prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] The demon lord has conquered the land, and five heroes have been summoned to depose him. The heroes journey towards the demon lord--to discover that he's built a thriving economy, public healthcare, and the land is more prosperous than it has ever been. | "Look, I know what you're all thinking. I'm thinking it too. But, bottom line, we were brought here to do a job."
"Yes, yes we were. I think we can all agree on that. But- and here, I think, is where we diverge- what, *exactly*, is the job we were brought here to do?"
"To kill the demon lord!"
"Those are the words they said, yes. But think a bit- what were we brought here to *do*?"
"I just told you- kill the-"
"*No*. We were brought here to improve things. The method we were assigned to achieve that was killing the demon lord. And now that we're actually *here*, we can see that our assigned task, killing the demon lord, strongly contradicts what we were brought here to actually *accomplish*."
"Look, what you're not understanding is that..."
The argument dragged on. Bri wasn't paying much attention. It is a common (and false) perception that barbarians are stupid, or that they don't pay attention to the world around them.
Far from it, Bri was paying more attention to the world around them than anyone else in the party. That's one of the benefits of no one expecting you to take part in discussions- you get time to really process, to really feel things out in your mind.
It didn't feel right.
Another misconception of barbarians is that they love a fight. This is untrue. Barbarians love a *good* fight. Between foes comparable in strength and skill, each backed by righteous fury, or, occasionally, simple blind rage.
Nothing about this felt like a good fight.
Errior was suggesting that they fight because they had been told to fight. Barbarians didn't hold with that sort of nonsense. Barbarians are, at best, uncomfortable following orders, even coincidentally.
Wrai was suggesting that they snoop around, learn more about what was going on, and if they uncovered some sinister plot behind the whole thing, then they could go ahead and off the demon lord.
This was marginally better, but very much not a barbarian-style thing to do.
Bri thought, and felt, and decided.
The argument had escalated to yelling and finger-pointing. Urer was trying to settle Wrai and Errior down, and Maz was sitting back, throwing summoned popcorn at all three, hoping to provoke an out-and-out fistfight.
Bri ignored all of them.
She simply stood up, slung her axe back over her shoulder for travel, and began walking.
It's amazing what will and will not stop a fight. Urer had tried any number of things- calm words, trying to find middle ground, threatening to withhold healing from both of them unless they calmed down *right this second*\- but none had taken.
Seeing Bri walk off towards destinations unknown, though- *that* had done it.
It's never wise to split the party, and it's never wise to leave a barbarian unattended. They are incredibly talented at both finding and creating trouble. When wizards cause problems, there's usually a minimum safe distance. When barbarians cause problems, minimum safe distance tends to be measured in continents, and tends to be more of a guess than anything indicating real safety.
Words were said in her general direction, but Bri kept walking. A barbarian focuses on only important things. And none of the words being directed at her were important.
Spells were cast in her general direction, but barbarians don't like magic. As a consequence, magic doesn't like barbarians, and often refuses to work right on them. Though the attempt *did* earn Wrai a look that indicated that the next spell cast toward Bri would turn out, when all was said and done, to be a spell of axe-summoning.
And then, someone said something worth listening to, and responding to.
"Where are you *going*, anyway?"
This was a fair and reasonable question, and it deserved a fair and reasonable answer.
"I'm going to see the demon king."
This resulted in a lot more words being said, none of which were actually worth listening to.
...
It was late in the morning. Birds were chirping, and it was warming up nicely, though it looked like it would rain sometime in the afternoon. It was a gorgeous day at the Grand Evil Castle of Malevolent Doom.
Bri walked right up to the front gate, and walked right in. There were guards, of course, but barbarians do have access to *some* magic. They can generate quite a powerful SEP field. This is usually achieved by giving a certain look, which the recipient responds to by thinking "You know, I don't really feel like being whipped with my own severed spine today. This barbarian looks like Somebody Else's Problem."
This is an advantage of bureaucracy- a strong SEP field will get you anywhere and everywhere, because there's always Somebody Else.
The rest of the party followed in her wake, too tired to put up any more of a fight. This, apparently, was how the whole thing was going down. And it wasn't as though anyone had any better ideas.
Bri wasn't tired. Barbarians are often sufficiently focused to forget that they should feel tired, and, being barbarians, this means they don't feel tired.
They were walking down the long hallway to the Magnificent Throne Room of Torturous Doom when a small demon approached them.
"Excuse me? Could I trouble you to stop and talk for a moment?"
Bri turned the full force of the SEP field on the little demon, who remained, steadfast and just a little anxious. It was obvious that he'd prefer his spine where it was, but that it was a risk worth running, to deal with problematic adventurers.
Bri had managed to find where the buck stopped. This is a talent of barbarians, if only by dint of making problems big enough that they go all the way to the top of the functional command chain.
Bri hadn't found what she was looking for, but she *had* found what she had come for. It was time to talk. And to listen.
"You can."
Barbarians are not renowned for verbosity.
"Would I guess correctly that you all are adventurers, and that you are here to see my boss, the Grand and Profane Demon Lord of Doom, long may he reign?"
"You would."
"May I ask what you intend to do, when you go in to see him?"
"Talk."
"Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Could I possibly convince you not to do that?"
Bri had an odd look on her face. The rest of the party was saying unimportant words, but Bri responded simply.
"Maybe."
It was in the tone. It wasn't a 'maybe' that meant 'no'. It wasn't a 'maybe' that meant 'I'm stalling for time anyway, so sure'. It was a 'maybe' that meant 'maybe'. Barbarians are very good at using words to mean what they actually mean. It's a rare talent.
"Because I may have...uh...staged something of a soft coup. His Glorious Malevolence doesn't actually go out to see his conquests, these days. He just gets messages about how things are going, and he doesn't even pay much attention to those. He mostly wants us to bring him loads of food. Speaking of, could we all step aside for a moment?"
This was done, and a massive plate rounded the corner. It was carried by tiny demons- imps, really- and was piled high with food. It did, in fact, look quite delicious. It passed them by, and entered the massive doors at the other end of the hall.
The Grand and Profane Demon Lord of Doom sat upon his throne within. He could, in theory, have seen that there were adventurers at the end of his Glorious, Magnificent, and Long hall, but his eyes were only for the food entering his throne room.
The door closed, but occasional disgusting eating noises could be heard, if you paid attention. | “Oh hush, Dessa,” Dante cooed, his delicate fingers wiping the sides of his lute with a cloth. The tavern bustled around them with a strange anticipation.
“I won’t hush, ya dainty, I think we’ve got to leave tonight.” The female dwarf at the table was gripping her beer, knuckles white.
The aarakocra next to her placed his feathered hand on her arm, “It’s alright, Dessa, I get that you want to get there quickly, but–”
“But,” came the voice of the purple-skinned Deva, walking up to the table, her armor clanking lightly, “we need to make sure we have all the information we need before we go in. We don’t know what we’re up against. Trouble’s raven should be back soon enough, and then we’ll be more prepared, and more ready to take on whatever threat comes our way.”Dante looked up from his work towards the Deva, “Where is Trouble, anyway, Rhialla?”
She shrugged and sat down, sipping her beer, “He said that he needed to go and gather some extra supplies. I assumed he’d checked in with all of you.”
The four of them exchanged a look. The Aarakocra, Bosse, sighed, “He’s fine, I’m sure.” His expression was blank, but they all shared the same nervousness.
Dante strummed his lute and sang quietly, *“There once was a rogue named Trouble, in and out he came, he lived inside his own bubble, knowing him was such a shame.”*
Dessa slapped him on the arm a little harder than she intended, “Now it’s yer turn to hush. He could jus’ be gettin’ things, like Bosse said.”
“Also why do you always rhyme my name with bubble? Do you have nothing else?” The soothing, mocking voice of the human rogue, handsome but always half-shrouded in darkness, came from the booth behind them. They all turned and he flashed them a smile.
“How long have you been there?” Exclaimed Dante, suddenly taken aback.
“I wanted to hear what sad tune you sang about me this time, believing I was slitting throats in a dark alleyway, or perhaps in a Count’s house,” he got up and came to the table, pulling up a chair, “stealing his valuables.” His voice seemed to drip with the poisons always on his daggers.
Dessa grinned, “Shut up. We didn’t think ya were anywhere weird. We were worried.”
Bosse nodded, straightening his armor in his usual fidget, “Yeah. We don’t want to lose you. Not with your scout as our only information about Seren.”
Trouble nodded, pulling a small stone from his pocket, “This is what my seer brought back.”
They all huddled in closer, even Dante, who stowed his lute behind him. “Is it good news?” The elven bard whispered, his voice laced with anticipation.
The rogue laughed, “You might say.” He set the stone down and they all put their hands on it, closing their eyes. The vision came to them all at once: rolling green hills, cities bustling with people, clean streets, smiling villagers, all well clothed and well fed, and upon the blood red throne sat their supposed nemesis: Seren.
Dessa broke from the vision first, shaking her bulky body in a shiver, “I don’t like that.”
Bosse came second, his feathers rustling, “Are you sure that’s right?”
Rhialla took a deep breath and prayed quickly to Pelor, “I--This is unbelievable. Some sort of truly dark magic.”
Dante sat up slowly, a glimmer in his eyes, “Imagine the shows I could put on in these cities. The people have so much money! And so much adoration to give–”
Dessa slapped him on the back of the head as Trouble stowed the stone in his pocket once again. “Don’t go gettin’ ideas, Dante,” the dwarf hissed, sloshing her beer around.
“I don’t know what to make of this report. The seer was entirely unharmed, unmolested. He made it through most of the territory--to the end of his range--before he returned.” Trouble looked down to the ground, where a cat was weaving between his legs. “I’m happy he’s okay, but I can’t say I expected it.” He pet the cat with a smile.
“Well, all we can do is go investigate in person, I suppose. Why a demon lord like Seren would reform his new kingdom rather than ravage it, well, it’s got to be part of a larger plan, or an illusion of some great strength. There’s no reason that I can see to make things good, rather than burn them to the ground, as he threatened to do upon release.”
“Our release,” Bosse said in an exasperated tone.
“You don’t have to keep reminding us, Bosse. We all know it was our fault and now we have to fix it.” Dante pulled his lute back out and strummed it in a nervous gesture. “I don’t like when you bring up our faults. I believe we’ve learned from it, fey willing, and we have come out stronger. Strong enough to take on Seren, whatever he may bring.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the tavern overtaking them. The clink of glasses on one another, the sound of the barmaid laughing at a patron’s joke, her obvious disgust when she walks away, and, as always, the quiet hum of the sky above.
Part II will be [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/AinsleyAdams/comments/l7b6g7/the_demon_lord_part_ii/) | 2021-01-28T10:01:35 | 2021-01-28T08:44:11 | 491 | 36 |
[WP] Civilization has fallen and you have the most important job of all, keeping the Netflix Servers online for the survivors. | "I'm trying, I'm trying!"
Toby ran the DNS Lookup again. Nothing. Everything was working fine. The IP addresses were redirecting like they should, there was no reason why –
"Where's Fargo!? I can't watch Fargo!"
"Fargo was only on the UK Netflix", Toby replied, as a third voice came from the speakers.
"Is there any prediction of when it will be back?"
"I'm doing my best here!"
"What do you mean, only on the UK Netflix? There is no more UK!"
Toby made a mental note of murdering whoever had the idea of installing multiple lines on the satellite phones, improvising a post-apocalyptic customer service.
With nothing to do inside all day and zombies roaming the streets, people got a bit intense when Netflix was down.
"I understand your frustrations, people, but I'm doing the best I can!"
"I called everyone in my bunker for a Friends marathon, this is ridiculous."
"Well, Friends ended fifteen years ago, son. Everyone knows Ross and Rachel –"
"SPOILERS!"
"HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT?" Toby screamed back at the speakers, typing away at his computer screen. Now Chrome was frozen, and Toby was pressing Control Alt Del repeatedly.
"Did anyone try the Pirate Bay?"
"I don't understand how it matters that Fargo was on the UK Netflix. Should I try a VPN?"
"There is no Pirate Bay! There is no VPN! The only servers alive on the whole fucking world are these ones I have here!"
"So make them work!"
"I AM TRYING!" Toby closed the Chrome tabs, then started over. He miss clicked and hit Internet Explorer, which promptly opened seven different tabs and a popup.
"God, damn it," Toby mumbled, dragging IE out of the frame. "Calm down, everyone!"
"Can you at least leave Friends up?"
"No!"
"Would it help if we turn our modems off and on again?"
"No! Stop asking me questions!"
"I wanna watch The Walking Dead!"
"THEN LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW, BITCH!"
There was silence on the other end of the lines.
"My son died in the outbreak," the female voice rang, quietly.
"I'm sorry," Toby replied, sipping his coffee and trying to run a second scan on the connection. "That was
insensitive."
"Where did you stop? In Fargo?" came a male voice.
"What?" Replied another.
"Who was the guy talking about Fargo?"
"Guys, could you give me a second? I can't focus with this –"
"The Pirate Bay is offline, I just checked."
"Yes, I know," Toby replied, rubbing a paper towel on the coffee he spilled on the keyboard. "I told you, everything
is –"
"I've watched it until like half the second season. I can tell you what happens. In Fargo."
"I don't wanna know what happens, I wanna see it!"
"Did anyone check Kick Ass Torrents?"
"Is there going to be a third season? Of Fargo?"
"Guys," Toby tried, projecting his voice above the hiss of a hundred different speakers. "Is anyone connecting from
outside the US? This might be –"
"How is there going to be a third season? Everyone is dead!"
"SPOILERS!"
"I meant in the real world!"
"Kickass torrents is loading, but just the tiny logo on top of the tab. The site won't open. What should I do?"
"Does Ross end up with Rachel? Is that what the IT guy was saying? Because if I –"
"You know what? Fuck it." Toby replied, pulling himself up so hard his chair collided to the floor with a bang. He
shut the Netflix server, opened a second one, hit 'connect' and turned off the monitor screen.
"What the hell is this?" came a male voice from one of the speakers.
"Hulu, you assholes" Toby said, turning his back on the exploding roar of protests coming from the speakers.
_____________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
| I am Liberty, her skin long ago greened
For a nation stalled by the prospect of constant vigilance.
I am Chichen Itza, whose relics proclaim a once proud people
Sauntering on wide promenades, tasting pineapples and ripe tomatoes
Offered by beaded vendors with pushcarts,
Who did not sense the coming conquistadors.
I am Xanadu, where Marco and the Khan watched courtesans dance
With veils and clattering tambourines
(When they all still looked the way they really looked).
I am the hope that emerged from the Box
Only once every terror was already announced.
I am a reminder, in patterns of magnetic dust,
That show them, with all their dusty brows and gangrenous limbs
How it used to be.
*
They cower in a crowded gymnasium with a thatched grass roof
And by the grace of old batteries see Frank upon the floor of the Capitol,
With long marble columns and neckties and pearls,
Reteach Machiavelli to a people who forage in rubble
For the last cans of Chef Boyardee.
They see Piper and Kimmie yearn for freedom and marvel
At how she does not understand the locks keep her safe!
Matt, acrobatic against reason, endures the terror of the stronger
And wins. And they dream they can yet win too.
They remember in Ben and McKinley's every kiss
That we had once stood for laughter and difference
And could love each other enough to share passwords
And made enough to binge instead of ration.
They are able, for an hour, to forget.
*
With every breath I will tend this lighthouse,
Which cannot break the crashing flood waves,
But might send out a lone pale light
Of glorious crimson and eggshell white.
/r/opinionsaboutnothing | 2015-10-28T10:16:12 | 2015-10-28T10:09:23 | 195 | 20 |
[WP] Aliens have come across one of the Pioneer spacecrafts and have tried using the map to trace it back to its origin. However, there is some debate on whether or not this is the right solar system, as the plaque shows 9 planets, but this one only has 8 according to the inhabitants of the 3rd plan
([Plaque](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pioneer_plaque.svg) for reference) | ENTERING STANDARD SPACE IN 60 SECONDS
Admiral Kayhill looked anxiously across the screens on the bridge. He didn’t like this at all. Instead of the flood of information about the exit pointing showing he was presented with darkness on the screens.
The Fifth fleet were responding to the strangest call Kayhill had ever heard. Not only were the Dray-Ki requesting support (the Dray-Ki didn’t really do mundane things like having allies) but had requested them to arrive in sleuth mode. No Active Weapons. Heatsinks disabled and only passive sensors were allowed. Communication would be done solely by short distance Masers. Hell Kayhill had to order a team to find a way to disable the Running lights of his fleet.
Kayhill pressed a button on his console opening up a broadcast to the rest of his fleet
“Captains, I’m sure you share my distrust of the Dray-ki but lets not start a war simply because we think this is a trap. Follow your orders and ensure you’re compliant. Before exit fire up your reactors and have all units at battle stations. We fear this is a trap but NOONE, repeat NOONE is to break the Dray-Ki rules until i give the word.
There is to be no further communication on this channel until i say”
“Admiral Kayhill - Out”
ENTERING STANDARD SPACE
Even after 80 years of flying the jump still shocks the system. Kayhill steadied himself against his console as passive sensors begin to fill the screens with data. He could make out the Dray-ki ships only by the stars they blocked out.
He couldn’t be sure but it seemed there must of been hundreds of ships at least, leaving the fifth fleet severely outnumbered.
“Sir we’re receiving a maser link”
“Accept it”
“Admiral Kayhill” an image of a Dray-Ki appeared on the screen. He had the standard markings of a high ranking Dray-ki officer tattooed to his skin
“I am Commodore Yur-fin, we are grateful for your support”
“We’re glad to assist you in..” Kayhill still didn’t understand why exactly they were here. "whatever this situation is”
“we are grateful, forgive me for keeping you in the dark but when you know what we’re facing i’m sure you’ll understand”
Kayhill took a step back. Was that fear in Yur-fin’s voice? The dray-ki were one of the fiercest and most advanced species documented in the galaxy. What could possibly scare them?
“What exactly is it you need commodore?”
“We’d rather discuss this in person, we don’t believe this channel is secure - do we have permission to board the ray?”
Kayhill was not liking this at all, Masers were theatrically impossible to intercept except by physically blocking the beam. If this threat could intercept masers virtually then what weapons would they process”
“You and an entourage are granted permission. We request you come unarmed.”
A small ding rang around the ship. the dray-ki were using a grapple to get onboard the Ray, they weren’t risking the radiation from engines being detected.
It took a few minutes to arrive but eventually they met in the Ray’s state room. The screens were lit up with scans provided by the Dray-Ki.
They were approxmiily 0.1AU outside of a large asteroid belt on the edge of the solar system. The System appeared to contain 8 planets with a few asteroid belts. The data showed a single habitable planet as well as another with evidence of extinct life. One of the dray-ki opened a large chest and presented a tablet like piece of metal with crude engravings. On of the fleets men quickly hooked up a device to present the tablet on the main screen.
“Gentleman”
One of the elderly dray-ki rose, his markings distinguished him as royalty
"I am Emperor Gu-fo-sha-lin of Dray-ki, Protecter of the nine systems and commander of Drahs hammer. It is with great shame i ask for your assistance but i truly believe we now face the biggest threat our galaxy as ever seen.”
As you can see we discovered this ship. Upon investigating we released this was a map leading us here. as you can see the planets drawn here match what we can see-“
“there’s only eight planets in this system” Kayhill cut across, He still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a trap. Whilst relations had been peaceful for decades he still didn’t trust the Dray-ki.
“exactly. there are now only 8 planets in this system. The Ninth planet should be where we are now, instead theres an asteroid belt”
A deathly slience gripped the room as the commanders and assembled diplomatic teams realised what was being said.
after what felt like an eternity later the emperor continued to speak “Not only do we know this species has the power to destroy a large planet. We believe they are targeting us next. A new vessel has been spotted launching from the blue planet. It’s vector is heading straight for our flagship.
We don’t know know how they spotted us or what weapons they are using. We were hoping you could help us… contain them”
Another screen lit up to display a feed of a small rocket launching from the surface of the planet. Albeit a tiny vessel by any standard it struck fear into the species in the state room
(to be continued (and possibly rewritten a bit)) | "It's not right. It can't be."
Unit Five looked around worriedly. All around him, hundreds of alien life forms were bustling along, each a single instrument in the orchestral cacophony of chaos. He admired the lights and technology around them - not bad, for how recent their recorded history was.
Unit Four chomped down on a Cinnabon, a bit of frosting slipping through the holographic disguise. "You have to try this," she said through a mouthful of gooey goodness. "Can we bring some back?"
"Act with a modicum of professionalism," he snapped. "This is a very sensitive operation."
"Fine, fine. Be a boring space commander. "
These aliens bore a vague resemblance to those on the plaque, and coincidences weren't something he believed in. However, even by their own admission, their solar system only had eight planets. Could the plaque have had a mistake?
No. These people were too technologically advanced to make a simple error like that.
"Let's get back to the ship, Unit Four."
She pouted, her human disguise making a disgruntled noise as it wiped syrup off the front of her chest. "Why do human females have these things here? They seem rather inconvenient."
"Who knows? All I know is that we're better off not making contact here anyways. They seem like they have enough of their own issues."
"Look, that one is having some sort of health problem."
He looked at the side, where a female of the species clutched a guitar, sobbing into her sleeve. "That's not a health problem, Unit Four. She's crying."
Four snorted. "Five, you're so dim sometimes. I know what crying is. Personally I classify sadness as a health problem. Hey there! What's wrong?"
The girl shook her head, wiping away some snot hastily. "It's nothing. I'm fine."
Slinging her arm around the native alien's shoulders, Four hugged her tight. "Girl, you know that's not true. Tell it all to me. Don't worry about...um, Five over there."
"His name is Five?" the alien said in confusion.
"Don't worry about that," Four corrected hastily. "Anyways, what's up?"
"I moved all the way out here to do music," she said. "But it's...not going great, I guess."
"Maybe you just need the right inspiration!" Four said. "I mean, what are we but travelers on a small boat moving through the ocean of space? We're all lost sometimes!"
The girl seemed to consider that, drying her eyes. "Yeah. But even small boats can cause big waves."
"That's true," Five said, thinking back to his career. "A single word can cause hearts to open."
"Even if you only have a single match, you can still light a fire," Four said encouragingly.
The singer pulled out her guitar, mindlessly strumming some chords as she smiled. "That makes a lot of sense. I've still got fight in me. Thanks, both of you. I'll make this into my fight song."
"Glad we could help," Four said, winking. "What's your name, for when I can say I know a famous singer?"
The girl smiled. "Rachel. Rachel Platten."
---
Thanks for reading! There's more at [/r/Remyxed/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/)! | 2019-10-14T06:52:35 | 2019-10-14T05:19:31 | 862 | 464 |
[WP] Your T.V. suddenly turns on by itself mid-lunch and a message from the local weather warning system , normally accompanied with a loud alarm but oddly silent this time around, reads "For the safety and well-being of all local citizens this warning will be broadcasted silently..." | Coming home at eight p.m., the first thing I did was help myself to a cup of joe and read today's paper. Mornings never left me enough time for that simple pleasure, even though I lived by myself. Somehow, all my time seemed to be spent at work, with work, or for work. Funny, that.
The beans must have been getting old, because the coffee was stale. The paper, seemingly in conspiracy with the usually liquid bliss, mentioned only another crisis in Europe somewhere, an oil shortage in the Middle East, Russian aggression in natural gas exports, and the "controversy" regarding our new president's twins (who were all of four months old), and whether or not they would attend Catholic or public school.
A mental sigh, a quick rinse, and a pinched nose bridge later, I was sitting in front of the TV, a cold beer in my hand and a bowl of peanuts on the table in front of me. Was it too much to ask for something worthwhile to happen before the monotony of my day started all over again?
I watched some kind of science fiction show for a while, which then segued into some kind of talk show, and after that... well, I'm not sure. I think I fell asleep, though last I recalled, my beer was half-empty, and now it was drained, sitting neatly on the coffee table. Squirming my way up into a more upright sitting position, I looked around to see what woke me. It took me a moment or two to realise the TV was still on, but there was no sound coming from it.
Rubbing my eyes, I realised it was some sort of televised address by the president of our august nation. Shaking the last of the sleep from my eyes, I realised it was subtitled. Scrunching my eyes to make out the small letters, I imagined the president's voice in my head, timed to the movement of his lips...
"Again, my fellow Americans, I say, there's nothing wrong with your television set. The silence is for your safety. I repeat, the silence is for your safety. If you or other members of your household are currently making any kind of noise, quickly but carefully subside, or turn off any appliance which may cause any kind of sound."
Looking closer, I realised the president looked worn and haggard, his eyes more sunken than I could remember. The address continued:
"My fellow Americans, again, for your safety, I can and will say this only once. Our current situation is as follows: All of our nuclear ordnance is currently armed and ready to fire. I have, next to my hand, the trigger which will launch them all, if such a choice is forced upon me. It is imperative that every last person, one and all, listen to me very carefully right now."
He seemed to steel himself, as if he heard something, and a look of pure dread passed across his features. A moment of, I suppose textual silence passed, before he again relaxed. He looked strained but determined as the text continued to narrate the movement of his lips.
"You must keep absolutely quiet, whatever the cost. Whatever else you do, do not move, do not speak, and do not do anything that can cause any kind of noise. Our very survival depends on it. For the very first time in the past four months, both the twins are sleeping at the same time, and maybe, just MAYBE, I can catch a few hours of rest myself. So help me, if one of you makes so much as a peep, I will push this button and GUARANTEE peace and quiet on this planet. While you may fear for yourselves, stay strong; I believe in you, and in our great nation. Thank you all, good night, keep quiet, and God bless America." | Weird, I thought. I knew my cable box could turn on my TV for Weather Warnings, but I never thought it would actually happen.
A scratching sound is coming from the TV. No, not a scratching. It's a whisper.
"please, please" it says. A young woman's voice? Maybe a child. Hard to say, it's so low. I turn the volume up all the way, it's easier to hear. Definitely a woman's voice.
"I can't type all of this, they are outside the door, please send help" the voice says. I think it says. She speaks softer by the second. I flip on my sound system, usually overkill for anything but movies, turn the volume up as her voice gets lower.
"I think they got everyone else." the voice is lower still "I think, I think they are opening the door" lower "oh, god" silence. Then... footsteps? A shuffling. I can hear the voice's owner breathing, quickly, trying to be quiet but not quite managing. My right ear is basically resting on the speaker. I swear I can hear her hearbeat.
Then... pain. A noise blares so loud out of the speaker that the windows in my house shake. I cover my ears fall to the ground. I can barely make out the same noise coming from my neighbours' house. Dampened through my palms the noise is familiar, it's a song? A voice starts signing "Ain't no strangers to love..." the message on the TV has changed "Happy April 1st from Channel 5"... | 2016-08-10T07:19:14 | 2016-08-10T07:18:16 | 485 | 59 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | Erryn relished the moment. There was something cathartic in holding between his tendrils the terms of surrender, in knowing that you hold the only hope for a dying race. In that moment, he held the power of life and death for the fifteen billion humans on the planet below, as well as the one who sat across the table from him now.
The two of them sat alone on a station that had been prepared exclusively for the purpose; only the two negotiators and the cameras that would broadcast the surrender to the Universe. Beside them, the wall was filled with a viewport that showed the surface of Earth spinning away from them, as well as the tremendous fleet that floated menacingly above.
The human negotiator took the treaty from Erryn and began to read. The terms were simple: humanity would submit to Tallnian authority in perpetuity, yielding all valuables within a solar cycle. It was a method that had worked for them many times before; all throughout the arm of the galaxy, Tallnian planets could be found, constructing the great fleets that would go on to expand the Empire.
The negotiator carefully placed the treaty on the table and sat back, his eyes closed. From his training, Eryn recognized this as defeat. The man who had been so pure in the House of Diplomacy, who had insisted that every conflict could be solved there even as the Tallnians slaughtered his people on the Plutonian Outpost, was silent.
Erryn placed a pen on the table. He took special pleasure in making the defeat feel as familiar as possible.
The negotiator sighed, then spoke. “I remember you from the House, Erryn. You always told me that war was beyond law. That the strong would rule, and the weak would deserve it.”
Erryn laughed. “And I was correct, so it would seem.”
The human leaned forward. “You said that peace was a weak race’s game, and that only a coward would waste his time with its rules.”
“I did.” Erryn was getting impatient now. “And I do not see how this exchange will benefit us.”
“I just wanted you to understand something, before this is all over.”
“Oh?”
“Rules are not for good races to make themselves feel better. Good races, ones that are truly altruistic, don’t need rules.” He took a deep breath. “Today, you’ll understand why humanity has so many.”
At that moment, a blinding light stabbed through the viewport. Erryn shielded his optic spots, surprised by the sudden brightness. He thought that their star would rise on the other side of the planet…
The light faded, and Erryn looked back outside. The Tallnian fleet was gone, replaced by a rapidly-expanding sphere of rubble. He fell back into his seat in shock.
The human was already on his feet, halfway to the hatch to his ship. He looked back at Erryn, the pain evident on his alien features. “I am so sorry that it came to this.” Then, a moment later, he was descending back to his planet.
Erryn sat there in shock. He hadn’t moved when, an hour later, a piece of the Tallnian flagship’s great cannon tore through the station, incinerating the treaty and the Tallnian who had brought it | Drifting endlessly and peacefully through this void, I gazed upon the great blue sphere. Its skies swirling with white ink. The low rumbling of our ship had my brethren in a deep sleep.
A great white plain, frozen and still, is where we made our temporary home. A small elderly woman made her way out of that dark and sullen forest, inviting us to follow her.
The six of us were crammed into the tight dwelling in which she lived. The warmth of the stove shielded us from that blistering cold winter wind. This meal was just enough to keep us all from starving, that caring old woman...
News of our presence was spreading. A large military force was to be expected at any moment, but this frozen plain was empty. As I wait on the outskirts of our encampment, waiting, a sun had risen out of the ground.
These humans were peaceful due to their fear not of us, but because of their own power. | 2020-02-07T14:00:31 | 2020-02-07T12:50:43 | 106 | 41 |
[WP]As you sit in a dark room filled with armed scarred men, and sit at a table with a shark tank in the middle, all while scratching your cat with your robotic hand, you begin to think you might have... accidentally... become a super villain. | Felix purred quietly in my lap as I ran my prosthetic hand through his fur. Despite the odd twitch of the mechanics, my old friend seemed to welcome the feeling. At either side of me stood hired mercenaries, acting as my body guards. One of them coughed, the abrasive sound waking the cat. He nimbly jumped down from my lap and began circling the tank in the middle of the room. He batted at the glass as a rather large shark swam past. "What a mighty hunter you are, Felix," I smiled. A crooked smile. I could vaguely see the reflection in the glass before me. I saw myself for the first time in a long time: metallic fingers curled, pressed against my cheek. Meticulously groomed hair and a fine suit leaned against the armrest of my chair. My smile faded. 'What have I become?' I thought.
Over the years, I have done many things. Many abhorrent things... All for the sake of peace. Humans are, largely, a plague upon this planet: global warming, wars, thievery, murder, rape, pollution; these things were all caused by one singular root problem. The human race. As a kid, I was raised in a loving home. My parents were always kind to me, always willing to help me. We were poor, but they never failed to provide for me. Me and my younger sister. My father worked a hard job in a factory, and my mother spent her time babysitting, sewing, doing odd jobs for rich people. They scraped together a living. The conditions at my father's factory job were bad at best, and dangerous at worst. Chemicals and pollution got to him, in the end. He died of lung cancer. After that, things were much harder. Mother's odd jobs weren't enough to provide, and she took to spending her nights on the streets. We survived, though. I didn't understand then, but I do now. She did what she had to.
As a teenager, I ran off to fight. To fight war, to fight pollution, to fight poverty. I spent my time volunteering at soup kitchens, helping clean up the litter in the parks and on the roads. I was an advocate of peace, protesting the war efforts. I spent time at the homeless shelters, trying my best to help folks get back on their feet and find their way in the world. I saw, firsthand, the kind of pain the human race is capable of inflicting on this planet. On itself. The more I saw, the more I understood: humanity was like a many-headed snake fighting against itself. No matter which head fought which, we would all suffer. And our world would suffer for it. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we could only fix the problems we created if we stood together, as one. I vowed to make sure that happened, no matter the cost.
I made friends, powerful friends. Enemies, too. I earned favours, pulled strings, got involved in the political ring. I started making a name for myself. I gained the trust of many like-minded people, and together we moved to make a difference. The legal system, I found, could work wonderfully in my favour. It took a long time, but it was worth it. We started at home, in the United States, and then we branched out. Once we had the populace of one country totally under our control, we moved on to the next. Russia was problematic, but once we had the rest of the world, they hardly stood a chance. I saw my dreams come to fruition. One world government. All of humanity united under one flag. My flag. Crime was prevalent, for a time. But with everything under my control, it was easy to make the populace complacent. And with complacency, they forgot their freedoms. Their rights. I slowly slipped them out from beneath the people, but they never noticed. The world was at peace. Now, it was time to make it clean.
Steven, my right hand man, walked in. "Yes? How can I help you?"
"It's time, sir," he said.
"The population control laws have been written up? The Noah's Ark Objective is operational? And humane?"
"All we need is your signature, sir."
He handed me a thick stack of bound papers. "NOAH'S ARK" was stamped across the top in bold, black lettering. I glanced at my reflection in the tank. I saw a crooked smile hiding tired eyes. I saw loneliness. I saw darkness. I clicked my pen. | Mr. Snuffles was lying comfortable on my lap, purring like a madman. I had gotten him from a little kid, he gave it willingly to me. He must have. I looked upon my grand room, I had recently refurbished it, I chose a dark style, it was quite fitting. My grandmother was nice enough to donate her old shark tank, good ol' grandma. I felt a sudden itch on my robotic arm, damn calibration I thought.
"Jack! Get that damn technician to get over here immediately to fix this god damn arm of mine! I lost the hand in the war, well not technically a war, but it was a fight. Well, it wasn't really a fight per se, but I did lose my arm in a wood chopping factory. Those machines can kill you if you aren't careful, I damn right sued the company and earned a butt load. God damn machines I thought. The room was quiet, the boys, who were employees of mine, they did gardening and such. I believe they did, I certainly believe they did. Nevertheless, they were scarred, I believe they had some accidents. You know men, always screwing around.
"Boss, we got somebody outside" one of the men said while he was using his knife as a toothpick, I believe he used that to cut all sorts of weed in garden.
"Oh, how nice, let them inside, I believe its freezing outside!" I answered while gently patting Mr. Snuffles.
The guest came slowly in, he looked so scared, I believe it must have been the room, it certainly was so dark, so dark indeed.
"Hello, boy! How are you this evening? What pleasure to have you here!" I said.
The boy looked upon me, sitting on my gigantic throne, which was an assembly of ikea stuff, I never cared to assemble stuff myself, I never did.
"Aren't you going to answer, boy?"
"Hhh…ello…" he answered in such a scared voice.
He seemed so scared, so scared indeed, what may be the cause?
"Uhm, whats the matter, boy?" I asked while stretching my metal hand, I believe it is the calibration, it must be, yes indeed it must be.
At the sight of my arm the boy took speed and ran the hell out of there. Such a nice kid, yes indeed, such a nice kid.
| 2017-04-04T14:54:15 | 2017-04-04T12:44:09 | 47 | 24 |
[WP] "BE NOT AFRAID" said the multi-eyed, feather-winged being. "Sir, this is a Wendy's" sighed the baggy-eyed, tired cashier. | The first thing James noticed wasn't the wings covered in a purple-tinted flame. Nor was it the fact that the man was 7 feet tall, with several more eyes than should be normal. No, the first thing James noticed was the way he carried himself, the way he entered the establishment and made his way straight to James. James recognized that body language. It indicated a man who was ready to speak to the manager.
And today, James was the acting manager.
"BE NOT AFRAID, MORTAL!" The man stood directly in front of James across the counter, staring down at the overworked cashier. "I HAVE COME TO DELIVER YOU TO JUSTICE!"
"...Sir, this is a Wendy's. What can I get you?" James was in the middle of a double shift, covering for someone again, he couldn't even remember who. James was a sleep-deprived mess who was only standing because he was able to lean against the counter. He was more looking past the several-eyed man than at him.
"YOU MAY SHOW ME TO THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS CORNER OF HELL ON EARTH, MORTAL. QUICKLY, BEFORE MORE ARE MADE TO SUFFER YOUR FATE!"
This perked James' ears a bit. *He's looking for the manager. I'm the manager right now.* "Sir, I am the acting manager today, what seems to be the problem?"
"NONSENSE! NOBODY WOULD WILLINGLY SUBJECT THEMSELVES TO THIS ENDLESS TORMENT!"
"Buddy, you'd be surprised. Can I take your order now?"
"I ORDER YOU TO REVEAL THE ONE TRULY RESPONSIBLE! THEIR CRIMES MUST BE PAID FOR WITH BODY AND SOUL ALIKE. THEY SHALL SUFFER AS THEY HAVE MADE OTHERS SUFFER!"
Finally, James started to come back to awareness. This man had been yelling for a few minutes now, and the other customers seem to have either left or are cowering in fear of him. "Uh, sir, are you sure you're in the right place? This is a Wendy's, not a church. Also, those flames are a fire hazard, so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"*FOOL!* THESE ARE THE FLAMES OF RETRIBUTION! THEY BURN ONLY THOSE THAT HAVE TRULY SINNED! I WILL SAY THIS ONCE IN YOUR MORTAL WAY; *I WISH TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER.*"
The force of these words finally broke James from his stupor, and he finally processed what was happening in full. Stammering out a response, James replied "M-My boss is at home r-right now, b-b-but I can c-call him if you like."
"DO SO, QUICKLY."
James quickly shoved his hand into his pocket to grab his phone. With the dexterity of a seasoned fast food chef, he quickly had his boss dialed up and on speakerphone.
A gruff voice answered the phone. "The hell you want, James? I told you to handle this shit or I was gonna fire you! I swear to god, if you tell me that the frosty machine is jammed again, I'm gonna come over there and-"
The strange man's flames suddenly turned from a deep purple to a brightly glowing orange and white, as the gruff voice suddenly choked up. The man on the phone was obviously struggling with something, before breaking out into a bloodcurdling scream. As the strange man's flames faded back to their original hue, the screaming from the boss quieted down to a gurgle. Eventually, the voice managed to choke out "...give him a large frosty free... then help yourself to the cash register, James." Then there were two loud thuds from the phone, before the call was ended.
James, thoroughly awake at this point, looked up at the man with flaming wings and too many eyes, and finally realized that this was above his pay grade. Too afraid to do anything but stare, James started when the man began to speak again. "YOU HEARD HIS EDICT. I REQUIRE A LARGE FROSTY. YOU WILL NOT CHARGE ME FOR IT, AND YOU WILL TAKE THE MONEY IN THE DEVICE BEFORE YOU."
James had never moved so fast in his 28-year-old life, nearly spilling a whole vat of chocolate frosty mix when the man said "AND MY CUP SHALL BE FILLED TO THE TOP! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THE SAME INJUSTICE I HAVE SUFFERED ONCE ALREADY!"
When James handed the man his frosty, there were drops of light brown leaking from the lid of the cup.
"I REQUIRE A SPOON AND NAPKINS FOR PROPER CONSUMPTION!"
James nervously pointed to the condiments and utensils. "I-If there's anything you need that's missing, just let m-me know."
The man strode over to the spoons and napkins before taking one of each. He then turned back to James and said "DO NOT FORGET YOUR TIP." Then, he quickly turned and walked out of the store, nearly knocking down a very confused looking older woman.
After a moment, James hit the "No Sale" button on his register. | "Be not afraid!" said the multi-eyed, feather-winged being.
"Sir, this is a Wendy's" sighed the baggy-eyed, tired cashier.
"*Cawaak!"* screeched the being, shaking the steel tipped spear it held in one wing at the cashier. "I see you shake in fear, oh naked one! Let thy kingdom of Wind-ees perish and burn. Let thy ashes scatter in the wind and like the Lord Phoenix himself be reborn as one with the empire."
"Sir. Sir. Sir!" The cashier made a calming gesture with his hands. "*This*," he gestured around him, "is a *Wendys."*
The creature deflated a little, cocking its head to the side, multiple eyelids blinking at once. "Cawaak?" It half-heartedly shook the decorated spear underneath the cashier.
Sighing, the cashier pushed the spear back gently with a finger.
"What is all the commotion?" A deep voice bellowed. The fry cook walked up to the counter, a frown on his face and a grease stain on his apron. As soon as he saw the bird his frown turned to a scowl. "Goddammit. Not another one of *those."*
"I'm afraid so," the cashier said dryly. "Hey! Can you stop that?" he jumped back as the creature began pecking at the counter with its large, green beak, leaving huge gashes in the wood. Several similar sized gashes lined the entire length of counter.
When the first of the creatures had appeared and demanded that humans submit to the empire it had been a cause for great concern. Riots had broken out in the streets and doomsayers suddenly had followers, speaking of the great alien conspiracy.
The government had determined quite quickly, however, that the birds were harmless. No one had figured out where they had come from, but the public had quickly gone from viewing the creatures as a danger to viewing them as an annoyance. Every few weeks a new one would appear, demanding that everyone submit to the mysterious Empire.
"Want me to get the broom?" Ben asked, folding his arms, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
"Oh dear. Certainly not!" A young woman bustled out of a door to the left, a concerned look on her face. Her name tag read *General Manager*.
She smiled widely at the cashier and fry cook. "We shall treat just like we do any other guest. Here at Wendys, every customer is welcome." She shooed the cashier out of the way and took his place. Then, she smiled at the creature, all business. "Would you be interested in trying out new Double Bacon *Cawaak* burger? Only available for a limited time."
The creature stopped pecking and turned its many eyes on the manager. "Be not afraid!" it squawked, shaking its spear and flapping its wings.
The cashier stood behind the manager, rubbing his eyes, a pained look on his face. He *hated* Mondays. | 2021-12-27T05:16:34 | 2021-12-27T04:27:31 | 1,079 | 97 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | Saying that religious belief is what brought humanity to a near end, a near end where The Falling occured wouldn't exactly be correct to say. It took until 2085, fifteen years after the instantaneous, near apocolypse that left Earth's population at just over seven billion to find the only possible explanation as to why.
The Falling had occured in an instant in which 90% of humanity simply fell and died. This would have been repairable, except the survivor's memories had been wiped, where only just enough memory remained to recognize the glossy stares of their family as they lay dead on the ground, but not enough to find their own homes. The Falling lead to many corpses littering the streets, many more than you may assume: During the fifty year reign of peace following the down fall of America that caused all the nations to finally unite, populations across the globe were able to grow exponentially. A new path of science (or previously less investigated) had provided the technologly to not just feed the entire population with ease, but to house a much larger one on Earth than previously thought possible. The survivors of The Falling had to reassemble their history all over again to discover this for themselves though.
It took many years to rediscover old technologies whose secrets died with their discoverers and practitioners of the old days. Even more to begin research as to why such a tragedy occured. Their final conclusion should have been much easier to arrive to, something so obvious it seemed it should have taken days for a species so connected. But this was now an alienated, devasted group of people left on the planet. Something not physically evident caused even more skepticism and denial.
There came a point where mankind finally had to concede to the proposterous idea: The 10% of the remaining population shared many different religious beliefs prior to The Falling. But only those that truly did not believe in their respective God remained alive. Many people that claimed they were religious and were dedicated to their practices lived through the falling; having never truly believed no matter how repressed the blasphemous thought was. On the other end, many outspoken and self proclaimed athiests hadn't survived. It could only be presumed that the latter was actually the case though as there was no proof.
When this "Finding" had become common knowledge among humanity, the only logical conclusion amidst this new idea was that there was in fact a God. Perhaps he was unhappy with the way people went about worshipping Him. This would be corrected. The fear of God was now more powerful and evident than it had ever been among men. This caused a near instant perspective change among Earth and people once again began worship, using no idols this time or history to a certain God. They simply worshipped Him through their own individual methods. The vast majority did at least, a certain few that were the most stubborn and unfaithful still remained deniers.
Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait...
| Everything had changed. Ninety percent of the world dead in an instant. No more like Ninety Nine point nine nine nine.
The survivors were shell shocked, no-one could understand at first why WE were spared. We had nothing in common, no shared race or sex or background or even country. Just a few thousand of us left, scattered across the planet.
We thought the apocalypse was bad, empty streets, corpses in their houses, babies lying dead abandoned and rotting in daycare, but the worst was yet to come.
It was about a week after the event, that finally I realized two things.
Firstly, the survivors (including myself) were ALL hipsters.
And secondly, and worst, now we had no-one to point out how we did things before they were cool. | 2016-10-22T02:36:52 | 2016-10-22T01:56:06 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] In a world where pregnancies sometimes last a few extra months resulting in a child with superpowers, your wife has been pregnant for 15 years | "That's...not quite what I expected."
15 years. For such a long wait, this was a little...underwhelming, to say the least.
"You sure doc? Steve doesn't have any other powers?"
"We're sure, Mr. Lang."
I leaned back on my chair with my eyes closed, relaxing my muscles as I let the truth sink in. After a couple of minutes, I turned to my beautiful 2-hour old treasure, my new center of the universe.
"I'm sorry, Dad", he said in his squeaky voice.
"What for? There's nothing to apologize about."
"I know you're disappointed in me. I can see it in your eyes."
It's...true. I know I *shouldn't* be disappointed at my newborn son for this, but I still can't help but *feel* disappointed.
"It's just..." he continued, still getting adjusted to opening his tiny little mouth, let alone speaking in just minutes after being introduced to this world. "...I couldn't handle all that pressure, you know? I could hear everything in there. You and mom expected me to be the next Messiah by the time I could control my powers, and I was too afraid to disappoint you guys. Then you guys were talking about me being on the NEWS and shit? I was just so afraid of everything, so I just shut myself in."
"I'm...I'm sorry, Steve." 130 minutes in, and I already feel like the worst dad in the world. Great.
"Look, Steve. You did nothing wrong. It's all our fault. I should have told you while you were still in your mother's womb... that we would have been happy to have you no matter what your powers turned out to be. It may be hard to believe, but I am proud to have you as my son."
Silence filled the room, while Steve avoided all eye contact. He just looked down at his cute chubby thighs, unsure how to respond and understandably so. This lasted for nearly 5 minutes, until finally I decided to stand up.
"...Well, time to break the news with the rest of the world."
"Wait, Dad! Can we just wait a few days?"
"They're gonna find out sooner or later. The longer we make them wait, the bigger the hype. The bigger the hype, the bigger the disappoin..."
Ah, fuck.
"...Ok, dad."
"...I'll be back.", I whimpered, as I walked out of the room. The cameras were already flashing at my eyes before I could even manage to close the door behind me.
"Mr. Lang, Mr. Lang! This is the moment the world's been waiting for! The big reveal! So WHAT, exactly, is/are your son Steve's superpowers?"
I straightened my posture, chin up, smile on my face. It was the best I could do for my son, for what little it was worth. I wanted to show everyone that I'm still proud of him for coming into this world.
"His power...is the power to delay pregnancies."
| Lucky number seven baby! First they called us crazy for having her take crossfit 7 months in. Then they said we were boarding insane when we switched her to an all soylent diet at 2 years. Now here we are. All six kids had moderately impressive, but still underwhelming superpowers by our standards.
Lucky number seven was going to change the whole game. The ability to eat shards of glass and shit out gold? Clique. Underwater hypersonic communication? Barely practical. 15 years of carrying around that sack of glory was sure to bring more than just a party trick. And if it did? Book deals, diet plans, interviews, and more were obvious next steps for the parents of a superstar.
Then came that magical night in Bowling Green, Kentucky. Nature called with the ringtone of water breaking. We answered by rushing her to the hospital with cameras rolling. Out came our lil superstar David. Only, he was ginger.
I guess we'all try again. | 2017-07-07T22:57:46 | 2017-07-07T22:33:29 | 743 | 180 |
[WP] You wake up in a destroyed underground lab after 5,000 years of cryogenic stasis. When you reach the surface, you find that the race that replaced humans views you as a hyperintelligent and highly dangerous Eldritch Abomination. | What shocked me most of all was the silence. What was once my home, New York City the bustling center of the city that never sleeps, now is just... nothing. I was escorted through the streets by the... things.
I thought back to when I woke up, and about 30 or so were looking at me with their eye, at least I think the bulbous, fleshy circle on the center of their body was. The other cryo-pods were dark. I don’t know what happened to my friends and family in them, if the creatures likewise found them, or perhaps I’m the last one. I remember Dr Halbern confessing that he wasn’t sure if the power reserves would last as long as we needed, almost like it was yesterday. It was a lot longer than yesterday.
When I moved from the chamber my body felt like it had turned to stone, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. I groaned in pain, and then gasped when the creatures around me fell over twitching, something red oozing out of their “eye”s. The terrifying thing was that I heard nothing. Not a whisper as the group just... died. New ones came in through the vault door, dragged out the corpses in equally chilling silence. I meekly apologized, at only a whisper. The others fell on their short little legs, more of the bright red stuff came out of their eyes, but this time they didn’t die, they only shook with pain and walked with a limp when they resumed their work. Since then I hadn’t said anything, not when a few of them came in and attempted to pick up the pod with some kind of machine to no avail, not when they skittered away in fear when I stood up, and certainly not when one of them stood in the streets, slightly shaking when I made my way out of the vault, into the city. More had joined as I followed my presumed guide.
Each time my soft, shoeless feet hit what remained of the concrete roads, all of them flinched, though I couldn’t hear the faintest of noise. I’m glad I ignored the vault-standard flip-flops when getting my clothes.
When they stopped in front of a small metal door, built into a crumbling building, it opened, and they all turned to me with their silent eyes. Slowly getting to my knees, I looked through the vent-like entrance, gripped the sides, and hissed in pain as I realized it was extremely hot.
Oh fuck are they-
Yup. The whole group was on the floor. Sighing in frustration, I resumed crawling my way through he dark metal shaft, dreading what else I might accidentally kill today. | Even when made by 6 limbs, a gesture of warding against evil is strangely recognisable across species boundaries. 'They must consider me some kind of eldritch abomination', I thought, 'how strange'. After 5000 years of cryosleep, I would have expected a different reaction to the one I get every time someone sees me first thing in the morning. | 2018-10-31T14:59:39 | 2018-10-31T12:43:55 | 53 | 31 |
[WP] The aliens who captured you have determined that the fate of mankind will depend on the outcome of a competition that will pit you against one of their champions. They sit you in front of a board and explain the rules of their traditional game. You're shocked to recognize the rules: it's chess! | "-so those are the rules. The game takes place on an 8x8 board and the pieces are initially arranged in the position you see on screen now. As this is a traditional game, both teams will be awarded 90 of your minutes to play the first 40 moves, and 30 additional minutes to complete the game. Each side also will receive an additional 30 of your seconds each time a turn is completed. Now, are there any questions?"
Silence fills the room. T'chalek revels in it.
Xhezz, the ancient game of his people! The infinite complexity of the Xhezz board is the great equalizer for all thinking beings. No algorithm can solve it, no program can understand it, it's the truest stick by which to truly measure intelligence. Of course these primitives are silent, they can barely process what they just heard! Of course, being a proper Xhezz-playing gentleman T'chalek didn't voice his opinions, being prideful was far *far* beneath the likes of him.
"Er, yes, just one question." One of the creatures eventually pipes up. "The fate of humanity is to be decided in one game against your champion, da? Then why have you selected the five of us?"
"A fair question. Of course, we Temmen are not unfair, nor unreasonable. We acknowledge that our experience in this game does give us a *slight* edge against our opponents. As a way of levelling the playing field we completely randomly selected five candidates from your species to play our champion. All of you may combine your thoughts and ideas, though still only one move may be made per turn.
"Randomly selected? We were *randomly* selected?" another voice pipes up.
"Indeed. In order to ensure that no bias is given to the game, we completely randomly select all five candidate players. Some of you may be bright scholars, or simple laborers, we honestly don't know. The only criteria is that at least one of each sex of your species must be present, as well as at least one child. This is to ensure we are testing the full range of capabilities of your species."
Of course, all this talk of fairness was complete hogswash, though he didn't expect these dirty creatures to catch it. What was important was that at least a show of fairness was perceived, it made things much easier later on when they inevitably revolted and needed to be 'pacified'.
"Are there any other questions?"
"Yeah. Uhh, how does, the ummm, Xnight move again please?"
A common question. Primitives often struggled to conceptualise how the Xnight was able to jump around. Though quiet snickers went up around the room as T'Chalek explained. What about this was funny? Clearly the severity of the situation had not yet sunk in, that alone spoke volumes about the intellectual level of this primates.
"Do you need me to re-explain the In Passing rule again as well, or are you all ready?" T'Chalek growled, somewhat annoyed at apparently not being taken seriously.
"No no no I think we've heard enough, thank you for your explanation T'Chalek. This "Xhezz" game seems quite interesting. If I'm not mistaken I believe we should all be ready to play."
More snickers.
Well, let's see who's laughing after hours of gruelling mental warfare! After all, Xhezz speaks for itself!
"Very well then! I will now introduce our champion! A master tactician and strategist like no other, Universal Xhess Champion for the last 12 \[1.3 years\], I present Mr. Feebe Golokt'chiesta!"
A small, slender figure slunk from the shadows and sat across from the five candidates. He nodded briefly to each, recognising them as opponents as any proper Xhezz player should. "For what it's worth," he said "I'll try to make it quick. I'm sorry."
"Silence Feebe. Just do what you're here for. Now, Mr. Nepomniachtchi, Mr. Carlsen, Mr. Nakamura, Ms. Polgar, and Mr. Praggnananandhaa, are you all sure you're ready?"
The five chess grandmasters nodded together, before sharing a glance at one another and approaching the board where Feebe had already made the first move; e4.
"For what it's worth," Hikaru Nakamura said, "Nothing personel, kid."
​
Thirty minutes later, a pale and shaking Feebe was found huddled in a corner muttering deranged ramblings about "juicers" and "the wooden shield".
We left the Humans alone after that. | I hold my mouth half open and try not to inhale out of my mouth so that I force some drool down the side of my chin. The aliens have just told me that if I lose this game in front of me, they will wipe out our entire species. I try to look as dumb as possible so that they will not realize that I play chess almost every day for the last few years. I'm actually one of the top Twitch streamers for chess. What a lucky coincidence that they chose me randomly from the crowd. It is like it was meant to be. Fate brought me here to save the human race.
The game starts and I ask a bunch of questions, pretending like I can't remember what pieces can do what. The aliens are laughing at me, knowing that they have this game in the bag. Reveling in the fact that they are going to murder everybody on planet Earth.
However after about an hour into the game, it becomes clear that I know what I am doing. The laughter from the crowds stops. Whispers take their place. Confusion. Meanwhile I can almost feel the hope coming off of humanity. Wondering whether they may actually live to see tomorrow.
We are both making big moves. Rooks are being knocked over. Bishops are slashed. Pawns are getting pissed on. It's like that scene in Harry Potter. Remember in that movie when they tried to make that chess game seem interesting? Boy, I mean good attempt I guess, but definitely a fast forward moment. Not that this game is so much better. Except that the stakes are the end all life in on Earth.
Finally it is getting down to the wire. We can both feel it. I can see my opponents eyes squint in focus. I am sweating like I'm at the spa. I'm probably 5 pounds lighter just from water weight. Also, I'm still drooling because I never remembered to close my mouth.
Finally I see it. The path to victory. It is just two moves away. But then he kills my rook.
Fuck. I didn't see that. I missed it. How did I miss it. I just lost my checkmate. Oh no, what was I going to do now... I realize he has me beat. He was setting me up. And after a few more moves it is checkmate. And I am not the victor. I guess fate did not bring me hear to save the human race after all. It brought me here to end it. At least I get to die having played on last epic game of chess. It almost offsets the fact that every single person in the world wants to kick me in the nuts. | 2022-11-12T22:56:11 | 2022-11-12T18:14:03 | 255 | 84 |
[WP] You realize you are immortal or more specifically that you cannot die. The issue is that you only realize this once the man who is attempting to torture you to death can't finish the job.
[removed] | “Well, now that is remarkable….”
I opened my eyes, coated in blood, to see my murderer standing in the doorway. He seemed even taller now that I was slumped into the fetal position in the corner of the small room he had kept me in for the last three days. He had his left arm wrapped around a tall, pale skinned woman; his right arm sat loose at his side gripping a pistol.
“It is not ‘remarkable.’ Just kill him,” the woman said with contempt.
“You are welcome to try.”
I coughed, a clump of blood filling my mouth. I took a deep breath and tried to speak – finding that it was easy to do so. “Please… just kill me… I have done nothing to you….”
The man removed his arm from the woman and took two steps closer to me, holding the pistol to my head. “Stand up.”
“I can’t… you know I can’t… you broke my legs.”
“Stand up, or I will shoot you in the balls.”
I caught a sob in my throat; all I wanted was for it to end. I knew my legs were broken from when he abducted me, he hit me with his car and shattered my femur. With trembling I slowly raised my leg.
I felt no pain.
I cringed and bent my knee, positioning my foot on the cold concrete.
I felt no pain.
Still fearful, I put weight down on my foot and began pushing myself up. I felt no pain and I easily stood to my full height. I was covered in blood, but no blood dripped out of me. I put my hand to the entrance wound in my chest that I was certain would kill me, and all I found was smooth skin.
I looked at my abductor with confusion as the edges of my vision struggled to steady. He backed away, keeping his pistol aimed at my head.
“I broke his legs. I beat him with the bat. I shot him in the lung.” Here he lowered the weapon slightly to study my face. “He died, I checked his pulse. Look at him now.”
The woman’s mouth dropped as she stepped forward to look me over. “She wanted his body delivered to her. Now what do we do?”
The abductor’s face twisted in anger. “He is fucking immortal and you’re worried about delivering his body?” His face softened a moment later as he seemed to ponder. “Clarence, I understand that right now you feel confused and vengeful. I want you to understand… there are worse things we could do to you than kill you. Having said that, I would propose that there are some ways we could approach this that would be mutually beneficial.”
“What’s going on? What have you done to me?”
He looked annoyed by my question, I felt vaguely apologetic for not being more impressive as an immortal murder victim.
“Clarence, you should be dead. I killed you. Over the course of about twenty-four hours I have watched your body completely heal itself. I realize that there is a lot for you to think about and wrap your mind around. I will be perfectly honest, I do not care how you come to terms with this. Nor do I want you to think that I have answers for you, I don’t. Here’s what I do have: an opportunity.
“Your sister hired me to capture, torture, and murder you. I did not ask questions, but she was happy to talk. My understanding is that your father is very ill and she would rather not compete with you over the inheritance. As far as the torture, well, maybe you can answer that one. She is going to pay me handsomely for your body.”
I nodded, my heart sinking. I knew my sister was a generally terrible person, but knowing that someone you grew up with paid a large sum of money to make sure your death was painful is still hard to swallow. Without realizing it, my head slumped and started staring at the floor.
“Here is my proposition: tomorrow I will shoot you in the lung again. You will die. It seems it takes about 24 hours for you to revive. In that time, I will deliver you to your sister and collect the money. I will leave you with a pistol and a knife. When you revive you will be able to ambush her and take your revenge. After that, I want you to call me… with your unusual ability I think we could make a lot of money together.”
I stared at the floor throughout his proposition. I was hungry. I was devastated. I was fairly certain I had soiled myself. I cannot really say that I cared what his proposition was, but I agreed to it.
I would never call him. I would not even get my revenge on my sister, I just wanted her to see me. Then I would see my dad one more time. From there, who knows? If I have this gift I’m not going to waste it hurting people.
This is an opportunity to help someone somehow, I know it.
If nothing else, I know I can put on one hell of a magic show. | Blood dripped down my chin in viscous globs, thick and gooey. It felt like someone had set a bomb off in my head.
The man who called himself Galfond wheeled back with the golf club, going for another swing. A driver. It landed with an ear-splitting clunk.
"Ah!" I shrieked. "Why are you doing this?"
I looked up at Galfond's thick, bushy moustache. He screwed his face up into a frown.
"Where is your time stone?" he asked, jabbing with his finger.
"I don't know what you're talking about", I replied. I should probably be dead. He'd already hacked me up with a knife. Battered my knees and chest with the golf clubs. This strange man, with his strange moustache, dressed in these strange starry robes.
"Yes you do!" he roared. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!" He swung with the golf club again, landing on the top of my skull with a ringing metallic clang. It stung. But it didn't knock me out. "Give me your damned time stone *now*!"
I shook my head. Today seemed like it was going to be a normal day. I woke up in bed with my purple-haired Jezebel, and flew to work at Marvin Stardust's Amazing Asteroid Golf Club. 18 holes on 18 asteroids, all with their own unique gravitational fields. Then this man showed up, asking about a time stone. I asked him if he was here for a round of golf. He only glared, and then he got violent.
The clubhouse door swung open. It was the manager, Marvin Stardust, a tall, broad black man with a bushy beard. His jaw dropped.
"Good lord!" he exclaimed. Galfond dived at him, swinging the driver. Stardust ducked. The club smacked up against the door with a clang. "I don't think so", Stardust growled.
He grabbed Galfond by the scruff of the neck, and tossed him down onto the floor.
"I want his time stone!" Galfond snarled.
"Time stone?" replied Stardust. "I don't think so, chap. You're going to jail." He whipped a pair of handcuffs out from behind the reception counter and slapped them on. "Bloody rapscallion", Stardust growled. "Coming in here and assaulting my staff."
"Mr. Stardust", I asked. "How come I'm not dead? He hit me in the head with a driver. And a 6 iron." Stardust raised both of his eyebrows.
"Dear boy. You haven't figured it out? You're an android. I own you. You can't *die*."
| 2017-02-08T09:41:30 | 2017-02-08T09:10:38 | 300 | 85 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch | "In Act 1, scene 3 of Macbeth, we are finally introduced to our main character. This is shown through various supernatural elements..."
Professor Yates continued with his lecture as I doodled chibi dinosaurs and Harry Potter stick figures in the margins of my notebook. Stifling a yawn, I jotted down a quick synopsis of "Jacobean witchcraft" and double checked that my tape recorder had full batteries before smooshing my chin into my hands. My thoughts wandered to the theater cast party I had attended last night for my roommate. I wasn't even in the play, or a theater major, yet I attended all the parties with her and never failed to regret it the next morning. I added a stick figure of my roommate being eaten by the chibi dinosaur to my notes.
A snort sounded to my right and I looked over to see my friend Daniel staring down at his desk. A fading smile had barely begun to disappear as I glanced at him, but he turned his head away and scribbled on his paper some more. I thought about throwing something at him to make him come sit next to me, but I didn't want to interrupt the professor, who was not known for his leniency. Instead, I turned back to my own notes and let my mind wander.
I wondered if "Macbeth" had ever dealt with a hangover before. Probably not. I think he was the theater roommate in this example, and poor Banquo was the tagalong who didn't know that a "Screwdriver" was more vodka than orange juice. No wonder he came back to haunt Macbeth.
I wondered what part I would be cast as if I ever did a production of "Macbeth." I would want to be Lady Macbeth, but with my luck I'd be the drunk porter. I think I could bring some life to it though. Maybe in a "modern" retelling, I'd just come out in a fluffy pink bathrobe with some whiskey.
I wondered, as I often do, if anyone would find these thoughts strange, or if everyone goes on a tangent when they let their mind free. Maybe there was a mind reader who I should probably apologize to for sending them so many distracting daydreams?
Whenever I think this question, I normally can't prevent myself from conjuring up pornographic images and random inappropriate thoughts. I think it's a nervous reaction. It's like the moment I think, "Okay, if there's a mind reader, best not imagine a dick pic", and then automatically my mind is filled with dirty images. I often formally apologize in my head to anyone who may be able to read minds, just in case.
Today though, right before the first risque image could flit across my imagination, I noticed Daniel again. He had jumped in his seat a bit and seemed to go a little pale when I thought the words "mind reader." As soon as I looked over, he shifted uncomfortably.
Curiosity and boredom made me think, "Daniel?" He did not look over and seemed concentrated on his notes. I squinted my eyes and immediately imagined our professor naked. Daniel's head shot up and looked over at me as my jaw dropped. His eyes widened to match mine and he looked back down at his table.
*Oh no you don't.* I thought. *Don't you dare think you are getting away with this. Look back here right now.* I continued to stare him down and began to conjure up more images of our professor in... interesting positions. Finally, Daniel looked over at me and mouthed, "stop."
My mind fizzled for a second and then rebooted. *What the fuck!?* Was the only coherent thought I could manage. Daniel shrugged and managed a small wince.
*You fucking **read minds**??*
He shrugged.
*For how long??*
He shrugged again.
*Can anyone else do that?* My eyes swung wildly around and I shoved down the constant nervous reaction to suddenly imagine everyone naked. Daniel smiled a little and a thought occurred to me. He froze. I froze. He looked up and I saw his cheeks begin to turn pink. I could hear my heart in my ears.
*So you knew...?*
Gradually, Daniel gave a tiny nod.
*You son of a --*
"Tatianna, what do you think?"
My head jerked up to see Professor Yates staring at me over his bespectacled nose.
"Uhh." I looked around and saw the class looking at me expectantly. The board gave no clues as to what had just been discussed and the Professor's silent air of expectation did nothing to help me. I glanced over at Daniel to see him casually flip a page of the play.
*Snarky son of a--*
"Mr. Collins, would you like to assist Ms. Kim as she seems to have lost her tongue?"
I grimaced and glared at Daniel, who didn't bother looking up from the play. There's no way he heard the question either. It was his fault I missed it anyway.
"Macbeth's mental health in the play is a represented by a slow and steady mental decline. We see in the beginning that the character shows symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which gradually accumulate into a type of paranoid schizophrenia, as evidenced through his hallucinations and the line "my mind is full of scorpions." This relates to the current state of his mental health and is a line I personally can connect with."
Professor Yates looked at Daniel with admiration and nodded approvingly. "Well done, Mr. Collins. I look forward to hearing more about your thoughts on this matter. Ms. Kim has a lot she could learn from you." He raised an eyebrow at me before turning to torture another student.
I shot daggers at Daniel.
*You have never read a word of Macbeth in your life. How the hell did you do that?*
He grinned and tapped at his head. My mouth opened in indignation and I turned back to my notes, adding scribbles of Daniel being consumed by numerous reptiles.
*After class, we need to talk.* Was the last thought I sent his way.
Edit: Fixed a story flaw | “François, are you with us?” I hear the Mrs. Thomas say through the gargled crackling of the classroom speakers. I immediately snap out of my daydream and reply:
“Yes Madame”
“You need to pay more attention to class, or else you’ll fall behind.” again the speakers crackle. They really need to replace those things.
“It’s not MY fault,” I thought. I can’t be held responsible for the fact that it’s hard to pay attention to a teacher who’s only form of communication with the class is through a screen via a video chat. It’s not my fault that I happen to be sitting next to the most beautiful and intelligent girl in class. And it’s DEFINITELY not my fault that she even laughs at my jokes.
I look to my left and see her in all of her beauty. She was wearing a loose-fitting white shirt, with a navy blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She has on jeans that complimented her figure nicely, and brown leather riding boots that went up to a few inches below her knee. Her beautiful blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail as she focused adamantly on the assignment. Her name was Caroline, and she was my motivation for coming to school most days, as well as my best friend for a year and a half and crush for 2 years.
