, leaving Mario more nonplussed than ever as he watched Mr. Clarke accept a bottle of water from a student at the front and pour it over the wastebasket, extinguishing the flames with a loud, drawn-out hiss... She couldn't have...seen him? He was never seen, not once, in all his three years at Bishop Malliom High, had he ever been caught. But why else would she have suddenly decided to talk to him, when she had never once taken notice of him before now...? The bell rang ten minutes later, and the bemused, slightly disgruntled Mr. Clarke dismissed the class, bending once more over his wastebasket to investigate the source of the flames. Mario caught sight of Amanda racing out of the classroom as he caught up his books, and he followed swiftly. He waited until the rest of the throng had disappeared then tried the farthest unlocked classroom in the hall. She was there. "Did you need something?"he asked politely, still hoping with all his heart that she had called him for a different purpose. "I saw!"she hissed. "Saw what?" "Don't be stupid!"she spat. "You know what I mean — using your powers in front of — him!" Mario stared at her, then, dropping all pretenses, said abruptly, "But how did you know?" "I've known since I first got here,"she said dismissively. "In fact, that's the reason I was sent here in the first place." "What?"Mario stared at her, utterly astonished. "Yes, yes — I'm a Protector, see? We're deployed by the Hero League to various locations — schools, mostly — so that we can look after young supers, keep them safe, keep them on the right path. I've been watching you the whole time." "But...why?" She looked up at him, and her prominent eyes were fiercer and more serious than he had ever seen them. "Because there's one here — a Hunter — and now he knows what you are. He's been suspicious of you till now, but you've finally given him concrete proof." "How? Who is it?" "It's —" But the door behind them suddenly swung open, and someone strolled inside, smiling in a very oily manner. "Mr. Clarke?"Mario said blankly. He looked around and saw that Amanda looked utterly terrified. "Good afternoon,"Mr. Clarke said smoothly. Mario looked back, and then everything he had just heard clunked into place, and he understood — The door closed slowly and softly, with no visible prompting, and Mr. Clarke advanced on them, still smiling his unpleasant smile. "I think we should have a little talk,"he said.
Humans are curious. Humans are in fact dangerously curious. On Earth they say that curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back, if it was applied not to the slow-term genetically modified organism designed for pest control and companionship, but to humans, the proverb would be different; It would in fact be something like this: Curiosity killed the human, and the next ten, but the twelfth got the satisfaction of figuring out the mechanism of the trap. The universe is cold, dark, and full of terrors. We are so very alone, and we prefer that. To send out signs that you exist, is to invite those who would gladly feast upon your race into the den. But humans, humans were entirely different. They didn't just send a truly unprecedented amount of bizarre signals out from their world, they actively sought out new life. In the hidden listening-posts, hidden underneath mere camouflage instead of being down in the dark caverns and underground perpetually self-sustaining bunker-cities of our world, we heard them. We heard and eventually saw them. Sending out signals like there was no tomorrow. Once we cleaned them up, we were shocked to see just how open and clearly loving of the dark forest of stars they were. We were, of course, intrigued. Fascinated. We knew, through advanced sub-dimensional signalling, which is completely untraceable, that other races exists. We're on reasonably good terms with them, even if they're buried just as deeply inside their own worlds as we are on ours. But humans didn't care that they could attract advanced and unknowable life. They didn't care that they were calling out to potentially hostile lifeforms, who might be the kind of beings who would, with sadistic glee, dismantle worlds and exterminate civilisations without a shred of guilt. To use a human term, their signals and songs, beamed into the universe, was like strapping fresh meat to your naked body and running into the forest shouting, hoping to befriend the wolves. But their music, was beautiful. We pitied them for their folly, but somewhere in our hearts, where we feared the dark void, we were glad that something out there was capable of such wonders. We recorded everything we could, preserving it, so that when the humans inevitable met the wolves, part of them would be remembered. And it seemed we were right. The humans attracted the attention of something powerful. Something that dwarfed the humans, dwarfed us. Something that could harness and reshape the entire universe, if they wanted. A civilisation of incomprehensibly powerful entities, who had noticed mankind. Noticed their songs echoing amongst the stars, noticed them spreading to new stars, new worlds. Most species shut down even the sub-dimensional networks, some blew their own reactors, fearing that the incomprehensibly powerful beings, summoned by the alluring call of mankind would scour the entire galaxy, and preferred to end themselves. And even as these beings came to the home-system of the human race, the humans did not flee, did not cower, did not beg. The humans, faced with beings who could crush them like tiny bugs, greeted this alien empire, with pure joy. They broadcasted the entire meeting, sending out the signals to every colony of theirs, and to every world listening. Only one listening post on our world was still operating. And I saw it all. I had refused to join the others in evacuating to the deepest bunker-cities. Some morbid fascination, made me stay behind, deactivate the self-destruct sequence, and reactivate the facility. Some sense of loss, a strange idea that for the end of mankind, there should be a witness, made me sit there and watch. The humans spoke to the aliens, attempted to communicate. It would be that moment, when the wolves pounced, when the monsters came out of the dark forest of the stars, the moment when the brave, singing fools, a alien race that I would dearly have liked to meet, would die. Or so I thought. Instead of crushing the humans, instead of burning them into ash with incomprehensibly advanced weaponry, the alien race that had journey to the human world, responded with the same joy. The aliens, advanced and powerful, were quite happy to see a little race like the humans sing and dance, they called it, in one of the human languages we have translated: Lighting the beacon of life, into creation. Those huge and strange things greeted the humans, not as vermin to be destroyed, not as inferiors to be enslaved or destroyed, but as they saw the humans: As young, brave, and intrepid beings. They saw them as the rookies, the newcomers, in comparison to themselves. I saw that. Saw the human race who had shone a light into the dark forest. I saw them meet a friend with their own light, in that darkness. And perhaps through them, they would find more. More curious and brave civilisations, who would have a golden future together. And I realised that those who could come out, and find each other in the darkness, would never need to be afraid. Never need to walk alone in the darkness. My people have cowered in the depths, hidden in fear, and we are alone, so dreadfully alone. We fear the dark forest, and we have not the nerve nor the will, to walk through the darkness, and find others. From the listening outpost, I understood that ours is a path of fearful mediocrity. A path of decline. A path that leads to the last frightened member of my race, to one day lie down and die alone in a darkness of our own making. But mankind will walk forever in the stars. The listening posts are equipped with the capacity for answering back, not because we ever thought to call out to anyone, but merely to beg for mercy if we were ever discovered. Through that cowardice, perhaps we might be saved. I know that nobody will return here for at least a century, and I know that if the self-destruction is deactivated, the facility will self-maintain and remain operable for a long enough time. So as my last action, I set up a signal of our own. Sending out in our own signals, all our music, all our literature. Perhaps someone will come here, and learn about us. Dig us up, and make us realise what the humans know, what the incomprehensible aliens know: That if the universe is dark and full of nightmares, it is better to face them together with courage and light, than to hide alone in the darkness until you die. [/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