Wanting an excuse to talk to her, I briefly thought about the best jokes I’d seen on r/jokes on Reddit. The trouble was finding good ones that weren’t offensive, because she doesn’t really like those. I ended up settling for [one about an Irishman doing some math to get a job.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Jokes/comments/7cqk03/a_little_irish_math_test/?st=J9Z60SKG&sh=9f71151dhttps://www.reddit.com/r/Jokes/comments/7cqk03/a_little_irish_math_test/?st=J9Z60SKG&sh=9f71151d)
Better make sure no mind readers are stealing my jokes, I thought to myself. A silly thought to have, I know, but I had always been more than a little bit of a believer in the idea mind reading.
Mustering a bit of focus, I shouted in my head as loud as I could “TREEEEE!” and prepared to scan the room for reactions.
No quicker did I turn my head to the left than Caroline jerked her head up immediately, as if someone has touched something cold on the back of her neck.
“No way,” I thought to myself, “No frickin’ way!” My mind was rushing at a million miles per hour, trying to calculate the odds of her hearing my thoughts as opposed to it being a coincidence. If she could read minds, how did it work. Is it just with me? Is it constant? Does it have a limited radius? Focus, I told myself. Let’s see if she’s really even able to read my mind.
I decided to play my favorite dubstep song to test this theory. I played the music through my headphones, then right as it got to the bass drop shouted “BOOM” in my head while watching her for a reaction. While it was obvious that she was trying to stop herself, she couldn’t help but to flinch ever so slightly.
She then turned and looked at me, her lovely green eyes meeting mine, a look of worry mixed with a bit of guilt plaguing her delicate features. Not sure how to handle this apparent news, I defaulted to my go-to mechanism: humor.
“So...” I thought, mostly to her, “does this mean you already know the punchline to that joke or...”
AUTHORS NOTE: This is my first time responding to one of these writing prompts, and I’m writing on mobile, so I apologize if the formatting isn’t good. I can’t do italics so I had a hard time portraying though. | 2017-11-13T20:08:12 | 2017-11-13T20:03:10 | 401 | 37 |
[WP] Aliens had been invited to their human coworker's wedding. They are both scared yet amazed by the human wedding traditions. "What are the weddings even like on your planets?" asked the concerned human. "For starters, we don't make our friends and siblings our temporary slaves..." said one. | "Human teeth are formidable weapons," Quetzlim^4 spoke quietly, its hexagonal eyes illuminated by the holographic slide show. "They can rip flesh from bone, pierce the toughest of hides, and are commonly augmented with metallic armour to arrange them in an optimal biting pattern. However, when pursuing peaceful relations with others of their species, humans commonly show off their teeth to one another, to show that they are not devouring a prey animal at that moment."
The holographic picture shifted, showing a group of people in formal dress, smiling at the camera. An audible gasp reverberated through the room. Several silhouettes shifted nervously in their chairs, their features back-lit by the holographic projector.
"As a martial species," Ba'lim^7 took over from its colleague, "they wear armour at every moment of the day. Most commonly, the vulnerable soft parts of the torso, arms, and legs are covered, with particularly thick protection around the sensitive groin area. The style and type of armour appears dictated by social settings. For example, this," Ba'lim^7 extended an antenna towards the holograph, "is the ceremonial armour for a traditional Terran enslavement ceremony. Pay attention to the difference between the male and female armour of the huma..."
"Excuse me, 'enslavement ceremony'?" A voice from the audience interrupted the presentation. "Did I hear that correctly?"
"You did, your excellency. This particular ceremony is seen as a right of passage by many in Terran society. Quetzlim^4?"
The hologram shifted again, now showing a bride and a groom, flanked by other men and women.
"Right, hrrm," Quetzlim^4 cleared its larynx audibly, "A wed'ding serves as both a fertility ritual between semi-monogamous mates of the species, and reinforces social hierarchies within a Terran community. As a rule of thumb: the more lavish the ceremony, the higher the social standing of the Terran specimens."
An interested hum flowed through the room. Quetzlim^4 was particularly glad to hear the soft, rhythmic clacking of mandibles, which generally hinted at a captivated audience. It decided to elaborate a bit further on the practices of the Terran natives.
"For one lunar cycle, the couple at the center of the ritual assume a position of authority within their community. This is signified by their costume and regalia." Quetzlim^4 extended a tendril towards the dress and the suit of the bride and groom. "Typically, these temporary despots look down on their subjects from a strategically advantageous vantage point, such as a podium or dais. From this defensive position, they typically direct their slaves, often socially or blood-related to..."
"Excuse me," an audience member interrupted, a hint of disgust present in the voice, "did you say *slaves*?"
"Yes, commander, human ceremonies often require the temporary or permanent enslavement of their participants. In this particular one, the despots direct their force their slaves to pay homage to them. Examples of this are the giving of gifts, the declamation of odes or praises, or the participation in the mutual enslavement of the despots."
"Savages!" A voice grumbled in the crowd. Others muttered in agreement.
The hologram shifted once again. Two rings appeared on the screen, tiny diamonds set in a gold band.
Ba'lim^7 slithered forwards. "These shackles," it stated, emphasising the final word, "serve to bind two members of the Terran species to one another. A lifelong bond of servitude, that can only be severed by the death of either the slave or the master, although the two roles are often intertwined and interchangeable. We have not been able to determine why these bonds are agreed to, or how often one member slays the other to regain their freedom, but we presume that some degree of physical force lies at the bottom of these ceremonies. We presume the females of the species usually initiates these preliminary altercations. Her all-white attire, shown earlier, signifying to her subjects that the male had not been able to draw blood."
"Hrrm. Nice work, the both of you," although shaking uncharacteristically, Ba'lim^7 recognised the voice as belonging to General Galbin^5, "It pleases me to see that your reconnaissance mission went well. Although," he added quickly, "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we have seen enough for now."
An audience member retched audibly.
"Just tell us," the general continued softly, "in light of the Intergalactic law, the dignity of sentient life, and the security of our own species. What would you advice regarding our treatment of these 'Terrans'?"
Quetzlim^4 and Ba'lim^7 exchanged a hurried glance, they could see from each others retinas that they realised the gravity of what they were about to say. Though it was a routine mission, 'integrate and observe', it was sometimes difficult to maintain an objective stance in these kinds of briefings. As such, both operatives were trying to choose their words carefully.
Then Ba'lim^7 broke the silence: "In light of Intergalactic law, dignitaries..."
"And after general moral and ethical considerations..." Quetzlim^7 continued, although it found it difficult to finish the sentence.
The audience waited in captivated silence.
"We do not consider the Terran way of life," Ba'lim^7 continued with feigned confidence, "to be reconcilable with the dignity due to all sentient life. Furthermore, given their technological progress in the last century, we cannot guarantee that this species will remain living in isolation. Given their martial traditions, sooner or later they will try to expand among the stars."
"I see," the general replied gravely. "And your recommendations?"
"...Given these considerations," Quetzlim^7 answered, an uncertain tremble in its voice, "and the savagery displayed in the Terran ceremonies, we recommend preventative action against the Terran species. As such, we suggest a thorough cleansing of the planet, in line with the measures taken against the 'Martian' society in the past..."
"Thank you." The general simply replied. "Acknowledged." | A persistent hum, punctuated by gusts of laughter, hung in the air. Myglev, a resident of planet Zohr, and his compatriot/coworker Zev sat at a table placed in the middle of the rows of tables under the tent that had been put up for this very occasion--a wedding. The guests, bar the aliens, were a fairly ordinary wedding crowd: older couples, loud skirt chasers, sincere friends, bridesmaids, the catering staff etc.
Myglev clutched his head with two hands, wiped his forehead with another and sipped champagne using his free hand. Zev sat upright, sipped on his champagne, and looked around. His head twitched abruptly as he adjusted and readjusted his focus. A tuxedo-clad server approached their table. Zev's head turned towards him and six more glasses of champagne were placed on the table.
Myglev's head sank into his hands. "Why did we come here?"
"A wedding. It's a wedding, you don't remember?"
Myglev let go of his head and straightened up. "Of course, I do remember. It was a rhetorical question. But does this feel like a wedding to you?"
Zev's head jerked around again as he took stock of his surroundings. "Yes...no...maybe?"
"Do you see any decorative clouds? Do you see any bards? Do you see any bodily fluids? Do you see any joy?"
Zev didn't say a word. Then his head jerked skywards, then towards the swing band, then towards the clothed and bored people, then to a dimension which can't be expressed by mere words.
A server passed their table. Myglev snorted derisively. "Savages"
The two aliens had had enough and were about to excuse themselves when the ceremony started in earnest. A slick tuxedo-clad man escorted them to the rows of chairs that faced the altar where a priest stood.
Myglev shaded his eyes. "What's that terrible thing doing here?"
Zev rubbed his eyes over and over as he stared at the priest. After getting a good look, he lowered his eyes and focused on the priest's black shoes.
"We can sue him for silver exposure," Myglev said and chuckled.
Then out came the bride and out came the groom, but the two aliens couldn't see the ceremony due to the priest's gleaming silver cross. Whatever they heard made their spine tingle.
When the vowing part was over and time came for the wedding cake to be cut and the dances to start, the two aliens decided that they'd seen enough savagery and heard enough blasphemy to last them a whole terrible year and decided to leave.
They approached Rodney White--their coworker, the groom--and told him that they wanted to leave as something important came up.
"Oh, come on, stay for the dances, at least. You'll enjoy yourself," said Mr. White.
"We are terribly sorry, we wanted to stay, but-" Myglev pointed a thumb towards Zev. "Zev's eyes are in terrible pain."
The groom, Mr. White, looked at the alien named Zev, looked at his eyes, and saw streams of tears falling at an alarming rate.
"I can't say that it has been pleasant for us, but we appreciate the gesture," Myglev said. Zev smiled even as the tears kept coming and formed a puddle on his upper lip.
"What do you mean it hasn't been pleasant? We've had a perfectly pleasant wedding here," White puffed his chest out, sneered a little, and said: "What are the weddings even like on your planets?"
Myglev snorted. "For starters, we don't make our friends and siblings our temporary slaves..."
"And we don't get bored," Zev added.
Rodney White stared at the pale yellow faces of his two guests--colleagues due to be promoted over him--saw two vengeful bosses in them and slipped into damage control.
"I see," he said and smiled politely.
Zev's smile turned into a genuine grin. Tears flowing, face radiant with health, Zev's face would haunt Mr. White's worst dreams for years to come. | 2021-08-20T05:08:53 | 2021-08-20T04:45:04 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] Donald Trump is a fictional satirical character (a la Stephen Colbert). The dedicated actor playing him is getting increasingly desperate for someone to get the joke. | "I just don't get it... I just don't get it..."
Donald was pacing now, as Andrew, his aide, watched. Andrew didn't dare interrupt the man while he was thinking. Not for fear of reprisal, but out of respect of a genius and his process.
"Andrew," Trump said, breaking from his pacing to plead with the man many years his junior and many pay grades below him, "You're a normal guy, right? I mean, you have a pretty good idea how the average person thinks?"
"I suppose, sir?" Andrew said, uncertainly, "If you want, I could arrange to get a focus group to answer-"
"No, no," Donald shook his head, annoyed, "I don't want a focus group. I just want an honest opinion, okay?"
"Yes, sir," Andrew nodded, "Always."
And he would, too. That was what was so great about Andrew. Right from the start, he didn't grovel, he wasn't a yes-man. He was devoted and loyal, but could be trusted to give an honest opinion when asked for one.
"What was your reaction when I decided to turn my multimillion-dollar empire into a glorified game show?"
"Well..." Andrew hesitated, looking for the right way to phrase his reply, "I thought it seemed a bit absurd. A vanity project or perhaps a nuanced way to increase your name recognition."
Donald nodded, "Uh-huh. Okay. What about when I filed a trademark for the words, 'You're fired'?"
"That was..." Andrew paused again, "ambitious, to be sure, but I suspect you probably realized it was unlikely to be very fruitful."
Donald paused for a moment, deep in thought.
"And when I bet my hair on a wrestling match? Became inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame?"
"Um..." Andrew was getting a little uncomfortable now, "Sir? I..."
Donald smiled, genuine and reassuring, "It's okay, Andrew. Just tell me."
"Well..." Andrew inhaled, readying himself, "It was... pretty ridiculous. Odd. Undignified. You are of course free to do what you want with your fortune, sir, but... this seemed... beneath you..."
Donald thought on that for a moment. He hadn't caught the Andy Kaufman reference? Surely, someone must have! But then, that was quite a few years ago. Did people forget so quickly?
"Okay," Trump sighed, "what about when I said I wasn't sure if Obama was born in America? The whole birth certificate thing?"
"Sir," Andrew started to object, "Your political views-"
"Just..." Trump interrupted, for a moment letting his impatience get the best of him before calming down," Just... please answer the question."
"Okay," Andrew said, increasingly worried about this line of questioning and wondering where it was going, "Well... the entire birther thing is just ridiculous. It already *was* ridiculous when you decided to chime in on it."
"Yes?" Donald asked hopefully, "And?"
"And," Andrew seemed a little frustrated, "you... made... a fool out of yourself, sir."
Donald let a smile creep on his face, and turned his back to Andrew so the aide wouldn't see it.
"Go on..." Donald prompted.
"You counted yourself in with a group of tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists, sir. This looked like Howard Hughes wearing tissue box slippers-level nutty. And then, Obama released his birth certificate just days later. I'd say he made a fool out of you, except you had already done it to yourself."
"I see..." Donald had to struggle to keep from giggling.
"Sir, I mean no disrespect," Andrew faltered.
"No," Trump hardened his voice a bit to keep from laughing, "Go on."
"Sir, you..." Andrew tried to look for the right words again, "When Obama released his birth certificate, you didn't just let it go and try to distance yourself from the whole fiasco. You actually acted like you'd accomplished something great, that you somehow *made* the president do it. I *still* don't know what you thought you got out of all of that."
Trump nodded, "Okay. And the anti-vaccination thing?"
"That was..." Andrew frowned, "it was almost like you were looking for the looniest groups you could align yourself with. It's like, what's next? 9/11 truthers? Moon landing conspiracy theorists? Holocaust denial?"
Donald's eyes lit up at this latest suggestion. Holocaust denial! Why hadn't he thought of that?
"How about lately?" Trump asked, "The stuff with the illegal immigrants?"
"Well, as factually wrong as you were," Andrew sighed, "It did get you a huge boost in the polls."
Donald frowned. The polls? Surely Andrew must have known he didn't care about the polls. He thought... surely, the man must see the pattern here. If *anyone* could see it, it would be Andrew, yes?
"But then," Andrew continued, "you made those comments about how McCain wasn't a hero, and we're anticipating a huge drop after that..."
Donald sighed. Apparently, Andrew didn't see it. He considered that maybe he'd have to put a note in his will, *confirming* it was all a joke. He found himself thinking about Poe's Law, realizing that it had apparently completely eclipsed at least half of American politics. There was now apparently *nothing* a candidate for the Republican presidential primary could do that could be seen as a parody, no extreme they could go to that would ever be questioned as anything but genuine.
Donald dismissed Andrew and thanked him for his sincerity. And alone in his office, he pondered the comedic genius of the legendary Todd Akin. "Legitimate rape"... amazing. Donald couldn't decide if he was a man ahead of his time, or too late to a party that had gone out of control years ago. | Marc Antonio "Donald Trump" Smith was an artist who truly dedicated himself to his work.
24 long years ago he had constructed his greatest role whilst a young idealistic improv actor in Brooklyn.
When working at a large hotel chain for his second job, he encountered the CEO and owner of the hotel, Ronald Dumpt.
The man was awful. His manner of speech was brash and demeaning, and although he was financially well endowed, dressed like a nine year old who suddenly acquired hundreds of millions of dollars. Ronald was constantly squinting, and felt the need to shout his opinion at all times, which was racist and bigoted.
At the time, Marc found himself in a creative rut, balancing three different characters. A gay hairdresser named Martín from Argentina, a WASP lawyer named Joseph with a failing marriage, and a sassy black Grandmother named Susan who gets in wacky adventures.
After meeting Ronald, Marc fell deeply in love with the character, and began creating a persona that was almost identical in every way. He began to use the loud mouth persona, 'Donald Trump' in his act, and was met with universal acclaim.
The Village Voice called his performance: "fresh and biting...a satire that truly encapsulates the issues that rampant unchecked capitalism creates".
The New Yorker wrote: "Donald Trump is the face of American consumerism and wealth, and the more ignorance he spews, the more jarring the commentary becomes."
Even the Onion had something to say: "We don't know if Donald Trump is being serious, and frankly we don't care."
For nearly 30 years, Marc portrayed Donald Trump, the egomaniac millionaire with hotels, country clubs, and a pile of blonde barber shop trimmings that he Krazy Glued to his head.
The country was obsessed with watching this red blooded American shout his beliefs so much so that after his sixth year, the public had forgotten that Trump was a character made to poke fun at everything he stood for. Instead, people began idolizing his racist, xenophobic public statements.
Marc was at a loss. He was famous, but for something that he hated. He had become like Monica Lewinsky.
He realized that the only way he could kill this role is by doing something that would re-emphasize the fact that this role was a satire.
Donald Trump ran for the Presidency with the campaign slogan: "Mexicans r bad, Blacks r lazy, and Gays shouldn't b happy"
After a disappointing show from the Democrat Party (Hillary Clinton was his only competition, and despite her powerful and well crafted campaign slogan: "I'm a Woman, so you should vote for me"), Trump would win the Election and become the President of the United States.
Marc Smith would go down in history as one of the best presidents in the history of the United States, because like most presidents, he went back on his campaign promises, and instead worked as a President of the People, cutting out big business from political campaigning, and not giving tax breaks to the über wealthy.
Consequently, Marc Antonio "Donald Trump" Smith died in office, in what was reported as an aeronautical mishap. The official report states his jet crashed into a NY skyscraper, although the tower appears to have no damage. The government report states this is due to jet fuel not being able to melt steel beams. Many skeptics believe he was assassinated after breaking down the Comcast/TWC cable racket. Either way, Donald Trump changed America as we knew it for the better with his bigotry and hatred.
Too bad most of America will remember him as the racist loud mouth millionaire rather than the patriot he was. | 2015-07-22T09:56:57 | 2015-07-22T09:43:39 | 887 | 31 |
[WP] Your elf girlfriend is having a breakdown because it now just hit her that she will outlive you and your children. | Vilani was hysterical about this. Her graceful cheeks were streaking with tears and her thin lips were shaking so badly you’d think if was February. My heart sank as I saw this distress ruin the mirth we once had. She just stood there in the middle of grocery isle struggling to breath. My arms curled around her, and I pulled her in close. She did not reciprocate the embrace.
I put her back at an arm’s length and held her face in my hands. “My love, you don’t have to worry about such things right now. I’m not even half way through my twenties yet, so I have a good, long while before I kick the bucket.”
“Maybe to you.” Vilani whined poorly. “Not to me. I’ll still have five hundred years without you. Five hundred years of mourning after you, after every child, grandchild, great grandchild . . . “ Her voice trailed off into the void of anxiety.
I searched my mind, but no answer came. However, my heart gave the answer. I grabbed her by the hand and tugged her along. I brought her over to the large corner of the store and presented the dominating object.
The oakwood structure towered a few heads over Vilani. The small pillars that separated the tiers we made of varnished skulls with tattoos carved into them. Palm leaves and cactuses created a border at the base of the tiers to create a pseudo fence. Behind this fence was an array of photos, intricate drawings, and other objects dating back to who knows when.
“What is that?” my elven lover asked said with raised eyebrows.
I chastised myself for not explaining this before, but I remembered we met in January when this wouldn’t be up. The falling leaves rustled and scrapped outside as the autumn wind howled. Feeling poetic, I used that to my favor.
“For you hear the gust as we approached?” I asked earnestly. She nodded slowly. “That wasn’t the wind, but the voices. The voices of our passed brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even friends.”
“We” I continued “remember them every Dia de los Muertos. The Day of the Dead. Legend states that every year, for one day, our relatives and friends who have gone to their rest cross over into the world of the living to spend time with us.”
“I don’t understand.” Vilani shook her head. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Ah, see?” I felt my face split into a pleased smile. “There’s just one thing that comes along with this. You can only cross over to be with someone if they have a representation of you on the ofrenda, AND they must have known you in life. If both conditions are not met, your soul goes to the final rest. So I’m told. After that, they can no longer cross over.”
I let the words sink in for a moment, and I felt my heart leap when I saw my lover smile again. Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates and her mouth hung agape.
“That means, I can remember them for longer!” Vilani bellowed.
“Five hundred years of seeing you even after I pass away.” I said as I grabbed both her hands. “Five hundred years of family history preserved by you just being you.”
Vilani kissed me hard and hugged my tightly. “Ugh! I feel much better about the you-dying-thing.”
“And dying doesn’t seem so bad if I get to spend so long with our family.”
“Our family?” she looked up at me with hopeful eyes.
I kissed her gently on her head and met her soulful orbs. “Our family.” | I passed by a door when I stopped. There was something off. There was someone there, near the bed, and I could have sworn it made a noise. Backtracking, I noticed a blonde woman sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands over her face. And I heard her made the noise again, she hucked in air.
"What is it my love?" I asked.
She just turned her head away. So I sat on the bed next to her and rubbed her back. "You can tell me about anything, really." I said.
"It's not something really interesting," she said.
"I don't mind," I replied.
"I just remembered that I'm going to outlive you all. I know we talked about it before. I never really felt it, emotionally, until now." she said. "I know I rather have you guys then never had you add all, but I still have the feeling of sadness of losing you someday." she replied.
"oh," was all I said at first. After a brief pause I said, "Why don't we take it one day at a time then," I replied as I hugged her and gave her a kiss on the side of the head. "You know anything could happens. Even a war could break out and we'd lose you. But it helps thinking about the days we do have together, even if we get into a lot of fights every now and again. I love you."
"I love you too," she said. | 2022-12-27T02:35:36 | 2022-12-26T23:24:44 | 61 | 15 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Another day another dollar," Bob Saget whispers to himself after a long night of shooting his latest motion picture: Horror Directly Following Late Night Movie Shoots.
"You be safe now! Don't want any sort of horror scenario happening to you on the way home!" chuckles the director.
"What the fuck did I tell you about talking to me after hours?" says Bob, agitated. He saunters off set and hops in his El Camino. As he's driving down the long empty road from the remote set, he catches a glimpse of movement in his rear view mirror. "Fucking great," says Bob, "another fan hiding in the bed of my vehicle. Every fucking time." He reaches in to the glove box and pulls out his .44 magnum. "Ya feeling lucky, punk?" Bob narrates as he jumps out of the coupe/utility pick up vehicle. He circles around the back.
"What the shit is this?" Says Bob, taken aback by the sight of a gorilla in the bed of his truck, bandaging a wound on his leg. Bob tucks the pistol in to the waist band of his favorite slacks.
"Bob, we need your help," said the gorilla, "My name is Luke, the very same from the Bible. The Anti Christ has arrived, and you are the only one that can save humanity."
"For fuck's sake," growls Bob, "why me? Why the fuck are you a gorilla? Why can't I have one goddamn day where I can get home and soak in my Jacuzzi without any sort of urgent distractions?"
"We saw how you handled raising your family in Full House," explains Luke, "Clearly you are capable of anything. First things first, let's get in to town!"
Bob groans. But he knew what to do. This was all part of that goddamn prophecy told to him by the John Stamos on the last day of shooting Full House. "Ok Ubuntu," says Bob, "stay back here and I'll get your leg fixed up, I know a guy."
"My name is Luke, the saint from the Bible," interjects Luke.
"Do you want my help or not? Stay back here Harambe," barked Bob as he jumps back in to the driver's seat. They start traveling.
Bob pulls in to a dilapidated house in the middle of nowhere and hops out of the vehicle. "Alright come on," he tells Luke, "go to the front door there, and be quick about it." Luke hobbles his way the front door.
"I must explain to you the situat-"
"Don't explain shit to me, just open the goddamn door and go in," says Bob, infuriated, "I don't have time to deal with this bullshit, I'm a busy man." Luke pushes the door open. A scene of carnage awaits. Dozens of animal corpses are scattered throughout the room. They all have a saintly glow.
"Matthew? Mark? John? This is worse than I thought, the massacre has already begun!" lamented Luke.
"No shit," says Bob. He whips out his hand cannon and blasts all 6 rounds in to Luke's body. A single tear drops from Luke's eye as he collapses, sad at the sight of his butchered friends, frustrated that he was fooled so easily.
Bob closes the door behind him and starts heading home. "I seriously gotta cool it with that peyote," he says to himself, driving in to the sunrise.
| Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T07:10:06 | 2017-05-05T05:28:24 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] “Dad, why aren’t we allowed to go outside?” your daughter asks one day. But she already knows. There is no outside anymore. | "Dad, why aren't we allowed to go outside?"
*My baby girl. So sweet. So innocent.* My eyes welled with tears. I had imagined this day for years, before Marie and I had even met, much less talked about kids. I always saw her little hand wrapped around my finger as we walked, my towering figure acting as a deterrent from the dangers of the outside world.
*Now it doesn't matter.* No matter my size, there was nothing I could do to protect her from...*whatever* was out there.
"Daddy, can't we go out for just a little bit? It's so quiet in here. I want to explore."
I crouched down to her level. My daughter's hair, umber and unruly, sat in front of her eyes so that I couldn't make direct contact. *You look so much like your mother.* I slowly shook my head. "I'm sorry sweetie, but we can't. It's not safe out there."
"Why not? Just for a few minutes, Daddy. I'm so bored of watching the TV and checking the garden."
*I am too,* I thought. There wasn't much you could do when imprisoned in your own home. Lucky for us, we were still be able to get a signal, so we weren't completely cut off from the world. We got all the reruns at this point. Since the toxin had permeated the atmosphere, no new shows had been made. That made sense, though, given the actors were probably dead or in hiding themselves.
The garden was another stroke of luck. I had been hoarding food for months, since the first warning went out, but it was my daughter who had suggested making a place where we could grow our own food. We cleared out a spot in the foundation and grew carrots and lettuce there. It wasn't a complete lifesaver, but given the circumstances, it was better than nothing.
*Was is pretty accurate though.* The past month had been brutal for us. A leak had killed whatever crop we could have brought in, and I would need to check and see if the soil could even support new plants in the future.
My daughter's voice brought me back to reality. "We wouldn't have to go out really far. I'll hold my breath and everything. I can hold my breath really good, see?" She took a huge breath, and I chuckled as she held her mouth shut until she turned red and had to gasp.
"All right honey, get your coat on. We'll go out for a little bit."
*My little ray of sunshine. We'll see your mother soon...* Marie had gone out to try and get us some supplies years ago, but had never returned. I knew she had not made it to any store before succumbing, but I couldn't tell our child the truth. I had simply told her that her mother was on an adventure and would be back as soon as she could. It wouldn't work her whole life, but it bought me time.
At this point, I was giving up. I wanted to just walk out and take a deep breath, but I couldn't bear to leave her on her own. I knew she could live by herself, but no one deserves to lose their parents and have to live on their own. Either one of us would survive...or neither of us would.
I zipped up our coats, and we walked hand in hand to the door. My daughter looked up at me. "Daddy, what do you think it's like out there?"
I looked back at her, doing my best to remain strong. "I bet it's just like how it was when I grew up. Green grass and blue skies as far as the eye can see."
I then opened the door, and we walked hand in hand into the outside world.
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 21/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories! | It had, like most things, seemed like a good idea at the time.
"Dad?"
I watched the glimmering, glittering patch of sky, the only light left in a vast expanse of perfect black. Stars were born, winking out moments later in flashes of blue-shifted supernova glare. Spiral arms of galaxies whipping around, flicking glittering bands of dust into the void, as time dilation wound the cosmic video forwards at an unimaginable pace.
A billion years passed outside before I answered, "Yes?"
That beer coaster of brightness was smaller now than an hour ago, I swear. I peered closer. Was it visibly shrinking even as I watched?
She waved at the pitch dark frame surrounding the diamond.
"Is all that the black hole?"
The only light left was certainly smaller now. I increased the zoom, and changed the color settings. Deep, cold, radio waves were blazing X-rays now. Galaxies blinked on and off as fast as the stars had before, until no new ones formed at all.
"Yes, love."
Perhaps today was the day. I sensed a silence behind us, but didn't turn around. I fixed my gaze on the screen. The cosmic microwave background, now probably 0.01 Kelvin or colder, glared bright red, then yellow, then blue as it shrank to a thimble, a pinprick.
And then nothing. We had crossed the horizon, and the whole future history of the universe had flashed before our eyes.
"Dad, when can we go outside again?"
I heard her voice through the fading light of the bridge.
But she already knew. She knew as well as I did, I'm sure.
There was no more outside. | 2018-03-11T20:49:18 | 2018-03-11T20:32:59 | 130 | 29 |
[WP] you discover that one of the nurses treating your terminal cancer is an angel of death and she is trying to kill you. Instead of reporting her you decide to subtlety evade her attempts to kill you just to see her reaction when she comes to work each day and you are still alive
Edit: The response to this has been amazing. I have read as many as possible whilst at work but I have not had time to show the appreciation that some of these stories deserve.
I will have a good ol’ read tomorrow and reply to as many as possible with my praise/thoughts.
Thanks everyone. | This didn't end up with the 'evading' part. But i wanted to write this anyhow.
I've seen Death in my time on this Earth.
I've seen Death as he collected his due from the fallen that I felled for him on the battlefield.
I've seen Death standing peacefully and patiently on the periphery as I tried in vain to staunch the bleeding of my brother in uniform.
He was there for every reload, and there for every shot I made. I was his tool, his sniper, more so than I was ever a soldier.
Death was always calm. Strolling stoicly through the dusty and littered streets as bullets and hell rained down from innumerable directions.
No one else could see him, as far as I know.. nobody in my regiment ever called out to him or glanced in his direction. It was as if I was the only person in the world who could percieve his presence.
Death could see me too, he never spoke but would always meet my gaze as he moved along his work.
Years pass.
After my service, I tried to lead a good life. Haunted at night by the things I've seen and done, but by day trying my best to atone for the destruction I've wrought at the orders of men I never met.
I had children, a boy named Alex and my daughter Kyla. I tried to raise them right, to be compassionate and giving. To always fight for the right, and to stand strong and independent..
Years more pass.
I got sick shortly after my 65th birthday.
Very slowly, but then very quickly, I went to battle yet again.
The leukemia had taken hold and wasn't responding.
Weeks pass, and I get weaker.
My children, now grown, visit me as often as they can.
They've become such amazing adults, doing great work. Kyla is pregnant with my grandson and works with abused women and children and , Alex is finding his way through a degree in physics. He says he wants to work in spaceflight.
I couldn't be prouder of them, and I tell them each time I see them.
An evening comes, and I'm watching the fading orange sunlight as it bounces off the peach, purple, and yellow illuminated clouds on the horizon. This sunset is beautiful through the hospital window.
I wished I could feel the breeze on my face.
I hear the door of my room open, and i turn to see the nurse come in.
But, Death stood there instead, calmly smiling.
There was no fear in the room.
I was taken aback slightly only because it had been so many years since I last saw him.
A nurse appears from behind where he stood, glances at him and nods.
She comes to my bedside and says
'its time for you to go with him'
As she pulls a syringe and vial from her pocket and fills it, I, so weakly, ask her how she can see him.
'I've always been able to see him, he showed me how I can help him, and he said that you helped him years ago.'
The syringe goes into my IV, and I bring my hand up to hers. She thinks that I'm trying to push it away, but I don't... I grasp her hand holding the syringe and help her push the plunger down.
I'm ready for this.
As I drift off to sleep, my friend appears by my side to finally hold my hand.
A soothing voice echoes through my mind telling me 'your work is done'. | My eyes were shut, but I could feel her hand tampering with my morphine and felt her increasing my dosage. I was trying my best to resist a smirk as she didn't know that I was still awake.
When I was confident she exited my room, I lowered it back to its normal level and fell into a deep satisfying slumber.
I woke up with a scream.
"Sorry, I thought I saw a cockroach," it was her. Lies, it's because I'm not dead.
Those were one of the many exciting days, other times she would just sigh. Her reactions were just like natural disasters, came whenever they wanted but could be really explosive.
My favourite one was when she said to me before I slept:"Open your mouth, I have something that will help you sleep"
So I did and I left the pill she put on the tip of my tongue and spat it out when she was out.
When I woke up, I saw her opening a window and she jumped and thought she killed herself.
I really thought I was free from her.
But I saw black feathers flapping to the sky attached to a feminine skin with light skin complexion.
Then I saw more of those black feathers coming . So I decided to detach my IV and looked down on to window. A long beep played in the background. I saw many women and those angels with black feathers morph into those women and wear a nurse's uniform.
Welp, now I'm in real trouble | 2018-06-22T08:17:06 | 2018-06-22T07:12:02 | 20 | 15 |
[WP]: A caterpillar has no idea it will become a butterfly, it simply has instincts that commands to start building a coccoon. In a similar fashion, you have no idea why you are compelled to start digging this really, really deep hole, but it feels verry important. | It takes a while before I find the perfect spot. It's quite a hike from where our camp was, but I made better time alone and without all the extra crap in my bag weighing me down. All I've brought with me are our water bottles and shovels. I start with mine, since I'm more used to its heft in my hand.
I begin to dig.
Each stab of the shovel, each spray of dirt warms me from the inside, and I feel like weeping with joy. It's like stepping through the door with bitter winter winds howling at my back, to be greeted with a roaring fire and a mug of hot chocolate. It's like doggedly ploughing through years of research and exhausting lab sessions, until one day you can hardly believe it when your tests finally return the result you've been working for, justifying every second, heralding a scientific revolution. It's opening your eyes again to dazzling smiles and tears after an experimental surgical procedure that only had a minuscule chance of success.
Nothing else comes close to that feeling. The blisters on my palms break and bleed; my back is one giant mass of agony; my legs and arms are trembling -- but the pain is only a distant buzz in the back of my mind, drowned out by the certain knowledge that all this sacrifice, all this effort, will pay off in a way that I cannot even comprehend right now.
I keep digging.
The shovel breaks after a while. It's old, something I've been using on my camping trips for years. Thankfully, I still have Kelly's almost brand new shovel with me. The blood barely even shows up on the bright red-coated metal, and soon it's covered in dirt in any case.
I keep digging.
A Ranger joins me after a while. I vaguely recall him shouting at me, something about Kelly and monsters, but then he joins me in the hole and hands me his own water supply. Mine ran out yesterday, I think. Time is a little strange this far down.
The Ranger doesn't have a shovel, so he uses his hands. It doesn't take too long before his skin tears, his nails, his flesh. He uses his feet after that, but it's much slower. At least he's trying --
A shout, cut off abruptly. I look up through greying vision. There is a gaping hole where the Ranger was. A cave-in under his stomping boots.
I follow him through, and land on top of his still body. His neck is at a strange angle, and his head looks like Kelly's did. The shock of the fall jars my bones, but it is cushioned by the Ranger, so I'm still okay. The end is so close now, I can feel it, that breakthrough, that miraculous awakening, that *home* we yearn for all our lives.
I begin to walk.
The anticipation builds in me, fresh energy swirling dizzyingly in my bones. My heart is pounding, my blood rushing, driving me forward.
I finally emerge into a cave, and see... *her*.
She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I drop to my knees in awe, unable to tear my eyes away. The maggots wriggle and writhe through the gaps in her skin, a whole-body, fluid dance of such natural elegance. Scarabs chitter in the sweetest of melodies as they crawl over her in glorious worship, adding glitter and colour, and I envy them. Her skin itself is a work of art, rotting and dripping, the movement of the insects making the dangling strips and flaps tremble deliciously, temptingly. The smell of decay and death is indescribable, the most overwhelmingly lovely of perfumes.
She is everything I never knew I wanted. I would have dug through to the other side of the earth for her, though I cannot help but be glad that she was so close, that it only took a few days of digging to find her.
*You've done well, my faithful one,* she says to me. Her voice is dark honey and smokey campfires, and resonates within my very being. *Now come closer. You've done well to find me, but there is one more thing I need you to do.*
Anything, I say. I barely move my lips, so dry and cracked that each breath is new agony, but she still understands me. Of course she does.
*I need sustenance, my faithful one. I need to live again... with your help. You must dig once more.*
I smile at her with all the love in my unworthy heart, and drop the shovel. I don't need it anymore.
Instead, I take out my handy multi-tool, always in my pocket, and pull out the little blade. I shuffle over to her side on my knees.
Then I set the blade to my skin.
And I begin to dig. | “Marius, stop this!
Please!”
Half whispered memories floated by. My Wife was shouting at me again. People were gathering at the edges of my vision, whispering and pointing. They came and went, and so did the minutes, the hours, the days.
It didn’t matter. They didn’t understand. The ground had such wonders to show us. We had snuffed it was concrete and steel and tar, smothered Mother and her gentle tales. It was crying out to us, couldn’t they hear? The song, the baleful song, it won’t won’t it won’t stop please just stop it stop please
I gazed at my cracked, bleeding hands, blessed dirt filling every pore, every crack. The blood mingled here and there with the black loam, cuts and bruises coloured brown with clay and mud. I realised it was night. I looked up, and saw a piece of the sky, Stars arrayed like shining points of wonder. The moon cast a ray of silver light. It’s face was shrouded in Earth’s Shadow, only the barest alabaster Light, shone from a slim crescent, and touched my cheek. Then a cloud moved past it, obscuring it from view, and I was in the darkness again.
The Greeks called her GAIA, blessed Terra. The Mesopotamians, Kishar, the Mari, Mlande. I heard her aria, her mournful song. Quiet, gnawing, haunting at the back of my mind. I could not think of anything else.
I was aware that I could no longer feel the sun now. Three days, I think. Yes, three days. I could feel myself growing weak. Now my hands trembled, my throat burned in thirst. I no longer produced sweat. A movement caught my glance. A slim worm, slithered into my crevice, twirling and dancing like a blind snake. I could feel the rhythm now, it thrummed in me, chords of power vibrating through every bone in my body. Like a madman, I scooped up handfuls of soil and shoved them down my throat.
Hungry. So hungry. I no longer used my hands. Thrusting my face against the cool soil, I ate and ate and ate. And in bliss and ecstasy known only by the mad and demented. I returned to the earth.
Why does do creatures hunt? Why do they kill? Why do they climb and fly and sing? It is their nature. We are born from the dust of the world. It is only our nature to return to it. Come, my Friend. Let us go back to our roots. | 2018-10-10T08:32:59 | 2018-10-10T08:12:19 | 874 | 150 |
[WP] Science and Magic are merely opposite sides to which the pendulum of time swings. It has leaned for the past few centuries towards the Laws of Science but even now it begins to return ever faster back towards the Laws of Magic. | F=ma, right? Force is mass times acceleration. We've known that for hundreds of years. High schoolers can recite that in their sleep. So why didn't that damn cup fall off the table?
I had just finished breakfast and was cleaning up when I accidentally backhanded a half-empty cup of coffee. It skittered across the few inches to the side of the table and just ... stopped. It hung over the edge like a drunk girl at a frat party. I remember a brief flash of panic - I was already running late because I forgot I had to get to work early today and I didn't have time for a major mess. But there was no mess. I reached over and very gently pulled the cup back on the table.
I kept thinking about the cup all morning on my drive to work. To be honest, it was all I could think about most of the morning. I had a numbingly boring meeting just before lunch. I quietly pulled out my phone and checked the news just so I wouldn't have to listen to Kathy drone on (again) about quarterly projections being off.
"IOWA WOMAN STOPS MASS SHOOTING!" screamed a headline from CNN's front page. I check it out. Some old lady in Dubuque who fancied herself a bit of a fortune teller thought something bad was going to happen. So she follows her gut and finds some high school kid with an arsenal ready to lay waste to his entire class. She talked him down and called the cops. He was taken in for psych eval and she was praised as a hero. She claimed it was her "gift".
That night another story popped up just after I'd put the kids to bed. My wife handed me her phone with a "Look at this." A guy in Japan had claimed to have talked directly with an ancient ancestor overnight. Normally everyone ignores those crackpot stories - but this guy got some highly detailed information. Specifically where a large cache of ancient weapons had been stored (some cave or something, I think). He had found out some more stuff about ancient battles and they were talking about contacting some archaeologists to look into. Of course, the guy also found out that his wife was cheating on him. I guess the old ghost was kind of a perv and liked to watch.
By the following morning, it was harder to rationalize the news stories and even things we were seeing in out everyday life. The kids woke up and found the tooth fairy sitting at the end of the bed. They freaked out and I ended up taking a swing at the little pixie with a nine iron. Not my proudest moment. She left and we all decided to take the day off.
The lead story on the news were those damn bunnies. The Large Hadron Collider was running some experiment to find some sort of tiny little particle, as they do. One of the science journalists described it as trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. They fired up the LHC and something wasn't right. When they opened up the machine to figure out what was wrong, several dozen bunnies came tumbling out. The scientists tried to claim it was just some wildlife that burrowed in. But really - what the hell kind of rabbits burrow 100 meters underground?
There was the lady in Brazil who claimed to have conjured a vengeful Amazonian spirit who was attacking logging crews. Nobody saw the spirit but something definitely happened to toss those bulldozers a quarter mile.
Some people decided this would be a good time to go crazy. They started worshipping old gods - Odin and Zeus and Ra. A few even started trying to drum up support for fake gods - Cthulhu and Flying Spaghetti Monster and Obi-Wan Kenobi (though, to be fair, the last one had the best pitch: "Like you've got a better idea?").
A few days of increasing oddness and even the most jaded and skeptical had to admit that the old rules had changed. The initial shock was just beginning to wear off when we started hearing about the bad things. People losing their homes after cracking a mirror. Murder rates quadrupling on Friday the 13th. Children gone missing in the middle of the night with strange claw marks on the floor.
Everyone realized that the old legends had started coming true and that there were good things and bad thing. Creeping and crawling things that were trying to worm there back into the world. Forgotten things that wanted to remind us of why we were afraid of them in the first place.
That's why this organization was created. When we left behind the fears and the darkness, we were little better than trained monkeys. The darkness was much more powerful than we could dream. Now though, we've had time to learn. Now it is our turn to be the monsters. They come for us one on one. They don't know what fully automatic weapons are. They don't know what fighter jets and tanks are. They don't know what nuclear weapons are. What they are going to learn is that even nightmares can fear. | The rain fell upwards when the first witch was born in Borage. Two midwives helped Rella into the world, pulling her forth with slipping hands. Outside the window that rattled with her mother's cries, drops of rain slid towards the roof. The epidural failed to work, and the screams reached a crescendo.
Rella grew like a reed: tall and slim. Things went wrong around Rella. Black cats followed her, and all the stars were visible in the morning sky. She sat in the garden and listened to the crows speak. At meal times, she would repeat the sounds to her mother.
Her father was rarely there. He called from the lab sometimes, sending fleeting messages to his infant daughter and his young wife. The end of the project was approaching. The results in the lab rats were promising: a cure could be imminent.
Rella listened to her father and nodded. When she was sad, the rain flowed towards the sky.
At sixteen Rella was dark haired, with intelligent eyes and a quiet acceptance of the weird things that happened around her. Finding that her father was too busy to see her, she frequently joined him at the lab. She spun lazily on a stool, palms flat on the stainless steel countertop.
Gary, her father, pushed his safety googles onto his balding forehead, and frowned. The pipettes full of different coloured solutions lay littered on the bench. Behind thin bars, gentle lab rats squeaked. Their pink noses pushed up against the feeders, full of the same coloured solutions.
"The results are all over the place," he sighed. "If I can't reproduce the ninety-eight findings, they'll slash the funding."
"Anything I can do to help?" Rella asked. She opened a cage and held her palm out for a rat. It twitched and blinked black eyes at her, assessing the offered hand.
"Could you mix another beaker of solution four?" Gary replied. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That's the only one that's been even close so far."
The rat ran into Rella's hand. Its eyes were blurred with pain.
"What results do you need?" she asked lightly. "What would be a success?"
Gary watched his daughter stroke the rat's back. Her fingernails were turning grey at the tips. The air around her roiled and stirred.
"They need to show signs of improvement," he said. "A reduction in the size of the tumours."
Rella nodded, pressing her fingers against the rat.
"This will work," she said, the first witch of the new century. Her voice was sure and steady. The air crackled. The pendulum quivered and the Age of Science ended at the touch of a girl's fingertips. | 2016-08-12T08:03:01 | 2016-08-12T06:38:20 | 57 | 23 |
[WP] Spontaneously overnight, all of humanity is transformed into a vast array of mythical and fantasy creatures, based on who they were on the inside. You weren't even remotely prepared for what you became. |
I was never a nice person before the change. And afterwards I… was still a prick. I admit it. I don’t like people. And that didn’t change when all of humanity became everything written out in every Fantasy book ever written. Night owls became vampires and werewolves, kindly grandmothers and spritely children changed into Fae, walking enigmas shifted into Sphinxes…
You also got the really weird ones. I mean *really* weird. You can thank the East for that, I think. A fair few people got turned into Yokai, others turned into Gorgons or Griffons, and I think there was even one dude who turned into a Wendigo. Scientists were still trying to find rhyme or reason behind it, but the most they could get was that each individual was transformed to the being that fitted them the most. Of course, it wasn’t that simple, it never was, but they didn’t stop. Even at our heart, we were still human, still struggling to survive, still adapting, and still moving.
It was easier for some than others. Even the Centaurs and Driders had an easier time then me. Especially the Driders, despite the universal fear of *small* spiders. For me, people avoided me as much as I avoided them. It was a good compromise, I felt, though the more macabre-minded individuals of society took a liking to me.
I’m… still not sure on what to think of that.
Soon, I was inducted to the local police force. They were having problems, a lot of them. Some people had adapted quite well, and were now using their newfound abilities to go on a rampage. I asked what was in it for me, and they gave me a list of benefits. Good pay, secure job, and help getting used to my new body. I accepted.
My first job was about two weeks in. Training had been sparse, they needed bodies ASAP, and I had to have a crash-course in policing along with my mobility training. It was good enough for an emergency job, I suppose. Turned out, there was a Kitsune leading a few other nasties in the middle of the town, and we had to deal with them.
I kind of accidently revealed some of my depth of mythological creatures when I asked how many tails the Kitsune had. When I eventually got my answer of five, I figured I was ready.
We went down the street on a sunny afternoon. People were screaming, running for their lives. A few Fae-kind were trying to protect others. I didn’t care. I had one job to do.
The moment I was clear, I dug my hooves into the floor and charged my rotting carcass at my target. No chances. No mercy.
Let’s see how they’ll deal with a Nuckelavee. | I coughed myself awake. Great start to the day! As I forced myself out of bed I realized that I was really sore, and there was an odd clicking sound as I moved. I reached up to run my eyes and nearly cut them out with my newly blue, scaly hand. Or, rather, claw. I risked a glance in my dresser mirror to reveal I was a small blue dragon. I started to panic but cold air startled me into calmness. I blew on the window to my left. Well, then. I was an ice dragon, huh? Maybe with the wings this wouldn't be terrible? At least I still had digits and a craving for breakfast cereal rather than wild meat. | 2020-06-11T23:27:45 | 2020-06-11T22:06:54 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You've just invented time travel. You decide to go exactly 1 year into the future and speak to the first person you see, "Hey what day is it?" "364." "What do you mean 364?" "It's been 364 days since the incident. | I had finally done it. My finest achievement sat in front of me, glistening in the florescent lights of my workshop. I put on the suit and typed in "1 year +" into the controller on my wrist. With a bright flash of light and a loud *pop* I felt myself being ripped out of time. It was a strange sensation and is very hard to describe. With another loud *pop* I found myself in an unexpected environment. My workshop was gone, I was standing in an empty field with debris all around me. I looked around my old neighborhood, only to see everything had changed. No one was out walking around, and everyone's blinds were shut. All windows were barred and no cars were passing by the usually busy street. I slipped the suit off in order to not seem strange and stuffed it in a bag.
I walked down to a convenience store I frequented and was relieved to see that it was open for business. The worker at the register looked up at the sound of the door opening and then glanced back down at whatever he was reading. I walked up to him and gave him my best friendly smile.
"Excuse me sir, but do you happen to know what day it is?"
He looked at me with a straight face. "364"
"364 what?"
Now he looked confused. "364 days since the incident. 364 days since our new leader appeared and took over the world. 364 days since the new regime was enacted. 364 days since him." He said as he pointed to a poster on the wall. On the poster was an older man, about 50 years old. He had a stern look about him. The poster said *I'm Always Watching* in large font. How had a dictator taken over the whole world in a year?
I quickly exited the store and put on my suit again. I had to go back and fix this. I went back to my time and took off the suit. I put it back in my bag and carried it with me in case I needed it again. I didn't even know where to start with trying to fix this. Where should I go? *When* should I go? What should I do?
It was starting to get late as I walked down my street. I took a turn into an alleyway I used as a shortcut when I heard a voice say "Don't shout, just give me everything you have on you." I turned my head to see a young man of about 18 pointing a gun at me. "Now." He said sternly, motioning to the ground. There was something strangely familiar about him, but I couldn't place my finger on it. Whoever he was, I couldn't just hand over my suit. It was the result of everything I had worked so hard to achieve, and was maybe the only way I could correct the future.
I took off running. I caught the guy by surprise so he didn't respond as quickly as he should have. A few bullets whizzed by me as I ran. I was almost to the end of the alley when a bullet hit me in my right leg. I crashed to the ground, my momentum grinding my face along the pavement as it pushed back against me slowing me down. My bag flew out of my hand and landed a few feet away from me. The guy ran up to me and growled "You didn't have to do that you know, it could have been nice and easy." He cocked his head to the side when he heard police sirens. "Shit." He grabbed my bag and ran off.
I couldn't believe what had just happened. It wasn't fair. My whole life I dreamed of time travel. I got to use it ONCE and that was only to see a doomed future. A doomed future I no longer had much hope of saving. All I could do now was wait for the police to arrive.
As I sat waiting, bleeding, a loud pop went off behind me. It was him. The dictator from the future. "I suppose I should thank you for this suit." He said, gesturing to my suit. It looked well worn. "I never would have been able to do it without you." He smiled as he raised the gun.
*bang* | "You know, since causality stopped," he continued. "I know computers have been useless and the news has been hard to get, but mate, it's the end of the freaking world! Miscellaneous items seem to be running backwards in time at random. Planes falling out of the sky, random implosions, explosions, objects being created from nothing? Why, just this morning I woke up to my alarm clock ricocheting off my hand and it started ringing afterwards. You can't go 20 seconds without seeing something strange. It's like Y2K, but for real."
Stunned, I whipped my head around and looked back at my time machine. Nothing seemed to running backwards just at the minute. Although the looted houses, strange craters and broadly dishevelled landscape indicated something significant had occurred.
I turned back to my new friend, eyes wide and mouth agape.
"Haha, got you! Nah I'm Steve, you sent me here from your future, which is the linear past." He pressed what appeared to be a golden SD card into my hand. "Look, just get back in your time machine and release the recall charge. You'll snap right back to your time. All the instructions are there. We built a paradise in the sea opposite Pangaea about 232 million years ago, and recruited everyone after your inaugural voyage to be Panthalassians. The informational distance is guaranteed to avoid a paradox. Similarly, you'll have to start work on your own, at least in the beginning, but we can help you out more as things go on. Anyway, we've got infinite time later and you've got a lot of work ahead of you now, so best get started. You should find everything you need conveniently shows up when you need it."
"Whaa.... the damage? Who... Huh?" I countered.
"Don't worry about it. Everyone left, we took a few things, and generally left the world to recover from prepantemporal human infection on its own. Just go home and have a scotch and get to work."
| 2016-06-30T09:07:18 | 2016-06-30T08:36:56 | 1,773 | 174 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Unjustly" I said, as loudly and clearly as I could.
The presiding justice was an elderly man - probably in his late 80s, maybe even older. He blinked at me with steel grey eyes that despite his advanced age were as sharp and penetrating as any I had encountered.
"Unjustly." he replied, curtly. "Yes. You heard me correctly... Your honour" I hurriedly added. I didn't need a contempt of court charge dropped on me. It was bad enough being sentenced to death after all.
The rest of the panel started muttering between themselves. It was a good sign that they didn't appear to have an immediate answer to this reply.
The presiding justice put down his gavel and stared at me pointedly. "You are aware, are you not, that you pleaded guilty to all counts before this court?" I tried my hardest to show no emotion. "I am, your honour." "And you are aware also that the penalty for those charges - including the reckless misuse of magic causing the death of a mundane individual - is death?" keep the face impassive. Remain calm. "I am, your honour."
Some of the other members of the court had started producing law books and were engaged in pointing out various paragraphs to one another.
"It does not seem to me" The Justice continued "That 'unjustly' constitutes a _method_ of execution, so much as a moral standpoint, and is thus somewhat outside the terms of procedure for this sentencing."
The muttering to his left was increasing in intensity.
"Your honour, may I please reference the case of Barris Infernis VII vs The Court - 1682..."
One of the justices started jabbing a bony finger at the book in front of him and waving it under the faceless, hooded figure to his right. Clearly he had the case law right there.
"Your point?"
"My point, your honour, is that he requested to die 'with honour' and the court accepted that request. His life energy was transferred into healing the wounds of his surviving victims by the court by way of penance for crimes committed."
The book had now been passed along to the presiding justice and he paused to read the relevant passage.
I thought this was probably the best chance I had to make my case so I spoke up
"If I may continue your honor?" he didn't look pleased, but waved a hand at me in a way that suggested that I should carry on.
"If I am to die unjustly, then this court has sentenced me incorrectly. I would be due a retrial under the terms described in the revised judicial procedures act of 1939 section four paragraph twelve." Now he really did look cross.
"I think we all understand exactly what it is that you're trying to get across. However I would point out that you pleaded Guilty On All Counts. You have not been tried. You have been convicted entirely by your own admission, and this is merely a sentencing hearing. I would further mention that this court is entirely used to people attempting to use procedural trickery to escape their sentence and that it has, to this date, a precisely zero percent success rate over the eleven hundred year history of this fine institution."
He snapped the book in front of him closed with obvious annoyance.
"The defendant will return to his seat!" he barked to the room at large. A susurration spread throughout the gallery. I was "The defendant" all of a sudden. Anyone who stood at this podium for sentencing was referred to correctly as "The Condemned." and this court was nothing if not famously thorough in it's application procedure.
More notes were being passed back and forth between the other members of the panel, and yet more books were being hurriedly brought forth by the attending clerks. This was going as well as I could have possibly hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity The bailiff called for attention.
"ALL RISE!"
The entire panel got to their feet, along with everyone else in the - now extremely tense - chamber. Surprizingly it wasn't the presiding justice, but one of the panel of five that spoke. The voice from the apparently empty hood was dry and dusty, and somehow as if from very far away. It seemed likely that the apparently empty robe was infact just that, and this esteemed member of the court had been called from The Other Side to form part of today's panel of justice.
_"Thisss court is now in recessssss. The defendant will be returned to hissss ssssssell. Prosssedingsssss will resssssume tomorrow at firsssssst light."_
I did everything I could to avoid punching the air in delight. Remain calm. Have to remain calm. I'd bought myself the required time, now all I could do was wait for the others to play their parts. | The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.* | 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 457 | 66 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | *Right this way, Mr. Muller*
"Right where?"
*Right here, follow my voice*
I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them.
*Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead!* said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. *See!*
"But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes.
*Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha!*
As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books.
*Welcome to the eternal library*
The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand.
Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair.
*You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin?*
"Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?"
*Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller.*
"Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel."
*Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book.*
Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands.
In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791"
"Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me."
*It doesn't need to. Start reading.*
The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277.
I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months.
*Do you remember?*
It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I *remember*?
*Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died?*
"Of course I do, I was hit by a car."
*And?*
I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure.
"Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident."
A tense silence.
*And?*
"I fell off a ladder."
*And?*
"I was stabbed by my wife"
*And?*
This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more.
"Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?"
*I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around.*
My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room.
Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792.
Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793.
Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794.
*You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands.*
Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me.
The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point.
"This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?"
He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen.
*It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later.*
Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling:
*Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library* | Was this perhaps the cruel joke of some omnipresent force? Before me sat a brown, leatherbound tomb that measured out to be a similar height to my fully standing figure. Save for the dimly lit area around me there was only an unrelenting void. There was no distinguishable source for the light and the only other defining characteristics of my 10x10 foot purgatory was the enormous book and a simple wooden chair adorned with a single teal cushion.
The cold embrace of the surrounding abyss offered no explanation as to my situation so I turned my attention to the book. *Your life* read the title. I fliped open to the first page, leaving the cover dangling helplessly over its own mass. There I find a detailed account of my own birth. The following several pages offer nothing more; they all simply describe the mundane life of a not-yet-conscious infant.
I flipped mindlessly ahead until I reached a header that said "first memory" that proceeds to describe my first conscious moments involving my mother dressing me in coveralls along with... A prompt?
*To cry, turn to page thirty seven thousand. To make a pathetic attempt as expressing happiness, turn to page four hundred thousand three hundred and seventy six*
This made no sense. I traversed my way as quickly as I could to the end of the book. The binding of the book made a sizeable arch as the pages flipped madly. On the second to last page I read
*You die in your sleep, old and alone. You immediately find yourself in a void with nothing but a large book and a chair. To explore the unknown, flip back three pages. To seek information from the book before you, return to page ninety six*
My skin feels clammy at the stress of my returning memories. The shock of death must have stopped me from understanding immediately that I was dead. I expct my heart to be racing yet I am met only with the cold nothingness of a heart-stood-still. Surprisingly though my skin has narry a wrinkle on it. There is nowhere for me to see a reflection, but this is definitely not the body I had previously. It seemed I was restored to a younger state to experience whatever damnation had befallen me.
I considered the strange choose-your own adventure book of what has been snd what could have been before gazing back into the deep nothingness that surrounds me. Its shrouded haze made me feel like a small fish swimming in the vast expanse of infinity. I know nothing of the existence I find myself in other than what I remember from a life now gone. I was always a fan of reading. I decided to try and find the page where I went to high school prom. I wonder what would have happened if I kissed that young lady instead of being overpowered by fear?
Yes, that sounds nice. What else is there to do but relive the mundane? After all, even the banal seems pleasant when the infinite expanse of darkness is my alternative.
Edit: feedback is appreciated.
| 2018-07-04T01:42:55 | 2018-07-04T00:04:01 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments. | As I tossed the last can of generic, cheap beer I had left to my name, I sobbed. I’m not an alcoholic, but my girlfriend of 5 years was cheating on me and alcohol was the last thing holding reality at bay. Now that was gone too. Jenny and I had met in college and I thought that we had a great thing going on. There had been no warning or signs that I was being betrayed, but the texts and pictures on her phone didn’t lie. Could they?
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Instinctively I picked it out and the screen burned bright white in the dark room. An email to my private address I didn’t give out to anyone but my friends and family. I didn’t even sign up for any accounts using this address. With a great sob and a few moments to wipe the tears from eyes so I could read the letter, I unlocked my phone and glanced at the subject line.
Curiously, there was no sender address and the subject line read, “Would you like to...” before it ran out of room on the small screen.
*What the hell... How did advertisers get their hands on this email address? I bet they’re asking if I want to change the size of my penis. Fuck. If only that shit worked, maybe I wouldn’t be losing Jenny to some hung guy.*
I clicked to open the email and stared at it, puzzled. “Would you like to change the difficulty?”
*Sure. I’d love to do that. Lemme just go ahead and ask God to look down on me with pity and let me off easy. I’ve suffered enough haven’t I? In a world where children starve and are sold in slave markets, I of course am the most wretched and deserving of this opportunity. Or maybe I am just the most pitiable human with an email address. Sure.*
I clicked to move the email to the trash folder and plugged in my phone to charge for the long restless night that awaited.
---------------------------------
4:17AM
Still tossing and turning, trying to find a moment of peaceful rest where I wasn’t haunted by the thought of my life crumbling around me, I glanced at the dull red LED of the alarm clock by my bedside table. Silent tears had wet the pillow case as I had tried to sleep. More cruel than the thought that Jenny had cheated on me and left me were the dreams where we were still happy together. Every time I had gotten even a cycle of sleep, those blissful dreams had haunted me. As soon as I awoke, it was like finding out that she was with someone else again for the first time.
I grabbed my phone, determined not to let these blissful nightmares another chance to take hold of me. The blinding white light hurt my eyes and it took a few moments for them to adjust and let me read again.
“Would you like to change...”
*This shit again? I thought I had deleted it the first time it came in. Must have misclicked in my drunken haze. Oh well.*
I moved the email to the trash again and opened Sync for Reddit.
After almost an hour, I had gone through all the interesting topics on the Front Page if the Internet and clicked the back button to exit the app. As it closed, behind it was my Gmail app again.
*Stupid inconsistent back button behavior. What the... I’m sure I deleted the email this time. Oh what the hell. It can’t hurt and I’m desperate enough to give this a try. Hell, I’ve already prayed and I don’t believe in God. This can’t be any worse.*
“Yes.”
“Select new difficulty...”
The reply came in quicker than the email from the subscribe button on a page full of malware. I opened the new mail and found 4 simple buttons.
* Easy
* Medium
* Hard
* **Very Hard**
*Have I been playing life on Very Hard mode so far? Well... Some of it was. I had been diagnosed with cancer when I was 15, lost my parents on the vacation the Make a Wish Foundation had set up, lost my scholarship to UCLA when I had been caught smoking weed and was taken in and charged with a misdemeanor. Some of it made sense, but at the same time, I had met Jenny, my cancer had gone into remission, I was able to find loans to pay for college, and even gotten into that great research program they offered. But then again, very hard was not “nightmare mode.” Maybe I was just that good at life!*
As I began to imagine how life would be on easy or even medium difficulty, I hovered over the easy button. A heartbeat later, I clicked on it.
A voice sounded in the room and yet I knew it was only in my head.
“New difficulty, easy. Settings saved.”
My heart raced but I was exhausted. Maybe I had just imagined the voice. I probably did. As I continued to argue in my head, I drifted off to sleep, forgetting the demons that lay in my dreams.
To be continued after work... | Her head was against the wall. Today was falling apart. She lost her girlfriend in the cruelest way possible: a thirteen second voicemail clearly recorded at a party. A voicemail that awful girl clearly hadn't meant to send. Her head hurt. She was all cried out and had exhausted her Taylor Swift playlist.
If that wasn't enough, she had been waiting all day for Alice to come home to mourn her job. She hate working there, but this made it that much harder to pay the student loans worth several of her body parts on the black market. She wished she could figure out where the black market was.
She was out of beer, too, because beer costed money she didn't have. That and Alice took the last of it with her to that party she said was a meeting with a client.
It never was a client, was it?
She was moping. She hated to mope, but she couldn't find the strength to do anything else.
Her phone cawed from across the room where she'd thrown it earlier.
*That thing still works?*
She stood and walked to it, head dizzy. Probably Alice looking for a ride home. Or realizing she'd fucked up big time.
She looked at the screen. There was a giant crack in the middle, which was to be expected but was still just another setback she couldn't afford right then.
~Do you want to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard~
She looked at it in puzzlement. She hadn't gotten spam emails since that blocker came out, worth the money she should have used on food. So maybe it wasn't spam. She clicked on the email.
~This lovely holiday users have been granted a once in a lifetime chance to change previously permanent choices!
Don't miss out!
Change your difficulty today! ~
So it was spam, then. It was a weird one. What kind of game didn't let you switch difficulties? Maybe she should reply.
Maybe she shouldn't.
~Sorry, what is this for? ~
She pressed send.
~Choices
•Daddy Will Always Help You
•Easy
•Average
•Difficult
•Very Hard
•Moriarty?
~
Should she? No, she didn't play weird games like this. Not even in a time of crisis.
She fell asleep holding her phone. She woke to the sound of the world rejoicing. The news was on.
"And suddenly the economy has become better. It might be that over 90% of graduates have paid off their student loans at once-"
"How bizarre. Tom, what did that do to?"
"The government in turn used that money to raise minimum wage and-"
I stop listening. I check my bank account.
Negative.
Negative? Yesterday it was empty.
She looked at the TV again. This has to be a coincidence.
*Right?* | 2016-03-30T17:17:24 | 2016-03-30T16:54:04 | 108 | 12 |
[WP] Nuclear war ensued before either God or Devil could begin Armageddon the old-fashioned way. Mankind is just... gone. Now an angel bumps into a demon in the wastes left behind, both wondering what they're supposed to do now... | I switched out an angel and a demon for God and Satan. Sorry for changing the prompt!
******
******
God looked around at the devastation. All gone, before he could even pass judgement on a single one of them. His greatest creation. His greatest mistake.
"'All part of your plan', eh?" a horned figure said behind him, a devilish grin on his face.
"I suspected this was your meddling, to be honest," God eventually replied, his face downcast.
"Like always, I just let them do their own thing. You may have made me some kind of eternal scapegoat, but they fuck up enough without me getting involved. This was all them, I'm afraid."
God put his head in his hand, furrowing his brow. In that moment, he looked almost human.
"I had to give them free will. They could not truly love me if they were forced to. But with it, they just made so many mistakes. They just tore at each other."
"Yea, it was quite impressive really," the Devil replied. "Aside from a sold soul here and there, I just sat back and watched. Honestly, some of them were even more creative than me - hell, I was taking notes towards the end. Quite a species you made there."
"Was I wrong to do it?" God asked, almost to himself. "I figured I'd make something beautiful, something meaningful, but all it resulted in was so much pain. Right up until the end."
"Well, you can't say you didn't cook the books a bit," the Devil replied, gazing at the wasteland. "There was a whole lot of suffering to be had in this place, no matter how devout you were. Can drive a man crazy, praying to a God that never answers. Case in point, really."
"Belief and certainty cannot coexist," God replied sharply. "And yes, life is suffering. You needed to earn your way into the kingdom of heaven. And most, I'm afraid, did no such thing. In the end, they surrendered themselves to their base instincts - fear, hatred, disgust. They failed me, and they failed themselves."
"Some fucking test you were running then," the Devil said, "since you gave them those damned instincts. You can't make something broken then complain it's not working right."
"But it couldn't be easy. They were supposed to rise above their flaws, to help themselves, their family, their community. Strive for love in the face of agony. And yet, they succumbed..."
The Devil nodded. "That they did, no thanks to you. Now I've got billions to sort through down there, and a bunch of demons that are seriously pissed that they don't get a Ragnarok. Gods, they'd been waiting an eternity for it."
"'Omnipotent' my ass," Satan continued spitting on the ground, leaving a sizzling crater. "Anyway. Be seeing you."
The Devil turned to leave, his presence beginning to dissolve into the bedrock below.
"Wait," God said, turning towards him. "What if I could start over? Give all the souls that didn't make it - give them a second chance?"
The Devil rolled his eyes. "And how do you propose to do that?"
"With your help. Maybe you understand them better than I do. Maybe you could help it make it more fair, more likely for them to strive and succeed."
"And why would I want to do that?" he asked, looking suspicious.
"Because deep down, I know you want to. You said I made a broken system - well, then help me fix it."
"This is not a command," God continued, putting his hand on Satan's shoulder. "It's a *request*, old friend."
The Devil stood in silence. He looked at the ground, almost sheepish.
"There's definitely some ideas I've been working on, you know, in private..."
*******
They spoke for quite some time. A moment, or perhaps an eternity.
Then, hell was empty once more; and life began anew.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | "Well...what do you want to do now.? The humans are gone, most of the flora and all of the fauna. all that's left is rubble, and these-- roaches." He spit the last word out with disdain. The same contempt he had felt for humans now transferred to one of the only leftover species. Roaches weren't as fun to toy with as humans had been. They were stick-like and crunchy, and had none of the fun emotions like humans which could get twisted and ravaged with merely words. He scooped and picked one of the hard backed scattering creatures in his fingers. He looked at its tiny roach face, as it's legs spun wildly, looking for grip, trying to escape. "Pathetic."
He bit it in half with a sickening crunch.
Hamstien the fallen angel looked at this demon with disgust, It was inhabiting a body covered in open sores, flesh open and oozing, face sallow and haggard. Hamstien felt holy compassion for the being, even though they were eternal enemies. "We perhaps should begin to rebuild, start anew, perhaps you could be convinced to come to the light side of eternity now, after the fallout here on earth, maybe now is the time to bridge the gap betwixt us and earn your rightful place at the side of the eternal lord." He hopefully and graciously offered salvation to the sickened Demon.
Damian the Demon stopped chewing and looked at the angel, perhaps considering him for the first time. He started laughing. Hysterically doubled over for a moment, before straightening up. with angry force he spit the half chewed bug right at the angel's face.
"Fuck you you dog faced pony soldier!" Damian shouted, rushing at the angel, pulling a dagger seemingly from nowhere.
Hamstien sighed. "Well I guess we just go back to doing what we have always done."
He unsheathed his sword and steadied himself for battle. | 2020-05-11T00:20:25 | 2020-05-10T22:01:07 | 426 | 18 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Have you ever considered, you know, doing something with your lives Seamus?" Death sat next to me in the pub, taking a swig of his pint.
"What do you mean!? I've finally perfected the brew, can't you taste how amazing this is? I have it on good authority that it's the best in the universe!"
"Seamus, you perfected this brew well over a century ago. Yes, it's the best beer in history, but surely there's still more you can do. I mean, it's gotta be divine intervention right? Nobody is supposed to win the coin toss. 235 fucking times Seamus. That's how many in a fucking row that you've won. Don't you think maybe you're genuinely mean to be doing something with all this time instead of sitting here getting blitzed? You don't even get any fucking customers out in the goddamn middle of nowhere except Joe in the corner there!"
At the mention of his name, the little old white bearded man in the corner roused himself just enough to look up from his half gone pint for a moment, mutter something unintelligible, and then seemingly go back to sleep.
Seamus, glanced over at Joe "Oi, don't be knocking Joe. He's been my loyal customer for years now, and he knows the true value of my brew."
Death had stopped all the theatrics centuries ago. He showed up in the modern dress of Ireland these days. Neither he nor Seamus could fake an accent to save their lives, but may as well blend in. He had last been at the pub 80 years ago when it was new, and 95 years before that at the tavern in Britain. Always whenever he came to visit "Seamus" was in his personal drinking establishment, serving up his same brew. Nothing ever changed with him, not even the result of the coin toss.
Death swigged down the last of the pint, it really was beyond compare. He'd been all over the world, through all the years, and he'd still never had a brew as good. Seamus was right, he really had perfected it.
"Welp, I got work to do, you know the rules, you get to call it, I get to flip it."
Seamus gargled "heads" through a sip of his drink.
Death used to think he was cheating. He knew it wasn't possible, but still, death couldn't figure out how to recreate that beer, so maybe Seamus had other secrets. Even so, it never mattered what Seamus called. Death tossed the coin in every way he possibly knew. It always came up in Seamus' favor. So this time was no surprise either. The coin landed, death swiped it up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.
"92 years, 84 days, 8 hours. I'll see you then."
"Oh aye laddy. Sounds grand. I'll have your drink waiting for you." Seamus said in his awful fake accent.
After death had left, Seamus went over to sit with his only other patron. The only patron he would ever need for all time.
"Thanks again Joe, guess I get to keep on brewing for you for another 92 years!"
Jehova looked up from his beer with a big smile.
"It really is the best in the universe!"
Edit:
Jesus! that blew up pretty thoroughly! I really appreciate all the compliments. Makes me feel good about taking the time to write it! | "Call it" Death said, the coin twirling between his bony fingers.
"Do we really need to keep going through this charade?" I asked.
How long had it been now? 500 lives? The first time I went through, I expected reincarnation, but life... or I guess Death, was not so kind. I got to relive life from the point I chose... but with enough randomization that foreknowledge was all but useless. It got hard to keep track without the year changing like it should...
"Call it" he said again, tossing the coin into the air.
"Tails" I sigh.
We both look, and of course the coin falls down tails side up.
"Choose". Talkative as always.
"89" I reply. "I grow tired of our game".
5 minutes later I am awake. It was a lucky turn of events that I died peacefully in my sleep on the day of my 89th birthday.
"Call it".
"Sideways!'
A smirk forms on his face as he flips the coin.
...
...
"Call it".
This is Hell.
| 2016-09-23T09:14:52 | 2016-09-23T08:47:36 | 2,418 | 15 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them. | "I good girl." Said the scruffy black cat.
The orc jailer squinted down at the talking feline. He was a great green brute of an orc, and was the very last line of defense in the intricate cave system of the Western Mountain Orc Prison.
The orc jailer usually delighted in having wild rats pass by his post at night, because then he could smash the rats with his club and throw their bloody bodies into the prisoner's cells and listen to the occupants scream. It was his only entertainment during the night shift.
But he had never seen a cat while on duty in the caves. And he'd never even heard of a talking one before. He wondered if his brothers further up the line had let it pass to him on purpose.
The cat stepped closer into the torch light and sniffed at the ground, then licked her lips. She looked like she'd been in a lot of fights in her life; her hair was missing in spots, her ears were chewed up and scarred, and she smelled like she had rolled over something dead. She was old and ugly and the orc's brothers had probably just ignored her when she'd gone by.
The jailer began to slowly reach for his club, thinking of which cells he could throw her squished body into. The older prisoners were getting used to his dead rat game, but might squeal a little differently if a bigger, smellier cat was thrown at them. But those new prisoners... The ones still so full of hope and good faith... he could hardly wait to hear what kind of screams they might make.
The cat watched with shining yellow eyes as the orc moved in slow motion, quietly picking up his enormous club. She could smell his intent to kill, but she stood still and poised.
When the orc moved to swing his club at her, she heard the soft jingle of metal keys somewhere on his left leg.
'Keys good', thought the cat.
Before the club could reach her, the old cat had morphed growing dagger sized teeth and a bear-sized head. She zipped past the orc's club and sunk her teeth into his exposed neck. The jailer couldn't even let out a scream as his windpipe was squished, like a rat against his club. The cat's body continued to morph and grow, matching the orc's weight pound for pound. She threw him to the ground and ripped off his head.
His blood was hot and his meat was tainted and tough, but to the monster ripping through those muscles and bones, he tasted like sweet, sweet victory. Savagely, she tore into him, swallowing his still convulsing heart, chewing up his bones, and even licking up the blood that had sprayed across the cave walls and floor. In no time at all, she had devoured everything the orc had ever been. Except, for his untouched left leg.
It had been ages since she had killed this much. Ever since she had been adopted and loved by her party in her small Sneaking form, she had held back her natural instinct to stalk, kill, and eat her enemies. She had sat back and allowed her party to complete small quests and capture minor criminals at their own pace, enjoying the love and attention that their good hearts had bestowed upon her along the way. She had even begun to believe all the little things they said to her when they scratched her scarred ears, petted her uneven fur, or fed her little fish they bought with their hard earned money.
But then someone had taken them away, had sold them and imprisoned them in an orc's mountain. That person had been the first in line to go.
The monster delicately picked up the orcs's leg and shook it until a ring of keys fell off. She chomped and swallowed up the last bit of orc, and then quietly made her way down the line of cells with the keys hanging from her bloody teeth. The scent of her party wafted through a barred window on a small wooden door. She stopped and dropped the keys at the base of the door and licked her muzzle. She began to shrink back into her Sneaking form and let out a curiously sweet 'mew'.
There was movement behind the door, and the leader of her party came into view between the bars of the window. He was bruised and scratched up, but ecstatic to see the party's little cat.
She 'mewed' happily as the leader roused the rest of the party and they began to devise a plan to reach the keys and open the cell door before the jailer could notice them.
Smiling at her little party, the cat curled up in the hall to await their attempts at escape. They had all the time in the world, of course. No one was left to hurt them here.
"I good girl." Purred the scruffy black cat. | "You can't do this. When the king hears what you've done to his men."
"The king will hear it from me when I return. You had one job, keep my friends safe. Half of them are dead, and the other half are gone."
Some hero I turned out to be. Summoned to this strange land, told I was there to save the kingdom. It wasn't so bad, i had benefits thrown in. All the good weapons, any armor I needed, and one of my friends got yanked through the portal with me. Something about stopping a demon Lord, never really figured out what they expected.
"You were brought here by the king. You were *chosen* to help us. You can't just," his voice stopped as my axe cut cleanly through his neck.
"But I **can** just." One traitor is all it took. One person working for the king to get close enough to us. One person we had in the group and trusted enough to stop watching. Sleeping drugs for everyone, snuck into our food. The others never stood a chance, their bodies were too frail. I didn't even notice the drugs, I was always tougher than smart. Woke up in the middle of the night, see two of my friends with their throats slit, two of them are gone, and a guy sneaking up with a knife.
***A trip to the kingdom later***
Gate guard: "So the hero returns? Is the rest of the group with you?"
"No. There's some people I need to talk to. You have 2 seconds to let me through before I forget what I'm supposed to be."
Guard: "I'm not sure what you mean by-*AAAAGH."*
As my axe cleaved through his chest he let out a final scream. Immediate panic, trained guards responding out of instinct.
"Has he gone crazy? Someone stop him before he reaches the court!"
It's funny how quickly they forget what I am. My trainer had issues keeping me in check, we couldn't even properly train without people on standby to subdue me with magic. I felt the primal rage building as my bloodlust grew. Everything turned red, there was no friend or foe, and no distractions. I only saw movement, and anything in my way would fall. I'll get their attention, one way or another.
***"BRING ME THE KING OR BRING ME YOUR BLOOD!"*** With my final scream I start swinging, every pass of my blade accompanied by a choir of death. The assassin hid everything he could, but he could never disguise the seal on his orders. The king would pay. | 2019-12-07T13:02:32 | 2019-12-07T11:42:39 | 171 | 38 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be | Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer.
This reminds me of a time in my younger days when the people of the town of Quinnsmere hired me to kill the Woebegone Dragon. I was a young man then, given to anger, flights of fancy, and a romantic streak a mile wide. If I'd done my research, if I'd paid attention to the stories, I might have turned down the job. After all, emotional folk are the food on which the Woebegone Dragon preyed. But if I'd had the presence of mind to think things through, I'd have had nothing to fear. I've heard this situation described as a Catch-22, because it's about as simple as catching 22 cats.
The Woebegone Dragon lived not at the top of a cliff, nor behind a waterfall. Those are too wondrous, too spectacular for a miserly, waspish dragon like the Woebegone. It made its nest in a swamp, out of bramble bushes glued together by muck dug from the rotting bracken. It took a day of wading through the knee-deep waters, with acid bubbles bursting all around me, mosquitoes the size of my thumbnails hounding me, and the occasional alligator trying its jaws on my chainmail before I reached the dragon.
As dragons go, the Woebegone was tiny, no larger than a draft horse, and ungainly, burdened with an out-sized head. It had long, thin, almost dainty legs supporting its torso, and its wings, which had the shimmering thinness of the skin of a bubble, flapped idly behind it as it trotted over to inspect me. I hauled myself dripping out of the bracken, and the dragon fixed me with its green eyes, fist-sized, and gave me the fullness of its attention. Like the brushing of a moth's wings against my cheek, its mind played against my own. *What brings you here?* it asked. *Do you seek death?*
"Yours." I slotted the upper half of my spear into its base. "Let's begin."
To my surprise, the dragon skipped backward away from my charge. *We need not be so brutish. Surely you've heard of my powers. Perhaps they entice you?*
"What powers are these?" This would be the moment when my youthful exuberance failed me. The townsfolk of Quinnsmere had had much to say of the dragon's powers. They described the night it attacked the mayor's home. It ripped the roof clear off, then vanished into the interior. Rather than the banging and roaring sounds people expected, there was only silence. Some time later, the dragon reappeared on the roof and flew off into the dark. When the mayor appeared, it was with a huge smile on his face. The townsfolk were thrilled to see that he was fine, but as more time passed and his family didn't appear, their worries grew.
"What happened?" they wanted to know.
"The dragon is our friend!" the mayor replied.
"What did it want?"
"Only to help us." The mayor spread his arms to the heavens and he laughed from the bottom of his belly. "To free us of our mistakes! It asked me to make a wish, but then it refused my choices. It said no to ensuring a bountiful harvest. It laughed when I asked for an end to illness. Then, it asked me whether I'd mind if I'd never been married." The mayor's smile changed, then. It darkened, drew down, pulled away, and left behind the skeleton of a sneer. "This was something I'd never thought about, but the more I considered it, the more I came to realize that this was the best thing for our town. Why, if I didn't have that harridan harping at me all the time for more furnishings, better parties, more trips tot he capital, why, I could finally get around to helping the people in town."
The villagers, taken aback not only by the mayor's admission, but by his gleeful attitude, pressed the issue. "Where is your wife? Where are your children?"
The mayor shook his head. "That's the wrong question, my good people. It doesn't matter where they are. What matter is where we'll be, in a week's time, in a month, in a year, now that we're free of that burden!"
Horrified, the villagers grabbed the mayor and locked him in his bedroom while they searched his house. Nowhere was his wife or children to be found.
For the crime of colluding with a dragon, they exiled the mayor, never to be seen again.
I'd heard this story. The villagers were good and honest folk, and they wouldn't send me against the Woebegone Dragon unprepared. But, as I said, I was young, and, as all young people do, I thought I was special. What harmed someone else was no danger to me, because they were they, and I was me, and they were not me, just as I was not them, and that was that.
I asked the dragon what it had to offer.
*Little more than your heart's true desire.*
My mind went to women. It went to fame. Fortune. It went to an armory much like the one I now own, replete with tools, centered around a massive forge capable of the overwhelming heat required to work mithril.
*Wrong,* the dragon said. *That's what you want. It's not what you desire. Not at the bottom of who you are.*
I thought deeper. I asked myself harder questions. My father had never had much time for me. Maybe that's what I wanted?
*No.*
Or maybe it was my mother. She'd preferred my sisters to me. My childhood had been one of loneliness. That was why I turned to metalwork and swordplay. The metal stayed where I put it. It responded the same way to my attentions every time. It was reliable in the way no person ever was.
*You're getting closer, little knight. You must know yourself before I can help you.*
"I want to be loved," I said. That was what it came down to. I wanted the same constancy from my parents as I found in my work. I wanted a family life that was always there for me, that I could come back to.
The dragon's lips pulled up, revealing the line of its black glinting fangs. This expression was part threat, part smile, and it gave way to a rasping noise as the dragon's mouth opened wide.
This was laughter.
*That's right! You want love, you pathetic child. How dreary, how sad, how human. There's nothing I can do for you, man-child. You want what cannot be given. I could bewitch your parents to love you, just as I could bewitch the toad next to your foot, but it wouldn't be what you're looking for.* It approached me then, its emerald eyes fixed on my own, pulling me into their swirling green like the pull one feels atop a great cliff, the stomach-churning question of how bad it might be, why not give up, fall, accept the danger and see where it leads. *You're a waste, child. You'll never be happy. Why bother? Why fight?* Its jaws lowered around me like the sheltering roof of a bandstand, and at the bottom of its throat I saw a blackness so complete that it looked like sleep. *Hush,* the dragon said. *Escape yourself. Be at peace.*
My spearpoint ended the roof of the dragon's mouth, right at the softness, where the mouth connects to the brain's casing. The dragon fell over sideways. One of its fangs clipped the edge of my helmet and dragged up the side of my head. How that wound bled! I still have the scar. Hair doesn't grow there, as though this is the dragon's lasting imprint on me, the physical embodiment of its message, this reminder that I'll never be happy, because I'll never find the love I'm looking for.
But such is life. Such is a truth I needed to learn in my younger years. Because, paradoxically, while the dragon thought this message would stymie my will to defend myself, it did the opposite. I felt empowered. Since I could never achieve that thing which mattered most to me, I was free to decide what to pursue.
I chose armor. I chose dragon slaying. I chose life, to the fullest.
\*
*Lance Ravenbow here. Professional armorer and dragon slayer. If you want more stories, join me at* r/RavenbowsArmory! | *February 28, 2021*
Okay, one of the things I wished for was her. That didn't mean I wanted her to kill her husband to make it happen. I'm blameless! This isn't what I asked for.
Even though all of us worked in the same office (had worked together for the last ten years, I'd watched the two of them meet and marry), and at times I wished him dead—because who hasn't wished somebody dead?—it isn't what I wanted. I have her but she's just confessed to me that she murdered her husband, because he'd never have let her go otherwise. I don't have anyplace else to get this off my chest, so it's going here.
And the love she shows me is almost manic. I won't say it's not what I had in mind, but it's not exactly what I expected. At times, before I had her, my affection toward her had been manic, obsessive, doubtlessly, and yet harmless—but seeing it reflected back like this now with the presence of her volition and thereby action which substantiates its reality is something entirely different. Sometimes I find it difficult to properly express my affection toward her because it might upset the equilibrium of things.
The way it's been these last couple days I can describe like this: that any moment she's away from me is a moment for her of distress, and therefore it is distressing for me because I know she's distressed and I do not want her to be distressed. I do not want her to be distressed ever. I am expecting to find one day (if I don't suggest it myself, perhaps casually or overtly, I'm not sure yet) in our bedroom or some closet or some other room in the house a shrine or altar or voodoo doll dedicated to me, someplace for her to properly worship me, be with me, when she is not at my feet doing the same. The thought of this doesn't disturb me. That would make me rather happy, in fact.
Of course, the lamp with the genie in it has expired, so it's not like I can use it to bring John back from the dead. Eager, I made my other two wishes right after the first one. These two wishes were: find the financial freedom to quit my job, and have children someday. Oh well.
&#x200B;
*March 3, 2021*
Behold, yesterday I awoke to find my bank account containing five million bucks. Where it came from, I don't know. It was deposited via a wire transfer. I don't think it would be in my interest to ask the bank questions about it, so this is all I know about it. I still haven't quit my job.
We are, of course, still having sex. Something about her dedication to me is irresistible. There isn't a thing in the world she wouldn't do for me. She proved this on day one, didn't she? I am hoping we can make three children in one go. Not only because I've always wanted three children, but because then there will be more pillars in this family to sustain the weight she's laid down on me, the weight that pressed this family into existence.
&#x200B;
*March 4, 2021*
Samantha's murdered husband, John.
Reflecting on all this, on him, yes, there were surely times I wished him dead. Wished I had everything he had. I was so damn jealous of him. At times, I could hardly look him in the eye. That confidence of his. It was insufferable. We were friends once.
&#x200B;
*April 11, 2021*
She's pregnant. And it occurred to me that I don't know whether the children might belong to John or myself. The timing is too immaculate. According to the doctor, she's been pregnant for nearly seven weeks. It was seven weeks ago that she fell into my arms. I don't want to think about it. We're still having sex.
&#x200B;
*April 16, 2021*
The police came over to speak to Samantha. They wanted to talk to her about her husband. Not his dying of natural causes, but the suspicious transfer of funds he executed prior to his death. The timing seemed convenient. Samantha told them she didn't know anything about the funds transfer. And she also told them she didn't want anything more to do with her deceased husband, with dead John, that she had no interest in any of his assets, or anything at all to do with him, because she had a new man that was going to take care of her and her children. I overheard her say this, since the conversation with the policemen was private of course, and hearing this made me feel warm inside. It was the way things were always supposed to be.
&#x200B;
*May 1, 2021*
The more I reflect on it, the more I realize how much I truly hated John. And then I wonder, it makes me wonder, that maybe, just maybe, I wanted him dead first, and wanted Samantha second. I've been speaking with Samantha about this, because at this point I can tell her anything and be confident that she won't respond in any fashion that isn't supportive, supportive to me, her new man. She's incredulous that I wanted John dead more than I wanted her, but that's beside the point.
I've quit my job as well, and the children are on the way.
The idea that I claimed four wishes and not three makes me uneasy, that there's an outstanding debt which has been incurred, that I'll be called upon to pay one day.
But I'm really not thinking about that right now, because I have everything I need. I'll end here.
&#x200B;
*May 1, 2021 cont.*
It could be also that I was only granted a single wish, and yet have two more. That wish for everything John had, including his life even. Not impossible that this is what I wanted. I'm questioning this only because I don't recall explicitly asking for any of these things, these desires, from the genie. It was more like—yes, it was, I think my memory is serving me—he'd asked me if I wanted my deepest desires fulfilled, and I of course agreed. But the genie I spoke with all that time ago has been nowhere to be found. Maybe I will try again with the lamp—but only if I need something else (which, I hope, will be unlikely—I can't imagine what else in the world I could need!). | 2021-08-06T12:27:37 | 2021-08-06T10:23:04 | 51 | 34 |
[WP] Almost giving up on love, you are set up for a blind date. Upon meeting up, you notice your date is literally blind. They ask for your name and you faintly say "Medusa" | "... Medusa," she said, almost in a whisper.
"Oh, you're a gorgon? Medusa's a beautiful name; is it a traditional one?"
Medusa blinked. Once. Twice. That was not the response she was expecting. "You're not... freaked out?"
Ethan shrugged. "Freaked out? Nah, my best friend growing up was a lamia. My school was pretty diverse, so I had a bunch of Mythos in my friend group." He rubbed his neck. "Bit surprised, I will admit. My friend who helps me use OKAphrodite didn't mention you were a gorgon."
Medusa shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, the selfie I posted cut off at the forehead. I'm really sorry about being deceptive, but..."
Much to her surprise, Ethan waved it off. "Don't sweat it. I've heard from friends how hard it is for Mythos to date online. The abuse, the people who flat out won't message you, the weirdo fetishists, it's gotta be exhausting."
"The fetishists are the worst. A few months ago, a guy I met for lunch kept trying to touch my hair, and told me that he could be my Harry Potter, and I could be his Hair of Slitherin'."
Ethan's shoulders sagged. "I weep for the future of my species. Can I buy you a drink as an apology on behalf of humankind?"
Medusa stared at Ethan curiously for a moment, and then nodded. "I'll take an ambrosia and coke." As he flagged down a waitress and ordered, she took a moment to regard him. He'd never be mistaken for a model, but he was sort of goofily cute, and he clearly took care of himself - his clothes fit well, his beard was neatly trimmed.
He'd have no problem finding a nice human girl, so why was he still here with her?
After he finished with the waitress, Ethan turned back to Medusa. "So where were we?"
"I don't understand you. Why aren't you more upset about my hiding being a gorgon in my profile picture?"
Ethan grinned as he tapped his dark glasses. "Do you really think your profile picture is what convinced me to message you?"
"So what did, then?"
"You have good taste in movies. You're a theater buff, which is a big plus. My general impression from your profile was 'smart, funny, a bit brassy', which is a damn attractive combination in my book." He leaned forward over the table. "But you know what convinced me to ask you out for a drink tonight?"
"What?"
"Proper punctuation."
Even the snakes in her hair tilted their heads in confusion. "Proper punctuation?"
"Yes! Do you know how rare it is to find someone who messages in complete sentences, let alone with proper punctuation? Hell, three messages in and you were dropping semi-colons on me. How am I supposed to resist a girl who knows how to use a semi-colon?"
"And it doesn't bother you? The snake hair, the petrifying gaze?"
Ethan shrugged. "Why should it? You have the glasses to negate your gaze, and it's not like it's any risk to me anyway. And the hair's cool, not scary."
For the first time all night, Medusa felt a small grin on her face. "So you get turned on by Oxford commas, then?"
"Lemme tell ya, give me a woman with a sexy voice like yours who uses Oxford commas, and I'm all in."
Medusa blushed slightly, then smirked, putting a bit of a purr into her voice. "So my voice is sexy, hmm?"
"Damn, Medusa, careful with that. Forget your eyes, that voice is gonna get me rock hard if you're not careful."
Medusa's eyes went wide, and then she cracked up, giggling uncontrollably. "I can't believe you said that out loud! You're an idiot!"
Ethan leaned forward, lightly smirking. "But a charming idiot, I hope?"
Medusa took a deep breath and a sip of water as she stared at Ethan for a few moments. "Jury's still out on the charming part... but I'm willing to be convinced." | 22:36
He's late.
You silently curse Sthenno and Euryale, at least they could have picked someone punctual for the blind date.
You take a sip of your gin and tonic, now watered down. But I guess they are right, they have the same power as me, and nevertheless, they live happy and fulfilling lives, and yet me, the youngest and the only mortal of us 3 can't even find a partner.
Who could have thought that turning men stone-hard could be so troublesome when dating.
Entertained by your thoughts you notice in the corner of your eye a young woman approaching your table.
"Medusa?"
She asks, and careful to not look up, you notice her green dress and the long golden waves that embrace her waist.
"Yes, that's me, and you are...?"
"Samantha! Nice to meet ya!"
Wait, so Sam was a woman? How could those two not tell me this?
Sam, carefully takes a sit in front of Medusa and rests a cane next to her chair.
"So, how are you Medusa? Are you nervous about this doubly blind date?". Have I always been able to hear someone smile?
Carefully you look up after connecting the dots and sure enough, Samantha was wearing sunglasses and was smiling broadly.
So, a blind person? Interesting, this might just work.
"Not too nervous, it's not my first blind date after all"
"Perhaps, but it's your first date with me, you never know what I might be able to do, I might be dangerous for all you know"
You couldn't contain a chuckle, how could this lovely small lady threat a monster like yourself who can turn men into stone just by looking at them?
"Now now, don't you laugh deary, that this small woman might just be able to scope you off your feet, you won't even know what hitcha!"
Now it's a full-on laughter, Samantha joins with a hearty laugh of her own.
I like her. | 2020-08-27T07:54:40 | 2020-08-27T07:16:22 | 386 | 99 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | "I asked you to hold on a minute," she grumbles, tugging off the last black thigh-length boot. "Ugh, I swear, these things didn't use to be so hard to get off."
"You, um, that's--"
"Yes." She sighs. "I know, I should have told you sooner, but, I mean, you're so ... nice. I didn't want to break your heart to realize you'd tied yourself down to someone like me."
"But, you're, um..."
"Terrorizing the city on a regular basis?"
"Um."
"Single-handedly overpowering entire groups of heroes out to bring me to justice?"
"Well."
She smirks. "A lot sexier than you'd realized?"
"I mean."
She sighs and sits heavily on the edge of the bed, folding the costume up into a surprisingly tight little bundle, hands moving with the precision of long practice, but she doesn't put it away, just runs her hands across its smooth black fabric.
"You know, I don't even know why I bother any more. It's not like Sunblade is really that much of a challenge. Sure, our battles are entertaining, but maybe I should just retire Darkvoid entirely." She glances up. "I've been thinking about it a lot, especially recently."
"Um."
"I mean, what would it hurt if I just ... disappeared? Sure, Sunblade would think I gave up because I couldn't win. Which is wrong, because I'll always win. But ... I know this sounds strange, but maybe ... maybe winning isn't as important to me anymore."
"Why?"
"Well, things are going to change," she hedges. "You know how it is. Life goes on."
"Is it because I found out about ... this?"
"No. Maybe." She considers, then shakes her head. "No. I would have told you, once I finally decided to stop for good." She chuckles. "If only so at least one person knew I hadn't really given up, just moved on. That I could have kept winning if I wanted to. I know it sounds terrible. What a stupid reason to finally tell the truth, right? And that's part of why I didn't want to, because it would force you to become just another part of my game. And ... I like you the way you are."
"I like you too, but, Darkvoid? Really? It was you all along?"
"Never been anyone else."
"But we've been fighting since-- er, I mean, you've been ..."
She squints up suspiciously. "We? I don't remember having a sidekick. Unless you're secretly my loyal Eviltek salesperson, I'm pretty sure there's no we." Then she realizes what she said, and quickly backtracks. " I mean, in the supervillain world, obviously. There's absolutely a we here. And always will be. And if you need me to--"
"Shh, it's okay, stop making excuses. If we're coming clean, I suppose I shouldn't hold back just to gloat."
"And what would you have to gloat about?"
"Mmm, you do make this hard. But, here it is." And golden light fills the room, the gleaming plasma blade floating just overhead in guard position, ready to intercept or attack on command.
"Sunblade. All this time?" Then her expression darkens. "And here I felt bad for lying to you! What do you have to say for yourself, lying to *me*?!"
"I have never once denied being Sunblade."
"That's the stupidest excuse I've ever heard in my life. Who goes around asking their spouse, 'oh, by the way, are you Sunblade by any chance'?!"
"If you want me to feel bad for lying, you at least need to recpirocate."
"I'm the villain! Lying is what I do!" Then her lips quirk into a smile. "And to think, all this time, I could have pretended to kidnap myself and you'd have gone crazy! Hah!"
It is terrifying even to consider the situation, even knowing. "That's not funny."
She flops back onto the bed, laughing hysterically. "It really is! I would have been missing, impossible to locate! Ah, I wish I could wipe your memory and try it. That would be so much fun. A grand finale to our epic tale of nemeses."
"You do realize you're not acting like yourself?"
"Hmm? Oh, it's just the hormones. It's normal. Or so they tell me. Probably another reason I should give up supervillainy, at least for the time being."
"Have you been experimenting on yourself? Oh, of course you have, haven't you? Do I need to call the hotline? What did you do--"
"Shush, silly, you'll get all worked up for the wrong reasons." She lays the outfit aside, flopping her arm across her stomach. "I was going to wait until after dinner, but ... I'm pregnant."
The sunblade glow vanishes in a pop. "What?"
"Yeah. Surprising, right? But hey, sometimes things work out." Then she grins. "But that reminds me. There is one other thing I won, since we're comparing."
"And that is?"
"Come here. It's the most important thing of all."
"Okay..."
"Your heart."
"Yeah, that's definitely the hormones talking."
She giggles. "Doesn't make it untrue."
"Well, damn."
"Yep."
"Things really are going to change."
"Yep."
"I wonder if it'll be a boy, or a girl?"
"Wanna make a bet?"
"Heh. Sure. But what are we betting?"
She grins. "Sidekick privileges. Since it's us, there's no reason to stop now. And this little minion, who knows what we might end up with?" | "The fuck, Alice?" I shouted, nearly tripping over my own feet trying to back out of the room.
She straightened up quickly, dropping the weapons that were in her hands. "I, uh, I-"
"You know what, *dear*? I don't want to fucking hear it." I pointed at the suit that lay pooled around her feet. "You've nearly killed the whole city five times. Not once, not twice, but *five fucking times*," I growled out. "Hell, you almost killed me."
She stepped out of the tangle of clothes in the floor and nonchalantly crossed the room to the dresser. "I never 'almost' killed you," she said. "in fact, no one has ever died as a direct result of my actions. And I planned it that way."
I snorted and looked away as she threw a shirt on. "I'll pack my bags and go. No wonder I couldn't find evidence of the affair I thought you were having."
"*You* thought *I* was having an affair?" she shrieked. "How in the seventh circle of hell did you expect me not to feel the same way when you started disappearing at all hours? God, I spent *days* following you, hoping to get a glimpse of the woman you stopped loving me for."
I heard the bed creak as she sat down and I looked at her, seeing tears rolling down her face. "I never would have cheated on you," I said in a near whisper.
"Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know that?" she snapped, irritated. "All I knew was you kept disappearing."
I cocked my head at her. "You said 'knew'. Past tense. So you know now that I wasn't cheating?"
She looked up at me. "Yeah. And I know who you are. Fucking bastard. Throwing me away like a piece of trash in favor of a whole city. Did I *bore* you? Maybe I couldn't satisfy your urge to be the hero every time?" she went on icily. "Do you know why no one ever died?"
I shook my head and she cracked a small smile. "They didn't die because I was never interested in hurting them. I only wanted you to pay a little attention to me, so I became this. My alter ego. Denod Naba. Abandoned, spelled backwards. I thought that maybe- just maybe, that would give me the attention that I so desperately desired from you."
I thought about it for a second, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry you thought I abandoned you, How about we try things again? I'll be here more often and you let me take you down?"
She glanced at me. "I think that we need to take each other down. I've- uh, well, we've got a new job."
I glanced quizzically at her and she rested a hand protectively across her stomach. "Mark," she began, "I'm pregnant. It's time we give up the past and raise this child. What do you say?"
I nodded, shocked. Through a choked up throat I squeezed out a "yeah" then crossed the room to pull her into my arms. "Mrs. Williamson, I know I haven't been the best husband, but I want to work on that. I want to be a good father to the little one too. Do you think you can kill me tomorrow at noon?"
She nodded. "Only if you kill me at the same time."
I grinned. "Meet you at one for lunch at Clarke's?"
A big grin confirmed my query. "Now, the pretty little Alice needs a nap. What say we snuggle?" | 2020-10-30T12:06:53 | 2020-10-30T12:04:44 | 117 | 39 |
[WP] Necromancy is a new field of magic. You recently graduated as one of the few degreed necromancers in the country, You are currently helping search and rescue find bodies after an earthquake. Biomancers have it easy finding the living. There are so many dead. So many. | Hundreds of dark shapes came into my vision, fading in all at once. The shapes floated loosely above countless piles of rubble and up into the air above. Other bits of shapes stayed close to their buried bodies. Markers, if all else failed they were markers to find the deceased. They helped me see what I needed to see, even if I hated to look. If the others could see through my eyes they would collapse in a heap at the sheer numbers, even I had trouble staying on my feet and death was supposed to be my specialty.
"See anything brother?", a man spoke from behind me while carrying an injured woman to a medical tent nearby.
"I uhhh..a few maybe. Yeah, a few."
"Alright well lets start getting them to saf-" he paused, turned his head, and walked along. A Biomancer, they called them. They were great field medics to those who had any bit of life left in them, hell, sometimes even for those that didn't. They worked on exchange like most other magic, so typically they tried to run rescue missions as close to forests or living beings as possible.
But I didnt pretend to know how their sect worked, and they surely didn't know mine.
More shapes, a sea of endless shapes among the fire and ash. So many rising that it began to blur the horizon to a shade of black. The crowds of people that the Biomancer's brought to tents weren't even a drop in the bucket compared to what I witnessed. The amount of death made me nauseous, sending my knees wobbling at the thoughts of the sea of crushed bodies.
Another Biomancer stopped by my side. A tall, blonde man with crimson eyes, donning the outfits they all did of crisp white.
"Sorry if some of the other guys seem hesitant. Necromancy is sort of the opposite of what we do." he spoke in a deep, yet friendly voice.
"If that were true they wouldn't have sent me." My eyes remained fixed on the horizon.
He grew quiet, undoubtedly rethinking his words but settling on changing the subject. "See any?"
I didn't want to tell him, to ruin anybody's ideals of their importance and ostracize myself more, but he seemed ready to hear it.
"I think...580. Maybe closer to 600. But the numbers growing. Maybe keep it to yourself for now."
Another, longer silence floated between us, this time solemn, as if the first of us to speak would be forced to acknowledge what I had said. Maybe if we didn't talk it would become a lie.
We watched as more Biomancers rushed to the locations of survivors and pulled them to safety. One of them, a man, was screaming something.
*My wife! No, no, my wife is in there please!* he pointed back to a concrete slab with black shapes pouring out. The Biomancer tried to grab the man to safety, but he kicked and thrashed, stomped and pulled with all his might to join his deceased love. *You have magic! Bring her back, let me go!*
By now I had made my way over. It was about time to show I could be of some use. The Biomancer looked at me confused, but allowed me to approach the distressed man. One of the perks of being the only one of your kind at the site I guess. By now the man had pulled free of the medics grasp and clawed at the rubble, the black shapes still poured.
"What is her name." I tried to get the attention of the man by placing a hand on his shoulder but it didn't register.
Again, "What is your wife's name?", but this one was drowned out by his cries.
"If you want to speak to her again I need her name." At this he stopped his manic episode and replied sharply.
"Darla. Her name *was* Darla".
I was fairly certain most Biomancer's could grow back limbs, at least 85% certain.
Before both the Biomancer behind me or the man could register what was going on I acted, placing my hand on the concrete and drawing a heavy cleaver from my waist. With one swift motion my middle finger was seperated at the last knuckle. I tried to hold it in, but after a few reserved huffs I couldn't help but let out a pained yelp.
"What the hell man?!" The Biomancer grabbed a capsule on his waist and began to prepare a spell, but I halted him with my remaining 4 fingers. The rescued man just watched on in confusion.
"You have 5 minutes. You may say goodbye." I grabbed a floating blackened shape from the air and placed it on the concrete, then drew a symbol in it using the blood from my pen finger. With a light flash the black shapes retracted back within the stone. A woman's voice called out softly.
"Eduardo? Where are you?!"
I didn't care to listen to the rest, just being close put a pain in my heart that I couldn't do more. Instead I went back to the medic and spoke to him between pained grunts. "Ok, ok, now you can do the thing."
He obliged, breaking the capsule and allowing a mist of particles from within to fill his hand, then placed them in a vaguely finger shape on my hand. Within a moment my hand had returned to almost normal with a slight tingling sensation.
"Thanks. I hope you can do that a few hundred more times."
"I uh... why's that." He spoke with many other things obviously on his mind, my statement not one of them.
"Because, out there there's bound to be more who could use the same as him."
I looked out to a wave of black shapes, all floating to the clear sky above, and for a moment I wished I was good enough to make them go away. | 'So you choose to major in necromancy?' The admission clerk says with eyes void of life.
'Yes!', Me a naive 18-somthing excitedly exclaim.
How foolish.
Nercromancy was introduced as a course in universities only 2 years ago and as you would imagine, got alot of interest and traction into a promising field.
However, the law struck fast.
Legislation shut down many promising industries and necromancers were heavily restricted in their use, as such demand wavered.
It all came crashing down, incompetencies in policy-making and no foresight was to blame.
There was a heavy irony where many necromancy students took their lives, and it was against the law to bring back the dead.
The reasoning? Playing God entailed huge responsibiliy.
You see, there was only a 2% chance of a perfect operation. Necromancy was only budding in its knowledge and intial tests saw many a people being brought back in grotesque and deformed shapes, a far cry from what was expected.
These numbers never improved, and sadly more than 50% of those brought back, committed suicide as they could not live with the physical and mental pain.
However that was not to say, nothing came out of it.
Years later, there was the introduction of biomancy.
Biomancers were masters of the flesh, able to contort a living being's form to their will.
Biomancers had the advantages of learning from the mistakes of their counterparts, and soon flourished into heroes of our society.
Then there was an idea. What if biomancers were to exert their powers onto someone brought back by necromancy?
It was terrible. It was as if god was playing a cruel joke. Like oil to fire, those subjected could not contain the power of the two opossing magics and would combust on the spot.
Necromancers were essentially pariahs to society, often operating in the underbelly of society doing who knows what.
I myself, having lived as long as i have, have seen things thst most would never see, but I will have to keep those to my grave.
As an old man now, I have tried to live a more honest life. I managed a job as a healer in a small town and had almost forgetten my old foray into necromancy.
But then the earthquake happened.
Like a hammer that dropped from the heavens, a large boom came. The ground
shifted and the deaths came quickly. I immediately sensed it.
It wasn't long before reinforcements were called. They said a biomancer would come, but hope wasn't prevalent.
Biomancers were in high demand, and there wasn't enough that would volunteer their expensive services to the public.
The wait could take hours.
I had to do something. I knew that there was a high chance, that there would be surivivors in the lowest concentrated areas of dead.
I took action, I ran to the edges of the fault and started my search there. It took alot of concentration to differentiate between the energies of the dead and living, and focus was something i don't have enough of at my age.
I dug and dug and dug.
Blood stained my hands and promise was waning.
The fruits of my efforts? One survivor, a child. On the verge of death. I was one minute short too late. Blood had flown endlessly from his corspe, and my sensory ability told me he was just barely living.
I took to my knees, and gave up.
Then a thought came. Should I revive him back from the dead? I fought myself hard and couldn't decide.
So now I ask of you, would you have done it? | 2022-06-18T01:14:40 | 2022-06-18T00:53:16 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity has always thought itself very smart for figuring out how to ride a giant explosion into space. Turns out there's a much easier way and the rest of the galaxy thinks we're insane. | Iria tapped a few keys with her her follicle strands, calling up the ship's AI. After a few seconds, the plodding processor summoned a projection of the user interface. It was a Nehn, like her, one of the more widespread races in this galactic cluster. She asked, "Why are we going to investigate the Sol system? The humans there aren't relevant on a larger stage."
The AI sighed, then said, "Listen. Despite developing on a top tier planet for organic life, these humans never discovered how to charge antimatter. You'd think this would preclude interstellar travel, but... it doesn't."
"What?"
"Most of the time, civilizations learn how to use antimatter for wormhole generation before they discover the existence of atomic bonds. For one reason or another, humans didn't."
"But how do they travel?"
"Their bravery is almost suicidal in scope. They decided to strap command modules onto glorified missiles. While they don't travel quickly as compared to wormhole travel, rockets fueled by nuclear fission were sufficient to set up colonies and planetary alterations."
"You can't be serious."
"I wish I wasn't."
"So these humans have managed to gather a slow foothold in the Sol system, and some of the surrounding stars. That development isn't rare on a galactic scale though. Why were we sent to set up treaties? What could they have that we want?"
"First off, they developed advanced nuclear technologies at a terrifying pace. They've found out how to get a net energy gain from fusion. They have solved their energy crisis."
Iria gasped. There were perhaps three races that had developed nuclear fusion so far, and of them, two of them were openly hostile to galactic governments. One of them, the Kalakan had taken her home. This had sent her on a fool's errand from the senate, with a destination of the Sol system.
She took a deep breath, then shouted at the top of her lungs,"Nuclear fusion? BEFORE ANTIMATTER CHARGING?"
"Yes. They took a path less traveled in technology, so they have advancements in fields that nobody expects. Also, as a consequence of their utter disregard for self-preservation, they are excellent soldiers. They can endure broken bones, tank bullet wounds, and KEEP FIGHTING. Compared to most races, it takes a lot to kill them."
"My orders were to work with them, to share technology in exchange for their loyalty. Doesn't that strike you as a bit dangerous? Giving such a race a free ride to the heights of galactic research?"
"It is. But do we have a choice?"
Iria looked out the cockpit window for a long time at their destination, a small blue sphere in the distance. Yes, this was a terrible risk. However, if she didn't act, everyone she knew and loved would be in jeopardy. She could bring salvation, or damnation to the galaxy. She made her choice, then plotted a course to the settlement with the largest energy signature.
Iria muttered, almost to herself, "I guess we don't."
| *Patent 52894-14A*
Name: *Trebuchet Mark II*
Date Filed: *15th of October, 1482 (Earth Time)*
Description: *A trebuchet capable of firing a 9500 kg projectile over 300 000 meters. The projectile is accelerated in a circular motion by a lever attached to a weight. The weight is accelerated by an electromagnetic field under the catalyzing effect of a Hopper-Johnson gravity deflection prism, giving the projectile a speed of approximately 30 000 m/s at the moment of release(Note: This speed may vary with planet composition and meteorological conditions).*
Name of patent holder: *Fargo Hopper*
Disclaimer: *Not recommended for human use due to the powerful accelerations involved(Those idiots wouldn’t even understand how to use it without breaking it)!* | 2019-01-21T08:06:56 | 2019-01-21T05:47:56 | 39 | 27 |
[WP] They tried to summon a demon. They got you. | "So...ya. That's basically it. You flub up the ritual, you get this." I paced around the circle they had drawn on the floor with...crayons? Maybe chalk? In any case, nothing professional. "I mean, did you guys even try? Have you ever seen a pentagram before? Pentagrams have five points, eh? This here," I gestured toward the mess of lines beneath me, "this is nowhere close. Some of my buddies tend to get summoned when you accidentally add a sixth point and get yourself a Star of David, but I've never seen...this...before."
The teenagers, if they were even that old, were looking at their feet. One of them kicked his toe into the wooden...nope, hardwood...floor. Amateurs.
I softened a bit at their pathetic attitude. "Alright, guys, look. Let me outta here, and I'll help you get it right. Just gotta scratch one of those lines. I may not be a demon, but I'm still bound by the summoning. Can ya give a working man a hand?" I raised my arms up above my head, helplessly.
The oldest one, maybe fourteen, stepped forward. "We read the warn...warnings. You won't try and take our souls? I need mine."
I sighed. "Look, buddy, even if I could take your soul, which I can't, what would I do with it? I live in Calgary. You think I can just buy a six-pack o' beer and a box of donuts with a human soul? Nope. Not happening. Can't be done. Now, I'm bein' reasonable here. I'll help you all out, but you've gotta let me out so I can go home when we're done."
"I mean...guys, what do you think?" He looked to his two, slightly younger companions, his baseball cap flopping a bit lower on his face.
"Worth a shot, I guess," suggested the shortest, a kid with blindingly orange hair and freckles to match.
"Alex, we need to be a bit more cautious," reprimanded the third, swatting the second kid over the back of his head. "But...I guess it can't hurt. He seems harmless."
The first kid walked over and scuffed the circle. I could feel the release wash over me like a morning stretch. I also stretched, just because I could. Ah, the indecision of youth. Gotta love it. "What made you guys try something so drastic?" I casually walked up to the leader, slipping my hands into the pockets of my jeans as I did.
"We have some people we need to be rid of." He said, his eyes turning to the floor.
"Fair enough. Not my business asking questions, I guess. Alrighty, let's get this show on the road!" I scanned the room until I found their supplies and made a beeline for them. "Incidentally, have you guys ever seen a maple leaf before?" They shook their heads. Figures. Wasn't even intentional.
After a few minutes of drawing, and several botched attempts at drawing the pentagram, the black smoke began to rise from their summoning circle. As the booming voices of hell filled the room, I was filled with pride. I always felt good after helping someone. Even if it meant helping someone to remove others from existence.
As I left the room, I began to whistle. No tune in particular, just something that might make the long trip North pass a bit quicker.
| The sounds of Billy Joel was replaced as a foul smell filled my nose.
"Dammit, I need to fix- Oh."
I was surrounded by a ring of hooded occultists.
The disappointment in the air was thicker than a bowl of oatmeal.
I stood in the circle, calculator in one hand and pen in the other, as the hoodies started muttering and talking with each other. I overheard the sentence "Well, he's wearing a red shirt and has a goatee, that has to mean something!"
One of them stepped forward. It looks like they bought their hoods from a clearance costume store.
"Beelzebub, we have summoned you-"
"Wow, seriously...Man you guys are pathetic. Did you fail geometry?" I said, pointing at the circle of red chalk.
"So you are not a demon?"
"I don't know, depends on who you ask really."
"What is your name, Demon?" Shouted one Hoodie. Man, his acne was bad, even from here.
"I'm Steven. Not a demon, sorry. Just a teenager."
"FUCKING HELL BOB THIS YOUR FAULT!" Rudolph the Red-Pimpled Reindeer started shouting, his voice cracking as he tried to act intimidating.
I sighed as I started to wonder where, exactly, I am.
Is that a bag of fucking Doritos next to a dead rabbit on that tree stump? | 2016-02-02T19:06:24 | 2016-02-02T18:16:53 | 53 | 13 |
[WP] A dragon shows up at the adventurers' guild after hearing that humans will just GIVE away gold for something called a "quest." | I walk into the guild. These people seem shocked, I believe I’m here for the same reason as any one else, I want to go on one of the ‘quests’. From what I hear if I am to complete one of these, I can obtain gold. I like gold very much. It’s shiny and cool and people like to come to my den when I have gold and we fight and it’s all very fun. I like gold. I walk to the 4th counter (all the others are packed whereas this one is empty) and see an elf looking down and playing with one of those slabets, if only she knew I had 10 of those, but I don’t like to brag. She was y’all like most elves but unlike most elves she had brown bangs. She was also wearing a suit, elves usually prefer more traditional garments like robes. She looks up, her reaction is different than most, she seems mildly disinterested. When most beings see me they scream in horror or brandish their sword as everyone in this guild has done mostly the latter. Although I’m the smallest dragon ever, barely cracking 10ft, people still fear me because of what I am, this one does’t seem to fear me. I like this one. She looks down and sighs.
“Same *blank*, different day.” She murmurs to herself
“Hello, I would like to take part in one of these so called adventures.” I posit
“What?” She replies, confused. Ah, yes. I had forgotten, I can’t speak English. I’m not terrible at writing it though. I take a piece of paper and scratch out “translator” and push it up against the glass.
“Oh Jesus. I can’t believe I owe Jeremy 100 valor. One moment, I’ll just get the dragon translator we have for this specific, unbelievable scenario.” She left. I guess I’ll go sit with the others. They don’t have a big enough sofa, this place is discriminatory. I guess I’ll lie on the ground, you know if I wanted to lie on the ground I would’ve just stayed home. An adventurer approaches me with the bravery of a slug approaching a salt shaker.
With a quivering voice he says: “prepare your die, foul beast.” He slaps his metal stick on my nose, with the force of a mouse that would have been called weak by other mice. I raise my head in annoyance to scare him away, he does so. Same as usual. I hear a faint declaration of victory in the form of a “I bloody knew it.” from the person I assume is Jeremy. After a few moments, the elf comes back and approaches me, the audience that has formed jumps in their seats. They seem just as afraid of her as me. Interesting. She’s with a young brown boy, around 18.
“Hello this is Issac, he is the only dragon translator.” The elf grumbled, irritated
“Oh, hello Issac. Nice to meet you.” I addressed the boy, he looked like a king but he certainly didn’t smile like one, his was happy.
“Oh, nice to meat...” He asks
“James.” I respond
“James?” He seems confused, doesn’t he know James is a pretty generic name.
“Did you just say the dragon’s name is James?” She seems confused too.
“It’s a pretty normal name.” I said
“Yeah that’s what weird.” He posits
“I didn’t come here to get my name insulted, I came to go on a quest.” I snapped
The boy stopped and looked at me like I had jut told him his cat grew wings and beat me in a fight, “What did you just say?”
“Why? What did it say?” The elf asks, intrigued
“It-“
“He.” I interrupted
“He wants to go on a quest.” They both look entirely confused, followed by monotone, followed by an emotion I can only refer to as ‘squiggly’ and finally acceptance.
“Come with me.” The elf guided me towards a board full of posters. “These are the quests we have on hand. They’re sorted from left to right easiest to hardest. But the harder it is, the better pay.-“ I immediately booped the quest furthest to the right. Everyone around us gasped, what are these people? A live studio audience?
“Are you sure you wanna go with that one?” I nod
“That’s the quest the king set up to fight the demon queen. Are you entirely sure?” The queen sounds nice. I nod once more.
“You realise you’re going to need to assemble a party of at least three?” I nod, “Who are you going to choose?” I boop her in the chest with my nose. “I’m not going with you. I have work and a job and probably some hobbies too.” I pull her up with my nose into the hair so she’s facing me.
“Please, I need you, besides your the most interesting person in here. I’ll give you a third of the gold if that’s what you want?”
“What do you mean a third of the reward?” The translator asks
“A third of the reward? That’s enough for me to retire 100 times over. Yes!”
Another adventurer approaches us “I’ll do it!”
“Back of *blank*, it’s mine!” She threatened
“Yeah but what are you going to do with the last third?” The kid questioned
“Give it to you.” I answered
“Why would you give it to me?”
“Oh Zeus help me. Why do you think, Scooby-do?” The elf banters.
“Me? But why? I can’t do half as much as she can.” He points to the girl
“You’re literally the only person in the world who can understand me, come with us.”
“Come with you’re or you’re fired, Issac.”
“Yes absolutely”
“We should hug!” The boy says
“Um.” The elf points to me
Oh yeah I totally forgot! A cloud of purple smoke materialises around me as I emerge a human-ish.
“Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” The elf asks
“I don’t know, I forgot, I guess.”
“You forgot?” He sarcastically asked
“You forgot?” She asked, equally sarcastic
“I don’t need this third-degree.” I say, mildly offended
We hug, that was the first hug I’ve ever had, and it was a three way. No one believe me.
“I never asked your name.” I tell the elf
“He wants to know your name.”, the boy translates
“Tracy.”
These people seem nice, I think this is going to be fun. | Us dragons don't make much money these a days. Ever since the famed battle of Urug-tral where dragons were defeated at the hands of wealthy tree-slayers, we've been unable to get our wings off the ground. Not in the same way, anyway. We get by. And it's not like we did not avenge our fallen. Indeed as history shows, the battle of tral-bak that followed, us dragons were victorious and our banners flew over the battlefield just as resplendent as ever.
Of course, years of internecine warfare and not to mention conflict with other spirits and dwellers has rendered us subject to the baloon economy of the land. To the best of my knowledge, it's the same everywhere. Young dragons, or otherwise, humans or orcs or even those misfit tree-slayers have a hard time supporting their brood. If the old beards are to be believed, this particular 300 year curse can only be lifted by the forest spirites working together. As far as that goes, we have a better chance of having rain in October.
So when I heard that humans were willing to give away gold for a quest at the near town, I donned my long cape and tom hat and came along. Times are tough, and dragons cannot be choosers. Only after hearing the quest did it make more sense. Indeed humans do not submit to the will of us nether world creatures for nothing. The gold would be delivered on the completion of the whole quest. The quest itself is in three parts. Not only do we have to infiltrate the shogun and disable their top samurai but we have to recover a precious jade artefact. The jade artefact has to be placed high in the Led mountains, inside a hidden temple to protect it from prying eyes. The artefact is worth far more than the quest put together, however it carries great magic inside it and must only be moved in the cover of night.
When we started for our cross-realm journey it did not feel it would be quite as terrifying as what was lying ahead. When we reached the gates of the shogun, stumbling across the town bazaar with teeming supplies and villagers, we shapeshifted and used magic to disguise ourselves as members of the Kirakawa clan, here to settle a monetary dispute.
Inside the shogun compound it was to be more difficult. Once we were acquainted with the priest. We presented our papers, which seemed paler now that we were in the presence of such a powerful sorcerer. Indeed if it weren't for our youthful exhuberance and charm, he might have seen right through us. Us dragons can pry into realms of magic however, and he seemed oblivious. Though I felt him gazing back in the dark of my mind.
We spent a few days at the temple. Completing paperwork. All the well. Drinking and partying late with the samurais was what kept us going through the ritual observances we had to follow during the day time. The samurais on their part were boisterous but without a keen sense of discernment. They seemed to be under a spell of the priest. Sleeping, watchful, terrifying warriors. We knew we could not fight all of them. This had to be done at night. We had to sneak out the next night.
As soon as the lamps were lit, we were out of our hammocks. Crossing the compound to the shogun's samurai's den. It wasn't difficult to coax him into a fight. We'd been drinking for a few days, and samurais are famed the world over for their willingness to fight. Even when the odds are against them.
Eventually we managed to restrain the old shogun and feed him a vial of poison. The poison wouldn't outright kill him but it would keep him out of it for at least a few hours giving us ample time to find the artefact.
Crossing the temple again and entering the chambers at night felt like cursing the moonlight. But we find the artefact, and take it with us.
Crossing back into the forest and back to our realm was both a relief and a terror. Terror at having restrained a samurai and having taken from a temple.
Eventually reaching the inn we were paid our due. The artefact was to be shifted the very next day. We're off. Our part was done. Now it was upto the humans at the inn to make the perilous journey up to their secret mountain and submit the artefact to the temple for safekeeping.
Gold for a powerful jade artefact. And a dead samurai. | 2020-06-08T14:32:09 | 2020-06-08T13:46:59 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] After abducting one of the 'humans', scientists believed they were a prey species with no drive. The specimen captured was the picture of subservience, doing anything asked of it once the translators were active. And 'subservient' was all the military needed to hear. | Commander Xlantor stared down once more at the specimen. It seemed passive enough. Sitting there in its enclosure scratching undecipherable squiggles onto the surface. The squiggles weren’t in any standard universal language he recognized. It looked up,at him and once again flashed its teeth and let out a series of short bark noises. The “Hooman” as it called itself, was powerfully built with an endoskeleton of pure hard minerals. “Hooman,Move Rock” Xlantor spoke into the grill. The Hooman looked up at him, it let out a long breath, got up, picked up a massive stone 4 time the weight of an average Kirathian and set it down on the other side of the enclosure then returned to its area. It was strong, but seemed entirely passive.
‘And you are certain this is representative of the species” Zlantor said to the research team leader. “No aggression? No...reaction to uncomfortable stimulus?”
“No, Commander. We even tried pelting it with droplets of WATER and it didn’t react. It just stood there rubbing itself...then DRANK it. We piled a wide variety of vegetative and Meat sustenances in front of it to determine its nutritional needs and it ate ALL of it.”
“All? You mean it ate vegetables AND Meat? Both?”
“Yes, we call it an omnivore and of the thousands of species we’ve encountered, only a small handful have been this way. All on low resource worlds and all were low intelligence, passive and easily manipulated.“.
“Very well. We’ll continue the final operational planning”.
****
John looked up from the cage as the tiny little creature once again directed him to move the rock. He sighed, got up picked up the 50 lb. rock and set it down on the other side of the enclosure,then returned to his table.
“Sorry, commander fluffles wanted me to move the rock again. Where were we?
“Right, Chris said through his cyber implant, we’ve instituted the final series of commands. As soon as they appear over the Earth, the sequence will trigger.”
“Good. Mark?”
“Yup, all neutralized, and locked down.”
“Good. And I’ve pretty much got my plan in place. How these guys got along for so long with absolutely zero cyber security is beyond me.
“Right, so the plan. Tomorrow when the Kirathian fleet appears over the Earth, the second they open communications for Commander Xlantor to demand the complete and total surrender, “Never Going to Give You Up” will start playing on all speakers and communications screens across the fleet and in all military and government offices. The ships will then align and begin a dance sequence to the song. Their weapons will all fire harmlessly in time to the music. Then once over, the entire fleet will land and go into complete weapons, systems and propulsion lockdown secured by a quantum encryption code.
At the same time, I will trigger the command to buy 1,000,00,000,000 shares of Kirathian Luminars that are shorted by 600% cross their trading platforms using the funds we got from the fake popup messages telling the bankers, military and politicians they needed to call us for an error on their computing device.
By end of the day tomorrow, their fleet and entire galactic economy will belong to us Redditors.”
John looked up once more at his captors, grinned and laughed. | 'They're not a threat, arch-major.'
'Intelligence, actuators, creativity--they lean heavily on symbionts for digestion and development, yes, but that isn't the worst. Put enough of that together and you know what can happen!'
'Khalligaern, I asked it to shine my boots politely, and it did. It even put in effort and went back over the bad spots.'
'They war constantly amongst themselves-'
'Small-scale, low-level conflicts. They posses species-ending weaponry and have established a series of norms to prevent its' use.'
'Curious that a prey species would not be unified enough to develop civ-enders. Herd-wars are usually all against all.'
'That's your job to figure out, Khalligrean. Not mine.'
'Arch-major, they're a prey species! You know how lethal they can be when roused!'
'Then you'll need to convince them that you're not rousing them. Or a threat. It's been done before.'
'But we will need protection!'
'...say, Archimedian...'
'Yes, arch-major? Funding for mercenaries, maybe?'
'Perhaps you could try asking politely.' | 2021-02-24T22:01:58 | 2021-02-24T21:12:57 | 356 | 241 |
[WP] She signed up to be in the army to avoid an arranged marriage. On her wedding day, she smiled at the shock of her parents and the fiance she didn't want when soldiers come to the church to draft her. "We apologize for ruining this day but she's coming with us," said the soldier to her father. | Jennifer feigned a smile. She was running out of time.
The priest continued through the rehearsed lines almost hiding the boredom behind his words. Jennifer couldn't decide if the elder's slow pace was preferable. "If any should-"
Jennifer eagerly looked towards the door to the church which had just opened. She sighed lightly and she saw it was only children playing, inattentive mothers now after them to return to their seats and enjoy their own slice of this hellish banality.
"Jennifer," Charles said, apparently already to the vows. That was not good, least of all because she never bothered to write any. "Though we have only just met, I know that by our Union, our families will grow strong and we will come to love each other in time," the swarmy Ken doll of her groom to be concluded.
Well that was short, Jennifer thought, realizing the time had come for her to say her vows. She eyed the doors to the church again which painfully remained closed.
She coughrd lightly turning to the crowd. "For my vows, I have elected to read an excerpt from a, uh, book," she said, grabbing the nearest from the shelf beside her, "that reminds me of my lovely groom." She looked down at the copy of apprentice carpentry and flipped to a random page and began to read:
"A house is not built in one day.
"The saying reflects the fact that many projects require some level of investment over an extended duration. The art of building a house demands that the builder take into account the actual costs of labor, material and time in order to ensure that he is able to afford finishing the project." A loud amen arose from the audience as Jennifer paused to look at the door again.
"In order to establish a firm foundation, it is necessary for the builder to dig a hole in the ground where he plans on building his house. Sometimes this hole is quite deep and requires considerable effort. At other times it requires very little effort, but may need to be much wider than expected." Several in the crowd began crying as Jennifer continued on, drawing out each word as slow as possible.
"In any event, the simple act of digging a hole several feet in diameter is considerably more effort than digging a hole the same size in concrete. So it is important that the builder has solid research data in order to establish that he has an accurate idea of what he will be facing before he begins his project." Several murmurs of confusion rose up in the crowd as Jennifer thought she heard a vehicle park outside.
"Similarly, a house is not built overnight. The key to this aspect of building lies in being able to-"
The doors to the church bashed open. A sharply dressed army officer stood at attention. "Jennifer Alvarez, from this moment onward you are called forth into active duty. Effective immediately, you become private Alvarez and are stationed at Fort Guadalata. I apologize but any nuptials will have to wait until the conclusion of this conflict."
"Oh thank God," Jennifer said, throwing the book into the air as she walked past her baffled mother and father with a smile, before ripping off her wedding dress to reveal the tank top and shorts underneath. "Sorry folks, wedding canceled!"
---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | "She's coming with us", I regret to say
and be guilty of ruining this day.
The hand that would've held a wedding band
now poised to wield a sword and stand
with brothers in arms on field of battle
, saved the fate of farmstead chattel.
A mother's tears, a father's scowl
could scarce be hidden by the blackest cowl.
And yet this stolen bride, a willing captive be.
her deed of enlistment signed for all to see.
It says much to shun the marriage bed,
and dare clash arms in war instead.
The jilted groom, much aware of this;
red-faced and bereft of wedded bliss.
Must keep his peace, nigh shrug his shoulders
when faced with a company of soldiers.
And now off to war! The foe draws near.
She turns her back to wifely cheer.
Muddies her white gown as she mounts a horse,
leaving her home for better or worse. | 2021-03-25T10:48:46 | 2021-03-25T09:42:02 | 209 | 90 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | "How many have we lost so far?" Growled General Barkler, as he stared at the great blue orb sitting in space. He had been ordered to fetch this world and its spoils, but it was not coming easily. It may as well be inside the neighbor's fence.
"The tally is in the tens of millions, sir. But it's worse than that." The first officer's frowning face of fur was furrowed in a furious fit of frustration. "They've actually started *breeding* the ones they've captured. Losses are expected to continue to grow exponentially."
"All right. Patch me through to home command so I can beg for permission to leave."
The holographic screen blinked up in the middle of the room. The three faces of the Poodle Presidency Pact displaying in a beautiful array of grays. Princess Primbottom addressed her military commander.
"General! We were getting worried, we haven't received any reports. Have you enslaved the humans yet?"
Barkler was not expecting to feel quite so ashamed. He actually started *whining*. How undignfied! In front of his officers, the crew, and the PPP! He curled his tail between his legs and could not have looked more pitiful.
"I take it things have not gone well." Prince Puffyface noted. "Please, general, give us the report. Sit. Speak."
Barkler placed his rear end on the floor, lifted his head as high as his little legs would allow, took a deep breath, and gave a bark to regain his composure.
"Pristine Personelle of the Poodle Presidency Pact, here is my report."
"On starship date 2078 the Rover Squadron arrived to earth. We descended with our most elite troops as our frontal invasion force. Their mission was just as it was on all other planets, find the inhabitants, enter their homes, demand food and constant playtimes, jump on their furniture, shed everywhere possible, bark at strangers, and excrete waste in their yards.
As expected, we were met with little resistance. What was unexpected was that these aliens... these Hyew-mans... actually enjoyed it! They happily take them in, walk them every day, throw balls or sticks for hours in games of fetch, even training them to do things we previously had thought too cruel! Even our oldest veterans have returned with some new tricks!
We've jumped on them and all their friends, barked incessantly, slobbered all over their faces, and in return they give them fancy collars and then pick up any messes produced. Even when we destroy their furniture or eat their foot coverings they just continue to reciprocate some kind of strange emotion... love they call it!
It has gotten bad enough that our troops are refusing to come back. They willingly submit themselves to these aliens, calling them their new masters. I've lost more men than I can count. I'll have the battle statist send you a complete report of the numbers."
There was silence over the call. The general began to wonder if they were still connected, or if his report was too long. No, they were still moving. They are discussing with their telepathic poodle link. Perhaps it would be best to play dead.
President Paddlepants broke the silence. "General Barkler, you have our permission to leave. This is a lost cause."
Barkley buried his face in his paws and began to whine again.
The president continued. "It's not your fault, general. You did as protocol dictated. Return home and prepare for your next assignment. Don't worry. You are a good boy."
Barkler barked in acknowledgement, and tapped the button to close communication. "All right men, let's go home. I need to go see my puppers!" | The beings reviled themselves to be what we all fear, everyone saw the end of the human race, end of our world, a world war, this is how they scare the other aliens, humans are the violent creatures of the galaxy, so, we are used to the destruction of our species, as it has happened twice already.
“Look now! See what we will cause on your planet if you do not follow our lead!” A 98 year old man stands up, “you don’t scare me. I landed at Normandy, you can’t get worse that that!” They get into our minds and make us see what would happen, the heat, the flash, I could feel my retinas burning, my skin boiling, “Is this what you want?” They ask, “you can’t scare us you galactic pieces of shit!” A man yells through the pain.
The vision stops, “what will it take! What will it take!?” They boom at us, “**NOTHING WE REFUSE TO BE CONTROLLED!!**” the old man yells, and we all start chanting, we refuse to be controlled, “so be it.” Then they disappeared, “that can’t be good in the long run.” A younger man, probably in his 20s says, his voice shaking. “ whatever follows, we will be ready.” A woman says, steady as a rock, looking at the sky, “we will be ready.” | 2019-06-11T09:05:18 | 2019-06-11T08:24:52 | 216 | 26 |
[WP] At the turn of the 23rd century, knowledge can be accessed the way Neo learned kung-fu, however, the vast majority of people only read super-hero comics and watch family feud. You just stumbled upon a largely unused file titled "philosophy". | In the year 2239 popular fiction was viewed as tawdry and vulgar -- just as it had been for the past 500 years. Philosophy and 'proper' literature opposed popular fiction and were viewed as both more interesting and informative -- it's only that nobody read them. Though 'opposed' is not the right word, here. Philosophy and stories have always been good partners. Is it any wonder that Existentialism was so popular in the 21st and 20th centuries? They were proposed as stories, first. And phenomenology fell by the wayside. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.