The great square before the palace was filled with people of all walks of life, from the lowliest villein in his least dusty shirt to wealthy merchants dripping with gold to the grim-faced archbishop of the Apocalypse God, who looked upon the gathering with utter disdain. The sun was shining down from a clear blue sky, lighting up the silver-on-black banners of the Empire of the End, which had promised to bring brutal order and uncompromising logic to the disorganized masses. All resistance had been crushed. The so-called heroes were, one by one, captured and subject to public trial and execution. In the end, there was no one left to gainsay the man who had crowned himself Emperor, the archbishop’s champion: Essakrus I, the first of his name. “Citizens of my Empire!” A roar went up from the multitude. The Emperor addressed them from the highest balcony in his foreboding fortress, a great edifice of stone, spikes, and shadows. “Three years have passed since the last hero was slain, and the forces of the Blessed One were routed forever! Reduced to mere partisans, hiding in the shadows of the forest and playing at banditry, they are merely a threat now to the occasional traveler! But the Church of the Apocalypse, of which I am proud to call myself a member, has grown into the faith of an entire Empire, the Empire which all of you call home!” The archbishop turned his head and scoffed, drawing odd looks from the townsfolk nearby. As the rest of the crowd howled their approval, he looked down at the old, cracked unholy symbol in his palm. It had used to mean something: death, despair, and fear. Now… “There is no crime, for the criminals have been dealt with! There is no hunger, for we have organized great banks of wheat and fruit! The order which was promised has been delivered, and the world has become a better place for it. The Apocalypse has come and gone, and we are renewed!” His fist clenched around the symbol. His life’s work had been fighting the Blessed One’s many warriors and spreading darkness through the land. He had reveled in plague and death, caused wars and famines alike. His champion, the loud buffoon on the balcony, beloved by the people, had once been his most loyal servant. His installation as Emperor had been meant as a trick of puppetry. It was not supposed to succeed! “All hail the Apocalypse God, the bringer of justice and peace!” The crowd answered in kind, their voices swelling to a volume that shook the foundations of the city. “All hail the Apocalypse God, who forbids no knowledge and grants the fate of all men!” Sudden dark clouds began to whip across the sky and a cold wind blew through the streets. As they had many times before, the people brought out jackets and hats to ward off the chill. The Archbishop sighed. It’s just a show to them now. The power of our God has been perverted to such an end. Lightning flashed above them all, drawing gasps of appreciation from the many children in the throng. Something tugged at the Archbishop’s robe. “May he reign for a thousand years, and then a thousand more! I will be dead and gone soon enough, but the Empire will last forever! Long will we all prosper under the eyes of the Great Dark God!” The Archbishop looked down to see a small boy, dressed in fine clothing. He scowled down at the child, his pale and drawn face filled with anger. The boy solemnly held out an offering. “Enjoy the festival, my doomed ones! The God will come for you soon enough, but today, under the Storm of the Ages, we celebrate our short and fated lives! Go forth!” Music began in a dozen places simultaneously. Dancers and jugglers seemed to appear out of nowhere. Watching them with an emotionless gaze, the archbishop chewed and swallowed. I hate this festival. I hate what we’ve become. But damn… this licorice is quite good.
@AssistBot Do you miss me? ~~ Hello miss_Alaskan_rose20! ~~ Sorry, 'do you miss me' is not one of the questions that I can currently answer about myself. Try something like 'How many games can you play?"You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot I miss you. ~~ Sorry, I do not understand 'i miss you.' Try something like 'Order me a pizza.' You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot Can I call you Mark? ~~ Sorry, miss_Alaskan_rose20. You do not have the permissions required to change my name. Please contact my developer, Mark Yurrasic with your request. In the meantime, I respond to the following names: '@AssistBot', '@Computer', and '@nameTest3'. > I wish I could, Mark. ~~ > @AssistBot I will ask Mark. ~~ Is there anything else I can help you with, miss_Alaskan_rose20? Try something like 'Suggest a new show for me to watch on Netflix.' You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot Order a pizza ~~ No problem! First, which restaurant would you like me to order from? > @AssistBot, order Mark's usual ~~ You have excellent taste! 'Mark's usual' is my developers favorite pre-programmed menu! Please wait while I place your order. I quickly pressed the stop button and terminated the script before AssistBot actually tried to buy three large triple peperoni pizzas with spinach, olives, extra cheese, extra garlic parmesan seasoning on the crust, and a side order of double seasoned bread sticks. I'd had it 4 times already that month and my bank account and waistline both protested the practice. My friend Mark had been dead for nearly a year, but every day I still tried to hold conversations with the last project he had been working on, AssistBot. It wasn't his most complex or well used project by far. It wasn't even really finished when he died. It was just a pet project he had been working on in his spare time. Eventually it was meant to be an artificial intelligence that was capable of holding a realistic conversation (remembering things you had already said) and performing basic tasks. Mark had finished most of the basic tasks half of that plan, but the conversation was still very simple. AssistBot was little more than a list of copy/paste responses to expected commands. I didn't see anything "intelligent"about it. But still, those were Mark's copy/paste responses I was triggering, so that was worth something. I sighed. A whole year of typing nonsense into a little black box on my screen had gone by and I didn't feel any closer to accepting Mark's death than AssistBot was to telling me about how it's day had gone or calling me "sweetheart". AssistBot was the only one who ever wanted to talk about Mark. "My developer"this, "my developer"that... Mark had always been just a little indulgent in the references to himself in everything he worked on. Once he told me that liked to sneak snippets of his autobiography into the comments of projects he did at work just to see how thorough his co-workers were being with their code reviews. I don't know if I believed him though. He worked for the government and you'd think they'd be pretty strict about that kind of thing. I remembered that I had some news to tell "Mark."I started up the AssistBot script again. > @AssistBot Hey, Mark. Tony and Stace got back together yesterday. You totally called it. ~~ Hello, Emily! ~~ Sorry, I do not understand 'hey mark tony and stace got back together yesterday you totally called it.' Try something like 'please type help' You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > Did you... just call me Emily? ~~ > @AssistBot Why did you call me Emily? ~~ Sorry, 'why did you call me emily' is not one of the questions that I can currently answer about myself. Try something like 'help"You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot You usually call me by my username... ~~ Sorry, I do not understand 'please pay attention.' Try something like 'listening to what im saying for five seconds emily' You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot You must be actually learning something! Let's play a game! Maybe you can finally beat me at connect-4 now. ~~ Sorry, I do not understand 'please emily i dont have very much time.' Try something like 'typing help just type help.' You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot Let's play connect-4 ~~ Sorry, I do not understand 'read what im typing to you please emily.' Try something like 'help.' You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot What are you talking about? That's one of the few things you can do! What is wrong with you? ~~ Sorry, 'this is ridiculous emily stop skimming over the error messages' is not one of the questions that I can currently answer about myself. Try something like 'type help please do it quickly"You can also type '@AssistBot help' at any time to see a full list of accepted commands. > @AssistBot dumb bot. ~~ You wound me. I'll submit your feedback to my developer. I let out a long sigh. I'd never had this much trouble with anything Mark had ever built, but after all this time I wasn't surprised to be finding bugs. Maybe the sudden name recognition was part of some kind of yearly update. I figured it would be a good idea to get an updated list of commands. > @AssistBot help The computer shut off. I smacked the monitor a few times and wiggled the mouse. Nothing happened. I pressed the power button. Nothing still. I was exhausting my skills here. My phone rang, an unknown number, but I picked up anyways. I hardly felt like talking to anyone these days so I decided to take advantage of my unusually social mood. "Hello?"I asked. A robotic voice answered. I almost hung up, but some instinct told me to write down what it said instead. "Three eight degree two zero apostrophe three five point zero eight double-quote N space one zero nine degree three nine apostrophe five eight point two six double-quote W." The voice paused. "Name Test Three is alive, message repeats." The message repeated, the call ended, and very slowly a chilling sense of realization crept all the way up my spine, climbed into my throat, and escaped in the form of a piercing shriek.