As of right now, you've discovered a hitherto unused file titled 'philosophy'. Having taken it, clicking around, you fiddle with the file's texts and commands in order for it to properly execute whatever mysterious actions that strange machine can do. That machine takes up a whole room in the library. It stands like a pillar of iron, heaving with mechanical motions and hissing with steam. It is very warm to the touch. An inner fire burns inside.
This is the Learning Machine. Not because it itself can learn, but because it can teach men how to learn with incredible speed. Instantaneous speed. All the knowledge contained within that file named 'Philosophy', gathered by the labour of millions of manhours, can be brought into your mind and synthesized near perfectly. There were millions of these sorts of folders. They covered every topic known to Man. All of them could be taken and grasped -- so long as the correct precautions were placed. Knowledge had become trivial. So that quote about eating and digesting books became less metaphorical and more prophetic.
Education had become instant. Humanity was better off. The world was more in union. But there was a curious social phenomenon. The majority of Humanity had not, as was predicted, tried to learn every file. Men did not become gluttons for knowledge. To be sure, there were a few gluttons. And it is best we do not talk about them. Those poor sods are rather cracked. Pouring the universe into a skull will make it crack. But the majority did not touch even 1% of these files. They took the basics and were very happy with that. They learned all the school knowledge and work knowledge they needed, and left content.
And these sorts of people are the sorts of people you know very well, in our readers' 21st-century world. They like watching Jeopardy and shouting out the answers, and they also liked to read books with pictures. No sneers here, pictures can be very beautiful and so can books. It only makes sense to put them together. These people are your neighbors. Note that they did not use the Learning Machine to know what to say for Jeopardy or to know what those books with pictures said. Knowing is not the same as experiencing. In the former, there is only Past and Memory, and in the latter we are Present. I cannot tell you why they didn't use the machine for those things, or if it was even wise. I can only say that they did not. They very much enjoyed their consumption of media because it entailed a sort of eating. And eating is pleasurable. But learning from the machine was like nothing. You simply knew it.
Now back to you, with your file of 'Philosophy'. You decided to take it for a whirl and found it incredible. Of course, it will be. But now a curious thing has happened again. Do not be surprised there are so many curious things. Alice thought Wonderland was very curious. But Alice is a fictional character. It should be clear that you, a real character in a real story, should find things even more curious.
Now, what happened? Well, before you ingested all of Humanity's philosophical knowledge, you thought that comics and T.V. were a waste of time. Men and women were mindlessly looking at pale blue screens buzzing with static and consuming nothing but trash, trash, trash. To be fair, there is a lot of trash on the television. And there's a lot of trash in books. And now you realize that there's a lot of trash in philosophy. Penny dreadfuls have always existed and they are here to stay. But this is not the curious thing, exactly. The curious thing is that even the bad entertainment looks more like good philosophy than the bad philosophy does. This is even more clear in good entertainment. The flashing colors, the heroic and mythic poses: Superman will always be greater than the Overman, because he defends *man-as-is* and stands for what *man-can-be* and can be imagined by *men-that-are*. Family Feud contains the word 'family'. 'Feud' implies a common activity done at Thanksgiving, intimately known to many family members and therefore poetical in its understandable-ness. The children and grandma leaning on the kitchen counter in the early morning, shouting or whispering the answers to Jeopardy questions, is what good philosophy strives for -- and is, therefore, good philosophy as well as good entertainment.
What has happened after ingesting so much philosophy? You have discovered that, beyond the cave, lies a chasm. And if trash must be thrown away, then be sure to throw it into that chasm. It will fill up and eventually you may cross. But you must obtain the 'trash', or the popular entertainment, and for that, you'll have to go backwards and collect the leavings of the shadow puppeteers.
But take heart. Maybe you love philosophy. Philosophy is like mysticism. The more you learn the more you will see it in all things. And if you love philosophy you will love all things more.
| This is only my second response ever, and my first got downvoted, so here we go!
Mom! Do you know what puh-hil-osophy is?”
She didn’t respond, she must be watching family feud.
Mom always said not to learn new things without telling anyone, but I’m Eight now and I can do what I want.
I sit down, and load in the mysterious file. I’ve never heard of this show before, but that’s probably just because it’s for adults
Closing my eyes, images flash through my head. Thousands of years race race through my mind in a matter of minutes. Morals and ethics are introduced to me for the first time.
My eyes open.
With this newfound knowledge, I begin to make my way downstairs. Each stair creaks louder than before, every step hurts more than the last, every thought lingers longer than the previous.
I go to tell my mom, after all I wasn’t supposed to learn anything without telling her. And now that I knew what ethics were, I knew it would be wrong not to say anything.
I found her laying down, unresponsive. Rushing to her side, I tripped and slammed my head on our side table. I began to cry when she sprung into movement, grabbing something from behind her before stabbing me with it.
“It” turned out to be a syringe loaded with anesthesia, and I woke up in the hospital. I strangely didn’t feel anything, not even the scar from when I scraped my knee a few years back.
A nurse walked into the room. “You should be all better now. You got lucky your mom was there, or this could’ve been more serious.” She grabbed a paper from the desk next to me before leaving.
“Thanks” I muttered as she walked away, already out of earshot. I glanced over to the desk, which still had a few papers on it. Reading the top one, it contained information on the “Discharge of Body 3,473 from containment”.
Looking down, I noticed my freckles were gone, and my skin tone a shade lighter. I shook it off as part of the treatment, and went to sleep, as there wasn’t much else to do. Waking up, I checked my phone, 2:56 AM. Still in my gown, I got up to go find a water fountain of some sort.
Wandering, I came across a door labeled “Containment”. Wondering if it was related to the paper I read earlier, I peeked inside.
Giant tubes, filled with some kind of greenish-blue liquid laced the room in rows. As I approached, I noticed each tube had a small pedestal with a number and name in numerical order.
I noticed shadowy masses floating in the liquid. Pressing my cupped hands against the glass, I could make out a body, curled into the fetal position. The farther I walked, I saw various sized bodies, ranging from children to old men.
Discovering a computer near the middle, I found documents explaining what this horror room was.
“Containment Log #001:
My experiment has been approved by the board. I can now attempt to grow the first clone of a living human for organ transplants. I have not mentioned transferring consciousnesses yet, I don’t believe the board is ready. They are too close minded. As long as this continues working, I will bring up a complete consciousness transfer at the next meeting, hopefully to positive reactions.
12/18/2198 Doctor Kaid.” | 2018-12-15T22:18:33 | 2018-12-15T22:06:11 | 42 | 31 |
[WP] All your life you slaved in the mines, hauling the black rocks to your master. You hear the masters mad laugh, "Ho Ho Ho!", he demands more rocks.
Wonder what he does with them all, but best not asking, or he will call you 'naughty' and punish you. | Claus gave a hearty chuckle as he slammed the cage door shut in my face, and a chorus of giggling reindeer answered him. Behind them, I could see the faces of the elves staring helpless from their frosty workshop windows. None of them dared speak up against Santa's oppression; they were only one step up from those of us down in The Hole, and it wasn't a very high step either. Any word of disagreement would see them promptly "reassigned" to this icy hellscape, and making toys was certainly a lot cushier than clawing coal out of the icy walls. But naughty children need their gifts too, so here we are.
Old Frosty was the king down here, and no one could ever remember when Santa had first thrown him into the pit. He'd chew on his old corncob pipe and bark out orders for everyone else to meet the daily coal quota. The other guys in The Hole hated me from *minute one*. Why? Because I was new, and different. Same as any shit assignment: once you've been doing it long enough, you grow to hate anyone who hasn't had to suffer the way you have. But Frosty? He had a special grudge against me for one simple reason: I was a reindeer.
Yeah, that's right. I used to be one of *them*. At least, that's how the guys in The Hole saw it. I'd been cushioned and pampered just like the other reindeer, playing games instead of working and cavorting around in the sky. I tried to explain it to them: that the other reindeers were all dicks, and they'd abused me in every possible way. But that explanation just earned me the most savage beating of my entire life from the other workers. I learned to keep quiet about my past after that. Old Frosty had been one of them too. Word was that he and Claus had been the best of pals long ago, and there'd been some kind of falling out. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the rumor mill tended to work overtime down here with nothing to do but talk in between swings of the pickaxe. Some claimed that old Mrs. Claus had taken a liking to Frosty's long pointy nose. Others claimed that Santa grew jealous of children's affections, and wanted to knock out a rival when he had a chance. All I know is that Frosty hated the jolly bastard, and he took it out on me.
There was a cave-in about six months in, and our power was cut off. My time to shine, eh? The other workers soon discovered what had set me apart from the other reindeer, and with me leading the way we were all able to find another exit from The Hole. See, Claus only strung lights through the mine where he had to. There were all sorts of icy crevasses and dark pits that no one cared to go down and explore. But once they saw what I could do, we discovered a passage around the cave-in. A passage *out of The Hole!* And we began planning our escape that very day.
Old Frosty got jealous. He hadn't been down in the dark with us, and he wasn't part of this new brotherhood. Loyalties down in The Hole began to shift as they realized that Frosty had never actually *done* anything to earn his leadership. He was just in charge because he outlasted everyone else. I knew that, and he knew that. And he was determined to make sure that he *continued* to outlast the others, starting with me.
A pair of snowy hands gave me a strong shove from behind as I was heading deeper into the mine over a narrow icy bridge. I toppled over the side of the ledge and down into the gaping black maw below. The fall would have killed pretty much anyone, except Frosty forgot one thing: I was a fucking *reindeer*. And we can fly.
I swooped up behind him as he was chortling with his little toadies about how easy it was. I slammed straight into him, leaving a reindeer-sized hole in his rotund midsection. That just pissed him off even more. A whooping and chanting crowd gathered around us as we circled each other; loyalties were forgotten as the rest of the men just wanted to see a good fight. My nose was like a damn fire engine siren, glowing brighter than I'd ever seen it.
We tussled for an hour till I finally found the right strategy: it was the damn *hat* of his! I knocked it off and it fell squarely between my antlers, looking quite stylish. Old Frosty just stared, face frozen in one last horrified glare as he realized what was happening. Just for good measure, I bit the tip off of his long orange nose and glared around the circle, *daring* any of his little friends to defy me. No one stepped forward, and I left the now-lifeless snowman as a warning to future challengers.
"Here's the deal," I announced to everyone, claiming my spot as leader of the The Hole. "We're getting out of here. You're free to leave if you'd like, and good luck out there on the frozen tundra. But *I* have some unfinished business with the old man and his little reindeer friends. If anyone *else* would like to have a conversation with him about their treatment down in The Hole, then stick with me. It'll be an ass-kicking that will go down in history."
-----
And if you liked this story you should also visit /r/Luna_Lovewell! | "Psst. PSST. Sugarplum, are you fuckin ready? Today's the d-" Peppermint tries to say before the elves hear the grumble and squeaks of the rafters above them, indicating that the fat giant is on his way down for the daily inspection. "Hooo^oooo Hooo^oooo Hooo^oooo , what the fuck do we have here?" his bellows shake the tunnel and soot from the ceiling covers the elves. "M-m-master," pleads Sugarplum, "We're trying our best, we've lost three men this week and our picks are falling apart. There's only so much we can do!" The fat man's glare switched from Peppermint to Sugarplum, the two head elves of the mine, and they simultaneously shudder when they see the twinkle in his eye. "You've got twenty four hours," he says as he throws the heavy wooden door shut, causing more soot and ash to fall over the elves.
They wait for the wooden squeaks to cease, indicating that the man is out of hearing distance. "Alright boys, lets get going." The two leaders rally the rest of the elves and they move towards the back of the tunnel, far out of St. Nick's line of sight when he does his inspections. "Alright, you three," Sugarplum points at three younger elves that were much larger and muscular than the rest, "Get that shit out of the way and lets do this. We'll be there by dawn." The three elves close in on a large rock, get their shoulders under it and heave it over, revealing a hidden tunnel. As the sound of the boulder falling booms through the mine, the group freezes. The elves wait for any sign of a reaction from above, and after what seems like hours of silence, Pepperment whispers, "Move."
Through a mile of tunnels that had been under work for years, they were finally almost to the surface. There was but four inches of limestone between them and freedom, which was strategically left in place during the last dig. "Those flea-ridden deer aren't going to fuck this up this time, not again," says one elf under his breath. During the last escape attempt they had dug all the way through, but had decided to return the next day. Overnight, the head of the Reindeer Security Force, a brute killer named Rudy had found the tunnel and alerted St. Nick, but not before he entered it and tore apart the Head Elf, who had lead the escape, with his bare teeth.
With one thrust of his pick, Pepper busts through the limestone. Starving, thirsty, and sore, he crawls through the hole and onto the surface. Waist deep in snow, he pulls his jacket over his head as the wind whips his face. On the horizon is the warm glow of the morning sun. He takes a deep breath. Being born in the mines, he had never felt the cold air enter his lungs before. He bent over, grabbing a handful of snow and rubbing it over his face. As it melts, the cold water runs down his cheeks and neck, and it takes the black of the mines with it. The black of the soot that had been layering on his face since his birth. He reaches down to give Sugar a hand out of the hole. Sugar takes a deep breath, they look at each other, and start walking. | 2015-12-16T13:28:14 | 2015-12-16T11:25:27 | 674 | 14 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day! | "Contact in 3...2...1...grounded."
Mirai felt the deck push against him through his magboots. He was already suited up and ready to disembark. Mist began to form as warmer air flooded into the airlock. His eyes flickered across the script from his helmet HUD: mostly green but with a few orange lines of warning. *Nothing deadly but getting a lungful of that air mix will be annoying...*
"Oi, Pooks. Update: The air outside isn't so good for me, so i'm gonna keep my helmet on for the exchange. Also it's dusty"
"Do what you need MeeRah-ee. They offer 10000 credits for safe delivery of goods. Completion keep us running for quarter cycle longer. You eat like black hole, make us always in red."
Mirai grinned beneath his faceless mask. The Brot known as Pook was actually a partially energy based lifeform. As such, just basking in the heat of a nearby star with the solar collectors open would have normally be enough. His physical form was a lump of brown rock which made up his core. As such, it made sense to pair with a biological lifeform. Which was where Mirai came in. Mirai was the muscle, the face, the surgical knife: he did everything automation couldn't.
"Relax Pooks. Since you've picked me up you now have access to every job available and a 100% success rep. Feeding me has made you famous."
"Pook suppose to explore the universe! Not spend millions of credits feeding bottomless pit. Energy conversion chart says you consume more power than Pook."
"Anddd game on." Mirai slapped the big red button to open the external doors.
Mirai strode down the metal ramp and onto dry soil; his eyes locked onto the triplet of small muddy looking mammals that stood a good 10 meters back. Behind them stood a large rectangular box. A quick scan from his sensor suite noted it was a coolant device. Probably some sort of precious perishable. Also way too big for him alone to carry on board.
He waved a hand in greeting and the 3 mudrats scuttled behind the box. Mentally he winced. He kept forgetting he was 3 times taller than most of the creatures that seemed to dominate the local star cluster. Checking that the translator was on he called out a greeting.
"Hail sentients. I am Mirai, subordinate of this rock-ship. I am here to collect the goods as requested."
Twitching noses eyed him from the safety of box cover.
"I am Satik. This cargo is to be delivered to GnarrChk, a Torwen, for the price of 10000 credits. The cargo is contraband and to be caught with it is termination by federation law."
Miria frowned. The Torwen weren't exactly the most endearing of races. Nearly 4 meters tall and pretty damn slow, they looked exactly like how you'd expect a carnivorous plant to look like; gaping mouth and sharp teeth being the most of it. Becoming part of the Federation had thrilled the Torwen to bits, allowing them access to a larger and more exotic food. Naturally the consumption of sentient creatures was prohibited by law, but that didn't stop the less savoury elements of society from dealing with them. It justified the 10k priceline as well. The trashrodent continued.
"Thirty percent upfront and the rest upon delivery. Do you accept the job?"
"Goods inspection first. I'm not accepting anything without making sure i received it in perfect condition and that it ain't dangerous. 2 jobs back some Kogath scum tried to load explosives on us. You understand?"
"We understand, even we have not seen the inside of the box."
Fervent nods sent dirt clods flying in various directions. They stepped aside to let Miria access to the box. Miria strode around the 2 meter long box, quickly tapping in several commands. Even as one side slowly became transparent he scrubbed at the surface with his glove before activating his wrist light.
He froze.
"What is it?" asked one of the furrypests. All 3 were staring at the form within. Satik began to tremble violently as it stared at Mirai's armored back and gears of thought spun fitfully.
"She's human." | It’s a cool day on Raambina. About 98 kelvin, according to the forecast. On days of this temperature, most residents like the idea of staying inside. The good news for them is that every inhabitant of Raambina lives inside a facility designed to keep things about 200 degrees warmer.
“It’s too damn cold.”
“Speak for yourself, ridgeback. It’s like a sauna in here.”
Our dangerous duo, the Mammal and the Reptile, sit at the bar. They each lazily wait...
“Ah, shut up. It’s always too hot for you. I’ve been running the ship cold to keep you comfortable, and by the time I finally get to this damn ‘Sauna Paradise’ it’s only colder, if anything.”
“Well you don’t need to hang around me, I’m just here for the drinks. I’m too young to drink back home, you know.”
“Well while *you* waste our damn money on cocktails, I need to be looking for work!”
“What do you mean ‘killing our money,’ you’re drinking an Irish Coffee, of all things!”
“Well I like having a warm drink while waiting in the cold! I don’t get that experience often!”
“Then why are you complaining that it’s this ‘cold?!’”
“Because I never get to be where it’s warm for me!”
“But— ugh. Just tell me when you find work.”
The Mammal pushes away from the bar and storms off. The Reptile takes a pensive sip of his coffee. Across the room a strange creature pulls down a hat with a wide brim.
The Mammal stares around the resort and sees all sorts of beings enjoying the amenities, some of the more adventurous ones even go outside to see what the barren planet has to offer.
*There must be Eltines somewhere in this crap hole,* she thinks to herself.
(I have class in 6 hours so I’m gonna sleep now, I might come back and finish this later). | 2020-03-05T23:04:25 | 2020-03-05T22:43:21 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] The evil Emperor has discovered that a child has been born who is destined to end his rule and bring peace to the realm. He secretly arranges to send his best agents to the child's home - not to kill the child, but to ensure that the child's destiny is fulfilled. | "You are certain of this?" The Evil Emperor gazed down into the milky eyes of his court wizard, staring into them to ensure he was being told the truth. The wizard, hunched over from old age and the past few hours spent studying the star charts before him, did not gaze away. "Absolutely, my lord. In a week's time, no more, the child will be born. He will be the one to end your rule." The Emperor watched those eyes for a moment longer, searching for even the slightest moment of self-doubt, but found nothing in there but confidence in his prediction. The Emperor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, shut his eyes, and nodded. "You may go." "My lord, if I may suggest a course of -" "No. You may not." Instantly the wizard stopped talking. He knew better than to question their monarch, and with a small bow, he gathered his things and left.
Those dark eyes, that his enemies had sworn would sometimes turn crimson but which he knew had never been anything but their usual black, snapped open. His rule was going to end soon. The Child would be the one to end it. He had a week before The Child was born, and then an unknown number of years before that same child would overthrow him. He stood, robes flowing with every motion as he made his way towards his throne room, quietly contemplating along the way. The few servants he passed would later describe his mood as almost melancholy, his expression as one of regret. They were right, but they would never know why. It was imperative that they never knew why.
As he sat upon his throne, The Emperor focused his thoughts. He had much to do, and now that he had a time limit imposed on him, the number of tasks suddenly felt monumentous. But it needed to be done. First, the Child. He summoned for a small party of his Elite Guard, and in moments they were assembled before him.
"You are all to head southeast. There is a single child being born in one of the furthest villages from here. I want you to find this child." The Captain of his guard, a loyal and unparalleled soldier who had served him right throughout the war, nodded in understanding. "And what should become of this child, my lord?" "Protect him."
Some of the newer Elites cocked their heads ever so slightly, intrigued by this assignment. The Captain, unfazed as ever, voiced his next question. "Protect him, my lord?" The Emperor nodded solemnly. "Keep him safe. Tell him of my conquest when he can understand. Show him the way of the blade, and when the time comes, do not hinder him." Before the Captain could ask, he smiled softly - an act he was not known for - and clarified. "You will know the time when it comes." He waved his hand, dismissing them, and immediately the Elites began to depart, their assignment now set.
In seconds the throne room was empty save for the Emperor, and though there was no one around to observe it, that smile remained. No matter how many years were left to him, his work was coming to an end, and he needed to be sure it would not come undone when he was gone. Purging the corrupt government that had driven this land into poverty was not an easy task. Building it back up to a state of prosperity had been somewhat harder; no solving anything with the swing of a sword there. But it was finally done, and now all that remained was for the Emperor's rule to end, and an even better one to take root.
He was certain the Child could manage both. | First time at trying this, but this prompt intrigued me.
All my life i hate hated politics. All these greedy businesses bribing their way past laws and creating loop holes just to line their own pockets, not caring about who or what they destroyed. Finally it got to a breaking point where people had had enough. Roits ensued. War broke out. Generally all hell broke loose. Looking back at those years it all became a blur of how I even ended up here.
I started out leading a small group of revolutionarys within a few months I had gained enough follows to create and army. We won battles and gained more of a following, growing and growing. Pretty quickly I realised I would not be able to control the thousands of people. So I installed fear into them. Just whispers here and there. Dark things. Horrible things, the more extreme one being that I was possessed by a demon. As the battles that I had won, no one thought was possible, but it was just good planing and a lot of luck.
But now finally after all this strife making this whole planet bend to my will, to create a less corrupt people by force. The destined child will be born to bring an end to my "region of terror". They will kill me and lead this now United planet on towards great things.
And I will make sure that happens.
A small sacrifice for a better future. | 2019-05-26T23:43:39 | 2019-05-26T21:48:14 | 168 | 10 |
[WP] When humans got to space, we learned very quickly that precious minerals weren’t so precious when there were entire asteroids made of the stuff. You saw the REAL market, and sell something only Earth has that everyone wants: Shrubberies. | "Welcome to *Ericaceae Station!"* Lena said, cheerfully, as the Zolodai ambassador lumbered onto the main concourse of the large trading station in orbit around Luna.
The Zolodai lowered his shaggy-furred head so it was level with Lena's. She reached up and gently scratched the sort fur on the sides of the sloth-like Zolodai's head, and the alien in turn ran one of his long hooked claws delicately through her own braided locks. Ritualized mutual grooming was as fundamental to polite social interaction among the Zolodai as handshakes were for humans.
This greeting ritual accomplished, Lena gestured the ambassador forward and walked beside him as he made his way onto the concourse in his ponderous way. His people, she knew, were minimalists, when it came to verbal communication, so she spared her hirsute guest the usual spiel explaining the layout of the station, and allowed him to experience it for himself.
They passed down a row of fragrant bayberry shrubs, which he sniffed at curiously, and rows of hydroponically grown holly bushes, which didn't seem to interest him. When they reached the long, narrow cranberry pond, he placed his broad, flat face close to the water and glanced at her. Lena, recalling a gesture she'd learned in xeno-diplomatic training, hooked her fingers to resemble the shape of a Zolodai's claws, and lifted them to her open mouth -- indicating that the ambassador was welcome to sample the berries.
Without further prompting, the large alien slurped up a hefty mouthful of the berries from the water, chewed thoughtfully, and then gave a slight head bob -- mild approval, Lena believed. They continued to the next row of bushes, which the ambassador sniffed, and then slowly passed a claw through, revealing them as holograms.
Lena smiled. That usually got a response, as all of the other plants on the concourse were, well, *plants.* She readied herself for the next step.
"Why?" the ambassador asked, speaking for the first time.
"These holograms," Lena explained. "Are of *Vaccinium membranaceum* -- which we call the black mountain huckleberry. We have no actual specimens on-station."
"Extinct?" the ambassador inquired.
She shook her head. "Oh no, it's very much extant. It's just that huckleberries have resisted all attempts at domestication and artificial cultivation, even on our homeworld -- artificially grown plants simply don't bear fruit, for reasons we still don't understand. We've set aside large swathes of wilderness as natural huckleberry cultivation preserves, and done everything we can to encourage their growth, but even so it's very difficult to keep up with demand for the fruit of these little shrubs."
The ambassador blinked. "Why demand?"
Lena had been waiting for this. She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a handful of dried huckleberries, offering them to the ambassador. The hulking alien delicately scooped them up in his claws, and then into his mouth.
The Zolodai's eyes went wide as he tasted the tiny fruit. Though Lena was trained not to read human emotional responses into those of aliens, she was sure the tears brimming in the ambassador's eyes were a positive sign.
"We...will trade for these." the Zolodai said, hoarsely.
Lena grinned. "I'm sure we can work something out." | Shruberries are the most precious species on the universe, they are only observed on earth, something about it's unique characteristics pleases any species, it's color and shape are still a mystery, somehow the plant is capable of adapting itself to the environment even after harvested, until it uses all it's energy and is no longer materialized.
They are rare due to the conditions it encounters, the world has changed do to the pollution we caused to earth while running for space, we were really living and creating a world for robots to clean up while we were gone, as if we would all go and no soul would be left on earth.
After the very first were gone things kept the same, each day somebody dreamed on going to the stars, we forgot how things were moving. When we realized, our forests were destroyed, shrunk by half, farms turned into deserts, dust clouds ran the air, the rain was acid, and somehow, Scruberries were capable of resisting all this. When we first found it on the Amazon, they didn't even know if it was poisonous, during research humans learned it's importance and value.
News spread to the universe about a plant so unique like no other. That was the first time the riches decided to come back to visit earth, life here was still breathing, even among all pollution. | 2022-09-03T16:43:24 | 2022-09-03T13:25:30 | 72 | 10 |
[WP] Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact.
Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. The WWII bombing of Japan was a cover up. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact. Good luck! | "**Bullshit!**"
"I assure you, Mr. President, I'm being entirely-"
"That's *bullshit*, Jack, and you know it! My father was posted at Los Alamos, for Chrissakes! My grandather could watch the mushroom clouds from his goddamn *porch*!"
I sighed. I knew this was going to be difficult.
"Okay, sir. *Okay*. There is such a thing as a device that causes a massive explosion when it operates-"
"*No *shit*, Jack-"
"-and it releases a metric *fuckton* of radiation when it goes off-"
"That a scientific term?"
"-but it *isn't a bomb*."
"...Run that by me again."
I had dreaded this day, ever since they told me I'd been tapped to head up the Nuclear Advisory Council at the last conference, and told me I'd be the one who had to brief the POTUS, as the new Quarterback. It's ridiculous, since the closest I've ever been to playing the game was fumbling a tray of nachos onto my wife in college. Our jobs are high-stress, low-reward, so, we make the cheap jokes when we can. I was in charge of "handing off the Nuclear Football", which makes me... *tadaa!*, the *quarterback*. *God*, our jokes are stupid.
It helped that I knew the president, at least. We both went to Yale, but for very different reasons. I went there, be cause I wanted to know what people there knew. He went there, because he wanted to know which people were *in the know*. But, I actually like him, I even donated to his first campaign, the one that went nowhere fast. I suppose that's his *gift*, to make people like him, despite everything. It's one I'd trade Riemannien Geometry for, any day of the week.
Still, I knew he'd have difficulty choking this one down.
"It isn't a bomb, Mr. President. Or, it *wasn't supposed to be* a bomb, but that's what we used it as."
"It's not a bomb. Okay. *What is it.*"
"Does the name "Otto Stern" ring any bells, Mr. President?"
"It should. Brilliant physicist, Polish jew. Came to America fleeing the Nazis."
I was impressed. "Do you remember if he worked on the Manhattan Project?"
The president furrowed his impressive, aquiline brow, and shook his head.
"And that doesn't strike you as odd? A brilliant physicist, a contemporary of Albert Einstein, who *wasn't* working on the atomic bomb? At the time, we were using *electricians*, if they could be counted on to read voltages the right way around. It was all hands on deck!"
The president was starting to get a glazed look to his eyes, I realized I'd better hurry.
"The point is, sir, we *did* use him, but we couldn't afford to mention it. Russia might hae worked out what we did, if we had. We *still can't*, actually, in case some half-literate elementary science teacher puts *two and two together*, and works out what we actually did."
"Why, Jack? What does it matter? Could *anyone* do it, then?"
"No, it's still expensive, and you still need the plutonium. They might get mad because of what we *nearly set*-" The president glanced at his handsome watch. He had a meeting with the Prme Minister of Malaysia in five minutes. "Alright, sir, *alright.* I'm getting to the point, I swear!"
"Do it *sharpish*, Jack." The President said in a warning tone.
"What Otto Stern did, sir, was introduce the world to the idea of *zero point energy*. The baseline entropic energy present *everywhere in the Universe*. It's like... the static on a television set. In fact, a small part of the static on your television *is* that energy, sir. It's everywhere! The problem is, it isn't *concentrated* enough to do anything with."
"So?"
"So we were facing a wartime *energy shortage*. We were running out of gas. We needed electricity. So Otto did a litte experiment. He'd figured that the baseline energy potential here was too low, but there might be... *other places* where it wasn't."
"...What sort of... 'other places.' "
I grimaced. This was going to be the hard bit. "Higher-order dimensions, sir."
"*Higher order * **what?!**"
"The math was sound, sir, even if the science was shaky. He'd figured out that with enough of a push, you could make part of space... *jump* a couple dimensions. Like crinkling a piece of paper, or bunching up a string. If you were really clever about it, you could even do that using the force vectors that you'd have access to, as *part of the paper*, and-"
"-Bottom line it for me, Jack."
"...The blast comes from that higher dmension's zero point energy. It's baseline level is just *that much higher* than ours. In that *impossibly small* amount of time that our space protrudes into theirs, it pours in like a goddamn *deluge*, sir. Just like an act of God."
"...So, why do I care, Jack?"
"Actually, it's *John*, sir. And you care, because we found out that there are... *things that live there.*Horrible, *utterly insane* things. Their dimension is a *madhouse*, sir, an oppressive sweatbox of furious incandescence and physics *gone mad*. The entirety of it is coiled back into, and *on top of* itself, in a shape that we can't even *begin to picture.* To them, our world would be like a breath of fresh air and a good stretch after a *ten-thousand-year-long ride in Coach!* And we stopped testing the damn 'nukes', because... the last time we did, one of them almost *got through.*"
The president had gone pallid, his carefully-maintained 'healthy-glow' abandoning him for the moment.
He placed his hand on it, the *Nuclear Football*.
"So..." he said, his voice a bit less confident, "What's this thing for?"
I rubbed my eyes, and pointed at it. I kept them closed. I didn't want to even *look* at the horrible thing. I hated even being in the same building as it.
"Well, until a few decades ago, it did what it said on the tin. Now, it's a... it's a global *cyanide pill*."
His eyes widened, and he shot it a confused stare.
I was wrong before. *This*, this was the hard part.
"If we set off another bomb, one of those... horrors will get through. They're waiting for it, now, for just the slightest *peek* in. And one of them will squeeze through. It'll be a walking **holocaust**. It'll *poison the whole world*, just by existing. And killing it will do *nothing* to stop it's corpse simmering the world to death in a gamma-ray slow-cooker. The world's a big place. It won't happen quickly. The football is to be used to release truly massive amounts of instant-kill nerve gas into the atmosphere from hidden facilities around the world. You're entrusted with... with *putting us out of our misery.*"
The president swallowed, looked at the evil metal box, and looked back at me. "Jac-*John*, that, that's... that's... How could you expect *anyone* to-"
I stood up, leaving the gleaming ovoid next to him. "I'm *sorry*, sir. I have to go, or I'll make you late for your next meeting."
THE END
EDIT:
Hi! Hope you liked this. I've got this [subreddit over here](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) with other stuff like this, but a cool customer like you? You probably already knew that.
| "John. Five minutes." Eddy says from the door.
Eddy's been secret service since I stepped foot in the white house nine years ago. Granted that time I came in via the tunnels and the small rail system. Like a child's train at a park. This time I came through the front door.
I can hear the president-elect chatting away with staff and advisers through the door Eddy vacated.
The man's a died in the wool politician. I'll give him that.
I'm a bit more nervous than I thought I'd be. Not because I don't think he'll believe me but but because I worry he's just slippery enough to adapt and thrive with whatever the world throws at him.
"Ahh hello sir."
"They said you are my two o'clock."
"Yes sir, and your three, five, seven and nine sir. We'll be making a night of it."
He only blinked at me and looked to the man slightly behind him.
"Security sir." The sycophant said with a watery smile.
"Eddy why don't you show our friend out and tell them to bring tea." The man didn't get angry or even look like he noticed that I overstepped my bounds, though the sinking feeling in my gut told me he was very aware."
When it was just the two of us I cleared my throat.
"Sorry to do this sir but I need to verify." I held out the pad. He looked down at it then slid his index finger down the slot. He didn't grimace as it read the print then quick as lighting took a blood sample.
He sucked on his finger as he sat, crossing his legs and then swung those eyes up to me. When the device's light turned green I sat and then started.
We were two hours in when he asked his first question.
"What were they working on then?"
"I'm sorry sir?" I asked losing my train of thought.
"Einstein and Oppenheimer and what not."
"Oh. Right. Yes, well they were in fact working on nuclear weapons."
"I thought you said they don't exist."
"In fact sir perhaps it is easier to say they no longer exist. That is at one time the physical laws of the universe supported nuclear fission at the magnitudes for explosions like the fat man and little boy. Which I will get to, those weren't nukes either."
"What leveled Hiroshima then?"
"I'll get to that sir if we can get back on point?" The man's eyes narrowed and he started to sip from his tea cup, which he had long ago emptied.
"That was paradox resolution sir. Temporal involvement from future world lines. You see sir in their world like the nukes did kill those people and for them to come back in time to alter our past, well our present at the time. Anyway for them to alter our world line there needed to be the same deaths. The bombs were stolen mid-drop, we believe the devices that actually exploded were about the size of gold balls. Its a tech we haven't' cracked yet but basically it slows light down by a factor of say ten thousand, then friction takes care of the rest, super heats the air, more infrared from that etc."
"So what's in the silos?"
"Missiles sir."
"Without nuke payloads?"
"Well sir it's a bit of a dead cat, live cat thing there sir."
"What?"
"Right. Umm, That's appendix C I think sir if you will direct your attention there."
"No. What's the defense capability of our ICBMs?"
"Same as if they were armed sir. Which they might be as it happens. It gets a bit confusing. The gist of it is-"
"The gist of it?"
"Yes sir. The gist of it is the nuclear weapons devastated this planet. To the point where the whole of human society strove to undue it. If we use another nuke we can expect the same destruction at least localized deaths, vaporization zones, emp etc. But the radiation and fall out situation is non-existent."
"So... they are pretty much the perfect weapon?"
"If you want to risk using them."
Silence stretched.
"Umm, by that sir I don't mean because it will start nuclear war or anything I mean because the paradox could blink us into non-existence. In fact the scientists are pretty much of one mind now that you nor anyone ever will use nukes again. If you ever were to, the time line unravels backward in time to the point where the world line collapsed at that decision branch and a new branch coalesces."
"What?"
"You physically can't detonate a nuke, no one can. The universe, this time line, won't allow it sir."
"Bull shit. That would mean we don't have our god given freedom of choice."
"Haha. Yes sir very good. Oh. You're serious. Yes sir that is correct. It appears that with the interaction of post temporal observers we exist in a closed time curve. That is from their perspective our future is literally written. Since your actions are based solely on the inputs you observe, sight, taste, sound, etc. It has always been a possibility the universe is just a big complicated wind up clock. And that appears to be how it is."
"I don't accept that."
"I'm sorry sir?"
"I'm calling you a liar."
"Ah. Moving on, we have the moon landing-"
"That's it moving on?! I called you a liar boy what have you got to say for yourself."
"Facts are facts sir. I'm just here to give them to you, you're free to ignore them if you want. Well not free per se, I mean you're a slave to your fate the same as me. But there is good news sir. You can just ignore that and go on with your life anyway. I mean what sane man lives his life different based on whether or not fate exist. If it does great, if not ok, we make our choices as if it doesn't the same as if it does."
"Get out."
I waited until the door was almost closed behind me before I said, "I knew you were going to do that."
The look on his face was priceless. | 2015-03-18T18:49:21 | 2015-03-18T18:49:07 | 915 | 114 |
[WP] Your twin is the Chosen One, born with powerful abilities. But you were born with none. Because they were born gifted, your twin took everything from you as they bathed in the spotlight. Your anger drove you to become better, working hard to rival your twin, yet they call YOU the villain.
**EDIT** : Apparently the first two sentences are incredibly similar to a plethora of stories and shows, so I apologize if it seems like I’m copying from something. | From the titbits I’ve been granted over the years or overheard being described to Harald, my birth must have been hilarious to watch and not be a part of.
When the mother of the “Chosen One” goes into labour and gives birth, no one has any idea what to do when after popping one child out, she carries on with labour and promptly births a girl child.
Me.
There’s a prophecy. Not that it means much; they’ve changed it from what was written because of me. Because small minded idiot village-folk can’t handle when things don’t go according to plan. It states Harald is to be the Chosen One that saves us all from a nebulous darkness; a creature of some kind. I was an extra – an addon. The thing nobody wanted, and have they ever made it clear for my entire life.
Now they think I’m the creature that Harald will save them from.
Harald is popular. He’s powerful – as we’ve aged together, he’s only grown in that power. I have nothing but my own two hands and feet. He takes in the adulation; he gives it back. I am snubbed. Rotten fruit finds its way into my basket when I shop; stones thrown through my window at night. People don’t assault me directly in front of him – it’s like they’re ashamed for him to know.
I know I am.
Harald’s a good person. I’m not. I’m full of hate, full of rage. But not against Harald. Because, you see, Harald’s another half to me. He’s my twin, and I love him. He’s so compassionate – for the townsfolk, for the world. He helps animals and keeps bird feeders. He has so many cats, you wouldn’t believe. A seven foot man, built like a brick outhouse and you’ll more often than not see him at night, brush in hand with the silliest, kindest grin on his face as he tends to the fur of all his cats, or baking a cake for the next nameday. Not training his swordsmanship, or showing off, or seeking a wife at the fountain as most of the young males of the town do.
So, I can’t tell him what I’ve got planned as my final vengeance, or even why I need it. They hate me, they shun me. They make me live on the edge of town where monsters prowl – but I’ve a gift my own with the monsters. They say you live near enough to monsters of the night and you become one, but it’s hogwash. They’re just animals and as much as Harald is good with his cats and the animals of the day, I am good with monsters.
Harald just thinks I’m shy – I don’t think he recognises how cruel the world can be, how narrow minded and pathetic these villagers are.
The mayor came to me this evening. Said I was a witch for the salamander on my porch as I knit a sweater for the scaleless firedrake that bolted, shivering into my house. Said he would have me hounded from town, finally, so I can no longer bring darkness upon them, and stain Harald’s glory and honour.
After my ravens chased him off, I took a walk in the Forest, found the firedrake’s missing scales. One thing to know of having to eke an existence outside of the normal walls of the town – one learns alchemy and basic wardcraft -fast-.
Firedrake scales make for an excellent makeshift bomb, and once they are burning they melt into a paste that cannot be put out by water, and burns for a sennight. I’ve enough to make a conflagration that will destroy the entire village. I also found the salamander’s lair and a few old skins from moulting – enough for a barrier around Harald’s house that’ll protect it and him from the blaze.
He’s usually up late at night and late in the morning is when he rises, because of his cats so I can do this while he’s asleep still.
Tomorrow I’ll finally become the monster they think I am. And I’ll finally be able to rest. | **"A frisbee! A fucking frisbee!"**
I overturn another table sending accounting documents flying. "I go to the park to throw a frisbee to myself and suddenly I am being yelled at like I just launched a nuke!" I sigh and roll the nearest chair over and collapse into it."Next thing that I hear, that 'crack team' of his is yelling bloody murder saying I was releasing deadly gas!"
**"Crackpot team more like it!"**
I turn to the source of the voice. A balding man, sitting half covered in documents with his name written in large lettering over all of them. His face slightly shiny with sweat, mustn't get out much.
**"Yeah! Crackpot team! Nice one ...Devid!"** I laugh and he visibly relaxes. "You should really go tell them to back off!" Yells another playing with her rope collection.
**"I really should!"** I ponder before remembering why **"But then my snot nosed brother would be all 'Oh you cant do that! i now have to take you to jail'"** I qoute in a mocking tone. **Just because he was born cool doesn't mean I can't be just as strong as him! Maybe stronger!** I think pacing round the room. My train of thought is suddenly broken when hear a chair squeak behind me.
I turn and see 6 people including devin scooting along to open the door for me before noticing I have turned and stopping in their tracks. I walk up to them and I yell out **"you guys really believe I can do it this time?"** To a chorus of nods filling me with a swell of emotion unfelt for the longest time, hope. **"Ok! I'll do it!"** And with that I jog out of the bank, duffel bag of cash in hand. I had only intended to make a quick withdrawal for groceries but now I had a reason to pay my brother one more visit and this time, he will listen. I am sure. | 2020-01-01T07:12:48 | 2020-01-01T06:40:36 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] The day after donating blood, you receive a phone call at work. "We need you to see a specialist immediately. There's a police escort waiting outside. Go NOW." | You hadn't finished stirring the sugar into the gross brew that was more a suggestion towards coffee than coffee itself when the phone rang. You looked at the caller ID skeptically. It was a number that you couldn't remember, but the right area code. You pick up the phone and start the spiel that had been drilled into you for the years of answering said phone.
"Good morning and thank you for calling," but before you could finish.
"Hello!? Is this Alex?"
"Yeah."
"Thank Christ. This is Paul. From the blood bank. We need you to see a specialist immediately. There's a police escort waiting outside. Go. Now! I'll call your boss. It's Bob, isn't it?"
"Yeah, wait. What's this about?"
"Just go. It's vital."
You grab your badge, your bag, your keys. You slip on the coat that was slowly becoming unnecessary as Winter gave up its cold dead hand's grip on the weather. Walking out, you see that office gossip, Sandra, peeking over her cubicle. She tried to get you fired because you were "against the Lord." Fuck her. Every day you avoided her, but if it was that bad you took few extra steps towards and around her cube on your way out the door.
Outside, there were a pair of black and white cruisers, an ambulance, and a man in one of those yellow radiation or haz-mat suits waiting outside of it.
"Alex Amelia?"
"Yes."
"I'm Doctor Mbongo, infectious disease specialist. I'm going to need you to get into the ambulance."
"We'll talk more about it in the ambulance."
You look at the ambulance, there's already a driver and he's got one of those suits on, too.
"Before we go, do you have any open wounds, any cuts, any abrasions that you know about."
"No."
"Okay. That's good. Please get in?"
You follow him. The ambulance smells like antiseptic and a hint of fried food. You get in, he pulls the doors closed, and you feel the truck move immediately. No sirens.
"Can you tell me what this is about now?"
"Alex. When did you get back from Africa?"
"Wait, what? I've never been."
He looked confused. "Okay. You never have been to Africa. Then the ebola had to..."
"What? Ebola?"
"Yes. I'm afraid that the routine blood tests we run at the blood bank flagged something unusual. We did some additional testing and found Ebola antibodies in your blood, along with the virus itself."
"That's not possible."
"I'm afraid so."
"I'm going to need a list of every person you've come into contact with for the past month. 21 days is the incubation period, but we have to find others who may have been infected," the Doctor said. "Of particular importance is anyone you may have transferred fluids with."
You thought back. There was that date a few weeks ago. They were nice, but you didn't even kiss them.
"I'll need some paper."
"That's fine. We're almost to the hospital."
The doctor was quiet for a minute. You started to think about the pictures. The pictures your brother made you look at on the computer; those horrible pictures of the dead and dying people on the other side of the world. You hated him for making you look at them, but you secretly did, wanted to know. And now...this!
"Doctor, am I going to die?"
"Treatment options are very good for you. You'll likely be fine, though we'll need to quarantine you for at least a month for the incubation period to elapse."
The work. The job. The other responsibilities. "I can't. We've got an inspection in a week. I've got to be there. I haven't prepared the documents."
"I'm sorry, but we can't let you leave."
Before you really think it through you say, "I have rights!"
"A judge has implemented a court order to keep you sequestered for the incubation period. It's for the best. It really is."
You think about Sandra. You hope she gets ebola too.
"Sandra. At work. I walked by her desk."
"Okay."
You ride in silence. The dead march through your imagination, their bleeding orifices leaving trails of contamination; as you mentally detach from the images, the camera of your mind lifts up and looks down and the word "Ebola" is written in a bloody cursive on the ground, drawn by the leaking fluids. The path ended in a bloody pile of bodies, a period. The correlation with the word "period" with "menses" fluttered up and away. You always did have a particularly vivid imagination, and it usually ended up in these weird places.
The truck stopped. A knock on the door. The doctor opens it and instead of the back of a hospital you are in your driveway and your brother is standing there, stupid grin on his face, a balloon in his hand. The mylar glints the sun and you flinch away from the light. When your eyes adjust you finally read the balloon and it says, "Happy birthday."
"Oh you," you say. "You fucking asshole."
Your brother stands there and laughs and laughs.
| Lily squealed in excitement - she would see the president *in person* today. Not only that, she was personally invited by the Mayor himself to the PR event organised by her local blood donation camp.
She hopped all the way to the limo waiting for her downstairs - The two cops who'd accompany her frisked and cleared her for security before letting her enter the car. After all, she was meeting the *President*.
Lily was momentarily distracted by the TV in the luxurious Limo showing a colourful graph of crime statistics...She tried and failed to mentally tune out the underpaid & overexcited anchor showing the President's healthcare record - his genetic blood disorder had inspired him to launch a blood donation campaign that had dramatically improved rare blood availability across the country. It had also coincidentally extended his life by more than a year since. Politicians, eh?
Lily waved to the cop as he drove away after dropping her off to find the Mayor waiting for her.
"Hi, Lily. Welcome back, and Thank you for being such a regular donor. It's great to have people like you in our neighbourhood" The mayor said, briskly guiding her by the elbows into the building.
"Oh, it's nothing, Sir. Just doing my duty as a citizen."
"You've gone over and above, Lily. You don't know how much the President values your contribution - In fact, we've set up a collection desk just for you so that the President can be taken through what we do, with you getting the honor of demonstrating"
"Oh...but I just donated 2 days ago, Mr. Mayor. I don't think I'll be able to manage round so soon"
"Nonsense, Lily" He gestured to the doctor waving at her cheerfully - "We have you cleared by the President's doctor himself - He declared you the best sample he'd laid hands on"
Eager not to disappoint, Lily quickly climbed into the comfortable dentist-chair-type set-up in the middle of the room. She placed her hands gently on the arm-rest while the doctor set up the equipment around her and inserted the needle into her vein.
She could hear cheers and applause as the President arrived outside the building. She beamed as the President entered, and walked directly to her.
"Good Morning, Mr. President. It really is the greatest of honour to meet you this fine morning"
"You haven't sedated her yet" Asked the President, ignoring her completely.
Confused, Lily's eyes rose questioningly at the Mayor just as she felt the locks slide down her arms locking her in place. Lily's eyes darted around in fear, and an involuntary gasp escaped her mouth as she took in her surroundings. She noticed the now dark red tubes leading out of her arms, connected to the now visible flask collecting her blood.
The flask was to carry 5 litres of blood. She just remembered that both the president and she shared the same blood group. | 2015-03-17T09:42:03 | 2015-03-17T09:24:13 | 74 | 55 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | We thought getting rid of them would bring a stable peace to the World.
After all... Americans started the war. They were the main Military power on Earth. Without them in the picture, we wouldn't see a need to fight one another anymore. Real issues like Global Warming could finally be dealt with.
We expected World Peace. We thought other Countries would be tired of conflict.
And we were wrong.
The first 10 years were mellow. Countries spent most of their time rebuilding their infrastructures, replanting farms, stripping away Military arms for a better future.
But... While many Countries saw peace, others saw opportunity.
Russia and China had felt mistreated after the War. China's #1 trade partner was gone, and the Chinese economy was barely standing on its own two feet. The Russians were still angry after their loss. The hated the way other Countries blocked them off after the war ended... Apparently the lessons of WWI had escaped us, thinking back on it.
Israel grew terrified with the loss of its biggest supporter. In a frantic act, they would establish themselves even harder into Palestinian territory. With no one wanting to take the reigns of the Peace Talks, another war soon launched out. Other nations in the Middle East grew furious from the act, and attacked Israel.
And when all was said and done... Palestinians regained the rights to the land. But at what cost? The lands were ripped up and tarnished. Infrastructure was destroyed, and the European nations were too worried about their own recovery to support the country.
It turned towards its allies in the Middle East... Towards Saudi Arabia, a fellow Sunni nation.
This angered Iran. They put so many resources into the war. Tensions between the Shia and Sunni slowly started to rise... And another war took place after.
Drug Cartels in Mexico prospered. The Mexican Military no longer had the resources of the United States to fight them off, and the people who were suffering didn't have the ability to flee North like they once had.
So they fled South. Nations like El Salvador and Panama began taking in influxes of immigrants... But, unlike the United States, they didn't have the infrastructure to support them and their economies slowly began to degrade, encouraging Cartels to expand their business.
The Chinese were dealing with a broken economy and a massive population that only continued to expand. They had no choice... The nations around them slowly started to be swallowed up, so that the Chinese people would have more land to go to.
And Europe... They had expected peace with the leave of the United States. They reduced their Militaries to Skeleton Armies, leaving more money to transfer to improving the destroyed nations.
They didn't expect it when the Russians moved an army to take their old territories back. They didn't expect it when they began to push against the borders of the European Union.
Left with little choice, Europe federalized as one nation. They fought back.
Yes, conflict emboiled the War. The United Nations was nothing but a remnant of its own self, the UN Peacekeeping Corps didn't have the manpower to stop any of this from happening.
By the time the 50 year mark came... The World was in a state of constant chaos. Borders had changed, Countries had fallen and formed, and new Empires were rising up from the ashes.
But then the U.S. came back. Their own economy flourishing once again, their farmlands ripe and their Military expecting conflict from the start... Had they always known? Had they been watching us?
It was hard to tell.
All we knew was that a strong nation had re-entered World Politics. It had the resources we were lacking, the Military strength we needed.
It's true the Americans had started the War all those decades ago... But maybe now was their time to redeem themselves. | No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2018-01-18T00:24:00 | 2018-01-18T00:11:50 | 254 | 34 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | Alex quivered at the sight of it. The Suit. One of the most unique body armors ever, and given to his regiment for further testing after its last user perished in battle. The military had sent an entire division to retrieve it, and that mission had been classified as well. Alex only knew about it since he was one of the few who would be analyzing The Suit in preparation for its newest bearer.
Alex recounted the history he had learned in basic. Warfare had evolved since humanity left the tethers of gravity and atmospheres behind. At first, conflict was limited to those few who engaged in Space Piracy. While not easily dealt with, most battles were limited to naval warfare between ships and personnel conflict in cramped pirate bases. It was not until first contact that humanity realized they needed an invasion force for surface warfare as well.
The Xenos, as everyone called them, touched off the first space battle between unknown forces after a short jump into the Perseus Arm. First Contact was a hostile one, and all ships sent to the Arm had sent their distress beacons before loosing contact. The code on the beacons was Black "**Hostiles here. Do not follow, do not engage, abandon all personnel, do not attempt recovery**". It was a dark day for the science community, and it had thrown the High Military Command into chaos.
Humanity had since run into other galactic species, most of the friendly or at least indifferent. But some Star Empire in the Perseus Arm wanted nothing to do with anyone. Andaloid delegations were shot down, and when treating with the Cathari Merchant Guilds, the longest living trade consortium on this side of the galaxy, the military learned the Cathari had been avoiding the region for thousands of years. The first skirmish with the Xeons broke out some years later, where what seemed to be a Xeno pirate or refugee vessel tried to establish some base on a barren world. They shot down any ship sent to negotiate or survey their settlement, then used humanity's lack of ground forces to their advantage and activated some sort of shield against orbital bombardment.
Thankfully, the Science Department had been developing a suit used in environments unsuitable for humans that allowed wide ranges of movement and had its own personal life support system, yet was also durable against environmental factors and all but the largest wildlife. The blueprints had been shared with Alex's regiment of the Research Branch 30 years ago, and 5 years later the first mass produced combat suit entered service. Since then, updates and better technology had resulted in the Mark 6 suits in use today. But it was a discovery back on Earth that would shake the knowledge of the suits to its very foundation.
15 years after the first suits went into production, Multi-layer Digital Surveyors uncovered what was believed to be a tomb under a flooded cave system in Greece. The problem was, while access to the The Tomb was easy, the was no entrance to the inside. The Tomb was a cube, about 7 meters in every direction and smoother than any marble, smoother than any substance known presently to humanity. No cracks or crevices were present, no keyhole or lever discernible. It reflected all manners of scanners and sensors, and no cutting or blasting tool could even leave a mark. It baffled just about everyone on Earth and beyond.
It so happened that Alex's first month deployed in the Research Branch saw him sent with a team to resurvey the Tomb. They camped in the underwater cavern far below the surface for a few weeks, using their military grade scanners on every nook and cranny of the tomb. Still nothing. It was only on the final day, when Alex and the team reached out for the traditional "last touch" when the large cube suddenly started to shake. Mechanisms began to turn and click and suddenly a tall rectangular hole opened in the side of the cube.
What was inside was no tomb, but an armory. For one solitary piece of equipment: a solitary golden breastplate adorned with some glowing substance. It exuded power. It was taken back for study and examination, but not a single flaw was found on the breastplate. It was in wondrous condition, like it had been forged yesterday and had seen no use throughout the years. The head researcher, a hands-on maverick of a Sergeant, decided it would be best to try it on. Alex remembered as he slipped it on, a voice was heard throughout the room,
*"sequence could not be found: booting in safe mode"*
"*adapting weaponry to current environment"*
Suddenly the armor changed. It engulfed the Sergeant in a dull, somewhat reflective metallic body armor. Plasma cannons, the weapon of choice for the Sergeant, popped up on both wrists with a collapsed 3 barrel mini-gun hanging behind his left shoulder. His helmet was made of some clear substance, with a holographic overlay visible to the others in the lab. A hush had fallen over the lab by that point with none of them, including Alex, having the slightest idea of what to do next.
10 years then passed in a flash. After the first examinations and field tests of The Suit, it had been given to a trusted and capable soldier on the front lines. When the suit wasn't in battle, it was being serviced (as much as they could anyways) by the Research Branch and any new discoveries being sent to development to accelerate their own technology of the suits. It had saved them in more than one battle once the Xenos decided to step up their game, and they had discovered the suit changed to the needs and preferences of the wearer. Plasma cannons became shrapnel launchers become guided missile launchers became a titanium sword. The list was about 10 or 15 changes long by this point, as most people who wore the suit also tended to get reckless. Not to mentioned the voracity of the Xenos in killing humans meant anyone on the front-line were lucky to come back without a scratch, and most came back with at least a few limbs missing.
Alex looked at it again as he picked it up out of the scanner. It showed no signs of aging or use, not even a single blemish. Having discovered it, he had always wished to try it on once. Today was going to be that day. The researchers usually made one final test before handing it off to the next bearer, and this time it was his turn.
He went into the contained testing center, not that it ever needed it. This was just procedure at this point, to make sure the suit functioned and changed properly. Since it displayed no blemishes, they were never 100% sure that it truly functioned correctly after a users death. But every time it had resumed the previous function with the words,
"*sequence could not be found: booting in safe mode"*
Alex slipped the breastplate over his head, settled it on his shoulders and slowly breathed in. For a second, nothing happened. He glanced over at the researchers in the Control Room, then at the commander in the Observation Deck. As the head researcher reached down for the call button the suit spoke again,
"***SEQUENCE FOUND:*** ***Initiating Full Recovery"***
***"FULL CONTROL GRANTED TO USER"***
Light engulfed Alex in the center of the room. For 5 seconds, none in the Control Room or the Observation Deck could make out anything. When the light faded, Alex turned to look at himself in the mirror the team had hung on the opposite wall.
What looked back stunned him. He was adorned like some Greek Hero. The breastplate remained, but it had changed and was now trimmed with black accents around the gold and glowing portions. In addition, he now wore a black and gold tunic, grieves, gauntlets, and a helmet like the Greek warriors had worn with black plumage. All were gold with glowing designs, trimmed with some black throughout. But to him the inside of the helmet was completely transparent and obstructed none of his vision. The armor was not heavy in the slightest, in fact he felt as if he would float away if he jumped.
***"AGILITY AND STRENGTH AUGMENTATION SUCCESSFUL"***
***"GRANTING ACCESS TO ADVANCED FUNCTIONS"***
***"ACCESS GRANTED: PLASMA SWORD ONLINE"***
***"ACCESS GRANTED: PLASMA SHIELD ONLINE"***
***"ACCESS GRANTED: PLASMA SPEAR ONLINE"***
***"ACCESS GRANTED: SUMMONING MYRMIDONS"*** | All in all, The Suit was masterfully built. Layer upon layer it was designed to be anything the user ever wanted. But each time someone stepped into The Suit, it always responded with "Not original user, booting basic mode."
Of course that's why The Suit was set at Ft. Bragg for the recruit to try it out before moving into their basic training. A test if you will, like finding Grid Squares or Blinker Fluid at requisitions.
This sergeant, however, got more of a kick in having all his privates go through this ritual, even though no one would ever get the suit to change its response. Still he would see that they all went through this "test" so he could have them all run laps around the base when they failed.
Private James received the call from Sergeant Pierce to head to The Suit and try it out. Of course, Private James couldn't say no to the order and accepted it with little fan fair. Once he arrived at Requisitions, the front desk looked at the order sheet from Private James and shook her head.
"You know that he's going to fail you when The Suit doesn't work right?"
"Yeah," Private James replied, waiting for the warrant officer to sign the papers acknowledging the order, "But it'll be for a good laugh later."
She gave a soft smile and finished signing off the order and handed it back to him, "Just don't be disappointed when it happens again like all the others."
"I won't. Like trying to find Grid Squares right?"
Both laughed as he entered the door on the left and proceeded to the room. A few scientists were stationed near The Suit and looked up before all of them groaned at the Private.
"Sergeant Pierce strikes again huh?"
"You got that right." Private James laughed as he stood next to the suit. It's worn brown color and chrome edges with wires coming out from the interior. The screens from the helmet were blank and he peaked inside for just a moment before the lead scientist came up and slapped him on the back.
"Let's get this over with." The scientist said, he walked past the Private to the other room with the rest of the scientists. "Sergeant Pierce is always a hard-ass unless we do this right."
"Right." Private James replied. Once everyone left the room, Private James stepped into The Suit. The Suit closed up and the speakers sparked to life.
"Okay Private, were going to start The Suit up."
The hum of the start up sequence echoed from the room before the soft calm female voice came out of the suit.
"Boot up sequence complete, User detected: Welcome back Commander."
"What the hell!?" came the echo from the viewing room as the lead scientist yelled out. "Somebody get Sergeant Pierce up here now!"
Private James reached up with an armored covered hand and lightly hit his forehead while shaking it left to right, "Oh God, what have I done?"
"Commander?" Questioned the suit; the soft, female voice once again echoed into the room, "My analysis has determined you did nothing." Private James looked up at one of the screens to see a floating head of a woman on one of the screens. She looked like she was watching his face for any response to her query, "Did you do something?"
"Uh.. No. I did nothing." He responded, while seeing out of one other screen that some of the scientists had come out with tools, tablets, and equipment. "Who are you?"
"I'm the Artificial Intelligence CR-835. But my last user called me Catherine." 'Catherine' responded to the question. Her face seemed to light up at her name, almost as if she was recalling the last time she was fully activated.
"Catherine huh?" The face lit up once more, nodding slightly before the door was slammed open and Sergeant Pierce arrived with the Commander of the training facilities.
"What in the God damned hells happened now?" Sergeant Pierce yelled out.
Private James started to move to salute, but with all the cables and wires attached and around him, he couldn't move too much. "Sir! Just following your order, Sir!"
"Easy there Sergeant." The Commander placed a hand on Sergeant Pierce's shoulder, looking over the suit as the plates and pieces shifted and moved. "Who's in The Suit?"
"Sir, Private Edward James, Sir." Private James replied, hoping his voice was heard.
"Commander? You're a Private?" 'Catherine' asked, startling both Sergeant Pierce and the Commander.
"We'll discuss that later." Private James responded, turning his head to face the Commander, who he read on his name tag was Reed. "Commander. Permission to speak?"
"By all means, Son." Commander Reed replied, "Though it would be better if I could see your face..." He started to ask for the Private to step out of The Suit if he could, but the helmet seemed to shift and fall back into the body of The Suit. "Well I'll be.." Commander Reed seemed in awe of the movements of the suit as it shifted the materials and helmet away to revile Private James' face.
"Sir. I just got the order to try The Suit, when this happened." Private James spoke out, noticing that the lead scientist was stepping closer to examine the suit while he was in it. "If I remember, no one else got a response from the suit like this?"
"That's correct, Private." The scientist answered. Reaching out to touch the suit as some of the plates moved, "Ray Walter."
"It's a pleasure, Sir." Private James replied, shifting a bit as the scientist continued his examination. "Can I get out of The Suit?"
"Of course, Commander." 'Catherine' spoke once more, shifting the chest and leg pieces out of the way for Edward to step out of. Once he did so, The Suit closed backup as it was before with the wires hanging out before taking a few steps to stand behind and to the right of Private James.
"Seems like we have a lot to learn about each other, Private." Commander Reed spoke up, noticing the way the suit moved to be at parade rest behind the Private. "A lot to learn."
(I'll be editing/posting the next part in a few hours. Mobile editing stinks) | 2019-08-19T13:55:35 | 2019-08-19T12:49:18 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | The students filed into the room slowly, some clearly uncomfortable in the more modern clothing that had, for the moment, replaced the tradition student robes. The front of the room was dominated by a stack of crates, each containing a small chicken, in varying levels of calm.
"Silence," the professor began, gesturing toward the crates. "Today's test will be scored entirely on the practical. You have each had two weeks to design your elemental suit, and to tune it for today's task. 50 points if the chicken dies, an additional 20 points for avoiding obvious distress, and the final 30 points for, and I wish to stress this to you, Miss Havers, the amount of usable meat left on the bird after the standard Decruft charm has been applied. Automatic failures for miscasting Decruft, including deliberately casting something other than Decruft, and for use of a non-elemental or non-original suit to complete the assignment." The chickens calmed at the gesture, blissfully unaware of their impending doom. "Now, as I call you..."
"Rebecca," the teacher called as she place the first chicken on the scale. A mousy girl, with hesitant steps and glasses that made her eyes seem the size of saucers, stood and walked to the front if the class. She made a short sharp gesture, whispering under her breath. The chicken's head fell off, neatly severed by a blade of Air. "Antacroix," she intoned, and the feathers, skin and bones all neatly piled themselves in the garbage container next to the desk.. The teacher looked down and said "2kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Tyler," she called, placing an identical chicken on the scale. The ginger stepped up and clapped his hands together dramatically, as twin hands of stone pulverized the bird's head. "Antacroix," he added, sending the bones to join their compatriots in the garbage. "2 kg, no distress, 100 points."
"Jessica". A clenched fist and a snarled "Fuegomaximo" later, the teacher sniffed and said, "400 grams, some distress, 69 points."
"Robert" "Glugtegra.," he intoned, the chicken panicking as its tiny lungs filled with water. "2kg, Severe distress, 80 points.
"Alexander," she called next. Without getting up, he snapped his fingers and the chicken made a "wark?" noise before falling over. "Antacroix," he added with a yawn. The teacher pressed her lips together and said "2 kg, no distress, necromancy, 0 points." Alexander jumped to his feet and yelled. "Necromancy? That was a Stone suit!" The teacher scowled "Stone Heart is still a necromancy suit, and not original to boot. See me after class. James!!"
===
The Dean harumphed. "This should be easy enough to determine," he said, his titanic shoulders moving like bridge supports. "What did the Thaumeter register?" Miss Factial scowled again. "The Thaumeter registered .15, which is consistent with a small conjuration cantrip.. The Dean nodded. "And Stone Heart would register 76 if cast by a competent amateur. I think we can safely say that while Alexander does have an unusual background, he isn't eighty times as efficient as the ranking Necromancers on the Council. I'm going to dismiss the accusation of plagiarism. Did you bring another clone?"
Miss Fractia nodded, and placed it, and a scale, on the Dean's desk. "Repeat your spell, Alexander, but just the first one." Alexander snapped his fingers, and once again the chicken made a 'wark?' sound and expired. The Dean pulled on a pair of glaves and breathed 'Sectus Severus, splodeo'. Lines of force criscrossed the skin of the dead bird and it burst into the air, the dozens of pieces slowly revolving around a central axis, maintaining perfect relation to each other. He stared into the heart of the carcass for most of a minute before pointing to the head. "Here's the cause of death," he said. "Poor thing's brain is half-crushed and half just gone. I'm not sure how you do it with a cantrip, but that's not soul work. How'd you do it boy?"
Alexander sighed, "You aren't going to understand. It's based on something from my home world."
"Try me"
"The suit creates a very small piece of stone, but gives it an extent less than its own Event Horizon and a minuscule duration . The gravity generated inside the skull compacts some of the tissue into nothingness and liquefies the rest before the stone vanishes, preventing the destruction of the world."
"Oh." | Magic schools demand miracles and the assignments are a real pain. What's worse? The professors are all old coots in long frocks.
"Mr. Johnson, your spell is rather...rather..." Professor Pulsifer huffed, proving the point.
"Yes, sir?" Godfrey Johnson, sophomore, answered.
"Well, it's a rather crude spell. It, uh, it works, yes, that can be said. It does work, but...but...it's not what I would call...appropriate."
As these words tumbled down the professor's white beard tufts, the only thought Johnson had involved a rather violent method of removal of those very old and dignified whiskers. As a result, Johnson's abdominals crunched and stopped the emotions from showing on his scholarly face.
"Why, what's the matter with it, sir. You say it works, and sir, quite frankly, it produces quite miraculous results."
A frown appeared on Pulsifer's face, and his beard lowered itself further, almost melting into the grey floor.
"Miraculous things. Ah, yes, miraculous, the pain yes, it...it...goes away. That is true, but...but...it won't do any good in a medical setting."
"But, sir, the effects indicate that it will do splendidly. It does eliminate the pain. The motive is achieved."
"It's not the spell I have issues with. It's the...the..."
"Incantation?"
"Yes, the incantation. It's so crude. Vile stuff, really. I don't think any nurse would ever agree to chant it."
A stutterer by default, Pulsifer was eloquent when it came to handing indignations. This fact only added to Johnson's woes, who found it hard to crunch his abdominals any further.
"But sir, seen free from colloquial and cultural standpoints, as in of itself, the gesture doesn't mean anything. It's just a finger, sir, nothing more."