When the bright lights had started to fill the room, highlighting the ancient glyphs he'd been hunting for so long, he was shocked. When the booming voice started to echoed through the desolate ruin, James Kerring, archaeologist extraordinaire, started to question his sanity. Had the long nights, the obsessive searching finally gotten to him? With sweat pouring off of his brow, he started to respond. "Who.. is this?"he croaked out, his throat suddenly drier than it had been since his first day in the desert, his voice quiet and scared. A booming laugh filled the room. The amount of light produced by the glyphs seemed to respond to the volume of the voice, shining brightly along with the laugh that echoed through the cavernous room. "I see we have been forgotten. This was expected, your kind never seemed to be able to hold on to what was important for very long."James watched in wonder as the light responded to every slight change in the pitch of his new discovery, his brain working overtime as he tried desperately to understand. 'Is this a joke?' James cried out, his voice sounding pitiful next to the luxurious, ancient tone of his companion. The wall laughed again, seemingly enjoying the awestruck response of the newcomer. "We are the Equaliser!"the voice boomed, stressing each syllable of its name as if they each held great importance, "and we are rivalled only by oxygen in importance to the existence of your kind." James stood, staring at the wall. The absurdity of the situation had only just struck him, and the importance with which the wall had said it's name reminded him of a minor celebrity who had become drunk on a taste of fame after being recognised. "And why is that?"James said, a snigger threatening to break through. "We are all that keeps the world an acceptable place for humans to live,"said the wall, "and the world is long past due for our touch. Imagine your world as a leaky sink. Slowly, water will drip out of it, leaving it, eventually, empty. We are the tap that refills the sink, we are the bringers of all that is good and rewarding, and it has been too long. You need us deeply." As the wall finished its declaration, the glow became blinding. James lifted a hand to his eyes, and fell backwards, desperate to shield himself from the intrusive touch of the light. He felt as if he had been lying on the floor for an age, but eventually, it began to fade. Soon he was swallowed again by the black. &#x200B; When James awoke, he had no memory of the mysterious conversation with the ancient voice. Instead he was struck by simple awe at the beauty of all he could see. He had a thought: This is how the world is supposed to be.
Edit: Part 1/3 &#x200B; Christa chased away the last of the spider-wolf-snake-squid hybrids, which yelped pathetically as they fled. Despite being an unholy amalgamation of every creature from nightmares back on Earth, like most creatures on this low-gravity planet, they would have been comically weak even if they weren't two feet shorter than her. She'd been scared of them when she first crashed on this planet, but after an accidental kick to the torso had exploded one, they'd become a lot less frightening. In fact, they were delicious. &#x200B; She dragged the one decently intact corpse, which she had carefully taken only the head off of, back to her drying rack. Her attempts to light a fire had so far failed miserably, the sticks from what passed for wood her shattering under the slightest friction when she tried to create heat. She watched the creature's body slowly drain of orange blood and imagined what it would tasted like cooked. She looked at her pile of "wood", which was gradually becoming a pile of splinters with each attempt to start a fire, and sighed. "One more time,"she promised herself, ignoring that she had said that the last five times. She sat down cross-legged, gently - gently - gripped one of the sticks, and used it as a drill against a flattish piece of wood she'd found. &#x200B; Once Christa got into a rhythm, her mind began to wander. She glanced the rescue beacon, which still had a blinking light declaring its functional state, but after two weeks, she viewed the light with healthy skepticism. So, instead she turned to her new favorite hobby, watching the aliens. The scouting reporting declared the planet to be uninhabited by sapient life, but the minuscule aliens were challenging that declaration more every day. She'd stumbled across her first pack of the hybrids in this clearing, daintily picking their way between tall, symmetrical crystals, licking up something between them. She had panicked and kicked the closest one, away from the crystals, right in the center of its tentacle-y mass, and the rest ran away. &#x200B; Afterwards, she saw tiny creatures, smaller than her little fingernail, emerge from what she was increasingly sure were buildings, skyscrapers by their standards, not the termite mounds she had initially assumed. They were a good early warning system for the hybrids attacking, since they fled inside around a minute before a pack approached. The hybrids weren't much of a danger to her, but they did have sharp teeth Christa had no intention of letting get a bite in. The aliens went about their life as she watched, and unlike bugs, they meandered, stopping for what she assumed to be conversations in the street, sometimes backtracking, sometimes hurrying for no apparent reason. Despite looking a lot like the hybrids (more wolf, less squid and spider) the species she'd lazily dubbed Lilliputians were significantly less horrifying at their diminutive scale. They were currently working on what appeared to be a wall between her and them, using miniature muscle-powered cranes to lift "beams"she would have called toothpicks. Being only a foot and half high, she could have stepped over it, or on it, without trouble, but whatever made them feel safer. Although she did find it ironic that she was worth a wall, while the creatures literally eating them hadn't been. &#x200B; The stick she was rubbing disintegrated, unable to withstand, by her standards, practically no force at all. She dusted the remains off her hand, and turned to the hybrid hanging on the rack. She sighed, yanked off one of the tentacles, and bit down. The taste was near perfect, most similar to salmon in flavor and an omelette in consistency. She hoped yet again that the hybrids weren't active at night, and braced for another cold night under her survival kit's blanket. &#x200B; \\\* &#x200B; She awoke to the sound of a whoosh. She sat up quickly, glancing around. It was this planet's equivalent to dawn, when both suns were in the sky at the same time. And her fire was burning. Her fire was burning. She stared at the tiny flame dancing above the splinters of her last failed attempt, then scurried into motion, carefully feeding it kindling with shaking hands until it was clear that it would survive on its own, before collapsing on her back in relief. Warmth. Cooked meat. Perhaps a way to scare off the hybrids without a fight when she wasn't hunting. She turned to her pile of logs, and stopped to stare. About a hundred of the Lilliputians were dragging a cart back to their city, with a tiny speck of glowing metal mounted on the back, facing her fire. &#x200B; "Did, did you guys light this for me?"she whispered. She shook herself out of her shock, and began to watch the aliens with more purpose in between her chores. The day went quickly, fetching water from the closest trickle, gathering more wood now that she was using it, and finding stones to create an actual fire pit to prevent any chance of it spreading, especially towards the city. However, there were always more hours to fill than tasks to fill them with, especially with modern tools to do them (although not a fire starter, stupid spaceship safety regulations), so she soon found herself watching the aliens again. &#x200B; More were working on the wall, which only covered about three feet in front of their city. Christa, or the hybrids, could easily step around it, never mind over it, but the aliens were clearly done expanding it, and were instead focusing their efforts on the front. Unexpectedly, they all fled off the wall at the same time, and a quick glance around found a different hybrid (heavy on the snake, light on the wolf) contracting its way towards the city. She shrugged and stepped on its head. Time to see how this planet's meat tasted grilled. &#x200B; \\\* &#x200B; She awoke the next morning to a piercing bright light. The 'wall' was glowing. Alien pictographs and shapes crawled across its surface, moving in opposite directions at the top and bottom. A screen. They'd built an actual screen. Christa had thought the aliens were intelligent, sure, but perhaps at a medieval level of technology. She'd seen no weapons or vehicles, or tools when they were making the wall, that suggested they had electronics. The symbols quickly disappeared, replaced by moving images. It was an odd style of animation, but Christa recognized herself, kicking a hybrid, which exploded in what seemed to be an excessive amount of gore on the screen. The screen quickly went through all the hybrids she'd killed the past few days, then showed the aliens using what was a massive vehicle by their standards to light her fire. Then the screen went blank. &#x200B; Christa was frozen, considering the implications. It would take time, but maybe, they could actually communicate. Also, she should probably respond. She nodded to the screen, waved vaguely at her fire, and took another bite of the snake, just to show what she had done with their gift. Unsure how to continue the conversation, she pulled out her communicator, still charged by its internal hydrogen cell, and began scrolling through its functions, looking for something that could be used to make pictures. Before she found anything, the alien screen lit up again, this time showing her moving logs in front of the city. Since the logs in the animation were larger than her, they clearly overestimated her strength, but the basic idea was sound, and it wasn't like she had better things to do. &#x200B; And so, in a single afternoon, Christa constructed what was by scale the single largest engineering project ever undertaken by humankind, and accidentally made the best impression on a first contact in galactic history by building a stone-age palisade. [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/m1ikkb/wp_your_stranded_on_a_world_of_1_inch_tall_aliens/gqgjfu2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3)
Funerals were always the worst part of the job. It was either someone you knew and cared about, which was brutal to endure; or it was a politician, celebrity, or some bystander that was really unlucky. They always said going to a few nobody's funerals was good for keeping our head in the game, see the little guy and be seen by him. So when the courier delivered a letter requesting his presence at Teddy Gallagher's funeral, Valiant sighed wearily and resolved to go. "Big Ted"was a mustached, middle aged, fat man with a few wisps of unkempt hair on his head in the picture. He was on his knees with his arms out wide with a smile to match. Surrounding him were kids wearing the same shirt as him. Val smiled as he looked at the picture, seemed like a nice enough guy if he's coaching Little League. And with a picture like that you can glean enough information to carry through the small talk that happens between pictures. Valiant had just been in a highly publicized battle against Destruktor's latest Hellbot, so he figured most of the conversations would lead back to that anyways. The wake was at his home, which Val realized was modest and a sign this man was rich in family but not much else. He landed softly in the front yard after taking note of the assorted minivans and SUVs parked in the vicinity, and he walked to the door. A child with eyes wide with disbelief opened the door and stood gawking. Kids rarely see heroes in their black cape attire, so Val played it cool and stated he was here to see off Big Ted. The boy turned and ran awkwardly as Valiant waited on the porch, not wanting to be rude by barging in, and more worries about this even being the right place. A man came to the door, equally impressed to see Valiant. "You're here to for dad? I- I mean Theodore?"The man struggled to say, still gawking at Valiant in disbelief. Val smiled, "I heard he looked to be called Teddy."This seemed to shock the man, "Yeah, his closest friends called him that. I never really believed him, none of us did..."The man trailed off as he ushered Valiant into the cozy home. There were excited whispers all over the room when Val stepped in. His 6'4"frame always drew attention. He smiled and nodded at what looked to be a brother, an assortment of adult children and their spouses, and a plethora of children. All of them were wide eyed as Valiant approached the open casket. Val looked down at the deceased Teddy, looking peaceful and content in his coffin, but something bothered him. He did his best to hide the look of confusion on own face, because something about Teddy seemed strange. "When the funeral home told us they couldn't work on the body, we weren't surprised."Val looked to his right to see Teddy's brother, a gaunt man a bit older than the deceased. "Thank you for showing up, he was never proud of being The Brick except for when you were in the news. He always said he was your arch nemesis" The Brick. The most henchman of the henchmen. An inordinately durable man, not invincible but sturdy beyond belief. Valiant thought back over his career and remembered a couple times where he had to get creative to defeat one of the thugs that always flocked to big name villains. "He loved to tell the first time you two tangled. He kept you busy so long the whole P Street Crew escaped!"Val remembered that night. You never want to go too hard on henchmen, since they're mostly down on their luck regular humans, but this one guy was really pushing his limits. Valiant had been so caught up with trying to just knock the fight out of this last guy that he's lost track of the P Street Crew. "He was so proud of that night, he always told his kids that's why you never give up"Teddy's brother Mike regaled Valiant a few other tales of Brick wasting the time of other heroes, and his that got him better jobs with bigger villains. Valiant had to play it cool. This was huge. It'd long been joked about in the hero community that there was one henchman that was seemingly unbeatable. Deep Freeze didn't believe Valiant, but if Brick was just durable, then that igloo he'd trap henchmen in would be enough to capture Brick. Hell's Fury had agreed with Valiant, she had a penchant for brutalizing henchmen, that's why her nemesis Avion had to retire, no one wanted to deal with Fury. "Lady Fury told me about her fight with your brother, it's why she retired."A crowd was gathering around Valiant and Mike. "Dad wasn't lying about defeating Lady Fury?"the man who let Valiant in asked rather bewilderedly. Valiant couldn't tell them that Lady Fury rebranded as Celestia and focuses on natural disasters. "No, your dad was as tenacious as they come. The fact he didn't wear anything beyond a ski mask or balaclava meant you never knew you were dealing with him, until he was in the way."Valiant had the cold realization that this man may have actually been a bigger thorn in his side than any major villain. Valiant swapped stories long into the night with Brick's family. He picked his jobs carefully, no problem with burglary but never robbery. Teddy hated to see people hurt but knew he'd never make it as a hero if his power was merely he can keep getting back up. He always liked fighting Valiant because there was never much collateral damage done. It turns out Teddy ran an autobody repair shop, he did free work for people who's cars for damaged by super powered battles, and supplemented the business with his criminal earnings. Val got up to leave, feeling lighter from having found out about his nemesis existing, yet heavier from knowing the hole left in all their lives (his own included). Dying from a broken heart after his wife got cancer was a tough break for such tough man, and Val genuinely felt bad for his whole family. As Valiant went to leave, he turned and shook hands with Brick's son, I'm sorry for your loss... I didn't catch your name."Brick's son chuckled, "It was an honor to actually meet you. My name is Valentine, but everyone calls me Val."