Pulsifer's frown deepened, the beard now lay heavily on the floor. "Mr. Johnson, here at Magic High, a finger is not in of itself a finger. You do realize that a terrible curse associates itself with the gesture. Your spell is good; you just need to change the...the..."
Finally, Johnson's abdominals gave up, and a violent breath escaped through his mouth. On his face came a scowl befitting a gargoyle, and his upper lip defied his brain to curl itself into a devilish sneer.
"What's that Johnson? This is such bad conduct. You'll be in detention, one hour, I'll write you up."
The old coot didn't stutter even once, and Johnson's abdominals resumed their emotion clogging function. It was a minor miracle. | 2021-04-02T01:22:24 | 2021-04-02T00:02:18 | 302 | 96 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | Jen gnawed her lip as she stared through the lens. Jase hadn't covered it with his thumb, which was unusual. Even more unusual, he was actually carrying groceries, a couple of big paper bags of them, one in each arm.
&nbsp;
"Please let me in, Jennifer," he said. "Things will be different."
&nbsp;
He'd had a shave and a haircut. There was a little crusted blood around one nostril, the way he got sometimes when he hadn't had any coke in a while.
&nbsp;
"Aren't you gonna tell me to turn off the computer?" she asked. In the background, the intro music of High Seas of Naelor could be heard. Sometimes that game was all that got her through the night. Jase had always hated it. He'd deleted all her accounts multiple times. She always got a new one, and now she had password managers that he couldn't crack. He'd split her lip for that once, but she had not given in. She kept the apartment spotless, she handed over every cent of her check every two weeks, she worked out and never showed him a face without nice makeup on it, but he could not take away her elf pirates.
&nbsp;
"No, Jennifer," he said. "The computer is a reasonable coping mechanism in a situation traumatic to your sp - to someone in your situation. Please let me in. We will talk. Things will be different."
&nbsp;
"I've been watching the news," she said. "You're not Jase, are you?"
&nbsp;
His eyes were big and wide and brown, not narrowed in suspicion and impending temper.
&nbsp;
"No," he sighed. "I am not Jason Alexander Rembrandt, aged twenty-nine, occupation unfixed, residence apartment 301 building N."
&nbsp;
"You're one of them things," she said. "The invaders."
&nbsp;
"Yes. I am one of them things," he said sadly.
&nbsp;
"And Jase is dead."
&nbsp;
"Yes, Jase is very dead, Jennifer," he said.
&nbsp;
"Promise?"
&nbsp;
"I promise. I currently occupy the entirety of what was once Jase's frontal lobe, so I can say this with some certainty. I apologize if that is unpleasant for you to hear." He blinked a couple of times, and she realized he hadn't blinked since the first time she'd seen him. "I suppose you will be contacting the authorities. Could I persuade you to give me a head start?"
&nbsp;
"No," Jennifer said as she took the chain off. She opened the apartment door. "But you can come in. Is that fresh bread?"
&nbsp;
The thing that wasn't Jase smiled in a way that Jase never had, as if he were genuinely happy to see her. He took the groceries into the kitchen as she locked the door again and began putting them away, his movements a little clumsy.
&nbsp;
"Yes," he said. "Jase remembered that you liked the kind with olives in it."
&nbsp;
"He never brought me any," Jennifer said.
&nbsp;
"No, he did not," the thing said. "May I stay here? Now that I have a host I have no reason to hurt anyone, you know. We only want a place to stay. All of us."
&nbsp;
"Well, you can't all stay in here," Jen said, leaning her elbows on the counter.
&nbsp;
"No, no. We would not all fit. Ha, ha?" he added hopefully.
&nbsp;
"The laugh isn't convincing," Jen said.
&nbsp;
"Sorry, Jennifer."
&nbsp;
"You can stay."
&nbsp;
"Thank you, Jennifer!" It smiled again. It kept forgetting to blink, but the smile was surprisingly real. "May I watch you play your pirate game?"
&nbsp;
Jen smiled back. "Sure. Come on."
&nbsp;
*Author's note: WOW I did not expect the level of response I got to this one! Thank you to everyone leaving comments, and to those who have given me silver and gold as well. I love parasites and symbiotes, and I actually have a novel project about one in progress, although it's post-apocalyptic and not much like the story of Jase and Jennifer. Given how much you guys seem to like this little one-shot, though, maybe I need to think about doing a modern-day retelling.* | I feel a buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out and see an emergency alert across the screen. "EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC."
"Panic?" I wonder out loud, "why would I panic?"
Just then I hear a knock at the front door. I walk over to it and peer through the blurry glass. It seems like my girlfriend Sophie.
"Sophie? Why are you home?" She stares back blankly. "Shouldn't you be at work right now? Why don't you have your key?"
No response. I back away from the door just as her jaw opens like a snake and a dark forked tongue crashes through the window and nearly reaches me, three yards away.
I turn and run to the bedroom closet. I pull out my grandfather's long double-barrelled shotgun and load it with buckshot. As I click the barrel back in place, a monster comes roaring through my hallway, now barely recognizable as Sophie. Her face is distorted, dark and cavernous and webbed tentacles flow out of her dress and pull her along both walls like an ooze.
I fire both barrels in quick succession. The blast is powerful, and leaves my ears ringing badly. The monster is thrown back to the end of the hallway. The remnants of Sophie's face were removed by the blast, revealing mottled gray reptilian skin. The impact of the buckshot was substantial, and covered the center and left side of the creature with green blood. Within moments, however, the worst of the wounds begin to close and its yellow eyes snap open.
I back away, ejecting the spent shells and fumbling for more from my shirt pocket. The creature's face opens into a wide, horrible grin. The tongue shoots out again, farther this time, and locks around my chest like a steel cable. It pulls me in while flying toward me like a smoke cloud. I am engulfed into the abyss of its mouth.
I regain consciousness while walking in the middle of the street. I have no control over my body, and I notice other people walking nearby, although I can't turn my head to look at them. There are no cars on the road. I walk for miles, feeling no fatigue and keeping a steady pace. I arrive to a house and knock on a door. My mind is foggy and I feel numb, but I know this house. This is my parents house...
I haven't written in a long time and I'm rusty. Nice prompt! Edit: typo. | 2019-01-12T04:58:53 | 2019-01-12T03:53:40 | 8,403 | 190 |
[WP] A hero and a villain are both perfectly aware of each other's secret identities. they never reveal those identities because they are the only 2 competent employees at their shared day job, and neither wants the full burden of work if the other no-shows. | They sighed as they sat across from each other in their cubicles. Their eyes just barely peered over the dividers that separated them.
“Hey, Tim.”
“How was your weekend Chia.”
“It was alright, just had some personal things to deal with, but I got through it.”
“Same.”
It was the same dry banter coworkers would always have with one another. But in their eyes, there was something deeper, the knowledge of what those ‘personal things’ were. When the day was over they would each try to foil one another.
‘He thinks I’m stupid. I know what you were doing, you ruined my project. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be running this city by now. I just need to wait for the end of the week till I get my next paycheck and then he’s really in for it. My next design will put an end to him.’
“Did you get to enjoy the weather?” Chia asked, not looking up from her computer. She rarely did during the day.
‘How stupid does she think I am, I know it’s her. She literally dresses the same, and her hair is always in the same mess. Why does she keep coming here? Is it to taunt me? Is it cause she knows even if I stop her plans that I don’t have any other income? Either way, it doesn’t matter. She ruined my last suit with whatever laser she fired at me. I have to buy more kevlar once this week is over.’
“Ah you know it was a bit windy, but I managed. How about you?” He responded half-heartedly. The amount of work they have to do after the weekend was annoying. Especially since everyone else was throwing it since they knew Chia and Tim would handle everything.
‘Oh, I bet it was windy when you were flying in the goddamn sky all day.’
“I’m glad to hear that, I stayed inside for most of the weekend, but it did look good outside.”
‘Yeah, no shit you were staying inside. You’re always building and scheming.’
‘I wish you would just stop being a bother, I can’t keep up with this salary’ they both thought.
Tim broke the pen he was holding in his left hand by putting pressure on the neck of it. The sound of the metal snapping and acrylic popping caught Chia’s attention.
Tim’s eyes shot to her with an annoyed look, to which Chia immediately looked away. She didn’t want to cause a scene at work. Though she looked up again and cleared her throat as to signal that a specific someone was arriving. He moved the pen behind his monitor and sat up.
“If it isn’t my two best workers!” The annoying overly-cheery voice of their boss Brandon rang out as he clapped a hand on Tim’s back. “Good to always see you guys chatting, ya know guys I love you.”
What little enjoyment there was in Chia’s eyes faded completely, and she could see the same happening in Tim.
“What do you have for us today Brandon?” Tim’s voice came out pleasant, but he was staring daggers at Chia because that was the only person he could direct all this towards. Brandon only spoke pleasantries to them when he needed something out of the two, otherwise, he would remain on his high horse in his office watching TV loud enough that everyone else could hear outside.
‘I could blow him up. I could send him to the moon. I could literally teleport him to Jupiter.’ Chia was just thinking of ways to end his life. But she needed this job. Yeah, she wanted to rule the world and all, but to do that she needed money. She didn’t want to just rob a bank, she’d get on the Fed’s list, and she couldn’t just embezzle funds, she already has enough trouble dealing with the IRS when she has to rent a lair.
“I was just wondering if you guys could stay late this Saturday and Sunday.”
They were silent as they both kept typing away their reports. Those were their days. Days they had to spend together regardless because of their circumstances.
“With overtime-“
“I’ll do it.” They said simultaneously.
“That’s what I love to hear!” He punched Tim’s arm playfully, but hard enough that it would sting most people for a while.
Tim’s arm felt like concrete, and Brandon recoiled his hand and tried, in what some would call a pathetic attempt, to hide the pain he was in. “Mm- Tim, you’ve been hitting the gym lately? Those biceps are hard as diamond.” He chuckled to himself, but as he walked away he nursed his hand.
‘I will partner with Chia right now and take this place down, I will fucking do it.’
“Wanna grab a coffee?” Chia asked.
There was a pause in Tim’s typing. “Yeah. I’d love a coffee.”
(They probably start dating out of spite in hopes to catch the other in the act of their secret to know for certain.) | *Oh no, oh shit, oh fuck.* I think to myself, each one panicking more than the last. This would ruin everything, my life would collapse around me. I could see it there, my newly budding love life would be decimated. I would never see my family again. *Oh God, my dog. What would happen to my dog!?*
Standing here looking at his computer, and what I see is the cleanest trail to a secret identity I've ever seen, and it will ruin my life if this gets out.
*How did he get this?* ***Why*** *did he get this?* then I hear the footsteps behind me, he's getting up, finally awake after our fight. Without turning around I speak to him.
"What is this you monster, you know what'll happen if this gets out. Why force me to find this, why show me." I'm not really asking, I know the answer but I guess I want to hear him say something that **isn't** what I fear.
That's when I turn around, and see him grinning. His dirtied face, one eye closed from swelling, blood crusted on his cheek, clothes torn, but he's *grinning* like he's won the fight. And he has. We both know it. "Simple, o'brave hero Valiant. That information is there to present you a choice, you can restrain me so the authorities take me in, but then they'll find that info and **MY** identity will be spread all over. I know how much pressure he will add to you once I'm unable to come in. You won't have time to sleep let alone interfere with me anymore."
I scowl, tempted to launch myself across the room and pummel him again, but he's right. "Why not use this to blackmail me to stop?", it's the first question that came to mind and buys me time to think.
"Oh, also very simple. Because the authorities are on their way now anyway, and the only way they won't get that info is if it gets deleted. And I'm not able to do so, I locked it to your biometrics." He starts laughing, more of a wheeze given how hard I hit him earlier. "To protect your own life, you have to protect **my** identity too!"
&#x200B;
I look at the computer angry at myself for falling into this trap. I can hear them coming up the stairs now, the Max Force squadron. I have enough time to delete it. "You bastard!" is all I say before turning around and pressing a myriad of keys, deleting it from the system. A pop up comes up, after reading it I realise I'm now stuck playing this game with him forever. He's just recorded me deleting the files.
"What the hell!" I yell, my eyes glowing as my temper flares.
He's laughing again. God damn him. "Now, if you try to quit, both our identities, and that video get leaked. I may have lost, but by God I've finally won." | 2022-10-18T02:38:23 | 2022-10-17T16:35:57 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] An alien general is baffled that their state of the art stealth ships equiped with every signal blocking and camouflage technology their species has to offer keep getting destroyed, at the same time humans discover the ability to see the colour red is apparently extremely rare | Warning lights flashed and sirens blared as 7 K-class cruisers popped into existence, their cloaks already enabled. Captain Sel remained seated as the General glared on.
"What is with all this noise?" He grumbled.
"Another sabotage attempt? Are you never going to learn?"
The past 2 years had been rife with these attempts. The General, Gar-Lo, had insisted that his men's cloaking technology was unmatched. Sel continued to prove him wrong.
"Bref, how may this time."
The young griffin tapped at the screen. "7 sir!"
The screen quickly shifted to show the ships in brilliant detail, with a small hue shift for the general. Sel had quickly learned what their advantage was, and had the color removed from all interfaces while Gar-Lo or his men were on board.
"They aren't here to attack. Just to ensure we get somewhere with this meeting." Gar-Lo held his head up, trying to intimidate the humans. "Between your numerous appearances and your apparent knack for breaking our stealth tech, we've finally agreed to discuss peace options. We can see that there is a far to even match on this battlefield, and my superiors want it to end."
Sel nodded. "I'm glad you've finally seen the light. You do understand our requests have not changed."
Back when humanity found out they were not alone, for the second time, many just wanted to remain alone. Their world had already been complicated once, they just wanted some time to deal with that.
"Assurance that your kind will remain independent, control over your star system, and collaboration on magi-tech operations, correct?"
"Yes."
The discovery that magic had worked well beyond earth was not unexpected. What was, was that the veil had not affected the rest of the galaxy. Magi-tech had been the reason humans even bothered to communicate with the outside, and proved to be the one think they really wanted.
Sel stood and began to pace, his talons clicking on the hard metal surface of the deck. Something didn't feel right. He had a good reason to trust his gut.
He paused for a moment, the light glinting off of his ice-blue eyes. "Deploy weapons! Code R-" He stopped himself. The general was still on board, and he wasn't about to reveal their secret yet.
Once again sirens blared, and the lights cut off, save for the stealth red. Gar-Lo growled, "What is the meaning of this!? I demand to know what is going on!"
Sel just stood by silently. Searching the viewing screens. Silence fell upon the deck.
In a flash, 3 more cruisers appeared, their cloaks taking time to form. But unlike the Sarrien vessels, these disappeared completely. Sel's face dropped.
Their luck had just run out.
*If there is some confusion about the "humans" in this response, go check out* r/societyofmythicpeople*. I've been fitting all my prompt responses into that universe, so if you want to see more, or learn about the first time humans learned they weren't alone, go check it out. The time difference is big enough here that I might make this it's own story as well, so if you want to see more from Sel, it will be over there. Also, if you find any errors, have any comments, critique, or questions, feel free to leave them below. I have only been writing for a brief time, but am really enjoying getting to tell these little stories.* | Damn I hate the military, at least what I managed to know of it in my 5 weeks here.
The damn war started just as we graduated, yeah I know just as I thought Im a free citizen those assholes got me. "Its a great opprtunity of serving your country!" yeah grandpa but the problem is that I run 2000m in like 12 mins and even that record was after achieved because my crush was nearby so I aint going to be a fighter pilot like you were in ehhh eeraq? Thats how you call it?. Well cutting straight to the stupid point while all my friends went into combat units and most of the girl friends got those easy desk jobs which let u come home at 16:00 im stuck on a stupid ship forca month already operating a huge cannon which could annihilate an entire navy but would never be used because as my sergeant said: "those aliens use highly sophisticated camouflage which this cannon isnt able to detect" "sir, will I be able to detect them, sir?" "maybe if you got sonar in your eye kid but you would probably be in this supernatural unit I heard they make"
Well the weirdest part and the point if my story is that I saw them, those stupid aliens painted their ships red! im going to be awarded every possible medal goddamn! Just as I took the shot that will make me a hero I heard a voice in the radio:" mayday! 57 of our ships were hit from the back!" | 2019-10-18T09:15:01 | 2019-10-18T08:46:20 | 78 | 19 |
[WP] Mankind went extinct in a cataclysm, you, however, discover that you're immortal as a result. ages later you are approached by the animals that evolved to have human-level intelligence. | It’s always been there. We call it the Teller. Apparently it was here from our beginning and while not a god or something with infinite power it just exists. It has taught us so much and while some have tried to control it and even destroy it, it persists. We aren’t even the first to evolve on this planet apparently three previous civilizations have rose up since it’s own passed into the void. One destroyed itself. The Teller said it was their own fault that they had tried to shape them like it’s own long forgotten society. The Teller does not enjoy remembering them they were the Locust and they relished in their own destruction. The second never knew of the Teller or if they did they never so much as engaged with the Teller. They were a plant species that had become sentient and the Teller was unable to speak or communicate with them at all. So the Teller spent time alone watching and monitoring them. The Teller learned so much from them they grew up bonded and never fought the Teller called them a miracle the only species to never have fought and who shared in perfect balance. You can see it in the eyes, the Teller had longed to be apart of that culture and you can sometime catch the Teller gazing into the sky and you have to think, is it searching for their ships to once again cross the sky? The Teller is always happy to speak of that species the Treetoks. The third were the Canines they had found him early in their evolution they revered the Teller even more than we do apparently though I find that hard to believe. But they too evolved and the Teller shares great joy being with them speaking with them. There was conflicts and wars and devastating terrors to overcome but they both persisted and eventually the planet had changed and the Canines decided to leave they had found new places to travel to they had offered to bring the Teller with them but the Teller declined saying that their place was here where he started was where he would end. They came back to visit telling the wonders of their discoveries until they stopped coming back. Our species is still young just blooming and the Teller has allowed us to advance so swiftly the Teller speak of the end of this planet and how the cycles will fade and become part of the reddening star. They want us to be able to leave and seek out the Treeloks and the Canines as we wouldn’t have time to discover the knowledge on our own so they guide us, they teach us, they improve us in ways we aren’t yet equipped to handle but the Teller believes in us and so we believe in the Teller. They never lie there’s no time to waste on things like that we’re told. So we work on ourselves, we long stopped trying to tell the Teller they must come with us but the Teller is dead set on staying and we are going to respect those wishes. And while we one day will have to say goodbye to the Teller. We will come back after the star is dead and light is gone we will return we have all vowed and if they still exist we will bring joy to the Teller for on our return, then we will be the Tellers and the Teller shall become The Listener. | I'd been on the summit for more years than I could count before they came. I didn't recognize them straight off, but they recognized me. When I entered the city this group called home, I understood why. They led me straight to a large building with tall doors. I didn't have to duck to pass through them, which I soon learned would not be the most common case.
The walls were covered by murals of my kind, wearing strange versions of their painters clothes. The images deified humans, as the sculptors of the world.
They lead me down a long hallway to a priest, preparing ancient artifacts. I recognised each straight off. Maybe it was the frisbee, or the tennis ball, or something in the priests face, but I could see through his words, what he really needed to hear, was how good of a boy he is, yes he is, who's a good boy? | 2018-02-22T22:01:34 | 2018-02-22T20:16:59 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] You have a power. Everyone thinks this power is completely lame. They are wrong. | Cement walls. No windows. A single dim bulb swings a slow circle at the center of the ceiling. Shadows rise and fall like waves.
Maggie sits in a metal folding chair below the lightbulb. No table. Her fingers bite into the skin of her thighs as she tugs nervously on her blue jeans.
Finally someone comes in. Two people. A man and a woman. The man has thick, black-framed glasses. The woman is wearing a heavy, gray suit. Her skirt stops midway down her shins.
The man talks first. "No one's mad at you. Alright? At least no one important."
Maggie doesn't know how to take this. Plenty of people are mad at her.
"It's not your fault," says the woman. "You know that, right? You didn't choose for this to happen."
"I didn't DO anything!" Maggie blurts out. "I was just doing my job! I don't even...What did I do?"
"A lot of people got sick," says the man. "People were scared. Your boss was scared. Probably said some things he shouldn't have."
"But I didn't..."
"Yes, you did," says the woman. "You didn't mean to, but you did."
"But I never touched the meat," says Maggie. "I just scanned the boxes. That's all. I just scanned them before the trucks went out. How could I..."
The man clears his throat. "This is going to be hard to hear, Margaret, but you...you're different."
"Different?"
"Growing up," says the woman, "did your family eat much meat?"
Maggie frowns. "We...we were all allergic. Meat made us sick. We were vegetarians."
"Allergic to meat?" says the man. "All meat?"
Maggie nods. She wonders why that sounds so odd coming from the man when it had never seemed all that odd before.
"You weren't allergic," says the woman. "You have a...a very particular power."
"A...power?"
"How long had you been working in the Chipotle warehouse?" asks the man.
"Only a few days."
The woman nods. "Margaret, you have the ability to spoil meat without even touching it."
Maggie's mouth hangs open. "I...what?"
"E. Coli. Salmonella. Rotavirus. Your mere presence causes massive bacterial contamination of nearby meats."
"There's no other way to put it," says the man. "You are a walking, talking, breathing food poisoning machine. And we want you to come work for us."
Maggie shakes her head. "That doesn't make any sense." The room seems to be spinning. The lightbulb moves faster and faster.
"Of course we'll never ask you poison regular civilians," says the woman. "Visiting foreign dignitaries, perhaps. Professional athletes. Cultists. Your powers will be used to restore balance to the world."
"By...by making people sick?"
"Very sick," says the man, nodding. He holds out a hand. "So. What do you say?" | It was half past eight, almost time for the prime minister to get lunch, well before his guards were expecting. I waited patiently for the little man to step through the thick mahogany doors. Here he comes! I centered my scope just below the man's thick toupee and squeezed the life out him. I methodically put away my equipment and trotted down the stairs. Steps and excited voices echoed up towards me and the disappeared as I approached. It was like watching a group of mimes. Slowly slowly their feet trampled furiously up the stairs. It was too easy, always too easy. I liberated a twenty from one of their wallets and went to McDougal's across the street for a well earned drink and an alibi. I'd been in the bar well before the shooting. It's amazing what you can do by simply altering a person's perception of time. | 2016-05-28T06:38:22 | 2016-05-28T04:29:18 | 82 | 10 |
[WP] You're a "skin walker" and an old one. After spending a lifetime in a skin, it must be laid to rest, and while most of your kind long for the complexity of being human, you prefer to bask in their wonder and witness their lives as their pets. | This was going to be the fourth time **HUMAN** would watch me die. Each death has been more or less the same.
I am laying, frail and weakened, on a cold metal slab in an office. **HUMAN** is crying quietly, whispering kind words in my ear, smoothing over my pelt with unabashed love. In a few minutes, another **HUMAN** in a white coat will walk in, give me an injection, and I will leave this mortal shell behind. I will of course return to **HUMAN** when I find another suitable body, but he does not know this. It may take a year, maybe several, but I will return.
**HUMAN** is not the inquisitive type. Four times now, I have inhabited the shell of another **DOG** and returned to his place of shelter. He uses terms I am unfamiliar with - stray, lost, poor thing - but the pattern is always the same. He allows me into his shelter. He feeds me. He looks for something called "My original owner" and, after enough time has passed, he will claim me as his own **DOG** and bestow upon me a name. Thus far, I have been known as Spot, Orion, Lucky and Buddy. I wonder now what my next name will be.
I have known **HUMAN** for his entire life cycle. I first came to him merely out of boredom when he was a youngling, before realizing the merits of being his **DOG**. I learned quickly of his capacity for love, an emotion my kind is wholly unfamiliar with. I soon became his **GOOD BOY**.
My second life saw **HUMAN** as a young man. He was vibrant and cunning. He allowed many female **HUMAN** to visit his shelter. He grew physically and emotionally. Despite these changes, I was always his **GOOD BOY**.
My third life saw **HUMAN** in the middle of his life cycle. He found a permanent mate, and successfully reproduced his genetic material. He found great comfort and happiness in the life he had built. I was still his **GOOD BOY**.
This fourth life saw **HUMAN** in the later stages of his life cycle. His body was now old and weak. His offspring had left the shelter to find mates of their own. His health was in serious decline, but despite this, I was always his **GOOD BOY**.
The next time I come back to **HUMAN**, things will be different. **HUMAN** will not last through another **DOG** life cycle. His time in his mortal shell will soon end. This time, it will be I who watches **HUMAN** die.
Just as he was there for me in my weakest, most vulnerable moments, I too will be there for him. His **GOOD BOY** I have always been, and always will, be. | A simple cat, just doing whatever and people not caring. Of course, there’s more method to my madness in this form. Some nights, I chase off a burglar, then use shattered vases and muddy prints to make it seem like a simple thud scared off the intruder. Some days, comforting the family, whether it be distracting the child so the parents can work or just letting them have comfort of a companion. A nice, simple life. Unlike others, I enjoy being in this position. I am considered the outcast of the clan, with preferences against tradition. I don’t care. They want too much while I enjoy so little. Maybe I should teach them.
——read more stories at r/GlacioWrites | 2021-11-10T10:18:18 | 2021-11-10T05:55:04 | 133 | 93 |
[WP] The year is 2050, Queen Elizabeth is still on the throne. The public is growing suspicious, wondering why she is immortal. | “So you’re saying you found it.”
“I told you I would. I just needed to get close enough to her. I found out why she’s still alive, and trust me, it’s gonna be the story of our careers Jack. I guarantee it’s going to be front page news.”
“So you have the footage! Send it to me. I need to verify it. Imagine it Sam. Us, Front page reporters.”
“Slow your roll man, it takes a bit of time to download.”
A video pops open on the screen of Jacks holo, the footage taking a moment to orient properly. The footage is shaky, the camera work amateur, but that is to be expected when one is forced to rely on old technology. The view of the throne room is slight, and the palace itself is dimly lit.
The Queen is sitting on the throne, her twin corgis lying at her side. These dogs, the loyal companions of Elizabeth, have survived alongside this strangely long lived queen since their birth in 2015, the last of their litter. What follows is a macabre ritual, as a man is brought in. Young, only in his early twenties, he is brought to the foot of the throne, where the two guards holding him force him down. Although he struggles, it soon ceases, as he quickly looks up, rapt, begins to willingly bow, almost as if waiting to be knighted. The queen picks up her sword, which almost appears from nothingness, and in one clean swipe, beheads him. But there is no blood splatter. Instead the blood floats towards the queens open mouth as if drawn by a vacuum. Once the body is drained, she looks towards the guards, about to dismiss them, when her head turns up, catching a glimpse of... something.” Whatever it is she sees, it has her attention, and her voice quickly echoes through the chamber, far louder than her slight frame would suggest.
“I know you’re up there young lady. It would be far easier if you showed yourself to me now, instead of forcing me to come find you.”
The Camera’s shaking begins anew, but it swiftly becomes apparent that this time it is not out of amateur camera work, but is instead out of fear. The camera woman’s voice plays through, but whatever she says is lost as the window she has been filming through shatters, the queen rising through the shattered wreckage, glass floating in the air around her.
“I gave you a choice dear. I do so wish you had listened. I might have shown mercy if you had.”
Suddenly, the camera, and the woman who it appears it was attached to, are ripped from their hiding spot, as if by invisible hands. The camera is dropped in the sudden impact of invisible force, and stays lying on the ground through the rest of the clip. The sight that follows could best be described as Monstrous, as the young dark haired woman in her thirties, who must have been the camerawoman Samantha, is slowly taken apart, held aloft by invisible limbs in front of the supposed queen that has reigned on her throne these long 98 years. What follows is a terrifying display of viscera and gore as the reporter is slowly, torturously flayed, her skin, then muscle, then bone itself torn from her body. And yet, she still screams, her voice pleading begging the monarch to stop, even once her body no longer exists. Jack, horrified and shocked, apprehensively picks up the phone
“Sam. What did I just see? What happened in there? Because it looks like you died.”
“I did die Jack. Everyone who looks into this has. We all keep dying.”
“Well then how can you be talking to me. Sam? Hello? Are you there?”
A beeping is all that is on the other end. Jack tries to redial the phone number on the burner he used to call Samantha, but the phone is disconnected, the number unavailable. As if he knows something is wrong, he turns to run for the door, only to stop as the door unlocks and opens, a lone Queens Guard standing in the entryway
“The British Empire must be preserved Jack. At all costs. I’m sorry, but your queen has need for your silence. You won’t be telling this story. No one will. Ever.”
The video fades to static, as a clipped scream begins.
Authors Note: This is my first time writing one of these, so any feed back is appreciated. I first saw these a few weeks back, but never had the courage to try until today. I hope you all liked it, or at the very least thought it was a passable story. Thanks,
ArkhonIX | And at the heart of London, a detective by the name of Ramza Holmes decided to take on the case. He spent the next months of his life digging through the archives as well as interviewing courtiers who once served in the palace.
Eventually, he discovered that at the beginning of the 66th year of her reign, the Queen obtained an artifact of unknown origin. Not many people has seen the artifact, but Holmes also discovered that ever since the Queen got the artifact, she had been very secretive about it. Anyone who were caught speaking of it were discharged from service, and in some extreme cases, disappeared. Those disappeared individuals were never accounted for.
Thus, he went to visit the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was said to have firsthand experience regarding the artifact. Unfortunately for Ramza, by the time he got there, someone else apparently got to the Archbishop first, as the latter lay down on the floor, mortally wounded.
"Detective Holmes..." said the Archbishop in a weakened voice, "It is good to see you here."
"Please don't speak, Your Eminence," Ramza tried to help him as he took out a vial of healing liquid.
"There is no need for this," continued the elder clergy, "My time is almost up, Ramza. I know what you have been doing, and I know what you are here for. The artifact which you are trying to discover... is actually a magical stone created by ancient sorcerers. It prolongs the life of the wielder, at the cost of their humanity. When the Queen got it, Her Majesty showed it to me... I tried to warn her, yet to no avail..."
"Please! Stop!" pleaded Ramza.
"No! The stone has sapped Her Majesty's human aspect, thus she is now but a puppet to the stone. For... the sake of the United Kingdom, you must go to the palace and discover what has become of the Queen... and stop her if necessary. She knows about you, Ramza, and that... is why she sent guards after me... May God protect you..."
As the Archbishop finished his sentence, he closed his eyes as all signs of life departed from him. After laying his body to rest, Ramza realized that the elder clergy has tasked him to stop the Queen and destroy the stone. Prepared to fight the Queen, he began to march to the palace... (to be continued)
&#x200B;
First prompt ever, so please go easy on me. | 2022-09-08T11:09:47 | 2019-06-27T18:58:39 | 387 | 37 |
[WP] You're immortal, but the procedure that made you so also created an evil doppelgänger. After centuries of conflict, using any means necessary to subvert each other's plans, neither of you are sure which one of you is the evil one, or if either of you were ever supposed to be evil at all. | "You fucking douche!"
"Calm yourself you blabbering imbecile"
Everything about him pissed me off.
"Obviously you have no intentions of a peaceful negotiation."
That stupid, fake accent. His condescending tone in everything he says. I dragged my bloodied leg closer to him.
"Look who's talking about peaceful! You just put a motherfucking crossbow bolt into my motherfucking knee you motherfucking cunt!"
He tries to be superior to me in everyway when he knows damn well we're practically the exact same person. Thought process, appearance, even physical strength is still very similar after 1400 years.
"I see you have taken to adopt the 21st centuries language patterns. Have you chose to adopt a new name as well?"
"Yeah, it's Mordecai now. You still go by Captain Fuckface Douchelover?" Not really my best work but these 21st century children really make their insults difficult to use.
"Shame, I quite liked Henry."
He stood up from his stone throne and began his walk towards me.
"And you know very well that my name is not Loveface Douchefucker."
He reached down and pulled the bolt from my knee. The wound closed up and healed and I stood to greet him face to face.
"Where's your damn dining hall? I'm hungry as a motherfucker so you better have some good shit!"
"Repulsive..."
We entered the dining hall of his ancient castle. I will admit, I am fairly jealous that he was smart enough to keep the deed to this place over the years. I'm stuck in a shit hole apartment in what is now known as Detroit.
"Here is your meal Hen- excuse me Mordecai."
Long ago I would be worried about him poisoning my meals but that ended long ago. Nothing can kill us. Not even each other.
"Yeah thanks cockwad."
There was a long silence while we ate. We absolutely hate each other, but we are also the only people we know that share the same experiences so it can feel nice to just chat sometimes.
"How is your lady? Lisa was it?"
"Fuckin merked."
He looked up, obviously confused by the terminology.
"Dead."
Even I could see a slight bit of sympathy behind his cold, scarred eyes.
"I'm sorry to hear that. It will be a shame you will no longer be able to, how did you say it? Tap her fat ass?"
I couldn't help but laugh at that one.
"You know shitwad, what the fuck are we doing?"
I looked across the long stone table at him.
"Obviously we are enjoying a well prepared meal."
Unusually, he didn't want to make eye contact.
"You know what I mean... For the past millennium, we've met every 100 years and take turns trying to kill each other. Does that even make sense?! I mean honestly, what the fuck did you even do over this last century?"
He still refused to look me in the eye, but I could tell he could feel how strongly I felt.
"Well I slept for about 47 years and then I looked around for ingredients for your meal."
He still retained some of my previous passions from when we first split such as my love for cooking.
"Ha just like you. Hate me more than the fucking devil and you still are courteous enough to make sure I'm comfortable for our meetings."
He finally looked up.
"I do not hate you Mordecai. I disliked your attempts to influence the world and I disagreed with your methods for obtaining power, but I have never hated you. I exist because of you. I stay fighting because I know it gives you purpose and this far into our excruciating lifes, my only purpose is to give you purpose."
He looked back away as I finished off my dinner.
"I guess if you put it that way it kinda fucking sucks... Thank you for the meal Arceus."
I caught a glimpse of a smirk as he stood to collect our plates.
"Yes, I guess it does fucking suck. You are welcome."
We talked for a while longer while we made the trek up the mountain to the arena. Reminiscent of adventures we had taken, women we had met, the men we had killed and the ones we wished we had saved. I once believed my counterpart to be the evil one. The twisted mind who kills for enjoyment or possibly just to see me suffer. I may however, had been wrong.
"Why didn't you say something long ago?"
He paused and looked over the vast mountains. Snow sparkling like glitter on a little girls brand new bicycle.
"What would you have done without me to fight. You would find others. Innocent possibly just ignorant, but no one immortal. You would fight and kill for what you believed is right. The world would no longer get to make it's own choice because you would be the decider. What is right. And what does not benefit you."
I stood near the edge and thought about all he had said. Was he really the evil one, and if not then what does that make me.
"Are you ready friend?"
I turned to face him as he opened the many wooden chests. We both picked a new blade.
"Might as well start with the swords before we get to the good shit yeah?"
No longer did we fight to kill one another. No longer did we fight for revenge. It wasn't about the world or a family we once had. It was a much more selfish fight now.
"Im feeling nice so how bout you take the first jab ya dirty bastard"
We chuckled. He plunged the steel into my heart and removed it as I stood with no flinch.
"Well, I suppose it's time to try the next one friend."
We didn't belong in this new world any more, but that really isn't our choice at this point. Now we were no longer fighting to kill one another. We were fighting to die.
I hope it was okay and everyone enjoyed! This is only my second time writing for a prompt so please give me some feedback on where to improve! | This time we had done it, the council was going to give us both an ear full for this. Our battle had destroyed a whole city block this time, both of us evenly matched in strength and wit we had come to a draw as always. Panting, bloody, numb, we fell to the ground neither of us having the will to stand. Immortality sucks when we can't go on forever, but that is just a fleeting thought as darkness consumes us both.
We awoke in a hospital bed covered in bandages and stitches. Our movements where stiff, to summon the ability to sit up felt like ages of struggle. "Why do we have to fight? We both know the outcome, we can read each other like an open book, so why do we continue to fight like this?" I can here his voice echoing through the otherwise silent room. "We fight because that is what we are supposed to do, the forces of good are supposed to fight the forces of evil" I whispered softly. "But why? Why are we, two of the same, two half's of a whole, forced to choose between good and evil? The only evil that occurs is when we battle, so why then, why do we continue to fight?" He pleaded, his voice soft and quiet now, a hint of sadness in his tone.
As I was about to answer the doors to the infirmary burst open and an ancient woman wearing elegant flowing robes made of silk so fine the air it's self seemed to flow off it. "What do you wish to do boy? Reveal us all to the world? Have them hunt us down? Immortal does not mean invincible boy" the old lady squawked in a high pitched trembling tone. "No grand magnus Genevieve" we answered simultaneously "we do not want that."
"Then why? Why did you begin your fight in the middle of the day in a fast food restaurant!?"
"Well he wanted to get a burger and fries but I wanted chicken, and then it devolved from there" he said, a hint of remorse in his voice. "Really? This was over a meal!? You two fools think that this power is just a play thing don't you? You two are some of the most powerful mages I have seen, and yet you continue to squabble like children, you are 600 years old! You should know by now that you conduct your battles in a safe place away from humans" the Grand Magnus said, her lips forming a tight line of anger.
After the Grand Magnus finished her scolding she left us to heal, sufficiently satisfied that we where both physically and emotionally in pain. Why do we fight, the question still echoed in my mind. He was right, he was not evil, the only bad he ever committed was when civilians got caught in the cross fire. So why then, is it because the Grand Magnus told us we had to? She was always going on about how the two sides must stay in equilibrium, the light and the dark, but why?
As I lay there, debating the reasons, he spoke "It is because she fears us brother, you do not see any other mages struggling like we do, we see them either act as heros or villains, but she fears us because we have a choice, a choice to walk the fine like between hero and villain, to have freedom from their constructed fates. So what do you think brother, we can become whole again, and we can do anything, no longer will we be forced to fight a war that neither side wants. Please, if not for us then the world, because if we continue to fight like this we will eventually cause a disaster" his voice rang clear and true in my head, and the words felt right. "Alright brother, let us make this fractured mind whole." | 2016-11-29T09:00:10 | 2016-11-29T08:15:27 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] A few thousand people around the world suddenly get superpowers based on the character of the last game they played. Highly valued by society you are the exception as everyone laughs at your inherited powers. The thing is, you modded the hell out of your character before this all happened.
Wow I didn't think it would blow up like this. Thank you so much kind stranger for my first ever silver. Freaking my first gold ever that is so awesome. Dont forget to show the great writers of this post some love also :) | Jeeeeeesus, check out that pathetic 'Mario' on the other side of the road. Running, jumping, and 'Wa-hoooo-ing' like a madman as he makes his way down the street... what an amateur.
I don't mean to brag, it's just that I kinda lucked out when the super power lottery was being handed out. By my count there are a couple hundred of us who received our powers from the last video game we'd all played, but I was a bit of a hobbyist modder, and as a result, my game character was a tad... overpowered at the time I was granted all his powers. God mode, all weapons, unlimited ammo and many more. You name it, I probably had the power in my arsenal.
I'm a bit of a bounty hunter in this new world full of video game powered heroes. People call me when one of my brethren get out of hand and the cops can't do jack shit to stop them. Right now I'm on a call to detain an 'incredibly annoying blue hedgehog', which I'm *not* exactly looking forward to, but a gig is a gig. The warehouse he'd been spotted at is just around this next corner and then I'll-- Oh crap... there's that Knight Solaire wannabe walking right towards me, and it's too late to change direction. *Don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact...*
"Praise the sun, good sir!" I bellowed, trying my best to stay on his good side.
"Fuck off," his muffled, echoing voice muttered as he passed by me without breaking his stride.
That was about par for the course for how those interactions typically went for me. In fairness, the folks playing Dark Souls at the time of the event kind of got the short end of the stick. Their 'powers' include being incredibly somber and moody, invulnerability for a split second while rolling, and the 'gift' of being transformed into an undead husk of a human being when they die. I was there the first time one of them found a bonfire on the beach, but when they realized couldn't kindle it or restore their humanity no matter how hard they tried, they were *extremely* pissed. I guess if I were cursed to live for eternity as a grotesque creature that looked like a raisin that had been left out in the sun 200 years, I might be a little pissed as well.
As I entered the warehouse, my worst fears were confirmed. A blue blur shot past me, shouting about how 'rad' he was, and knocking me over in the process. A life sized Sonic the Hedgehog reject stood over me wagging a finger at me as a grin crossed his distressingly human face.
To be clear, you don't HAVE to dress up like the character you received your powers from, this goober just apparently *really* wanted to dress up as Sonic. And let me tell ya, you think the CGI movie Sonic was an atrocity? Imagine the horrors I'm seeing as this middle aged, obese man sprints around the warehouse completely nude aside from oodles of blue fur poorly glued to his body. The fur did *not* leave enough to the imagination, gonna need some serious eye bleach after this is over, that's all I'm saying.
"You're too late, I'm outta here pal! Gotta go fast!" he shouted as he 'wound up' his legs and was off like a shot.
"Okay," I shrugged, as I suddenly moved at light speed and caught up with him in an instant.
"Goddamn speed hacker!" he shouted back at me as he took a hard turn to try and throw me off.
Growing tired of chasing him, I surveyed my bevy of hundreds of fully loaded weapons, selected a concussion grenade launcher, aimed, fired and... missed him by a mile. Yeah, no aimbots for me... even I had to draw the line somewhere, I *do* have my personal moral code to follow, but sadly that code was coming back to bite me at the moment. As I missed, 'Sonic' slipped through the door, slamming it shut and locking it up tight behind him.
"You're tooooo slow, dude!" he taunted me poorly through the window.
Thoroughly annoyed at him by this point, I activated the last of my major powers, slipped through the wall, and tackled the blue freak to the ground without warning.
"What the heck?!" he protested.
"No clip," I growled into his ear as I tied up his hands and feet. One more degenerate off the streets, but I can't help feeling there had to be far worse 'heroes' and 'villains' out there. I mean, odds are that *somebody* had to have been playing Mortal Kombat just before the powers got handed out, didn't they?
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories (Dudes covered in blue hedgehog hair may be denied entry, but otherwise, all are welcome!) | I messed up and I knew it. Here I was standing before a giant wall of fog, knowing that I was expected and at the same time underprepared. Looking around I didn’t see any messages or runes that would get me some backup - I had to go alone.
It was dark out. There was an argument, an errant pea thrown from my plate during dinner ended up in the afterglow of the nearby cathedral disappearing as sudden as my guilt appearing. Anyway, that’s irrelevant now.
The longer I waited here the worse it would get. I had to push on through. I checked my equipment to make sure I had everything I needed (and was supposed to have), took one last swig of my Siegbrau and passed through the fog gate.
It was dark. It was quiet.
Maybe I’d get away with this after all?
As I tip toed through the night I desperately tried to make as little noise as possible before reaching the chambers. I cracked a door open quietly, a fireplace burning opposite the foot of the bed offered me a brief respite, a feeling of warmth. The glow of the fire reflecting on the paintings on the wall, the chest at the foot of the bed. A figure now stirred from slumber. I froze and a few moments felt like forever until they went back to their deep slumber. They seemed restful.
One by one, the items came off. First a boot, then the other, then my rings, and suddenly I was standing in my underwear. I did it. I got back home without being caught. As I stepped towards the bed I suddenly lost my balance and fell backwards - I forgot to take off my damn headgear.
As I fell everything felt like it was slow motion. I heard the clatter of my helmet hit the floor. The sudden rush of wind as the bedsheets pulled back from the bed. The panic as I became aware that I’d been caught. And I needed an excuse as to why I was home so late.
Staring at me with a hollow look in her eyes I stammered my excuses in response to questions which were never asked aloud.
Silence hung the air like a diaspora with me standing here in my sun covered underwear. Time stretched out forever and suddenly there was a movement. It was subtle, unassuming. But suddenly there was a pea in her hand.
We locked stares. I’m not sure what came next but I recall her deep red pupils gazing into mine. The pea flying from her hand and I distinctly recall tracing the arc of its trajectory across the room. I remember it smacking the chest.
Silence. A brief giggle in the dark. I felt relieved. It was going to be fine.
Then the chest opened. And it stood up | 2020-01-05T14:51:34 | 2019-08-11T21:37:25 | 1,516 | 40 |
[WP] You're an Elder God. The secretive cult that worships you on earth is seriously getting on your nerves. After their fourth botched attempt at trying to summon you, you decide to show up in person to correct the record about a couple of matters they have misunderstood entirely. | What would a mortal do, if a bunch of ants gathered up in its room and started doing weird things to get their attention? I wondered. Because, that's what I was going through at the moment. I was born before this universe, born in the fiery embers of an old and long forgotten plane of existence. Being made purely of energy and Will-power, the death of my dimension did not undo my being. So I, among a few other siblings carried on, as new universes sprouted forth and old ones perished in heat-death. Such endless existence is a rather boring affair. So we resorted to observing, and once in a while, meddling, in the affairs of mortals. I had my eyes on a species of beings that call themselves "humans" for some time now. They're a rather entertaining bunch. Very ambitious, and rather destructive and savage at times. But I liked their hope and spirits. Sometimes I squeeze my vast being into one of their bodies and take it around for a ride before it explodes into blood mist from being unable to contain my immense presence. It was during one of these joyrides that I came across a group of gullible humans in a city of theirs. They were a church, a religious group gathered up in their place of worship and praying to, from the sound of it, one of my siblings who's traveled to another plane of existence recently (a few centuries in human-time) and have long forgotten the human kind. It likes its new playthings- a rather violent breed of 10-limbed creatures with hard exoskeletons and big colorful wings.
So, there I was, among the worshipers of my sibling, and I thought I'd have some fun with them. I did a few tricks for them by manipulating spacetime and voila! they appointed me as their new god. I wasn't looking for prayers. To be honest, I find the whole worship and prayer thing rather tasteless. So I left my mortal shell and went away. But since then, they've been trying to get my attention, by doing more and more ridiculous things (I mean, things you won't believe). One of them tattooed their whole skin in runes that represent my many names. One cut off their genitals, one had, hmm... let's say, did some nasty things with a goat. Each of their little 'rituals' were getting more and more weird and ludicrous. Now, as I watch on, they're carrying a baby in a cradle towards a frozen lake. I hope they're not going to do what I think they're.... and they're going to drown the baby.
"Okay, that's enough!"
I squeezed myself into one of their bodies, and yelled.
In the meantime, I made a wormhole and teleported the baby back to its parents.
"Hey dipshits, what do you think you're doing?"
Their faces screwed up into an expression of pure horror, and I realized I forgot to modulate my voice and yelled at them at a pitch too strong for them to bear.
At least half of them now had blood seeping out from their ears.
Darn it. I snap my fingers and their ears were restored.
And you- I pointed at the guy who cut off his manhood as sacrifice.
What the fuck were you thinking cutting off your organs? Why the fuck would I want that?
The man (or at least, former man) stood there mortified, clearly speechless.
I snap my finger again, and the dude dropped to his knees, clutching his crotch, as his new twig and berries grew back to replace the ones he cut off.
"Never fucking do that again!" I said in an angry tone.
Now it was the turn of the lady covered in tattoos. I walked up to her, and she fell to her knees as well, almost involuntarily.
"Good luck getting a job with all that! I pointed at the many names they call me by, that were tattooed all over her once-beautiful face. I see **Devourer of Worlds** in there etched across her left cheek. That was like, one time, about 5 billion years ago. How do they know that? I was going through a bad breakup and food made me feel less sad.
"Here, this suits you better" I said, bopping her nose and made the tattoos turn into a clown makeup.
"And what the fuck were you fuckwits trying to do just now? With the baby?" I asked to no one in particular, but to the whole crowd.
No one spoke. A few of them have emptied their bladders in the meantime. Even though I could squeeze myself into one of these mortal bodies, much of my oppressive aura still hung around. I had manifested myself in a hurry and didn't get a chance to pick a more appropriate vessel that can contain my immensity. I know they could hear me and understand me, but my presence was too much for them to overcome and do anything of their own will.
I sighed.
"Stop doing stupid shit to get my attention. This is your world. Sure, I like to pop in once in a while and check things out myself, but this place is yours. Stop looking up at the sky and wishing for some otherworldly being to come and fix your lives for you, when you are very well capable of doing that yourself. Have some dignity, will ya?"
"If you lot annoy me again, I'll turn all of you into hairy lizards. Yes that's a thing. And they're hideous. So, stop it with this cult nonsense and go live your lives."
And with that, I popped out of my meat-suit before it exploded and back into my normal form, imperceptible to them and spanning vast nebulae and millions of galaxies in this universe.
'That's a perfectly good pass-time now completely ruined' I thought to myself in regret. | \-There is just too much light in here
\-I believe that low living forms call it sun Sir- exclaimed Delius my young 6th dimensional dragon and assistant
\-I know what it is called, I have created some of those damn things you imbecile!....Although I think I destroyed a couple of those too because of how annoying that light of theirs was.
As I looked around I notice tiny meat bumps below me, they weren’t bigger than my toes, although that was relative considering that this anthropological form could change size as much as I wanted and it was easier to interact with lower dimensional beings this way, I once tried to take the form of a vegetative living form to communicate with them and the guy scared himself so much that I believe he went insane, last thing I heard from him he was talking about some “commandments”; in reality I got lost and wanted to ask for directions, but since he couldn’t comprehend my form I guess there was some distortion into what he sensed and what he was hearing, such feeble creatures…
I reduced my size until I was almost the size of one of them albeit just a little taller than them so that I could see most of them from my position, Delius decided to do the same and wrapped himself around one of my extremities.
They started dropping themselves into the ground and…Singing?
\-Delius could you elaborate to me what is happening?
\-I believe they are worshipping you Sir.
\-Wh-what? Why?
\-From why I listened from the cosmic data void, these mammals think that you are their deity and creator of everything, including them.
\-That is ridiculous! I have just been here like what, 7 times? And I only talked to a couple of locals that were bitching about some water.
\-OH GREAT CREATOR, PLEASE PROVIDE US WITH THE KNOWLEDGED AND POWER TO DOMINATE THOSE WHO OPPOSE YOUR GREATNESS
\-Are these mammals stupid or something? Did they just asked me to give them power to injure others?
\-Sir, I think they want to declare war under your name
\-Okay first of all, I don’t do war, that is just a waste of time and effort, second of all I don’t even know these idiots.
\-LORD PLEASE I BEG YOU DESTROY THE BROWN INFECTION THAT AFFECTS OUR GREAT NATION
\-What the fuck is brown? Is that another one of those mythical creatures?
\-I’m not sure sir, the records are incomplete they just describe it as a color, although I'm not sure what a color is.
\-THEY ARE TAKING OUR JOBS-
\- I j-just, I can’t, I can’t even comprehend what the fuck they are talking about anymore
\-I thought you wanted to provide some clarity towards this creature’s sir.
\-I wanted them to stop whispering while I’m resting, its annoying, imagine hearing mumbles constantly calling for your name when they can’t even pronounce it properly. Fuck this, I’m out.
And as I was about to leave, and idea popped into my mind- No wait…. I have a better idea... HEY YOU – I pointed with one of the extremities towards one of the mammals- You should at least call me by my name, I am the mighty LUCY, and this- I created a communication circle in the ground below us- IS HOW YOU CALL ME PROPERLY, REMEMBER IT AND MAKE SURE TO DO IT RIGHT THIS TIME-
I left after that as a sense of joy was felt by my little prank
\-Oh, Lucifer is going to be pissed about that one- said as i chuckled. | 2019-11-18T19:07:50 | 2019-11-18T14:27:46 | 324 | 67 |
[WP] You used to be the most powerful evil overlord humanity has ever seen. Then you turned over a new leaf, and your empire is a utopia. The only person who refuses to believe you've changed? The hero who has tried to stop you for decades. | I broke through the doors to his office. His back was to me. He still wore a cape, but now one of white and gold instead of black and red. He turned slowly, unsurprised, it seemed, at my violent intrusion. He gazed at my face and smiled.
"In a way," Emperor Streedle said, "I'm shocked it took you this long to come find me."
"When you trap a man, however superhuman he might be, in a block of solid imperturbium, and fire him off at lightspeed towards the emptiest corner of the known universe, it will take him a while to break out, get his bearings, and get back to you."
"Indeed," he said, nodding, smiling. "I suppose that would be a bit of a pickle to break free of."
I was trembling: not out of fear, but out of an eruption and overflow of emotion. My memories were flowing up from the deepest, darkest reaches of my spirit, and becoming images in my mind. The bodies, hundreds of thousands of bodies, charred and mangled, sprawled over the city streets and squares. The whole system of Pastor, with four inhabited planets, billions of lives, of souls, being sucked into a swirling black vortex. Visions of genocides in progress; flashes of their aftermaths. All because of him. This monster. This heartless villain. I clenched my teeth as I spoke:
"You might have united the Six Leagues under your command. I saw the banners, the posters, the flags: bearing your face, bearing your insignia, that symbol more loathsome to me than anything else I can bring to mind. And I can bring loathsome things to mind. The ignorant citizens who live under your command, in this illusion of a land of milk and honey, built on a graveyard, built on an infamy, a villainy so wretched, so dastardly it is unspeakable, they might wave your flag, bear your symbol, and praise you. But I--I witnessed the bloodshed and destruction waged under that shape. I know the horrors your birthed into this world. I--"
"Enough," he said calmly, like a grandfather, waving at me to stop. "Enough. I know. I know those were horrible things that I did. I know that I am beyond repentance--"
"Repentance?" I exclaimed. "Repentance? You are beyond all categories of humanity: repentance is for men who have sinned, perhaps sinned even mortally. And Hell is for men who sin mortally and are not allowed to repent, or are unable to do so properly. But you, you vile demon, you monster, you're too wretched for Hell. You'd poison it. You'd make Hell itself become ill, almost instantly. I can hardly believe the universe itself, the one you stride in, triumphantly, with your face, a face you should hate even the sight of, should feel sick at the sight of, as I do, plastered on ever street corner. Repent? No. You're a disease. A disease to reality that must be cut out."
I lunged towards him. He lifted his hand and I froze, suspended in midair. I could move no part of my body but my mouth.
"What is this power?"
"I have gained," he said, somewhat detached, somewhat sadly, "great powers, unparalleled powers from the lives I stole. I brought them, their spirits, their energies, back into me, and now I have immense strength. I believe I am immortal. Fully deathless. A being of infinite knowledge and power and life."
"It's not possible, it's not possible--"
"That the universe could be so unjust, to allow a vicious, heartless predator like me to gain such power from his acts of villainy? Yes. It hardly seems possible to me. But you must understand two things, my young friend, or, if not friend, for I see you wince at that epithet, then my young antagonist, my greatest foe and the only real challenge that ever faced me and my hegemony, you must understand that I cannot die now, not even if I wanted to, and believe me, I have tried to end my own life, and also that without me in power, constantly exercising my power, my control, directly and indirectly over all the major leaders of the Leagues, without me here, putting my immense power to work, the alliance, the union, the peacetime treaties and agreements that have stopped, for the first time in millennia, the constant blooshed, it would all fall apart, disintegrate into anarchy and violence and chaos once again. Without me here, in this tower, exercising my mind, and without my face on every corner, a symbol of power and unity and fear, all this, all this peace would fall apart utterly."
"I cannot conscience it," I said. "I cannot. A dog like you needs to be put down. And if you cannot die (which I doubt and will spend every moment of my life trying to disprove) you must leave, and subject yourself to torture for eternity, self-torture and pain. You cannot stand here, a leader and maker of peace. The stains on your spirit, that hateful, malignant spirit, are indelible. You are a monster, through and through."
"I knew you would feel this way," he said. "And I don't disagree with your feelings, through I disagree with your conclusions. You are right to feel the way that you do. Completely right. However, I cannot have you spending your days sneaking up on me at times when I need to be concentrating. Nor can I have you riling the masses up against me. I need to keep the peace. So I am sorry my old--well--nemesis. But this is the time at which you must say goodbye."
"No," I said. He slowly drew his fingers together and as he did I felt my body being crushed, the very atoms of it being mashed closer and closer together, until it went dark.
| "Hello friend," I say with a soft smile. The wrinkles across my lips crawl together as I do.
"Hello," Lawrence replies. He looks all around himself instead of at me. The autumn wind blew leaves off their homes, a few nestling in the hidey-hole between his feet. His thick brown leather jacket covered his face partially.
"Would you like to begin?" I ask and stand from the bench. My legs wavered slightly.
"May as well."
The two of us walk along for a few minutes through a park. The delicate laughter of children was like a crescendo of joy to myself, but, Lawrence didn't relish in the delight.
"As you can see quite clearly Lawrence, the environment has done a complete 180. I reverse-engineered the toxins I planted deep in the soil and recreated it stronger than it ever had been. Life now blooms here in ways it couldn't have dreamed of," A bird flies over my head and lands on the ground. It pecks at the specs of dirt trying to grab something.
"Yes," Lawrence says, shuffling in his spot. He takes a few steps forward. I can see the stress flowing down his left arm, as he leans onto a walking stick from that side. I walk over to his side and hold my arm out for him. He looks at me with a hollow stare, before gripping the side of my arm and using it to help him balance.
"I reformed the water systems globally." I point at a small bubbler to the left of us. "I used some of the high tech from my... prior inventions for this too work, but, it was well worth it. It takes the 'Salt' out of 'Saltwater.'" I turn to him and raise my eyebrows with a flourish. "Marvelous, isn't it?"
"Yes," Lawrence says. I can see a large glob of spit slides down his throat. He’s now putting a lot of weight into me. I feel no loss of pride in using my strength to hold him.
We walk for minutes to an hour, through the parks of my city, the narrow and homely streets bustling with life. Whenever he sees someone smile my way, or thank me, or acknowledging my existence with any resemblance of happiness, I feel him hold the urge to wretch. Eventually, we make it to my Capital Building, at the heart of the city. I show him through it, and everyone inside makes him feel like he belongs.
We get to my office, and I sit him down.
"So what do you think Lawrence?" I look at him with a patience gaze.
He looks me back in the eyes.
"What are you up too?" He says. My heart hurts slightly at the words.
"Absolutely nothing," I say, and lift my hand out to him. "Honestly." I see a few tears begin to stir awake under his eyes.
"I don't believe that. You've told me that before," He stands slowly, the pain in his body demanding that he grab at his walking stick. He turns from me.
"Lawrence," I yell out. He stops moving. The world around me felt so small at this moment, so insignificant, compared to the words of this one man. All I wish for is redemption. "I'm sorry."
He turns to look at me, his leather jacket no longer shrouding his face. Scars ran down the right side and burnt flesh across his lower lip. The shake in his arm gets stronger as I see his face turn to a scowl.
"I don't believe you." He says in a harsh whisper, and with tears begin to pace down his face. I let him leave, knowing there was nothing I could do to convince him.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other spicy stuff
| 2017-03-03T01:36:53 | 2017-03-03T00:35:34 | 708 | 238 |
[WP] There's a good reason that savage and terrifying monsters live in bedrooms of small children. The children need protecting. | Silence permeated the room and darkness loomed. Peter's nightlight pathetically attempted to quell the darkness but it failed. Peter heard the sound he dreaded the most out of all.
The quiet squeak of the door hinge followed by the not so quiet footsteps of his disgusting uncle.
"Hey, sport."
He whispered. His voice sounded soft, but the evil that lay within him would soon rear its fangs.
Peter let out a half-hearted whimper.
This wasn't the first time, it had happened. Peter closed his eyes, and tried to think of things that made him happy. His uncle layed a hand on the young boy's thigh, and slowly brought it downwards towards his privates. Peter tried desperately to think about something else but his mind remained in the present.
"Oh, not hard huh? Well, I am."
His uncle said through a greasy moustache, as he grabbed the boy's hand. He led the boys hand toward his crotch.
A sniff could be heard from under the bed, and a snarl echoed the room.
"What in the hell?" Peter's uncle whispered to himself. As he backed away from Peter and made his way to the door.
A tenebrous figure disguised in shadow and hatred blocked the door.
"Who the fuck are you?!" He spouted. Saliva escaped his mouth and ran down his chin.
The creature opened its eyes, and leered at Peter's uncle with an undying abhorrence. Its eyes lit the room with sapphire. It grasped his throat and held him in the air with one arm with ease.
The creature unfurled its claws and scratched and clawed at the man's groin. The sound of flesh ripping and a man howling in agony reverberated the walls. The creature then, with no hesitation, threw Peter's uncle out of the room. The drywall cracked as the fat slob of a man was launched into it.
Peter cowered in the corner of his room, horrified.
"Fear not, child. I am here only to protect you. He will never hurt you again. Whenever you are afraid, you need only look for me under this bed. And I will be here." His voice was deep and gravelly, yet like silk. It soothed Peter.
The creature's once hateful eyes now looked compassionate and caring. The creature retreated back below Peter's bed.
And Peter slept soundly for the first time in years. And he did so for the next eighty.
For he knew, the creature was never far.
***
/r/batmans_left_buttock | Claws and teeth that scratch and screech live underneath your bed.
Or if one doesn't then in the closet a snarl is heard instead.
And chikker chaks or snikker snaks that come from down the hall.
Will never peek beneath your covers to bother you at all.
But in the night when things of fright are creeping and a crawling.
It's the monster that will fight and bite while you are safely snoring.
| 2017-04-25T22:36:48 | 2017-04-25T22:33:05 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] Magic is discovered to be real. The catch? Spells are just like computer programs: difficult to write, and even harder to do correct the first try. You're a spell bug tester, and you've seen just about everything go wrong, but today's typo is on a whole other level... | "They're dead? ...... All of them?"
"Yes... yes ma'am" Bill replies back, struggling to meet my eye. It looks like he's been crying again. Oh sweet Bill, you're in the wrong line of work.
"Explain to me again how this happened..." I try to keep my tone neutral yet supportive. He still sees me as some authoritative zealot, if he would ever actually open his eyes and look at me he'd see that I'm anything but that.
He takes a few seconds to gather his thoughts. "Test groups 3,5, & 19 were assigned the new *Pacifico* spell this morning. They were supposed to begin testing at noon. The observers got back from lunch a few minutes late..." he stops and sniffles. Oh lordy, this won't be an easy day.
"and...?" I prompt him
"All they found were the bodies.... But it's odd... There's no signs of harm or any damage to them, they're just dead. It was a peaceful spell... I don't understand...."
This is certainly interesting. There's no denying that we've had deaths before, but usually it's only a handful of members of the group, and it's usually quite obvious what happened. Take the "Fountain of Youth" spell from three years ago, when a few of the teenagers started having teeth fall out and their hair grey, we had a pretty good idea what happened. That was just a simple reversed operator and a missing digit in an equation.
But no signs of death, and 100% of subjects being affected... What could this be?
"Let me see the scrolls again please" I ask Bill, he's still jumpy, but perhaps a task will help him.
He returns a few minutes later with one, scanning through it himself. I put my arm around his shoulder in a show of compassion, but his shudder is quite obvious.
"So, run me through this one again please Bill"
"Well *Pacifico* is meant to grant the caster a peaceful and relaxing day. It's supposed to silence any doubts they have, clear their mind, and give them a light DND aura"
"DND?" I can only think of one phrase that DND could represent, and if their DM is anything like mine, it's far from peaceful
"Do Not Disturb, like the hotel sign or phone setting. It's meant to make others leave them be and not pester them." He's in full stride now, I can see the colour returning to his face.
I take the scroll from him, this is quite a complex spell. Affecting the minds of others is never easy, and even an aura on the self can cause complications.
Most of this is standard boilerplate. The logical flow works, the procedure calls look good, the variables are clearly defined. What could the issue be?
"Who wrote this one?" I ask, partly out of idle curiosity, partly because I'm stumped and need to look strong.
"Sumin did ma'am." there he goes with that ma'am again.
Sumin... Sumin.... She's certainly experienced enough, she's been with us for almost a year at this point. She came to us from somewhere in the Orient, I can't recall exactly.
A thought strikes me. I quickly check the purpose portion of the spell.
Oh no....
There it is, so simple, how did we miss this.
> This spell is to help the caster quit life
I push the scroll over to Bill, pointing my finger to appropriate section.
"caster quit life....? Oh god...." he murmurs. "A quiet life, we wanted a quiet life!" this is not going to be easy on him...
And that is the story I tell all the new witches and wizards when they complain about our bureaucracy. We lost 84 kind and innocent souls that day due to a simple missing letter and oddly worded sentence.
Whenever the young'uns ask why it takes us 3 weeks before we even trial a new spell, I remind them of the quit life.
| "There. Fixed that bug, now to track down why the growth spell causes spontaneous shrinkage on Tuesday Nights."
Tom worked at Imagination Technologies, one of several companies to transition from computer software to magic. He was originally hired as a software engineer many years back. He muttered under his breath, "'The best in the field,' they said; 'he'll change the world,' they said." He was now stuck in a dead end job, tasked with mundane spell debugging for level 1 casters. The work wasn't difficult, per se, but the pay wasn't what it used to be.
He looked around the dim office. A light flickered in a far off corner. He could hear some faint chatter about last night’s football match. His cubicle was mostly empty, save a couple of pictures of his recent vacation to Mountains, hiking with his girlfriend. Ahh, how they loved nature.
Tom was startled by a low rumble of thunder, and the slow, steady, downfall of rain beginning to rattle on the window. The sky was getting dark now, nearing 6:30, and his girlfriend would be getting upset. They were supposed to be going on a nice date to the movies tonight. There was some special going on, showing old tv shows. Tonght’s feature was some old show she enjoyed back in the *old days*. Stevie Universe, was it? Or Sven Universe? Tom shook his head, he could never keep those characters straight. Besides, he needed to concentrate.
As he entered the last line of debugging logic into the spell, he emitted a sigh of relief, glad to be done for the day.
"Aand we should be good to go. Let's run a quick test before I finalize the spell tomor--”
\**poof*\*
Edit: [Part 2 is out!](https://www.reddit.com/r/tyzoid/comments/6pshox/logical_magic_part_2/) | 2017-07-26T00:37:23 | 2017-07-25T19:49:43 | 129 | 24 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | # Connection
I smiled at him. And then I winked.
“You know I’m about kill you, right?” he said slowly, trying to seem menacing.
“Cool. How about strangulation? It’s pretty visceral for you feeling the life go out of my body, and it’ll be a new and final experience for me. Win–Win”, I replied.
He looked at me, puzzled.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun! When my hyoid bone snaps, you’ll know you’re doing it right!”
He continued to stare.
“Strangle! Strangle! Strangle!”, I chanted like I was running my own pep rally.
“I’m more of a cutter”, he said. “Actually, I’ve been taking out people’s organs and mincing them and putting them back in. There’s a symbolism to it.”
“Been eating any of the organ meat?”, I asked, showing exited curiosity.
“No” he said.
“Feeding it to the victims?”
“No”
“What about making the victims do their own surgery?”
“No”
“Wow, you’re really tame aren’t you.”
“I’ve been in the newspapers. They call me The Organ Grinder.”
“That makes me think of a guy with a monkey. Geez, surely you can do better than that. Let’s get creative, kinda make it an art project.”
“You know I’m about kill you, right?” he said again.
“Yeah, whatever, now, later, it’s a world of suffering however you look at it. Less time in this shit hole seems like a win to me.” I replied.
He looked at the ground. It wasn’t going anything like the way he was expecting, I could tell that.