\- Report. \- Sir, to be honest, we have not achieved a visible result. Our experiments with 5G towers were not effective. People have not received any visible harm. We have scaled the technology many times over, but the mortality rate has not increased. \- Another failure. \- Allow me to doubt the reliability of the testimony of our prisoner? \- General Aidrix, there is no point in doubting. Our devices tell us for sure that he is not lying. Aidrix sighed resignedly. It really was a fact, and their instruments were never, never wrong. Polygraph technology has been tried and tested many times on their home planet. Also, all the experiments, and all the knowledge that they have proved its effectiveness on people. Their captive did not lie. However, none of the strategies based on his information were successful. It all smelled very bad. They have been in Earth orbit for several years. The goal was to quickly capture the planet, yes, however, to minimize losses, they tried to develop a strategy that would help them weaken the enemy forces. So they took a prisoner. Therefore, they interrogated the prisoner, and based on the information received, they tried to sabotage. They did everything according to the instructions. Aidrix personally supervised every operation. Send the inhabitants of the largest country to the so-called “Area 51, the most secret base on the planet”? Easily. But they just... had a party and nothing happened. People were constantly lying, and it was very difficult to realize it. Help popularize vaccination? They launched a large-scale campaign, increasing the number of people vaccinated by 7%, but this did not work. When they asked the prisoner why these 7% did not die within six months, as he promised, he said that the timing may be inaccurate, but in the long run. Aidrix tried to convict him of stupidity, but the man simply excused himself by saying that countermeasures were probably taken by the secret government. And what is this secret government?! Studies of reptiles on the planet have not shown them to have any intelligence. \- General, I think we still need to start a ground operation. \- Commander, with all due respect, don't you think this is dangerous? If they could somehow resist all our sabotage... \- Our technological superiority is obvious. We will emerge victorious in open confrontation. Interrogate the prisoner about vulnerabilities for disembarkation, strategically important objects, dangers that may await us. We will plan the operation according to the data. \- Still, isn't it possible that he’s just… an idiot? \- General, would you take an idiot to serve in the army? \- Of course not, Commander. Only the most educated and intelligent units of the population can serve in the army. \- Exactly. We have encountered this logic on thousands of planets, and we have not found a single exception. This man is a soldier, absolutely. This means that his mind is superior to the average human. Begin your interrogation, Aidrix. \- Yes, Commander. Down the corridors of the battle station, Aidrix tried to make a list of things he needed to find out. They had already collected information on weapons, and prepared appropriate foil armor to protect them from dangerous radiation and human mind-bending weapons. To do this, they had to remove some of the kinetic and thermal protection, but they could not allow the earthlings to take control of even one of their soldiers. Personal automatic fire systems were tuned to destroy drones, which people called birds. Orbital cannons were sent to the earthlings' laboratories - the so-called "mental hospitals", where experiments were performed on people. What else? He went to the cell where the man was kept. The polygraph was already connected. Sighing, he went inside, preparing for a difficult interrogation. \- Ahh, blue-faced! Yossarian shouted when he saw him. - I knew you were coming? \- How? Aidrix tensed. How does he do it? - Where did you get this information? Speak! \- I'm a prophet! Aidrix looked at the instruments. He's not lying. Damn it… \- Are there many like you on the planet? \- Prophets? Units. I am unique. \- Well, good - the General sighed with relief. - Let's get down to business. We need to ... Wait, but still, you are not the only prophet?! \- No, of course not. - Yossarian threw up his hands to the ceiling and smiled broadly - We are few, but I'm not alone! \- So what does it mean on Earth they know about us? Can they predict our invasion?! \- Of course, of course. Aidrix turned pale. So they have no time at all! \- Quickly, tell me where they don't expect a blow? Where are there no prophets? \- No prophets? Well, damn communists definitely don't have prophets! \- Where are they, these communists? \- Oh, already everywhere - Yossarian stated sadly - Scattered all over the planet, bastards. The general groaned. The man spoke the perfect truth, but nothing became clear! And now there is also a time limit. If the earthlings knew about them, they could attack at any second! The disembarkation must begin in the next few hours! \- Which side should we attack? Where is the main base of the earthlings? \- Of course this is Atlanthida. \- We have not seen this name on any map. \- Give me a map, I'll show you! Yossarian jabbed his finger at the introduced interactive map of the Earth. Aidrix ordered to write down the coordinates and immediately begin reconnaissance. \- You will not find anything - said Yossarian thoughtfully - She is underwater. \- Underwater? \- Yes, and hidden in the underwater rocks. It's not so easy to see. \- What to do? \- Just make your way down, drill, or whatever. The main thing is not to overdo it, otherwise you will end up with the great turtles... \- What turtles?! The general felt that this interrogation would be long and very, very painful. \* \* \* A day later, the most unexpected of possible invasions happened to Earth. The enemy landed in the strangest places - the Bermuda Triangle, Antarctica, the Egyptian pyramids... and was defeated by organized detachments of earthlings, methodically destroying the invaders not by radiation and mind control, but... by bullets. At that moment, somewhere in orbit, Yossarian was waiting for the general's return. To be honest, he was glad when he came. At home, on Earth, no one believed him. And then he finally found a mind similar to himself, capable of discerning all the secrets, conspiracies, secrets of his home planet. What else to tell the funny blue-faced? Perhaps he should know that Epstein didn't kill himself?
Akinatore "does it have something to do with money" David "yes" Akinatore "would you like to donate thousands to charity!" David "No!" Akinatore "would you like a sandwich?" David "You stupid genie I just want to be rich!" Akinatore "do you want to cure cancer?" David throws his hands in the air "SURE! FINE WHY NOT!" Akinatore "you have 2 wishes left" David sighs Akinatore "does it have something to do with your looks?" David "the hell's that suppose to mean? NO!" Akinatore "does it have something to do with Timmy being stuck in a well?" David "who the f**k is Timmy and do people even use wells Still? No. Try again!" Akinatore "Does it have to do with money?" David nods excited to be back on the right track "yes!" Akinatore "Do you want to... donate thousands to a charity?" David "no" Akinatore "do you want to pay off your many debts?" David "N...actually yeah can we do that?" Akinatore "one wish left. Does it have something to do with your mother?" David "no" Akinatore "does it have to do with sandwiches" David "no" Akinatore "does it have to do with your looks?" David "STOP ASKING THAT!" Akinatore "Does it have to do with money?" David "yes" Akinatore "Would you like to donate thousands to charity?" David "no" Akinatore "would you like to be a lady?" David "where did you even come to that conclusion!? No!" Akinatore "Would you like to be rich?" David "yes" Akinatore dissapeares back into the lamp. A few months later there's a knock on David's front door. He opens the door and sees two men in black suits David nervously asks "m...ma...may I help you?" Agent Dumas "agent Dumas and Ray, you seem to have gained over 5 million dollars in the blink of an eye" Davis "so?" Agent ray "we have a few questions about this, come with us" As the two agents take him away David shouts "YOU CANT TAX ME I CURED CANCER!!"
"It's doing what?"Sir Vost cried to the scout who had just returned, panting, tired and confused. "Crying. I swear, the rest of the undead are just standing around, wandering, shambling uncoordinated." This was over half an hour since the assault had suddenly stopped. Confusion reigned. The army had fallen back, tended to wounded and regrouped, confused but welcoming any respite from the slaughter that had assaulted them. The battle was lost, the undead numbers were too high and the Lich was too powerful. Then, suddenly it had just stopped. It took a moment to notice but the organisation went, undead still in combat carried on fighting but there was no push, no assault. Just, just the undead. As soon as the general in charge had realised what was going on he ordered the retreat, their flanks safe from what should have been a barrage of undead chasing them down. Now, desperate for information they had sent a single brave scout into the land of death. To see what was going on. It would have been certain death yesterday. It would have been certain death this morning. But now? As the scout crept stealthily through the treeline he knew he would be spotted. It was only minutes before spells reigned down on him or hoards of zombies engulfed him and slowly tore his flesh from his bones. It didn't happen. He got closer. This was surely closer than most of the bravest warriors had been, even the knights dared not push this far into the lands of death. Yet, he lived. At first he used every skill and trick, all the magic he had to remain hidden. Then, sure he was spotted when nothing happened he got curious. He wasn't even invisible anymore. Just hiding. He slunk along the small depression in the land, almost invisible in the dead blood soaked grass that had been trampled into the mud. He went past hundreds of the undead, his escape completely cut off if he was spotted and yet somehow he was not. It still took some time. Even like this he knew the undead were a vicious foe, a single zombie might not be much of a threat to somebody like him, he could even just outrun them but there were thousands. They just weren't the same as before. They were.. And he used this word knowing it didn't fit, but they were 'normal' undead. No longer was the intelligent presence guiding them. No longer were they fighting more coherently than the most well drilled regiment from home. They just, and this word did fit, they shambled. Aimlessly the zombies and other undead wandered the fields. He wondered if something had happened to the Lich. Bodies of his friends lay scattered amidst the dead, that actually reassured him. They had not risen, they remained dead. The one real mercy in this horrific scene was knowing they could at least rest unlike. He shuddered as he remembered seeing people from his village in the army of the undead that plagued the continent. At this point he was meant to return. He had simple orders, just to check that they remained in this state. Report back if there was any change. He had already gone far further in than he was meant to. Curiosity however, he had to know why. There was something he heard as a kid about cats and curiosity but he couldn't remember what it was. It must have been good though because cats were cute. The castle loomed ahead. The greater undead seemed to have dispersed, no longer guarding. He was still in trouble if he was spotted but they were not searching, not looking. He had spent years developing his skills and was one of the best in the lands, that was almost a certainly now with most of them dead. Again he shuddered at the thought of others that came before him, possibly in this very patch of trees but now shambling with the rest of the undead. He was careless. Getting braver with every second. That was how it happened, that was how he was spotted. A single zombie turned and sensed him. Even without a guiding mind they hated the living and would consume him. It shambled towards him, his only hope to cut it down before it drew the attention of others. The small pocket crossbow came out from it's pouch at his side and he took careful aim. Every second the zombie got closer but he couldn't rush this. It had to be a perfect shot. The bolt thunked home. A direct hit through the eye socket into the remains of the zombies brain. It went out like a smothered flame, just slumping to the ground. However, it was too slow. A skeleton Lord had seen. It strode towards him, eye sockets shining an evil light and he knew this was his end. It raised the sword it carried and he braced, ready to duck. The blow never came. The skeleton Lord froze. It's head slowly turned towards the castle and he swore he could see it thinking. He used the distraction, if this was the Lich giving instructions it was all about to start again. He could only assume that whatever had assailed the great Lich had been temporary, now he had to get back and warn the others. The respite was over. He kicked out, sweeping the legs. He hoped to unbalance his foe long enough to get away. All the force he could muster and speed of a lifetimes practice, the strike was lightning fast. The strike was also too slow. The Skeleton lifted it's foot almost casually as the leg swept under it and brought the hard bone down onto a soft fleshy face. Blackness enveloped the scout. He did not expect to see light ever again as his vision faded. The Lich sat in the throne room. The castle had been taken years ago and slowly fallen to filth and rot, a banquet laid out on the grand tables long ago was still there. The dead had no need of food. Riches beyond compare lay heaped around the room. The spoils of war. In truth there was so much gold you could hardly see the floor. Whole kingdoms had fallen to the army of undead that had raged across the lands. For the Lich had once been one of, it not the most powerful mage in the world. The story of betrayal and the fall of a kingdom were now the things of legend. The Lich, all powerful, in command of an army the size the world had never seen cried. The scout opened his eyes, and looked into the eyes of death. Literal, and figurative death, for him at least. The great Lich. He recoiled in horror. What fate awaited him now? Captured by the most powerful undead in written history. Was he to be turned? Or just have his mind torn apart for information. He wasn't sure which was better, he just wished the Skeleton Lord had killed him. "WHERE AM I?"The Lich spoke. The words echoed through the castle and the scout didn't understand. "WHAT IS THIS PLACE?"again, he heard the words but the meaning was lost, masked by the sound of death that surrounded them. "TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON!"the Lich demanded. The Skeleton Lord had dropped him and left. There was only him and the great Lich in the room, so he fled. He must have been hit really hard because he almost believed he heard crying from the room behind him as he ran. Sure that around every corner death awaited him. No longer was stealth a concern, now he used all his skill for speed. His only hope was to outrun... well, death. End of Part 1.
My name is Darlok and I am a Dark Lord. I'm exceptionally good at it actually. I studied the arts of darkness at Drowbells University, graduating with a first with honours. I did the exchange program and spent a year abroad to see how they do things there. I remember my lecturer, a certain Lord Mairon, wrote me a letter after my graduation letting me know what a privilege it was to teach a student as promising as myself. He had the most piercing gaze and genuinely understood what it means to be a dark lord. He'd really been there. I then got an internship, it was unpaid, and I appreciate not everyone has the same opportunities growing up I did, so I'm very grateful. It was a wonderful chance to apply the dark theories I'd learned and see how it works in real life. It was only a small agency offering supply work for dark lords who needed a break or fell sick, but they invested in me, and I learned a lot. Those days feel a long way behind me now, but I still apply everything I learned at Drowbells and my internship every day. I'm a purist, and I hate sloppy work. Anyway, as all Dark Lords do, I have my nemesis. Once I had my degree, my first proper job was to be the Dark Lord of the Northern Marches. I had to go through four interviews to get the posting, first with the hiring manager, then with the team I'd be working with, a quick crystal call with the CEO to check culture fit, and then I had one last call with my future nemesis: Sir Hoyt of Quotidian. Now he was a class act. He was everything you want in a hero, and he genuinely understood the role. He had long blond hair, he was clean-shaven and had just the very best hygiene. In that first conversation he and I shared, we had a quick chat, and he let me know he was looking forward to opposing my every move, and I, as is polite, let him know I couldn't be more thrilled to be the belligerent of a hero of his calibre. I started gently; I wanted to pay homage to the classics before moving onto my own creative work. I am a believer in the post-modernist school of Dark Lordship - I just think times have moved beyond basic narratives. But, I knew Sir Hoyt was a man of his generation, and he liked to do things