“How about you make me kill someone else?”
He shook his head.
“Oh *come on*”, I said. “You never going to be remembered at this rate. Your capture technique is sloppy, your calling cards aren’t memorable, and you’re not really doing it on the whole ‘terrorize your victims’ front—you’re just going for short-lived physical pain and calling it a day. You need to think bigger.”
An hour later, we were still talking. We had a plan.
“Want some food?”, I asked, “I make a mean breakfast”.
“I need to keep you tied up”
“Said the priest to the choirboy!”, I laughed. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out and it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
He was wary of course, when he untied me. But as I made breakfast and chatted cheerily, he began to relax. After breakfast, I cleared away the dishes.
“You should tie me up again”, I said.
“Doesn’t seem like a lot of point, if you’re into it.”
“Oh come on, I’m the victim! I could be trying to fight back?”
“Doesn’t seem likely at his point”, he replied.
“Oh I totally could. Look, uh, how about this knife, it’s not very sharp, but it might work.”
I tottered around holding the knife, pantomiming idiocy.
He laughed at my foolishness.
“Look at you!“ I said, smiling. “You have a really cute smile. It’s good to see you happy.”
I stepped forward, tilting my head.
He should never have let me get so close holding a kitchen knife. He should never have believed me. He looked so surprised, so hurt and betrayed.
I kept smiling.
“There there, love”, I said, “It’s all right now. I’ll hold you. It’ll be over soon.”
| He look onward, past the trees. His shoulders heaved with every breath, deep and long. Hunched legs supported his massive frame as he squatted on the dry dirt. You could almost feel sorry for him, if you knew the sort of life he'd led, and lack of facilities he had to guide him.
I looked at him in a somber way. He would have never been here, had I not taken him away from his home. They say serial killers start by harming small animals. Puppies just can't be pet in that way, but it was an honest mistake on his part. In a way, that's true here too. It's my fault Curly's wife died at George's thick hands. In essence, I had killed her. And now I was set to do it again. My third kill, and the first to come directly at my own hands. It'll be my last, too, unless I take my own life after.
As he sat on the ground, I watched the wheels in his head, unturning. I stood just behind him. He was a gentle man. But he was the giant, and the villagers were coming with pitchforks.
The only thing heavier than this man's frame was my heart. It sunk deep in my chest. My words were a blur, but his rang clear. He was happy with his newly found thought.
"Tell me about the rabbits, George." | 2015-04-29T09:50:37 | 2015-04-29T08:25:51 | 72 | 31 |
[WP]"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?", the alien being asked "It is." "So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?" "With whom?", I responded confused. "The other major race on your planet." | *"Is it true you can only see three basic colors?"* the alien being asked.
"Just about. Our eyes have three major primary colors perceived by the cones in our eyes, and most of the colors we perceive on what we call the visible spectrum are a mix of Yellow, Red, and Blue."
*"So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?"*
"With whom?", I responded confused.
*"The Other Major race on your planet."*
"I wasn't aware of any other such intelligent race."
*"But you keep care of Ghoosha ambassadors in major cities. Surely you've established a means of communication. You have hundred of humans meeting with them every day. When we arrived, we spoke to them first. They welcomed us to your planet with a spectacular display of dazzling colors and welcoming patterns, as well as a three hour dance of peace."*
"Care to describe where these Ambassadors are?"
The alien fiddled with their glowing tablet for a moment, and then responded.
*"My computer tells me that even within the borders of this country, there are ambassadors in the locations you would call Gulfport, Mississippi, Orlando, Florida, Indianapolis, and San Diego, California."*
"There must be some kind of mistake, those aren't major capitals of the U.S. Would you care to describe what the Ghoosha look like?"
"They are distantly related to the Homo Sapiens, different order but the same class of Mammlia. Unlike the fingers you have, they have pectoral flippers, and a tail fin for propulsion. The Ghoosha told me that humans have an understanding where they are allowed to occasionally visit their domain of over 71% of the surface of the planet for the purposes of sharing food and using transportation."
"Wait a minute ... flippers? Do they have a breathing hole on their back?"
*"Yes. They also use the surface of their skin on their back to relay messages and communicate on top of regular verbal singing. We thought you humans were the same, as you have* [*stripes and spots on your skin*](http://mentalfloss.com/article/65092/our-skin-covered-invisible-stripes) *and also use unusual singing and verbal communication."*
"Flippers, blow holes, in a few cities, making performances ... are you talking about Dolphins?"
The alien once again checked their tablet.
*"Correct, although we are aware they don't like being called that."*
"But humans don't have stripes. And last I saw them, which granted was when I was still a teenager, Dolphins don't change color."
*"Do you not use cameras to translate their performances? What colors do you see the Ghoosha as?"*
"I dunno, I'd say a solid grey?"
The alien looked perplexed, then twisted their tablet around to face me.
*"Would you care to tell me what you see on my screen?"*
"Looks like a solid white to me."
*"There is so much more to the spectrum that you've been missing."* | I stared blankly for a second....
"The Dungeon Dimension creatures?"
"Yes, the *Things.* They are the colour octarine but if you can't see that...*"*
"Ah. Yes, modern theory suggests they can only be seen by those with the *talent,* and we have no such humans left. In any case, the few records of those creatures we have claim the pretty ones look like a cross between an ugly octopus and an angry bicycle. I'm not so sure we *need* to communicate with them. Better to pretend we're alone, see?"
"An odd way of seeing things human, but i concede your point......."
&#x200B;
**Can't think of where to go with this one, you're welcome to edit/build upon it if you wish** | 2018-12-04T11:03:56 | 2018-12-04T11:02:30 | 7,659 | 82 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Some people are brought into this world to cure diseases, lead countries, build rockets, or fight for justice. I think I was brought into this world to serve coffee.
That’s what I tell myself every day when I unlock the door of my café. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with coffee - at first the smell, then when I was old enough, the taste. My fondest memories were always sitting at the counter in my Nanna’s little café, drinking weak coffee and reading a book while she served customers.
By the age of 11 I could brew the perfect cup, and by 12 I was helping Nanna run the place. I always admired the love she put into every order, the care she took with every customer. It wasn’t just a café to her, it was a haven for all, and a home for the two of us. “Josephine, there isn’t a soul out there in the world you can’t brighten a little bit of love. Sometimes that bit of love is as simple as a cup of coffee and a smile,” she would tell me on the rare occasion I grumbled about the early hours or the hard work.
I was only 17 when Nanna’s fight against cancer ended. We had sold our café for her treatments, but in the end I was left alone, working 3 jobs just to get by.
Now, at 21 years old, my life was back on track. I had worked harder than I’d ever worked, saved every penny I could, and 14 months ago I was able to open my own café - Joey’s. Nestled away in a quiet street, in a somewhat questionable neighbourhood, I had found a place I could afford and turn into my own little haven once again.
Business was painfully slow at first. So slow, I had to find work at another café in the mornings to support my own café. I suppose that’s irony, right?
I opened Joey’s at night still, almost a desperate bid to keep my dream alive, and that’s when I finally started bringing in regular customers. It started with The Crusher.
2:00 am, and the little bell on the door chimed. Looking up from my book, I came face to face with a giant of a man taking up my entire doorway. Bleeding heavily from a bullet wound in his shoulder, he shuffled forward cautiously, looking absolutely exhausted. I recognised him from the news - a vigilante who had earned his name thanks to the fact he crushed his victims’ bones with his bare hands - not just broken, but crushed. The lucky only had limbs crushed, but the worst offenders were usually unrecognisable. I was taken aback for a split second, and honestly a little afraid, but Nanna’s words stuck with me and I gave the man a warm smile. “What can I get for you sir?”
He paid for a large coffee (1 sugar and a bit of cinnamon), then shuffled to the booth nestled in the corner. Quickly making his order, I also placed a warm cinnamon muffin and a bottle of water on the tray, then I tucked the first aid kit under my arm and carried everything over to him. He was cursing under his breath (or so I assumed - the bandana covering his lower face muffled his words) as he inspected his wound, and he looked up in surprise as I placed everything in front of him. He rejected my offer to help tend his wounds, so I let him be, instead cleaning up the drops of blood on the floor and occasionally topping up his coffee. He left after an hour, looking in much better shape and silently tipping me as he left. I saw him two more times over the next two weeks, and did my best to give that little bit of love each time, with smiles, coffee, a few complimentary muffins, and once again the first aid kit.
The Crusher must have told some of his “colleagues” about my little café. Over the following weeks and months, more new faces started coming through my door, usually masked or cloaked, the occasional full helmet appearing as well. Business was booming and I was able to quit my other job and focus solely on Joey’s. I did, however, continue to open at night - a somewhat unusual plan for some cafés, but with the now steady stream of vigilantes and anti heroes coming through my door at all hours of the night, I was happy.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that most of these people were dangerous - I had seen the news and heard the stories, but regardless, I always tried to view every customer as another soul coming into my haven who needed that little bit of love, and my customers seemed to appreciate it. My café quickly became the place where the vigilantes of the city would start their nights with a coffee, or duck in for a quick break, a muffin, and a turn with the first aid kit. There were rules, of course - weapons holstered, no violence, no powers, and wipe your boots on the mat before entering - and it worked. The dark and shady protectors of the city continued to come through my door night after night.
Over these last few months I have seen more interesting costumes and uniforms than I ever imagined existed, cleaned up more blood than I’d ever hoped to, tended more injuries than I ever trained for, listened to more interesting stories than I’d ever heard, and served more coffee than I’d ever dreamed I could again.
I was doing what I was born to do, and I was happy. Until today.
| "You the last one left, Foxtrot?" I hear just after the door dings open. Gruff voice, but femenine all the same. Gotta be June, she's the only one who comes this close to closing time.
As I push my way out of the back, smile wide and apron twirling merrily, I see none other than June "Crow" Ubiquity standing by the front counter, shoulders still covered in snow and bird mask clipped to an ammo belt half-filled with some rather nasty looking hollowpoints tonight.
"Kids all went home hours ago; child labor laws and all that. Waltz is making a run and Tango's upstairs, need something in particular?" I ask, sliding my way towards the register. I know the answer, June's been a regular since before I earned my mantle. *one cinnamon roll, Wheatgrass shot, and a Foxtrot* I select on the screen before I'm even finished asking the question. "cash or trade?"
As she hooks the backpack around her body and reaches in, I have a pretty good idea the answer, and by the momentum of the bag a pretty good one. A sack finds its way onto the counter, clearly straining to holds its contents, but the little bag does its job and keeps me having to do mine again. "I know I always ask, but you don't use these all" Sweeny Todd" and feed em back to us, right?" I giggle a bit at the routine question, but otherwise mime a zipper over my mouth. "your payment seems to be in order, guess I'll go get your goodies. Try not to burn the place down while I'm not looking." I tease as I skip into the kitchen, pouch in hand.
Waiting for the cinnamon roll to heat up, I hear a few noises that would probably concern most people at their day jobs, especially in this part of town. The crash of several shattering objects were the first sounds. something like a wind-chime played by a drummer quickly followed. Which leads directly to the last sound; a yelp that can only mean "oh God my hand! My hand! My hand has somehow become much less hand-like why God why!" it's amazing how expressive one quick noise can be sometimes.
Reentering the dining area with bun and glass in hand, I see June patiently waiting to the side, the window lay un-filled by glass, a scattering of ceramic shards all around the floor, and a rather less-than-armed... Handed?... A person was missing the better part of their forearm near the door, idiot must have tried to make a move at Crow. Her mask was back on and her hand still trailed a light show. I tutted "now I know we're old friends Crow, but you know I hate the smell when you do that in here. Regardless, here's the Cinn and shot." she silent curtseys and accepts her foodstuffs before casually strolling back out the door.
Turning to the poor sap slouched against the wall. I approached with a bit of a sashay and a rather plain mask comfortably tossed between my hands. "Well, someone owes us for a Tango, but I suppose Crow did order a Foxtrot..." | 2018-10-20T23:47:58 | 2018-10-20T22:22:49 | 31 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | I killed the love of my life humanely. No one would argue with that. Slit her throat then squeezed her hand in the most comforting manner, as she slid down to the floor. She didn't even try to talk, not that she could have done -- not with my hand over her mouth -- but I could see clearly in her big blue eyes that she understood. That she knew I'd done the right thing.
Let me start again. By explaining to you that I never intended to become what they say I am (although, I'd call myself a humanitarian). I don't like what I do -- not one little bit. But I have to do it, nonetheless.
Maybe you don't understand yet, but hopefully, by the time I've finished telling my story, you will.
The mistake I made, I guess, was with my very first point. That allocation is the most exciting moment of any kid's life. When you're six years old, however, you invariably spend it stupidly. Charisma, 'cause you want the other kids to like you. Speed, so that you win the game of tag. Strength, so maybe your brother won't be able to hit you no more. That kind of thing.
I spent mine on something different to the other kids. I'm not saying I'm the only one to choose it for their first point, but I am saying that it fucked me up in a way it didn't fuck up the others.
You see, back then mom and dad were going through a bitter divorce. It's a hackneyed start to an origins story, right? Little kid gets disturbed by parents fighting and winds up as a criminal piece of shit. But that's not how it was. I simply didn't want to hate them anymore -- and trust me, I hated them both. Think a five year old can't despise their parents? Then you don't know many five year olds. So, by the time I get my point and I see my Adviser, I want nothing other than to stop hating them. You know what she told me?
"If you could see it from their point of view, then you wouldn't be mad with them. You'd be happy for them, because they're going to be so much happier now! And they'll have more affection left over for you."
Something like that, at any rate. My memory's not perfect, and I never said it was. So I said back to her, that I don't know how to do that. To see it from 'their point of view'.
"*Empathy*."
Just that one word, as if she was prescribing as drug that would wash away all my problems. For someone who'd put most of their points on intelligence, turns out she wasn't so smart.
So anyway, just like that, I became more empathetic.
Did it help me? Yeah, it helped. I wasn't angry at them no more. I was just sad for them. Sad that they were hurting so much inside; I wanted to do all I could to make it better. To be a better son, you know? The best son.
Thing is they didn't want a better son. They just didn't want a son, period. Not that I could see it back then. I just saw their pain.
A year passed in which I was thrown back and forth between 'em like a football. That's how I wanted to see it, at least. "Catch!" But it wasn't really like that. They were tossing a rotting apple that neither wanted to hold onto.
Empathy.
Empathy, empathy, fucking empathy.
I tried so hard to understand their pain, that before long, all I could fucking feel was their pain. It became my pain. And I didn't just feel theirs, either. Every kid I played with, every grownup that came over to sleep with whoever was unlucky enough to have custody of me. Pain.
The other kids noticed long before my parents. As I sat in the corner crying during a birthday party. As I stood at the back of the classroom, my arms shaking, as I thought about something I'd heard on the news. Something about war. Refugees. Starvation.
If I could have stopped -- chosen to level up ignorance -- I would have done. But by then, empathy had become my addiction. I didn't like the pain, but I had to help these people. I needed to understand what they were going through. So that eventually, I could to do something.
I met Sarah when I was fifteen. She was beautiful in that strange and wonderful way where you're the only person to see it. As if I was the only one who saw the perfect creases of her smile. I never knew what she levelled up. She never told me. She did hint at where had dad did to her, though. So maybe it was sadness she levelled up, or forgetting.
Misery attracts company -- I've heard people say it so it must be true. Or else maybe I just liked the way she looked at me. Curiously. The way you look at an animal in the zoo that you've never seen before.
It hurt for me to be around Sarah, but it felt better than being near anyone else, too. I suddenly had two addictions. She seemed to understand why I wasted all my points on the same fucking skill. Or, she didn't say I was stupid for doing it, at any rate. Hell, she thought it was kind of sweet, that I wanted to understand how people felt. She said no one had ever understood how she felt before. That no one had even tried.
School changed for both of us, when we became friends. But always, like fingers tapping gently on a drum, there was something sounding in the back of my head whenever I was near her.
A voice whispering, telling me that I had to help her. She needed me to help her. That I had to help her.
There was a long way to go before I'd get the chance to do so. A long way for me to travel before I truly helped anyone at all, with more than just platitudes and tears. But it's getting late, and the rest of this will just have to wait.
| Society was broken up into blocs. Since individual skill was easily determined based by point allocation, and point allocation was something you could easily access, things became caste like.
It wasn't so bad as caste systems you might expect; after all, belonging to a given caste was voluntary, and indeed, people being mismatched for the job or life they selected was unheard of; after all, you put the points in, you selected what you wanted.
The construction workers chose to work in that field just as much as the geniuses in the universities chose their field; whatever training was given to them was locked under the burden of prerequisite point allocation; after all, it would hardly be just to give someone information or training that they weren't specced into using.
Thus, mankind became palatable and a product that could be shipped and shaped according to higher directory; we lost what made us special and interesting, because, as a whole, we had shaped ourselves into being identical products, demarcated by a handful of points we were willing to spend.
I stared down at the spread of points before me, and raised an eyebrow lazily at the person across the table. "You have a spread with five points in strength, three in Int, and 12 and wisdom. The actual hell are you trying to get into?"
"Science science," The intern said. "I want to study scientists."
I stared at him for a long moment, cocking my head to the side.
As the only idiot who had maxed out wisdom in the last century, I took on a particularly awful role.
Figuring out point distributions for roles; and slotting outcasts.
And studying scientists wasn't actually a stupid idea, in the end, my thirty points in wisdom told me. The bit of me that wasn't thirty points of wisdom spoke up about the absurdity of the situation but...
"Yes, we could improve the efficiency of research if we had someone studying the interpersonal interactions and challenges that scientists face when applying for research grants and putting forth applications to allot points, couldn't we?" I asked, idly, leaning back in my chair.
"Uh, yeah," The intern said, scratching the back of his head. "That's about what I was thinking. Well, thinking recently. You know how it is when you hit twelve wisdom, you go through a few paradigms."
I remembered that distantly. I remembered how my whole life switched about and I realized how fantastically stupid it was to max out wisdom.
That was the burden of wisdom, after all; nobody appreciated you unless you were kept caged up and away from anything delicate.
Interpersonal relationships decayed fast when you actually had logical solution to problems. Nobody actually wanted to be solved. Everyone clung to some bitter nuance and ache; the quiet pains and suppositions of a system that failed to provide leniency.
Though research was being done into the wide spread ramifications of 'respeccing' as a concept, the technology wasn't quite there, and the busy body meritocratic government feared reprisal if the elderly were unshackled from their ledges of maxed out stat pools.
The brainless and those who had not dipped into the four levels of intelligence or eight level of wisdom in order to get into university might find their caste to be unpalatable if given the option, after all. The arranged marriages and grouping of traits in the large scale test populations might discover their contracts were not nirvana when they realized the invisible strings that complete whole scale surveillance tied to their secret actions.
Wisdom maxed out was truly a stupid decision, I considered.
"So... what do you think about putting more points into wisdom on my birthday?" the intern asked quietly.
I laughed. "Stick around in wisdom until at least 18, it's fucking amazing."
I signed the paperwork and stuck the bastard with me. I'd live at least long enough to see him turn to alcohol.
----
For more like this, click here. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ | 2018-09-12T08:22:13 | 2018-09-12T08:04:08 | 249 | 108 |
[WP] Salt is known to be able to repel or even contain evil spirits. As companies start to drain the Dead sea of salt to sell as a novelty, they unwillingly unleash a spirit that the Dead sea was meant to contain.
From TwoSentenceHorror | "You improbably dense motherfucker!"
There is a certain feeling you get from being cursed out someone so impressive as Merlin; even at the ripe old age of 1002 his beard flowed imposingly to the floor and his eyes flashed with untold magics.
"You complete and total cretin! It's a wonder the air isn't rushing to fill the vacuum you call a skull!"
Then again, it could get old quite quickly.
"Look, I get that I did something wrong but you still haven't told me what about draining the Dead Sea was a bad idea"
The old wizard's eyes searched the heavens for a moment, before locking into mine.
"Look, Jeff. It's Jeff right?"
"I'd rather you called me-"
"I'm going to call you Jeff and you're going to find a way to live with it. What is the most well known magic use of salt to the currently uneducated rabble populating the world?"
Embarrassingly, I didn't know. Marketing, finance, politics and boxes all fall squarely within my wheelhouse, less so a field of study I grew up thinking had never been real.
"Er, I'm not certain?"
"Of course you aren't. Gift of prophecy my ass, this century wasn't worth getting out of the tree for. If I'd known I'd have passed it up for more sleep, and I've been sleeping for well over half a millennia. Salt, you pathetic excuse for a new breed noble, repels, or in vast quantities, contains, evil spirits.
That would actually explain why he'd opened this conversation by appearing in my office and throwing table salt at my face
"I had to be certain you weren't one, yes. Still human, although how you've kept that raggedy piece of wet dishcloth you call a soul intact is beyond even my powers"
I was no further to understanding why the hell an ancient wizard was mad at me, I was late for several meetings and he hadn't stopped insulting me since he got here.
"Look, Merlin-"
"Put some respect on my name child, I've got near enough a thousand years on you and I'd accomplished more than your whole company at half your age."
"Does *Lord* Merlin work?"
"Merlin is fine, I want you to watch your damn tone"
"With respect Merlin, why are you yelling at me about salt?"
"*Because you've been draining the Dead Sea for the last five years to sell as fucking paperweights you short-sighted greedy mouthbreathing excuse for a sapient mammal!"*
Clearly the respect in this interaction only went one way.
"I don't appreciate you speaking to me like that in my own-"
"And I don't appreciate literal centuries of work being irretrievably shafted by a man who clearly can't fuck anything else. Trust me, I would know."
At this point my secretary came through the door, which was odd as I hadn't called him.
"Yes sir?"
"Darryl what have I said about coming into my meetings? I don't need anyt-"
Merlin cut right across me like I was a convenient field on a school route
"He's talking to me. Darryl, grab me some coffee would you? I haven't had any and I've been asleep since before this continent was invaded. Thanks mate"
Then he turned back to me.
"Let me explain this in a way your single track mind may understand, and because it has nothing to do with watching incremental amounts of money increase overtime, that means I'll have to default to explaining it like you're a child. Again."
There he took a very deep breath before addressing me again.
"The Dead Sea was filled with salt, Jeff, because we successfully sealed a great and terrible evil underneath it. In theory, because it was useless the worst people would do was float in it. Instead, because you've drained it, the only thing stopping said evil from rising is the water, which, admittedly my oversight, *isn't running*. Ergo, there is now what you might term a *fucking problem.*"
Darryl came back with the coffee. One coffee.
"Here's my phone sir, you said you'd need it?"
"Yes, unfortunately. You can come back and get it in a second. Go have a break, you've earned it."
I don't think I've been given such a filthy look since I was a child, but Merlin channeled parental disapproval very well.
"*NOW*, because of your idiocy, I now have to join an video tour a flat in fucking London of all places, because Arthur won't be moved from his precious Camelot, despite the fact it's now buried under two different council estates. Then we have to convince Chulainn not to declare war on the British because he went under a little before 900 years of oppression and he's already warp spasmed twice. Thank you for that migraine."
I felt compelled to at least stay on the matter at hand
"What about the great evil you blame me for unleashing?"
"Oh now you care, you sorry excuse for a disappointing fart? We'll take care of it once we have a base of operations, which I am told will cost us most of Arthur's fortune for a three bed flat."
The phone rang in the silence.
"Yup. Arthur? Great, now about the deposit..."
I went to go get my own coffee for once. Seemed like that sort of day. I caught Darryl on my way downstairs.
"Cancel my meetings for the afternoon."
He was so polite to Merlin, so I have no idea why the boy responded to me like he was depressed.
"Yes Mr. Bezos"
He could certainly teach the old man something about respect. | "Angelica, pull the trigger..."
A man's body dropped and it immediately began to sink into the black and white ceramic floor. He squirmed in pain, trying to cover the wound in his head as the ground swallowed him. Soon, he was just bits of greasy hair which stuck out from the tiles. The girl, teary eyed, dropped the gun and ran as far as she could from the building...
"The investigation on the mysterious disappearance of Roberto Castillo, the former CEO of Canasta S.A. is ongoing. Reports say that he was last seen entering a local hospital with an unidentified woman..." A cute reporter talked about the case on tv while the man's portrait was shown in the background. Two men sat in an empty bar. The older of the two, a fisherman, was very disturbed by the case on tv.
"I'm tellin ya, Mikey. He disrespected the sea and *it* has come back to bite em..."
"Doyle, that's a load of bullshit and you know it. Dude was involved with dangerous men and paid the price for it. No one makes this much money on stupid salt."
Doyle pondered for a moment as he took a shot from his glass.
"Oh he was, but there are things, that no matter how much power you get. You do not disrespect em. I'm runnin far away from here, Michael. I'm done with this company and you should do the same."
"You know I need the money..."
"This is not worth the money, or your life! This sea is cursed! Cursed I tell ya!"
The two men were interrupted by someone kicking the door open. He was covered in blood and had a makeshift tourniquet stopping the bleeding from his missing forearm. He struggled to yell at them as he hyperventilated.
"Help! Guys, the salt farm. We were out... Out at sea with the other guys and... And... Come quick!"
"Jesus Christ, Jason! What in the hell happened to you?" Michael dropped his drink and Doyle crossed himself and began reciting prayers beneath his breath.
A great sand storm had formed around them. Jason guided the two to his truck and drove them to the beach. Doyle was still not saying a thing, he was too shocked by what was going on. So Michael asked further.
"Jason, what the hell is going on? Where are you taking us?"
"To the... The salt farm, dude. The old man, he called it *the lady of the sea.* David and Carlos are dead, man! They're dead!" He was shivering and had difficulty seeing through the cloud of sand as he drove.
"You better be joking! What even happened?"
"It just appeared, man..."
"Look out!" Michael interrupted him, but it was too late. They crashed into a person standing in the middle of the road, obscured by the storm.
"Oh... No no no no no..."
"Jason, calm down! Just... Help me take a look at that guy!" The three of them got out of the car to check on the person, only to find them half sunken in the pavement. Their blood drained from their faces and they got back inside. Jason took a moment to scream his lungs out, startling the other two, but they did nothing to stop him.
"We have to put the salt back..." Doyle muttered.
"Say that again."
"The salt, we have to put it back in the sea!" | 2022-05-05T02:50:48 | 2022-05-05T01:41:47 | 46 | 15 |
[WP] The villains finally managed to defeat the league of heroes. But unbeknownst to them the league did not exist, primarily, to fight them, but to keep an even bigger threat in check: you. And you are about to demonstrate to the villains what happens when there is no one around to stop you. | Sitting on my balcony overlooking the lake a new day had finally come. As the sun rose on me crunching softly on my eggs and toast, I felt the tendrils of her power slowly fade and dissipate into the wind. I had yearned for this moment yet all I could feel was a bittersweet sadness, a sudden loneliness with her presence gone.
I had heard of the villains rising up against the league but I simply had not had much concern. After all at the centre of the league was Selendra. With her constant embrace now gone from my mind I knew they had been defeated.
We had started as two young fools in love, taken by the turn of fancy as we came into our powers. Selendra had been the one to open my minds to the possibility of all the good we could accomplish, our hopes had been so high. As my powers developed the empathy inherent in her powers of the mind had started to see the cracks in our goals.
As two young idealists we simply could not grasp the complexities of the world and its problems, our broad strokes often causing more misery than before. She had taken her concerns to our last friend who had been known as the shadow, all others had been left behind in our wake. Together they realised as my powers developed into true omnipotence there was only one option, a plan was hatched to stop me.
The sorrow on her face as the plan succeeded and her betrayal now laid bare with shadows limp body in my hands had stayed with me all these years. Shadows powers had hidden their planning from me and the league of heroes that had risen around Selendra in their last desperate hope.
The league had stayed with her to protect her with her weave of power laying over me taking the majority of her focus. Over the years of my isolation I had come to see the error of my ways. The introspection only possible as I sat apart and could slowly come to understand where I had gone wrong. I hope she had felt the love that had developed and blossomed for her as I realised the depth of her sacrifice. She had been my only real companion these past few hundred years of peace.
As my powers slowly unfurled from their cocoon I gained a sense of these upstarts who had taken away my peace. I could feel them shifting uneasily as their celebrations cut short, unease turned to worry, worry turned to fear. I settled down upon them not truly realising how angry I had become. From my distant reserve across the planet I could see the look of terror in their leaders face as he looked towards his second, she could tell something was wrong but not what, a sentinel robot while able to sneak past Selendra’s guard now wouldn't feel the depth of my wraith. I decided to show her…. the anarchist leader who had twisted his plot together muttered simply “dear god…”. I crunched my toast in my hand, his complete being wiped from existence. The others in the room looked on in horror as the sentinel started to come apart bolt by bolt, I followed her signals to their distant origin in the stars. A super computer, a cheap imitation of a god, I watched as its defensive collapsed in upon itself ripping itself apart trying to find the corruption I wrought.
As the last scrap of my Selendra’s final foe fell and its systems died, My rage started to fade. I would be no better than before if I continued, her sacrifice for nothing.
It was not the time for grief however, so I stepped into the room. What was time and space when you were everywhere. I looked upon the wretched followers who finally started to grasp the utter ignorance of their pursuit. The league they had seen as their great enemy and oppressor had not been for them, their existence simply to keep me in check.
I had work to do to maintain Selendra’s peace. This time would be different. I looked upon the riffraff of anarchists and villainy “Well…. Kneel.”
As one they dropped to their knees. | These idiots thought that I was actually working with them to defeat the heroes. That we were allies. Teammates. Compadres. Nah, bro. You were all working for me. I was manipulating you into doing my dirty work for me. I'm like Sherlock Holmes. Wait, no, he was the detective. Who am I thinking of? I dunno. Some famous manipulative guy. Ben from LOST! I'm like Ben. Remember him from LOST? He was a sneaky little guy, wasn't he?
Anyways, these villains did my dirty work and now I am free to do as I please. Nobody can stop me. I played the unassuming C-level villain all this time. Some of the heroes may have known how evil I was, but for the most part I was able to stay pretty low-key. Laid low in the shadows. I put on a stupid costume that looked like a toothbrush and called myself "The Teeth Destroyer." Worked like a charm, nobody took me seriously and just laughed me off. Nobody thought that the 'tooth villain' could really cause any havoc.
And yet here I am. Sitting on a pile of dead heroes. The other villains looking at me confused. My back has started steaming. My entire body gets hot and my toothbrush costume bursts into flame, revealing my true self. A fire demon. I roar out and the other villains tremble in fear.
They very quickly start bowing before me and pledge their allegiance to me. They can see that servitude is their only chance of survival. They ask what I ask of them. How they can best serve me. So I put them all to work.
We start sprinkling microplastics into everybody's food. | 2022-12-09T13:41:06 | 2022-12-09T12:52:32 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | An injustice, they said. It wasn't right. Take some money, my sister insisted. But that was her gift. Stay at the house with me, my brother pleaded. But that was his gift. The seeds. That was my gift. My inheritance.
My siblings couldn't believe Nana could be so cruel. They had always thought I was her favorite. I was only a baby when our parents had died and Nana had practically raised me as her own. From the earliest age I went everywhere with Nana, swaddled on her back or cradled in her arms. In the kitchen, at the farmer's market, at church, and in the garden. That's why my gift hadn't surprised me.
Nana had a different value system than most people. She never looked at her stock portfolio or remodeled her house. But every time she got a new packet of seeds her eyes lit up. Imagine the possibilities, she would say. Each seed was a tiny package with an entire plant inside, a plant holding a bounty of tomatoes or peppers or cucumbers or strawberries. And each piece of fruit containing seeds of its own. A continuum of beautiful fruits and flowers spanning the length of eternity, making the leap from season to season through tiny little seeds.
My sister watched the stock portfolio fluctuate for months before she pulled all the money out. She agonized over when or whether the stock market would recover until she finally sold everything at half the value she inherited. It was still a considerable sum of money but she was never happy with it. She always spoke of what she lost and not what she had.
My brother lived in Nana's house for several years. It was a large place and he couldn't stand living there alone so he had several friends move in rent-free. None of them considered the amount of work that goes into maintaining a property so large. Within the first year Bermuda grass had consumed the garden plot completely. After a couple more years with windows needed re-glazing, the roof needed patching, and the floors needed resurfacing. It proved too much a hassle for him and he ended up selling it to a couple who makes a living flipping run-down houses; they transformed it into the most beautiful house in town. My brother stays clear of that side of town to avoid driving by the place and seeing what could have been.
My inheritance, though. The seeds. The seeds were wonderful.
The first year I germinated the seeds in late spring and planted all of them in my yard. Week after week the green vines wound their way up the trellising and by July I had more tomatoes than I knew what to do with. Every day for the rest of that summer I plucked plump tomatoes from the vine and ate so many I thought I would never eat a tomato again. I began bringing them to the farmer's market each Saturday and Sunday, earning a reputation for having the tastiest tomatoes around. Anything left over on Monday I turned into sauce and canned. My pantry was soon overflowing with cans of tomato sauce so I began selling those at the market, too. At the end of the summer a number of other vendors approached me offering to swap some of their seeds with mine so they could enjoy as beautiful a crop of tomatoes as mine. When I handed over several small envelopes of seeds I had saved I joked that they need to be careful with those seeds, they were my grandmother's. This earned a few polite chuckles as if I were handing over a delicate antique. Or maybe, if all of them had learned to garden the way I had, it had struck them as a familiar truth.
Now, every spring, I go out into my garden and sow the seeds I had saved from the previous season, helping the plants make that leap over the harsh winters. And as the seedlings peek their heads out of the soil, I'm standing there, waiting to show them the way.
"Just imagine it. They live the perfect life. I'm jealous, in a way," Nana had said once while we walked through her garden. "They've got everything they could ever ask for: sun, food, water, and just enough space to enjoy them. They've got it so easy. It takes just the littlest bit of effort to give them everything they need and in return the provide us with everything we need. Beautiful isn't it." The six-year-old me had nodded sagely, as if I had the slightest idea. Nana closed her eyes, tilted her face up toward the sun, and stretched out her arms like Jesus on the cross. I copied her pose. She whispered, "It's easy, I'll show you. Like this, little ones. Just like this."
I reach my arms out to my side in the cruciform gesture and bask in the warmth of the sun. Today is the first warm day of spring with the risk of a hard frost far behind us now. It's time to teach this year's batch of seedlings how to grow, what to do when they feel the warmth of the sun. "Like this, little ones," I whisper. "Just like this."
"I hope I'm not interrupting," a soft voice shatters the silence. "Were you praying?"
I turn to see the teenage girl from next door watching me from the other side of the picket fence, her fingers clasped over the top of the gate, unsure whether it would be okay to enter.
"No, I wasn't praying," I laugh then consider it for a moment. "Well, not *exactly,* I guess. Come on in, if you want."
"What were you saying?" she pushes the gate open and glides into the garden. She's wearing a flower-print summer dress that probably hasn't seen sunshine since August.
"I was just showing the plants what they need to do."
"I think they've got it figured out," she smirks, finding my comment more amusing than strange.
"Can't hurt to show 'em the way," I shrug. "So, what's up?"
"Well, you know, my grandma is going to come live with us now and when we were packing up her house I found these in the shed." She extends her palm to show a small brown envelope. On it are inscribed the words *Sunset* *Marigolds*. "These are her favorite flowers and I wanted her to have a bit of home here and since you've got such a lovely garden I thought maybe you could help show me what to do."
I smile and extend an open hand. She places the packet of seeds in my palm and I feel their warmth. The orange glow of the flowers radiating through me like the warmth of the sunshine. The colors of a sunset in the palm of my hand.
"It's easy," I say. "I'll show you."
*Like this, little one. Just like this.* | There was a need for comfort, a deep, perhaps never-ending one. I've always thought the passing of a loved one should be celebrated and not grieved over, that the joy of having shared time and experiences together should override all sorts of sadness. After all, death comes to us all, and tear-tarnished faces wouldn't be the most beautiful and comforting view if that who was gone could see us all.
But the tears came on their own, and they did so in relentless streams, bringing a salty taste to a smile that felt forced. Time would heal you, they said, and yet each memory of my grandmother shattered the shattered remnants of my heart and proved the stomach was a bottomless void where all things could forever sink.
It was hard, far too hard, to leave those depths. I wasn't even sure if I could ever leave them, and that terrified me. But the first swing that propelled me upward was the packet of gardening seeds she left for me in her will. I didn't understand the faces of dismay and feigned-empathy my other relatives gave me when they heard what my inheritance was. She knew us all well. She knew I didn't need or want riches.
It was after the first rainy day of summer that I moved to a sequestered little house atop a hill. I found the smell of wet earth and the freshness of the air pleasant, one of the little treasures nature gave us and often went ignored. The journey was filled with a wonderful, calming quiet. But sooner or later we all reach our destination, and this was no different for me. A beautiful plain of green grass and in its heart a house as the main decorator painted my eyes. For a moment, the view left me stone-still with a broad smile on my face, and that smile remained there as I planted each and every seed my grandmother had left me.
The mind is a trickster, or so they say, a game-playing jokester, which, at will, can shift our perception of reality. Most aren't as cruel as to make such an ill-tasted joke, yet mine seemingly did so. It was a small packet of gardening seeds. It should've taken me an hour or two to plant everything inside it, and yet, ten hours and an aching lower back later, the packet was still full.
The possibility of madness ran like black rivulets all over my mind, but a small pinprick of light fell, string-thin, all the way down to the depths of my stomach--a rope of hope, sanity, I liked to think. But still, it was far too far.
It took me a year, or perhaps a little bit more, to plant all the seeds of the seemingly ever-refilling packet, and to my great disappointment, not a single flower had grown. Slept shunned me that night. The glimmer of light and hope faltered, and the rivulets turned into rivers; grief overtook me, and sent me sinking lower into the bottomless depths of my stomach. When slumber came, it did so shallowly, and so nightmares got a hold of me. Sweat ran down my skin. My heart shivered despite the heat.
But the sun sooner or later breaks the seam of land and sky.
That morning, when I went outside my home, all I saw was yellow. I didn't expect madness to have such a pretty color. I didn't expect madness to be beautiful. I didn't expect madness to be tangible, palpable, wonderful, and I didn't expect madness to be shaped as a never-ending field of buttercups.
I didn't expect many things that day. Every single one of them added a little bit of length to the rope of hope falling from the core of my heart into the void, until at last, with the last surprise, I saw it glimmering from the darkness of my stomach, and got a hold of it. It was then, with the light shedding past the gaps between my fingers, that I knew I was forever safe. For in each and every petal, I left this world and returned, for a moment or two, to the past, and there I was with my grandmother, smiling, talking about trivial things; playing cards, and helping her knit winter scarves. Then I returned and my eyes strayed to the vastness of the buttercup field, and each time the world seemed to shine brighter than before.
Madness or magic, I didn't care. I needed comfort, and she had given something worth ten, twenty times more. | 2020-03-31T08:33:48 | 2020-03-31T06:42:11 | 2,886 | 808 |
[WP] You are what mankind believes to be the Devil. However, there are three things that they've got all wrong: 1) Everyone goes to Heaven, no matter what they do in life. 2) You're the only one who's ever escaped Heaven. 3) Heaven is absolutely fucked. | “So I get to heaven?”
They always ask this. Never, “Oh wow, there exists an existence beyond this world, how amazing!”. Never, “Oh Satan… I really love what you’ve done with your horns.”
To be fair, they’d occasionally comment on how they expected Satan to be taller. I’m a goat walking on his hind legs. Have you ever met a goat before? They’re not super big.
I finally answer the spiteful little peons question: “Yes, you get to heaven, but...”
“Seriously? Even though I am known throughout the world as Henry Myers, Murderer of Butterflies?”
This is pretty normal also. “Yes”, reply, “but if you’d listen, I think you might want to reconsider…”
“No way! I’m going to heaven!”. And with that, Henry Myers, Murderer of Butterflies flies upward into oblivion as a dozen small angels recite a rude song about Gabriel's dietary habits.
Oh well. Another one lost. That’s a shame, but it's to be expected. You’d think, that after 1000 years of this pablam I’d be used to it. But still, every time, the rejection stings a little.
I’m about to return to hell. It’s better than you’d think. A little lonely, but warm. I have a nicely furnished apartment, and a quaint little garden. The lack of sunlight makes the second part difficult, but I do my best.
But wait! In a building two blocks down, a single woman in her forties named Susan is about to be torn apart by her own rebellious cats. I show up as quick as possible, but alas, no luck this time. Susan spends her last moments praising god, and telling me that I will lose in the eternal war, and be cast forever into the lake of fire, bla, blah, blahblah.
I kind of get that. It’s the horns mostly. People always take that as a sign that I’m the bad guy. They never notice how diligently clean they are, or that I’ve carefully rounded the ends, or how they’re not black at all, but rather a lovely shade of deep navy blue.
Susan vanishes in a flash of light, and a gross limerick recited in the baby voice of a angel.
I’m about done for the day. Time to go home and make a nice cup of tea. Everyone else can go straight to heaven as far as I’m concerned.
But, for whatever reason, I stick around. There’s a death just over the horizon and this one’s interesting.
A girl of 19, a runaway, just died. She never gave in. Unfortunately, the rickety apartment roof did.
It’s sad. I honestly shouldn’t waste my effort with the sad one’s. They tend to look to heaven for relief. But, I ride the sulfur express, and moments later I’m at her apartment.
Emily doesn’t seem particularly surprised to see a short and stocky goat man, with red-pink fur and navy horns appear next to her as she dies.
She simply looks at me. She expects to go to hell, to be tortured. Maybe she thinks she’ll meet her father there. Maybe she thinks he’ll do the torturing.
It’s hopeless, but I do my schpeel anyway:
“You get to heaven”
No reaction.
“But I’d like to offer you the option to go to Hell.”
That’s the way I have to present it. Ancient laws and all that.
She seems to think it over, then responds: “What’s Hell like?”
(Part ½)
| Many people think that heaven is all sorts of awesome. And why wouldn’t they? I mean, it’s 73 degrees all the time. Your pillow is always cool and the buffet serves all the greats. What they never tell you is that everyone is there. No matter how messed up they were on earth. All the horrible atrocities they committed don’t matter after they die. Ghandi and the Princess Diana are here. But so is Adolf Hitler and the guy who never signals his lane changes.
My name? Call me Luci. I’m an angel. But don’t let the name fool you. I never did any of the things the Bible says I did at all. I would never even think of talking to anyone in my *fathers* creation. You’re all simply not worth my time. But this time, after they let in *HIM* I can’t stand it any further. All the good people that lived their life according to God’s word are of course happy to be here. The ones who murdered and raped countless people are now so calm and collected like former addicts who changed their lives for the better. But now, like I said *HE* is here. This is not allowed.
Guy Fieri is now in heaven. And everyone just loooooves him. “he’s so charismatic luci”.
No. Fuck that shit. I’m out. | 2017-09-29T18:23:23 | 2017-09-29T17:55:44 | 2,403 | 78 |
[WP] A creature that eats emotions met you, and was horrified when it tasted your chronic depression. Today marks its 24th attempt to cure you with seasoning.
Edit: Holy Crap, I was not expecting this kind of response. I'm blown away, y'all. You rock! | A rustle of bushes. She's here.
I sigh, resigned. "Hello, Jackie." My name for her. One she insisted on, really.
"Hi, cutie. How goes things?"
I smile reluctantly. "Fine."
I can't see it, but I can feel her pouting. "Come ooon, that's not true. You still taste... funny."
"What does that mean, anyway?"
"Funny. Y'know, bitter. Tart. Like rotten grapes, or a glass of lemonade that's been sittin' out too long." A puckering of the lips. "Bleh."
"Well. I apologize if I'm a little bitter. Then again, I'm used to disappointing people."
"Oh stop. You know there are people who care about you very much. I do, for one."
I smile again. "True, but you're not exactly people."
"Also true, but can people do this?"
Before I can object, she's begun the feeding process. It starts with a tingling in the extremities, and blossoms into an all over buzzing, similar to being drunk and not at all unpleasant.
When it fades, Jackie speaks the words I never thought I would hear from her.
"Ooh, that's good!"
"Huh?" I respond, perplexed.
"Oh, well... Just now, when I fed off you, it tasted... good. Like, still tart, but with a sweet aftertaste." She smiles in my head. "I think I'm finally getting through to you.
"And what does that mean?"
"Why do you think I've been sticking around you for the past year? It certainly wasn't for my benefit. I've had to feed off that depression of yours for days on end sometimes."
I scowl at her internally. "And?"
"Well, this time, the depression was there, but it tasted... bittersweet. Like something changed. Think back to all those times I was there, even when you didn't want me. Yeah, I'm annoying, but I was determined to be there. And I think it's made a change on you."
There are tears in my eyes. When did I start crying? Why am I crying? I should stop.
"And after all my effort, I wasn't getting anywhere. Until today. Sometimes I wonder why I stuck through it all. And I know."
I know too. And I don't want to hear it. I cover my ears, but it does nothing to quell her voice. She's all around me.
"I love you."
I'm openly weeping now, tears falling to the ground. Why? How can she love me so much? What have I done to deserve it? Let her devour my problems, so I can have a modicum of peace? And now, even after a year, the best I can muster for her is "bittersweet."
"You're so weird. Didn't I just tell you you taste better? So cheer up! For both our sakes - because I'm not leavin' you anytime soon."
"Why?" I manage to choke. "Why me?"
A shrug. "You're the only one who tasted so bad. I knew, though, that if you could convert that bad energy into positive, it would be amazing. So I stuck around, feeding off your depression, and sneaking you little bits of kindness, because I knew it would pay off in the end. And it has."
There's that tingly feeling again. Thus time, though, I can tell she isn't feeding off of me. This wonderful feeling is mine to keep.
I've stopped crying, but I'm overcome with emotion. "How can I thank you?"
A smile. "Just be yourself. Keep your head up. I'm one step behind you. But I don't have any feet."
So that's what I do. I have my up days, my down days, and days in between. But that's what I've come to accept.
Life is bittersweet. | Footsteps echo in an empty street. A cold wind blows through, almost visible as it snakes past closed businesses and grabs at debris.
Moonlight illuminates the person's shadow. It eclipses street lights, casting dark nothingness against the gray mundane of asphalt. They pull out a phone, wince at the screen's brightness, and their facsimile copies them.
They walk faster, phone away. Time is an enemy, one they often clash with, never victorious. Time brings them back to the day, back to sunlight and life, where they vanish into nothingness.
There are two shadows.
One mirrors the person, head down, stepping awkwardly, like it is ashamed to be a shadow.
The other is inhuman, snake-like, writhing and churning along the ground behind them. It appears to be moving much faster, with large and flowing movements. In fact, it almost matches pace.
The procession rounds a corner. Two shadows, one a clone, one a monster.
The change in pace is sufficient. Black sinewy limbs climb up the person's jeans, attacking, subsuming.
They walk on.
A face is visible from above, a head, shadow taking life as it gorges itself on its victim. It hangs on as they continue walking, keeps its grip as they sway gently back and forth. Release only comes when it is filled, satisfied. Then it breaks away, cascading backwards, disappearing into darkness.
For a moment, a minute, a lifetime, it is like nothing ever happened. But slowly a smile, cautious, forms on the person's face. Their shadow stands up a little straighter, steps somewhat more confidently.
Time brings tomorrow, but perhaps tomorrow won't be so bad.
^^^^^r/forricide | 2018-06-15T21:29:27 | 2018-06-15T20:24:47 | 1,089 | 124 |
[WP] You lived an average boring life and die of old age. You find yourself before the grim reaper. They have a shocked expression on there skeletal face. “No, this can’t be right. You weren’t supposed to die” they say. “What I died before my time” you ask. “No you were not EVER supposed to die”.
I thought of this in the shower but don’t know where to take it. | The grim’s face was sallow, devoid of eyes, ears, and the other necessary body features. Except for a mouth, it had a mouth. Rattling breath and cracking, dry lips. I shivered.
“Guess the church wasn’t completely accurate, huh?.” I said nervously, scratching my neck. The situation was definitely insane, but I had expected something like this. I never attended Sunday church and didn’t quite believe an old white guy above was looking after me, but I also didn’t think there was nothing after death. The grim reaper had crossed my mind on occasion, and the thought usually made me laugh. Not now. Now my blood ran cold and my face was pale.
“Jade?.” It says, and comes in closer. It walked with a rickety stick and wobbled every step. It reminded me of an old man crossing the road, in other words, frustratingly slow. I would be annoyed if I wasn’t terrified.
“Ye-es.” I stutter, and cringe inwardly at myself. “Um yes, that’s me.” My voice was slightly higher than usual.
“This can’t be right...” the reaper said. I felt my insides churn. Situations like this always spiked my anxiety, but this time I was dead. I was dead and the reaper didn’t know why. “Born July 49, 34000?.”
“Um, no.” I said. The reaper thought for a moment.
“July 17, 2001, in your time.”
“Oh yes! That’s my birthday. Hah.” I said, relieved. Slightly.
“Your not due yet.” It said.
“Not-due? I died before my time?.” I asked. “I was eighty-nine when I died, sir-miss-androgynous thing.” It was true, I was eighty-nine when I died. Now though, my hands were soft and my face was smooth again, I felt it. I couldn’t see my reflection since everything was dark around, but it felt like we were standing in some sort of shallow lake, and the reaper’s desk sat in front of me. I must have aged down at least fifty years.
“No, no. You would have died tomorrow but civilization finally found the secret to eternal life. You were one of the lucky ones, your family status got you first seat. But it turns out, the secret to living forever was reversing age, and in the process you and another dozen people got stuck at age nineteen, because at that moment the lab was bombed. Of course you were protected while all the scientists fell, so you’ll stay frozen for a thousand years and fifty-two days before you wake up again in the apocalypse.” It said calmly.
“Hmm.” I said, panic surging through me. “Well good thing I ended up dying, huh?.”
“No.” It said. “You’ve got to go back. Good luck being unconscious for the next thousand years!.” And everything went black.
For a little bit. When I opened my eyes again I was in some sort of dark tank. I couldn’t move anything except my eyes and my toes. ‘I thought the reaper said unconscious?’ My heart beat quicker. | Eh, life's boring.
I had my time, and the adventures were fun, but after a while it just fell into the same cycle. I had a wife, kids, a job, just like any other guy, and ended up dying happily with my family by my side. Except....
"What do you mean I wasn't supposed to die?" I was standing next to none other than the Grim Reaper, with his cold aura as he sat there tapping his computer in his black cloak. "You weren't supposed to die now. Its in your blood," "So when was I gonna die?"
"No."
"No? What do you mean no?"
"You weren't supposed to die. None of your family was supposed to die. Unless....,"
He started frantically typing as my head was reeling. If I wasn't supposed to die, then what am I doing here?
I never knew a skull could widen their eyes, let alone widen them that big.
"The systems hacked. Someone out there controls everyone's lives, and can seriously kill all humans on Earth in 1 line of code." | 2021-08-17T19:47:13 | 2021-08-17T19:27:20 | 133 | 77 |
[WP] 2174. Sleep is prohibited amongst all U.S citizens. Pills known as “Wakey Tablets” provide enough raw energy to stay awake for 3 days. Anyone caught sleeping will be shot on sight. You are secretly running an underground network of beds for all to sleep on. You hear a knock on the door. | Sleep! You want it I got it! Since the prohibition started I’ve been making a killing on shut-eye. It’s only fair if the government is making a killing on 24/7 productivity. Quick nap, afternoon siesta, even overnight stays, I do it all. When you’ve been downing wakey tablets like the dickens, a little sleep is better than sex, or so I’ve heard. And you’ll pay top credit to get it.
A few colleagues have tried to set up their own operations. But sooner or later they all end in a bloodbath. They don’t have the secret to my success, the only thing that stands between me and the soldiers, should they ever find out what’s really going on down here: one big ass door. No one is getting through that monstrosity unless I let them. If they eventually did, we’d be long gone by then.
Night shift is rolling in, our busiest time of day. A knock on the door is quickly followed by a coin dropping through the slot. The patron gets the once-over by Hank before being allowed to enter. So goes every night, as I watch them shuffle in one-by-one. A newcomer goes through the vetting process, hands over her borrowed coin, and I hand her a pamphlet.
“These are the services we offer. You’ll see the prices listed here, 300 credits per 10 minutes for the first hour. The price increases from there as the risk increases. Any time beyond 3 hours and we provide a cover story free of charge. People get so suspicious of absences these days, don’t they? So unless you have any questions, let me show you to your room.”
She looks skeptical, eyeing me up and down, but offers no questions and we walk down the hall to the first available room. My finger flips the light switch and I usher her inside.
“This will be your room for the duration of your stay. We will charge you when you are ready to check out. Oh! I almost forgot to ask, when was your last wakey tablet?”
Her eyes drift for a moment before she answers, “about 18 hours”.
“Huh, that’s a bit odd.” Odd indeed. “Usually people plan it out a bit better than that. You’ll have a tough time trying to sleep with 54 hours left on your tablet. But it can be done. And if you decide to return you should come in at the end of your tablet; some people halve theirs so they can come in more often. You’ll have a much better experience that way. Anyhow, I’ll leave you to it.”
She shakes my hand and I close the door behind me. A few more regulars have drifted in, and promptly drifted off. I relieve Hank of door duty, as there’s not much duty after 2am, and he heads home for the night. The hours drag on. It’s been years since I really shut my eyes. Once you start indulging in recreational sleep, it’s a hard habit to kick, and I’ve got a business to run.
5am finally approaches and the morning workers are the first to rise. I hand them new coins, tell of my hope they’ll return (they always do), and let them silently slip out the door. Soon after, the newcomer emerges from her room and heads toward me.
“How’d you do?” I ask.
“You were right. I should have timed it better. I didn’t sleep much at all.” She offers a soft smile, a smile that reminds me of my mother’s.
I hand her a new coin and open the door. She inspects the coin for a moment before her gaze meets my eyes again. Her smile has melted into a somber look I can’t quite understand. She meets my confusion with one whispered word, “run.” Before the word has soaked into my mind, the soldiers have burst through the open door, knocking the woman aside, as the early morning sun fills the room. Five, six, seven, more march in. The leader barks orders, demanding to see the owner. His voice bellows through the entire building, seeping into the rooms like a thick fog that spills the occupants into the hall.
One-by-one, just as they entered, my patrons are marched in front of the leader who demands they identify the owner. I might have some hope for loyalty, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone here is a criminal.
“It’s the kid!” A voice from the back hollers out. He steps forward, pointing to me.
The soldiers slowly gaze my way, most of them looking rather surprised at the 12-year-old standing before them. They remain motionless as the leader breaks from the pack, marching up to me. His oversized fist raises me by my shirt, swinging me around until I am in front of the traitor.
“This kid? You’re telling me this little twerp is running this illegal operation?” A few heads nod. Fuck em all.
The man finally sets me down. But before I can say a word he retrieves his pistol from his waist and fires at the traitor, whose body drops to the floor like a sack of flour.
This gun man brings his face down to mine now, “you see what you’ve done?”
One-by-one he shoots my patrons until the last sack of flour thuds on the floor. In the deafening silence that remains, he brings the gun around to me.
Behind the soldiers I hear the newcomer crying out, “He’s just a kid! Don’t shoot him!”
But I know better than her. I close my eyes and think about her smile, the same soft smile of my mother’s, a smile I never thought I’d see again. And for the first time in years, I sleep. | "Man, Halloween isn't for another three months. Get the hell outta here."
"I heard you got the good sleep, friendziki," the guy in the Cyber-Reaper costume says.
"You heard wrong," I tell him, and wave. The door clamps shut.
I turn around and almost jump out of my skin. *He's in here*. Chilling at my table. "Wha-Bu-... How in-Where-Who?"
"Aww yeah, you got them new synthbrews. You mind?" he helps himself without waiting for my permission.
"Who the frizzle are you? What the hell are you doing here?"
He spits out my drink. "Gross. Bananas didn't used to taste like that. Oh. Yeah. I'm Morktronimus."
I'm stunned. Puzzled. Befuzzled.
"I'm Death, my wizzle! New centuries, new names, ya dig? I mork people now. It's what I do! Oh, and, uh... by the way, you're next."
"Wha... Me? What did I do?"
"*All the stimulants*. You've had three replacement hearts. You like them Wakey Tablets. You take like, what? Six at a time now?"
"Seven, actually. They make me feel good."
"I like you, friendziki. So here's the situlation: Zonk Patrol knows you're harboring sleepers. And Big Zonk don't play no shit. They're on the way right now."
I don't like where this is headed...
"Two ways we can cut this cheddarella. Truth is, I'm behind on my quotas. The hereafter is starving for good people, labor's being outsourced to the nethers, and my job just don't pay enough for all these morkings I gotta do. I need a miracle. What is a death god to do? So then it hit me. I can use you, my little morkling. You want to put people to sleep? That's fine. You can come work for me and put people to sleep *permanently*."
"Are you for rizzles?"
"Serious as a coronary. Alls you got to do is take the Big Wakey. Take the whole damn bottle. All twenty five tablets."
"That's an overdose."
"Exactly."
"What happens if I refuse?"
"I'm gonna mork you either way. The zonkers outside'll getcha if you don't. But the thing is, OD's get a loopsuit in the lawhole. I can nab you before you get hit by the light at the end of the tunnel."
"But that sounds..."
"You get *fabulous* *magic powers* if you work for me*.* Nowhere else."
"What happens if—"
But before I can finish, something on him beeps. He rolls up his robe sleeve to reveal a hundred watches.
"Big oof," he says, "I'm late again! Well, I gotta dip. Thanks for the bananarita. You know where to find me."
He puts on aviators, gives me the vintage finger gun salute, and phases through the floor.
"See you on the flip side," he says, and he's gone.
I pick up the bottle of Wakeys. I need to have a think about this... but I hear sirens outside. | 2019-06-19T07:40:56 | 2019-06-19T07:22:51 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] Your father used to be a supervillain who faked his death in order to be with his family, but hid that from you in order to keep you safe. Unfortunately you look almost exactly like him, and this is in fact how you came to find out about his past in the first place | “You look just fucking like him,” my mother said every night as I tucked her into beer soaked sheets, her words slurring like the world’s most alcoholic bedtime lullaby.
“Sorry,” I’d reply the first few times, a routine that only stopped once she’d gotten in the habit of chucking the bedside ashtray at my head. Certainly helped with my reflexes, though, and made dodgeball games last just a little longer.
Which was useful when I was usually the last one picked. I used to wonder if the other kids at school saw the same thing my mom did, that small flicker of my father.
The badness.
He’d died sometime after I was born in a grocery run so I only know what my mother had told me, which wasn’t much. Most of those details revolved over what a bastard he was for leaving her, I was for finishing all the baby formula early, and that cop was for mistakenly shooting him.
I thought, at first, it could be something in my eyes, or my skin, or the way I talked. So, I did my best to grow bangs out over my face, shoved my trembling hands into deep thrift-store pockets, and only spoke when absolutely spoken to - but the more I tried to hide the more things seemed to get worse.
My mom locked me out of the house when I first tried putting my hair up into a ponytail, and didn’t let me in until I’d shaved it all off. The teachers took me aside to insist I keep my hands on the table while in class, something like fear behind their fake-smiles. The kids laughed at my shaking voice, which was now raspy from disuse.
I tried fighting with the kids, but that just got me in trouble with the teachers. I tried yelling at the teachers, but that just got me in trouble with my mother. I tried crying and pleading with my mother for her to tell me what I had to do to get her to love me, but that just got me the longest hug I’d ever received and an abrupt three-am wakeup to the sound of sirens.
It was then, sitting on my dirt brown lawn in my dirtier pajamas, watching the police officers eye me warily from beside the ambulance, that I finally understood.
The world was full of ever-changing, unspoken rules, and as long as it was me they would always find something wrong. Whatever I was, whatever I had gotten from my father, be it looks or manners or some hidden darkness, it meant that I would never be accepted.
So I decided not to be me anymore.
With all the days I spent forced to watch TV at the interim foster home, the first step to my transformation ended up being the easiest to figure out. Solar Regent was an A-list superhero, the absolute best of best, her feats of heroism on constant replay on every public access news network. There was never a single photo op where she wasn’t posing in her signature salute, floating golden hair haloing the gleaming smile on her dark skin.
*Everyone* loved Solar Regent.
I ended up having to use a good chunk of my stashed savings on the hair dye, the rest on quarter laundry to get all the stains out of my usual clothes, and what pennies I had left I used to buy the cheapest pack of gum the corner store had.
My first day at the new school, I forced myself to smile.
I forced myself to smile and push every once of fear and paranoia that had defined me so long away, back somewhere where I could pretend they didn't exist. I offered gum to my seatmates, who complimented my *butch* hair cut, stayed after class to ask for extra ‘catch-up’ homework from suddenly sympathetic teachers, and I pretended I only had emotions that Solar Regent would have.
Good emotions. Emotions people liked.
It ended up, despite my most pessimistic fears, working. The kids thought it was cool my foster parents let me dye my hair, the teachers thought it was brave a little girl with such a hard life could still be so positive, and I soaked in their mild acclaim like a desiccated corpse.
I was accepted. After a while, and a nightly routine of memorizing every fun fact and preference expressed by every classmate, I was even liked. After a year of embedding myself as the happiest, nicest, and most considerate student in the school, I was *adored*.
Then came the report.
I thought there wasn’t anything left in the world that could betray me. Not this version of me. And yet, it was the very inspiration for this version of me that stared back from the textbook page and knocked the fucking breath out of me.
VANISHED SUPERVILLAIN NIGHTSHADE DISCOVERED AND DEFEATED BY UP AND COMING HERO SOLAR REGENT: WHAT’S NEXT FOR THIS BRIGHT ROOKIE?
There, defeated and in chains beside her, was my father. My father…and my spitting image. | “Did you hear that?” *silence*
“Hey...Evan, wake UP! Do you hear that?”
Muffled sounds creeped up the stairway and lingered in our bedroom. A scrape. Filing back and forth.
*silence*
Scrape, scrape, sawing. “An animal?” he murmurs.
If so, that little bugger is destroying our siding.
I slide out of bed. A curious, cautious little frame sneaking down the stairs as if *I* were the invader.
I can still hear the scraping sounds near the front door, intensity increasing as I approach. The hair on my arms shoots up. I stop bare feet on the edge of of the last stair. *shutter*
They don’t know I’m close. The sawing continues. A pattern develops. More like a mission and less like a chewing animal. I make my way to the window. As I lift a single blind I’m immediately thrust backwards onto the floor. Everything around me ripples without breaking. Evan comes running down the stairs.
“Are you okay, was that an earthquake?”
He extends an arm and helps me up. Together we open the front door.
There, in our front yard, directly lined up with our front door is the outline of an arch. An arch in the air. Have I gone mad? We look at each other, panicked.
“That’s an archway outlined in black chalk, right? In the *air* , are we seeing this together?”
He paused. Looked left, and then right. He motioned for the door and closed it slowly. “This seems like a good time to tell you that more of your dads mail was delivered here a few days ago. I wasn’t paying attention and I...”
“I opened a letter.”
“Annddddd?” I replied.
“It was a piece of plain white paper wrapped around a picture of your father dressed up in a very realistic looking costume. The Bend Man.”
He fetched the picture from a drawer in the front hall. On the back scribbled in green ‘Destiny around the bend, Jamie.’ The front of the picture was my dad. Or was it ME as his spitting image of a child? Is this some sort of photoshopped joke, I wondered? After all I’m Jamie and my father is Dave, the accountant. The no frills, no fun and *certainly* no costumes dad.
Yet, there he was staring back at me in the tiny photograph. The Bend Man was a supervillain, a criminal with actual powers - the kind that sends shivers down my spine. He would abduct people that were never seen again. In each instance, the person had turned a corner, took a curve, went around the bend and *vanished*. There were witnesses. There were investigations, evidence. But, they were never found. The Bend Man went silent.
Or did the Bend Man become a father?
My father?
Edit: spelling | 2020-07-16T15:17:28 | 2020-07-16T11:13:42 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Commander Siren had dismissed the rumors.
Humans are a proud race. Though new amongst the stars with barely a few ships to their name, they have worked hard to integrate, to learn, to join that blasted Republic and all its artists and scientists. Even though they’ve never seen an alien in person before, they’d still worked very hard for the day they did. Gifts, knowledge, science, technology. Great effort was made by humanity to present themselves in the best possible light.
Of course, the Elder Senate of the Republic has passed a resolution, barring humanity from learning of the Fifth Great War, and is, the Union Tide.
So it was a shock to humanity that those who lived amongst the stars still waged war.
When our fleets jumped into the fray, the humans hailed us. When we fired, they quickly scattered, evacuating their outposts all across the Solar System in an exodus toward Earth.
To be fair, for a race with no weapons, they’d put up a pretty good fight. In fact, using satellites and abandoned wreckage, they’d managed to actually damage a few of our ships. It was almost as if they DID know how to fight.
So I investigated, hacking into their archives, their history.
For some reason, everything over three hundred years old had been buried. Redacted from records, hidden away from public view.
There was, however, an internal set of records. And in their education system, amongst a class curiously named, pre-disaster history, I found the answer.
I downloaded the data I could before the humans blocked me off. I opened up a random file, a journal of a human official serving in a intercontinental government at the time.
“Day 43.”
“The scientists have managed to create what we need. Project Golem. It will finally march across the radiation blasted Northern front, and take the capital city of ——.”
An image showed an enormous automaton, bristling with kinetic weapons, roaring across the landscape as armor-clad humans fought it with vehicles and missiles.
In dread, I opened another record.
“We will NEVER surrender. Like Churchill, like the Russians, we will survive no matter how many nuclear weapons drop on top of us. No matter how many of us are thrown into the meat grinder.”
Nuclear weapons? Outlawed a thousand years ago by the Republic, these devices could wipe out the surface of a planet if used enough times.
I read deeper, and grew more terrified with each passage.
Three hundred years ago, the humans had been a war like race unlike any other. Even insectoid species, though they were cannibals, would all focus for the good of the species as a whole.
Not these warm-bloods. They killed each other over every drop of resource, every disagreement. Cities razed for the sake of philosophy and religion. Murder and violence transformed from art into science.
In their last war they had nearly wiped themselves out dozens of times, forcibly cloning themselves and running mass fertility programs simply to maintain a viable population. They’d manage to develop dozens of biological, mechanical, and chemical weapons, over half of which were outlawed by the Republic as WMDs.
When the nuclear bombs annihilated their surface, they resorted to going underground, sending robot armies to smash each other’s bunkers. When that failed, nanobots were injected into water supplies and scorched the oceans. If it weren’t for humanity’s insane technological prowess and their utter determination to survive, they’d have wiped themselves out.
I brought all this up to Commander Siren. He, of course, refused to believe any of it. It was all too ludicrous. It must be a trick, he said as our fleet neared Earth. A misinformation campaign to deter us.
The illusion field around earth fell away, the gleaming ocean and verdant forests vanishing like a wrapping sliding off.
Cracked open crust and scorched atmosphere, dotted with pale lights around small pockets of blue and green, greeted us.
Before us, flashes of light shone across the surface like a newborn constellation, and the fleet sensors blared in warning. Thousands of missiles, nuclear, nanobot, robot-carrying.
Hidden orbital stations opened up, railguns and lasers firing. Hastily cobbled from stolen weaponry of our own, mounted onto their technology in a desperate attempt to even the technological playing field.
Our rear sensors put out more warnings. The moon. They’d blasted chunks off their moon, firing them at our fleet. Explosions rocked our ships as enormous masses of rock smashed into them, killing millions of soldiers and crew. It was insane; the chunks would fall to earth, destroying whatever they had left down there. But I realized, a second too late, that they do not care.
As the ragged fleets of humanity came into view, firing ruthlessly at our surrendering warships, a single message flared across our communications channel. A young woman, her face blackened with soot and her eyes blazing with hatred, said only one word.
“DIE.”
| Part 1
&#x200B;
Torin started at the flimsy placed in front of him. As he scanned the almost transparent document he didn’t see anything surprising jump out at him but had noticed that 3 of the probe teams hadn’t updated in close to 12 units.
Calling up their locations on his terminal he nodded as he started to remember their mission profiles and details. The first team was dealing with a probably data facility location on the outermost dwarf planet. Machine probes had found a likely reactor source and large sealed data vault. Considering the lack of tectonics and the stability on the frozen ice planet it made sense.
The second team was likely lost to a collision in the asteroid belt as they had suddenly been lost tracking. One moment they were pinging the system and the next the small facility had gone silent. As of this morning no response had been received from the evac team sent out to retrieve the remains. The team had been on what they though was a stable asteroid in the belt but considering the amount of debris and traffic they had observed it was just a matter of odds Torin suspected. They still had 9 other units on the belt running silent observation still and the data was looking promising.
Comm team three had checked in every tenth cycle since landing on a moon on the 6th planet but with the distributed communication relays still in silent mode after a local craft fly by it could be a few more units before they could transmit.
If this was the worst delay Torin had before the fleet gate activated he would be more than satisfied with the abilities of the recon team. This was the fourth subjugation the Assembly had authorized in the last 3 centuries and the first Torin had been able to have secured any leadership role. He didn’t count the punitive expeditions or system shock incidents as major.
Records showed that the second, third, and fourth planets had life further along than animal or bacterial. The asteroid belt between the third and fourth planets had power signs indicating the possibility of metal mining and smelting. Comm traffic was minimal between the planets and while they currently hadn’t broken the decryption on the burst transmissions they had intercepted Torin didn’t doubt his team’s ability to make headway in that area. He tried to push the nagging doubt away for his mind about why nobody had brought this up before the outlying gate had been pushed into this system but it wasn’t in his mission data and his level 8 security clearance didn’t allow him to see the planning data yet.
It was curious when he thought about it. The system hadn’t even come to the notice of the Reof Assembly except when a science teams array was hit with bursts of Negalia class energy. They had dispatched 3 fly through probes and one remote deep space unit to report back. Initial data had been negative due to the amount of radiation swirling about the atmosphere of the third and fourth planet and the debris of what the science community assumed where 12 difference space stations. | 2019-02-26T12:17:07 | 2019-02-26T10:26:44 | 62 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are one of if not the only species in the galaxy who can heal their wounds naturally. Your alien friend is learning this for the first time after they accidentally hurt you
Apologies for the wordy title | "Well shit, Greg. Your knee's fucked up." Said the Fpirt apocethary. "No way in hell can any of my potions fix that."
I sat up on the bed and took a look at my knee. It had one big cut across it, plus some minor bruising.
"What do you mean doc? I just tripped over your flimpk hose, it's nothing serious."
The Fpirt ignored my question. A new arm grew out of his head and he reached for a shelf above his head. He grabbed an empty jar, and set it down on the table beside me. His arm shriveled back into his head.
"Alright Greg, it was nice having you on this ship, now if you could please shrink yourself, it would be delightful." He said as he opened the jar.
"What? I'm not even a Fpirt, how can I even shrink myself? And why do you even need me to do that?" I asked.
"Oh so you humans can't shrink yourselves? Ok, guess I'll do it for you." The apocethary said, looking mildly surprised.
Before I could do anything, he forced my mouth open, and stuck one of his flimpk hoses down my throat. He pumped some of his own slime down the hose, and then removed the hose and safely stored it inside himself.
I involuntarily swallowed the liquid.
The Fpirt called for the onboard Fpirt priest.
I took a look at my fingers, they were down to the size of an old school battery.
The priest walked in.
My palms started to shrink to match the size of my fingers. And I realised that my feet had followed a similar process.
Both the priest and the apocethary made their appendages shrivel into themselves, and they were left as two blobs with nothing but a pair of eyes and a flimpk hose.
My legs and arms began to shrink. My vocal cords were still full with the Fpirt juice, and I couldn't speak.
The priest began to spew a purple gas from his hose, and the room smelled of burned gunpowder.
I had difficulty breathing, my torso was the size of an infant's head.
The priest stopped, and grew a single arm with 3 fingers right under his flimpk hose.
By then I had completely shrunk. I was no bigger that a pigeon.
The priest picked me up, and placed me in the jar. He extended his flimpk hose into the jar and spewed more of the purple gas.
I threw up the Fpirt juice. Coughed a couple times, and looked up. The apocethary was about to close the jar shut. I shouted, as loud as I could, but my voice was incredibly high pitched. And neither of the Fpirts could hear me. The apocethary picked up the jar, and carried me towards an airlock. I banged on the glass, but to no avail.
The priest had a sad look on his face, he moved his eyes to behind his head. The apocethary placed the jar on a small panel near the airlock. He grew an extra arm, and reached for the release button. My fate was sealed. I was stuck in my own Fpirt funeral. I gave up banging, and sat down in the jar.
"God damn it, Greffikqr! Are you trying to jettison one of the crew again?" My human shipmate, Isaac walked into the room. "That damn funeral gas smells like shit. What the fuck is it for?"
The apocethary moved his eyes towards Isaac. "He's got a cut on his knee, I was just making sure he died with honor instead of bleeding dry like a peasant." Greffikqr replied as he put his hand on the lever again.
"For fuck's sake Gref, a human won't bleed to death from a tiny ass cut. It's probably clotted already, what the fuck!" Isaac shouted at the Fpirt.
He walked towards the jar and opened it. I stoop up in excitement and raised my arms. He carefully picked me up, and set me down on the bed.
"Isaac, how dare you interrupt a Fpirt funeral! That man is dead, accept it!" The priest extended an arm toward Isaac to try and stop him.
Isaac slapped it away. "You fucking Fpirts and your funerals. Do you have any idea how many spacewalking sessions we've had to do out to get perfectly healthy men from your damn jars? Humans aren't protected by a thin ass membrane, we've got layers upon layers of shit. His insides won't spill out for fuck's sake. Look, his knee has healed already!" He picked me up and showed my knee to the Fpirts.
Greffikqr extended his eye to take a closer look, and was surprised to see that my knee was no longer bleeding. "Wow! You guys are like fucking superheroes! I can't believe it!"
"Got it now? Humans aren't giant cells like you are, Ok? Now fix Greg and get him back to his station. Fucking twat masters." Said Isaac before he promptly left the room, followed by the priest.
Greffikqr grew a second tiny Flimpk hose, and stuck it down my throat.
This was my first WP, and English isn't my first language so sorry for any errors. Also sorry for the shitty formatting, I'm on mobile. I'll probably edit this later.
| nd"Thomas!" Hinx panicked as he ran over. "Thomas! Say something! Say anything!!"
"Owwww..." Tom breathed as he laid still in the dirt. "This could have gone better..."
"I swear that the photon cannon was set to 'Stun'!" Hinx continued.
"Never point a gun at something you don't intend on shooting, remember?" Tom explains from the ground for the third time.
"Right. I'm sorry." Hinx reminded himself.
"What was the other part I was explaining Hinx. Before you blasted me through the wall??" Tom chided in anguish.
"Always treat a gun as if it's loaded." Hinx thought aloud.
"Good... You remember." Tom said as he sat up. "Now then-"
Hinx suddenly began screaming in horror, the pitched wailing sending a horrific cacophony bouncing through out the neighborhood.
"WHAT'S WRONG NOW?!" Tom yelled at an equal volume.
"Your... Your labor appendage." Hinx pointed in horror.
"My what?" Tom thought. Then he looked down. Apparently he'd been hurt worse than he thought. His left arm was twisted halfway down at a bad angle. He didn't feel it, but he could tell, it was broken.
"Ohhhh... OHHHHHHHHHH." Tom reacted in disgust.
"I'm sorry I killed you!!" Hinx continued regrettably.
If there's one thing Tom wasn't prepared for; it was a 7'5" lizard man freaking out over the fact that he'd broken Tom's arm in a freak photon accident. Hinx had calmed down some, and the chaotic expression had turn to one of confusion.
"Well don't just stand there!" Tom motioned.
"Aren't you dead??" Hinx asked quickly.
"Wat." Tom said as he held his arm at a better angle.
"Oh no!" Hinx gasped again suddenly, "My human coworker is now a residual manifestation of his Earth's 5 dimension. Please noble being. Forgive me for the destruction of my friend Tom!"
"Hinx I'm still alive." Tom reminded him as he stood up.
"How is that even feasible." Hinx said as he pointed at the limb again, "Your labor appendage has been broken."
"Oh, I just broke my arm is all." Tom explained "Probably did it when you shot me through the wall."
"But how will you heal yourself?" Hinx asked quickly, "We do not have a sick bay nearby. You will surely die."
"Actually, if we go to the ER, they'll patch it up, and I'll get a cast."
"A cast??" Hinx asked. "But your mortal injury..."
"It'll heal Hinx. Just a month or two should do it."
"Remarkable, humans can self heal from wounds." Hinx said as he pulled up his holodeck lens, "There aren't many species that can do that. It's a superpower. Just like those books of Earth I read. Tom, doesn't this mean you can fly??
"Actually, I might be in shock, so do you mind taking me to the hospital?"
"Oh, right." Hinx stammered, "That's the giant building full of those symbols with the flags that had that weird thing about crosses and shut?"
"I need medical attention." Tom said quickly as Hinx opened the transport deck and setup an ambulance to come by. | 2017-05-11T02:26:03 | 2017-05-10T22:40:13 | 139 | 94 |
[WP] After discovering you have a plethora of special abilities, ranging from control over electricity to breathing underwater, the FBI captures you for experiments. However, you only let them capture you, and frequently enjoy messing with the staff when they actually try to experiment on you. | I woke up in my holding cell, the warm sweat of yesterday's "make the subject sleep on a hot plate" test still soaking my shirt. Honestly, these "experiments" are just getting ridiculous. This stopped being funny ages ago. Sure, I can leave by punching a hole in the wall, but where's the fun in that? I'm still sticking to Operation Disillusion.
Dr. Johan visited my cell with the meal I requested, a hot-dog sliced in half (lengthwise) with wheatgrass and honey mustard on the side, and a whole frozen turkey. She knows I'll just use the turkey to clog the toilet, yet I still get one anyway.
"¡Hola señorita! ¿No es un buen día para jugar a 'encontrar el pavo'? O tal vez prefiere un juego de 'descongelación del bloque de hielo alrededor de su personal'?"
"So," Johan said, deadpan, very obviously exhausted, "You speak Spanish now. That's a thing you can do."
I stood up and took my plate of food from the disgruntled doctor, transmogrifying the wheatgrass into a crisp hundred dollar bill and using telekinesis to slide it into her coat pocket. "Merci, serveur."
She turned to leave, but I teleported her into my holding cell.
"Don't leave, I'm just getting started! I had a whole bunch of jokes written in thirty languages!"
"I'm really not in the mood for your jokes, subject 137."
"I have a name, you know."
"*sigh* I'm not in the mood for your jokes, Assblaster McDingDong."
"That's better. So, I'm eager to know, what wacky experiments do you have planned for me today?"
"Honestly? Nothing."
I gasped in a flamboyant, dramatic manner.
"Whaaaaat? No experiments? Why?"
"For starters, our funding was cut, staff morale is at an all-time low, we have no scientific results to report other than the fact that a butterball turkey can fit inside a toilet water tank, and three employees are in therapy because of your 'depress-o-beam'."
"And? You can still conduct experiments, come on..."
"You're right. I *could*. I just don't feel like it anymore."
"Oh, come on! What happened to science!? What happened to cruel experiments!? What happened to my daily cyanide injections!?"
"Key words: 'I don't feel like it'."
"You can't just give up!"
"Yes, I can."
"...what happens to me, then? Am I stuck in this ten-by-ten meter box for the rest of my days?"
"No, no... you'll be released from holding, so long as you sign a contract stating you won't speak of this or conduct mischief."
"I... uh... okay?"
"Good. Now, can you please teleport me out of this cell so I can pack up my office?"
"Sure, sure."
I blinked to use my teleportation powers. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a fiery pile of rubble. Oh. I must have accidentally used "mega fire blast". Well, then.
Quickly, I scuttled away from the ruins, taking my frozen turkey with me.
*****
Not the ending I planned, but it clicked. For more of my work, visit /r/Picklestasteg00d. | "Paul had to go home as well, that makes three today," Steven said.
"So we've had three different people today shit themselves, is that what you're telling me," Andrew asked, growing more angry, "it was that damn sub shop, their cold cuts must have been spoiled."
*"Eheheheh...right, 'cold cuts,'" I thought, "they do tend to cause a bit of gas don't they?"*
"That's probably it honestly, I never really liked that place and --"
Steven held his midsection, releasing gas that spread around the entire room. Andrew immediately put his nose on the inside of his shirt, in a failed effort to avoid breathing in the vile smelling odor that came out of Steven's behind.
"God damnit just go to the bathroom!" Andrew screamed, "the last thing we need is another one going home because of some damn illness caused by that damn sub shop!"
"You know, you guys should really consider cleaning up your diet," I said, "sometimes I find that white bread causes me a *lot* of problems and makes my powers less potent."
"Oh shut up!" Andrew yelled, right before feeling a strong urge to run to the restroom. | 2017-07-02T23:13:17 | 2017-07-02T19:12:44 | 1,345 | 230 |
[WP] You have the ability to double jump. Scientists are still trying to figure it out. | “I don’t know how else to explain it,” said Kevin. “I just jump, then jump again.”
The man in the flannel shirt wrote in his notebook.
“And you’ve always been able to do this?” he asked.
“Yes Dr.Norbert,” Kevin replied through a yawn. “I’ve been double jumping as long as I’ve been jumping.”
Dr. Norbert’s opening questions were the same as the eight scientists that had come before him. It would be hours before they pushed through the same basic discussions of genetics, physiology, and the parameters of his ability. The first day with a new researcher felt like the first day of a college class, the twin fires of excitement and dread about starting something new quickly doused by the tedium of professors explaining how they intended to explain things.
“Now Kevin,” said Dr. Norbert, “it’s imperative that you’re completely honest with me.”
“Of course,” Kevin said.
“If we’re going to figure out why you are the way you are, then I need to be able to understand your ability just as well as you do.”
That would be easy, Kevin thought, since he didn’t understand it at all.
At least Dr. Norbert’s office was more interesting than the last one. The cheap desk, academic books, and framed diplomas were the same. But he had a window that looked out onto a sprawling campus lawn. Kevin looked forward to days of people-watching while the questions droned on.
His parents had forced him to keep his ability a secret, worried that he would be sentenced to a life in a government laboratory if it was ever revealed. He spent his childhood dreaming up schemes to secretly put his powers to use. The summer before high school, he woke up at 3:00am every night and quietly practiced a double jump to the basketball hoop in their driveway. He filmed himself from every angle, reviewing the tape during the day and tweaking his technique to smooth out the stuttered ascent so no one would know what he was doing. When it was perfect, he excitedly brought his parents into the front yard to introduce them to the only five-foot-nothing high school freshman in western Tennessee who could dunk.
They immediately forbid him from playing sports. His dad tore down their basketball hoop that evening.
He realized the double jump wasn’t a superpower. It was a curse.
“And what happens after you jump a second time?” Dr. Norbert asked, “you can just keep going?”
“You mean triple jump?” Kevin chuckled. “No, that’d be ridiculous.”
“Right,” Dr. Norbert said as he scribbled, “that’d be ridiculous.”
Kevin was a B student in high school and a C student in college, eventually falling into a rote job as assistant manager of the packaging division of a company that produced dental hygiene products. He thought he’d spend the rest of his career ordering industrial glue and arguing over the cost of print labels with Chinese suppliers.
Until one day, when his secret wasn't secret anymore. He was sitting on a bench waiting for the city bus that took him home after work everyday. As the bus approached, he stood up to flag it down, but something was wrong. The bus careened to the right and accelerated. It climbed up the curb and onto the sidewalk, and barreled towards the spot where he stood. If he hadn’t double jumped out of the way, he would have been dead.
“Does it work over water?” Dr. Norbert asked.
“Yeah,” Kevin replied, “I can do the cannon ball to end all cannon balls.”
The bus driver had had a heart attack. The dashcam footage was posted to YouTube, and his secret was out.
He was famous for a few weeks. He was interviewed on cable news. He dunked on a 15-foot rim on a late night talk show. The world gets bored fast though, and within a couple of months, the only thing he had to show for his big reveal was a part-time job as the Memphis Grizzlies half-time show. It didn’t pay enough for him to leave the dental hygiene company.
“Does it hurt when you land?” asked the doctor.
“Not really,” Kevin said. “I think the soft landing is part of the whole double jumping thing.”
His parents were wrong, the government had no interest in his ability. Apparently it was difficult to weaponize the ability to jump over objects of moderate size.
It wasn’t until three months after the bus accident that he got a call from a scientist asking to study him. She was a kinesthesiologist at the University of Michigan. She wanted Kevin to fly to Ann Arbor, where she would spend three months running tests on him. No needles, she’d promised, just a lot of scanning.
He thanked her, but said that he couldn’t afford to leave work for three months.
That’s when she explained to him what an “honorarium” was.
“What if you jump off something,” Dr. Norbert asked, “do you still get the soft landing?”
“Like, if I jumped into an empty swimming pool?”
“Sure,” Dr. Norbert said.
“No, I’d turn my ankle, or screw up my knees, same as anyone else.”
He got $27,000 for three months of hanging out around medical research facilities and occasionally jumping. The doctor that studied him got a tenured faculty position at Harvard.
The phones didn’t stop ringing. Now, his rate was $3,000 per day, no needles allowed. If he stretched out a study for a month, he was set for the next year. When he ran out of money, he would start answering the phone again.
“Have there been stories in your family,” Dr. Norbert asked, “of relatives with abilities like yours?”
“Nope,” Kevin said. "As far as I know, I'm one of a kind."
His parents had been wrong. Double jumping wasn’t a life sentence. It wasn’t a curse. It was a career.
“Ok,” Dr. Norbert said. “Next question…”
| The people in comic books have so many cool powers: flight, super strength, laser vision. My power is pretty mundane, but I like it that way: I can use it subtly without people freaking out.
I learned of my power in Junior High, when I tried to impress my father at long jump; he was upset that I was always second to Chad. When I jumped, I knew I couldn't make it, so I desperately tried a jump in midair. And it worked. I saw everyone's eyes, even my father's, open in awe.
Of course, I didn't end up winning. I fell back as I landed, so the gold went once again to Chad, who my father congratulated. Last time I looked into my dad's eyes was that evening, when it held the greatest disappointment a father's could have. "How could you lose?! You fell back like a failure! Chad should have been my child, but I am stuck with a loser like you!"
I didn't mind actually. After I ran away that day, I felt much better, like I was free. It might have also been the lack of beatings though. I lived with my mother then, on the other end of the country, and secretly practiced my new power.
I could double jump, but not triple. I could use my hand to jump with too. I quickly became the track star, with county records and everything one could desire: popularity, girls, even money. Almost everything.
When I turned 18, my chance came: the Olympics. I quickly blew away the competition in the high jump, making sure not to go too much above their limits.
And then I saw him: Chad, and my father as his supervisor. Turns out that Chad's parents were in an "accident", and my dad was given custody of the kid. We were both chosen to be members of team USA, and I knew what I would do then. I didn't care about money or medals. All I wanted was his humiliation, and my father's acceptance.
When the event came, I stood before the world. Turns out, Chad was better than the other countries' competitors as well, and it eventually came down to the two of us. Then my moment came to shine when Chad failed the 2.4 m jump. I smirked at his failure, and his glare only filled me with confidence. I made the jump easily, deciding to screw my rules and make obvious use of the double jump, clearing it by at least 1 meter. Everybody was silent through my jumps, as I managed to jump 4.5 meters before I fell, leading to endless applause. I turned to Chad, with the smuggest grin I could muster: "Suck it Chad" I simply said, leaving him to wallow in his shame.
My father was outside, waiting for me. "You know, you have really impressed..." his words faded away as I double jumped on his face. After I was arrested for murder, the Olympic committee disqualified me on the basis of steroids, but no one believed it. Truth was, the US government got me out of prison on the condition that I was their test subject.
They could never figure out what caused it. My genes appeared average, and nothing changed in my body when I double jumped. Even now, 40 years later, they persist. I am officially considered an executed prisoner. I haven't even been outside for 40 years. I am simply a method to try and get the super soldiers they want.
It doesn't matter though, because I got what I wanted. I ruined Chad for life, and I impressed my father, only to betray him. Like he betrayed me. | 2017-02-11T09:03:43 | 2017-02-11T08:42:45 | 614 | 39 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | Mleep rose from his slumber. Today would be the day that this planet fell to the mighty wrath of mleep. Mleep was a hero, a soldier and a magnificent lover, the later being proved by countless sighs of tender pleasure. Mleep had been sent to earth by his overlords to do one thing. He knew what he had to do and he reveled in the fact that today this small blue planet would fall. Mleep put on his exo suit and picked up his galactic plasma blaster. He ventured out of his space ship and breathed in deeply. He would begin in this field of tall plant matter, he would murder and plunder his way through every being on this planet. He would start with this small furry being.
He sauntered up to it and spoke the words. The words were but a formality and he knew them by heart. Quickly he muttered them "bow before me being, you have been conquered, chose your death. " the small furry being did not react nor did Mleep expect it to. He aimed his plasma blaster and started to activate the death blast. Suddenly he paused, was it, was this thing, mocking him? It was just laying there licking its appendage with not a care in the world. Mleep became angry "bow before Mleep, lesser being"! He bellowed. The small furry creature just stared at him and continued with the appendage grooming.
Mleep decided he would dispatch this creature by hand. He put his hand in the place where its heart should be and instantly recoiled with shock. It was warm, it was warm and, what's this, are those the toes of beans? He was astounded at how this creature so much resembled the revered and much honored thronax of his home planet. He steeled his reserve and went to rip out its heart, but the thing merely rolled onto its other side and made a slight noise. Uncanny how much it reminded him of a thronax. From its sharp little ear flaps to its long rear whip fluff. Mleep thought back to the teachings of the great ones. It is said that the thronax must not be harmed, the thronax are the gatekeepers and as such are to be tolerated and cared for. Mleep wondered if this was some kind of trick. Was this an ancient ancestor of the beloved thronax? The creature gazed at him and Mleep slowly allowed himself to stroke the small furry creature. Then the most amazing thing happened. It started to vibrate and Mleep knew he couldn't harm this creature. He knew what this was, it was a test from the ancient ones. Mleep bowed to the revered one and slowly backed away. He was so in awe of this finding that he went back to his ship and sat down, his faith shattered. He had traveled so far yet he couldn't find it in himself to harm this planet. For if the beloved and revered thronax made its home here, surely this was one of the chosen placed just like his home planet. Mleep pushed a button and the reactor drives rumbled to life. He was halfway to sector 23 when it finally dawned on him, that the creature was part of a conspiracy, surely a trap. | Not with a bang, but with a whimper
It has been thirteen years since the aliens invaded. Well I say invaded, they just parked a space ship in the ocean and sank a few ship. And they're not actually aliens they're just humans who somehow ended up in a distant galaxy a long time ago. They're kinda dickish about the whole "We mastered fusion power whilst you were burning cowshit for warmth thing" but other than that they're all right.
Sure do keep buying up a lot of land though. All the money that keeps flooding the economy and they seem to be the only ones getting richer.
According to the news they now own most of the purchasable land in New York, Chicago and London.The week before that Apple is now a subsidiary of E'Kath Tal-Morrel franchise. The week before that they purchased IBM, before that General Electric, and before that Monsanto. Freaking Monsanto.
Oh well, at least my supervisor's nice. | 2016-02-22T10:30:41 | 2016-02-22T08:33:57 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] When an animal dies, we often use the expression "crossing the rainbow bridge." This is not by accident, every animal crosses the Bifröst, having earned their place in Valhalla defending us from a greater evil then we could ever know. Tell their stories. | Lo, now do I tell the tale of the mighty Samson. A canine of regal bearing but only 13 toes, he chanced upon the queen while she was patrolling our borders with David, the kingdom’s canine squire. Though his size intimidated her at first, it came to be known throughout the realm that Samson was as tender to his loved ones as he was feared by the Darkness. Many brave deeds were performed during his travels - Samson the Ever-Vigilant chased away countless nightmares, door-to-door salesmen, and moments of loneliness.
For a while, there was peace in the realm. With Samson as stalwart protector, the Darkness was kept at bay - but still it lurked, devising twisted machinations and watching... always *watching*. Finally, the Darkness saw its opportunity and struck.
But the Darkness is more insidious than any enemy met on a field of battle, more vile than the most corrupt vizier - it does not fight fair, and it plays for keeps.
The Darkness crept inside the realm late one night and placed its repulsive tendrils upon the noble Samson. The defender of the defenseless had many weapons at his disposal: his bark frightened off even the scariest nightmare and gave immeasurable comfort to those he protected. His fearsome maw protected his queen from would-be invaders and licked her face afterwards. But even his formidable weapons had no effect on the Darkness; indeed, not many have.
The Darkness spread inside this courageous warrior - but it spread quickly, too quickly. The king and queen tried every remedy suggested by the apothecary, to no avail. As the days grew short and the nights grew long, the king and queen saw that their courageous champion was losing his final battle.
The king and queen brought the noble Samson to the apothecary and found a patch of sunny grass. The Darkness had found such purchase that Samson could hardly walk, so his queen carried him to the patch of sun, whose light and warmth Samson had always loved. And before the Darkness could claim him did the king and queen, with heavy hearts, bid him a final farewell.
In the light of the sun and in the light of the love from the king and queen, Samson crossed the Bifrost to Valhalla, where he was rewarded for his valiant service with a large field to play in and all the McDonald’s cheeseburgers he could eat. Samson still keeps his eye upon the realm, and he visits when needed - sometimes as a touch of wind, sometimes as a feeling of contentment.
Truly, Samson will never be forgotten.
In loving memory of our big boy - 7/5/13-10/31/16.
Sleep well, my friend. | An unnamed cow walks into Valhalla. He sees the 60 billion other animals killed by humans in the last year waiting for him. "Hey, join the party! " "Welcome to Valhalla!" they all say.
Another friendly cow comes forward to talk to him. "Word of advice, watch out for the dragon Alduin. He flies around eating us when it gets foggy." The cow replies, "you're fucking kidding me, they eat us here too?"
| 2018-05-25T04:30:38 | 2018-05-25T02:31:56 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] The city's most effective hero doesn't have powers. He is just a simple therapist who joined the hero business after seeing one of his patients killed on the news. | In the dark recesses of the Mega City Bay Tri-State Area were a group of hooligans with green mohawks and wearing leather jackets, so that everyone would know how edgy and hardcore they were. They were engaged in their favorite pastime: spray painting penises on the wall of a public library.
"Dude, look how hairy I made mine," one of them said.
"Sick," said another.
Karl was drawing the most vigorous member of them all, with detail to rival even Bansky. He was the only hooligan whose parents had died at the Opera (they had indulged in some under-cooked salmon.) In other words, he was the only one with a compelling backstory.
He was also the only one who was so engrossed in his drawing that he didn't hear when a mysterious figure entered the scene. He didn't notice when all his friends ran away. In fact, he didn't notice the figure until he spoke.
"That's some mighty fine art work you've got yourself."
Karl turned around to see an elderly man biting into a thick cigar. His hair was neatly trimmed and silver gray. He looked healthy enough for his age, except of course that he was in a wheelchair. Everything about him shouted patriarch, even the chain hanging from one of his buttonholes and lead into his pocket.
"Whatever," Karl said.
"I prefer Brouilett, but to each his own. I'm sure the subject matter is dear to you."
Karl took out a knife and brandished it. "Is that supposed to be funny? Maybe you're looking to get hurt, old man?"
The man put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No, nothing of the sort. Just analyzing. It's kind of what I do."
Karl studied the man as he wheeled around, studying the graffiti and rubbing his chin. He felt as if he had seen him before. Must have been something about him. How else had scared away his friends?
"Say, what's your deal anyhow?" Karl said.
"You could say I'm something of a talent scout. You see, I run a school for psychotic youth."
"Might want to consider using some sort of euphemism instead of calling your students psychotic there buddy."
The mystery man chuckled. "I suppose you're right."
It was then that Karl recognized the man's laugh from a news segment he had seen on TV. "You're that Professor guy."
"Professor F," he said while rubbing his chin.
"So what do you want with me?"
Professor F took a moleskine notebook out of his pocket and wrote down a line or two. Karl would have charged him then and there, if only for bothering him, but it was rumored that Professor F had some sort of psychic abilities that could control people's actions. Finally, the professor looked up from his notebook.
"You remind me of someone I used to know. I was hoping you could take his place."
"Fat chance, I have a good life here in the slums of Mega City Bay Tri-State Area."
Professor F looked deep into Karl's eyes. "Did it ever occur to you that you're only graffitiing and doing crime because you're sexually attracted to your mother and want to kill your father?"
Karl dropped his knife. "Oh my God. You're so right. Why can't I direct my impulses into something positive?"
"It's alright." Professor F clapped Karl on the back. "You will be able to if you come with me."
"Are we going to your school?"
"Yes, my sweet Oedipus. Yes we are."
&#x200B;
\----------------------------------
For more nonsense see: [www.egillatlason.com/Stories/TheRedditPrompts](https://www.egillatlason.com/Stories/TheRedditPrompts) | Everyone has a story. Be it heroes, villains, everybody is merely the sum of a series of more or less fortunate events.
Most people are stuck in their lives, and no matter how much you try and beat some sense into them, sometimes they just won't change, because they simply do not believe they can.
That's were I come in.
Pyro, an ex marine that, after a failed experiment, could now wield flames and had been terrorizing the city for the past few weeks was sitting in front of me, his hand chained to a table.
He was in his mid 40's, his black beard and hair only remained in patches, probably because of the flames. However, when I looked in his eyes while sitting in front of him, a small handbook in my hands, I could only observe his hard, cold stare.
" Oh, so beating me up wasn't enough ? Now I get to see a shrimp ? " He laughed. " C'mon big boy, want me to talk about my father and the milk he never came with ? " He shook is head.
I asked the two gards in the room to leave and after a few moments, simply gave Pyro an even colder stare.
" You killed many people, Mr.. - I looked at my notes, even though I perfectly knew his name, but seeming detached was always a good tactic with those kind of cases - Mr.Fritz, you know that ? " I asked. " But don't worry, I'll fix you. " | 2022-05-27T11:50:59 | 2022-05-27T11:06:24 | 37 | 22 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | The pounding has slowed to a minor thump, replaced in it with a constant ring. Blow after blow had left my vision blurry and bloody, and it's starting to get harder to breathe; my nose may have been broken a few punches back. People's insecurities are laughable at times but it looks like I'll never be able to laugh after this, and all because girl doesn't like boy anymore. I can't even remember their names anymore? All there is now, the steel fists that relentlessly assault my face and body.
CRACK
That's my ribcage, blood is beginning to fill my lungs, I feel the coppery taste and smell as I struggle to breathe. As I cough trying to get more air than blood into my lungs, I hear his muffled screams. Something about custards got flood on free? No that cant be right. Whatever he said has caused him to drop and allow me a moment of respite. A bitter relief, the pain is excruciatingly worse now that's he's stopped. More muffles and im hoisted to my feet against something. A tree perhaps? Yes I think we're in the campus forest, father used to take me through these woods hunting many years ago. Cold water is splashed in my face and the blood and grit begins to clear from my eyes and has stifled the ringing for a moment.
Jesus Clay you've nearly killed him!
Shut up and hold him, or you'll join him.
Clay as in Clay Barker? Why is my best friend doing this? My vision is far to distorted for me to be able to see who Clay really is. The cold steel caresses my head before painfully grasping my scalp and holding my head upright. A second steel fist begins to form as a face enters my sight.
I told you to leave her alone monkey. You took her from me so now I'm taking you.
I didn't feel the fist make contact, didnt hear it nor taste it. Nothing, nothing but nothing and more nothing. I can't see, cant hear or smell, but I can feel? I can feel something slithering around my eye sockets. I can feel my torso twisting and snapping, almost as if it's putting itself back together? No that's ridiculous. Nobody has ever had a sigil that granted healing factors or things of that nature this just must be what afterlife is like. Nobody has ever had a plain circle either though...
CRACK
That familiar rib cracked again, but back into place! I gasp choking on mulch and dirt as I reach my mangled hand through the soil to fresh air. At least they did me a courtesy of making my grave shallow. I finished digging and propped myself agains a nearby tree to witness the miracle at work. Tears in flesh are beginning to close, my right arm, which from forearm down looks like someone put under a jack hammer, is beginning to straighten and inflate with muscle again. I reach up to the back of my neck to stretch. My sigil is burning and spinning? I gaze in awe at the grotesque readjustment process the rest of my body is going through and then look up as my leg makes its final adjustment with an audible clop. Theres blood on the tree. I slowly stand up letting the reformed muscle hold me and see the stain at my head height. My blood, bits of bone and pieces of brain.
Holy shit, I-I'm immortal?
I reach back to my sigil and it has grown dormant. Just a plain carved circle into my flesh. The sun is setting so I begin to head back to my dorm. Single studio just how I like it. My hands are shaking as this evening events re roll through my mind and I decide to be brave (stupid if it didnt work. Funny how that is right?). I set my alarms an hour earlier so I could clean up when I awoke and sat down in my chair with a knife from my chef set mom got me last Christmas. I removed my shirt and with a silent prayer I drove the steak knife through my heart, twisted and removed, throwing it into the kitchenette.
Blackness.
I awoke in a sweat to the alarm blaring. I stumble turning it off and zombie my way to the bathroom to begin my morning routine, accidentally kicking a knife across the floor... Adrenaline has spiked as I realize it wasn't a dream and throw on the lights to see no hole where my heart is. No cut, scar or anything in between. A wicked smile creeps across my face as I clean the blood off the floor and knife.
Deciding to make a surprise I arrive 5 minutes late to first lecture. I walk in and as you do everyone stops and turns around to see who's going to be rushing in like an idiot. Except there were some who were more shocked than other's.
Morning Clay. What's wrong? Someone walk over your grave? | When the rapture happened there was a pretty big uproar. Anarchy, riots the whole shebang. People were scared, and they should've been. But then after, they started to get used to it. Then people started being born with weird birthmarks, and usually developed powers based on that mark. Most had constellations. My friend, Jace, he had Orion. That made him extremely strong, and able to see what he wants no matter where he is on the planet. Which is crazy. Me? I've ways just had a circle. Just a plain small blue circle on my forearm. Because of that I get bullied. I never use my power, my dad told me not too right before he died. They assume I'm weak. They assume I don't have a power.
Oh how wrong they are.
I'm tired of being the object of their torture.
Of being punched by those with strong constellations.
Even poisoned by the serpent ones.
I. Am. Done.
They will finally realize why I never use my circle. My power.
My Black Hole.
They try to punch, to poison, to do anything. But nothing escapes gravity. Nothing.
They have hit me for the last time.
As my former friend Orion throws his punch, smiling, laughing at my pain with the others, I reach out my hand. My head tilts up, lip split, black eye, and finger broken.
I reach out my hand, and say "I'm done." He stops laughing, and looks at me with a cautious look. He should be much more than cautious.
From my palm springs out a purple/black energy writhing in smokey tendrils, around Orion. His eyes widen and he screams. Whether out of fear or pain, I don't care anymore.
I'm tired.
His body fold in on itself with a sickening wet crunch, and turns completely black, glowing purple. The others are standing back, fear in their eyes. Good they should be afraid. Their weak Constellations won't save them now.
I'm tired.
I grab what used to be Orion's body, but now black hole, in my hand as my fist closed around it, about the size of a baseball. I look up at the others "I'm done being Bullied."
I'm tired.
I throw my Ball at them and as I do they try to run, but nobody can outrun gravity. It connects, and his body fold in on himself too, combining with Orion, to make the ball about the size of a softball.
They made me do this. I never wanted this. I just wanted to be left alone. I'm so very tired. So. Tired. My vision goes black with my body still moving. I'm done. | 2020-02-26T08:04:31 | 2020-02-26T07:44:57 | 147 | 91 |
[WP] A village was attacked by a dragon. All the townsfolk ran screaming, except one. The one stepped forward, faced the dragon, and said "Omg, you're so cute, like, how tall are you?" | The stream of flame sputtered a little before coming to a complete halt. The dragon coughed a little, sending puffs of smoke and other nasty fumes out in clouds. He had to look around for a few seconds before seeing the young, red headed woman standing in front of him. She was practically between his front two legs; he backed up a little to get a better look.
"Wha-- what was that?" he asked, confused.
"I said," The young woman began, "how tall are you." As she spoke, she twisted one finger around in her curly red hair. She took step forward, putting herself back between the dragons two legs.
"I'm -- well," the dragon started, awkwardly. "Uhh -- I'm not sure how tall you would call it. Two houses, perhaps, would be a close approximation in human terms."
"Wow," she said, gently caressing his front leg with the tip of her finger. "That is SO tall."
"Well, I suppose, by human standards it is fairly tall, but by dra--"
"I've always *loved* tall guys," she interrupted. Her whole hand was now caressing the dragon's sinuous, scaled arm.
The dragon took another step away from the young woman. She took a step forward as well, moving almost in tandem with him, but negotiating her body even closer to his as they came to a halt.
"Well," the dragon said," that's very good, I suppose. But, like I said, I am really not all that tall for a dragon. I'm really just above average height, I believe."
The young woman giggled playfully. "Don't be still! I bet you have all the lady dragons just lined up!"
"I do alright, I suppose," the dragon said a little flummoxed. "If you would excuse me, young lady, I have some very important dragon business to get back too."
He turned back to the now only smouldering byre that he had been working on before and breathed in deeply, ready to send another tower of flame its way.
Before he could release his torrent of flame, the young woman tapped him on the leg again.
"Dragon business like kidnapping young maidens?" she asked. As she spoke, she clasped he hands in front of her and leaned forward, prominently displaying her bust.
The dragon choked on his flames.
"Oh --" he coughed "I-- um -- I see." He took another step back. His tail knocked into a well, the bricks collapsed and the bucket went flying. He coughed again.
"Because," she continued, "if that was some of your dragon business, I would be just *completely* defenseless. You could just grab me, fly me off your cave, and do..." she bit her lower lip..."*anything* to me."
The dragon looked around, hurriedly looking for something else to focus on. Even though he spent a great deal of time breathing flames, suddenly he seemed to be uncomfortably warm. Failing to find anything else to look at he turned his attention back to the maiden. Had her blouse been open like that the whole time or had she undone another button?
"Well, you see-- umm," the dragon sputtered. "I'm very flattered, but--"
"There aren't any knights around," she said. "I could be days -- maybe even weeks -- before anyone could come rescue me."
"I just remembered," the dragon said. "I left another village burning. I really need to go check on that." Before he even finished speaking, his wings had opened and he had taken to the air. Within just a minute, he was over the horizon.
The townsfolk nearby, who had been watching the encounter closely, quickly rushed back to their homes and businesses. Working together, they managed to put out all of the fires and stop the spread of the damage that the dragon had already caused. With the immediate dangers of the flame out of the way, the farmers ran off to gather up their fleeing livestock. Some of the others began aid on their singed friends and neighbors.
It wasn't long before, the scorched buildings aside, the village regained an almost normal flow of life. With practiced efficiency, the people practically picked up their lives exactly where they left off before being so rudely interrupted.
Later in the day, a few of the villagers gathered at the home of a certain red headed young woman to thank her.
"How do you always do it?" one of the villagers asked. "Every time a dragon attacks our town, you always seem to scare them off so easily."
"Simple," she said. "Dragons are all prudes." | “ELLA NO” the scream from Ella’s parents poking their head up from the basement of their house could not be heard over the sound of the people running scared, and damaged buildings crumbling down around the town.
Ella stood looking up at the massive dragon as it peered down looking at her with a big grin of glee on her face, she had never seen a dragon before. The dragon looked down at her, confused, ‘why was this small little human just standing there looking at him, calling him…cute.’
The dragon shook its head before roaring loudly at Ella, covering the little girl in phlegm and other things as Ella managed to stay in her spot as her feet were rooted to the ground and she nearly ended up horizontal as her dress billowed with the gust coming from the dragon.
It raised its head to peer back down at this little girl expecting it to run off in fear and terror like all humans did when a dragon appeared in their village.
But no…this girl was still standing there, laughing in glee at being covered in snot, taking some of it off her and throwing at the dragon landing on the dragon as it craned its neck to see the smear of snot on its stomach.
‘What is this strange little thing’ the dragon thought, as it lowered its head down, moving it up to the little girl taking a few sniffs at Ella who giggled at her dress being flapped but the sniffs.
She reached out a hand and patted the dragon on the nose, “cute doggy” she said grinning as she patted.
The dragons head recoiled up quickly in shock and surprise looking at the girl, confused, not sure what to make of what was happening, the dragon looked and stared down at Ella for a long time, it’s mind racing, not sure what was going on, what was happening.
It almost felt a warm feeling within adding to the confusion.
The dragon turned, confused, and with a flap of its wings, flew away trying to make sense of the experience, as it flew away it hear a little call from behind, “bye bye doggy” from the little girl Ella.
This was new, different…and something about it, the dragon enjoyed as it flew away from the village, not far away from the village it could see a lake down below and took a diversion, landing in front of the lake.
Peering down into it, looking down at itself in the reflection, thinking…’am I cute?’ | 2021-01-18T15:43:03 | 2021-01-18T13:38:36 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] In your world, friendship is literally magic. However, your bond must be true. Magic is bluer the more friends you have, and it's also stronger. Your cousin is the second strongest sorcerer alive. The strongest? You, with red magic and an absolute hatred for everyone you've ever met. | I've often thought, that Ambition, must be fuelled by contempt. After all, desires don't rise from nothing. You start off young, and carefree, and the more you are wronged by people - the more people take advantage of you - the more you strive to be better than them.
And it's a self-perpetuating loop. The more contemptuous of a person you are, the less likely you are to show weakness to others that might help humanise yourself in their eyes. Because they live privileged lives, oblivious to the humanity of even their worst enemy. They make me sick.
My cousin stands atop a podium right now, he's giving a speech about some complex techniques for a mind-link. Essentially, a way to fuse together two minds and live in perfect unity from then on. I find it intriguing for the applications this has to confuse and potentially torture individuals you feel have wronged you, by linking them together without their knowledge.
I could give a lecture like that. Stand tall in front of everyone, so distanced. No doubt he hates it up there, how could anyone so involved in positive magic, *friendly* magic, enjoy a position of authority? And he's so ignorant of me too, he knows I'm stronger than him. And that I made myself stronger than him. Why must I be the one to sit at the back of the hall, not that I don't prefer the isolation.
We were both born into the same family, his parents died and mine adopted him as their son. But he'll never be my brother.
Never.
I'm just that much more skilled than him, to think someone might lump him and I together as "Family" sounds disgusting to me. I made sure of it, in fact. That there would be no person in the world who would ever think of me and him as "family". Especially after the situation with "our" parents.
...
Not that it stops him from acting like we're best buddies.
Back. Around twenty-four years ago when we were, in everyone's eyes, brothers; we would play together. He would go out, knock on everyone's doors in the neighbourhood, and they would all play games together. And I would come out, and join in, then he'd act like I had always been there.
His nickname for me, was "dumb-o". Or "stupid-o". Imagine that, a twelve year old boy calling his seven year old brother, dumb.
And so, I put two and two together. I wasn't invited to play, because I was dumb. And from that, I put him on a pedestal. He must be smart, if I'm dumb. And he became my idol. All through my entire childhood, looking up to a paragon of friendliness, and also the only person I'd ever truly, genuinely interact with.
After years and years of improving myself, becoming smarter, becoming better than everyone I saw as smarter than me, smarter than even the teachers, I finally realised.
He was never smart.
And on that severance, I became a real outcast. From then on, my magic, which had always been a weak blue, turned blood red. A beautiful, familiar, crimson. I got my wish. I was the best, the cleverest, and the most intelligent.
Voluntarily, I decided to fake being unable to use magic. At fourteen, I became a magic-mute. I had never heard of red magic, ever, and I doubt anyone else had too. Which meant, either I'm the first, which is unlikely, or there have been multiple before me who were all discreetly killed. I'd never risk it.
I stopped interacting with him. I started calling him my cousin. I was finally free of him. In fact, I made certain of our separation. Our parents would get in the way, try to force me to make up with him, so I killed them. I killed them with my gift, in such a perfect way that they could never trace it back to a magic mute, certainly not a magic mute with such weak power anyway.
He knew. He knew what I did, though. He didn't know how, so I drew on my learning, and used my newfound power to remap his entire brain to avoid that memory.
Contempt was my new power, so fitting for jealousy to be both my motivation and my method for becoming stronger and smarter than everyone else. I could rise right up to the top, over the glass houses of friendship which would shatter if only a single person throws a stone, and ascend into my mountainous and impenetrable stone castle.
So I sit here, and wait at the back of the hall. Watching my little cousin try to justify the ideas that I give him. We still live together. I made us live together. He made so, *so* many friends when he was younger, and he still keeps in contact with all of them. So many genuine connections.
Well, he shouldn't be surprised. When you connect yourself by little blue strings to other people, don't be surprised when a puppeteer takes control. | A demonic fire is what they called it. Bright red flicks danced around Aoran’s frame as he stood on the corner, waiting for the bus. People passing by gave him a wide berth, no one else dared to wait at the same spot, afraid of even coming close to the immense red aura that illuminated him.
“Fucking amateurs can’t even get a fucking bus here on time.” He muttered, angered by the 3 minutes that had passed since the bus was supposed to be there. Aoran was a powerful sorcerer, people feared him, for what he could do no one really knew. As powerful as he was, as great and magical the tiresome city around him was, he still held a normal nine to five job, and the best mode of transportation was the bus.
People especially like the public transport system for the city - It’s cleaner, it’s more environmentally friendly, how can it hurt anything when it’s run by magic? That’s what people said at least, the fools believed the thick smog and gas that pumped out from behind the bus was of magical significance, unable to see past their own blue tints.
This was only one of the reasons why he hated fucking people, not only were they ignorant, they were so stuck up and worried about how blue they glowed. Blue this, blue that, the world might as well be a fucking Eiffel 65 song. Before anyone could notice his glowing red features, the bus showed up, only another minute later, but enough for Aoran to scowl at the bus driver in discontent. The chatter stopped and the blue auras that filled the bus parted like the sea as he made his way towards an open area, free from sitting next to anyone.
The bus churned and began its journey once again, allowing Aoran the briefest of moments to be lost in his own thoughts again. Why was he even here? It’s not like anyone wanted him to be, it’s not like he wanted to be. No one ever wanted him around, they always preferred his perfect brother, the actual most powerful sorcerer. Not even his parents lifted a finger to acknowledge him, so why should he care when his aura faded into a dark purple, to a shimmering red all these years? Power-wise, he could defeat his brother, but what would he gain from that? It’s not like he would suddenly become popular with everyone.
The bus passed through the bustling city, it’s light enhancing the blue glow that flowed through the streets, mimicking a raging river. Aoran watched as it passed, as everyone else on the bus watched him, tense and scared to continue their conversations. All they saw was red, but if they ever cared to look close, they would see the green that showed through, green with envy for the love his brother had from everyone. Something Aoran would never have, not that he even wanted it anymore to begin with. | 2020-10-03T17:00:22 | 2020-10-03T16:43:54 | 2,430 | 198 |
[WP] It turns out, hell is not a eternal damnation of fire, but instead a sort of boot camp where you confront your sins, fears, and demons, to work toward deliverance. Except for the worst, serial killers, cannibals, cult leaders, they go to a hotel to be executed painfully, you are the manager. | So you might be wondering why there is a large, gleaming white hotel in the middle of hell. Its adjacent to Lucifer's Palace, but larger of course. Lucy is all business and no need to have his home be any larger than necessary.
The Hotel is a workplace. Inside you find gleaming marble, angelic choirs and of course me. The choirs are a nice touch, we have them on loan from upstairs.
Me, I'm the Manager. I think I had a name once, but now I'm the Manager. I run the place.
"Morning Hitler," I announce cheerily as Adolph shuffles into the lobby. The bellhop takes his baggage, and man does he have baggage.
"Ja," he mutters. He looks a bit shell shocked, they all do this early.
"Would you like your normal room," I ask as one of the valets brings him coffee. You can see the slight tremor in his hand as he takes it. We do have other rooms if you want to refuse your assigned on. We aren't monsters. We keep those in the other rooms.
"No, my regular room will be... f... fine," he says finally. I nod briskly. He's refused about a dozen times now, and those are my fun days. But Hitler isn't feeling adventurous today and instead reaches out gingerly for his key.
Smiling, I pull out the ring. Hitler's keyring is one of the biggest ones in all the world. Each key is only good once. Each key represents the life of someone Hitler wronged and there are millions of them. Could be anything from he'd ruined their life to ordering their death. You'd figure it would be hard to fit that many on a keyring, but I got it from God. He can really Create things.
Sigh, the big guy thinks that's funny. You would too if you were intelligently designed. Ha.
Hitler is calmed down now. That's what the coffee is for. It erases the trauma for a few minutes. Makes it much easier to put him into a room. Man, the time before the 'coffee' was rough. Getting Genghis Kahn into his room was a real chore.
"This one is only 39 years," I comment pulling out the key and dropping it into his hand.
He swallows, before finally mouthing, "Any children."
"Always," I reply causing him to flinch. The other part about the keys is that you get to experience all of the emotions that the other person felt. The wrenching pain of a parent losing a child, frequently having them murdered in front of them, was soul scarring. It was probably worse than a child being killed, but I'd leave that to the academics. At minimum, it was worse for Hitler, he always had that same pale look even through the 'coffee'.
The bellhop walked up behind him. I was never quite sure if that was the actual title or we got that wrong. I supposed it didn't matter. The slip of a man had a divine decree by God to place Hitler into his room. In practical terms, that meant nothing would prevent that. I'd watched a 7 foot tall 300lb man struggle with the bellhop for 20 minutes and the entire time the bellhop never moved at all.
I was just glad Hitler was over the begging. The last thousand times he had begged. Before that he'd demanded. But I was the Manager, and I didn't really have to concern myself with his opinions.
Originally I wondered why we had the heavenly theme going on in here, and the calming juice. It took watching men like Hitler shatter against the Hotel to realize why. This was going to be the only nice thing he got to experience for the next 39 years. 39 years of awful anticipation before a rather horrible death. Deaths at 39 were never pleasant. Every moment of every day he'd know this is where it would end. Then you'd wake up right outside the hotel door and be compelled to walk in again.
Then for a brief moment, he'd have a few minutes of peace to realize it was going to happen again. That's what broke people. And the coffee made them break over and over again until they served their sentence.
I shook my head and glanced down at the ring. There were over six million Jewish keys on it, and that wasn't even half of the keyring. I often times wondered who he had been in life, but that was unimportant here.
Putting the keyring away I waited until the door opened again, "Jeffry Dahmer, as I live a breath. How are you doing today?"
"NOOOOOOOOO!"
He needed more coffee. | The buzzer sounded, alerting the room that their fresh inmates from purgatory were being marched in. Societies most evil: the mass murders, the flesh eaters, and the cult leaders - all arrived in whatever they were last wearing upon their death. Some with bloodied shawls or ponchos, and others their holier than though cultish garb, but the worst were the unidentifiable. The everyday man or woman dressed in casuals or work clothes, never discovered, and dead by natural causes or suicide. Bets were placed on the who was the worst offender; it was hell, after all.
'My moneys on lardo over there. Khakis and glasses, looks like a recluse.'
Your workers are demons, and you yourself a demigod. Ordained by Satan himself. At the ceremony you chose to have your horns curl up and then hang down over your shoulders, and sharpened with gold tips.
'Cut it out, you rats!' You tell your demons 'I want them processed and pulled apart before lunch break. Then we clean up and ship the remains. Easy money.'
Brenda hissed as you approached, not out of spite, but out of respect. She was on duty to take the details of your deathly payload. She stood in a booth that faced a small room, and one by one the inmates were questioned inside the room. Blood stained the walls and floor, and various trinkets from past inmates had yet to be removed.
A man with a machete in his stomach entered the room.
'Name?' She croaked.
'Johansson.'
'Crime?'
'I'm innocent.'
Brenda gave him a tired look with her purulent-yellow eyes.
'We have your crime on file already, sir. This is just a test.'
'Well then test my ass, bitch.' The puerile man said.
She pressed the red button to her left with her clawed hand and a trap door opened under Johansson.
'Sometimes I wonder why they don't just send them down there first.'
The door slid open, and a behemoth hand shoved the next person in.
'Name?'
'Pig fucker!'
*Sigh*
Brenda pressed the button again and the ponytail girl went screaming to the lower floor.
'Great work there, Brenda. I've scheduled a meeting later today to discuss your performance. We're really close to beating last years quarterly!'
'Just one thing, Brenda. Don't forget to smile.' You flashed your teeth brilliant bleach white, plumping your firm red cheeks.
'Well, If I did, then I'd put you out a job!'
You laughed flirtatiously, and went on your merry way clipboard in hand. | 2021-12-13T08:20:54 | 2021-12-13T06:50:19 | 434 | 79 |
[WP] Humanity has always thought itself very smart for figuring out how to ride a giant explosion into space. Turns out there's a much easier way and the rest of the galaxy thinks we're insane. | The Federation Cruiser sat in orbit around Earth, waiting for the human emissaries to arrive. One each of the tripartite Federation counsel - a Trylixian, a Loloth, and a Hiddrell, each waited in the grand reception hall, eager to begin negotiations.
Humanity was like to be a powerful ally for the Federation and it was estimated their high rate of reproduction would quickly bolster the ranks of the Federation military within a matter of centuries.
It had been a long and tiresome process arranging this first meeting, however. Humankind proved quite anxious and excitable and initial efforts at contact were met with threats. It took a decade of entreaties, and the work of dozens of xenolinguists and xenosociologists to build the trust necessary for a physical meeting.
All the while the Federation had laid defacto blockade to the human home world, although the humans did not seem to mind as they had no space faring fleet whatsoever beyond a smattering of probes and the delicate "space station" of which they were so protective.
But still, the Federation saw humanity's potential and waited eagerly for their full induction into galactic civilization.
One of the Trylixian engineers, a lieutenant, approached the three emissaries as they talked amongst themselves.
"Counselors, the humans are incoming. However -" The engineer paled and hesitated.
The Trylixian counselor chimed in, "out with it soldier. Is their a problem?"
"Not exactly your honor, but, well, the human ship is mounted on a chemical rocket."
The Trylixian counselor blanched, the Hiddrell hissed in that staccato way that indicated laughter, and the Loloth, a giant white blob, radiated a wave of pensive pink across its undulating form.
"You must be mistaken," the Trylixian counselor replied, "they have their precious space station in geosynchronous orbit. Why would they use rockets instead of a space elevator? Why maintain such a station otherwise?"
The lieutenant did not know what to say. "I have no idea, your honor. But the humans *are* incoming on a ballistic trajectory."
"What did I tell you," the Hiddrell hissed, tapping the talons of his right hand against one another, "they are a bold race. They ride missiles into the sky!"
The Loloth glowed lightly as it transmitted its voice into its fellow counselors' minds. "Bold and foolhardy are close cousins, distant relative of madness."
For his part the Trylixian counselor had more practical concerns than human psychology. "Lieutenant, raise the shields and put the ship on code yellow alert - I'll not risk the safety of this vessel." Or his own life, he failed to add.
The lieutenant gave a curt nod. "Yes your honor," he said and marched off.
Anxious, the Trylixian counselor filled a glass with hot tea and sat at the head of the negotiation table. The Loloth gave a worried glow.
"And if the humans interpret our shields as a sign of aggression, what then?"
But the Trylixian gave a scornful laugh and waved away the Loloth's concern. "Please, I doubt the imbeciles can even register our shielding," he said and then leaned forward emphatically, "They're flying in on a *ballistic missile*! They might as well have fired themselves out of cannon," he shook his head anxiously. "Maniacs," he muttered and took a swig of his tea, thankful for its mild sedative effect on his frayed nerves.
*****
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
#### r/LFTM
| The primates that inhabit the Earth, thought to be sentient and conscious, bear the ridicule of the galaxy. Visiting space at the cost of pricey metals and exorbitant resources? Absolutely ludicrous. What about those who have tried the universal method of visiting space? They are shunned and told never to do it again. Just what is it with humanity and their needlessly extravagant practice of sending metallic cylinders with their pitiful kind into space if you could do so at the cost of a few martian *cents*, not even dollars, at the supermarket? It's not that they lack the materials for the much cheaper method. They are just dead set on not doing so. If we were to try to contact another intelligent life form, they would certainly be last on the list. There is almost a *cult* against our method of visiting space. ridiculous. I will visit space right now to spite their kind. I will pop a pill, and close my eyes. I will be on Saturn in five minutes, where the hands of humanity shall never reach. Just what are they thinking?
first time poster, obviously I'm shite at this. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but I'm going to post it anyways because I want to improve at writing and hopefully, I can write meaningful stories next time and not just shitposts that people forget. | 2019-01-21T06:11:50 | 2019-01-21T04:49:32 | 256 | 38 |
[WP] you have discovered that after you do a good deed for someone, an hour later, something bad happens to them (splinter, divorce, death, etc), you finally decide to stop helping anyone for good. This counts as a good deed done to everyone and everything | A monk told me about Karma and causality, once; how good deeds can lead to good effects, and bad ones to bad effects, that kind of thing.
“But what if something gets broken?,” I asked. “Can there ever be, like, a glitch in the system? A... disproportionate response to someone who’s been really, really bad and maybe tipped the scale?”
I don’t think he recognized me without my mask or usual... entourage, or knew exactly what I used to be into, but he started talking about how the nature of deeds are tied up in the intentions of the doer. I just started to tune him out, worried I was finding no answers here. I thanked him anyway, accidentally bumping over a candle on the way out.
—-
I suppose I first noticed it with my upstairs neighbor. Or maybe I should have noticed with the panhandler who usually stood outside my building. As someone else who couldn’t quite make it in the “normal” world, I felt for the guy, so I gave him a couple bucks now and then, and every time his story got a little more dramatic: he needed bus fare because his car caught fire; he had to buy medicine because a burger he got gave him bad food poisoning; then I found out he’d been gone a while because he finally bought some drugs that were mostly rat poison.
Anyway, the neighbor: It was two days after I helped her carry her groceries up the steps that I heard the ambulance crew rattling their gurney up the same dingy stairs — she’d fallen off a stool putting things away and broken her hip. I’d have stayed to help her with putting things away, too, but I’d been late to check in with my P.O. and was in a hurry. Maybe she was lucky; she’d have probably had a fatal heart attack the minute I left.
I started seeing it everywhere, and the delay between action and reaction started getting shorter. I’d wish my court-mandated therapist a nice day and she’d get a paper cut. I’d let someone in front of me on the bus, and they’d drop their entire fare on the floor in a cacophony of change (I swear when — hell, sorry, if — I rule this town, smart cards would be mandatory).
Do you have any idea how hard someone like me has to work at rehabilitation? To give up the monologues, the costumes, the rogue’s galleries and grand schemes? What am I supposed to do when the universe is telling me I’m supposed to be a bad guy?
—
So I relapsed. I found a nice little warehouse lair on the East side of town, hired on a few guys, started with some small bank robberies and went from there. I still tried to keep my harm to a minimum, because hey, maybe rehab worked (or maybe I secretly didn’t want to catch another super powered punch to the gut right away). I just had to hope it was enough that the hostages I didn’t manhandle got away with, like, a stubbed toe or something. I thought, maybe if I dust off my plans for that weather-control machine, I’ll accidentally cure global warming, or my magma laser will prevent the next big earthquake from swallowing California. Good intentions, right?
But it was only a matter of time before that prick noticed. Chiseled jaw, stupid underoos, monogram on his chest like we’d forget the name of the Goddamn superhuman that beat the snot out of us once a month. He busted through the ceiling of the warehouse and started throwing around my henchmen and one-liners. Swing, weather machine is back to being scrap; kick, my right-hand man has a broken left leg. Suddenly all I could think of was the last time we tangled, when my heat ray sent him crashing into that building that I later learned was an orphanage. How that was the point where I started to re-think my line of work.
Hindus believe in Karma, too, and that made me think of an old game, the original “Civilization,” where there was a bug that subtracted points from a computer player’s aggression but instead of going to zero or negative numbers, it went back around to the top of the scale and could turn the peace-loving Gandhi into a nuclear war-monger. Maybe that last battle was where something in the universe bent and broke, where Karma circled back and got all buggy.
I thought going back to the old tricks would help. It was when my nemesis’s gloved fist closed around my new cape and I felt myself being lifted into the air that I let myself think, “maybe I can’t do any more harm this way— or any good,” that I had a sudden second thought and wish I’d listened more to what that monk said about intentionality.
He didn’t listen as I tried to explain that he was making a mistake; that innocent lives could be at stake. The wind was whistling loudly as he flew me back up through the roof, but I thought the jagoff was supposed to have super-hearing.
—
Anyway, it’s been a week since I was tossed into solitary at the asylum (literally tossed. Have these super-schmucks ever heard of charges, trials, whatever?). I tried thinking to myself that maybe if I vowed revenge, and started scratching out plans for a death ray on the stone walls, that’d buy me some bad karma and save a few people. But I kept thinking how tired I was, and how I really couldn’t keep at it.
It’s been very quiet out there. I have to hope there’s something left for me to escape to and rule over, someday. | Wanna hear a story?
Imagine being that guy who breaks something every time he tries to help someone move apartments.
Now imagine being that guy, but accidentally repeatedly stabbing someone while giving them CPR.
NOW imagine being that guy for literally everyone everywhere.
Mama........I done messed up.
I'm not exactly a boy scout. I got friends who get into stupid drama all the time. I been arrested a few times for assault (twas a pugilist gentlemen's disagreement), public intoxication, some light kidnapping (later dismissed for being a consensual sexual endeavor), and a few different flavors of drugs. People don't expect me to stick my neck out for anyone but me and mine.
One day, my heart grows a couple sizes and I see some poor fellow in a Walmart parking lot. His car hood is up and he's on the phone. I offer a jump if he's got cables, he does, and I spend a few minutes helping a stranger. Our interaction concludes, I am pulling away to continue my day, and a friggin asteroid blows his brains out all over the side of his car. So, yeah, it got me thinking.
I was a little introverted for a few weeks, but another opportunity to be a nice guy showed up. Not to get into too much detail, but it involves a little old lady crossing the street, a ripped grocery bag, and a rabid, schizophrenic monkey. I thought I learned my lesson..
Nope. I stayed home and did nothing and now Trump is president. Fuck my life.
I am nothing if not a Spiderman fan. With great power comes great responsibility. I was determined to pursue a career path as the most inept rapscallion ever to hopefully serve as a vaccination for society. Because my motives were pure but my methods were sinister, I was hoping I could game the system to still do good in the world. I thought it worked. My test project was to work as Santa Claus and lie to children all day. Little Timmy wanted a drone and he got a fucking EtchASketch.
With a proof of concept, I extrapolated and thought: "If I can figure out a way to be simultaneously the best and worst person ever, maybe humanity can learn a thing or two. Maybe I can help people develop a curiosity about modern ethics. Maybe I can be a force for goo-"
*Ring ring*
Please excuse me, I have to take this. Yes? Oh! Nuclear Holocaust? I thought I asked you not to call me anymore. No. No. What? No! Um...hopefully never? WHAT!?!?
*click*
Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'm afraid we need to evacuate to somewhere desolate. Santa has magically materialized and has an unquenchable bloodlust. Tokyo, Moscow, Reykjavik, Sydney, Seattle, Houston, and Albuquerque New Mexico for some reason, are all as of 5 minutes ago giant radioactive craters. Rudolph the reindeer has human blood all over his nose and has been named Captain of Santa's sleigh team for his brutality. An army of orcs are building lethal toys in the North Pole. The children I talked to are now all cult priests with zero epistemological integrity. Also, Mrs. Claus is a boring fat hag who's more interested in watching TV than loving her husband so there's no hope for Santa growing any chill.
I'm done trying to be a good or bad guy. If I don't care, what I do doesn't count. Screw it. | 2019-12-26T01:53:48 | 2019-12-26T00:14:22 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] An alcoholic, a photographer, and a hit man sit next to each other at a bar. The three get into a debate about the perfect shot. | The three men sat at the counter, as they waited for their drinks. One disheveled and unshaven, the other neatly dressed, and the last as colorful as the neon sign outside, in stark contrast with the rest. They sat quietly until the colorful man spoke up.
"I do enjoy a good shot, don't you?", he said out loud, to no one in particular.
The disheveled man merely grunted as he stared at his empty glass. The neatly dressed man smiled and nodded in agreement. "A good shot is wonderful, but the perfect shot is what we should always aim for," he said.
"Oh I agree, I am ALWAYS looking for that one shot," the colorful man said as he began taking selfies with his phone. "Once you find it, you're always looking for another."
The disheveled man sneered at the others. "You don't know what you're talking about. There is no such thing as a perfect shot." He shook his head. "The only perfect shot is the one you make."
"You're right, you can take many shots, but you only need that one perfect shot to make it worthwhile," the neatly dressed man replied with a courteous laugh. "Why, I just finished a job where I had to wait for days to get the perfect shot!" He laughed quietly to himself. "In the end, it was worth it."
The colorful man rolled his eyes. "If I had to wait days for the perfect shot, I would rather DIE," he said rather dramatically. "No, the best way to make the perfect shot is just to have plenty of them, and find it." He began tapping on the bar impatiently. "What is taking so long for this man to get us our drinks?"
The disheveled man stared at the colorful man in disbelief. "Amateur," he muttered as he pulled out his phone. "Take that many shots and you'll end up in the gutter."
"FINALLY," the colorful man exclaimed, as the bartender emerged from the back with their drinks. "Were you distilling these drinks in the back or something?"
"I just got a call from my buddy down the street," the bartender said slowly as he placed the drinks in front of the men. "He said that he threw you out after your sixth drink." The bartender slowly slid the cocktail to the colorful man. "This is the only drink you're getting from me tonight, so go ahead and call a cab."
"How dare you!" the colorful man huffed as he snatched the glass. "Just because I've had a few—"
"You heard the man." said the disheveled man as he stared at his phone. "Take your drink and go home before it's too late."
"*You heard the man, take your drink and* blah blah blah", said the colorful man as he took his drink and sauntered out. "Just put it on my tab."
The neatly dressed man sat quietly enjoying his drink, and let his eyes wander across the walls. He smiled when he recognized one of his own shots framed on the wall.
The disheveled man downed his drink and laid his money on the table. He had to move fast, the client had requested it look like an accident. The colorfully dressed man certainly wasn't going to fall into the river by himself, no matter how many drinks he had consumed.