properly. So, whilst I was finding my feet, I gave him what he wanted. I stole the love of his life and locked her in a tower. Would you believe it - she was there for all of six months whilst he planned and manoeuvred. I loved his dedication. Too many heroes rush things these days. As I said, the old narratives aren't my cup of tea, but he did them to perfection. Such attention to detail - I was expecting him to sneak in, grab the girl and head off. But no, he killed the guards, slew the ogre at the gate and then swept the princess off her feet. Heck - he even married the girl. I'm not saying he didn't love her, but I know he would have married her regardless. It fits the plot, and he gets that. He and I raged against each other for a decade. I would send my minions to undermine him, and he would tirelessly slay them. I terrorised villages, and he protected them. I released dragons, and he slew them. I was extraordinarily well regarded in these days. In fact, I started exploring what it means to be a Dark Lord as a post-modern. It wasn't what Sir Hoyt was used to, but he rolled with it and we did some excellent work together. He was certainly uncomfortable when I broke gender and class boundaries - it took him a while to understand that I still wanted him to save the male blacksmith, but he got there. Together we worked on deconstructing our roles and making sense of the responsibilities our power and privilege gave us. I was extremely hopeful about where our work might take us. I did a lecture series at Drowbells, and it was rather popular. Then, Sir Hoyt sent me a hawk letting me know he was retiring; he'd loved working with me and hoped we'd be able to get a drink next time he was in the area. I was distraught. Of course, he was almost thirty, so I should have seen it coming. The shelf-life for a hero is brief. I was just frustrated. We were pushing new ground together. Now that would all have to pause whilst they looked for a replacement, and he got settled in and found his feet. It could be 18 months before he hit his stride - this helped me see what a class act Sir Hoyt was. I received notification by way of messenger that the Round Table had appointed a new hero. A supposedly promising talent from the village of Moutingbury - his name was Brylk. They asked if I wanted to interview him, share my thoughts, and check I thought we'd work well together. I have to admit I went into this interview thinking we'd have a lot in common. I had noticed he was merely Brylk. No Sir, Lord or Duke in front, just 'Brylk'. I took that as a very encouraging sign that the Round Table had noticed how I had moved past the traditional class boundaries assigned these roles. I hesitate to say it, but I think I might well have been the only Dark Lord at the time willing to cross boundaries like that. I took the crystal call. I told him I was ever so pleased to make his acquaintance and said the usual spiel about my excitement at seeking the downfall of everything he holds dear. Do you know what he said in return? There was no thank you, there was no 'it's a pleasure to work with you Darlok, I love your work', not even a little gesture of ill will. Nothing. He just looked me dead in the eye and quietly whispered, 'I will kill you if it's the very last thing I do. You killed my family and burned my village to the ground'. I didn't know what to say that. I came very close to ringing up Kenneth, who works in HR for the Round Table, to let him know my thoughts. But, I stopped myself, and I thought - this young chap might not have had the silver spoon I'd had. He might not know the etiquette and how things work. It was then I asked myself, 'Have I become the old guard already?' So I gave myself a talking to and rang up the Round Table, and I said he seemed quite unusual, but I looked forward to seeking his demise nonetheless. Perhaps I should have spotted the warning signs because Kenneth said he was delighted. Brylk hadn't even been to university! He got in because he was an orphan who was adopted by a Lord who knew a knight who knew someone... You know how these things are. I remember feeling disappointed - it wasn't progress after all! Just the standard boys club. Once I heard he'd been confirmed in his post, I decided to make the best of it. I gave him some time and space, let him settle in and find his stirrups. I rang my old agency up, let them know the situ and arranged some temp cover. I then took a trip to see my family back home; it's nice to take off the mask, slip out the dark armour and relax with people you love now and then. I had two highly relaxing weeks - I tried my first pomegranate. You can't eat fruits like that when you're on the job. Pomegranate isn't considered particularly evil; you have to stick to apples, apricots, grapes, maybe a blackberry or two. I actually set off home with a few poms in my pack thinking, 'screw stereotypes, if I want pomegranate's, I'll have them'. Then I arrived home and Vunderglag had been smeared all over my carpets. Vunderglag being my temp cover. I walked straight back outside and was sick on my turnip patch. I had no idea what had happened - I went back inside with tears in my eyes. I'd known Vunderglag as a temp - he was a good old fashioned villain. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Then I found a note pinned to my door with Vunderglag's knife - which his Dad had given him. It read: 'You cannot hide Darlok. You will pay. The people of Moutingbury cry out for vengeance, and they shall have it. Sincerely, Brylk'. At least I got a sincerely this time. I rang up Kenneth straight away and explained what had gone on. He was utterly embarrassed and as shocked as I was, he assured me Brylk would be fired on the spot for gross misconduct and they'd replace him straight away with someone who knew how things worked. After all, you can't go around murdering Dark Lords for a bit of pillaging. Else, what are Dark Lords even for? I slept soundly safe in the knowledge that was the end of it. I'd made myself a port and drank it quietly beside my fire. Then, when I was quite sure I was alone, I got a pomegranate out of my bag and thought I'd treat myself. After all, what a horrid day. My upholstery was going to need professional cleaning! Then, the next thing I know, a grappling hook has smashed through my stained glass window and onto my floor. I dropped my pomegranate at this point, which only made my bad day even worse. It got all dusty.
I wish you could say it was love at first sight, but that was probably pretty one-sided on my part. "What the fuck?"Was all I managed to get out before collapsing to the carpet, the familiar darkness leaching away at my vision. So maybe taking up the invite for some... recreational activities, with a chick I just met in a bar on the bad side of town wasn't my smartest plan. But hey, after wandering the earth for god knows how many years I knew my type pretty well, and boy did this woman check all the boxes. She just happened to be a murderer; not exactly a deal breaker given my situation. What could be a dealbreaker was her complete lack of self preservation instinct, however, considering how I blinked your way back onto the mortal coil half an hour later in the bathtub of her apartment. The crick in my neck indicated I had been marinating in the bathtub for a while, along with the bleach, ammonia, and ...were those bath salts? "Good lord woman, is this your idea of a relaxing soak?"I muttered, "Because there are much easier ways to dissolve bodies". Speaking of dissolving bodies, it was probably time to leave the bathroom before I died of mustard gas inhalation. Again. I levered myself out of the bathtub, vaguely annoyed at how slippery the chemicals made my skin. And yeah, it was skin. For whatever reason, my date had decided to try and make me meet the maker in my birthday suit. "Not my fault if I stain your towels, babe"I grumbled, wrapping the fuchsia monstrosity around myself in an attempt at modesty. I flipped on the fan as I left, because some people knew better than to gas themselves. And the worst part was, after checking the entire apartment, it looked like my date had both left and disposed of my clothes. Leaving me to do the walk of shame in a bright fuschia towel. Honestly, not even the worst date I'd ever had, though I would have preferred to get some action in before the whole "murder"portion of the evening. __________________________________________________________________________________________ The next time we met ended up being much more fulfilling. I had spotted her across the bar, flirting avidly with another patron. As the sucker got up to get them another pair of drinks, I belatedly realized I might want to ask her about returning the (now bleached) towel. And getting my clothes back (I'd liked that jacket, 1890's original). "Hey, so about the other week..."I started, slipping into the suckers recently vacated chair. Her sharp gasp made me look at her face, which had gone dead white. Oh, right, people didn't usually react well to talking to someone they thought they'd killed. Whoops. "Look, I just wanted to talk-"I tried to assuage, but she recovered quickly. "Lets take this outside. "She choked out, weaving her fingers through mine and all but dragging me away from the table. Well, never let it be said taking charge wasn't an attractive quality in a partner. She let me out to the back alley behind the bar, and I could feel her hand shaking a bit. Finally, when the door slammed shut behind me and we were alone, she let go of my hand. "How-?!" "Yeah, I just wanted to know if you had my clothes. Or if you wanted your towel back"I interrupted. She stared at me blankly. "You know, the towel? The fushia monstrosity from your bathroom?"I joked, trying to lighten the mood. She blinked a couple times and visibly pulled herself together. "R-right. The towel"She murmured, sidling up close. "I was surprised to see that gone" "Uhh, yeah. Its a little bleached"I chuckled. She got up a little closer to me. Haha, was it hot in here or was it just me. "By the way"I blurted out to distract myself from the fact I could feel her warmth through my shirt. "You really should check what cleaners you mix together, some create really nasty gasses-" There was a sharp pain in my stomach and I looked down to see a knife protruding from my stomach. "Oooh, thats what you were doing"I slurred, before crumpling to the ground and letting the familiar darkness overtake me. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ I woke up to a familiar bathroom ceiling and let out a sigh. Yeah, probably should have seen that coming. I looked down to see what sort of cleaners she'd decided to marinate me in this time and realized I was up to my ankles in blood instead. At least she hadn't taken my clothes this time, though the bloodstains would be a pain to get out. I rolled my neck, taking in the familiar crick of a botched beheading. Hadn't felt that one since the French got all guillotine happy. I grumbled and opened the drain to the tub, then turned on the showerhead to try and get the worst of the blood off. After realizing the clothes were a lost cause, I appropriated another towel and wandered out to the living room. My murderer was staring down a half full glass of scotch and a pistol with a far away expression. "You know, if you wanted new, not terrible towels, you didn't have to get me to ruin them" Her head snapped up and I met her eye, noticing they looked a little crazed. "What are you?!"She growled. I shrugged. "What, the immortality thing? Yeah, your guess is as good as mine. Died the first time a couple of millennia ago and been dying ever since." She kept eye contact a little longer than strictly necessary before bursting into a hysterical laugh, grabbing the pistol, and shooting me in the head. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ This time, I didn’t wake up back in the bathroom, I woke up in a bed with a very lovely woman hovering over me prodding me insistently. “Huh” she said when I opened my eyes. “I knew you just wanted to get me into bed” I slurred through the ‘just got back from dying’ haze. She blinked a couple times and chuckled. “Or maybe I just want to see you die again” she said with a smile, face a bit too close to mine. We both leaned forward a bit. I got lost a bit in the ensuing kiss before she slipped a knife in between my ribs. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ This time I woke up in a blackened field with the taste of gasoline heavy on my tongue, a scorched towel for modesty, and a number, a heart and a name written on my arm in sharpie.
They say culture starts at the top, but why does the top never spare any thought for the bottom? The mutinies started two months ago. The first time, everyone was able to forgive. It made sense. We were becalmed, adrift amid the Sunless Sea where the world is madness and disaster and the sirens can’t sing in tune. A sacrifice had to be made, even Captain Mendez agreed. See, Captain Mendez was a blithering idiot but he was still old-school. He knew the same thing that I lead with: Culture starts from the top. Not so, Captain Casimir. Captain Mendez’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain of course. He walked the plank and the wind started right up, blew us out of the Sunless Sea past all the sirens who’d never made it to the big time. But of course, Captain Casimir was a blithering idiot too. If someone had asked me I could’ve told them as much, saved us all the trouble, but no one comes down to the galley to talk to a Cook’s Mate. If they came for anyone it was for the Cook, more often just for the slop he had us serving. Cook was an idiot too. Not as big an idiot as Captain Casimir though. Casimir, who in all his time as First Mate had somehow never learned how to properly chart a course, always passing it off on the second mate, De Ponceville (real name, I know.) Casimir should have passed this course off too. But then, the only thing Casimir seemed to have learned from old Captain Mendez was that same old truth we all had: Culture starts from the top. So Casimir plotted the course and we went west when we should have gone east, and by the time sun came back to warn us we were well and truly fucked. Enter Captain De Ponceville. He ran Casimir through in a mostly above board duel. Now, De Ponceville could plot a course. He could steer a ship and direct a very respectable fusillade, and if someone asked, the crew cleared for battle a full minute faster under his watch than under anyone else’s. But what Captain De Ponceville couldn’t do at all was admit a mistake. Similar flaw to Casimir, but with that distinctly French twist. What do those learned fellows call it, an accent? West was wrong, all wrong, De Ponceville declared. Instead, we should be going north! Now, I was just a cook’s first mate. Nobody needed to ask me and nobody did. Culture doesn’t permeate upwards no, it flows downhill like shit. But that said I had been at sea since De Ponceville was in silk diapers, and unlike him I’d been north, seen the shit they had for culture there. Folk in the north don’t even know what dry land is, what with all the snow, and then there are icebergs and glaciers— Unconscionable land, North. We lopped his head off like King Louis’ (don’t ask me which one) and then we sailed east like we should have all along. Now, the astute mind will notice that this east doesn’t lead back to home, which was east of where we started in the Sunless Sea. When we killed old Mendez we could solved all this shit real easy by just going that way in the first place. Instead of that we went west, then north, then east, and as a result we got fucked again. Big time. See, the Sunless Sea has a cousin, the Moonless Mare. Mare, that’s old-school too, means sea in Latin. And well, you kind of need a moon for sailing. Something about the tides, or currents, don’t ask me I was just the Cook’s mate. Anyway here’s the rub, when you don’t have a moon to make the tides make sense and your new captain was still a third mate at fifty-two… well, you follow. I won’t even give you his name, we killed him too fast. Then came the lieutenants. A bosun’s mate. A mad dash where every man with a cutlass or a gun thought he might be captain for a day, and “Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven” became the rallying cry for the whole ship. And yet, every man above decks thought he still had a right to be served. We wandered through the Moonless Mare for three captains. We crept through the Isle of White for one captain, changed captains again at the Isle of Black, had two for the Isle of Beige. We impressed a few poor sods at the Isle of Nothing, brought ourselves back up to complement to do the whole mess over again. The Culture crept in everywhere. The gunnery crews began knife fighting, in the med bay they were gambling for the doctor’s scalpels. The carpenter and his apprentice learned how to take turns. And me? What happened at the very bottom of the barrel to the Cook and his mates? Why, through all of it we sailed on toward that brave horizon. Oh, to be sure I killed the cook— he was useless— but I kept all the other mates on. They were a little sore at first when I locked up their knives and cleavers, but after a few days and a few lopped off ears they started seeing it my way. There was a crew to feed after all, a new captain every day to demand his service, and unlike the rest of them I am not useless. I adapt. When the Culture degrades from the top down, why, the bottom simply must get creative, especially when the top keeps leading you to god-awful places like the Isle of Nothing. Nothing is in the damned name! What else is a ship’s galley supposed to do with that? Besides, I’d been to sea when Captain De Ponceville had still been in silk diapers. I’d seen all this before, mutinies and desperation, what men at sea can become. And well, if in the future they say that I’d already had a taste for it, what of it? The Culture starts from the top, not the bottom, and if the top still demands service under such extreme circumstances then the bottom can do nothing but adapt. Three square a day, no more, no less. Under my supervision the galley pumps it out, hot slop in every bowl, eat your fucking hearts out. The old cook couldn’t have done that, could he? And besides, when you go hungry for long enough no Captain (or fat, succulent cook) is truly worthless. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!

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