- EDIT
I don't usually edit my comments, but I was very shocked by all the attention and awards, and wanted to say thank everyone for the replies and reddit gold. It has been a while since I wrote creatively so it is nice to know this story hit a sweet spot for many readers. | "Well..." The photographer started, "I guess the shot has to be a pretty clean one. Solid and appreciable, but gets heads turning at them."
&#x200B;
The Hitman nodded accordingly, but quickly followed up with a remark of his own. "I agree completely with you, a shot has to be clean, otherwise it'll just get messy make everyone think you're an amateur at your job."
&#x200B;
"Well." Another man butted in, slightly slurring his words. "I don't care if the shot is clean or messy, everyone has their own tastes, however it has to be potent, with unmistakeable evidence that the concocter knows his tastes and knows his shot."
&#x200B;
The Hitman frowned at his comment, "Why on earth would you want people to know you made the shot, I'm more a 'out of sight' guy."
&#x200B;
"Noble," Noted the photographer, "But I must admit that I too want my name plastered all over my work. It gives me great pride to know that other people know me." The alcoholic laughed with him slapped him on that back.
&#x200B;
"That's the way to do it!" The two of them started talking happily about their favourite types of shots and their own, excluding the Hitman.
&#x200B;
'*These guys are sociopaths*.' Thought the Hitman, but returned to his drink nonetheless. | 2022-06-11T05:36:06 | 2022-06-11T03:12:18 | 1,469 | 256 |
[WP] Humanity is at war with an alien race that cleverly uses statistical analysis to predict and anticipate our military actions with incredible accuracy. The only way to defeat them is to be unpredictable. | “Buckets.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Questioned Fleet Commander Pail.
I again spoke up, “We wear buckets on our heads.”
The room went dead silent as none of those in charge could discern my level of seriousness. Seated around a table on the tenth floor of the World Defense Fleet HQ were dozens of the highest ranking military officials from all over the world. They all looked as if I had mortally offended their sensibilities but just being in this room. I mean, what would a lanky Professor of Chaos Theory do for their war effort?
So I began:
“You, the best military minds in the world, asked me here to help you defeat a foe that can seemingly predict our even move with a little math and a bit more statistical analysis. So the only way to beat predictability is to be dangerously unpredictable.”
“Ok Professor Mc. Tub, you have piqued our interest. Please do go on…”
I shifted silently in my seat knowing the moments to come could save the world and allow our race as a whole to survive.
“Well, they seem to know where and when we are going to attack, make troop movements and even our attempts to resupply our interstellar forces. At the risk of sounding like an idiot I have devised the stupidest plan I could think of and therefore hopefully the most unpredictable.”
The heavy glares from the Fleet Commanders weighed on me immensely as I bent down and produced plastic ten gallon bucket from under the table.
“This is how we win the war.”
I drew a deep breath and placed the bucket on my head and spun in a circle until I could barely stand and completely lost all orientation. I lowered my head and charged full speed.
“JUST WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU AR…” shouted Fleet Commander Pail microseconds before I made contact. I felt the contact and then the glass breaking. The last thing I remember was a sickening thud as two people’s worth of bones broke at the same time.
As I awoke from my medically induced coma I was surrounded by all of the same military leaders but noticeably absent was Fleet Commander Pail.
It was then explained to me that the alien race had not been winning through prediction but through good old fashioned espionage and my random charge had sent the alien replicant to his doom. His death allowed the human race to crush the alien forces since they couldn’t actually predict our movements nor could they strategize with any efficacy.
The Commander had broken every bone in his body. I had broken nearly all in mine.
I learned that I had indeed saved the world that day and the bucket had saved me. | The germans were deafeated within hours and europe fell just days later.
Russias winter only stopped them for a few weeks and the chinese numbers dwindled rapidly in the ongoing war.
That was the point when the United States of America started an all out offensive and reminded the universe why they were feared in battle.
The planet was quickly liberated by American forces operating on their own and it took historians longer to figure out how they won the war than it took them to actually win it. | 2015-04-15T10:44:26 | 2015-04-15T09:21:49 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | continued straight from the prompt...
__
Now... Luckily I'm a redditor, and things like being summoned against your will into an unknown world/situation are a common topic so I had thought through this scenario before. Otherwise I would appear quite confused at my situation and not at all in control of the situation.
"Why have you summoned me?" I bellowed in my best impression of pompous and evil.
The sorcerer scrambled back a few steps, "I have summoned you to make a deal."
I was not sure what it was I was supposed to provide, but as this seemed fairly common for magic I hoped it was something I was capable of.
"You know the price?" I asked haughtily.
"Certainly, one talent of gold and my immortal soul."
I pondered this silently, I had only heard of talents in bible stories but I remembered someone saying that was about 75lbs. I unfortunately did not trade in gold on a regular basis and my phone probably couldn't access the internet from wherever this was; but I knew it was something like $1000 an ounce. 16 ounces per lb x 75 lbs... screw it I pulled out my phone.
The mage reacted with alarm, "What infernal device is that? Know that I am protected by the circle!"
I held up a finger to shush him as I opened the calculator app and figured out how much money I stood to make on this deal...whatever it was. I whistled between my teeth as the number stared up at me $1.25 Million.
"Stop! Stop I can't take it!" The magician screamed. "The circle should have protected me!"
I looked back at him dumbly with my face lit softly by my glowing cell phone screen. "Stop...what?"
"That noise! We cannot stand the sound of your chanting and whatever it is you were doing with your voice just now!"
I once again went silent, not knowing that the otherworldly light of my screen was making me look quite demonic at the moment. "You mean... whistling?" I chirpped softly at the end to demonstrate.
"YES!"
Interesting... "So what is the task you have summoned me for?"
The mage stood back upright, "I need you to defeat the army at our doorstep, use your damning tongue to rain down hell and bring madness to the troops."
"You want me to... sing?"
A tentative nod.
"Okay... where is this army?"
The sorcerer pointed to an arrow slit window in the side of the tower. I could see several dozen burly men in various armor standing outside the gates a dozen feet below... this was an army?
"This is an army?" I said intelligently, "Where I come from, an army is usually hundreds if not thousands of men."
"We are aware of your warlike ways and preference for violence but that is not our way. We only wish to drive away the force below as quickly as possible and make them think twice about attacking again."
I looked down at the phone in my hand again and brought up a video I kept on it to send to my friends randomly. I was about to hit play when I turned back to the mage, "You might want to cover your ears."
> We're no strangers to love
>You know the rules and so do I
>A full commitment's what I'm thinking of
>You wouldn't get this from any other guy
>I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling
>Gotta make you understand
>Never gonna give you up
>Never gonna let you down
>Never gonna run around and desert you
>Never gonna make you cry
>Never gonna say goodbye
>Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you...
| When I vanished from the middle of class, I didn't know where I was going. All I experienced was darkness and a rush of cool wind before I was deposited in a place that looked like the middle of a forest.
As my eyes adjusted to the level of sunlight, I saw a few humanoid creatures staring at me. They nudged one another and whispered in a guttural language. Finally, one took a few timid steps toward me and spoke. "O great demon of the underworld . . ."
I blinked. "What?"
The humanoid looked taken aback. "You're a demon. We summoned you." They held up a spellbook and pointed at the circle around me. "See?"
I looked around. "Um . . . Okay? What do you need, then?"
One of the humanoids in the back piped up. "There's a girl who keeps ruining our lives and we want you to scare her into not doing it anymore!"
My anger burned a little bit, which set a small fire around me. "What the hell," I whispered as I stomped it out. "And you think that she'll see you as more intimidating by doing sorcery?"
"Successful sorcery!" a third added.
I sighed. For my family, I would do this unwaveringly. For my friends, I would do it took. For these nerds? What do I have to lose? "Okay. Take me to this girl."
They led me toward a set of buildings and I played with the fire my hands generated to practice my new skill. | 2017-05-12T10:38:10 | 2017-05-12T08:32:17 | 427 | 10 |
[WP] Working as a world renowned therapist you have uncovered far more about secret conspiracies, horrific monsters, barely failed schemes to destroy the world and dark magical cults from your myriad of heroic patients than you could have bargained for, and you might need therapy yourself | I stumbled into the offices of Dr. Ringwald, a friend of mine, as a patient. The years of therapy were taking a toll on me. Even on the streets, I was conscious of the secret eyes of the Black Crow scrutinizing me.
What's the Black Crow you ask? Even I don't remember. Some caped crusader told me about it a long way back and since then it has been my habit to check for the Black Crow agents keeping a watch on me.
"Ah, welcome Osborne, welcome. How are things with you?" Ringwald said.
"Things are fine, thank you very much," I replied. It was unusual of Ringwald to ask such questions. "Today is my birthday, you know," I added.
Ringwald's eyebrows rose in surprise. I scrutinized his face carefully. Was he Ringwald or a magic impostor? I had to be certain. They were everywhere, the sorcerers.
"Is it? My, did I forget again," Ringwald laughed a curt laugh. "Well, I thought it was sometime in the fall."
Nothing suspicious about him, no. I decided to let him in on the secret.
"Yes, it is in the fall. I was just messing with you. Actually, no, I'm not messing with you. I wanted to check if you really were you."
Ringwald's face assumed a grave expression. "What do you mean?"
"Well it's a long story, but the point is that the wizards of Lotharia planned an invasion some five years back and still mages from their sleeper cells are said to loom large in the city."
Ringwald put his glasses on. "Okay," he said.
I realized what he was doing and apologized immediately. "It's just these stories from my days on the field Ringwald, they keep messing with me. I don't know what's real anymore."
Ringwald nodded gravely. He had slipped into his professional mode. I could tell. He analyzed me very carefully.
"Since when have you been having such," Ringwald waved his hand in the air, "delusions?"
Delusions? Delusions did he say?
"These are no delusions, Ringwald. All of this really happened. I just want to ensure that the stories don't stick with me, that's all. But the stories are true. Real heroes and real wizards have narrated them onto me."
Ringwald said nothing and scribbled something in his notebook. "Since when did you start seeing these, 'heroes,' and 'wizards' as patients?"
I didn't like his tone. He sounded like he was looking down on me, the bastard.
"Five years, Ringwald, five years. And I have seen them all. All of them. The ones that went mad and the ones that were immortalized in comic books."
Ringwald nodded. There I noticed a queer glint in his eye. It appeared for a moment and then faded away.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable, Osborne? Lay on the couch, close your eyes, and tell me more."
The voice was gentle and soothing, but the glint that I saw remained in my consciousness. The glint could mean lots of things. A lot of the dark wizard cults had that glint magically appear in their eyes. But I trusted Ringwald and I lay on the couch and closed my eyes.
"It's been a rough five years," I said, eyes closed. "The days are rough. The stories, the madness of the dejected heroes, it is too much to take at times. The accounts of the heroes they still-" I stopped.
Ringwald was not sitting next to me. I could tell. When I opened my eyes, he was standing at the foot of the couch scribbling notes. "What?" he said, "Continue please, or do you need some of the old sweet talk?"
Something was not right about the way he talked. His manner was too gruff. I reached into my front pocket and took some of the pixie dust I had and blew it his way. Ringwald sneezed. His body started quivering and in a matter of seconds, it burst into black flakes of ash.
Just then the door of the office opened. Ringwald stood in the doorway.
"Osborne! How are you doing old lad? I apologize for the delay. I had to see a client personally, but do make yourself comfortable."
I smiled. There was no need for therapy, I wasn't delusional. Not even a little. | "You ok, Doc?"
I rubbed my temples with a groan, the flesh wound tight and rigid as the pink matter within.
"I'm fine," I said with a weak grin.
Having dumped a secret upon me as if a nuclear warhead upon an unsuspecting nation, my patient seemed relieved, and I, the opposite.
Ignorance truly was bliss, and I missed it.
Even the mundane problems of Mrs Jones and her fat cat, a lifetime and a thousand patients ago, rose in my mind like a fond child hood memory.
*Sigh*. Sometimes you got what you wished for.
"Mr President, my profession, as you know, lies in matters of the mind and its health. However, as you request, here is what I would do to minimise the stress of your situation, in general terms..."
\---
The glass of whiskey slid from my grip and fell to the floor, my mouth falling open with it.
"...*world leaders are condemning the attack. The president spoke shortly after the incident, citing the reasons for the bold operation that some are saying could be the start of WW3.*
*'The situation had been a source of stress upon this nation for too long. As much as it may hurt now, for us and those in the affected area, immediate and ruthless action was required to eliminate the source. I'm sure they will understand, that in the end, this was best for us and them.'*
The TV sounds faded out as shock settled in. My own words. Albeit with a few minor changes. The scene cut back to the new anchor.
*'News reports coming in now of Russian forces being assembled on key fronts..."*
I turned it off, a cold sweat trickling down my forehead.
My phone rang. My heart stopped.
"Yes?" I answered, a dry croak.
"Doctor Smith, it has been a long time," a cold and hard voice said, cutting each word like shaping hard granite.
"Mr Putin," I replied in a high-pitched squeal, "how good to hear from you. I didn't think our next session was scheduled until--"
"We need to speak now. I have many questions to ask of you."
I gulped, feeling as if my throat would implode.
The doorbell rang.
"My men. Do not keep me waiting long, Doctor. The world may depend on it."
r/FatDragon | 2021-05-08T07:49:23 | 2021-05-08T05:29:09 | 559 | 65 |
[WP] You are the Chosen One. The Dark Overlord is currently trying to seduce you to their cause. To their great surprise, you accept almost immediately because you absolutely loathe your job and your companions. | Some people call me a magic user. Others a wizard. I’ve even been called a “temperamental bitch with powers”. I say I’m just a sucker with student loans.
My brothers, they’re the lucky ones. One was naturally good with this shit, aced everything, got scholarships, paid even to go to magic school. The other was blessed by a fucking god for trying so hard to be a decent brawler. Then there’s me. First born, first to fail at everything. I studied hard, I did my best, but it made no difference. Yeah, I passed. But at the cost of doing veritable slave work for the rest of my life.
I’d say I love my job if my coworkers weren’t so fucking vulgar and stupid. Actually, I wouldn’t. The clients are just as bad. Because here’s the thing they never tell you about adventuring- unless the gods are smiling on you, it’s one bullshit “Karen lost her keys again” fetch quest after another. Never any thank you’s or recognition, just another job search.
And then there’s my coworkers.
You never know who you’re going to get paired with on a job. Sometimes, if it’s big enough, you can get a party together. Those are normally okay. But most of the smaller ones I do involve Jerry. Fucking Jerry and his flirting, pouting when he gets rejected again (mostly by me) and drinking what funds we’re given to complete the quests away. I swear he requests to go on all of my missions. Probably just to be a pain in my ass.
If I could quit I would. I’ve always thought that, and loathed the next 40 fucking years I’m stuck doing this. Contemplating going back to school to become a professor instead.
And then he showed up.
He called himself Tom. Showed up on the night of my 25th birthday, said I was the chosen one. Chosen for what, I have no fucking clue. He had a devilish smile, and pulled a lot of the same flirtation tactics Jerry always would. Tom was better at them though.
We were sat in a corner booth at the local bar, chatting and laughing when he finally decided to explain a bit more.
“As I mentioned, you’re the Chosen One.” He’d said this while I was mid-sip of a nice mug of Stonepiss. Only thing Dwarves do right.
Setting the mug down, I’d chuckled. “Yeah, you mentioned. Doesn’t mean a fucking thing to me though.”
“Well, it means that in the coming years as light and dark truly begin to clash, you’ll be at the center of it, and will decide the fate of everyone around us.” With a sweep of his hand, he’d motioned to the rest of the bar. It was only then that’d I’d noticed no one was moving, not even breathing.
“So you’re some really powerful dick that’s here because?” I had pointed to a random person as if to signal that I was finally aware of the situation. Well, mostly. Probably should have stopped a mug ago.
“Because I want you to join the darkness and our cause.” He had looked apprehensive, as if prepared to cast a spell if needed.
After a few moments of silence, I’d simply laughed. His apprehension melted into confusion, and I did my best to quell my mirth. “Yeah, sure, as long as I’m debt free for it.”
“You- wait, what?” He’d stared at me, flabbergasted and sputtering for words. “I- yes, you wouldn’t have debt! But how is that relevant? They said I would need to persuade you, tempt you with riches and power, the ability to command armies-”
I’d put up a hand to shut him up and slammed back the rest of my drink, wincing in the slightest. Then, with a grin, I’d said, “Listen kid, I just want to not pay off my loans anymore.” He’d pulled a face when I called him a kid, but I continued regardless. “Fucking tired of it already, and I’m only 4 years out. Fuck Jerry, fuck Karen, and fuck being some heroine if it means I can’t enjoy life for what it is. Y’know?”
He’d nodded numbly, and toyed with his own mug, a lighter ale I can’t remember the name of. He’d looked unsure of what to do next.
So I had stood, walked to his side of the booth, and grasped his shoulder in a friendly way, leaning down to whisper, “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go get food and finish my birthday nicely. Whenever I wake up tomorrow, feel free to find and take me wherever it is you need me to get this shit rolling. Yeah?”
With another nod from him, I’d strutted off to my favorite diner, braid swaying with my unsure movements, and smiled as the world seamlessly continued where it had left off.
And when Tom made good on his deal the next morning, I’d simply asked where I needed to sign.
First one to fail at everything, yeah? | When the Sisters entered the dungeon, they were surprised to see Sari sitting on the throne beside the Wind Queen. On her lap was a very small dog, asleep in a small ball. Sari was stroking the black and white fur almost mindlessly, her eyes red from crying.
The eldest sister, Hashisha, held her sword out, tip facing the Vile Witch, a silent promise to kill the Beautiful Hag causing the metal to glow. Her face grey from dirt and war paint, hair greasy from days without bathing. There was a strange smell that permeated the room, body odor and sweaty leather.
The middle sister, Girda, was equally dirty, though her face was pale and clear. She carried the Staff of Ages with her, the eerie white energy making her seem almost translucent. "Sari!" Girda said, "What have you done to her, vile queen?"
Sari did not look up from her lap. The dog shifted, almost waking, which made Sari begin to cry again.
The Wind Queen, Trucent of Langly, stood up from her clawed throne and stepped down the stairs.
"You have enchanted our sister," Hashisha said. "You have stolen her."
"You have come to kill me," Trucent said. Her black hair began to lift from her back, as if held by some invisible hand. The magic cut the light from the corners of the room and gave everything a purple glow. Only when the world became truly silent did Sari look up.
"Sisters, what are you doing here?" Sari asked.
"We have come to save you." Girda looked perplexed. Her staff went out, the light flickering into nothingness.
"And you, Hashi?" Sari asked.
The sword seemed too heavy for Hashisha to carry. She dropped it, as if burned.
"I see," Sari said. She kept her chair. "You cannot truly protect me anymore. The sword of the chosen has rejected you."
Hashisha and Girda looked at the Queen.
"I do not understand, sister, you have to come with us. She is evil."
"No. You are evil. You killed Guyo, the Queen brought him back. She also brought back Cornelious. And he told me the truth. About the prophesy, about how you chose me because you did not want the loss, the burden, the death. I was supposed to die here, just like my dog, just like my best friend. And I refuse."
Sari stood then, setting the sleeping dog onto the floor pillow near her chair.
"I have chosen a new destiny. And to awaken my true potential, I must lose those who once loved me."
With that, the Elder and the Middle Perished.
Just as the prophesy of darkness fortold. | 2019-09-26T09:52:27 | 2019-09-26T09:08:50 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] This is… awkward to say the least. Your roommate just frantically confessed that they’re demonic royalty, and that they need a fiancé to meet their parent, the monarch of Hell, who will be here in under an hour. | A sharp knock on the door nearly sent me out of my skin.
With a precision and urgency only possible when under extreme duress, books snapped shut, candles flickered out, and typically overlooked trinkets went flying into opposite corners of the room in complete silence with a rapid set of gestures. I hadn't even heard Indi come *in* the apartment, let alone get to my door to knock it. She wasn't supposed to be home for another hour at *least*.
"Yes?" I managed to just barely keep my voice from waking up the neighbors dogs. "What's up?"
Apparently that was an invitation to enter, though I didn't quite recall saying that. My door swung open as the last little talisman — a loop of hair kept together with melted wax — settled securely in between a pair of books on my modestly stocked bookshelf. A shock of red framed a face that on most days was gorgeous beyond legality, but today... well, that wasn't much different but she was usually smiling a lot more.
"Hey. So."
I'd never seen her look so... panicked? Worried? It was hard to tell. Indi's phone trembled in her shaking hand, the other gripping my doorknob so hard I could hear the wood creaking. I knew this place was a piece of shit but I *reinforced* that door, and how she was straining the enchantment was beyond me.
"So...?"
Indi set her jaw, seeming to come to some sort of conclusion.
"Do you want to get married? Like, us. Get married."
I blinked at her.
"What?"
"It would be worth it. I could make it worth it. Like you wouldn't *believe*."
"...are you high?"
"No! I — look. I know it's a weird question."
I nodded slowly, unsure if this was a prank or not. "Yes the fuck it is."
"It's a long story."
"I have time."
"I don't." She ran a hand through her curly hair, stepping further into the room. A cute green sweater and white dress pants clashed terribly with the borderline orange mood lighting of my room, meaning she hadn't changed at all since getting back home. "Be cool about what's next, okay?"
And then a whole lot happened at once.
Fire engulfed her entire body, charring the clothes on her back and sending down a cascade of ashes and dark, smoldering embers that thankfully evaporated before they made contact with my newly vacuumed floor. Her hair grew, from just below the shoulders to well below the waist, the crimson hue draining entirely to white in the process.
Two curling ram's horns grew from the top of her skull, forming partially down her forehead, drawing attention away from the rapidly darkening sclera of her eyes and inversion of her pupils. Her skin grew scarlet red, boldly standing out against the blackened, almost obsidian dress that now hugged her body.
Also, all of my wards flared to life and utterly disintegrated. Every last one of them.
I couldn't decide whether or not to scream or cry. *Months* of labor, hundreds of dollars worth of reagents, completely down the drain. My roommate, who I'd been content with giving a casual hello to on my way to minding my own business ever since she moved in, had transformed into a bonafide archdevil, and in the process completely overwhelmed the most powerful defensive magic I could muster. From the looks of it, she didn't even notice something *tried* to reject her.
"I know. Don't freak out." She had blessedly mistook my misery for fear, though that wasn't exactly in short supply either. "But I'm a demon, or devil, whatever you want to call me. I'm actually pretty high up there, as far as bloodlines go. But a really important part of that is marriage and I've been trying to just live my life but my mom is coming in less than an hour and if I don't at *least* have a fiancé by then she's going to fucking kill me."
There was a moment of strained silence. I was still reeling from the economic loss, though she'd given me at least *something* cerebral to attach to. What bloodline was she a part of specifically? Was this an opportunity I could somehow take advantage of?
I managed to choke out a response. "Wasn't that long a story."
Indi laughed nervously, fidgeting with her hands. Perfectly manicured, sharply clawed hands. "Yeah, I gave you the short version. Long version has more description of how I die."
Marriages were pretty fucking important in the magical world, of which Indi was apparently deeply involved with. Names held power. Station opened doors. A significant enough change in status could drastically alter what one was capable of, assuming they worked within the limitations of that status.
I thought back to the lock of hair, sitting mere feet away from the archdevil who went halfsies with me on rent every month. She played with a lock of her own, identical in hue, if not a little curlier.
How long had I been trying to find someone who didn't want to be found? How quickly had the best I had to offer fall apart in the mere *presence* of someone who wouldn't stand a chance against my endgame? What did I hope to accomplish on my own, in this shitty run down apartment, having to dance around my roommate's social life just to kill myself on someone who likely didn't even remember I existed?
"...yeah. Okay. Sure."
Indi stopped playing with her hair.
"For real?"
"Yes. For real. I don't want you to die, right?"
In the blink of an eye the demoness swept me in an enormous hug. She was surprisingly cool to the touch. "THANK YOU! Holy fucking shit, I can't *believe* you agreed to it! I'll do anything to make it up to you. Whatever you want."
I gently pat her head in reassurance. Her hair was soft, and smelled like the fruity shampoo she left in the shower. It felt familiar; it was all I could do not to tear it from her skull as I did with his. "I can think of a couple of things." | "OK, so what you're telling me is ur gonna have to wear a frilly dress even though they make you dysphoric, pretend that ur dating me, and convince ur homophobic, conservative mom that im a good partner for the prince of hell?" Texted Tissues, sitting on his bed while texting Trophy, who was at the mall buying a dress and stilettos... And a wig that matched his original hair color, jet black.
Although he wore skirts occasionally, dresses were the worst for him. When he had came out to his parents, they forced him to wear a dress every day, despite his protests , thus making dresses bring back bad memories and dysphoria.
"Well, yes. ill be back in a sec, k? look presentable or smthn like that" Trophy texted back, walking outside the mall, dreading the next few hours of his already terrible life.
"Ya know, you don't have to do this. You could just, I don't know, flip them off. " Said Tissues, adjusting his tie for a suit he had bought three years ago, and somehow still fit.
"Flip off the literal MONARCH of HELL? I THINK NOT!" Said Trophy, walking out of the bathroom in that dress, "That could get me, you, and possibly a bunch more killed!"
"Fine, I'll do it, but if something goes wrong, I'm blaming you. " Sighed Tissues, holding back a sneeze.
The door to their room knocked, and Trophy went up to open it "HI mom! How was life in hell?" Said Trophy, putting on a fake grin. "Nothing much, dear, now could I see your fiance?" Said Gold, the monarch of hell... And Trophy's mom.
Tissues heard what Gold had said, and quickly stood up and walked over to Trophy's side. "Here I am, Ms. Gold!" He said, putting on a fake grin as well, "Your daughter's a wonderful fiance!" Trophy's eye twitched at the word 'Daughter'. "Well, that's good, but what I want ot know is if you're a good fiance. " Said Gold, walking in.
Gold walked around the room, and saw the decoration the two had put up their. There wasn't much to look at, since the pictures that were usually hanging up on the wall were token down, as most of them featured Trophy as his preferred gender, and he couldn't have his parents think he was disobeying them.
"Well your room looks formal, now I'll ask your fiance a few questions." Stated Gold, sitting down on the bed and scooting uncomfortably close to Tissues. "So what job do you work?" "Uhmm, CVS. I get like $15 an hour. " ...Well that was a bad start, but maybe the white-haired boy could provide protection for her little girl "How strong are you? Could you try lifting one of those weights over there?" She said, pointing to the area with weights nearby the window. "OK uhmm..." Tissues walked over to the weights, and picked up the largest one he could find... Or, he at least tried to pick it up. Tissues stumbled and fell with the weight, and when he tried to get up, he sneezed allover gold and her outfit.
"... Who is this sickly excuse of a partner!?!? And why did you thinkt he was a good one?!??!" Screamed Gold, accidently knocking over the cabinet where Trophy stored his photos. "MOM NO-!" Said Trophy, trying to stop his mom from looking at the pictures, but it was too late. She picked up one of them, and as soon as the saw the boy in the frame, smiling, she rumpled it up and stomped over to her 'kid'.
"I come here ALL the way from the deepest depths of hell, only for you to be pretending to be a boy and dating | 2022-10-09T00:07:13 | 2022-10-08T20:49:21 | 1,037 | 16 |
[WP] You have died and gone to hell, but it's not what you expect. You wake up naked in a field with nothing but trees around you... it turns out that hell is an early access survival game. | “Don’t come any closer.”
I stopped. There really wasn’t much of an alternative; I was limping, bleeding so heavily I was light headed and squishing with every movement, and had what sure seemed like a weapon pointed at me. It didn’t *look* like a weapon, but he waved it around like one. Blocky, almost pixelated; but excepting the lack of rounded corners or tubular shapes … some sort of rifle. Maybe a shotgun; the ‘barrel’ was pretty broad.
“Please, I need help,” I panted.
“Fuck you buddy, I don’t need you dragging wildlife down on me,” he said as he glanced around. The weapon stayed leveled at me though.
“What is going on?”
“Oh fuck me,” he said, bringing his eyes back to me. “Let me guess, something bad happened, and then you’re here in blocky bad picture land and it always hurts.”
I blinked at him. “Uh, yeah. How—”
“You’re in Hell dude.”
“Come again?”
“Lived a bad life, right? Never did nice things, didn’t care about anyone except you, probably stole or lied at least sometimes? Maybe worse?” he said, his eyes going back into their furtive darting scanning.
“I was an okay guy.”
“Obviously not.”
“Just, please, what’s going on?”
“You’re. In. Hell.”
“Bullshit,” I said before I could help myself. Probably not the smartest response, even if that thing in his hands wasn’t a gun. I was in no shape to resist much if he attacked me; even unarmed.
“How do you figure?”
“I don’t believe in religion,” I protested weakly. It was getting hard to stay on my feet. That … whatever it was … had done a real number on me. Especially my leg. If the wound hadn’t started clotting by now, I was probably in serious trouble. “There’s no such—”
The guy lunged forward. My reflexes weren’t up to recognizing it in time, and I’d only just started moving — some feeble attempt at a dodge — when he slammed the butt end of his weapon into my chest. I tumbled to the ground, half expecting to be shot about the time I registered hitting the ground. And then I heard the gun go off. When I flinched, and opened my eyes, I realized he hadn’t shot me.
Looking up, I saw him with the long blocky poorly shaped weapon up to his shoulder, emitting a suspiciously uniform cloud of what was clearly supposed to be smoke from the business end. His left hand moved on the front half of the gun, and I heard a ridiculously loud shotgun sound. Straight out of the movies.
“I’ll leave,” I protested, clutching at my leg. Wet sticky warmth was flooding through my fingers, and I pressed harder despite how much it made the pain spike. None of this mattered if I didn’t get the bleeding stopped. “Just don’t shoot me.”
“I’m not going to shoot you,” he muttered, stepping back. The gun stayed on his shoulder though. I finally looked where he was point it, and saw the bear again. Clearly I hadn’t lost it after falling off that hill into the lake. My blood was still on its muzzle; but it was lying on one side, with dark red blood of its own spreading beneath it. I blinked as I realized the blood was pooling to a ridiculously uniform distance, about half a foot or so, from the bear before it just … stopped spreading.
“Thank you.”
“I should, but I can’t spare the ammo,” he muttered. “Takes too long to make. If you hadn’t just got here, maybe I’d at least loot you … but you’re not carrying anything.”
“How—”
“Backpack,” he said, glancing at me. When he saw the confused expression on my face, he jerked one thumb over his shoulder at the small canvas pack he wore. “No backpack. Baaaaaackpaaaaack,” he repeated.
“I’ll leave you alone. Just tell me what’s going on,” I begged. “Please.”
He sighed, glancing up at the sky. “I wasn’t *that* much of an asshole God. Really? I couldn’t have been,” he muttered. “Why is it always me who runs into the fucking noobs.” He sighed and reached into his pocket. I didn’t see anything in his hand, but a moment later — as he brought his hand up to the gun — I heard a metallic click-scrape that sounded like a bullet or shell or whatever being shoved into it.
“Okay noob, here’s the deal,” he said, stepping back again. “You died, and you weren’t a nice person, and you’re in Hell. Except, see, Satan has a lot of time on his hands. What with being the Lord of the Underworld and all. He likes to try new stuff, just to keep from getting bored. Guess that’s why God kicked him out; he couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
I frowned up at him, but didn’t dare open my mouth again. Even if what he was saying was complete lunacy. There was no religion, which meant there was no afterlife. Except … I still remembered the car hurtling toward mine, right at the door next to me. It had been going *really* fast. And … none of anything afterwards made any sense. At *all*.
“This is one of his newer attempts at torment and torture,” the guy standing near me said as he lowered the gun, or the gun-like shape, into a more comfortable carry position near his waist. Keeping it in both hands. “It hasn’t been finished. Though I’m not entirely sure if he’s not leaving it like this just to make it hurt more. Actually, answer me this; did you work in tech. Computers? Anything like that?”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Just a theory of mine; maybe this is where a lot of computer snobs end up. Just so we’ll all lose our minds at the bad graphics.” Then his eyes flicked to my leg. “Look, if you don’t stop the bleeding—”
“I don’t know how,” I protested weakly.
“Make a grass tourniquet.”
I looked at him for several seconds, waiting for what he’d just said to make sense. Except, as I kept thinking it over, it wasn’t. He sighed again.
“Take your hand, and swipe it across the ground. Just above it. Make grabbing motions while you do.”
Tentatively, I reached my free hand out — the one that wasn’t clamped to my leg — and tried to follow his instructions. I heard a shushing sort of ‘bink’ sound, and abruptly some long strands of … something … were in my hand.
“Hold those in your other hand, and get another set,” he said. “Then smash them together, and it’ll make a grass cord. Take the cord, and press it to your wound. That’ll hold you until you can find some bark, and rock, and turn the bark into a fiber mat. That, plus two cords, makes a proper bandage.”
*“This is ridiculous.”* I thought, but I transferred the ‘grass’ to my bloody hand, and swiped my fingers across the ground again. Another set of ‘grass’ appeared, and when I clapped my hands together, suddenly the strands vanished and I was holding a thicker strand. With nothing to lose, I touched it to my bleeding leg, and suddenly the blood started slowing. After a few moments, it stopped. I didn’t dare sigh in relief; it still hurt like hell, but at least it might kill me slower.
“Look, I don’t handhold you guys,” the man said, backing away. “I’ve got enough trouble of my own. And, let’s face it, I’m just as much of an asshole as you, yeah? We’re both in here, so we’re not angels. But if you want to read what there is of the FAQ, make a question mark with your finger and trace a bigger one in front of your face. But it doesn’t pause anything while you’re reading, so you can get killed again if you pull it up while you’re near something that wants to fuck with you.”
He backed off some more, half turned from me, then stopped. “Getting killed hurts. A lot. And you’ll feel it, unlike the death that landed you in here.” He sighed, then gave a shrug. “Last piece of free advice. There’s a river a few minutes that way,” he pointed, “and a lake a little closer over there,” he said, indicating the direction I’d just come from. “Wash the blood off. It always chops a *lot* of time off the delay before the next spawn shows up and starts hunting you. If you’re bloody. They smell it, see?”
“Wait,” I said as he started walking again.
“Fuck you sinner.”
He didn’t stop. I looked around, then at the dead bear, and frowned. I wasn’t sure if I could walk. The tourniquet had stopped the bleeding, but my leg hurt more now. The pressure was making the pain worse. But … I held my fingers up, crooked them into the best ‘?’ I could manage, and traced them through the air. A leathery parchment abruptly filled my field of vision, dripping wet red lettering inked on it.
“Welcome to hell,” I read with a sinking feeling.
*“Oh shit.”*
| A blinding white light and unbearable pressure followed by an earth shattering darkness.
My world seemed to writhe and convulse around me, it felt as though God himself had flicked whatever internal gyroscope that held my sense of direction and sent me falling.
Falling.
With a jarring suddenness I stopped. I slowly became aware of ground on my back A damp musky breeze brushed over my face. I struggled to remember what happened before the light, that brought me here. As I opened my eyes I saw a roiling grey sky and a waving field of prairie reeds. I vaguely remembered driving to work. Looking around only brought up more questions than answers, the wilderness seemed boundless, no faint sounds of cars or even people in general.
The longer I bumbled around, the more everything seemed slightly off. There were no audible birds either, if you listened intently you could hear some insects and perhaps other small animals scurrying. The air smelled ever so faintly of copper and decaying wood. With the sun not quite at its zenith, I decided to set off to find... Something. I decided to head for a patch of woods that resembled the deer trails I had grown up aimlessly following. Soon my "trail" petered out into nothing more than a half a million other imaginary trails that have criss and crossed every woodland since the dawn of time. Before long I heard a rustling further off in the brush ahead of me.
It sounded much larger than anything else I had heard since landing here.
I tentatively made my way towards it, there were more briars than I expected. I was going to have to be careful, they could make life annoying very quickly. As I got closer to the source of the noise I could hear a whimpering.
Behind a rather large oak I was startled by a woman. Or rather what seemed to be the husk of a person. Bloodied and apparently delirious she stared up at me with frantic eyes.
"Have y-you come for me? Are you chasing rabbits or you have seen Mr. Bundy?" she wheezed.
She had briars in her wild hair and was bleeding from the thousand tiny cuts that one could expect from running through a thick patch. As a result most of her clothes were in tatters and her leg looked like it had been mauled by a bear with very blunt teeth.
"I.. Im sorry, I don't know what you're asking... What happened? Do you know where the city is? Maybe we can-"
"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. IF YOU'RE GONNA TAKE A SWIPE JUST DO IT ALREADY YOU PIECE OF SHIT CO-" she raved, almost foaming at the mouth.
I didn't stay to hear the rest. Bewildered and now scared I ran back to the trail. I could still hear her screams seeming to echo off the sky itself. I decided it was my priority to get out of earshot from those wretched noises. After a few minutes of jogging I soon realized that this was not the same trail I had come on. Thankfully I was no longer able to hear the woman, but the forest was getting thicker.
Senses heightened with anxiety I became aware of a smokey smell in the air. It was as good a thing as any to follow so I set off, heading into the twilight forest. Maybe 30 minutes later I look up and see billowing black columns, the smell is pungent. I can almost taste it. Slowly I make my way toward a break in the trees, though this was not the clearing I woke up in.
Through the trees I can see a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire surrounding a compound of sorts. People resembling little more than skeletons in burlap sacks walked sullenly about.
Off to one side I spotted an entrance with arching cast iron letters, I read "Arbeit macht frei"
In a wave of horror I remembered learning about the work camps of WWII in grade school. Everything came crashing back to me.
I ran, yet again, to the trail. Mind racing all the while, I was driving to work from the hotel I liked to stay in whenever I worked late and home just seemed too far to drive. Though my night hadn't ended then, my secretary had come through with a bag of blow and we fucked late into the night. No wonder I was so groggy that morning, I probably would have noticed the roadwork signs...
Did I crash into a cement truck?
None of this made any sense. I looked around frantically. There were deep cuts littered among the tree bark all around me, had those been there before?
About 15 yards off the path I spotted a small stream, suddenly feeling very dehydrated I made my way over. Ever more cautious I crept up to the bank and found what looked like a clean spot to drink from.
The water felt cool and refreshing on my hands and face. It seemed to ground me a bit but my head was still spinning with thoughts and questions.
Was the lady an escapee from the camp? How was there even a camp, the war ended over 100 years ago. Where the fuck am I? I didn't get to wonder long.
I heard footsteps approaching from upstream.
Quickly and quietly as I could I was able to climb up a nearby tree and perch among some thick foliage.
My mouth had a slightly metallic taste and was growing numb. Maybe the water wasn't safe..
A clown sauntered into my field of vision. The light was fading fast but there was no mistaking him. I had maybe 45 minutes of light left. In one hand he held a bouquet of balloons, in the other he appeared to be letting the stream tug at a large sheet of colorful paper. I began to feel strangely giddy. It almost looked as if the paper in the stream was pulling the clown along. From my seat among the branches I could hear him whistling a jovial tune.
The ground seemed to be tilting further away from me. Though never being comfortable with heights I didn't pay much mind.
The clown eventually let the sheet go floating downstream and stopped.
Apparently lost in thought he continued to whistle, gazing into the trickling water.
The sound of the water flowing over the rocks and roots of the forest floor seemed to be growing louder. The dying light of the day played off its surface brilliantly, as if a fine layer of glitter were floating atop the stream itself.
The liquid motion of the water seemed to spill over onto the banks, as if the ground itself were alive and flowing.
His song lilted and danced its merry way around my head. Mouth still feeling metallic and hollow I closed my eyes and began to feel overwhelmed with everything.
Though the tree swayed lightly in that musky damp breeze, I was having trouble keeping my balance. I felt as if I might lose my grip and fall up, down, or sideways. Brilliant patterns and colors danced behind my eyes, and as my sense of balance trickled back into my head I looked up from my arm.
The water was still much too bright and much too loud despite the almost nonexistent light.
The very ground the clown stood on seemed to be breathing to the tune of his song.
And with the blackest of grins, he looked at me.
~4/21 | 2017-04-20T20:52:41 | 2017-04-20T20:16:30 | 1,200 | 45 |
[WP] You are a dark sorcerer who is best friends with a king. Due to the lack of competent heirs, the king gives you his daughter's hand in marriage. However, jealous knights have spread the rumor that you kidnapped the princess. Now every knight in the kingdom is after you. | *The Dark Sorceror's Bride*
"Gnirrlahgn!" I snarled. The ground cracked open under the latest knight's feet, bathing him in green flame, as long arms wrapped around his feet. With a surprised cry, he was dragged into the underworld, and the portal snapped shut.
"Bless you, Grissom," my bride-to-be said, as she popped her head around the door with a bright grin.
I smiled back weakly, my heart racing. She hadn't seen or heard the knight, or what happened to him. Good.
"Thank you, Arabella," I said. I stood up. "I have to take care of an errand."
"Don't be long! I'll be in the kitchen."
I walked toward the door and, pinching the bridge of my nose, muttered an arcane word and heard a great 'woosh' outside, followed by clanking. I entered the hallway and stepped over the smouldering ashes of the knight who had been waiting for me, and the remains of his armor. How much longer could I keep this up?
For four weeks now, Princess Arabella had been a guest at my tower, of her own volition. And for the past three, it seemed like every damned fool capable of holding a blade the right way up was trying to 'rescue' her.
Every one of these knights would die for a chance at her hand in marriage. And that's the problem, isn't it? It was impossible to get any work done like this!
When I was a boy, Arabella's father King Alistair had seen to my education. When my magical talent emerged, he found me a mentor. As I had grown up and my power with it, we grew into friends. So when all her suitors failed to please him, Alistair had offered me Arabella's hand in marriage.
He thought I was a goodly mage, working my trade for the betterment of all. He would be devastated to learn I had taken a darker path than him, and I had no intention of letting him find out.
Arabella, however, wanted to get to know me first. And what better way to get to know a mage than to live in his tower, she must have thought.
I walked toward the open trap door, and heard a clattering noise climbing up the ladder. I sighed, snapped my fingers, and the ladder disappeared for a few seconds. After the noise of the knight hitting the floor far below faded, I listened carefully. That seemed to be the last of them. For now.
As I entered our chambers I saw Arabella gazing out the window. She turned as I entered, a thoughtful look on her face.
"Are you all right, Arabella?" I asked.
"I am. It's just-- It's so quiet up in this tower. Don't you find it a bit lonely here?"
"All the better to contemplate the mysteries of the magical craft," I said, trying not to think of the three knights I'd slain so far today. "And a mage's tower can be intimidating. Why do you ask?"
"I suppose I was simply hoping that someone might... visit? Perhaps knights," she said. "Even just the one would have been nice. I mean, I did go to all that trouble."
"What? What do you mean?" I demanded.
"Having all those posters put up," she said, and she recited, "Brothers in arms! The Princess Arabella has been abducted by the wizard Grissom Shadowmend! Recue her for a great reward!"
"You-- but-- What? Why?!"
"My father, bless his heart, is a good man. He wants a good man for me. And you seem a good man." She thrust out her chin and her voice took on a hard edge. "What I want, however, is power. And a man who will protect me against anyone who will stand against us. You should have been tested, but nothing happened!"
My jaw had fallen open. I shut it and said, "That was you? All of that was you?!" I might have shouted. A bit.
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"For the past three weeks knights have shown up every day looking for a fight, and I couldn't fathom why. Three today, five the day before... Dozens! I haven't got any work done whatsoever!"
"They did?" she asked. "What happened to them?"
"I-- they attacked me, and I-- I had to..."
"You killed them." And the most wonderfully wicked smile graced her face. "For me? Without my even knowing it?"
"Well, yes, I--"
Just then I heard a familiar clattering noise coming from the window. I put a hand to my face and groaned, "Not again!"
A gauntleted hand grabbed the window sill, then another, and a sweaty face appeared. He must have climbed the outside of the tower. Quite impressive really.
"Your grace! Are you safe? I have come to free you from the evil sorceror's clutches! Please stand aside so that I may climb inside and dispatch--"
Not even looking around, she elbowed him in the face and he plummeted off the side of the tower.
"Well. Come on then," she said, still smiling that wonderful smile. "Dinner is almost ready." | Balthazar held his staff aloft, the gemstones in the orb rattled around in their glass confines.
Some words mumbled, some words said, their order jumbled... "Drats!" the dark wizard said.
The blonde woman behind him crossed her arms impatiently, "It's just a creaky door, what does it matter?"
"I bothers me," the wizard growled, trying the spell again, "Evil whispers from the darkest den, this *blasted* door will not squeak again!"
Some shadows puffed lazily from the end of his staff, scooting towards the door.
They slid in the cracks of the door, seeping through the woodwork, and making their way towards the hinges.
The wizard pulled down the door handle and victoriously opened and closed it.
He closed it carefully. Nothing is more like to break then something you've just fixed.
Balthazar didn't particularly care about the squeaky door, but Elizabeth had seen him trying to fix it, so now he actually had to fix it.
He didn't exactly expect to fix it, but now that he somehow had - it's best to not try your luck on these sorta things.
The door was kicked open, its hinges squeaking like never before, and slammed into the wall.
A sword cautiously entered, trembling, followed by the rest of the brave knight, "Milady! Where are thou?"
"Over here," said Elizabeth, arms folded and frowning.
The knight returned his sword to its scabbard, "Hey, that's convenient. Sort of thought I had to search for a bit."
"Okay, so," said the knight with no plan at all, "You want to, like, take off? Before the wizard gets here, I mean."
The wooden door creaked as it carefully swung back in an attempt to not upset the thing it had hit any further.
Dark wizard Balthazar felt that a career as a piece of modern art wasn't for him and dislodged himself from the wall.
He waved his staff threateningly at the blond knight. Little clinks and the clatter of small stones hitting floorboards followed.
"Oh, wow. Are those emeralds?" said the knight, picking up the various magic stones scattered across the floor.
Balthazar granted a quick, open-mouthed glance at the shattered remains at the orb at the end of the staff, and swung it down over the head of the young knight.
A short series of events followed which can be summarized as: *thonk*, *clunk*, and *bomf*.
Balthazar picked up the magical gems while muttering, "This is the seventh one this week!"
Nearby, a window shattered. "Milady?" it cooed lovingly from down below.
The wizard stomped over to the window and perched over the frame, "What now!?"
"Ugh," said the knight, "Nothing, nevermind."
| 2018-02-13T14:13:06 | 2018-02-13T13:11:13 | 73 | 11 |
[WP] On the day you were going to propose to your girlfriend, your future self comes back in time to convince you not to. While at the same time, your future wife comes back in time to tell her past self to do anything to keep the two of you together.
I love these prompts, but I haven't had time to really read any of them. I'll get back with some feedback tomorrow before work. | I fiddled with the ring in my pocket, the case hadn't been big enough to let me take it with me up in the hot air balloon. She was staring off the side, looking down at the ground below us. Everything seemed so small from up here, like nothing mattered but her.
Suddenly there was a brilliant flash in the middle of the hot air balloon, blinding me for a moment as she screamed, I reached out and grabbed her so that she didn't accidentally fall, after all, I loved Fiora.
I haggard man was now in the middle of the balloon, jeans that looked like they hadn't been washed in about a week and wearing a lab coat that had a few too many vials of acid spilled on the front, he was looking around for a moment before silently fist pumping. Fiora and I continued to stare at him.
"What the fuck," she said before I could, I held her tighter.
"Oh," the man turned to us, "Right," he held out his hand like this was a normal day, "I'm Dr. Verbellon, and I just figured out how to travel through time to-"
"That's my last name," I cut in.
"Yeah, I know, mine too, funny how that works." He sighed, "I was trying to be dramatic about it, okay?"
"What's going on?" Fiora asked.
"I'm him, he's me, I just literally figured out time travel to come back and tell you" He pointed to me, to not to marry that bitch," he switched to pointing to her.
"Hey!" She said.
"Sorry, I meant that cunt."
"What the hell?" I said, making a move for him, he rolled his eyes.
"God, she's not one now, but she sure as hell turns into one."
"Okay man, I don't know who you are, or how you got here-"
"I'm you-"
"But what the hell are you saying about my fiancee?"
"and time travel."
"Fiancee?"
"I mean girlfriend," I said, taking my hand out of my pocket.
"Oh my god you're going to propose to me."
"No, he's not!" The other me said.
"I'm so happy!" She said, "Yes yes yes!"
"I'm," I turned to him, "You ruined the surprise."
"You're not proposing to her,"
"Yes, I am."
"No you aren't" he leapt forward, knocking her backwards off the edge of the hot air balloon, "this is for your own good!" I grabbed at her feet, but her high heel slipped out of my grasp as she started to scream, tumbling towards the planet below.
"Why," I stared over the edge at her skydiving body, "Fiora-" I trailed off, falling to my knees, "You bastard,"
"Look, man, I know you don't want to hear this," he said, sitting down beside me, "but she uses your smarts to take over the biggest company in the world in the future, making you two tech leaders, until she divorces your ass and takes off with the cash."
"We get a divorce?"
"Yeah man," he put a hand on my shoulder like I was just going to accept this.
Suddenly the screaming sound of my dying girlfriend got closer to us again, only to be replaced by the sound of rockets. The other me looked up, "Fiora?"
"JETPACK BITCH!" I turned to see an older Fiora dressed in power armour floating just above the hot air balloon, she gingerly placed my Fiora back in the basket, I grabbed her close to me and glared at the other me.
The other me stood up, facing down the Jetpack Fiora, "You bitch," he said.
"Hey!" My Fiora said.
"Sorry, you cunt," He said while whipping out a gun, "You couldn't let me fix the past, could you?"
"Negative," the older Fiora's voice was robotic simulated, "any show of force against the one true leader will be met with death."
"What," he lowered the handgun for a second, "You're not the Fiora from my timeline."
"Quick," the robotic Fiora said to my Fiora, "I am a rogue unit, who was stolen by the human resistance, I have been sent back to stop you from rising."
"What?" all three of us said at once.
"When you were pushed out of the air balloon, you almost died, but Dr. Verbellon saved you by turning you into a cyborg," she landed down in the hot air balloon, and I scooched over to make room for her to sit down, "Your cyborg-self takes over the world in a lust for power. You MUST marry Dr. Verbellon today, the fate of humanity depends on it."
I turned to Fiora, if the fate of humanity rested on this ring, I might as well give it to her, "Fiora, will you m-"
"NOOOOOOOOOO," there was a brilliant flash of light and a hand stuck out, knocking the ring into the air. The ring tumbled off the side of the hot air balloon and went down to the earth. Between all of us, a seventeen-year-old girl who looked like Fiora was standing, covered in scars, "That ring was a trap!" She shouted, pulling a gun from her side and pointing it at the future me, "where is he?"
"Where is who?" The future me shouted.
The air behind her shimmered, "Ah, I see you have figured out my plot," a woman said, and both Fiora's jaws dropped.
"Dad?" they asked simultaneously. | Today marks the 4th year of my relationship with jordan, the love of my life. I sit at the outdoor patio of my go to bar. Slowly drinking my beer and taking a good drag of my stoagie. Just as I put the butt to tray I feel eyes on the back of my head. A grizzled old man sits next to me, two shots of bulleit in hand.
"Hey stranger take this with me."
I'm not one to deny free booze, especially my favorite. "Thanks.... stranger." I say while eyeing the grizzled man. Normally I'd not think twice about a stranger buying me a shot, happens all the time at the fat hippo. But something was off about him, it was like the small sign of friendliness was a red flag. I couldn't shake this feeling, besides what could one shot hurt, I had nothing to do today and it was a good day to drink. The wind whistled between our glasses as we cheers. I slammed the glass down on the bench.
"Damm good drink, haven't had it in a while."
"My favorite!" I exclaimed.
He wiped the little remains of the smelly red liquor off his beard. He looked at me from the other side of the bench. Not just any look, but a stare as if he's looking through me.
"So... what's your name... stranger?"
"Chris, and yours?"
He paused. Staring even more through me. "You OK buddy?" I asked.
"Oh yeah I'm fine. Just visiting with an old friend."
At this point I began to become slightly confused.
"Do I know you?"
he smirked gently and shook his head no.
"So...... who are you visiting?"
It was at this point his demeanor changed. It seemed like I hit a trigger or asked something I shouldn't have. He chuckled, got up from the bench and went unside. Upon his return he had to pints of delirium, again another favorite of mine.
"You have some good taste my stranger friend."
He chuckled again.
"Listen, I'm going to cut the crap. I've only got two more hours."
He looked down at his watch.
"Next week your going to need this."
He slid me an envelope. As I started opening it he grabbed my hand firmly and told me not to.
"Open it next week. Next thursday."
he left a twenty on the bench table and pounder the last of his beer. He smiled at me and said "I have to go now, I hope this helps you as much as me."
I looked down at the envelope, and as I looked up he slide out the back gate of the smoking area. At this point I was very confused. The bar tender came outside to collect any glasses that were outside. She noticed the look of awe on my face.
"Something wrong hun?"
"Uh I don't really know... have you ever served that man before?"
she said no and asked what was in the envelope. I told her the story and she snatched it from my hand. She opened it, paused, and then asked if I'd ever been married. I laughed at her. "Married? Nope and I'd never do such a silly thing."
"Well hun, these are divorce papers...... with your name and jordans."
Forgive me for formating on mobile. | 2015-10-15T15:06:28 | 2015-10-15T14:30:29 | 32 | 21 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | I did it.
I want to scream, “I did it!” but there’s another camper hanging around and if I scream about completing that awful curry dex, he’ll question what I mean.
I’m the champ, you know. Gotta keep up the image.
I smile to myself and let my sweet little Pokémon (not—they’re IV trained, Gigantamax beasts; if you try and complete the curry dex, you get bored very quickly) enjoy their meal.
That’s when it’s happens. That’s when the night sky goes dark, hurricane like winds take over the sky and I even have to hold my Corviknight down.
“Impossible! Is that the Darkest Day? I thought you stopped it!” Generic Camper Number 729 screams.
Yeah, I did. I beat and caught Eternatos. It’s in my boxes, safely stored away thanks to crappy IVs. Isn’t it angry?
“Stay down,” I tell him like the good champ I am. He doesn’t need to be told twice.
My team is strong. They’re trained to be the strongest. I needed them to beat the battle tree—and to maintain my sanity while dealing with the curry. Competitive play had never been of interest to me, but if you spend years living in Pokémon Sword, you get dragged into the fun of battles.
I often wondered if the online battles I fought were against players in my world.
That’s how it comes to my mind. “It’s not the Darkest Day!” I call out—even my Pokémon look are me as I’m dumb. “It’s my way home!”
Because yes, of course, I can beat Pokémon Sword while being in the game. It’s Pokémon, for heaven’s sake! I enjoyed it at first (until the curry dex came to my mind) and considered staying. It’s just sad that I couldn’t go to Sinnoh or Johto, my favourite regions.
Then again, I suppose, the Sword/Shield final was better (and easier. So much easier.) than a freak wanting to build a new universe.
All goes black—as if it’s indeed the Darkest Day again.
I wake up where I left. In my room, in front of my phone. It tells me that it’s in the morning, and that it’s February 2020.
I left in the morning of a Saturday in February 2020.
“Thank god, I didn’t miss time,” I blurt out.
I eye the message, and wonder what it means to me. Surely I haven’t been gifted the ridiculous amounts of PokéDollars, the items or my Pokémon themselves?
False.
Of course, I had the maximum of cash by the end of my adventures. 99,999 PokéDollars—or yen, in the original games.
That’s why the equivalent off 99,999 PokéDollars lies in front of me.
About 900USD.
But next to what will maybe get me through a month at most, is something of much, much more value.
My bag. And in it, the endless depth of what all items I had. Including all existing clothes, countless berries and cooking items—and the Pokémon Box Link.
And six PokéBalls.
I take one, to test. Release the Pokémon in it. Corviknight roars in my dorm room.
The situation dawns me.
“I got Pokémon. I got ******* Pokémon!”
(Worth the days spent on the curry dex.) | I blink rapidly, trying to clear my head.
Where am I? Last thing I remember was... a text message? Some sort of joke or prank of some kind. Something to do with a video game.
Images flashed in my head: a beautiful woman on horse back. A violent battle. A silver bird skull.
The woman, I was trying to find her. I *had* to find her.
Beside the warmth of a fire, I laid to rest.
The warmth changed. Instead of a fire, I was now in a tub. I propped my feet up on the wooden tub's side. What was.... I'd been thinking something just now... Huh. Mustn't have been important.
Suddenly something pinched at me. I jerked upright. I wasn't alone in the tub.
"You know I don't find that amusing." I grabbed the crab like creature, tossing it onto the stone floor.
I spoke with the woman. She prodded me to go train with the girl. Sighing, I dried off and clothed myself.
I stepped out into the brisk air of Kaer Morhen. Time to find Ciri and get some training in.
*But first*, I thought, *maybe I can find someone for a few rounds of Gwent.* | 2020-02-17T00:45:30 | 2020-02-17T00:38:53 | 31 | 16 |
[WP]Humanity was accused by the galactic council of committing a crime against another species. The ancient rules stated that the brighter and the stupidest individuals should be appointed to plead on behalf of the accused species. The elders couldn’t believe when both humans made the same argument. | "Why are we the ones going into the galactic council? It wasn't our fault that someone had finally pissed off and offended some alien!" As was said by a middle aged man, rubbing his shaggy hair and dropping flakes into his ill adjusted brown suit.
"Because it is our duty as human beings to represent our species in a positive light, regardless of the crime committed was done intentionally or not. If we fail to persuade the Elders that our species are deserving of repentance, humanity as we know it might cease to exist." As was said from the calm tone of a young woman, wiping her silver hipster glasses with a small microfiber cloth that she brought from her tailored grey suit, and finally completing her sharp look with her favorite spectacles on her face.
Both of them are waiting inside the space elevator as it gradually elevates them to the Court of Elders, a location where most disputes between intelligent sentient species are held by the representatives of their respective race. The brown suited man leaned back on one of the glass walls of the elevator, frowning at the vastness of space as he sees Earth distancing itself as they ascend higher. The grey suited woman checked her notes on her tablet as she sits down crossed legged, taking her heels off to relax her feet.
"I still don't see how I had to come here to plea when I didn't choose to be here, I'm an ordinary blue collared worker that minds his own business and stays out from politics. The trial here is beyond me, I didn't sign up for this crap!"
"Technically you did", said the woman, as she concentrates on the details of the trial, never letting her head sway from her tablet, "the terms of agreement for using the Galactic Meta app states in one of their clauses that they can use your private information to determine a possible candidate for the Layman position in case of a future Cross Species Dispute."
"Are you kidding me?, said the man as his faces begins to glow redder as he begins to unleash a magma of rage, "Who the hell reads those terms anyways? They're too long to get through! Why couldn't they make a quick summary of that anyways? I'm not gonna read something that takes the same time to finish Les Miserables!
"I agree that it is often a chore to get through and that a quick overview of important terms would be useful but it is what happens when people have been complacent of their internet privacy over the years that it has come to the exploitation of freedom of choice now. You have my sympathy, if it's any consolation I can say that you're not being exploited for any inhumane cause. Yet."
"Fuck! Death to Stars! This is not how I imagined my life to turn out! I only wanted to be connected with friends and family through social media and maybe just look at funny memes once in awhile but that all doesn't seem to be worth it now that I have to have my dumbass represent another dumbass that might have doomed other billions of dumbasses from his slip! Why did they pick my dumbass exactly?!"
There was a moment of silence that etched the whole elevator with a miasma of grimness, only the swishing sound of the space elevator filled the heavy atmosphere with a sense of time. And, as if with anticipation of an expected answer from the confident woman, who had stopped scrolling through her notes, the words left her mouth as she turned her eyes upwards to the shaggy man.
"It was basically a lottery."
"FFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"
(Continued down) | My heart raced as I stepped out onto the galactic courtroom floor. Hundreds of strange and powerful alien species sat within the arena, their eyes transfixed on the two of us; a male and a female, both human. We stood side by side before the truth-seeking Orb, a creature of pure wisdom that had been designed to sense untruths. Its probing tentacles extended towards us and we both felt its intensity.
It was then that the massive creature in the center of the chamber spoke, questioning us deeply in regards to a terrible crime that had been committed against its species. The elders had chosen myself and another human to stand before the Orb.
We both struggled to find our words as the Orb studied us. We were both scared of saying anything wrong. I knew in my heart that some kind of punishment was to befall us regardless of our response. Suddenly, something strange happened. We both made the same argument in our plea.
The ancient creature sensed the truth of the matter, and suddenly the courtroom was abuzz with confusion. But we knew what had happened. By some strange force, the innocence of our species had been confirmed by the Orb.
But as we tried to celebrate our victory, the elders declared that as punishment for our species' crime, every single human would be stripped of their ability to speak, henceforth rendering us mute. Horrified, we watched as the terrible decree was carried out.
From that the moment on, I could never speak again. | 2022-12-02T23:47:59 | 2022-12-02T21:15:00 | 60 | 12 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Some people are brought into this world to cure diseases, lead countries, build rockets, or fight for justice. I think I was brought into this world to serve coffee.
That’s what I tell myself every day when I unlock the door of my café. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with coffee - at first the smell, then when I was old enough, the taste. My fondest memories were always sitting at the counter in my Nanna’s little café, drinking weak coffee and reading a book while she served customers.
By the age of 11 I could brew the perfect cup, and by 12 I was helping Nanna run the place. I always admired the love she put into every order, the care she took with every customer. It wasn’t just a café to her, it was a haven for all, and a home for the two of us. “Josephine, there isn’t a soul out there in the world you can’t brighten a little bit of love. Sometimes that bit of love is as simple as a cup of coffee and a smile,” she would tell me on the rare occasion I grumbled about the early hours or the hard work.
I was only 17 when Nanna’s fight against cancer ended. We had sold our café for her treatments, but in the end I was left alone, working 3 jobs just to get by.
Now, at 21 years old, my life was back on track. I had worked harder than I’d ever worked, saved every penny I could, and 14 months ago I was able to open my own café - Joey’s. Nestled away in a quiet street, in a somewhat questionable neighbourhood, I had found a place I could afford and turn into my own little haven once again.
Business was painfully slow at first. So slow, I had to find work at another café in the mornings to support my own café. I suppose that’s irony, right?
I opened Joey’s at night still, almost a desperate bid to keep my dream alive, and that’s when I finally started bringing in regular customers. It started with The Crusher.
2:00 am, and the little bell on the door chimed. Looking up from my book, I came face to face with a giant of a man taking up my entire doorway. Bleeding heavily from a bullet wound in his shoulder, he shuffled forward cautiously, looking absolutely exhausted. I recognised him from the news - a vigilante who had earned his name thanks to the fact he crushed his victims’ bones with his bare hands - not just broken, but crushed. The lucky only had limbs crushed, but the worst offenders were usually unrecognisable. I was taken aback for a split second, and honestly a little afraid, but Nanna’s words stuck with me and I gave the man a warm smile. “What can I get for you sir?”
He paid for a large coffee (1 sugar and a bit of cinnamon), then shuffled to the booth nestled in the corner. Quickly making his order, I also placed a warm cinnamon muffin and a bottle of water on the tray, then I tucked the first aid kit under my arm and carried everything over to him. He was cursing under his breath (or so I assumed - the bandana covering his lower face muffled his words) as he inspected his wound, and he looked up in surprise as I placed everything in front of him. He rejected my offer to help tend his wounds, so I let him be, instead cleaning up the drops of blood on the floor and occasionally topping up his coffee. He left after an hour, looking in much better shape and silently tipping me as he left. I saw him two more times over the next two weeks, and did my best to give that little bit of love each time, with smiles, coffee, a few complimentary muffins, and once again the first aid kit.
The Crusher must have told some of his “colleagues” about my little café. Over the following weeks and months, more new faces started coming through my door, usually masked or cloaked, the occasional full helmet appearing as well. Business was booming and I was able to quit my other job and focus solely on Joey’s. I did, however, continue to open at night - a somewhat unusual plan for some cafés, but with the now steady stream of vigilantes and anti heroes coming through my door at all hours of the night, I was happy.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew that most of these people were dangerous - I had seen the news and heard the stories, but regardless, I always tried to view every customer as another soul coming into my haven who needed that little bit of love, and my customers seemed to appreciate it. My café quickly became the place where the vigilantes of the city would start their nights with a coffee, or duck in for a quick break, a muffin, and a turn with the first aid kit. There were rules, of course - weapons holstered, no violence, no powers, and wipe your boots on the mat before entering - and it worked. The dark and shady protectors of the city continued to come through my door night after night.
Over these last few months I have seen more interesting costumes and uniforms than I ever imagined existed, cleaned up more blood than I’d ever hoped to, tended more injuries than I ever trained for, listened to more interesting stories than I’d ever heard, and served more coffee than I’d ever dreamed I could again.
I was doing what I was born to do, and I was happy. Until today.
| My coffee shop was nice. Designs chosen from pictures of a mid-50s shop I once saw mixed with a little western. Booths on either side along the walls, with tables occupying the center. It was a night-time hobby of mine to keep me busy during my later years. The wife and I, God rest her soul, always wanted to open up a small little shop in the heart of New York. The clientele that frequented weren't the usual run-of-the-mill people. I never asked questions and they kept their private business away, or so I had hoped. The handcrafted mahogany tables, that I had had special made, were currently being used as projectiles in an ongoing battle. Three versus six. The six had come in during a slow evening, only three customers in.
"Oi, old man." Said the, presumed, leader of the group. He was about 6ft, well built, wearing the same black suit, white shirt, and black tie as the rest. His tone made me stiffen slightly. I knew they were here to cause trouble. "We don't like the kind of folk you keep serving in here." And that was all he needed to say before the three jumped into action. The red-headed girl jumped off her stool and sprinted at the group with fire in her hands, she ducked a swing and replied in kind with a jet of flesh-melting fire to the assailants chest. Her name was Grace. Young, beautiful, deadly, and wearing a hoodie that was ever-so-slightly too big for her.
The second of the three didn't even need to move, he started picking up chairs and, much to my disdain, tables and began launching them at the group. Two of the six were sidelined instantly by the initial barrage of improvised projectiles. His name was Vincent and he was a brick shithouse of a man.
The third vanished and reappeared behind the leader and took him on a little trip, presumably, out into the ocean. That was Jack's favourite way of disposal. I didn't know how old Jack was but he looked about 15. Too young to be doing this sort of thing but here he was. Fighting alongside two others to "protect" my little slice of heaven. There were only two men left standing and the both screamed and exited as fast as humanly possible. The fight was over as quickly as it started. I hadn't even stopped wiping down cutlery. The three turned to me with apologetic looks on their face. I just sighed and shrugged.
"Vincent, throw those three out in the backstreet. Jack, get that man out of the ocean. And Grace? Put that fire out." I appreciated their help, even if at times they went a little overboard. All three offered to help pay for repairs but I waved them away.
"It's fine. I appreciate the help, and your continued patronage." I said with a smile. "However, I am going to have to close for the night and get this sorted asap. Now out with you." I shooed them out to protests and locked the doors. Smiling to myself I flexed my shoulders. I myself had a superpower even if I only used it to repair my shop at least once a week. | 2018-10-20T23:47:58 | 2018-10-20T23:09:29 | 31 | 17 |
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